Lone Star Knight

by Cindy Gerard

  This month, in

  LONE STAR KNIGHT

  by Cindy Gerard,

  meet Matthew Walker—owner of

  a ranching empire. The only thing missing from

  Matt’s life was the love of a good woman, until…

  he crossed paths with the Lady Helena Reichard,

  whose heart he was determined to win!

  SILHOUETTE DESIRE

  IS PROUD TO PRESENT THE

  Five wealthy Texas bachelors—all members of

  the state’s most exclusive club—set out to restore

  the “Royal” jewels…and find true love.

  And don’t miss

  HER ARDENT SHEIKH

  by Kristi Gold,

  next month’s installment of the

  Texas Cattleman’s Club: Lone Star Jewels,

  available only in Silhouette Desire!

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to the world of Silhouette Desire, where you can indulge yourself every month with romances that can only be described as passionate, powerful and provocative!

  The incomparable Diana Palmer heads the Desire lineup for March. The Winter Soldier is a continuation of the author’s popular cross-line miniseries, SOLDIERS OF FORTUNE. We’re sure you’ll enjoy this tale of a jaded hero who offers protection in the form of a marriage of convenience to a beautiful woman in jeopardy.

  Bestselling author Leanne Banks offers you March’s MAN OF THE MONTH, a tempting Millionaire Husband, book two of her seductive miniseries MILLION DOLLAR MEN. The exciting Desire continuity series TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: LONE STAR JEWELS continues with Lone Star Knight by Cindy Gerard, in which a lady of royal lineage finds love with a rugged Texas cattle baron.

  The M.D. Courts His Nurse as Meagan McKinney’s miniseries MATCHED IN MONTANA returns to Desire. And a single-dad rancher falls for the sexy horsetrainer he unexpectly hires in Kathie DeNosky’s The Rough and Ready Rancher. To cap off the month, Shawna Delacorte writes a torrid tale of being Stormbound with a Tycoon.

  So make some special time for yourself this month, and read all six of these tantalizing Silhouette Desires!

  Enjoy!

  Joan Marlow Golan

  Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

  Lone Star Knight

  CINDY GERARD

  Books by Cindy Gerard

  Silhouette Desire

  The Cowboy Takes a Lady #957

  Lucas: The Loner #975

  *The Bride Wore Blue #1012

  *A Bride for Abel Greene #1052

  *A Bride for Crimson Falls #1076

  †The Outlaw’s Wife #1175

  †Marriage, Outlaw Style #1185

  †The Outlaw Jesse James #1198

  Lone Star Prince #1256

  In His Loving Arms #1293

  Lone Star Knight #1353

  CINDY GERARD

  If asked “What’s your idea of heaven?” Cindy Gerard would say a warm sun, a cool breeze, pan pizza and a good book. If she had to settle for one of the four, she’d opt for the book, with the pizza running a close second. Inspired by the pleasure she’s received from the books she’s read and her longtime love affair with her husband, Tom, Cindy now creates her own evocative and sensual love stories about compelling characters and complex relationships.

  This number-one bestselling author of close to twenty books has received numerous industry awards, among them the National Readers’ Choice Award, multiple Romantic Times Magazine nominations and two RITA Award nominations from the Romance Writers of America.

  * * *

  “What’s Happening in Royal?”

  NEWS FLASH, March—There are reports that the glamorous Lady Helena Reichard is hiding in Royal, TX. After sustaining injuries from the emergency crash landing of her plane two months ago, she was reportedly released from the hospital—and then vanished! Countless paparazzi stationed outside the medical building have been left disappointed…where can Lady Helena be?

  Some are speculating that tycoon rancher Matthew Walker could be protecting her from the glaring cameras and photographers’ flashes by nestling her away on the palatial grounds of his High Stakes Ranch. This Texas Cattleman’s Club member is known for his honor when it comes to the ladies…but Lady Helena’s blond, tantalizing beauty is world-renowned!

  Could her disappearance be linked to the two suspicious-looking men seen lurking about town? Perhaps our boys at the Cattleman’s Club would fill us in? Stay tuned.…

  * * *

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Prologue

  It wasn’t true. Not completely. Your entire life didn’t flash before you when you were about to die. Only bits and pieces, odd, unrelated little snippets scrolled by like a vivid Technicolor collage—along with an extreme and acute awareness of those who were about to die with you.

  While the flight crew and eleven other men and women in the charter jet bound from Royal, Texas, to the European country of Asterland prepared for the crash with stalwart optimism, whispered prayers, or soft weeping, Lady Helena Reichard thought silently of Asterland, the home she might never see again. She thought of her parents, the Earl and Countess of Orion, and the pain her death would cause them. Of the calico kitten she’d loved as a child, the projects she might not be around to finish and of those who might suffer because of that.

  Oddly, she also thought of the tall, handsome Texan with smiling green eyes and dark curling hair who had waltzed her around the dance floor at the Texas Cattleman’s Club reception just two nights past.

  She’d met commanding men before. Sophisticated. Worldly. Titled and moneyed. She hadn’t, however, met anyone like Matthew Walker. With his quick, slashing smile and devastating wit, he’d been at once charming yet subtly and purposefully aloof. He was obviously a man of wealth, yet the hand that had held hers in its strong grip had worn the calluses of physical labor without apology. His polished and gallant formality had been a fascinating foil for an understated man-of-the-earth essence that had both intrigued and captivated—and left her wishing she hadn’t had to leave Royal, Texas, so soon.

  How sad, she thought, that she’d been denied the chance to know him better. How sad that her last glimpse of Texas would be from five hundred feet and falling. And then she thought of nothing but the moment as the jet, its left engine shooting fire, lurched, shuddered and dropped the last one hundred feet to the ground. She lowered her head, wrapped her arms around her ankles and prepared for the impact.

  Behind her someone screamed. A serrated, grating screech ripped through the pressurized cabin as tons of steel and flammable fuel slammed to earth then skidded across the desert floor without benefit of landing gear. The noise was shattering. The jolt, bone-rattling. And the fear—the fear was paralyzing as the flames that had been confined to the left jet suddenly engulfed the cabin and a blinding, screaming pain consumed her.

  One

  “Justin—hey, Justin, wait up.” Matt Walker was striding wearily toward the burn-unit nurses’ station when he spotted Justin Webb, dressed in green scrubs, heading for the elevator.

  Justin turned, sipping from a paper cup that Matt knew held the world’s worst coffee. After a long, critical once-over he scowled, showing Matt his doctor’s face. “I’ve done admits on patients who look better than you.”

  Matt knew exactly what his friend saw: a five-o’clock shadow, badly rumpled shirt and bloodshot eyes. He scrubbed a hand over his unshaven jaw, rolled the stiffness out of his shoulders. �
�I’m fine. Just a long night.”

  Justin snorted. “More like a lot of long nights.”

  When he extended the coffee Matt grimaced and made a warding sign. “How do you drink that sludge?”

  “Cast-iron stomach.” Justin flashed a grin. “Besides— I like it. But we were talking about you. You knock your-self out from sleep deprivation and you’re not going to be any good to her, Matt.”

  Both men knew exactly who Justin was talking about. It had been almost two months since the plane crash that had resulted in Lady Helena Reichard’s emergency admission to the burn unit at Royal Memorial Hospital. She had been among a group of Asterland dignitaries and a few locals—Matt’s friends Pamela Black and Jamie Morris among them—who were en route to Asterland after a posh diplomatic reception at the Texas Cattleman’s Club. Close to a full month had passed since Matt had been assigned by his fellow club members to stand guard outside Helena’s door.

  It didn’t much matter that he was beat. His welfare wasn’t at stake here. Helena’s was. He just wished he knew who, or what, he was protecting her from.

  Besides Matt and Justin, only three other club members knew the mysterious details surrounding the charter jet’s emergency landing that had sent Helena to the hospital. Though luckily no one had been killed, even now, two months later, it was still tough to absorb. The crash had been bad enough. But there’d also been a murder. A jewel theft. The hint of an attempted political coup involving the European country of Asterland.

  Helena Reichard, it seemed, was stuck smack in the middle of it all; Matt understood exactly how vulnerable she was. He also understood that nothing, absolutely nothing more was going to happen to her under his watch.

  “How’s she doing?” he asked, as Justin drained the cup then tossed it into a trash bin.

  “Well, to hear her tell it, she’s doing just fine.”

  Matt studied his friend’s face. “I think I’d rather hear you tell it. How is she, really?”

  Justin crossed his arms over his chest, gave Matt a considering look. “We’ve covered this ground before.”

  “Humor me. Cover it again.”

  “Look, I’m not the primary here—I’m just consulting until she’s ready for the cosmetic repairs. Harding’s on the burns. Chambers is her bone man. But the charts pretty much speak for themselves.”

  “Not to me they don’t.” Matt shifted his weight to one hip. “Suppose you fill me in.”

  “You’re not family, Matt.”

  “Oh, for the—”

  “Wait. Wait.” Justin held up a hand. “Cool down. You’re not family but, since you’re all she’s got standing between her and Lord knows what might be a threat to her, you have a need to know. And that gives me license to tell you.”

  After a glance toward the charge nurse who was busy on the phone, he steered Matt toward the sofa at the end of the hall on the pretense of privacy. Matt suspected what Justin really wanted was to get him off his feet. Too tired to make an issue of it, he sat.

  “As you already know, most of her burns are second degree and restricted to her left arm and upper leg.” Justin eased down beside him. “It’s that nasty patch of third degree on the back of her left hand that’s giving her trouble. The extensor tendons are heavily involved—the ones that control finger movement. We had to graft. Unfortunately, the site’s been problematic.”

  Matt slumped back, rubbed an index finger over his brow. “Infection, right?”

  Justin nodded. “We’d hoped to avoid it—we always hope to avoid it—but with a burn that deep and so much debris ground into it, it was pretty much a given. It’s cleared up now but it set her recovery back. Only time will tell what kind of mobility she’ll regain.”

  Matt thought of the lovely hand he’d held in his at the Cattleman’s Club reception and dance. The petal-soft skin. The slim, graceful fingers. “And her ankle?”

  Justin shook his head. “That’s still up for grabs, too. It’s a bad fracture. Real bad. Even with the surgery and the pins in place, Chambers can’t guarantee that she won’t have a permanent limp.”

  Matt stared past Justin’s shoulder to the partially open door of Helena’s room. He thought of the beautiful, vivacious woman he’d waltzed around the dance floor. The woman whose cornflower-blue eyes had smiled into his with unguarded interest. The woman who had said his name in her perfect, practiced English yet made it sound exotic and made him feel extraordinary. That woman had been beyond perfection.

  He didn’t have to be inside her head to understand that the woman in the hospital room, though still beautiful, was now badly scarred, potentially disabled—and that there would be much more to her recovery process than knitting bones and healing flesh. And he couldn’t throw the helpless notion that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to help her.

  “You need sleep, bud.” Justin’s voice broke into Matt’s thoughts. “Call someone to relieve you.”

  “Not an option. Not tonight anyway. My men are tied up, so I’m it.”

  After a long look, Justin rose. “Okay. Here’s the plan. I’ve got a patient on the floor spiking a temp so I’ll be here for a while. I can cover for you for a few hours.”

  “Thanks, but she’s my assignment, not yours.”

  Justin’s long, measuring look asked the same question Matt had been asking himself lately. Are you sure this is just an assignment?

  Matt wasn’t sure of anything except that he wasn’t ready to admit, even to himself, that it might be more. Yeah, he recognized that his commitment to her safety was running a tad toward territorial. He also knew that he found himself thinking about her more than he should. Helena was, after all, an intriguing woman. Not his type of woman, but intriguing, nonetheless.

  Regardless, it all came down to one thing. The five club members who were in the know on this incident agreed that Lady Helena Reichard was his responsibility. It was a charge he took seriously. Even more so after what had happened last week. He’d ducked out for a moment and come back to find a strange man standing just outside her open doorway. The man had run like hell when Matt had approached him, and in the darkened hall, he’d never even got a glimpse of his face. Whoever it was, he was still out there. Judging by his actions, he was also a potential threat.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Justin,” he stated flatly.

  “Yeah,” Justin said with quiet authority. “You are.”

  He pointed to the room across the hall from Helena’s. “The bed in there is empty. Use it. I’m taking your watch for a few hours. End of story.”

  When Matt opened his mouth to protest, Justin cut him off. “Use it,” he ordered and walked to the nurses’ station to grab some charts.

  Helena stared out her hospital-room window into the predawn darkness of the West Texas morning. The nightmare had awakened her. Again. As she so often did, she sat in the dark and fought a losing battle with haunting memories of the crash.

  She swallowed back the slick ball of nausea that rose to her throat. Almost two months of endless nights had passed, and she still hadn’t been able to come to terms with what had happened to her. And with what hadn’t.

  She hadn’t died. Miraculously, no one had. In fact, she and Robert Klimt, a member of King Bertram’s cabinet, were the only ones who had been seriously injured. Yes, she had lived, but her injuries were a constant, vengeful reminder that life, as she’d known it, would never be the same again.

  A helpless anger flushed her skin as she carefully peeled the protective pressure glove—her constant companion for at least the next year—from her left hand. She made herself look at it. At the disfiguring patch of grafted flesh, the repulsive scarring, the stiff, useless fingers that might never again hold a champagne glass, might never wear a ring or be lifted to a man’s lips for a lingering kiss.

  She pushed back her sleeve and forced her gaze to travel the angry red scars that ran almost to her elbow. Touching her hand to the insulted flesh, she shivered at the dry, hot feel of it then grimly flipp
ed back the long folds of the hospital gown that covered her legs.

  More painful even than her broken ankle and the six-inch surgical incisions running on either side of it beneath the cast, more painful even than the burns, was the donor site on her leg. A four-by-three-inch patch of skin had been harvested from her outer thigh to graft to the back of her hand. It still looked raw. It still gave her pain. The hope was that it would also give her back the use of her hand.

  That was the hope.

  She covered her leg, tucked her hand into the folds of her robe, and hated herself for giving in to self-pity. Robert Klimt still fought for his life. She did not know him well. She knew only that he lay in a coma and might not recover. Yet she sat here feeling sorry for herself because her perfection had been marred.

  “Beauty such as yours is a rare gift, child. You are a jewel. A precious, flawless gem to be adored and revered by the world as a priceless treasure.”

  Her father’s words, words she’d heard and believed since she’d been old enough to crawl up on his knee and bask in his adoration, echoed relentlessly through her mind.

  “Not anymore, Papa.” She stared into the hollow, echoing silence. “I’m not flawless anymore.”

  Matthew Walker had thought she was perfect. She had seen it in his eyes, eyes she’d envisioned too often in her mind since the crash. She’d heard it in his laughter, laughter that brightened her dreams, but never her days. She’d thought he would come to the hospital to see her. For conflicting reasons, she’d been both disappointed and relieved when he hadn’t.

  She stared again at the hand that no longer seemed to belong to her, at the mass of ugly scars, the stiffened fingers that refused to work as they once had.