by B. J Daniels
“It was just a nightmare,” she whispered to herself as she stepped to the window, hoping for a breath of air…. That’s when she saw him.
He wore nothing but jeans and boots, a towel draped over one shoulder as he sauntered toward the pond.
He disappeared behind the trees. A moment later she heard a splash.
The sound pulled her—just as the thought of the cowboy in the cool water of the pond did.
She knew what could happen if she continued down to the pond. Just the thought sent a shiver through her. She took a step, then another. As she walked through the deep shadows of the trees, she felt excitement stir within her—and desire. She began to run.
At the edge of the trees, she stopped. She could see him swimming through the dark water, droplets washing over his brown skin, his back and shoulders shimmering in the moonlight.
She’d never seen a more beautiful man.
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
B.J. DANIELS
STAMPEDED
This book is dedicated to Deb Lorene Mallory,
a fan and fellow writer who has become a good friend.
Thanks again for being such a wonderful guide that weekend in
Billings. I had a great time and it was a treat to get to know you better.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
USA TODAY bestselling author B.J. Daniels wrote her first book after a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist. That first book, Odd Man Out, received a four-and-a-half-star review from RT Book Reviews and went on to be nominated for Best Intrigue that year.
Daniels lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, and two springer spaniels, Spot and Jem. To contact her, write to B.J. Daniels, P.O. Box 1173, Malta, MT 59538 or email her at [email protected]. Check out her website at www.bjdaniels.com.
Books by B.J. Daniels
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
996—SECRET OF DEADMAN’S COULEE*
1002—THE NEW DEPUTY IN TOWN*
1024—THE MYSTERY MAN OF WHITEHORSE*
1030—CLASSIFIED CHRISTMAS*
1053—MATCHMAKING WITH A MISSION*
1059—SECOND CHANCE COWBOY*
1083—MONTANA ROYALTY*
1125—SHOTGUN BRIDE‡
1131—HUNTING DOWN THE HORSEMAN‡
1137—BIG SKY DYNASTY‡
1155—SMOKIN’ SIX-SHOOTER‡
1161—ONE HOT FORTY-FIVE‡
1198—GUN-SHY BRIDE**
1204—HITCHED!**
1210—TWELVE-GAUGE GUARDIAN**
1234—BOOTS AND BULLETS†
1240—HIGH-CALIBER CHRISTMAS†
1246—WINCHESTER CHRISTMAS WEDDING†
1276—BRANDED‡‡
1282—LASSOED‡‡
1288—RUSTLED‡‡
1294—STAMPEDED‡‡
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Marshall Chisholm—The cowboy didn’t believe in a lot of things, including true love, until he met the beautiful psychic.
Alexa Cross—She’d spent her life keeping everyone at a distance to hide her secret. Could a house full of secrets and a neighboring cowboy change all that?
Landon Cross—He knew after he’d almost been killed in the old Wellington mansion that his sister Alexa was the only one who could save him.
Sierra Wellington Cross—It had been her idea to turn the old mansion into a bed-and-breakfast. But what else was she up to on those nights when her husband couldn’t find her?
Archer and Carolina Durand and Gigi and Devlin Landers—The two young couples had offered to help Sierra and Landon remodel the old mansion. But was it out of boredom or was something else going on in that house?
Jayden Farrell—He was the odd man out, the only single friend who’d come along to help with the house. But was his interest in the house—or its owner, Sierra?
Tallulah Cross—The famous psychic might be dead, but she wasn’t necessarily gone.
J. A. Wellington—Like the other Wellingtons, he’d left behind a deadly legacy along with the ghosts that haunted Wellington Manor.
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
“Alexa? Alexa, wake up.”
The five-year-old came awake with a start to find her mother beside her bed. Her heart thumped in her tiny chest.
“What is it, Mommy?” she asked, her voice breaking. Just the sight of her mother beside her bed in the middle of the night filled her with panic. She struggled to come out of her sleep. Had she been screaming in her sleep with another nightmare?
Sometimes when she had nightmares, she would wake up to find her mother beside her bed, standing motionless, staring down at her. Like now, her mother would have that strange, eerie look in her eyes, the one she got when she was working with her clients.
“Honey, I need you to sit up and do something for me.”
Alexa loved her beautiful mother with her long, curly black hair, her wide violet eyes so like her own and the face of an angel. But she couldn’t help the shiver that ran through her. Sometimes her mother scared her.
She rubbed sleep from her eyes and pushed herself up, blinking at the shaft of golden light that spilled across the floor from the hallway. Her mother always left the hall light on and the door cracked open a few inches because of Alexa’s nightmares. The light from the hallway illuminated the empty, dark walls of her cavelike room.
“What were you thinking, Tallulah?” Alexa’s father had demanded. “She’s a child, a little girl, she should have a room painted pink with stuffed animals on the bed and clouds painted on the ceiling—not horrible black walls.”
“The black walls will keep away the nightmares,” her mother had argued.
But they hadn’t. And her father had finally given up arguing and left before Alexa’s baby brother had come along, and he’d never come back.
“It wasn’t his spiritual path to be with us,” her mother had told her when Alexa cried for her daddy. She missed the way he would hold her when she was frightened, the way he would smooth her long, wild dark hair with his big hand and the way he would rock her with soothing words until she fell back to sleep.
He used to call what Tallulah did for a living total nonsense. “Don’t let it scare you, Alexa. It’s all just mumbo jumbo, stuff your mother makes up for the fools who are silly enough to pay her.”
“Alexa?” There was impatience in her mother’s tone now.
She loved her mother and would do anything for her. The last thing she wanted was to disappoint her.
But she had seen how happy it made her mother when everyone commented on how much Alexa looked like her. Tallulah Cross wanted her daughter to be just like her in every way, and that was what frightened her more than the nightmares.
“Honey, I need you to look down at the end of your bed. What do you see?”
Her tiny stomach turned. She sensed how important this was to her mother. But Alexa didn’t want to look. She wanted to close her eyes tight and make her mother and whatever might be at the end of the bed go away.
But she always did what her mommy asked her. She was her mommy’s good girl, her precious girl.
Alexa sat all the way up and took a breath, wrinkling her nose. The air smelled funny and she felt the way she did when she rubbed a balloon on her hair—her skin tingly, the s
pace around her filled with static. Her body began to tremble under the covers as she slowly turned to look toward the end of her bed.
Tallulah Cross made her living in a small room at the front of their house. She told fortunes to the tourists who came through town by looking into the future and talking to those who’d gone to the other side. Dead people.
Alexa had overheard her mother telling her friends that her greatest hope in life was that, along with her beauty, she had passed her “gift” on to her daughter. For a long time, Alexa hadn’t known what gift she was talking about.
Tonight, she knew. Just as she understood that this was a test and that if she wanted to be her mommy’s “precious little girl,” she must not disappoint her.
“What do you see, sweetie?” her mother asked, hope and something close to desperation in her voice.
Alexa tried not to flinch as she looked at the man standing at the end of her bed. He was tall. He stood funny, as if one leg was shorter than the other. But it was his face she would never forget, awake or asleep. Half of it was gone.
“You see the man, don’t you, sweetie?”
A sob caught in her throat. “No, Mommy.” It was the first lie she’d ever told and she instinctively knew it would come at a very high cost. But she didn’t want to be just like her mother, even though it would mean she was no longer her mommy’s special girl.
Alexa couldn’t bear to see her mother’s disappointment. Her heart ached as she closed her eyes, lay back down and pretended to go to sleep. It wasn’t until she heard her mother leave the room that she opened them again and looked toward the end of her bed, knowing the man was still there. Nor had he been fooled.
He stared at her with that one dark eye, then he gave her a conspiratorial wink and vanished.
Alexa shut her eyes tight, fighting tears. She didn’t want to see dead people. She didn’t want them to talk to her. She told herself she wouldn’t see them again. Nor would she see the future.
And she didn’t for twenty-three years.
Chapter One
Marshall Chisholm was no carpenter. He was learning that the hard way, he thought. He put down his hammer for the day and turned to gaze out at the Montana landscape through what would one day be his finished bay window.
While he spent most of his days on the back of a horse herding cattle, he’d fallen in love with this house the moment he’d seen it. Not that there was anything special about it—or even the view. The house was a two-story farmhouse that had been built in the late 1930s. But it had good bones, as they say, and it had spoken to him the moment he’d walked in. Not that he would ever admit that.
There was something about the place that appealed to him even though it had been vacant for many years. He’d known it would take a lot of work, but he’d been eager to get started on it.
Along with the house, Marshall liked the view of the rolling prairie. It stretched out across this vast part of Montana as if endless. Out here, he felt on top of the world. Through every window he could see to the horizon with nothing to break that view on three sides but sagebrush and Black Angus cattle—his family’s cattle.
The Chisholm Cattle Company ran more head of cattle than any other in the state and that took a lot of country. He also liked that as far as he could see, this was Chisholm land, most of it running to the horizon.
On the fourth side, the side this upstairs bedroom window faced, there were rolling grain fields and pasture, with only one structure on the horizon.
Marshall squinted as he noticed something different about the old three-story mansion in the distance. He’d looked at it many times since moving into this house. But this time he saw something odd.
Someone was over there.
That was such a rare occurrence that he picked up the binoculars he kept by the window and, peering through them, brought the huge mansion into focus.
He’d heard there had once been a small settlement around the mansion called Wellington, but all the other buildings had been gone for years. The only structure that remained was the monster of a mansion, or Wellington Manor as the locals called it.
The massive, old place must have dwarfed the other buildings that had been there years before and would have been ostentatious even in these times, let alone a hundred years ago. He’d heard stories for years about the family and the house, though he’d never believed them. People liked to think that old places had ghosts.
The last resident of Wellington Manor had died a year ago, an old spinster niece of the original owner, Jedidiah Wellington. Marshall had heard the place was tied up in an estate.
He frowned as he noticed there was a small red sports car parked under the cottonwood trees that flanked the house. The cottonwoods were fed by a small spring-fed creek that ended in a pond at the end of the row of trees. Marshall liked to swim in the pond since it was halfway between his house and the mansion.
As he scanned the scene, he saw that there was also a dark-colored large SUV parked behind the sports car.
How odd, he thought as he lowered the binoculars. Was it possible someone had bought the place? Or could it be squatters? His father had told him that drug dealers coming out of Canada would often stay in abandoned farmhouses, but he’d never seen anyone around Wellington Manor in the past year since it had been empty. The Canadian border was only about thirty miles away. The closest town to the south, Whitehorse, was another twenty miles. So the dirt road up to this part of the county didn’t get a lot of traffic—let alone tourists. He supposed it could be drug runners.
Marshall took one more look through the binoculars and saw yet another vehicle coming up the long tree-lined drive to the mansion, this one a small white SUV.
He didn’t know anyone who’d even been inside the mansion. Apparently Jedidiah Wellington and his family kept to themselves, and so had the old-maid niece who’d been the last one to live there.
His curiosity piqued and tired of carpentry work for the day, Marshall decided to saddle up and ride over to see what was going on.
ALEXA CROSS PULLED UP TO THE monstrous house with growing unease. The house looked like a hotel, looming three stories up with wings off four sides—not what she’d expected at all. When her brother had told her at the wedding that he and his new bride were remodeling her family’s old house in Montana, she’d pictured something smaller, set in the mountains with lots of rock and wood. Not this ugly monstrosity.
As she stared at the house, she thought of his recent call saying he needed her to come out for a visit. She’d heard something in his voice that had scared her.
“What’s wrong? Is it Sierra?”
“No,” Landon had said, clearly irritated. “My wife’s fine. We’re fine.”
Alexa wished now she’d never voiced her misgivings about her brother’s hasty marriage. But she couldn’t help worrying that he’d made a mistake and was now realizing it.
Both university students, Landon and Sierra had met while working in Yellowstone Park for the summer and had fallen in love. Alexa hadn’t even gotten a chance to meet Sierra before the wedding held at the old hotel at Mammoth Hot Springs until the day before the ceremony.
Sierra Wellington wasn’t the woman Alexa would have chosen for her brother, but she’d seen at once what had attracted Landon to the petite, pretty blonde. Landon, like Alexa, had taken after their mother. He had the curly, dark hair, the dark eyes and olive skin of what was rumored to be fortune-telling, gypsy ancestors.
The contrast between Landon and Sierra, Alexa was sure, had been part of their attraction for each other. That and a common denominator called Montana. Both had a tie to the state. Landon’s father had allegedly been born here—at least that was what their mother had told them. Neither Alexa nor Landon had ever met the man. Nor had their mother apparently bothered to get the man’s last name at the time of Landon’s conception.
Sierra’s roots ran deeper in Montana, with several generations of Montanans and a family house that still stood in what had been
a town named after her great-great-grandfather.
“It’s this house,” her brother had said on the phone. “There’s something wrong with it.” When Landon had told her about the idea he and Sierra had to turn the mansion she’d inherited into a bed-and-breakfast, Alexa hadn’t shared their enthusiasm.
“You mean structurally?” she’d asked, relieved it was nothing more earth-shattering than a construction problem. Neither her brother nor his wife knew anything about running a bed-and-breakfast, and Alexa questioned the feasibility when the closest town was Whitehorse—apparently a small western town with a declining population. Not to mention that this wide-open prairie part of Montana wasn’t the one most tourists came to see.
She’d kept her reservations about their plan to herself though, fearing alienating her brother, who seemed as excited about the prospect as his wife.
“I know this is asking a lot, but I need you to come out here,” Landon had said. “I want you to see the house and tell me what you think. What do you say, sis?”
What could she say? He was her only family, since their mother had died a year ago. She would do anything for him and he knew it. Also she felt honored that he wanted her opinion.
