Son of the Sheik

by Ryshia Kennie

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  Don’t miss TAKE IT TO THE GRAVE!

  A 6-part psychological thriller that will have you guessing till the very end!

  “I know your secret. I’m going to tell.”

  As Sarah Taylor-Cox stares at the anonymous letter, her body starts to shake with dread. She has everything to lose—a gorgeous husband, a beautiful baby, and a picture-perfect house in the Hamptons. And now, the lies she’s built her life on are starting to crumble, one by deadly one...

  Collect all 6!

  Take It to the Grave (Part 1 of 6)

  by Zoe Carter

  Take It to the Grave (Part 2 of 6)

  by Zoe Carter

  Take It to the Grave (Part 3 of 6)

  by Zoe Carter

  Take It to the Grave (Part 4 of 6)

  by Zoe Carter

  Take It to the Grave (Part 5 of 6)

  by Zoe Carter

  Take It to the Grave (Part 6 of 6)

  by Zoe Carter

  Outlaw’s Honor

  by B.J. Daniels

  DARBY CAHILL ADJUSTED his Stetson as he moved toward the bandstand. The streets of Gilt Edge, Montana, were filled with revelers who’d come to celebrate the yearly chokecherry harvest on this beautiful day. The main street had been blocked off for all the events. People had come from miles around for the celebration of a cherry that was so tart it made your mouth pucker.

  As he climbed the steps, Darby figured it just proved that people would celebrate anything. Normally, his twin sister, Lillie, attended, but this year she was determined that he should do more of their promotion at these events.

  “I hate it as much as you do,” she’d assured him. “But believe me, you’ll get more attention up there on the stage than me. Just say a few words, throw T-shirts into the crowd, have some fry bread and come home. You can do this.” Clearly, she knew his weakness for fry bread as well as his dislike of being the center of attention.

  The T-shirts were from the Stagecoach Saloon, the bar and café the two of them owned and operated outside town. Since it had opened, the bar had helped sponsor the Chokecherry Festival each year.

  He heard his name being announced and sighed as he made his way up the rest of the steps to the microphone to deafening applause. He tipped his hat to the crowd, swallowed the lump in his throat and said, “It’s an honor to be here and to be part of such a wonderful celebration.”

  “Are you taking part in the pit-spitting competition?” someone yelled from the crowd, and others joined in. Along with being bitter, chokecherries were mostly pit.

  “I’m going to leave that to the professionals,” he said, reaching for the box of T-shirts, wanting this over with as quickly as possible. He didn’t like being in the spotlight any longer than he had to. Also, he hoped that once he started throwing the shirts, everyone would forget about the pit-spitting contest later.

  He was midthrow when he spotted a woman in the crowd. What had caught his eye was the brightly colored scarf around her dark hair. It fluttered in the breeze, giving him glimpses of only her face.

  He let go and the T-shirt sailed through the air as if caught on the breeze. He saw with a curse that it was headed right for the woman. Grimacing, he watched the rolled up T-shirt clip the woman’s shoulder.

  She looked up, clearly startled. He had the impression of serious, dark eyes, full lips. Their gazes locked for an instant and he felt something like lightning pierce his heart. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. Rooted to the spot, all he could hear was the drumming of his heart, the roaring crowd a dull hum in the background.

  Someone behind the woman in the crowd scooped up the T-shirt and, scarf fluttering, the woman turned away, disappearing into the throng of people.

  What had that been about? His heart was still pounding. What had he seen in those bottomless dark eyes that left him...breathless? He knew what Lillie would have said. Love at first sight. Something he would have scoffed at—just moments ago.

  “Do you want me to help you?” a voice asked at his side.

  Darby nodded to the festival volunteer. He threw another T-shirt, looking in the crowd for the woman. She was gone.

  Once the box of T-shirts was empty, he hurriedly stepped off the stage into the moving mass. His job was done. His plan was to have some fry bread and then head back to the saloon. He was happiest behind the bar. Or on the back of a horse. Being Montana born and raised in open country, crowds made him nervous.

  The main street had been blocked off and now booths lined both sides of the street all the way up the hill that led out of town. Everywhere he looked there were chokecherry T-shirts and hats, dish towels and coffee mugs. Most chokecherries found their way into wine or syrup or jelly, but today he could have purchased the berries in lemonade or pastries or even barbecue sauce. He passed stands of fresh fruit and vegetables, crafts of all kinds and every kind of food.

  As he moved through the swarm of bodies now filling the downtown street, the scent of fry bread in the air, he couldn’t help searching for the woman. That had been the strangest experience he’d ever had. He told himself it could have been heatstroke had the day been hotter. Also, he felt perfectly fine now.

  He didn’t want to make more of it than it was, and yet, he’d give anything to see her again. As crazy as it sounded, he couldn’t throw off the memory of that sharp hard shot to his heart when their gazes had met.

  As he worked his way through the crowd, following the smell of fry bread, he watched for the colorful scarf the woman had been wearing. He needed to know what that was about earlier. He told himself he was being ridiculous, but if he got a chance to see her again...

  Someone in the crowd stumbled against his back. He caught what smelled like lemons in the air as a figure started to brush by him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the colorful scarf wrapped around her head of dark hair.

  Like a man sleepwalking, he grabbed for the end of the scarf as it fluttered in the breeze. His fingers closed on the silken fabric, but only for a second. She was moving fast enough that his fingers lost purchase and dropped to her arm.

  In midstep, she half turned toward him, his sudden touch slowing her. In those few seconds, he saw her face, saw her startled expression. He had the bizarre thought that this woman was in trouble. Without realizing it, he tightened his grip on her arm.

  Her eyes widened in alarm. It all happened in a manner of seconds. As she tried to pull away, his hand slid down the silky smooth skin of her forearm until it caught on the wide bracelet she was wearing on her right wrist.

  Something dropped from her hand as she jerked free of his hold. He heard a snap and her bracelet came off in his hand. His gaze went to the thump of whatever she’d dropped as it hit the ground. Looking down, he saw what she’d dropped. His wallet?

  Astonishment rocketed throu
gh him as he realized that when she’d bumped into him from behind, she’d picked his pocket! Feeling like a fool, he bent to retrieve his wallet. Jostled by the meandering throng, he quickly rose and tried to find her, although he wasn’t sure what exactly he planned to do when he did. Music blared from a Western band over the roar of voices.

  He stood holding the woman’s bracelet in one hand and his wallet in the other, looking for the bright scarf in the mass of gyrating festivalgoers.

  She was gone.

  Darby stared down at his wallet, then at the strange, large, gold-tinted cuff bracelet and laughed at his own foolishness. His moment of “love at first sight” had been with a thief? A two-bit pickpocket? Wouldn’t his family love this!

  Just his luck, he thought as he pocketed his wallet and considered what to do with what appeared to be heavy, cheap, costume jewelry. He’d been lucky. He’d gotten off easy in more ways than one. His first thought was to chuck the bracelet into the nearest trash can and put the whole episode behind him.

  But he couldn’t quite shake the feeling he’d gotten when he’d looked into her eyes—or when he’d realized the woman was a thief. Telling himself it wouldn’t hurt to keep a reminder of his close call, he slipped the bracelet into his jacket pocket.

  * * *

  MARIAH AYERS GRABBED her bare wrist, the heat of the man’s touch still tingling there. What wasn’t there was her prized bracelet, she realized with a start. Her heart dropped. She hadn’t taken the bracelet off since her grandmother had put it on her, making her promise never to part with it.

  This will keep you safe and bring you luck, Grandmother Loveridge had promised on her deathbed. Be true to who you are.

  She fought the urge to turn around in the surging throng of people, go find him and demand he give it back. But she knew she couldn’t do that for fear of being arrested. Or worse. So much for the bracelet bringing her luck, she thought, heart heavy. She had no choice but to continue moving as she was swept up in the flowing crowd. Maybe she could find a high spot where she could spot her mark. And then what?

  Mariah figured she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. Pulling off her scarf, she shoved it into her pocket. It was a great device for misdirection—normally—but now it would be a dead giveaway.

  Ahead, she spotted stairs and quickly climbed half a dozen steps at the front of a bank to stop and look back.

  The street was a sea of cowboy hats. One cowboy looked like another to her. How would she ever be able to find him—let alone get her bracelet back given that by now he would know what she’d been up to? She hadn’t even gotten a good look at him. Shaken and disheartened, she told herself she would do whatever it took. She desperately needed that bracelet back—and not just for luck or sentimental reasons. It was her ace in the hole.

  Two teenagers passed, arguing over which one of them got the free T-shirt they’d scored. She thought of the cowboy she’d seen earlier up on the stage, the one throwing the T-shirts. He’d looked right at her. Their gazes had met and she’d felt as if he had seen into her dark heart—if not her soul.

  No wonder she’d blown a simple pick. She was rusty at this, clearly, but there had been a time when she could recall each of her marks with clarity. She closed her eyes. Nothing. Squeezing them tighter, she concentrated.

  With a start, she recalled that his cowboy hat had been a light gray. She focused on her mark’s other physical attributes. Long legs clad in denim, slim hips, muscular thighs, broad shoulders. A very nice behind. She shook off that image. A jean jacket over a pale blue checked shirt. Her pickpocketing might not be up to par, but at least there was nothing wrong with her memory, she thought as she opened her eyes and again scanned the crowd. Her uncle had taught her well.

  But she needed more. She closed her eyes again. She’d gotten only a glimpse of his face when he’d grabbed first her scarf and then her arm. Her eyes flew open as she had a thought. He must have been on to to her immediately. Had she botched the pick that badly? She really was out of practice.

  She closed her eyes again and tried to concentrate over the sound of the two teens still arguing over the T-shirt. Yes, she’d seen his face. A handsome, rugged face and pale eyes. Not blue. No. Gray? Yes. With a start she realized where she’d seen him before. It was the man from the bandstand, the one who’d thrown the T-shirt and hit her. She was sure of it.

  “Excuse me, I’ll buy that T-shirt from you,” she said, catching up to the two teens as they took their squabble off toward a burger stand.

  They both turned to look at her in surprise. “It’s not for sale,” said one.

  The other asked, “How much?”

  “Ten bucks.”

  “No way.”

  “You got it for free,” Mariah pointed out, only to have both girls’ faces freeze in stubborn determination.

  “Fine, twenty.”

  “Make it thirty,” the greedier of the two said.

  She shook her head as she dug out the money. Her grandmother would have given them the evil eye. Or threatened to put some kind of curse on them. “You’re thieves, you know that?” she said as she grabbed the T-shirt before they could take off with it and her money.

  Escaping down one of the side streets, she finally got a good look at what was printed across the front of the T-shirt. Stagecoach Saloon, Gilt Edge, Montana.

  * * *

  LILLIE CAHILL HESITATED at the back door of the Stagecoach Saloon. It had been a stagecoach stop back in the 1800s when gold had been coming out of the mine at Gilt Edge. Each stone in the saloon’s walls, like each of the old wooden floorboards inside, had a story. She’d often wished the building could talk.

  When the old stagecoach stop had come on the market, she had jumped at purchasing it, determined to save the historical two-story stone building. It had been her twin’s idea to open a bar and café. She’d been skeptical at first, but trusted Darby’s instincts. The place had taken off.

  Lately, she felt sad just looking at the place.

  Until recently, she’d lived upstairs in the remodeled apartment. She’d moved in when they bought the old building and had made it hers by collecting a mix of furnishings from garage sales and junk shops. This had not just been her home. It was her heart, she thought, eyes misting as she remembered the day she’d moved out.

  Since her engagement to Trask Beaumont and the completion of their home on the ranch, she’d given up her apartment to her twin, Darby. He had been living in a cabin not far from the bar, but he’d jumped at the chance to live upstairs.

  Now she glanced toward the back window. The curtains were some she’d left when she’d moved out. One of them flapped in the wind. Darby must have left the window open. She hadn’t been up there to see what he’d done with the place. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, since she’d moved most everything out, leaving it pretty much a blank slate. She thought it might still be a blank slate, knowing her brother.

  Pushing open the back door into the bar kitchen, she was met with the most wonderful of familiar scents. Fortunately, not everything had changed in her life, she thought, her mood picking up some as she entered the warm café kitchen.

  “Tell me those are your famous enchiladas,” she said to Billie Dee, their heavyset, fiftysomething Texas cook.

  “You know it, sugar,” the cook said with a laugh. “You want me to dish you up a plate? I’ve got homemade pinto beans and some Spanish rice like you’ve never tasted.”

  “You mean hotter than I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Oh, you Montanans. I’ll toughen you up yet.”

  Lillie laughed. “I’d love a plate.” She pulled out a chair at the table where the help usually ate in the kitchen and watched Billie Dee fill two plates.

  “So how are the wedding plans coming along?” the cook asked as she joined her at the table.

  “
I thought a simple wedding here with family and friends would be a cinch,” Lillie said as she took a bite of the enchilada. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the sweet and then hot bite of peppers before all the other flavors hit her. She groaned softly. “These are the best you’ve ever made.”

  “Bless your heart,” Billie Dee said, smiling. “I take it the wedding has gotten more complicated?”

  “I can’t get married without my father and who knows when he’ll be coming out of the mountains.” Their father, Ely Cahill, was a true mountain man now who spent most of the year up in the mountains either panning for gold or living off the land. He’d given up ranching after their mother had died and had turned the business over to her brothers Hawk and Cyrus.

  Their oldest brother, Tucker, had taken off at eighteen. They hadn’t seen or heard from him since. Their father was the only one who wasn’t worried about him.

  Tuck needs space. He’s gone off to find himself. He’ll come home when he’s ready, Ely had said.

  The rest of the family hadn’t been so convinced. But if Tuck was anything like their father, they would have heard something from the cops. Ely had a bad habit of coming out of the mountains thirsty for whiskey—and ending up in their brother Sheriff Flint Cahill’s jail. Who knew where Tuck was. Lillie didn’t worry about him. She had four other brothers to deal with right here in Gilt Edge.

  “I can see somethin’s botherin’ you,” Billie Dee said now.

  Lillie nodded. “Trask insists we wait to get married since he hopes to have the finishing touches on the house so we can have the reception there.”

  Trask, the only man she’d ever loved, had come back into her life after so many years that she’d thought she’d never see him again. But they’d found their way back together and now he was building a house for them on the ranch he’d bought not far from the bar.