Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
Dear Reader
Title Page
Books by Barbara McCauley
About the Author
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Copyright
“Certainly You Remember Your Husband.”
Husband? How could she not know her own name? Her own husband? “You can’t be my—What are you doing?” Sarah gasped, struggling to move away.
“Refreshing your memory,” Caleb said. “Is this familiar?” He slid one hand over her hip, while his arm pinned her against the mattress.
“No!” she cried out and moved his hand away. But somehow the touch was familiar.
He hesitated a moment, and she felt as if he were looking into her very soul, reading her deepest, darkest secrets. Secrets she didn’t even know.
“Do you remember this?” he asked as his hand very slowly unbuttoned the top button of her shirt. His knuckles brushed the swell of her breast, but his dark gaze never left hers. Heat coursed through her.
She couldn’t possibly desire a man she didn’t even know. Could she?
Dear Reader,
This month, we begin HOLIDAY HONEYMOONS, a wonderful new cross-line continuity series written by two of your favorites—Merline Lovelace and Carole Buck. The series begins in October with Merline’s Halloween Honeymoon. Then, once a month right through February, look for holiday love stories by Merline and Carole—in Desire for November, Intimate Moments for December, back to Desire in January and concluding in Intimate Moments for Valentine’s Day. Sound confusing? It’s not—we’ll keep you posted as the series continues…and I personally guarantee that these books are keepers!
And there are other goodies in store for you. Don’t miss the fun as Cathie Linz’s delightful series THREE WEDDINGS AND A GIFT continues with Seducing Hunter. And Lass Small’s MAN OF THE MONTH, The Texas Blue Norther, is simply scrumptious.
Those of you who want an ultrasensuous love story need look no further than The Sex Test by Patty Salier. She’s part of our WOMEN TO WATCH program highlighting brand-new writers. Warning: this book is HOT!
Readers who can’t get enough of cowboys shouldn’t miss Anne Marie Winston’s Rancher’s Baby. And if you’re partial to a classic amnesia story (as I certainly am!), be sure to read Barbara McCauley’s delectable Midnight Bride.
And, as always, I’m here to listen to you—so don’t be afraid to write and tell me your thoughts about Desire!
Until next month.
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Midnight Bride
Barbara McCayket
Books by Barbara McCauley
Silhouette Desire
Woman Tamer #621
Man from Cougar Pass #698
Her Kind of Man #771
Whitehorn’s Woman #803
A Man Like Cade #832
Nightfire #875
*Texas Heat #917
Texas Temptation #948
Texas Pride #971
Midnight Bride #1028
*Hearts of Stone
BARBARA McCAULEY
was bom and raised in California and has spent a good portion of her life exploring the mountains, beaches and deserts so abundant there. The youngest of five children, she grew up in a small house, and her only chance for a moment alone was to sneak into the backyard with a book and quietly hide away.
With two children of her own now and a busy house hold, she still finds herself slipping away to enjoy a good novel. A daydreamer and incurable romantic, she says writing has fulfilled her most incredible dream of all: breathing life into the people in her mind and making them real. She has one loud and demanding Amazon parrot named Fred and a German shepherd named Max. When she can manage the time, she loves to sink her hands into fresh-turned soil and make things grow.
One
The wolf paced, his massive black head slung low, his long, lean legs moving soundlessly over the cabin’s hardwood floor. Flames crackled in the fireplace, reflecting in the animal’s golden eyes. Eyes that were alert, watching. Waiting.
Caleb Hunter regarded the wolf’s movements, tempted, for some strange reason, to follow suit. Outside the small cabin the wind howled and rain pummeled the A-frame roof. Inside, the scent of the storm mingled with smoke and filled the room.
But there was another scent. One that Caleb couldn’t identify, but recognized instinctively.
Danger.
The wolf recognized it, too. He lifted his nose and sniffed, straightened his ears, then whined softly. Caleb set down the book he’d been reading.
“You, too, Wolf?” Caleb asked. Though hardly an original name, it suited the beast. Caleb had found the animal several months ago, half-dead, shortly after he’d come to the San Gabriel mountains outside of Los Angeles for a “much-needed rest and recuperation.” Or so his superiors had said, shortly after he’d punched two of the bastards out.
Wolf whined again and stared at the cabin door. Lightning flashed, then thunder shook the walls. The animal’s thick black fur lifted at his nape.
His own body tense, Caleb rose from his armchair by the fire and moved beside Wolf. The animal kept his gaze fixed on the door.
“I agree,” Caleb said tightly. “What do you think we ought to do about it?”
A deep growl rumbled in Wolf’s throat, then he padded to the door and stared at the knob.
“I thought you were going to say that,” Caleb said with a sigh. He reached for the revolver he kept on the mantel, felt the weight of the cold steel on his palm. His grip tightened when the wind slammed against the doors and windows, then he slipped the weapon into the waistband of his jeans. He grabbed a flashlight, slipped on his heavy woolen jacket, then dropped a hat on his head.
Wolf bounded outside when Caleb opened the door. The wind sprayed the rain inside, and with a curse Caleb quickly closed the door behind him.
“Not a night fit for man or beast,” he grumbled, pulling his jacket up tightly around his neck. Yet here they were, two misfits that belonged nowhere. To no one. Not even each other. Caleb may have pulled a hunter’s bullet out of Wolf’s shoulder and nursed him back to health, but they both knew the time here was temporary. But then, time anywhere was temporary, Caleb thought.
Even with the flashlight it was nearly impossible to see. Lightning lit the blackness, and through the pounding storm Caleb caught a glimpse of Wolf heading through the woods toward the creek bed.
Caleb followed. The drenched ground sucked at his boots. Water sluiced off the brim of his hat. His intellect told him that he was a complete fool to be out here, an observation he decidedly agreed with. No one ever came out this way, and certainly not in this weather. The closest neighbors, who lived in a cabin two miles away, were gone for the month, and the town of Pinewood was three miles away. It was only April, too early for campers.
But still, he felt it. In the wind, on the air. It was impossible to analyze, nothing that could be explained, but it was there nonetheless. Call it instinct, gut feeling, even extrasensory. He couldn’t ignore it, he’d have been dead several times over if he had. It was the only thing he trusted blindly.
Something was out here that didn’t belong. Something or someone.
An icy blast of wind struck him full force, sending a shiver cl
ear through to his bones. Wolf’s sharp bark several yards ahead brought Caleb’s head up. “All right, boy, all right.” He moved toward the sound. “I hear you.”
He approached the edge of the creek. Normally the water was no more than a couple of feet deep and a gentle flow, but the violent storm had created a raging current. He heard Wolf’s bark again, no more than a few feet away now. Caleb whistled shrilly, but the animal merely barked again, more insistently this time.
“It better not be a rabbit,” Caleb muttered through clenched teeth, “or so help me you’re stew.”
Caleb swung the flashlight around, and the beam of light reflected off the beating rain. Wolf’s bark turned to a growl. Caleb’s fingers tightened on the flashlight. They weren’t alone, and it sure wasn’t any rabbit.
Caleb moved warily, closer to the edge of the creek; the barrel of his gun pressed into his waist. A chill slithered up his spine, but it had nothing to do with the cold. Wolf brushed against his leg, whined, then barked again. Jaw tight, Caleb turned, intending to move farther down the bank.
What he didn’t intend was to fall over a tree limb.
The flashlight tumbled from his hands as he landed hard on his knees; mud oozed through his spread fingers. Barking, Wolf danced around him. “Son of a—”
He froze when the branch under his legs moved, then moaned.
“What the hell…?”
The dim glow of the flashlight a few feet away did little more than outline the figure he’d stumbled over. Caleb knelt beside the body and ran his hands over the limp form.
Female.
Lightning split the black sky, illuminating the woman lying on her back. She was slender, not too tall, and her clothes, a heavy sweater and thin skirt, clung to her like wet towels.
What in hell was a woman, alone, doing in the mountains at this time of year, in this kind of weather? It was suicidal or downright idiotic. And while he hadn’t the patience for either reason, he certainly couldn’t leave her here.
As if to punctuate his thought, lightning and thunder struck simultaneously. He watched the woman’s eyes fly open, and she attempted to sit. The weight of the mud held her like flypaper. He reached for the flashlight and tucked it under his arm, then took hold of her shoulders and pulled her up.
“What are you doing out here?” he yelled over the pounding rain.
Her answer was no more than a whimper. He tightened his grip on her and shook her lightly. “Are you hurt?”
Her hair hung like wet strings across her face. She blinked several times, then lifted her gaze to him. Her eyes widened in horror.
“No-o-o-o!”
She swung a fist at him and struck him on the chin, though the mud covering her hand carried more weight behind it than her punch. She struggled weakly, frantic to get away, but hadn’t the strength of a wet leaf.
“Calm down,” Caleb shouted, then lifted her in his arms and stood. He felt her resistance, heard her cry of protest. The fool woman didn’t even want to be rescued, he thought with annoyance.
Even soaking wet, she weighed no more than a feather. He balanced the flashlight under his arm and started back toward the cabin, bending his head down when a stiff gust of wind pelted them. The woman trembled in his arms and huddled against him, muttering incoherently. Her shivering was a good sign. If hypothermia had taken hold, she would have shown no reaction to the cold. He pulled her closer to him, trying to shield her drenched body, but there was little he could do in a storm this violent.
Wolf ran ahead, barking sharply if Caleb fell too far behind. By the time they reached the cabin, the temperature had dropped and the rain had turned to sleet.
“You’re one lucky lady,” he muttered roughly as he yanked open the front door. “A few more minutes out in that and you would have been a Popsicle.”
As if understanding his words, the woman groaned, a soft, low sound of anguish. He cradled her against him and moved inside the cabin, then kicked the door shut after Wolf ran inside. Caleb moved straight to the fire and sat on the stone hearth, shifting his cargo so her head lay back against his arm.
“Well, now,” he said, taking the woman’s chin in his hand, “let’s have a look at you.”
She was young, in her twenties, he guessed. Her bone structure was small, and she had a fragile quality about her. Mud streaked her high cheeks and forehead, and her hair lay plastered in flat curls against her pale skin. He saw blood on his fingers and gently turned her head until he saw the gash behind her left ear.
“Damn,” he muttered. “Looks like we’re going to have to get you to a doctor, darlin’.”
“No.”
The word was barely audible. Surprised, Caleb glanced back to her face. Her eyes fluttered open. They were blue…a soft, baby blue, rimmed by dark, thick lashes. For one split second, in the space between heartbeats, Caleb felt as if the floor had dropped out beneath him. Stunned, he quickly shook the feeling off.
“No doctor,” she said hoarsely, staring at him through a glaze of pain. She lifted one hand and wrapped her slender fingers around the lapel of his jacket. “No doctor, no police.” Shivering, she squeezed her eyes shut. “They’ll find me…please…don’t let them find me…please… no one…”
“Who?” Caleb asked. “Who will find you?”
“Please.” Her whispered plea faded, but the urgency in her voice and bottomless eyes echoed in Caleb’s mind. Her head rolled back, and her hand slipped from his jacket.
He ran his hands under her sweater and down her skirt; she recoiled instinctively at the intimate intrusion. No ID, no purse or wallet, he noted. A chain around her neck sparkled in the firelight. Caleb lifted the necklace and fingered the letters engraved in gold: Sarah.
Had someone sent her? he wondered. He’d been careful, but it was possible they’d managed to find him here after six months. He knew that sooner or later they would make an attempt to get to him, but would they send a woman in after him, especially one so young and obviously inexperienced? It was hard to imagine, which made him all the more suspicious.
Thunder shook the walls again. She’d have her wish tonight, anyway, he thought with a frown. He had no phone to call anyone, and even if he had, no one was getting in or out on the main road now.
He looked at the woman in his arms. Sarah.
“Well, Sarah, darlin’, looks like you’re staying here with Wolf and me for now.” He sighed, then gathered her close and stood. “Let’s say we get you out of those wet things, shall we?”
* * *
A marching band pounded in her head. The trumpets wailed and the trombones blared. She tried to move, but the effort set off the drum section. Lie still, she told herself, not understanding the origin of her pain, but fully understanding the sensation. Breath held, she waited until the first sharp wave of agony passed through her.
The beating in her head slowed and settled into a dull ache. The marching band moved on, replaced by silence. No, not quite silence, she decided. She heard the drumming of rain now, the howl of wind. And breathing. The sound of deep, steady breaths.
Whose breathing?
She fought back the unreasonable panic that rose suddenly in her. Stay calm, she repeated over and over until her heart slowed its thunderous pace. Logic told her that control was important, composure essential. She counted to ten, willing her nerves to be still.
She lay on her back, on a soft mattress; a pillow cradled her head. She moved her fingers, felt the smooth warmth of the blanket covering her. I’m in a bed, she realized, but knew it wasn’t her own.
The scent of wood smoke seemed to surround her. Camping? The mountains? Slowly, cautiously, she opened her eyes.
It was like looking through a lens out of focus. There were shapes and color, but everything was blurred. She blinked several times, waiting for the images to take form.
The ceiling was open beam. Dark, heavy boards, rough-hewn. The walls were logs. A cabin? She glanced to her left. A small lamp glowed on a pine dresser, filling the r
oom with a soft yellow light. Rain beat against a window over the dresser. It was dark out. She shivered involuntarily and closed her eyes again, not understanding her sudden and intense fear. She waited, letting the emotion pass.
She heard the breathing again. Deep, slow. Steady. She opened her eyes and glanced to the right.
A man. Sitting in a rocker beside the bed. His head hung forward, and she couldn’t see his face. But his hair was black as the night, his hands large, his chest and shoulders broad. He wore a blue flannel shirt and faded jeans. He was sound asleep.
She tried to sit, but the movement was like swinging a hammer inside her head. She drew in a breath, waiting for the pain to subside.
A strange bed. A strange place. A strange man.
She opened her eyes again, and this time he was staring right at her. Her breath caught.
Shadows hid half of his face, giving the illusion of a mask. A phantom. He said nothing, just looked at her, his expression as dark as his hair. She felt as if she’d stepped into a stage play and he would rip the mask away to reveal his horrible disfigurement. A scream bubbled deep in her throat, but she hadn’t the strength to release it. Her heart raced as he stood and moved closer.
Other than a scar over his left eyebrow, there was no disfigurement, she realized with intense relief. In fact, he was rather good-looking, in a rugged, masculine way. A face that appealed not on an aesthetic level, but a primitive one.
He stood over her, and she lifted her gaze to his. He was tall, much too tall, she decided, hating the way he towered over her.
“How’s your head?” he asked.
His voice was deep, husky. She’d heard it somewhere before, but it hurt too much to try to think of where. “Who—”
Midnight Bride Page 1