by Rita Herron
He’d fallen in love with her, with her kindness and compassion, with her strength, with the way she loved her son and helped others.
But what did he have to offer?
He was a loner who worked a dangerous job. What kind of father would he be?
He wanted to be like Joe McCullen.
The past week he’d spent hours visiting and getting to know the family. They’d taken him in as if he’d always been part of them. He’d also gotten to know Deputy Roan Whitefeather, who turned out to be his half brother. The McCullens had even welcomed Myra into the fold.
He studied the piece of ranch land they’d given him to build on with emotion in his throat. He had a home here if he wanted it.
He did want it. But he didn’t want it alone.
What are you going to do about it?
Damn. He swung the SUV around and headed toward Tia’s, even though doubts filled him as he left the ranch. Tia had been burned by so many people. She’d admitted she didn’t trust anyone. Darren had betrayed and hurt her.
What if she didn’t want him?
* * *
TIA FINISHED HER morning coffee as she read Jordie a story. Granted, he was too young to really understand, but he seemed to like the sound of her voice.
The doorbell buzzed just as she laid him in the crib. She hurried to the door, brushing her hair into place as she went, then peeked through the window.
Ryder’s SUV.
The fear she’d lived with when Jordie was missing returned, yet she reminded herself he was safe now. Richard Blotter and Judy were in jail. Frost had died.
Her son was home and no one would take him from her again.
She took a deep breath and opened the door. Ryder stood in front of her, looking big and tough and so handsome that her lungs literally squeezed for air again.
“Tia?”
His face looked so strained that fear returned. “Is something wrong?”
He shook his head. “No. Can I come in?”
She swept her arm in a wide arc. “Of course.”
“How are you and Jordie doing?” he asked.
She glanced toward the nursery door. “Good. I...still get nervous sometimes when I put him in his room, but I have a security system now and baby monitors everywhere.”
He nodded, his body rigid. Finally he released a breath. “Would you and Jordie like to take a ride with me?”
She rubbed at her temple. “A ride?”
“Yes, I have something to show you.” His dark gaze softened. “Trust me.”
She did, with every fiber of her being. “All right, I’ll get him. But you’ll have to put my car seat in your SUV, or we can take my minivan.”
“I’ve got it covered.”
He had a car seat?
She didn’t ask questions, though. She went and scooped Jordie up, then wrapped him in his blanket. Ryder brushed his finger over Jordie’s head, his expression tender.
“He’s growing.”
“I know,” Tia said, proud that the ordeal hadn’t stunted him.
They walked outside together and he opened the back door for her to settle her baby in the infant seat.
“Does he mind car rides?”
“He sleeps through everything,” she said with a smile. She was the nervous one.
Ryder seemed stiff and uneasy, but he slowly relaxed as he drove. She studied the farmland as they left town, then was surprised when they reached a sign that read Horseshoe Creek.
“You met the McCullens?” she asked.
“Yes,” Ryder said, his voice gruff. “I’ve spent a lot of time with the family this past week. They took me in like I was part of them.”
“You are part of them,” Tia said, sensing the pain that he’d felt and how difficult it was for him to accept the change in his life.
“They even welcomed Myra, my mother,” Ryder continued.
“I’m happy for you, Ryder.” She leaned her head on her hand. “Family is everything.” She still missed her mother and father and brother and wished they were alive to see her son.
Emotions glittered in his dark eyes as he met her gaze. Then he turned down a drive and wound past several stables. Finally he parked at a stretch of land by a pond.
He cut the engine and angled himself to face her. “This is beautiful, Ryder.”
A broad smile curved his serious face. “It’s mine.”
Tia gasped. “Yours?”
“Apparently Joe McCullen left the ranch to all his sons.”
“I’m so happy for you. Do you plan to build a house and live here?”
He lifted her hand in his. “Yes. I thought a big farmhouse with a porch with rockers on it.” He pointed toward the left side. “A play yard with a swing set could go right there.”
Tia’s heart began to race. “A swing set?”
He nodded. “And there’s a lot of room to ride bikes and horses, and we could teach Jordie to fish one day.”
Her breath caught. “Ryder?”
He squeezed her hand, then pressed a kiss to her palm. “I don’t just want a house, Tia. I want to build a home here, and I want you and Jordie to be part of it.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I love you, Tia.” He dug in his pocket and lifted the gold bands they’d worn during their disguise. “I like the feel of this on my hand. I thought we might make it real.” He shrugged. “Of course we can get new ones. A diamond for you if you want.”
She’d seen the discomfort on his face when she’d handed him the rings that day. But now...now he seemed relaxed. Happy.
Sincere.
“You aren’t doing this just so Jordie will have a father?”
He shook his head. “I want to be his father, if you’ll let me.” He kissed her fingers one by one. “But I miss you and love you, Tia. I want us to build a life together. To be a family.”
Tears welled in Tia’s eyes. Happy tears this time.
She gently brushed her hand against his cheek and Ryder swept her in his arms and covered her mouth with his. The kiss was deep, passionate, sensual, filled with promises and yearning.
“Is that a yes?” he murmured.
She nodded and kissed him again. “Yes, Ryder, I love you, too.”
She didn’t need diamonds. She had her son back. And with Ryder and the McCullens, she would have the big family she’d always wanted.
Epilogue
Six months later
Tia’s heart overflowed with love as the reverend announced she and Ryder were husband and wife.
Ryder kissed her thoroughly, the passion between them building. But that would have to wait.
Their family was watching now.
“Later,” Ryder whispered against her neck.
She gently touched his cheek. She would never grow tired of touching him. Or hearing his voice. Or looking into his impossibly sexy eyes.
She certainly wouldn’t get tired of loving him. “That’s a promise.”
He gathered her hand in his and they turned to face the guests. Mama Mary smiled from the front row. Just last month she’d married the foreman of the ranch. But she still held the family together with her big warm hugs and comforting food and motherly love.
Maddox, Brett, Ray, Roan and Cash had bonded with Ryder and helped build the house she and Ryder were moving into, while their wives had helped Tia organize the wedding on the lawn.
Cheers and clapping erupted, shouts of joy and happiness and congratulations as she and Ryder stepped from the gazebo to accept glasses of champagne.
She looked across the beautiful ranch and the wonderful McCullens, grateful for their boisterous chaos.
Rose jiggled her baby boy, Maddox’s son, Joe, in the stroller while Ryder�
�s mother, Myra, nestled Jordie to her. Willow and Brett’s son, Sam, was chasing fireflies with Cash and BJ’s adopted boys, Tyler and Drew.
Maddox lifted a champagne flute. “Let’s toast to the last McCullen.”
Ryder laughed and so did everyone else.
“Hell, he’s not the last.” Brett touched Willow’s bulging belly. “We’re just getting started.”
“So are we,” Ray said as he pulled a pregnant Scarlet against him.
Megan, Roan’s wife, smiled sheepishly. “So are we,” Roan admitted with an affectionate hug to his wife.
Ryder and Tia exchanged a secretive look. They planned to have more children as well and so did Cash and BJ, but Ryder vowed not to push Tia. Jordie was only a few months old.
Still, as she sipped her champagne and nuzzled his neck, love and passion exploded inside him. Tia wanted at least four, maybe six kids.
Tonight might not be too soon to start.
* * * * *
Look for more books of gripping suspense from
USA TODAY bestselling author Rita Herron,
coming soon!
SPECIAL EXCERPT FROM
Pursuing sadistic killers is what former
FBI profiler Samantha Dark does—but this time,
it’s too close to home...
Keep reading for a sneak peek of
AFTER THE DARK,
part of New York Times bestselling author
Cynthia Eden’s miniseries
KILLER INSTINCT
available April 2017 only from HQN Books!
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After the Dark
by Cynthia Eden
THE SCENE WAS all wrong.
The killer—the balding man in his late thirties—the man who stood there with sweat dripping down his face, a gun held in his trembling hand and a dead girl at his feet...he was wrong.
FBI Special Agent Samantha Dark raised her weapon even as she shook her head. She’d profiled this killer, studied every detail of his crime spree. And...
This is wrong.
“Drop the gun!” That bellow came from her partner, Blake Gamble. He was at her side, his weapon drawn, too, and she knew all of his focus was locked on the killer.
They’d come to this house just to ask Allan March some follow-up questions. He’d been one of the custodians at Georgetown University, a university that had recently become the hunting grounds for a killer.
At Blake’s shout, Allan jerked. And when he jerked, his finger squeezed the trigger of the gun he held. The shot went wide, missing both Samantha and Blake. She didn’t return fire. Allan doesn’t fit the profile. This is all wrong—
Blake returned fire. The bullet slammed into Allan’s right shoulder. Not a killing wound, not even close. Blood bloomed from the spot, soaking the stark white shirt that Allan wore. Allan should have dropped his gun in response to that hit, but he didn’t. He screamed. Tears trickled down his cheeks, and he aimed that gun—
Not at Blake, but at me.
“Has to be you...” Allan whispered. “Said...has to be you...”
She didn’t let any fear show, even as the emotion nearly suffocated her. “Allan, put down the gun.” Blake’s order had been bellowed, but hers was given softly. Almost sadly. Put the gun down, Allan. I don’t want to shoot you. This isn’t the way I want things to end.
The FBI had been searching for the Georgetown University killer for months. Following the trail left by the bastard—a trail of blood and bodies. But the trail shouldn’t have led here.
Allan March was a widower. His wife had passed away two years ago, slowly dying of cancer. He’d been at her bedside every single moment. All of the data that the FBI had collected on Allan indicated that he was a dedicated family man, a caregiver. Not—
A serial killer.
“I’m sorry,” Allan whispered.
And Samantha knew what he was going to do. Even as those tears poured down his cheeks, she knew.
“No!” Samantha screamed.
But it was too late. Allan pointed the gun right at his own face and pulled the trigger. The thunder of the gunfire echoed around them, and, a moment later, Allan’s body hit the floor, falling to land right next to the dead body of Amber Lyle, the twenty-two-year-old college student who’d been missing for three days.
“Fucking hell,” Blake muttered.
This is wrong.
Samantha rushed toward the downed man. Her weapon was still in her hand. Her eyes were on Allan. On what was left of his face. Dear God.
* * *
“THE PRESS IS ripping us apart, Samantha! Ripping us apart!” Her boss glared at her as they stood inside the small FBI office. “You were supposed to be the freaking superstar—a profiler who could do no wrong. But your profile was shit. You had us looking for a man who didn’t exist. Three women died while we were looking for the killer you said was out there!”
Samantha stood, her shoulders back and her spine straight, as Justin Bass berated her. Spittle was flying from her boss’s mouth. His blue gaze blazed with rage.
The executive assistant director was far more pissed than she’d ever seen him before. The guy had a temper, everyone knew that truth, but this time... There’s no going back.
Justin didn’t like to look bad. He liked to be the agent in charge, the man with the answers. The suit who handled the press and gloried in the attention he got when his team brought down the bad guy.
“Damn it, Samantha!” Justin snarled, a muscle twitching in his rounded jaw. “Do you have anything to say?”
Did she? Samantha swallowed. Did she dare tell him what she thought? When every single piece of evidence said just how wrong she’d been?
“Take it easy, Bass.” Blake spoke on her behalf. He was at her side, sending her a sympathetic glance. “What matters is that the Sorority Slasher has been stopped.”
The Sorority Slasher. Samantha hated that name. It sounded like something from a really bad horror flick. Leave it to the tabloids to glam up a grisly killer.
“We’re the fucking FBI,” Justin said, stopping to slap his hands down on his desk. “We can’t afford to make mistakes.”
Her temples were throbbing. She knew exactly who they were.
“Someone has to take the fall for this one. Three women died because you were wrong. You were wr
ong, Samantha. The superstar from Princeton. The woman who was supposed to change the face of profiling. FBI brass shoved you down my throat, and you were wrong.”
She made her jaw unclench.
“You’re taking the fall for this one.” Justin nodded curtly toward her. “Consider yourself on suspension.”
Samantha almost took a step back. Her lips parted—
Don’t take the job from me.
“What?” Blake was the one who’d given that shocked cry. It was Blake who sounded furious as he snapped, “You can’t do that! Samantha is the best—”
“Yeah, right, you think I don’t know about the hard-on you have for her, Agent Gamble?” Justin fired right back. “You two never should have been partners. So take some advice, buddy. Save your own ass. She’s a sinking ship, and you don’t want to go down with her.”
Her boss was a bastard. Lots of men she’d met in the FBI were arrogant assholes. Blake? No, he was a good guy, and that was why she respected him so much.
“Leave your weapon here,” Justin ordered her. “And your badge.”
She unsnapped her holster, walked slowly toward his desk.
My profile was right. I know it was.
She put her gun on his desk, but when she reached for her FBI badge and ID, Samantha hesitated.
“You know, we found pictures of all the victims at his place.” Justin’s voice was flat. “Souvenirs that he kept.”
“Trophies.” It was the first thing she’d said since coming into his office. “Not souvenirs, they’re trophies.” Serial killers often kept them so that they could relive their crimes.
“Shoved in the back of his closet, under the guy’s winter boots.” Justin shook his head. “Dropped like they didn’t matter, and you spent all that time telling us we were looking for a cold, methodical killer. One who wanted to push boundaries and study the pain of his victims. One who wanted to see just how well matched he’d be with authorities. A smart killer, a damn genius. Fuck me, Samantha, Allan March barely graduated high school!”
And that was just one of the many reasons why he was wrong.
