Jesse. had been too conscious of Shea McAllister from the moment he’d seen her.
Letter to Reader
Title Page
Also by
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Copyright
Jesse. had been too conscious of Shea McAllister from the moment he’d seen her.
And talking to her had only made it worse.
He should see only a felon standing in front of him, a person who was breaking the law. Instead, he saw an attractive woman, one who was clearly unaware of her own beauty.
He stood and watched as she hurried toward the house, unable to look away from the sway of her hips under the denim. It didn’t matter, he told himself. He didn’t care if she was Miss America. Shea McAllister was breaking the law, and she would pay. He’d come to Cameron to stop her, and he was going to do just that.
No matter how good she looked in a pair of jeans.
Dear Reader,
Once again, we’re back to offer you six fabulous romantic novels, the kind of book you’ll just long to curl up with on a warm spring day. Leading off the month is award-winner Marie Ferrarella, whose This Heart for Hire is a reunion romance filled with the sharply drawn characters and witty banter you’ve come to expect from this talented writer.
Then check out Margaret Watson’s The Fugitive Bride, the latest installment in her CAMERON, UTAH, miniseries. This FBI agent hero is about to learn all about love at the hands of his prime suspect. Midnight Cinderella is Eileen Wilks’ second book for the line, and it’s our WAY OUT WEST title. After all, there’s just nothing like a cowboy! Our FAMILIES ARE FOREVER flash graces Kayla Daniels’ The Daddy Trap, about a resolutely single hero faced with fatherhood—and love. The Cop and Calamity Jane is a suspenseful romp from the pen of talented Elane Osborn; you’ll be laughing out loud as you read this one. Finally, welcome Linda Winstead Jones to the line. Already known for her historical romances, this author is about to make a name for herself in contemporary circles with Bridger’s Last Stand,
Don’t miss a single one—and then rejoin us next month, when we bring you six more examples of the best romantic writing around.
Yours,
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Senior Editor
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THE FUGITIVE BRIDE
MARGARET WATSON
Books by Margaret Watson
Silhouette Intimate Moments
An Innocent Man #636
An Honorable Man #708
To Save His Child #750
The Dark Side of the Moon #779
†Rodeo Man #873
†For the Children #886
†Cowboy with a Badge #904
†The Fugitive Bride #920
† Cameron, Utah
MARGARET WATSON
From the time she learned to read, Margaret could usually be found with her nose in a book. Her lifelong passion for reading led to her interest in writing, and now she’s happily writing exactly the kind of stories she likes to read. Margaret is a veterinarian who lives in the Chicago suburbs with her husband and their three daughters. In her spare time she enjoys in-line skating, bird-watching and spending time with her family. Readers can write to Margaret at P.O. Box 2333, Naperville, IL 60567-2333.
For Katy. I am so proud that you’re my daughter.
Your grace, your laughter and your loving heart
fill my life with joy. I love you.
Chapter 1
The steer clearly had a death wish.
Shea McAllister let the rope attached to his halter slide through her hands as she narrowed her eyes and watched the Hereford put on a show. She’d tried four times to get him into the chute, and each time he’d managed to evade it. This time, he shook his head and snorted at her, danced sideways away from the chute, bucked a few times, then turned and ambled across the corral.
Still holding onto the rope, she stalked after him. Becca Farrell, the ranch’s veterinarian, would be here soon to sew up the laceration on his flank, and Shea had promised to have the steer in the metal contraption designed to hold him still.
“You’re treading on thin ice here, buddy,” she called out to the animal. The steer’s ears twitched. “You want to make that trip to the stockyards a few months early, that’s fine with me.”
Reaching the animal’s head, she grabbed his halter. “If not, you might want to go into that chute over there.” Leaning into the animal’s massive side, she pushed until the steer turned around. Then she pulled on the rope again, moving him slowly toward the narrow metal contraption.
They’d only gone a few steps when her dog leapt into the corral, barking happily. The steer’s ears twitched again, then he stopped and turned to look at the dog.
Shea wiped the sweat and dust from her forehead with an impatient swipe of her arm. Buster was crouched down behind the steer, rear end up in the air, tail wagging. Clearly he thought this was a wonderful game.
Shaking her head, Shea felt herself grinning. “Buster, you are about the most worthless dog I’ve ever seen. Get over here.”
She snapped her fingers and the shaggy yellow dog scrambled to respond. Scratching his head, she told him, “Go find Maria. Find Maria, Buster.”
Buster tilted his head, then with a yip he raced out of the corral in the direction of the house. Still grinning, Shea turned back to the steer.
“Now it’s your turn, buddy. You want to go into that chute, or would you rather be on the next truck out of town?”
When the steer showed no interest in moving, Shea applied her shoulder to his side and shoved. He moved a couple of steps, and Shea shoved again. She had managed to edge him halfway to the chute when she heard a truck pull up to the corral and stop.
“See what you’ve done?” she muttered as she shoved at the animal again. “Here’s Becca and you’re not even in the chute. It would serve you right if I just shagged your sorry tail back out into the pasture.”
But the laceration needed to be sutured, so she braced herself and pushed at the steer again.
“Looks like you could use some help.”
The low, slightly raspy masculine voice wrapped around her, strumming across nerves she hadn’t even known she had. Despite the heat of the Utah spring sun, a shiver chased down her back.
Spinning around, she dropped the rope attached to the steer’s halter. “Who are you?” she asked the stranger leaning against the corral fence.
Instead of answering, he vaulted across the fence and grabbed the rope from the ground. Jamming his shoulder into the steer’s side, he swept off his hat and used it to smack the steer’s tail. At the same time he let out a yell.
The startled animal jumped forward, and the stranger merely aimed him at the chute. A minute later, the steer stood secured in the metal apparatus.
“That was slick,” Shea said, watching the man dust his hat off against his leg, then replace it on his head.
He shrugged, and his hazel eyes crinkled in a smile. A crease that would have been calle
d a dimple in a prettier man flashed, then disappeared. “It was all in the timing. I surprised him.”
“You surprised me, too.” Shea let her gaze drift over him once more, then extended her hand. “Thanks for your help. I’m Shea McAllister.”
If she hadn’t been watching so closely, she would have missed the start of surprise in his eyes. It was gone in a moment, his face smoothly blank as he touched the brim of his hat with one hand and reached for hers with the other. “I’m Jesse Coulton.”
His hand was hard and calloused as it closed around hers. He gripped her fingers firmly, and for just a moment a sense of rightness swept over her, a feeling of belonging. But that was ridiculous. Slipping her hand out of his, she flexed her fingers and said, “What can I do for you, Mr. Coulton?”
Again, if she hadn’t been watching so closely, she would have missed the flicker in his eyes. An instant later he smiled ruefully. “I don’t suppose you’ll believe me when I tell you I had no idea who you were?”
She did believe him. The instant of startled shock in his eyes when she’d told him her name hadn’t been rehearsed. “Were you looking for me?”
“I was.” His gaze touched on the house, the barn and the outbuildings, then lingered on the mountains behind them. “I heard you could use some help.”
“You’re looking for a job?” He’d surprised her again.
He nodded. “The word in town is that you’re shorthanded. I need a job.” He smiled again, a slow grin that spread across his face and lingered in his eyes. “It sounded like a perfect match to me.”
Because her stomach fluttered when he grinned, Shea took a step backward. “We need another hand, but I have no intention of hiring the first person who drives through the gates,” she said coolly. “I appreciate your help with the steer, but I’ll need to see some references. And I’ll check them.”
The grin stayed on his face, but his eyes sharpened. “I wouldn’t expect anyone to hire me without checking my references. I have a list in my truck that I’ll give you.”
“I’ll take a look at it.” She didn’t like the way his smile made her insides churn, or the way his voice beckoned to her. “What experience have you had?”
His eyes flickered over the barn again, and when he looked back at her, his grin had faded and there was a hard edge to his gaze. “I grew up in a small town back east, working on farms. I’ve worked all over, but mostly in Wyoming and Montana for the last several years, running cattle on the range and taking care of whatever needed to be done. I do a good job.”
He sounded like one of the drifters who was drawn to ranch work, staying at one place only until he got an urge to move on. It was a common enough story in the west, and no one thought twice about men showing up at a ranch, looking for a job.
But there was something different about Jesse Coulton. Shea studied him, wondering what it was. There was a determination in his eyes that she didn’t see in the other drifters who wandered by, looking for work. His eyes glinted with intelligence, and a hardness that wasn’t due to years of drifting. There was a dangerous edge to the look in Jesse Coulton’s eyes.
She couldn’t hire him, she decided abruptly. She would never be comfortable, never feel safe with those knowing eyes of his watching her. There was too much at stake for her, for the ranch.
She had too much to hide.
“Why don’t you give me your list of references? I’ll check with them and get back to you.”
Instead of retrieving the papers from his truck, he stood and studied her. “You have no intention of hiring me, do you?” he said after a moment
Her hands tightened around the rope that had been attached to the steer’s halter, then she threw it to the ground. “I don’t hire anyone until I’ve thoroughly checked their references.” She smiled thinly. “That includes cowboys who try to hustle me into making a decision. Let me know where you’re staying, and I’ll get in touch with you.”
Instead of the anger she expected to see, his mouth curved up. His eyes crinkled and his cheek creased again, and her stomach quivered once more.
“I’ll bet there aren’t too many cowboys who try to hustle you more than once,” he said, tossing her a grin over his shoulder as he walked to his truck. “Personally, I like a woman who can stare me down.”
“How do you feel about a woman who can knock you on your butt?” she muttered as he rummaged in his truck. She thought she had Jesse Coulton figured out, and he’d surprised her. And intrigued her, although she hated to admit it.
But it would still be too dangerous to hire him.
She couldn’t take a chance with Jesse Coulton’s knowing eyes, she thought, glancing involuntarily toward the mountains and the small cabin tucked next to a lake up there. Especially right now.
She watched Jesse open the cab of his truck and reach inside. His muscles rippled beneath worn denim and chambray, and she remembered how easily he’d muscled the steer into the chute. His long, lean body would be hard and tough, she thought, honed by physical labor. When he shook her hand, his fingers and palms had been hard, too, calloused and rough. But remembering the way his eyes had softened when he smiled, she suspected that there were times when those rough hands could be very gentle.
Suddenly realizing what she was thinking, she felt her cheeks flood with color. Appalled at herself, she wanted to flee, but instead she straightened her spine and held her ground. She’d look at his references, then say a polite goodbye. And the only other contact she’d have with Jesse Coulton would be via the telephone.
“Here you go,” he said, handing her a brown manila envelope.
She told herself to wait until he was gone. It would be easier to dismiss Jesse if he wasn’t standing and watching her. But she opened the envelope anyway, suddenly intensely curious about what his former employers had to say about him.
A few minutes later she raised her head to study him. “Your former employers seem to think you walk on water.” She kept her voice neutral.
He shrugged. “I believe in giving an honest day’s work for what I get in my pay envelope.”
“Apparently so.” She slid the papers back into the envelope. “Will they say the same things when I call them?”
He shrugged again. “I have no reason not to think so.”
“Where are you staying in town, Mr. Coulton?”
“The name’s Jesse. And I’m staying at Mrs. Corboy’s boardinghouse.”
Shea smothered a grin. “Not for long, I’m betting.” Melba Corboy’s food had driven more than one boarder away. Her sister-in-law, Carly, had been the only person in recent memory who had stayed at Melba’s for more than a couple of days. “I’ll call you there as soon as I have a chance to contact these people.”
“Fine.” He watched her carefully, and a look she couldn’t interpret flickered over his face. “But in the meantime, you’d suggest I keep looking for a job, right?”
“That’s up to you, Mr. Coulton. I won’t make a decision before I talk to your references.” Shea hated the prim sound of her voice, but suddenly she wanted Jesse Coulton to go away. She didn’t like the way her body reacted when he was around, and she didn’t like the direction her thoughts took. She was in charge of the Red Rock Ranch, but she suspected that, even if he was working for her, she would never be in charge of Jesse Coulton.
He tipped his hat to the back of his head as he studied her. “From what I heard in town, I didn’t figure Shea McAllister for a coward. I thought you’d be a woman who trusted her own instincts to make a decision.”
Shea felt her temper rising and tried to grab hold of it with both hands. “I wouldn’t be much of a businesswoman if I trusted my instincts,” she shot back. “There’s a reason people ask for references. I’ve seen plenty of charming men smile as they slipped a knife between someone’s ribs.”
“I’m glad to know that you consider me charming.”
Was he purposely trying to antagonize her? “I don’t care if you’ve gone to charm school, Coulto
n. The only thing that matters on this ranch is if you can do the work, and that’s what I intend to find out. In the meantime, I suggest you stop pushing. I’ll let you know if you have a job when I’m good and ready.” She was about to turn and walk away when a familiar truck pulled into the yard.
Becca Farrell eased her way out of the truck, then walked slowly over to where she and Jesse stood. “Hi, Shea. Is that steer all ready for me?”
Shea took a deep breath and tried to block Jesse from her mind. She had work to do today. “He’s in the chute,” she said, studying the woman in front of her. “Are you sure you should be out here doing this, Becca?”
The veterinarian smiled at her and put one hand on her protruding abdomen. “Cut it out, Shea. You sound just like Grady and I hear enough of that at home. I’m perfectly capable of suturing up a laceration on a steer.”
“What can we do to help you?”
Jesse spoke up, and Becca glanced over at him. “Are you the man who was asking about jobs in town?”
Jesse nodded, and Becca turned back to Shea. “Thank goodness you’ve finally hired someone to help you, Shea. It’s about time. Dev must have put his foot down.”
“I haven’t hired him yet,” Shea muttered, feeling the jaws of a trap tensing to spring shut. “He stopped by to ask about work, and I haven’t had a chance to check his references.”
“Well, let’s give him a working audition,” Becca said. Turning to Jesse, she waved in the direction of her truck. “There’s a stool and a leather bag in the back of my truck. You can put them over next to the chute, then give me a hand.”
When Jesse disappeared in the direction of Becca’s truck, Shea said in a low voice, “Why’d you do that, Becca? I’m not going to hire him.”
“Why not?” She watched Jesse set the stool down near the laceration on the steer’s side, then open her bag and set up what she’d need. “He looks like he knows what he’s doing. And he’s not hard on the eyes, either.”
The Fugitive Bride Page 1
