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Garrett McIntyre heard his daughter’s scream and spun from the barn doorway. Hannah! He ran toward the driveway, fear a tight fist gripping his throat when the sound of grinding metal followed Hannah’s scream. The hay wagon that had just loaded up at the barn veered off the driveway. He saw a dark-haired woman pull Hannah into the grass. Garrett ran hard. The truck rolled past the woman and Hannah into the small gully beside the driveway. It rocked to a drunken stop.
A trail of smoke. The little sports car tilted nose down into the ditch. The unending blare of the horn.
When he reached Hannah, the woman had her arms around his little girl. Hannah’s eyes were closed, her skin stark white. Terror pulled his breath away and he dropped to his knees in the tall grass. He couldn’t pass out.
Garrett met the woman’s dark eyes, reflecting the terror he was sure was in his own. His gaze jerked immediately to his child, then the truck sitting at an angle behind them.
The knot in his throat restricted his voice, but he tried again, his first fear for his daughter. He touched her cheek, then the dark blond hair that was so much like his own. "Hannah, are you all right?"
She gave a quick nod as a tremor shook her body.
"She was suddenly in front of me, Boss!" Emmet blurted, dropping from the driver’s seat to the ground. "I couldn’t stop. The brakes!" Emmet was barely out of his teens and right now his face was drained of all color. Droplets of sweat beaded his forehead as he rushed on, "This woman pulled Hannah out of the road - God Almighty! I thought I was gonna hit ‘em both."
"Sit down, Emmet." Garrett thought the young man looked ready to fall down.
Emmett pushed his lank dark hair from his forehead and dropped to the grass. "Yeah. I feel sick." He put his head against his up-drawn knees.
"Come here, Hannah."
The dark haired woman removed her arms from around his daughter. Hannah leaned toward him, her deep blue eyes awash with tears. "I’m sorry, Daddy. I know I’m not supposed to be down here. I was trying to catch Albert. I didn’t want him lost."
Garrett sucked in a deep draft of air. "Albert the cat? He’s long gone." The animal was nowhere in sight.
"Oh! Albert is gone!" Hannah launched herself into Garrett’s arms and began crying loudly. Garrett quickly checked her legs and arms for injury, all too aware of how his hands shook.
"You could have been hurt bad." His jaw hurt from holding it clenched. "It’s a good thing you’re so tough. Dammit, Hannah, I couldn’t take it if something happened to you, too."
"I’m not hurt Daddy, but Albert’s gone forever!" Hannah wailed, tears now streaming down her face.
Garrett felt the back of her head carefully, making himself stay calm for her benefit. No blood, no bumps. "Hannah, barn cats aren’t used to being carried around. Anyway, he takes better care of himself than you seem to be doing lately. Come on, we’ll go to the house and have Ruth check you and this young lady out." He stood and held his hand out to the woman who’d saved his daughter. "Thank you." Quickly, he added, "Are you all right?"
She nodded, taking the hand he held out, letting him help her to her feet. She pushed the hair back from her forehead. "I’m okay. At least nothing hurts."
Taking stock, he noted she wasn’t very big, maybe five feet six inches, well under his six-one height. She looked to be in her mid-twenties and had a slim, athletic build. He knew most of the people in Emerson, so she wasn’t a local. Deep brown eyes framed by dark lashes watched him warily, and he muttered a curse when he suddenly noticed a slight purplish bruising over her eye.
"You’ve hurt yourself." Concern made him gently touch the slight swelling about the size of a quarter. She gently moved his hand and explored the bruise with her own fingers.
"It’s nothing." She dismissed the injury with a lift of one shoulder as she stared at Hannah. "I don’t think your little girl got hurt, a bit shaken maybe. I’d definitely have her checked out."
"I intend to," he said. "It’s inadequate as hell but I’m sorry you’re hurt but darn happy you were on the spot." How had this happened? Garrett hated the unaccustomed moment of helplessness. She was a stranger on his property and she’d been hurt because of Hannah. For a brief moment he thought of the ramifications of a lawsuit.
"I didn’t see Hannah until the last minute," Emmet muttered, still sitting on the grass. He lifted his head. "I’m sorry Miss, for the scare you had."
"It appears no one’s hurt seriously. Thank God," the woman said. Looking into Hannah’s red, tear-streaked face, she asked gently, "Are you okay, honey?"
"I had my cat and now he’s gone," the child muttered. "You scared him away."
Garrett sighed with impatience. "Hannah, I can’t believe you were down here by the road." He kept a tight rein on the worry riding him. "This woman very likely saved your life. Don’t you think you should say something to her?"
Hannah jutted her lower lip and hunched a shoulder. "I was going to get out of the way by myself," she muttered sullenly, but not before Garrett had seen the flash of fear. "I wasn’t going to die!" Hannah pulled her hand from his and ran several feet up the driveway.
"Hannah!"
She stopped in her tracks but did not come back toward him. "Albert is gone." Her voice rose in pitch. "I’ll never see him again!" She pointed her finger at the woman. "It’s her fault!" Hannah turned and ran toward the house, ponytails flying out behind her. Garrett resisted ordering her back, knowing it would make the growing rift between them worse. But dammit, he couldn’t let her ride roughshod over him, either.
"Wait for me in your room!" he barked. Hannah hunched her shoulders and continued toward the house at a fast walk. Garrett closed his eyes and muttered, "Sometimes I wonder what the hell I know about raising a child."
Shaking his head, he looked over at the woman. "Sorry," he said ruefully. It wasn’t this woman’s fault she’d witnessed his apparent lack of control over a sixty-pound, eight-year old, but he hated like hell that she’d seen it anyway. "I’m Garrett McIntyre." He held his hand out again.
"Christie Jenkins." She took his hand in a firm shake, then released it and brushed at her jeans.
"My housekeeper is a retired emergency room nurse. I'd feel better if she took a look at that bruise before you leave."
Frowning, the woman -- Christie -- suddenly looked around. "My bag!" She twisted around. "Where’s my duffel bag?"
Garrett spotted it in the ditch, partly under the front wheel of the truck. His guts churned thinking of his daughter or this young woman in that ditch instead of the bag. "It’s right here."
Her apparent distress surprised him a bit. Warily, he said, "It looks okay. You’re not going to cry, are you?" Hannah’s mother had been a woman who lived solely on emotion. Life had been a constant in emotional highs and lows.
Christie sighed. "Of course not. I was surprised to see it under the wheel. Hopefully, nothing is crushed."
She pulled at the heavy canvas. Garrett gently urged her aside. "Let me get it."
Garrett signaled to Emmet to get on the opposite side of the front bumper. "If we rock this you can probably pull the bag free."
It only took a few rocks of the truck back and forth before the bag came free. Christie lifted the bag and loosened the drawstring to look inside. She didn't say anything but he saw her shoulders relax.
"That bag must be mighty important."
"It is, but no harm’s been done." She lifted her head, giving him a half smile. "Thank you."
"Yeah." He turned his attention to his hired hand and the hay wagon. "Emmet, see if you can find Sam. Have him bring the tractor with the winch and pull this thing out. I’ll call my mechanic."
"Sure, boss." Emmet scuffed his boots in the dirt, his face working. Finally, he said, "The brakes were a little spongy. I should have told you." Emmet swallowed. "Do you want me outta here?"
Garrett looked at the young man’s closed expression and realized Emmet expected to be fired. "I realize you’ve only be
en here a month, but I need any problems brought to my attention right away."
The woman stepped closer.
"This wasn’t anyone’s fault," she said quickly.
Pushing his hat back, Garrett studied her worried expression. Mildly, he said, "I don't plan to fire Emmet."
He looked at Emmet. "Take care of the truck. The hay will have to be unloaded if they need to work on it. I’ll talk to the mechanic and let you know."
Emmet tipped his hat, appearing relieved. "Okay, boss." He looked at the woman. "I’m glad you weren’t hurt, Ma’am." He left, walking up the drive toward the house and barns.
Garrett turned back to Christie, took in her dark, dusty jeans and what looked like once-white sneakers. Her blue T-shirt had pulled out of her jeans, exposing a small section of pale skin. She couldn’t weigh more than one-thirty, soaking wet. He rubbed his forehead with the back of his wrist. "It's been a heck of a day so far." He looked away from her, toward the house and shook his head. "My daughter . . .."
"I'd be worried too," she said. "No one needs that kind of trouble, a child getting hurt."
Garrett allowed himself a rueful smile. "If Hannah’s involved, there's always something going on."
Just then his yellow Labrador dog came streaking down the driveway, tail wagging furiously as she moved in eagerly against their legs. In her enthusiasm, she knocked against the woman. Quickly, Garrett said, "Bo Peep, that’s enough!" The dog backed up and sat down, then watched him with her head cocked to one side.
Christie knelt down and began to make a fuss of the dog. "Your dog’s name is Bo Peep?" she asked, a hint of humor curving her full lips as she looked up at him.
"My daughter’s idea. So Christie, tell me, what are you doing out here in the middle of pretty much nowhere?"
Her smile disappeared and she came to her feet once more. "I, uh, was on the road when I saw your daughter in trouble. Actually, I’m looking for Judith Kelly. The last address I have for her is this place."
The hair on the back of Garrett’s neck stood up and a band tightened around his chest. "Why?"
"Do you know her?"
Know her? Garrett stared at Christie, searching for God knew what. He saw only honest inquiry on her face. "Why do you ask?" he said instead, knowing there was an edge to his voice.
"She’s my sister. I need to find her."
"Christ." Garrett took a deep breath, then another. He cleared his head. "Judith had no family."
Now Christie’s eyes widened. "She left home a long time ago, but she had family."
"Can you prove that?"
"I-I can’t. At least, not at this moment. I had a letter from her."
"Let me see the letter."
"I don’t have it on me."
Beginning to feel annoyed, Garrett half turned away. "I need my housekeeper to look at your head and then I'll call you a taxi." Christie hurried behind him as he walked up the drive to the house.
"Listen, just tell her Christie’s here," she said urgently. "It's been a long time but I know she’ll see me."
"You can’t see her."
She grabbed his arm. "I’ve come a long way."
Garrett stopped, fighting the dull numbness inside his chest. He faced her squarely. "My wife - Judith, died almost two years ago."
Heartstealer Excerpt
by Grace Brannigan
Chapter One
Jacie’s stomach churned as she stared at the ground two thousand feet below. What insanity made her put herself through this punishment -- just to prove she wasn’t washed up as a stunt woman?
"Just do it," she muttered. "You've done it thousands of times before. Get your foot out the door and jump."
Automatically, she ran her fingers over her knee support and then the pull ring on her parachute harness. Lastly, she braced the toes of her boots against the door lip.
She had to jump. Skydiving was her life. It had always defined who she was; a member of her family’s business, Aerial Antics. Her brother Con would pull her off this job if he thought she wasn’t ready. She couldn’t go home with her tail between her legs. Her family would try to put her back in cotton wool. Again.
How long did she have to pay for one dumb mistake -- two -- if she counted the one she’d made thinking Brad loved her.
With a low growl of impatience, she stepped out and an updraft pulled her up and away from the plane. As she plunged downward, a flashback to her parachuting accident thirteen months ago at Angel Falls came dangerously close. She could see again that mountainous ledge of rock, nothing but water and uninhabited jungle below her, the glorious release as she began her freefall, and then her parachute failure. . ..
Her chute opened. Years of training took over and the tightness eased inside her chest. Of course she could do this, she’d been jumping far too long to stop now.
As the ground drew closer she pulled the shroud lines of her chute, spilling air to control her landing.
Clustered dots took on the shapes of people. A lone figure with a cowboy hat stood apart from the rest. An imp of mischief surfaced in Jacie. She’d alter her landing slightly and land near the guy with the cowboy hat.
As her feet touched solid earth a gust of wind lifted and pulled her forward, past the camera crews, past the gathered crowd. She caught a glimpse of surprised faces and then she came to a dead stop as her body lightly impacted with another. She had a fleeting impression of a hat flying through the air and they both fell to the ground in a tangle of arms, legs and billowing parachute.
Arms closed around her and held tight. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her forehead into a hard chest. Spicy cologne tantalized her nostrils.
When the rest of her senses kicked in she was amazed to find she lay straddled atop a very male body. Hard chest and long, long legs. The cowboy.
"I guess I came a tad too close to my mark," she managed, barely suppressing her laughter. His arms were like hard bands around her back. She stayed unmoving against a soft shirt, her nose pressed into a dusting of nose-tickling hair. Scents mingled. Horse and leather, that subtle touch of man.
The flapping of her parachute forced her to stop thinking about the body beneath her. She opened her eyes. Her blue and purple chute swept upward, then gently settled to cover them in a cocoon.
"Can I help you, ma'am?" drawled a deep, amused voice in her ear. The hard body beneath her had a sexy-as-all-get out voice to go with it.
Her body did a head to toe shiver. "I think you’ve already helped me land." She levered her body upward. "It seems a shame to move," she added, but peeled herself from that broad chest partially covered by blue cotton. The impact must have torn his buttons loose, because the shirt gaped open. She stared at his flat stomach and then down to his hair dusted navel. They weren't buttons on his shirt, they were snaps.
Jacie studied the wide shoulders, square chin and slightly curved mouth. Lazily she moved on to lean, tanned features. His expression showed tolerance, amusement, interest . . . then a guarded look dropped as hard blue eyes stared at her. Well, it had been interesting until he got that guarded look on his face.
His arms were now straight out on the ground. A soft sound escaped her lips, but no words. Oh dear. She tried again. "S-sorry . . . " she managed faintly, trying not to laugh again. "What an embarrassing first impression this is turning out to be!" He didn’t look amused now, but kind of stiff and probably too much of a gentleman to tell her to get off him. "I hope I didn’t hurt you when I caught you," she said apologetically. "Actually, I guess you caught me." Literally. She suddenly realized her knee was in a rather delicate area.
"It's not every day I can lay claim to stopping a runaway female," the man professed, blue eyes framed by the blackest of lashes.
"Not exactly a runaway," she admitted, tilting her head and grinning widely. "Though it looks like I've made a slight miscalculation in my landing."
He swept his arm up to catch the folds of the parachute and began to pull it off them.
Jacie let her glance linger on his mouth and a barely noticeable dimple. A jolt of sexual awareness hit her. She immediately stifled it, gulping back a groan. The man shifted his legs and sensation rocked her. He was all hard muscles and long limbs. After Brad, she’d vowed no men. . .no way. But for a moment as her glance lingered on a rock hard jaw and wide shoulders, that vow felt about as substantial as fairy dust. The hell with Brad.
She rolled sideways and off him as he fully released them from the parachute's silky folds.
"Aren’t you supposed to take wind shifts into consideration when doing a jump?" he asked. He sat up and dusted off his pants. His legs were encased in snug-fitting denims as faded as his shirt and he had well worn cowboy boots on his feet. He stood over her as he pulled off his gloves and stuffed them in a back pocket. Jacie measured his height against hers. Six three, maybe four to her five feet seven inches.
"Of course I take the wind into consideration." She told herself to focus, but it became impossible when his gaping shirt offered tantalizing glimpses of a man in superb physical shape. She tried to ignore the attraction nipping at her but for the moment gave it up as a losing battle.
His look turned questioning as he proceeded to snap his shirt. "Then you changed your target?" he asked with a hint of impatience.
"Guilty." She lifted her shoulders, thinking he looked like a man who had no time for nonsense. "Seemed like a good idea at the time." She didn’t tell him he’d presented a challenge, standing off by himself like that, as if he wasn’t impressed with her skydiving into the resort.
He did look pretty unimpressed. In fact, she guessed that right about now he was wondering who the fool was that had hired her to skydive into Timber Falls. Natural curiosity prompted her to ask, "Are you a guest at the ranch?"
"No." He looked past her toward the small crowd who had gathered for the jump. "Here come the others." With concern he quickly glanced up and down her scarlet jumpsuit. "You landed pretty hard, are you okay?"
Jacie saw him zero in on the knee support and then felt his sharp glance move up to her neck.
"You’ve hurt yourself," he added, reaching out a hand toward her.
Deception Page 10
