Nick Chance was pissed. There was no logical reason to fence this rocky section of the Last Chance Ranch. It would make a lousy pasture and was too far from the barn to work as a corral.

But big brother Jack had decreed that it should be fenced "just in case" they'd need it someday. There went Nick's day off. Jack had discovered that Nick had no vet duties today, either at home or at any of the other ranches in the valley, so he'd handed Nick a posthole digger.

Nick had been tempted to suggest where Jack might shove his posthole digger, but going off on Jack wouldn't solve anything. The guy was harder on himself than he was on anyone else. The rollover that had killed their dad last fall wasn't Jack's fault, but nobody could tell him different.

So Nicholas Chance, Doctor of Veterinary Medicine, was driving one of the battered ranch trucks instead of his primo medical rig, and he was digging postholes that didn't need digging. What the hell. He'd work on his tan. Climbing out of the truck, he took off his shirt and tossed it into the cab. Then he grabbed his worn leather gloves from the dashboard.

Before he lowered the tailgate and got serious about the project, he parked his butt on the fender and took a moment to appreciate the view of the Tetons. A raven gave him a flyby and what Nick interpreted as a caw of approval.

He couldn't stay mad in country like this. His gaze roamed over the soft gray-green of sage livened up with spring flowers, including two of his mom's favorites—pink wild geraniums and sunflowers. Rain had fallen the night before, swelling the creek that he could hear gurgling, although it was hidden by evergreens.

He caught a whiff of loamy earth and wet pine ne