Nothing for a long moment, and then a bleak little, “Yeah. Safe.”
And Emm knew it would be a very long time before her sister felt either safe—or whole—again.
About a year later, Yancy, her hair cut fashionably short so it framed her beautiful face, walked into the Hoover building to meet her very pregnant, very busy sister. She’d lived on Ross’s good graces for only a couple of months before she’d insisted on getting a job. She’d decided to give Texas a try because she really had nothing holding her in Baltimore.
She’d dusted off her clerical skills and gone to work for a local law firm, but after the wedding, when Emm had officially been added to the deeds of the Hoover and Draper buildings and started the redevelopment, Yancy had yielded to her pleas and helped her with all the legal and administrative tasks Emm despised.
Sometimes, she even talked a bit about Jennifer.
Emm knew her own pregnancy was a boon, not just to her and Ross, who could scarcely keep their hands off each other, but to Yancy as well. Babies meant a new beginning, even after terrible grief.
Yancy had watched Trey a few times after Emm introduced her to Jasmine, and the three women were now fast friends. Abby occasionally joined them when she came into town for business. She’d arrived today for her first tour of the buildings and had already made a very sensible, logical suggestion to fix one of Emm’s design dilemmas.
Today, three months before her due date, Emm was giving Jasmine and Abby a tour of the upper-floor apartment she was having constructed for her and Ross as a place for them in town.
Yancy was following along with the plans on an iPad. She’d converted the document to digital herself after taking a CAD course, pointing at the area on the plans Emm was struggling with while Abby peered over her shoulder. All three women were discussing the issue when Chad and Ross entered the foyer.
Ross bellowed, “Where’s my not so little woman?”
Emm yelled back, “And whose fault is that? Where’s my dinner? I’m hungry.” She grinned at Jasmine and Yaney. All four women went to the balcony, which overlooked the lobby.
“You’re always hungry,” Ross said, grinning foolishly up at his wife.
Chad and Ross bounded up the steps. “Jasmine, don’t get any ideas,” Chad warned, stopping two steps down when he saw Jasmine standing next to rounded Emm. Ross finished the climb, grinning as he watched the debate.
Blinking innocently, Jasmine looked at Chad. “What ideas?” She caressed Emm’s stomach.
Emm held her hand there. “Feel him kick?” They knew it was a boy. Because Emm had turned thirty-nine during her pregnancy, they’d had all the latest tests.
Chad pretended horror. “Good grief, what if it’s catching?”
Ross put his arm around his wife and grinned at her. “Yeah, what if it is? Three boys is better than two, I’ve heard. More compromise.”
Chad pushed his hat back. “Yeah, not when they’re led by a little terror who’s too much like his namesake.” Trey was entering his terrible twos, and Chad was still learning to be a father. He’d resisted Jasmine’s efforts to talk him into another child. So far.
But he was wobbling.
Ross winked slyly at Jasmine. “You just need to whip up some more fried chicken. That’ll soften him up.”
Jasmine hooked her arm with Chad’s. “Good idea. Would you all like to come out this weekend? I promise not to burn it this time.”
Pulling her close, Chad drawled, “I know of something else that would work for sure.”
“What’s that?” Jasmine smiled up at him.
“A leather harness suspended from the beams.”
Jasmine whacked him as the others laughed. Abby looked mystified, but her rare laugh made the others smile when Emm whispered in her ear.
Then all of them trailed after Emm as she continued the tour. Emm was literally glowing, partly from the pregnancy but mostly from happiness.
Abby trailed behind, bringing up the rear, feeling a bit like an intruder.
And if somewhere, deep inside, she was both a bit envious and a bit melancholy at the sight of the happy couples, she didn’t show it.
Yancy dropped back to join her. She saw the look on Abby’s face and hooked arms with her. “All this domestic bliss makes me want to toss my cookies. Would you like to go with me to this cute little dive bar I’ve found?”
Abby wasn’t precisely certain what a dive bar was, but she really liked Yancy, who in her own way was just as unconventional and secure in her own skin as she was. “I would enjoy that immensely.”
And off the two women went.
The other four didn’t even notice.
Read on for a glimpse of Colleen Shannon’s first Texas Ranger,
Foster Justice, available wherever ebooks are sold!
“Intense romantic suspense with a sexy edge.”
—Tanya Anne Crosby
New York Times best-selling author
One Riot, One Ranger . . .
That’s the Texas Ranger motto, but when Chad Foster’s rebellious brother goes missing, it’s time to put his elite training to use investigating a crime that strikes much closer to home. Turning Los Angeles inside out to retrieve Trey and save their ranch from a ruthless land grab is a no-brainer, even if it puts his badge at risk. His only lead is a heart-stoppingly sensuous exotic dancer with a very tempting butterfly tattoo, the woman who helped scam his brother out of their ranch. But staying on top of this redhead’s every suggestive word and sensual move means putting his case—and his heart—right in the line of fire....
A Texas Ranger, complete with quarter horse, is as out of place in downtown LA as a lawman is in the bed of a suspect, but with both their lives at risk, Chad has to put his trust in the one woman who could bring him down for good, and pray that somehow hard evidence is really just a pack of lies....
CHAPTER 1
As rustlers went, they were better’n most, Chad Foster decided, caressing his AR-15 rifle mounted with a night vision scope. The thieves, probably the same ones he’d been chasing all over the Panhandle, had herded his cattle up to this plateau far above the canyon floor, giving the Black Angus little room to escape being forced into the huge trailer. Still, pursuing lawbreakers as part of his job and finding them rustling his own private stock were two different things.
Keeping his spirited stallion, Chester, still with his knees, Chad peeked around the outcropping, gauging distance and angle. If he aimed just right, he should be able to take out enough tires on one side to cripple their rig. Then what? He was one man, on a horse, against three hardened criminals in a huge tractor trailer.
While he contemplated his options, a Texas sunset painted Palo Duro Canyon in golden and red hues of blood and glory. The rays winked off his distinctive Texas Ranger Lone Star badge like a warning light. But the scroungy wannabe cowboys were too busy to notice, zipping around on ATVs, corralling steers toward their cattle trailer. Chad’s lip curled. No matter how fancy their rig, likely stolen, too, Chad viewed rustlers on a par with worms and strippers: the only critters too low to fall down.
Cattle prices had finally gone up enough to make it worthwhile for a part-time rancher. Should be just enough profit to catch up on those back taxes Trey had let slide. He wasn’t about to lose the cattle now—even if he was outgunned and outnumbered. Hell’s bells, the old Ranger motto was still as valid today as it had been when coined over a century ago: “One riot, one Ranger.” His decision made, in his usual to-hell-with-the-consequences fashion, Chad eased out of hiding while the rustlers were busy with the trailer latch. He reined Chester around the outcropping to take careful aim at a huge rear tire.
A stray steer spooked Chester. The stallion whinnied and reared. Looking up, the rustlers spotted him. In his cowboy hat, chaps, and spurs, with the rearing sorrel quarter horse reddish against a violet sky, Chad was an image right out of the Old West, when retribution was more than a fancy word. Getting the message, they abandoned their ATVs for the tru
ck.
Chad needed both hands to calm Chester, the rifle slung over his shoulder, and by the time he was able to take steady aim, the perps had fired up the huge diesel and stirred up a cloud of dust, leaving him choking in their wake. He squinted, his eyes tearing as he tried to sight, but the scope was useless in all this dust. He shouldered the rifle and kicked Chester into a gallop, moving at an angle that would cut them off at the dirt road leading off the plateau.
Then, to his shock, he realized the huge vehicle, with a screeching of brakes and spitting of dirt and rock, had done a one-eighty, driving back toward the canyon edge. Chad wheeled Chester around to keep pace. The truck’s lights pierced the haze of dirt and dusk, blinding spooked and confused cattle. Behind them was the canyon rim; in front loomed that huge mechanical monster.
While Chad stared, trying to figure out what in tarnation the rustlers were trying, the truck lurched forward, Klaxon horn honking, lights blinking, rock chunks spitting as it came, startling several steers. The confused cattle took the path of least resistance and ran away—straight toward the canyon edge, less visible in the growing gloom.
God Almighty, they were forcing the steers over the edge just to spite him! Chad looked frantically around, but he had no backup and little inspiration, only hard choices.
Lose his herd, or risk his life to stop the stampede. On horseback.
In the end, the choice wasn’t difficult. He had no wife, no kids, and no girlfriend. In fact, he only had three things he valued in life: one little brother who hated his guts, the fourth-generation Amarillo ranch that had bred them both, and The Job. And if he let these assholes buffalo him, he’d risk all three.
The truck gained speed, horn blaring, and the milling cattle went from a lope to a panicked stampede. At this rate they’d be over the rim in minutes. Spurring Chester into a flat-out gallop, Chad bent low over his stallion’s neck, leaping over boulders, down a small gully, back up the other side. But the rough path allowed him to cut in front of the truck and ride alongside the herd, perilously close to the canyon edge.
However, Chester had been a cow pony all his life, and he’d herded panicked cattle before. They wove through the milling herd, slowing some of the laggards a bit more with their diagonal passage. Chad pulled his rifle and fired at boulders above the lead steer’s head. Bits of rock sprayed the steer in the face, making him snort and slow a bit, but that damnable horn blared again.
Roaring, the engine revved into a higher gear, brights flashing, and the slowing stampede picked up speed. They were halfway to the edge now, a sheer drop two hundred feet to the canyon floor.
Chad sped up again. He could risk everything and try to get in front far enough to herd them around, or take on the truck now and to hell with the herd. Or he had one shot to do both. Urging Chester to the edge of the stampede again so he could gain speed on the outside, Chad guided Chester with his knees and sighted back over his shoulder as he rode, trusting his horse with his life.
Holding his breath and letting the rhythm take him, Chad became part of Chester, feeling the rise and fall of each step, his hands steady on his rifle. He sighted at the horn as it blew a fresh clarion. Bam! The shot landed dead center, killing the horn’s bellow with a gush of air.
Next he aimed at the headlights. He hit one before Chester stumbled slightly, and Chad almost went flying. He had to let the rifle sling back over his shoulder while he grabbed the reins. They were galloping even with the lead cattle, and he urged Chester faster, putting distance between him and the head of the herd.
Ten feet, twenty, thirty, fifty . . .
Just before the canyon rim, Chad wheeled Chester like the quarter horse he was, damn near on a dime, sighting again before he stopped. Chester’s hooves broke rock off the crumbling edge. One part of Chad registered the rockslide he’d started and how long it took the rocks to hit the canyon floor, but the coolest part of his brain calculated distance and angle.
The other headlight was smack dab in his crosshairs. Pling! The last light went out. The truck slowed, downshifting again. Taking advantage of that hesitation, Chad shot repeatedly now at the rocks littering the path of the stampede leader. The steer blinked and bawled as rocks scoured its face, slowing as it shook its head.
Chad shot a scrubby tree into bits, more litter blocking the lead steer’s path. It slowed again. The cattle in back, now that they weren’t blinded and spooked by the horn and lights, had also slowed. But the truck, idling for an ominous moment, began to speed up again, gears grinding. The cattle in back shied away.
Glad he’d put in his biggest clip, Chad fired at the lead cattle again, grazing hooves. They stumbled. A couple fell, slowing the ones behind.
But they were close, too close, a mere thirty feet away now.
He had one chance to avoid being swept over the canyon rim by his own herd, and he took it, firing at the rig’s tires. One blew, two, three on one side, and the truck began to lurch, slowing as the front axle hit the ground.
Chad tried to fire in front of the lead cattle again and cursed when he heard an empty click. They’d slowed a lot, but were still coming. Using the only weapon he had left, Chad cued Chester into a rear and roared at the top of his lungs, wildly waving his rifle over his head, hoping he loomed large and terrifying against the dying sunlight.
Chester whinnied, pawing the air. Ten feet away, the lead steer veered to the side rather than face the angry quarter horse.
The rear cattle milled around again, confused.
Chad was able to whack the last few cattle away from the rim and make his way toward the rig. It lay skewed on one side as Chad quickly put in another loaded clip and reined Chester toward the driver-side door, rifle pointed.
He was expecting it, so when he saw movement in the gloom, he fired. Yelling in pain, the driver dropped the pistol he’d been aiming at Chad’s head. Chad fired at the passenger-door side, too, and it slammed shut.
Holding the rifle steady on the driver, Chad appeared at the window, his angular, grimy face as hard as the landscape around them. “Haven’t you heard, boys? Beef’s bad for you. Especially when it isn’t yours.” He waved the rifle at them. “Out. This side, all of you.”
The driver got out first, cursing a blue streak Chad ignored. His men followed. “Put your hands on the side of the truck.” They did so. Still seated on his horse, Chad ignored his handcuffs and pulled his lariat.
“Lean back away from the truck.” When they obeyed, Chad neatly hooked the leader around the waist, and got down and tied the hands of the next two men with the same rope, turning them into a cowboy-style chain gang. He cinched the other end of the rope around Chester’s saddle horn.
“Hey, mister, what you doing? You don’t mean to walk us back all that long way! In the dark?” protested the lead rustler.
Chad kneed Chester, forcing them to stumble along behind. “You put me in a mind to herd something. It’s only, say, twenty miles back to headquarters. We’ll see how much piss and vinegar you have then.” Settling back in his saddle, Chad ignored their bitching and walked them down the road, through peacefully grazing cattle.
He debated calling Trey to let him know he wouldn’t be in until morning, but it was a useless courtesy since little brother was probably stone-cold drunk. Like usual. Over a woman not worth a hat tippin’, as his daddy would say.
Colleen Shannon grew up in West Texas, where the skies are as limitless as the tales told by its many colorful residents. Surrounded by oil men, lawyers, and drillers in a community that has produced two presidents and many national leaders and businessmen, Colleen grew up reading and writing stories of every kind. After college, when she married and was expecting her first child, she used a scrap computer to write her first romance. She sold it herself in less than a year, and at the age of twenty-six began a new career and never looked back. The strength of her first book led to her nomination by Romantic Times as Best New Historical Author. She went on to win or be nominated for many other awards, and her fift
een single title releases have appeared on numerous bestseller lists. She has well over a million books in print.
Her newest release is from Kensington, a romantic suspense, her first published contemporary. It is planned as the first in a series about modern Texas Rangers, another interest of Colleen’s because her ancestor, a Texas Ranger, was one of the first people buried in Brown County cemetery, Texas. Another one of her ancestors was a signatory to the Texas Declaration of Independence.
Visit her at:
www.colleenshannonauthor.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/RomanceWriter?ref=h1
Twitter: Colleen Shannon@bookwriter2001
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
LYRICAL PRESS BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2015 by Colleen Shannon
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Lyrical and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.
First Electronic Edition: July 2015
eISBN-13: 978-1-60183-295-5
eISBN-10: 1-60183-295-8
ISBN: 978-1-6018-3295-5
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