Undercover Cowboy
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By: Lynde Lakes | Other books by Lynde Lakes Categories: Mainstream Romance, Contemporary, Romantic Suspense, Western/Cowboys Word Count: 76,000 Heat Level: SENSUAL Published By: Amira Press, LLC
Sara Jane is startled when Nick Reed sneaks up on her seconds after she discovers the body of a woman with red hair just like hers. Instinct warns her that this cowboy is dangerous and may even be the killer. Too bad, he is the best-looking hunk of trouble ever to pour himself into a pair of Levis. In spite of the unseemly sexual tension that is building between them as they size each other up, she escapes, chuckling to herself that her trick-riding and quick actions left him gaping after her, stunned and red-faced. 1 Rating Avg - 3.0
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 Undercover Cowboy
Available in: Adobe Acrobat, Microsoft Reader Price: $5.99 |
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Excerpt"Twenty and restricted to the compound!" Sara Jane Ryan shouted to her horse. "Can you believe it? Well, I'll show Dad." She dug her heels a little too firmly into the coal-black quarter horse's flanks. He sidestepped and tossed his head in protest. She stroked his silky mane. "Sorry, Demon, but Dad makes me see redbarn-on-fire red!" She blew at a wayward tendril of curly auburn hair in utter frustration.Her ride had taken her to the west sector of the Ryans' south Texas ranch, where tangles of mesquite trees, scrub oak, and cacti lined the well-beaten path. Since Verde Creek was on the way to her client's ranch, she decided to stop for a swim to cool off both her temper and body. A shiver slid through herthis was exactly the kind of isolated area Dad had warned her against. She shook off her uneasiness. He wasn't making her paranoid, too. For years she'd stuck to his overprotective rules, but no more. If she let him get away with treating her like a child, how could she respect herself or expect him to respect her as an adult? In the distance, she heard a high-pitched whinny. She wrinkled her forehead. Who'd be so far out in the boondocks this time of the day? She shaded her eyes from the searing midmorning sun and squinted, looking for a rider's silhouette or rising gusts of dust. Seeing neither in any direction, she decided that the whinny must have been from a stray from the small herd of wild mustangs that roamed these parts. It comforted her to see miles of gently rolling land and the distant purple haze where mountains reached up to meet a cloudless blue sky. In her view, God had never made anything more starkly beautiful. Her sense of serenity faded as shadows of turkey buzzards circling overheard fell across her path. She looked up and shuddered. As useful as the buzzards were, they'd always repulsed her. She was too far out to be concerned that it might be a downed cow. Apparently the scavengers had zeroed in on some other unlucky critter. Suddenly Demon rose and beat the air with his front hooves. Sara clamped her knees tight and gripped the saddle horn. "Easy, boy." Likely the buzzards had made him nervous, too. A loud caw cut the air. She jumped and glanced into the trees. Carrion birds waited all humped over, eyes beady and hungry. Several expanded their wings and flew to the ground to close in on something. The foul smell hit her nostrils before she saw the body of a woman lying face down in the overgrowth of mesquite. Her skin prickled. "Whoa, boy." Sara Jane dismounted fast and dropped her reins to the ground, knowing Demon would stay. She remembered the whinny and wondered if the woman had been thrown, and her horse had run off. Waving her arms to shoo away the birds, Sara Jane approached the body slowly, then froze in her tracks. Her eyes widened, and a chill shot through her. From the back the woman looked just like her, same long, auburn hair and slender, athletic build. One arm was up over her head. Sara Jane spied an Indian bracelet with three turquoise stones identical to the one her dad had designed and had special-made for her thirteenth birthday. A week ago, the treasured gift had disappeared from her jewelry box. Sara Jane rubbed her arms. This was way too creepy. She felt like grabbing the bracelet, leaping back on her horse, and hightailing it out of there. Fighting the urge, she bent and turned the woman over. The face was gone! Sara Jane screamed, jumped back, and scrambled to her feet. She pressed her lips tight to hold back the bile that burned in her throat. Through a haze of shock it registeredthe face was cut clean away, with no ragged edges. No animal had done that. She glanced around, suddenly feeling alone and vulnerable. She had to get out of therenow! But she couldn't seem to move. Struggling with fear and trembling, Sara Jane didn't hear the horse come through the grove of mesquite behind her. At the sound of a man's succinct oath, she whirled. The guy, in his late twenties, dismounted in one fluid motion. His legs were long, powerful-looking. Jeans hugged him like a sheath. With cactus-green eyes flashing, he strode toward her, muscular and dangerous. Standing as tall as her five feet, six inches would allow, she glared at him and raised an eyebrow. "Did you do this? Are you the killer drawn by that strong urge to return to the scene of the crime?" Sara Jane fought to keep the waver out of her voice. "What? God, no!" he said. Unconvinced, she slowly backed toward her horse and the saddlebag where she kept her .38. In a lower tone, no doubt meant to calm her into a false sense of security, he added, "I heard you scream." His accent wasn't Texan. That was for sure. "Don't be afraid, Miss." He didn't say Ma'am, like a wrangler would. His black jeans and Western shirt were new, unfaded. He shifted his weight, and she noticed the holstered gun at his side for the first time. The weapon and square-shouldered stance of this gun-toting stranger sent another shiver through her. He raked his inky hair with long fingers made for computer keys or a gun trigger, not ranch work. "Stay back!" she ordered, still moving away. Hot wind blew her hair about her face and lashed her body with unnerving electricity. The call of a distant hawk emphasized the isolationand how very alone she was with this armed stranger. He advanced a step closer. "Take it easy. I'm not going to hurt you." "Expect me to believe that?" Sensing she was close to Demon, she whirled, reached into her saddlebag, and drew her gun. "Don't even twitch," she said, aiming her .38 at a point between the man's eyes. His expression darkenedhe stopped dead in his tracks. Uncle Luke had always told her when in a tough spot, narrow your eyes, bare your teeth, and bluff. If that didn't workshoot the bastard. To save a family member, she could pull the trigger, but to save her own life? Not sure, she prayed the urban cowboy wouldn't test her. She wanted to order him to drop his holstered gun but feared he might try something tricky and force her hand. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His steady gaze showed no fear. "You've got it wrong. I'm here to help." "Mighty nice of you, stranger," she said, exaggerating her Texas drawl. "Don't think I'm ungrateful, but I don't need your help." She leveled her narrowed gaze on him, gesturing with a slight tilt of her head at the body. "And it's too damned late to help her." He pushed his black Stetson high on his forehead. His eyes softened marginally. "Tough girl, huh?" The huskiness in his voice vibrated through her. "You've got that right," she said, glaring at him. "You have to the count of three to climb back on that sorry-looking mare and hightail it out of here. One . . ." He shifted his weight on dusty, black leather boots that looked as new as his duds. He showed no sign of leaving. An amused, reckless expression flicked over his face. "Who the devil are you anyway?" "I should be asking you that, except I don't give a hoot." Her throat felt raw. "Now git!" To her embarrassment, her voice cracked. She cocked her gun and resumed her countdown. "Two . . ." His jaw tightened. Raw sexuality and defiance radiated from the hard planes of his face and the lean lines of his body, charging the air between them. Her gun hand trembled. Fear jelled into a cold lump in her stomach. "Three . . ." She whirled around and swung onto her horse. As she passed his mare, she slapped the animal on the rump and yelled, "Ha!" The roan took off. The urban cowboy's eyes widened, and he shouted, "Hey!" * * * * Nicholas Reed shook his head. He couldn't believe it. That tough little cookie with the flashing sapphire-blue eyes had flipped onto her horse like a rodeo star. Her antics told him that she could easily be the young woman he had come here to protect. Matt had told him when he hand-picked him for the assignment that his daughter had been riding since she was threeeven bragged that she was one of the top rodeo performers in the statehad nine championship buckles to prove it. And this little gal certainly knew her way around a horse. But probably most of these ranch girls rode well. Heat burned his neck. Damn! He'd never live it down. Imagine, letting some measly little country-bumpkin get the best of him. He could've disarmed her easily enough or even gotten the drop on her. But his plan had been to let the encounter play itself out. It had, but not to his satisfaction. |
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