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First Published 2010
Second Australian Paperback Edition 2010
ISBN 978 1 742 55557 7
eISBN 978 1 742 78973 6
MONTANA MAVERICKS CHRISTMAS © 2010 by Harlequin Books S.A.
MARRIED IN WHITEHORN © 1999 by Susan Mallery
BORN IN WHITEHORN © 1999 by Karen Rose Smith
Susan Mallery is acknowledged as the author of this work.
CHRISTMAS IN WHITEHORN © 2001 by Harlequin Books S.A.
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Australian Copyright 2010
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CONTENTS
MARRIED IN WHITEHORN
Susan Mallery
BORN IN WHITEHORN
Karen Rose Smith
CHRISTMAS IN WHITEHORN
Susan Mallery
MARRIED IN
WHITEHORN
Susan Mallery
SUSAN MALLERY
is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of over a hundred romances. Her combination of humour, emotion and just-plain-sexy has made her a reader favourite. Susan makesher home in the Pacific Northwest, where the whole rain thing is highly exaggerated and there’s plenty of coffee to help her meet her deadlines. Visit her Web site at www.SusanMallery.com.
One
“Don’t move, don’t make a sound and maybe we won’t kill you.”
Angela Sheppard didn’t dare breathe. She stood pinned against her car while two men in ski masks held her tightly against them. Fear poured through her, fear and a fierce determination that no matter what, she was going to survive.
This wasn’t happening, she thought frantically as her heart pounded hard in her chest. Despite the cool afternoon, she could feel sweat popping out on her back. She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t summon tears. She wanted to scream, but a large male hand covered her mouth. Besides, they’d threatened to kill her if she made any noise and she believed them.
“Tell us about the money,” one of the men said. “Tell us where he took it. That’s all we want. Just the money.”
Angela briefly closed her eyes. Oh, Tom, what have you gotten mixed up with now? Except Tom wasn’t around to answer her question. He’d died four months ago, in a car accident. At the time the police had suspected he might have been run off the road, but they hadn’t been sure. Now Angela knew for certain.
The thick hand pressing against her mouth eased slightly. “Tell us, Angela. If you don’t, we’re gonna have to hurt you.”
“I don’t know about any money,” she gasped, then winced as one of them turned her quickly and slapped her across the face.
Pain exploded against her cheekbone. Stars danced in front of her eyes. If she hadn’t been shoved up against her car, she would have dropped to her knees.
“Tell us, or you’ll be sorry!”
She was already sorry, but they wouldn’t want to hear that. “I don’t know anything,” she insisted with a sob. “We’d been separated for years before he died. I don’t know anything about his life or what he was doing.”
“He came to see you,” the taller of the men insisted, then slapped her again. “He came to see you that night. Where’s the money?”
Her ears rang from the strength of the blow. At first she thought she’d imagined the soft sound of a child’s cry. Then the two men holding her turned suddenly.
“What the hell?” the taller one asked, releasing his grip.
The short one also let her go and lunged to her left. The movement was unexpected, as was her brief moment of freedom. She tried to make the most of it by turning and running, but she slipped and started to go down.
“No, you don’t.”
One of them grabbed her. She struggled and started to scream.
“Shut up,” a man yelled at her.
She saw a fist being formed and knew enough to double over to protect herself. Still, the blow glanced off her arm and made her stumble against her car. Her head connected first with the hood and then the hard ground. She had a brief impression of a little girl crying out, then there was only cold and blackness.
Deputy Sheriff Shane McBride stared down at the unconscious woman in the hospital bed. She’d been examined, treated and admitted, all without once opening her eyes. Shane glanced at the report in his hands and grimaced. Angela Sheppard had, until about a week ago, lived in Houston, Texas. She’d come to Whitehorn to apply for a teaching job at the local elementary school. She was widowed, four months pregnant, and had that afternoon been attacked, beaten and left in the school parking lot. According to the elementary principal, who had interviewed Mrs. Sheppard, the woman knew no one in town.
“You’ve had a real bad day, Angela,” he murmured. “If I were you, I probably wouldn’t want to wake up, either.”
Except she had to wake up. He was under orders to find out everything she knew about the men who had attacked her. His boss wanted to know why the thugs who had kidnapped five-year-old Sara Mitchell first roughed up Angela Sheppard. How were the two connected? Who exactly was Angela and why had she come to Whitehorn?
“Too many questions,” he said quietly as he pulled up a chair. He was here for the duration—however long that might be. In addition to getting his information, he was also supposed to keep Angela Sheppard safe. There was enough of an uproar with the kidnapping of little Sara without the sheriff’s department having to worry about someone coming back to take Angela, too. Unless she was in on it.
More questions and no answers, Shane thought. But he was a patient man. He enjoyed law enforcement work. Some officers complained about the details and procedures, but Shane liked them. For him, solving a crime was like putting
together a jigsaw puzzle. He collected as many pieces as possible, then went through the slow process of fitting them together. So no matter how long it took, he would find the truth about Angela Sheppard. If she was an innocent party in all of this, he would do his damnedest to keep her safe. If she wasn’t innocent…well, he didn’t want to think about that right now.
He leaned back in the chair and studied his charge. According to her driver’s license she was twenty-nine, although in her present condition, she didn’t look much over twenty. Her brown hair had been cut into a short pixie cut, and except for the bruises and the bandage by her left temple, her skin was the color of cream. He wondered about her eyes, then figured they were probably brown.
He guessed that without the swelling by her cheek, not to mention the vivid red and purple bruises, that she would be attractive. Not obviously beautiful, but pretty. Shane felt an odd tug at the center of his chest. He shifted to dispel the sensation. No way was he going to get sentimental about an unconscious woman. For all he knew, she was the reason little Sara had been kidnapped in the first place.
He leaned forward and set the folder on the floor, then laced his fingers together. “Come on, Angela, wake up. You can’t avoid this forever.”
For a few minutes nothing happened. Then the woman in the bed stirred, turned her head toward him and opened her eyes.
They were green, he thought foolishly, oddly captured by her direct gaze. Big and green and fringed with dark lashes. She blinked and a faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“It’s never a good thing to wake up and find a police officer sitting by the side of one’s bed,” she whispered.
He’d expected a lot of things from her, but not an attempt at humor. He found himself having to force back an answering smile of his own. “You’ve got a lot of spunk for someone in a hospital,” he told her. “I’m Deputy Sheriff Shane McBride. You were brought in here after you were attacked.”
“I’m in the hospital?” she asked, sounding confused.
Angela stared at him. Her smile slowly faded. She glanced around the hospital room, then reached up and touched her face. She winced as her fingers gently probed her bruises and the bandage at her left temple.
“Is it bad?” she asked.
He shook his head. “The doctor says you have a mild concussion and a cut that required a couple of stitches. They’re going to keep you here overnight for observation, but if everything stays stable, you’ll be released in the morning.”
She lowered her hand to her side. “You said I was attacked. Like, mugged?”
“Not exactly.” He hesitated. “Mrs. Sheppard, why don’t you tell me what you remember.”
She stared at him, blinked twice, opened her mouth, then closed it. “I—I don’t remember.”
He picked up the folder he’d set on the floor. “No problem. We’ll go slowly.”
Her eyes widened in panic. “But I don’t remember anything.”
“It’s a pretty common reaction for someone in your situation. Just relax. We’ll start at the beginning. You drove to the elementary school early this afternoon.”
“Why?”
He looked at her. “Excuse me?”
“Why was I at an elementary school? Do I work there?”
He searched her gaze. Years of questioning people had honed his ability to read the truth behind the face of an accomplished liar. But no matter how he looked, all he saw in Angela’s expression was confusion and fear.
“Mrs. Sheppard…” he began.
She held up her left hand and looked at her ring finger. No ring glittered there. “I’m married?”
He swore under his breath. “Mrs. Sheppard, do you know where you are?”
“You mean, more than just in the hospital, don’t you?” She bit her lower lip. “No, I really don’t.”
“Do you know your address? The state you live in? Your mother’s maiden name?”
Her eyes kept getting bigger and bigger, but she didn’t cry. “You keep calling me ‘Mrs. Sheppard.’ That’s my name, right?”
“According to your driver’s license. You’re Angela Sheppard.”
“I’m sorry, Officer, but I don’t remember any of that. I don’t know where I am or how I got here. I don’t remember being married.” She glanced again at her bare left hand.
“Do you remember being pregnant?”
Angela stared at him as if he’d just handed her the secret of eternal youth and a fortune with which to enjoy the gift. Her full lips curved up into a wondrous smile as her hands reverently touched her stomach.
“A baby?” she breathed. “I’m going to have a baby?”
“According to the doctor, you’re about four months along. It’s a girl,” he added, then wondered if he should have kept that information to himself.
“Oh, thank you, Officer. That’s wonderful news.”
For the first time in years, Shane felt himself blushing. “I didn’t have anything to do with it. I mean, you were pregnant before you got here.”
“I know, but you told me. Isn’t it incredible? I’ve always wanted children. What a blessing.”
He stared at her, not sure he’d heard her correctly. How hard had she hit her head? Okay, he could accept that a lot of women wanted kids, but Angela was in a hospital room after having been attacked. She had no memory, no home, no job, and according to the computer, not much in the way of family. Yet she thought being pregnant was a blessing.
“I better get the doctor,” he said.
Nearly an hour later Shane found himself back in Angela Sheppard’s hospital room. She sat upright in her bed, sorting through the contents of her purse.
When she looked up and saw him, she smiled, something she seemed to do a lot. The oversize hospital gown dwarfed her. He doubted she was much over five foot two or three.
“I’m from Texas,” she said, waving her driver’s license at him. “Except I don’t talk like a Southerner, so I’m guessing I’m from somewhere else originally.” She wrinkled her small nose. “I hope it’s not anywhere weird. You know, like New York City or Los Angeles. People from big cities just don’t seem to be as happy as the rest of the world. Have you noticed that?”
“Ma’am, I’ve spoken with the doctor.”
“I know.” She leaned back and smoothed the covers. “I heard deep voices in the hallway a little bit ago and I guessed the two of you were trying to figure out what to do with me. Dr. Sacks told me that my memory would come back on its own. That I could try to jog it with information if I felt up to it. My type of amnesia is temporary. I’ll get some memory back in small bits and others in big chunks.” She touched her stomach. “I confess to more than a small amount of curiosity about the father of my child. Didn’t you say I was married?” She bit her lower lip. “Gosh, I hope I like him.”
“You are a talker, aren’t you?” he said without thinking.
“Yup. My mom used to tell me that I could talk the wings off an angel. When I was little I used to imagine poor wingless angels lurking in the back corners of heaven, all because I talked too much. I felt terribly guilty and I used to pray that God would heal them.” She touched a hand to her chest. “Ohmygosh. I had a memory. I remember my mom. Isn’t that great?”
Her pleasure was infectious. “Yes, it is.” He took the same chair he’d used earlier and pulled out the folder. “Dr. Sacks said it was all right for me to ask you questions. Just clear your mind and tell me the first thing that comes to you.”
He glanced at her and found her staring into space. “Mrs. Sheppard?”
She didn’t respond.
“Ma’am?”
The woman jumped slightly. “Oh, you mean me. Sorry. ‘Mrs. Sheppard’ sounds very strange. Just call me Angela. And you are—” She squinted at his badge.
“Officer McBride,” he said, then added, “You can call me Shane.”
“Nice to meet you, Shane.” She held out her small hand.
He took it in his, but instead of cool skin
he felt a hot, electric jolt pass between them. Shane was so startled he nearly jerked his hand away. What was wrong with him? he wondered as he forced himself to remain in control. As he settled back in the chair he found himself hoping that she was everything she appeared to be—a nice woman who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. If she was a criminal, she was one of the best he’d ever seen. If she was a criminal, he was going to have to take her in, and he found himself not wanting to do that.
“What’s your favorite color?” he asked.
“Blue.” She clutched her purse to her chest. “It’s blue. I remember that. Wow. You’re really good.”
“I’m just doing what the doctor recommended. Simple questions to get your brain remembering the easy things. Then we’ll work into what happened today. All right?”
She nodded. “Ask me something else, Shane. Something fun.”
Fun. When was the last time he’d done something fun? he wondered, then pushed the question away. “Did you have a dog when you were little?”
She rocked forward. “I wanted a puppy, but my step-dad wouldn’t allow it. I was going to call her Sparky. Did you have dog?”
“No.” He’d been in nearly a dozen foster homes between ages nine and eighteen. By the time he’d graduated from high school everything he’d owned in the world could fit into one suitcase. There sure as hell hadn’t been any room for a dog.
“I want one,” she said. “I want a dog and a house and family of my own.” She collapsed back on the bed. “I want everyone to be happy all the time.”
Nice dreams if you can get them, he thought. “How long have you been a teacher?”
“I’m not,” she said. She fluffed up her matted bangs. “I know I’m not, but something feels weird when I say that.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll go on. How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.” She wrinkled her nose. “Getting old, huh?”
“Yeah, the doctor mentioned you’d probably need a walker when you left here.”
She flashed him a grin. “Aren’t you the funny one? Next question.”
“When’s your birthday?”
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