Her gaze swept over his face. Even in the dim light, his features were strong and manly.
“I’m not sure what’s going on in that head of yours, but it doesn’t look good.” Kyle’s voice remained low.
Admitting that she was weighing the pros and cons of kissing him probably wouldn’t help. Not in the least.
His eyes were intently searching—Skylar worried he might actually be able to figure out what she’d been thinking.
And yet...the longer his gaze held hers, the thinner the air between them became. The warmth of his hand against her back radiated across her skin.
“I want to kiss you, Skylar,” he whispered. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything so much. But I—”
She pressed her lips against his, silencing whatever reason—likely a good one—they shouldn’t do this. She knew they shouldn’t but...
He wanted to kiss her. More than anything.
And if she wasn’t so caught up in the feel of his lips on hers, his soft groan when the kiss deepened, she’d have told him that she knew exactly how he felt. If there was one thing she’d wish for, it was this: she wanted to kiss Kyle Mitchell until she couldn’t remember why it was a bad idea.
* * *
TEXAS COWBOYS & K-9S
Dear Reader,
Welcome back to Granite Falls, Texas. Kyle Mitchell has just returned from serving overseas but he is in no hurry to get home. He knows his homecoming might be awkward due to the lingering bitterness between him and his older brother, Hayden.
But before he can even think about heading home or his brother, he has to honor a promise he made to his fallen best friend. It’s this loyalty and honor that make Kyle such a wonderful hero. Yes, he’s handsome and a cowboy and he loves dogs and babies—but he’s a good man. The sort of man Skylar and her girls need in their lives.
When Kyle arrives with the stray dog her husband had adopted while serving overseas, Skylar’s spirits are lifted. Jet, the dog, brings smiles and laughter from her girls—something there’s not enough of. It seems like every time Skylar finds her footing, the world seems to knock her back down. But Kyle’s job offer—in the faraway town of Granite Falls—seems too good to be true. Could this be a fresh start or is she only setting herself up for more heartache and disappointment?
Until then, happy reading!
Sasha Summers
Their Rancher Protector
Sasha Summers
Sasha Summers grew up surrounded by books. Her passions have always been storytelling, romance and travel—passions she’s used to write more than twenty romance novels and novellas. Now a bestselling and award-winning author, Sasha continues to fall a little in love with each hero she writes. From easy-on-the-eyes cowboys, sexy alpha-male werewolves, to heroes of truly mythic proportions, she believes that everyone should have their happily-ever-after—in fiction and real life.
Sasha lives in the suburbs of the Texas Hill Country with her amazing family. She looks forward to hearing from fans and hopes you’ll visit her online: on Facebook at sashasummersauthor, on Twitter, @sashawrites, or email her at [email protected].
Books by Sasha Summers
Harlequin Special Edition
Texas Cowboys & K-9s
The Rancher’s Forever Family
Harlequin Western Romance
The Boones of Texas
A Cowboy’s Christmas Reunion
Twins for the Rebel Cowboy
Courted by the Cowboy
A Cowboy to Call Daddy
A Son for the Cowboy
Cowboy Lullaby
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
Dedicated to the hardworking volunteers at the local animal rescue and animal shelters (SA Pets Alive here) for taking care of all the fur-babies until they find their forever home.
Contents
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
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Excerpt from Love Blooms by Jo McNally
Excerpt from Accidental Homecoming by Sabrina York
Chapter One
Skylar disentangled baby Greer’s chubby little fist from her long dark hair. “You’ve got a handful of Mommy’s hair, don’t you, baby girl?” She smiled down at her six-month-old, holding her against her chest in a thick cotton baby wrap. “Look at you, smiling.”
Greer smiled, cooing softly as Skylar carefully untwined her hair from her daughter’s tiny fingers.
“Momma, Momma.” Four-year-old Brynn was half skipping along the dirt driveway back to the house. “Look.” She pointed at the rising dust down the country road. “Someone coming?”
Skylar paused, shielding her eyes from the bright West Texas sun. Frank’s home was a good distance from town and, other than the mailman, they didn’t get many visitors. Since they’d just walked down the gravel drive to pick up the day’s mail, she knew George wouldn’t head out this way again until tomorrow. “I don’t know, Brynn.” She continued to bounce and pat Greer, her eyes narrowing as the dust cloud grew closer and closer. She brushed aside the unease sliding up her spine. There’s no more bad news left to fear. Chad was already gone. It had been almost a year now, but there were times she woke up, drenched in sweat, reliving the day the uniformed casualty notification officer arrived on her doorstep to tell her of Chad’s passing as if it had just happened.
A large blue truck crested the dirt road, slowing.
“Who that?” Brynn asked. “Who, Momma?”
“Probably someone passing through.” Smile in place, she realized her other daughter, Brynn’s twin, was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Mya?”
“Don’t know.” Brynn shrugged, spinning on her heel. “Picking flowers.”
Picking flowers—by the mailbox. The mailbox by the road... The road with the big blue truck heading this way. Heart in her throat, she forced out, “Stay here” to Brynn. Holding Greer tightly to her chest, she sprinted back down the gravel drive to her daughter—happily picking wildflowers.
By the time Skylar had reached Mya, the truck had come to a stop. It didn’t matter. Her heart was hammering away, thundering against her rib cage. “Mya.” She placed her hand on her daughter’s shoulder.
Mya turned, holding out the bouquet of flowers she’d picked. “Ma.”
Skylar took the flowers with shaking hands. She was okay. Thankfully, the driver had been paying attention. I should have been paying attention, too. She pulled her daughter in for a hug, waiting until her heartbeat eased and there was enough air in her lungs for her to breathe before she leaned back to point at the truck. “Careful.” She spoke the word slowly, her daughter’s eyes watching her mouth as she formed the word.
Mya nodded, her eyes widening when she spied the truck. She grasped Skylar’s hand tightly and pulled her back up the path to where Brynn waited.
The truck drove a few feet forward, the whir of the electric window followed by a deep voice. “Excuse me? Are you Skylar Davis? I’m looking for the Davis homestead?”
“Who wants to know?” Considering how few visitors they had, she couldn’t help being suspicious. Folk didn’t head out this way for no reason. Thirty miles down a dirt r
oad with nothing but tumbleweeds, cacti and the occasional roadrunner for company wasn’t exactly a scenic drive.
“My name is Kyle Mitchell.” He put the truck in Park and turned off the ignition.
Skylar squinted. With the sun at the man’s back, she couldn’t make out much beyond his size. A big man, spare and fit...and walking this way. “You can stay off my property, Kyle Mitchell. Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”
“No, ma’am.” But he’d stopped moving. “I’m not here to sell you a thing.” He pulled off the tan cowboy hat he’d been wearing. “I...I knew your husband.”
The ache in her heart still had sharp edges, edges that felt raw and exposed at his words.
“Chad,” he went on, staying right where he was. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Davis. Chad and I were good friends.”
She nodded stiffly.
“He asked me to bring you something.” He held his hand out, toward the truck. “He felt strongly about it.”
It was the last thing she’d expected to hear... After everything she and the girls had been through, she needed something good. They all did.
“What’s the holdup out there?” Her uncle Frank opened the glass front door, the squeak of the rusty hinge reverberating in the air. “My puzzle get here?”
“Unca,” Brynn mumbled, tugging on her hand. “Get grumpy.”
“Hold on, Uncle Frank,” Skylar called out.
“Why?” Frank yelled. “What am I waiting on?”
“We have a visitor.”
“Who?” His voice rose, his slow footfalls echoing down the metal ramp that led into the small wood frame house. “Who are you? What business do you have here?”
Brynn took Mya’s hand and, together, they ran to the small wooden clubhouse Skylar had built for them. They tended to do that when Frank was around—the only thing consistent about her uncle’s temperament was how erratic it was.
“Uncle Frank, he’s a friend of Chad’s.” She ignored her uncle, more curious about what Chad had given this man to deliver to her than her uncle’s temper.
“Is that so?” Frank’s snort was loud. “Interesting you show up now? Chad’s been dead a year now.”
“Yes, sir.” There was an edge to the man’s voice. “I was on active duty.”
“Was?” her uncle asked. “You wash out or something?”
Skylar shot Frank a look. “Uncle Frank.” She crossed the hard-packed earth that made up their front yard and handed her uncle his beloved newspaper. “Here.”
He snatched the paper, but never stopped looking at Kyle Mitchell. “You here for a handout?”
“No, sir. Chad asked me to come.” The man shifted from one foot to the other. “I won’t keep you for long.”
“You won’t keep me at all.” Her uncle shook his head and lumbered slowly back up the metal ramp and into the house, letting the door slam shut.
“I didn’t mean to cause trouble.” Kyle Mitchell ran a hand over his head.
“That?” Skylar forced a laugh. “He’s having a good day today.” Sad, but true. Greer’s soft coo drew her attention down to her heavy-lidded daughter. It was almost nap time. There was no way she’d put Greer down inside, not when her uncle was in a snit. Instead, she went back to bouncing, gently patting Greer’s little back in what she hoped was a soothing rhythm. “Did you serve with Chad?” She took a step closer to him, then another.
“Yes, ma’am.” Unlike her, he didn’t move. “I’d like to think he was one of my best friends.”
Chad had been an avid letter writer. Most of them recounted his days—as if he was journaling all the things he thought and saw and did. A lot of the details had been unremarkable, likely censored so she wouldn’t worry, but she’d treasured each and every one nonetheless. Chad’s words gave her a view into the world where he was and kept him close. But the name Kyle Mitchell didn’t ring any bells.
When she reached the rotting wooden post, the wind rattling the gate hanging from one chain, she could finally see the man who had driven from who knows where to find her. For Chad.
“I know you,” she said, her voice going thick. Pictures. Chad and this man. So many pictures. “But he called you—”
“Needle.” He shrugged, grinning. “Yeah. Not the best nickname.”
But fitting. At least Chad thought so. If there was one person her late husband had mentioned in each and every letter, it was Needle. Needle was the spotter to Chad’s sniper—his eyes, his right-hand man, and his brother. According to Chad, Needle could get them anywhere, calculate the perfect target distance, talk down a potentially hostile situation, and sew up any size hole in their field uniform. Chad had said the only time he’d felt at peace were the times he and Needle were staked on a roof somewhere, beneath the stars, talking about home and family and friends. She’d heard about this man for years. Now here he was. Emotion welled up, too strong to ignore. “I knew it wasn’t your real name but...”
“Might as well have been.” He nodded, still smiling. “I would have called first—”
“Nonsense.” Without realizing it, she’d closed the distance between them. “You’re welcome. Anytime.” This man had saved Chad’s life more than once. Chad swore Needle—Kyle—was his guardian angel.
“I appreciate that. He showed you all off enough that I feel like I know you and the girls. Whenever he’d get a new picture, he’d pass it around.” His gaze wandered to the wooden clubhouse. “The girls are bigger now, of course.”
Even though she knew how proud of his girls Chad was, it was still nice to hear. She’d sent pictures often, to make all the things he’d missed out on a little easier. “And getting bigger every day.” Sometimes, she wished she could slow time down—just a little. “He never met Greer.” The lump in her throat made it hard for her to finish. “I know he’d have doted on her just as much as the other two.” She stared up at the man, at ease now. This was Needle—rather, Kyle Mitchell. Live and in person. And here. She didn’t know why it made her happy, but it did. “I’m going to have to work on calling you Kyle.”
“It’s good to meet you, Skylar,” he said, holding out his hand. “Face-to-face, that is.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too, Kyle.” She shook his hand. “Where are you from?”
“Granite Falls—it’s part-ways between San Antonio and Austin.” His gaze bounced to the top of Greer’s head.
“You’re a long way from home.” A good seven hours from home.
“I came here first.” He glanced back at the truck. “Wouldn’t have been able to rest until I’d done what I promised.”
Greer fussed a little so Skylar started walking, slowly, toward the girls’ clubhouse. He followed, a small smile on his face as she hummed, patted, and bounced. “She fusses and fights against falling asleep,” Skylar explained.
He nodded.
“I guess you could say she’s stubborn.” She smiled at Kyle. “Like her father.”
“He was that,” he agreed, his eyes shifting her way.
While she’d received a nicely typed letter signed by important people, she knew very little about her husband’s death. For the most part, it didn’t matter. But there was one thing she needed to know. “You were with him?” She ignored the waver in her voice.
His nod was stiff. “Not when he went out but...when they brought him back on base.”
It was enough. “Thank you.” She covered his hand with hers. “It helps to know that someone who cared about him was with him until the end.” The stark sadness in his eyes was an all-too-familiar sight. It had taken her a long time to look her reflection in the eye without fighting back tears.
“If I could have brought him back to you, I would have.” He had a hard time meeting her gaze then.
“I know.” She did, too. “Chad told me you were the reason he’d stayed alive as long as he had. I have no doubt you�
��d have done the same—if you’d been there that day.”
His jaw muscle clenched tight but he didn’t say a word.
“Do you want to come inside?” Her uncle would raise a commotion, but she didn’t care. It was warming up and a glass of lemonade would do them all some good.
His brows rose. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
“I’m sure.” Frank Kline could be charming. Growing up, Skylar had only seen pictures of her uncle. He’d always cancelled right before every holiday or family gathering. But Skylar knew about him. Her mother had told her all about how easy it had been for her sweet-talking younger brother to get out of all the mischief he’d caused—no matter how big or small. He was all sincerity and charm, her mother had said, until he got what he wanted.
That was the Uncle Frank Skylar had met in the hospital. A kind, caring, soft-spoken man—ready and willing to help in her time of loss. It was only after she’d moved home with him that she remembered what her mother had said. By then, she had no place to go. For the girls, she’d had to make peace with that. “Whether you come in or not won’t change the fact that my uncle is a grumpy old man.”
“It’s not just me.” He turned, pointing at the truck. “I’ve got Chad’s present.”
Right. The present. She’d been so surprised to realize who Kyle Mitchell was that she’d almost forgotten why he was here. She peered at the open window of the truck.
Kyle whistled and the brown head of a dog appeared in the window. One ear was cocked upright, the other lay flat. “Chad didn’t want him left behind.”
Just when she thought her emotions were in check... But now, her throat officially closed off. Her heart thumped, heavy and aching, as the dog jumped through the window and trotted, slowly, cautiously, toward her with its head stooped. “Are you Jet? You are, aren’t you?” Skylar asked, kneeling in the dirt and holding out her hand. “Is that you?”
Jet’s stub of a tail kicked into overdrive and he made a low grumble-whine in the back of his throat before rolling onto his back.
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