by JoAnn Ross
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
About the Author
Books by JoAnn Ross
Title Page
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
Epilogue
Copyright
The Men of Whiskey River Rough, tough and sexy
Clint Garvey: A typical cowboy—quiet and determined. Clint doesn’t talk about the tragedies he’s experienced, about losing the only woman he’d ever loved and being arrested for her murder. Everyone in Whiskey River knows about it and respects his privacy. Everyone except beautiful, impetuous Sunny. One day she just arrives at his house, claiming she’s going to rescue him….
Gavin Thomas: As a writer, Gavin is able to imagine a lot of possibilities, but Tara Delaney catches him off guard. She pretends to be very straitlaced and proper, but he can sense a passion burning beneath. One he wants to untame. Untamed, October 1996.
Rory Mannion: Old-fashioned, macho hero. Only county attorney Jessica Ingersoll knows exactly how old-fashioned and macho this guy is. She finds herself wanting him and a future together. But Rory is on a mission to avenge a murder over a hundred years old, one that could still get him killed…. Wanted!, November 1996.
Three Real Western Heroes Unforgettable
Author of over fifty novels, JoAnn Ross wrote her first story—a romance about two star-crossed mallard ducks—when she was just seven years old. She sold her first romance novel in 1982 and now has over eight million copies of her books in print. Her novels have been published in twenty-seven countries, including Japan, Hungary, Czech Republic and Turkey. JoAnn married her high school sweetheart—twice—and makes her home near Phoenix, Arizona.
Books by JoAnn Ross
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
537—NEVER A BRIDE (Bachelor Arms)
541—FOR RICHER OR POORER (Bachelor Arms)
545—THREE GROOMS AND A WEDDING (Bachelor Arms)
562—PRIVATE PASSIONS 585—THE OUTLAW
605—UNTAMED (Men of Whiskey River) 609—WANTED! (Men of Whiskey River)
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Ambushed
JoAnn Ross
1
CLINT GARVEY SAT in the dark, calmly drinking from a bottle of Jim Beam as he methodically cleaned the antique gun he’d decided to use to end his life.
The single action Colt revolver was known by many names; the Peacemaker and the Gun That Won the West were two of the more popular. It had belonged to Clint’s great-great-grandfather, Captain William Garvey.
Captain Garvey, who’d distinguished himself fighting in Union blue during the Civil War, had returned home at the end of the war only to discover that his wife had died of a fever the night before his arrival.
“Timing,” Clint muttered as he traced the specialized engraving on the wooden grip of the revolver with a fingertip, “is everything.”
He shook his head as he thought about the cruel twist of fate that had allowed a man to survive years of carnage without so much as a single scratch, then took the life of the woman who’d remained the single fixed star in his firmament during those brutal war years.
He imagined how William must have felt riding home, excited about being alive, excited about resuming his life, tending his cattle, making love, having children. Although there were more than a hundred years between them, Clint could definitely identify with his ancestor.
It hadn’t been that long ago he’d been planning a future with the woman he loved. He looked through the alcohol fog at a framed photograph on the table beside him, de picting a laughing, auburn-haired woman. The picture of Laura Swann Fletcher had been taken during an idyllic stolen weekend in the Shenandoah Valley. That same weekend their child had been conceived. The child he hadn’t even known she was carrying until they were dead.
Murdered.
The word tolled heavily in his mind, like a funeral knell. There was no escaping it. And, since the killer had thoughtlessly left him to live with the pain of such gutwrenching loss, Clint had decided that the only thing to do was to finish the job himself.
He pulled the hammer back with his thumb. At the first click, the cylinder rotated freely, allowing him to load the single bullet. He pulled the hammer to its fully cocked position, then stuck the seven and a half inch barrel into his mouth.
Unwilling to consider this final act cowardly, Clint refused to close his eyes. Instead, he kept his gaze firmly fixed on Laura’s lovely, lovely face as he pulled the trigger.
“IN ALL THE thousands of years i have been in this position, I can’t remember—ever—witnessing a more dismal romantic match.” The older woman’s raven black eyes expressed intense disapproval as she glared over the top of her wire-framed reading glasses at the young woman standing in front of her desk. “Whatever were you thinking of?”
“I truly believed it would work,” Sunny said quietly. Although it was difficult not to squirm beneath the laserlike glare she managed to hold her ground. She was, however, twisting her hands together behind her back.
Those censorious eyes widened with disbelief. “You actually believed a worldly prince and a naive young kindergarten teacher would have anything in common?”
Sunny had heard this same criticism for years and couldn’t understand why she was being reprimanded for her mistake yet again. Although she was sorely tempted to point out that the criteria for the royal match had not been all that simple—there were not, after all, many eligible virgins in the latter half of the twentieth century to choose from—she managed to hold her tongue.
“It worked for Cinderella,” she murmured.
“Cinderella was an exception.” The words were shot at her like stones. “And she was fortunate enough to have a world-class fairy godmother. You are not,” the deep voice turned heavy with scorn, “even approaching Harmony’s league.”
The insult, although unfortunately true, stung. Sunny knew she’d made a tactical mistake in bringing up Harmony. The woman was, without a doubt, the most famous fairy godmother who’d ever lived.
Harmony had retired after her sterling success with Cinderella and in her honor a statue of her, turning the white mice into horses for the famed pumpkin coach, had been erected in the contemplation garden.
Although Harmony was a role model for all fairy godmothers, young and old, Sunny managed, just barely, to refrain from mentioning that even she had been wise enough to realize she couldn’t top her success with that pretty, albeit vapid, little scullery maid.
And if she couldn’t, Sunny thought dejectedly, how in the world was anyone else expected to?
“I really don’t know what we’re going to do with you, Sunny,” her superior, Andromeda, said with a deep, heartfelt sigh. “I realize you professed a desire to work in romance, however, I’ve been thinking that perhaps some other area—”
“Oh, please, don’t transfer me!” Sunny untangled her fingers from behind her back and pressed her hands against her heart, which had suddenly begun to pound with a wild, out-of-control beat. “I love romance!”
“I know, dear.” The dark eyes softened with affection. “You are, without a doubt, the most romantic soul we’ve had working here since Harmony’s time. And we’ve all been hoping that your skills would catch up with your heart, but that doesn’t seem to be happening. Does it?”
; Sunny’s mind quickly flicked through the couples she’d matched in the past. Surely she could find one winner to prove her competence and keep her job. The first couple who came to mind were Devil Anse Hatfield and Roseanna McCoy. Putting aside the depressing decades-long murderous mountain feud, she tried again.
The memory of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn was definitely not encouraging. Then there’d been that dashing soldier Antony. He and Cleopatra had seemed to be such a perfect love match. Who could have ever predicted things would turn out so tragically?
Sunny sighed. “I see your point,” she said reluctantly.
“Hollyhock needs someone to help in the kitchen,” Andromeda said thoughtfully. “You do seem to enjoy cooking—”
“Cooking is an avocation,” Sunny interrupted. “Romance is my life!”
Andromeda frowned and continued. “What about accounting? You have an amazing knack for numbers, and we’ve been running so over budget lately in so many areas—”
“I’d go crazy sitting in front of a computer all day,” Sunny complained. A transfer to accounting would also preclude visits to earth; unlike other fairy godmothers who found the planet uncivilized and untidy, Sunny had always thought it exhilarating and fascinating.
She dragged a trembling hand through her wild tangle of long blond curls. “I’ll admit that my record has been less than stellar, but if I could only have another chance, I just know I could get things right.”
Her voice trembled, she felt the traitorous sting of tears behind her eyes and Sunny, who’d been named for her unfailingly cheerful disposition, had to bite her lip to keep from weeping.
“That’s precisely what we’re going to give you,” Andromeda surprised Sunny by saying. “One more chance.”
“Oh, thank you!” When she rushed j oyfully toward the desk, planning to hug her superior, she was stopped in her tracks by an uplifted hand.
“It is not a simple assignment.”
“I don’t care. I promise, I’ll succeed.” Hope sang its clear sweet song in her veins. “And if I don’t, you can transfer me out of romance forever.”
“That’s our intention.” Andromeda’s tone assured Sunny that this truly was her final chance to prove that she could make a successful love match. “The man we’re assigning you to will not be cooperative.”
“That’s all right—”
“Indeed, I expect he will fight you at every turn. You see, he has already loved once. And that love was so strong and so deep that he’s convinced himself it can never be equaled.”
“That’s so sad.” Ever the optimist, Sunny couldn’t imagine such a defeatist attitude. “What happened? Did she leave him for another man?”
“She died.”
“That is tragic.”
“It’s worse. Laura Swann Fletcher was murdered. She was also pregnant with this man’s child at the time. And married to another man, a very important, very influential man. It was quite the scandal. Especially when Clint Garvey was arrested for her murder.”
“Oh, dear.” Sunny began to feel just the slightest twinge of worry. “That’s his name? Clint?” It was a nice name, she thought. Strong and masculine. And very mortal.
“Yes. And now, as you’ll see, he believes he no longer has any reason to live.” She handed Sunny a thick folder. “This is their story. You’ll want to acquaint yourself with the particulars.”
“I’ll read it right away.”
“That would be advisable, in most cases. But I fear you don’t have much time.”
Andromeda picked up the remote control from the desktop and pointed it at the wall. Sunny watched as a picture appeared.
Clint Garvey was certainly a handsome enough man, she thought, in a rough-hewn sort of way. He was sitting down, but judging from the long legs, stretched out in front of him she suspected he’d be tall. He was whipcord lean, but his body appeared to be all muscle and sinew. The grim brackets on either side of his mouth suggested that his heart was as hard as his body. And no wonder, she thought sadly, thinking of what he’d lost.
His face, weathered from years of working outdoors was as dark as walnuts, a startling contrast to his ice blue eyes. And the bleak expression in those eyes, as he picked up the photograph of a smiling woman she took to be his beloved Laura, tore at something very deep and very elemental inside Sunny.
He put the photo down, picked up the glass and downed the amber-hued liquor. Sunny gasped as she saw him pick up the revolver.
“Oh, no!” she called out.
Seconds later, she landed, not gently, on Clint’s front porch, just as the deafening sound of a gunshot shattered the mountain silence.
“Oh, no!” she cried again. She couldn’t be too late! No longer concerned for her career, but desperate to save Clint Garvey’s life, she burst through the door.
Clint glared at the hole he’d just put in his knotty pine plank wall. Hell, he couldn’t even pull this off, he thought disgustedly. He’d pulled the barrel out of his mouth at the last instant, when it had suddenly dawned on him why his great-great-grandfather hadn’t used this gun on himself more than a hundred years ago.
William must have believed that the woman he loved would not have wanted him to kill himself. And Clint had come to the same conclusion. Even though his mind was whiskey sodden, Clint knew that Laura would have been disappointed in him if he’d succeeded in pulling the trigger.
So, he thought, miserably, now what?
Before he could come up with an answer to that, his front door burst open and a strange woman rushed into the room.
“Oh, thank goodness, you didn’t do it,” she gasped, her hand at her throat. Her brown eyes were wide with distress, her face pale.
“Do what?”
“You know.” She glanced nervously at the Colt revolver he was still holding in his hand. “Shoot yourself.”
“What?” His laugh was harsh and bitter. “Look, lady, I don’t know who the hell you are, or what you’re doing in my house, but for your information, I was cleaning my great-great-grandfather’s gun. And it went off.”
She followed his gaze to the wall. “I see.”
The bullet hole marring the gleaming wood filled Sunny with renewed optimism. He hadn’t truly wanted to kill himself after all! At the last moment he’d found some reason to live. And that, she told herself, was enough to hang her hopes on. Clint Garvey wasn’t the lost cause she’d feared.
‘I’m glad one of us does,” he muttered. He shook his head and squinted at her. “How many of you are there?”
“Just one.”
“I was afraid of that.” He blinked, trying to get the dual images to come together.
“I’m afraid you’ve had a bit too much to drink.” Marc
Antony had also liked his wine, she recalled regretfully. At least, Sunny thought, whatever Clint had been drinking could not have been nearly as lethal as the Hatfield’s moonshine.
“I’m afraid you’re right.” That said, Clint passed out.
“Well.” Sunny stood with her hands on her hips looking down at the man slumped in his chair.
Clint Garvey was even more distressing in person than he’d appeared on that oversize screen in her superior’s office. His hair was long. Not trendy, male model long, but shaggy and unkempt, hanging limply over the collar of his rumpled denim shirt. From the stubble darkening his gaunt cheeks, he obviously hadn’t shaved for days. Which was just as well, she decided, since if drinking to such excess was routine behavior, he’d probably have cut his throat.
His eyes, now closed, had been tormented. And, she thought, haunted.
“Talk about your challenges,” she murmured. Obviously no woman in her right mind would want anything to do with such a haggard, unkempt, humorless man. “You’re a mess, Clint Garvey.”
As was this house, she realized as her gaze swept over the stacks of unread newspapers piled beside the door, the dirty glasses scattered on tabletops, the layer of dust that had settled over everything like a shroud.
/> “But don’t worry,” she told the unconscious man, “you’re in good hands.”
She blinked twice. The first sent Clint out of the room. At the second blink, she followed.
He was now sprawled on his wide bed. Even as she admired the intricate hand carving on the headboard, Sunny was appalled at the state of his rumpled sheets. It had obviously been some time since they’d been washed.
“At least it appears you’ve been changing your underwear,” she said as her appraising gaze took in the dirty clothes scattered over the plank flooring. “I suppose, at this point, I should be grateful for small favors.”
Although she could have done it without moving a finger, something made Sunny bend down to pull off his boots as a mortal woman might. She considered undressing him, then decided to take advantage of his unconscious state to clean up his house. There was a great deal to be done. It would be better if she could at least set the stage for the challenge to come.
Sunny groaned as she walked into the kitchen and viewed even more unwashed glasses, coffee cups and dirty dishes piled in the sink. Fast-food containers filled the wastebasket and overflowed onto the floor. The refrigerator held beer and something green that looked as if it had once been a brick of cheese. The only thing she found in any of the cupboards was a half loaf of bread that had turned an even darker green than the cheese, and more bottles of whiskey.
Her task was to find Clint Garvey a wife. And part of her wanted to match the man passed out upstairs with the right woman because he desperately needed love. Another, equally strong part of her admitted to needing this match so she could keep her assignment in the romance division. But no woman would dare walk into this house for fear of catching the plague. Or worse.
“This is definitely going to be a challenge,” she muttered as she wondered where to begin.
Some fairy godmothers might have been discouraged. But since such negative thoughts were against her nature, Sunny blinked to start the water running in the sink and reminded herself that not even Harmony had faced such a challenge. Which meant, she decided happily, as another blink created a thick layer of frothy white bubbles over the unwashed dishes, that if she pulled this off, she would definitely be in Harmony’s lofty league.