Rescued by Mr. Wrong

by Cynthia Thomason

  “I don’t need to know your past, honey, unless you just want to tell me. It doesn’t matter. We don’t live backward, Carrie. We live forward. If you’ve had relationships with a dozen men or zero, it all comes down to one thing—you never found the right one. And you won’t find him if you sit in this kitchen and concentrate on what went wrong in the past. Your future could be waiting in my parlor right now.”

  “I wish I could believe it,” Carrie said.

  “Believe it.” The voice that came from the doorway was strong, masculine and just a bit quivering.

  Carrie stared up at the man who’d stolen her heart in a winter blizzard and had warmed her ever since. She couldn’t speak for fear he would leave. She couldn’t breathe for fear she would die.

  Aurora backed up a step, looked at Carrie, then at Keegan. “I assume you two know each other,” she said with a grin.

  Keegan smiled, a wonderful huge spreading of his fabulous lips that was so unlike him and yet so genuine, as if he’d just learned how to do it. “I know her,” he said. “This woman is my wife—or at least I hope she will be.”

  Aurora’s eyes widened. Carrie released a sound between a sob and laughter.

  “How does it feel, Carrie Foster,” Keegan said, “to have someone proclaim you to be an intimate member of the family without one word of warning?”

  She found her voice. “Truthfully, it feels strange and a bit scary and wonderful.”

  “I know,” he said. “I remember.”

  He crossed the space separating them, pulled out a chair and sat down, letting their knees touch. He picked up both her hands and held them in his before glancing down at her leg, still supported by the boot. “I assume you’ll be able to toss that boot into the garbage bin and walk all seven acres of Cedar Woods after you’ve turned it into an oasis.”

  “You’re keeping your campground?”

  “I’m keeping our campground,” he said. “Your name will be on the deed.”

  “Oh, my God, Keegan, do you mean it? All seven acres plus the two trailers in back?” The roots she’d so often dreamed of owning were becoming a reality. “Are you really proposing to me, or...?” Carrie almost choked. Had she really said those words?

  He grinned. “Crazy as it sounds, yeah.”

  With a snap of Velcro fastenings, Carrie ripped the boot from her leg, stood as tall as her five-foot-four-inch frame allowed and pulled Keegan up with her. Grasping his nape, she brought his mouth to hers for a long, lingering, blood-pumping kiss that didn’t leave room for doubt or fear or thinking about the past.

  When she drew away, she realized Aurora had left them alone, and there was still much she didn’t know. “How did you get here?” she asked. “What happened with Butch? Have you decided not to go to Latvia? Oh, I hope so. How did you know I was here at Aurora’s?”

  He hugged her to his chest and kissed the top of her head. “Read my book. It will all be in the last chapter.”

  EPILOGUE

  “IT TURNED OUT to be a beautiful day for a wedding, didn’t it?”

  Martin smiled down at Aurora who looked almost as lovely as the bride in her long, pale blue skirt and white blouse gathered with ribbons at her chest. Like many of the guests today, Aurora also wore sandals, another sign that Mother Nature had done her good deed for the Foster family this day.

  “You are right, Aurora,” Martin said. “April weather in Ohio is always iffy. From one day to the next Maggie and I never knew if we’d be dressing the girls in snowsuits or shorts.”

  Their conversations about Maggie had become much more natural. Now they both talked about her as if she’d been more than the love of Martin’s life. She’d also been influential in Aurora’s life, and Aurora wished she had gotten to know Maggie before the illness. Already Aurora sensed Maggie would approve of her companionship with Martin.

  They both glanced toward the center of the tent where the bride and groom were dancing. Jude wore a cream-colored midlength dress embroidered with tiny yellow flowers. Matching flowers adorned her hair, which was uncustomarily tamed into a charming wavy style. The groom wore a sports coat and jeans like many of the male guests, even Liam’s father, Lawrence. Martin absently brushed the lapels of his own casual jacket, grateful that he didn’t have to wear a custom-fitted tux. Soon he would leave the jacket on the back of a chair and dance with Aurora.

  The scent of spicy barbecue sauce permeated the tent from the warming trays. “Seems fitting for Jude to have ribs and corn bread for her wedding dinner,” Martin said. “She was never one to fuss.”

  “And look at the other newlyweds,” Aurora said, nodding toward Carrie and Keegan. She sighed. “They are so happy.”

  “I know, and once again I had to keep my opinions to myself where Carrie was concerned. I’d always wanted to see each of my girls married in proper style, but Carrie had other ideas and eloped. I’m surprised she even let us in on it.”

  “I think it’s romantic,” Aurora said. “And doesn’t it just seem like something Carrie would do?”

  Martin harrumphed. “Absolutely, it does. But flying off to Seattle for a quick ceremony with only her sisters and the two of us to witness—that’s not the way it was done in my day.”

  “Yes, but you met your newest grandson. Taylor seems like a remarkable boy, and he’ll make a fine addition to this family.”

  A familiar warmth crept into Martin’s chest. Someday, he thought, so will you, Aurora.

  “What did you think of the extra room Carrie and Keegan are putting on the cabin?” Aurora asked.

  “Plenty big enough for the nursery they’ll need in eight months.” Martin chuckled. “Those two... It’s as if they’re in such a big hurry to do everything at once. I’m surprised Carrie got the dirt from under her fingernails in time to be a bridesmaid today. She’s determined to have the campground open by this summer. Now I just have to get her through this pregnancy safely...”

  “Martin...” Aurora’s voice held a warning. “Keegan will help her with that. I’m sure he’ll call if he needs you.”

  Martin nodded. “I’ll be good,” he promised. “I suppose I can stop worrying about all my girls now.”

  “As if you can ever do that,” Aurora said. “But they are all happy and settled. Alex with her Daniel, Carrie with Keegan, and now Jude with Liam. And you have grandchildren who love you. What more could a man want?”

  Martin smiled, slipped his arm around Aurora’s shoulders. Only one thing, he thought. In due time.

  * * * * *

  More great titles are coming from acclaimed author Cynthia Thomason and Harlequin Heartwarming in 2017.

  And if you haven’t read the compelling romances of the other two DAUGHTERS OF DANCING FALLS—Alexis and Jude—check out www.Harlequin.com today!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from A COWBOY TO KEEP by Karen Rock.

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  A Cowboy to Keep

  by Karen Rock

  CHAPTER ONE

  “LET GO OF ME, FREAK.”

  Jackson Cade’s answer was to shove his knee harder into the wanted man’s back, clap on handcuffs, then stand. “On your feet, Butch.” The ponderosa pines surrounding the small white trailer at the foot of Denver’s Front Range rustled overhead.

  “Go to hell.”

  “Someday,” he responded drily, prodding a shackled Butch toward his truck, his three-week chase over. He squinted when the midafternoon sun reflected off his side mirror and shot him straight in his good eye.

  “Don’t you have to read me my rights?” jeered the fugitive as he struggled and yanked against Jack’s grip.

  “Bounty hunters don’t have to do anything they don’t want to.”

  Jack opened the rear cab door. His scar tightened at his grim smile. Some people belonged in cages; he’d learned that firsthand. He made sure they got there. “And right now, the only thing I’m wanting to do is bring you in.”

  The door closed on his slumped captive and Jack ambled to the driver’s side. A pulse of satisfaction beat through him, chasing the shadows that’d consumed him these last two years, though the respite wouldn’t last long. No matter how many criminals he caught, it’d never make up for what he’d done, or failed to do.

  You promised, he heard his mother’s cry again as he slid behind the wheel. You promised to keep your brother safe.

  His fingers tightened on the gearshift and he revved the engine, as though he could outrun his past, as if his slashed left cheek wasn’t a constant reminder of his crime, as though bringing in another lowlife somehow settled his unpayable debt.

  He peered in his rearview mirror, studied the scowling crook behind him and nodded. It helped some. He couldn’t bring back his brother, and hadn’t crossed paths with Jesse’s killer yet, but he’d never stop looking.

  He cranked up a Waylon Jennings song and tuned out his cussing passenger as his pickup ate up the miles back to fugitive recovery in Denver. He pulled his hat brim low against the late-May sun, dropping in the west over the range.

  Purple haze thickened in the timbered notches he passed. Gray foothills, round and billowy, rolled down from the higher country. They were smooth, sweeping, with long velvety slopes and isolated patches of aspens that glowed with newly minted leaves. Mount Evans, scarred by avalanche, towered above the valley, sheltering it from the north.

  Nice looking country, he mused as he turned onto Interstate 25, though it wasn’t home. He stomped down the marrow-deep ache that sprang up when he pictured Carbondale. His family’s cattle ranch in western Colorado, in the center of the Rockies. No sense wishing for something he’d never get back. Or wouldn’t go back to. Not when he was reminded of his younger brother everywhere he looked and his guilt hung from his neck, a heavy yoke that made it hard to hold his head up. To stand tall.

  Thirty minutes later, he pulled up in front of the one-story bond office and cut the engine beside a black Denver Sheriff Department SUV—Lance’s. He’d called ahead, since Butch’s warrant stipulated that he’d enter into custody. A department member had told him an officer would meet him. Could be his cousin had come to do the honors.

  Butch spewed another stream of expletives when Jack jerked open the door and hauled him out. When he pressed the door buzzer, Lance opened it with a relaxed air that belied his serious intent, his badge glinting. The creases in his blue uniform were as sharp as knives. He wore that smug, got-you look Jack recognized from their boyhood days. He still had the same freckles and left-sided cowlick.

  “Sheriff Covington.”

  “Nice work,” drawled Lance, cocking a dark eyebrow at Jack before stepping close to the criminal. “I’ll take it from here. Butch, let’s walk.”

  Jack hooked his thumbs in his belt buckle and watched them march to the SUV, satisfied. Justice served. The repeat offender wouldn’t be burglarizing homes in the area for a long while.

  He took off his sunglasses and headed inside for his bounty. Considering money from his share of the family ranch revenues was dumped into his account every quarter, he wasn’t in a hurry for a payout. He did look forward to getting his next assignment, though...and returning to his trailer for the baseball game and TV dinner that waited on him.

  “Jackson Cade for...”

  “I know who you are,” interrupted the secretary. He’d clearly made quite the impression, since he’d only been to this bond office once before, when he’d taken this case. She averted her eyes behind large-framed glasses that covered most of her pinched features. Short little thing, scrawny, shoulders curled in. Fidgety fingers, twisting at her skirt. She snatched up her phone, spoke into it, then pointed down the hall without looking back up at him.

  “Kind of you, ma’am,” he muttered, conscious of the office staff’s gazes fluttering his way. The paused conversations. The whispered comments that rose like a chorus when he passed. His jaw clenched. He should be used to this, yet somehow he wasn’t. He seldom ventured out in public anymore, and much preferred being on his own or hunting runaways—the one job where looking this scary worked to his advantage.

  “Hey, Jack,” boomed the bond agent, Randall Cook. The gray-haired man smiled and stood, revealing a row of crooked teeth. His line-free face told of years spent indoors crunching numbers, and a touch of pink around his nose hinted at evenings afterward. “Can I get you a drink?”

  When Jack shook his head, the talkative man continued, “Was almost ready to call it with Butch. Three other bounty hunters couldn’t nab him. Glad the sheriff recommended you.”

  He shifted in his boots, uncomfortable with praise or anything else that called attention to him. “Glad to help.”

  “I’ve got another one for you.” Randall shoved a folder across the cluttered table in front of Jack as Jack grabbed a seat. “Bill ‘Smiley’ Reno. Alias Ned Terrill.”

  Words jumped out at Jack as he scanned the warrant.

  Wanted for drug possession and dealing.

  Fifty-thousand-dollar bond.

  Known to carry a .45.

  Considered armed and extremely dangerous.

  A rap sheet that included assault with a deadly weapon, gun possession and armed robbery. Just as bad as he liked them. And he’d been caught with heroin—the same drug that’d ensnared Jack’s younger brother after he’d gotten hooked on oxycodone following surgery.

  He shoved the folder under his arm and stood, determination firing through him. “A real sweetheart. I’ll get him.”

  Randall pushed to his feet and extended a hand. “I believe you will. There’s more to his story, but I’ll let Sheriff Covington fill you in.”

  Curious, he pumped Randall’s hand and strode outside where Lance leaned against his SUV, Butch slumped in the backseat.

  “So. Smiley.” Lance nodded at the folder. His mouth flattened at Jack’s nod and he stepped closer. Dropped his voice. “An informant fingered him in the Remy Phillips case.”

  The name sounded familiar. It rolled in his mind, then fell into place. He whistled. “The double h
omicide last month. A home invasion, right? Big society couple.”

  Lance’s brow lowered. “Remy Phillips owns the largest investment firm in Denver and it looks like a professional hit. Since our snitch is unreliable and motivated to exchange information for a reduced sentence, I didn’t give it too much credit, especially when Smiley agreed right off to come down to the office to answer questions. Problem is, he never showed. I’d planned on chatting with him the following day at his court date.”

  Understanding dawned and Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Then he jumped his bond.”

  A frustrated breath escaped Lance’s clenched teeth. “Looks suspicious. He’s still just a person of interest, but let’s just say, I’m real interested. Bring him in, Jack.”

  “I will.” And he would. Forget the ball game. He had much better plans with Smiley’s family, the last known address for the runaway and alleged killer. It’d been his mission, since Jesse’s murder, to get opiate dealers like this off the streets and make sure no one else died like his brother had.

  “Got something else to tell you.”

  He turned back to his cousin.

  “This is between us. Ballistics and crime scene evidence suggest we’re after two men. A .45 and a 9mm were used at the scene. Plus, the Phillips’ safe was broken into, but the family can’t identify what’s missing. Whoever wanted it hired two pros for the job, so it must be important. I’m hoping that where there’s one...”

  “Got it.” Jack nodded. Grim. This case looked better by the minute. He’d always liked two-for-one deals. Technically, he couldn’t bring in the other wanted man, but he’d hold him. “I’ll be on the lookout.”

  Lance squinted at the sky. Spoke to the sun. “Keep me in the loop, okay? And, uh, heard the family reunion is at your ranch this year. Want to be my plus one?”

  Jack’s gut clenched and he was glad his sunglasses hid his expression. “You’re not my type.”