A Rancher's Vow
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He turned to look at her—even more stunning than she’d been a couple of hours before when he’d married her. If that were possible…
“Reed?” Alcina asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m just thinking. Trying to shake the tension of the big day.”
Suddenly the moment was here and he was struck dumb. He had to say something to get the ball rolling.
“Don’t worry. I won’t let anything interfere with my…uh…my husbandly duties.”
She laughed. “Your what?”
“I know we both think of this marriage as a kind of business deal, but—”
“But what?” she asked, her amusement vanishing. “Are you saying that you’re willing to put yourself out to seal the deal, so to speak?”
Heck, he’d gone and said the exact wrong thing. He’d never been good with fancy words. He was better at doing. Stepping toward Alcina, he slipped his arms around her back and brushed her lips with his.
“You’re my wife now,” he said simply. “And we both have our…physical needs….”
Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,
The thrills never stop at Harlequin Intrigue. This month, get geared up for danger and desire in double helpings!
There’s something about a mysterious man that makes him all the more appealing. In The Silent Witness (#565), Alex Coughlin is just such a man on assignment and undercover. But can he conceal his true feelings for Nicki Michaels long enough to catch a killer? Join Dani Sinclair and find out as she returns to FOOLS POINT.
The search for the truth is Clay Jackson’s only focus—until he learns the woman he never stopped loving was keeping the biggest secret of all…a baby. See why Intimate Secrets (#566) are the deepest with author B.J. Daniels.
Patricia Rosemoor winds up her SONS OF SILVER SPRINGS miniseries this month. Reed is the last Quarrels brother to go the way of the altar as he enters a marriage of convenience with the one woman he thought he’d never have, in A Rancher’s Vow (#567).
Finally, welcome multitalented author Jo Leigh as she contributes her first Harlequin Intrigue title, Little Girl Found (#568). She also begins a three-month bonanza of books! Look for her titles from Harlequin American Romance (June) and Harlequin Temptation (July). You won’t be sorry.
Gripping tales of mystery, suspense that never lets up and sizzling romance to boot. Pick up all four titles for the total Harlequin Intrigue experience.
Sincerely,
Denise O’Sullivan
Associate Senior Editor
Harlequin Intrigue
A Rancher’s Vow
Patricia Rosemoor
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Patricia Rosemoor is the recipient of the 1997 Career Achievement Award in Romantic Suspense from Romantic Times Magazine.
To research her novels, Patricia is willing to swim with dolphins, round up mustangs or howl with wolves. “Whatever it takes to write a credible tale,” she says. She even went to jail for a day—as a guest of Cook County—to research a proposal.
Ms. Rosemoor holds a Master of Television degree and a B.A. in American literature from the University of Illinois. She lives in Chicago with her husband, Edward, and their three cats.
Books by Patricia Rosemoor
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
38—DOUBLE IMAGES
55—DANGEROUS ILLUSIONS
74—DEATH SPIRAL
81—CRIMSON HOLIDAY
95—AMBUSHED
113—DO UNTO OTHERS
121—TICKET TO NOWHERE
161—PUSHED TO THE LIMIT
163—SQUARING ACCOUNTS
165—NO HOLDS BARRED
199—THE KISS OF DEATH
219—TORCH JOB
243—DEAD HEAT
250—HAUNTED
283—SILENT SEA
291—CRIMSON NIGHTMARE
317—DROP DEAD GORGEOUS
346—THE DESPERADO
361—LUCKY DEVIL
382—SEE ME IN YOUR DREAMS*
386—TELL ME NO LIES*
390—TOUCH ME IN THE DARK*
439—BEFORE THE FALL
451—AFTER THE DARK
483—NEVER CRY WOLF*
499—A LOVER AWAITS
530—COWBOY JUSTICE
559—HEART OF A LAWMAN**
563—THE LONE WOLF’S CHILD**
567—A RANCHER’S VOW**
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Reed Quarrels—He would do anything to save the ranch and win his father’s approval, even if it meant marrying the daughter of his father’s nemesis.
Alcina Dale—She agreed to a business arrangement with Reed, because she’d always loved him.
Emmett Quarrels—His manipulations were for naught this time.
Tucker Dale—His search for the truth led to danger.
Reba Gantry—The café owner knew too much.
Cesar Cardona—The developer was looking for his next land acquisition.
Vernon Martell—The neighboring rancher had no scruples when it came to increasing the size of his spread.
Hugh Ruskin—The bartender knew more than he should about everyone in town.
To my editor, Angela Catalano, for her patience
and understanding.
Thanks to my writing friends who went beyond the
call of duty and got me where I needed to be—
Catherine Andorka, Sherrill Bodine, Arlene Erlbach,
Cheryl Jefferson, Jody Lowenthal, Jude Mandell,
Sue Myers, Rosemary Paulas and Elaine Sima.
And special thanks to Linda Sweeney for jogging
my brain when it stalled out.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
Prologue
Silver Springs, New Mexico
Curly-Q Ranch
For a moment, he glanced at Prudence Prescott Quarrels, who did look beautiful, he supposed, as all brides should on their wedding day.
“Congratulations!” He slapped the groom on the back. “You have yourself some new wife there.”
“Thanks.” Grinning like an idiot, Chance Quarrels pumped his hand. “I think so, too.”
“So what are your plans? Where are you gonna settle down?”
“Right here on the Curly-Q, of course.”
“Hmm. I thought your pa had a full house right now, with your brother Bart and his kids.”
“We’ll be staying with Pru’s sister until we work something out.” Chance was obviously distracted. “Listen, I’d better get back to Pru before she accuses me of deserting her again.”
“You go on then.”
Smiling to himself, he watched the unsuspecting cowboy hurry to his new wife’s side—he was a fool in love with no thoughts but those prompted by his youthful libido.
They would all be unsuspecting today, he knew, looking around at the crowd of more than a hundred. A day of celebration. Of giving thanks.
No one would be thankful before the night ended, however. He’d see to that.
He chuckled to himself as he moved to his vehicle through the knots of relatives and friends and neighbors, well-wishers all. They were also lambs, so to speak, without a suspicious thought in their heads.
And why should there be any doubt-sayers on such a glorious mid-November day?
He swept his gaze over the grounds until he found his real quarry. Emmett Quarrels. L
ook at him smiling, puffing out his chest in pride…
The fear of God had not been put into the old man yet. Unbelievable as it seemed, Quarrels was not getting the message that his situation was serious.
This message would be closer to home and delivered right under his nose. Under everyone’s noses. He’d be right in their midst and no one would be able to point a finger his way. No one would even suspect him.
That was the beauty of his plan.
From the back of his vehicle, he dug out the special wedding present that he’d hidden under a tarp and strolled along the buildings with the elegantly wrapped package tucked under one arm. No one even looked at him twice.
A very unique wedding present, indeed, he thought with a wry laugh.
They’d all get a blast out of it later.
Chapter One
The dog’s eyes no longer held suspicion when they gazed at him, but still she remained curled on the floor, shoulder wedged against the passenger seat, as Reed Quarrels pulled his truck onto the washboard dirt road that signaled the start of Curly-Q land.
He soon stopped, hopped out and swung open the metal pipe-and-wire gate to his past.
The dog limped along behind him and stopped to sniff around a twisted cypress. Reed didn’t rush her. Who knew how long she’d been starving and sick and wounded. He didn’t mind giving her a few minutes of privacy.
Fetching a jug of water from the back of the truck, Reed poured himself a cup. He took a long swallow and looked out over the New Mexican land he hadn’t seen in more than a year and which, a lifetime ago, he had mistakenly assumed would be his to run. He’d smartened up more than a dozen years ago, though, and had gone his own way.
Worn cedar and barbed-wire fences surrounded yellowing grasses. A handful of mostly white-faced cattle grazed nearby, and there were more, he knew, in the canyon below. Nearly sixty thousand acres of rich, volcanic-based grasslands as far as the eye could see were broken down into manageable, gated pastures. Reed swept his gaze over the high desert country—almost seven thousand feet—across the long-deserted mining area in the foothills, to the Sangre de Cristo Mountains in the distance.
Closer—only a few feet away—the dog was staring at him expectantly. Reed refilled the cup and, hunkering down to her level, held it out. Her pointed nose dipped into the water, but her gaze never left his face.
“You trust me a little, huh?” he murmured.
In answer, her tail moved slightly, an imitation of a real wag.
“Poor girl.” He stared at her ragged, infected ear and only hoped she would trust him enough to let him take care of it later. He hadn’t tried touching her yet. “You’ve had a rough time, haven’t you? But your luck just changed. You can count on me to take care of things.”
Despite the hamburger he’d bought her earlier, the dog had a hungry look that he figured would stay with her a spell. So he fetched a piece of jerky from his jeans jacket. She practically swallowed it whole.
“That’ll have to do you for a little while. Shouldn’t eat too much all at once anyhow. You’d be sick.”
He rose and moved toward the pickup. The dog jumped in ahead of him and settled back on the floor. She’d ridden there all the way from the truck stop where he’d found her. Not that she’d come to him right off—she’d been terrified and he’d had to wait her out—the reason he’d missed his own brother’s wedding. Well, the ceremony, anyway, the celebration was undoubtedly just starting.
Or was the dog an excuse?
If not the dog, would he have found another reason to delay his homecoming?
Not because of Chance, though…
Reed moved the pickup to the other side of the fence, got out, closed the gate and clambered back behind the wheel, a ritual to be repeated all over the large ranch.
Howard Siles had summoned him in person. Pa’s lawyer had located all three of the Quarrels boys—each the sole fruit of one of Emmett Quarrels’s three disastrous marriages. The lawyer had given Reed the good news-bad news that had cut past his reluctance to bring him home.
The Curly-Q had been turned into a family corporation because Emmett Quarrels was dying.
Pa dying…
Reed could hardly believe it. The old man was too ornery to die.
But Chance was back. And Bart. Reed had called the ranch and had talked to his older half brother the week before only to learn that life on the spread wasn’t rosy. Lots of bad-luck incidents, as Pa liked to call them, one after the other, and the Curly-Q was broke, the mortgage in arrears.
Bart hadn’t elaborated, but Reed was uneasy, nevertheless. A sense of doom which he tried shaking away, hung over his head. The old feelings were crowding him, nothing more. He needn’t allow his imagination to run away with him over a couple of accidents.
So why didn’t he feel more relaxed?
The pickup lumbered past the scale house where cattle on the way to market would be weighed before being shipped off to auction. No cows or calves in the corral now, Reed noted. He hoped the calves hadn’t all been sold off. Beef prices were too damn low. They’d undoubtedly get more per pound in the spring, and the calves would be yearlings and weigh a lot more, as well. They were lucky that the heart of the protected canyon was prime grazing land, even in winter.
Reaching the piñon and ponderosa pine–limned rimrock, the road dotted with dark green cedar, rusting scrub oak and grayish juniper bush, Reed started the descent into the canyon cut by Silverado Creek, which twisted and turned and rushed across the Curly-Q. The vehicle dipped and bounced its way down hairpin curves, while red dust swirled around him.
The buildings spread out below, and beyond them, people spread out like a colony of ants. The wedding celebration was in progress.
As if nothing were wrong…
Things were wrong or he and his brothers wouldn’t have been summoned home, and Reed knew in his gut that the wrong went beyond Pa’s illness. If things didn’t come together right quick, the Curly-Q would be a thing of the past. But Bart was a lawman at heart, and Chance had been content alternating between day work and rodeoing for years. He was the only one who’d ranched all his life.
Now that Pa was incapacitated, Reed figured that without him, the spread would fast go back to desert. Or become part of another ranch. Or be divided and built on—another fancy housing development like that Land of Enchantment Acres he’d seen on the other side of Silver Springs. Ripe pickings for foreigners, he thought. Those southern Californians would move right in.
The Curly-Q needed him.
Pa needed him.
Reed wondered if the old man had figured that out, at last.
HEARING ANOTHER VEHICLE pull up beyond the ranch house, Alcina Dale turned away from Chance and Pru’s daughter only for a moment. Chance’s twelve-year-old niece, Lainey, had insisted on taking posed photographs of the happy couple before the party began in earnest, and Alcina had volunteered to watch the bride and groom’s little redheaded daughter.
And now she was watching for the man who hadn’t shown for his own brother’s wedding, she realized, chastising her foolish self and quickly returning her attention where it belonged.
Unfortunately, those few seconds of inattention had been more than enough time for the two-year-old to get herself into mischief. The toddler had headed straight to the nearby table that groaned with food for the wedding supper. She was now rocking on tiptoe and reaching both hands high over her head.
“Hope, honey, no!” Alcina cried as the toddler got her fingers on a platter piled with barbecued ribs.
She made a dive for the child as the platter wobbled and a couple of ribs slid off the mound and onto Hope. One slab zapped straight down the front of Alcina’s yellow dress that she’d bought to wear as Pru’s bridesmaid. Unhurt, Hope shrieked with laughter and lunged for her honorary aunt.
Alcina made her second mistake when she hauled the saucy little girl up into her arms.
“What am I going to do with you?” she asked, even as Hope lau
ghed again, touching Alcina’s face and hair with sticky fingers.
“Maybe we should dunk the little hoyden in the horse trough and be done with it.”
This came from a laughing Felice Cuma. The housekeeper set another platter on the table—homemade enchiladas with green sauce. Felice had cooked her heart out for the wedding supper—fried chicken, pork tamales, posole, mashed potatoes, beans and more. She’d been the one to insist it be held here on the ranch so she could do for Chance, who was as much a son to her as if she’d given birth to him. Alcina knew Chance felt the same sort of love for Felice, who’d raised him after his biological mother had abandoned him.
Felice shook her head as she retrieved the fallen ribs. “Well, the dogs will get a treat,” she muttered, carrying the dust-covered meat away from the table and toward the stables where they’d been locked out of the way.
The wedding celebration was being held in the freshly mowed pasture directly behind the sprawling ranch house. A band was setting up by the portable dance floor across the way—once the music got going, everyone would no doubt dance until dark. Not much in the way of entertainment in these parts, Alcina thought, so she was certain the good citizens of Silver Springs would take advantage where they could.
Tables and chairs had been laid out, many under the cottonwoods, but at the moment, most of the hundred or so guests were milling about, getting drinks and talking up a storm. Luckily, the weather was with them. Though it was late November, the sky was a brilliant blue and the afternoon had warmed nearly to seventy.
Alcina was thinking that Chance and Pru couldn’t have asked for a more perfect wedding day, when she glanced up into a familiar set of brown eyes that warmed her from the inside.
“Reed,” she choked out, the breath catching in her throat, and she realized the vehicle she’d heard had been his.
She took a good long look at him. He was wearing creased tan trousers, polished snakeskin boots and a dress shirt buttoned to the throat and held there by a string tie with a jasper catch. He’d filled out some, but he wasn’t an imposing man, not like Bart or Chance. Still, he had his own brand of appeal.