"I NEED YOU, Casey T."

Casey Kent knew of only one person in the world who called her by that nickname. Her father. A man who'd always gone out of his way to make it abundantly clear he didn't need anyone. Especially not a daughter, who should have been a son. A son worthy of taking over the Willow Creek ranch.

Casey took a calming breath and maneuvered her chair closer to her desk. She nudged aside the brief she'd been studying and rested her elbow on the smooth surface. A neat desk was part of her trademark as an organizational wizard. "Hello, Red, what's up?"

"We're under attack," he answered. His voice was the same gruff bass she'd heard her whole life. But something was different.

Was that a twang of fear? No, couldn't be. Roderick James Buchanan or, Red as he was called, wasn't afraid of anything or anybody. Her Aunt Meg used to say the only person her father feared was Casey's mother, but since Abigail had died when Casey was six, she had no real memory of her parents'relationship. She only knew her father. A man she'd worshipped and adored until he'd washed his hands of her.

"What kind of attack?" she asked to be polite. Her father's troubles really didn't concern her. He'd sent her away when she was fifteen. Banished her from the world she knew and loved and shipped her off to Boston to live with her maternal aunt.

Margaret Dawson-Merryweather had been quick to admit that she wasn't the motherly type. Smart, savvy and socially ambitious, Meg's life had revolved around her politician husband, their A-list friends and her charitable foundations. But when Senator Merryweather, who was nearly twenty years Meg's senior, had passed away after a brief ill