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Ranch owner Cane Kirk lost more than his arm in the war. He lost his way, battling his inner demons by challenging any cowboy unfortunate enough to get in his way. No one seems to be able to cool him down, except beautiful Bodie Mays. Bodie doesn't mind saving Cane from himself, even if he is a little too tempting for her own peace of mind.
But soon Bodie's the one who finds herself in need of rescuing—only, she's afraid to tell Cane what's really going on. How can she trust someone as unpredictable as this fierce cowboy? When her silence only ends up getting her into even deeper hot water, it's up to Cane to save the day. And if he does it right, he won't be riding off into the sunset alone.
- Sales Rank: #102460 in Books
- Brand: Harlequin HQN
- Published on: 2012-10-23
- Released on: 2012-10-23
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 6.62" h x .96" w x 4.21" l, 1.00 pounds
- Binding: Mass Market Paperback
- 352 pages
- Great product!
Review
"Palmer demonstrates, yet again, why she's the queen of desperado quests for justice and true love." -Publishers Weekly on Dangerous
"Palmer knows how to make the sparks fly...heartwarming."
--Publishers Weekly on Renegade
"Diana Palmer is a mesmerizing storyteller who captures the essence of what a romance should be."
--Affaire de Coeur
"The popular Palmer has penned another winning novel, a perfect blend of romance and suspense."
--Booklist on Lawman
About the Author
The prolific author of more than one hundred books, Diana Palmer got her start as a newspaper reporter. A New York Times bestselling author and voted one of the top ten romance writers in America, she has a gift for telling the most sensual tales with charm and humor. Diana lives with her family in Cornelia, Georgia.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Bolinda Mays was having a hard time concentrating on her biology textbook. She hadn't slept well, worrying about her grandfather. He was only in his early sixties, but he was disabled and having difficulties paying his utility bills.
She'd come home for the weekend from her college in Montana. The trip was expensive, considering the gas it took to get her back and forth in her beat-up but serviceable old truck. Thank god she had a part-time job working for a convenience store while college was in session, or she'd never have even been able to afford to come home and see about her grandfather.
It was early December. Not too long before Christmas, and she was having final exams the next week. Really cold weather would come soon. But Bolinda's stepfather was making threats again, about turning her grandfather out of the house that had once been Bolinda's mother's. Her death had left the old man at the mercy of that fortunehunting fool who had his fingers in every evil pie in Catelow, Wyoming. Bolinda shivered, thinking how impossible it was going to be for her, trying to pay off her used textbooks that she'd charged on her credit card. Now she was going to have to try to pay for her grandfather's utility bill, as well. Gas was so expensive, she thought miserably. The poor old man already had to choose between groceries and blood pressure meds. She'd thought about asking her neighbors, the Kirks, for help. But the only one of them she knew well was Cane, and he resented her. A lot. It would be dicey asking him for money. if she even dared.
Not that he didn't owe her something for all the times she'd saved people from him in the little town of Catelow, Wyoming, not too far from Jackson Hole. Cane had lost an arm overseas in the Middle East, after the last big conflict but while he was still in the service. He'd come home embittered and icy cold, hating everyone. He'd started drinking, refused physical therapy, refused counseling and then gone hog wild.
Every couple of weeks, he treed the local bar. The other Kirk brothers, Mallory and Dalton, always paid the bills and they knew the owner of the tavern, who was kind enough not to have Cane arrested. But the only person who could do anything with Cane was Bolinda, or Bodie as her friends called her. Even Morie, Mallory Kirk's new wife, couldn't deal with a drunken Cane. He was intimidating.
Not so much to Bolinda. She understood him, as few other people did. Amazing, considering that she was only twenty-two and he was thirty-four. That was one big age difference. It never seemed to matter. Cane talked to her as if she were his age, often about things that she had no business knowing. He seemed to consider her one of the guys.
She didn't look like a guy. She wasn't largely endowed in the bra department, of course. Her breasts were small and pert, but nothing like the women in those guy magazines. She knew that, because Cane had dated a centerfold model once and told Bodie all about her. Another embarrassing conversation when he was drunk that he probably didn't even remember.
She shook her head and tried again to concentrate on her biology textbook. She sighed, running a hand through her short, wavy black hair. Her odd, pale brown eyes were riveted to the drawings of internal human anatomy, but she just couldn't seem to make her brain work. There was going to be a final next week, along with an oral lab, and she didn't want to be the student trying to hide under the table when the professor started asking questions.
She shifted on the carpeted floor, on her stomach, and tried again to concentrate. Music started playing. Strange. That sounded like the musical ring of her cell phone, the theme from the Star Trek movie…
"Hey, Bodie, it's for you!" her grandfather called from the next room, where she'd left her cell phone in her coat pocket.
She muttered something and got to her feet. "Who is it, Granddaddy?"
"I don't know, sugar." He handed Bodie's cell phone to her.
"Thanks," she whispered. "Hello?" she said into the phone.
"Uh, Miss Mays?" came a hesitant voice over the line.
She recognized who was calling immediately. She ground her teeth together. "I won't come!" she said. "I'm studying for a biology test. I've got a lab, to boot.!"
"Aw, please?" the voice came again. "They're threatening to call the police. I think they'll do it this time. The newspapers would have a field day."
There was a pregnant pause. Her lips made a thin line. "Oh, damn!" she muttered.
"Darby says he'll come get you. In fact," the cowboy added hopefully, "he's sitting right outside your house right now."
Bodie stomped to the window and looked out the blinds. There was a big black Kirk ranch truck parked in the driveway, with the lights on and the engine running.
"Please?" the cowboy asked again.
"All right." She hung up in the middle of his
"Thank you!"
She grabbed her jacket and her purse and slipped into her boots. "I have to go out for an hour. I won't be too long," she told her grandfather.
Rafe Mays, used to the drill, pursed his lips. "you should get combat pay," he pointed out.
Bodie rolled her eyes and walked out the door. "I hope I won't be long," she said before she pulled it shut.
She got into the truck. Darby Hanes, the Kirks' longtime foreman, gave her a wistful smile.
"I know. I'm sorry. But you're the only person who can do anything with him. He's tearing up the bar. They're getting tired of the weekly routine." He pulled out into the road, after making sure she had her seat belt on. "He had a date last night up in Jackson Hole. Ended badly, I'm guessing, from all the cussing he did when he got home."
She didn't reply. She hated knowing about Cane Kirk's girlfriends. He seemed to have a lot of them, even with his disability. Not that it made any difference to her. Cane would still be Cane no matter what. She loved him. She'd loved him since she graduated from high school, when he presented her with a bouquet of pink roses, her favorite, and a bottle of very expensive floral perfume. He'd even kissed her. On the cheek, of course, like a treasured child more than like an adult. Her grandfather had worked for the Rancho Real until his health failed and he had to quit. That had been while Cane was still in the military, after the second Gulf War, before the terrible roadside bomb had robbed him of most of his left arm, and almost of his life.
She supposed Cane was fond of her. It wasn't until last year that everyone had discovered her almost magical ability to calm him when he went on drinking sprees. Since then, when he went on benders, Bodie was recruited to fetch him home. There had been a brief period of time when he'd gone to therapy, been measured for a prosthesis and seemed to be adjusting nicely to his new life.
And then it had all gone south, for reasons nobody knew. His bar crawls had become legendary. The expense was terrible, because his brothers, Mallory and Dalton, had to pick up the expense. Cane got a monthly check from the army, but nobody could entice him to apply for disability. He went to show cattle, with a cowboy who handled the big bulls for him, and he was the idea man for the Kirk ranch. He was good at PR, worked to liaison with the national cattlemen's lobby, kept up with current legislation that affected the cattle industry and generally was the spokesman for the Kirk ranch.
When he was sober.
Lately he wasn't. Not a lot.
"Any idea what happened?" Bodie asked curiously, because Darby would know. He knew everything that went on around the Rancho Real, or "royal ranch" in Spanish, named by the original owner, a titled gentleman from valladolid, northwest of Madrid, Spain, who started it way back in the late 1800s.
Darby glanced at her and grimaced. It was dark and very cold, even with the heater running and the old but serviceable coat Bodie was wearing.
"I have an idea," he confessed. "But if Cane ever found out I told you, I'd be standing in the unemployment line."
She sighed and fiddled with the fanny pack she wore in lieu of carrying around a cumbersome purse. "She must have said something about his arm."
He nodded faintly. "That would be my guess.
He's really sensitive about it. Funny," he added solemnly, "I thought he was getting better."
"If he'd get back in therapy, mental and physical, he'd improve," she replied.
"Sure, but he won't even talk about it. He's sinking into himself," he added quietly.
"There goes that theoretical physics mind working overtime again," she teased, because most people didn't know about Darby's degree in that field.
He shrugged. "Hey, I just manage cattle."
"I'll bet you sit around in your room at night imagining the route to a new and powerful unified field theory." She chuckled.
"Only on Thursdays," he said, laughing out loud. "At least my chosen field of study doesn't leave me covered in mud and using shovels and trowels in holes around the country."
"Don't knock anthropology," she said firmly. "We'll find the missing link one day, and you can say you knew me before I was famous, like that guy in Egypt who's always in documentaries about pharaohs' tombs." She lifted her rounded chin. "Nothing wrong with honest work."
He made a face. "Digging up bones."
"Bones can tell you a lot," she replied.
"So they say. Here it is," he added, nodding toward the little out-of-the-way bar that Cane frequented. Out front was a stop sign that local drunks often used for target practice when they went driving around in four-wheel-drive vehicles late at night. Now it said "S… .p." The two middle letters were no longer recognizable.
"They need to replace that," she pointed out.
"What for? Everybody knows it means stop," he said. "Why waste good metal and paint? They'd just shoot it up again. Not much in the way of entertainment this far out in the country."
"Got a point, I guess." She sighed.
He parked in front of the bar. There were only two vehicles out there. Probably those of employees. Everybody with any sense would have left when Cane started cursing and throwing things. At least, that was the pattern.
"I'll keep the engine running. In case somebody called the sheriff this time," he mused.
"Cane and the sheriff are best friends," she reminded him.
"That won't stop Cody Banks from locking him up if someone files a complaint for assault and battery," he stated. "The law is the law, friendship notwithstanding."
"I guess. Maybe it would knock some sense into him."
He shook his head. "That's been tried. Mallory even let him stew in a cell for two days. Finally bailed him out, and he went back and did it again that same weekend. Our black sheep there is out of control."
"I'll see what I can do to rein him in," she promised.
She got out of the truck, ran a hand through her short black hair and grimaced. Her brown eyes were somber as she hesitated on the porch for just a minute, and then, finally, opened the door.
The mess was bad. Tables knocked over. Chairs everywhere. One was upside down behind the bar in a pile of glass, and the place smelled like whiskey. This was going to be an expensive mess, too.
"Cane?" she called.
A thin man in a Hawaiian shirt peered over the bar. "Bodie? Thank God!"
"Where is he?" she asked.
He pointed to the bathroom.
She went toward it. She was almost there when it slammed open and Cane walked out. His long-sleeved beige Western shirt with the fancy embroidery was stained with blood. Probably his own, she thought, noting the caked blood around his nose, which was bruised, and his square jaw. His sensual mouth had a cut just at the corner, where blood was also visible. His thick, short, slightly wavy black hair was mussed. His black eyes were bloodshot. Even in that condition, he was so attractive that he made her heart pound. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with long powerful legs encased in tight jeans; his big feet in boots that still had the mirror polish on them despite his exploits. He was thirty-four to her twenty-two, but right now, he seemed much younger.
He glared at her. "Why do they always bring you?" he demanded.
She shrugged. "My unusual ability to subdue charging tigers?" she suggested.
He blinked. Then he chuckled.
She went forward and took one of his big hands in hers. The knuckles were bruised and swollen and smeared with blood. She couldn't tell if it was his or somebody else's. "Mallory's going to be mad."
"Mallory isn't home," he said in a loud whisper. He even grinned. "He and Morie went to Louisiana to see a bull. They won't be back until tomorrow."
"Tank won't be happy, either," she added, using the nickname that family used for Dalton, the youngest brother.
He shrugged. "Tank will be knee-deep in those old Tom Mix silent cowboy movies he likes. It's Saturday night. He makes popcorn, takes the phone off the hook, locks himself in and saturates himself with black-and-white cinema."
"That's what you should be doing, instead of wrecking bars!" she muttered.
Most helpful customer reviews
40 of 41 people found the following review helpful.
Some Ole Cookie-Cutter Story
By Kindle Customer
I am a big DP fan but this is becoming trite. Heroine is young, virginal, religious with a hero that is an older, rich, troubled soul who is misunderstood by the world at large. What is it with the Heroine's in DP's book of late? Why do they continue to subject themselves to the vicious insults hurled their way by the hero time after time after time? Then there's the now-always-present preachings on society: morals, religion and drinking. I do not read to be preached to but to be entertained. If the Heroine is truly religious then why is it okay for him to take her shirt off? As long his hands remain above the waist then it's okay, is that the reasoning? Can you say 'slippery slope'? And the history? This isn't a history lesson, either. I will give her props in that instead of the usual blond, green-eyed woman in the last several books, this book does step far enough out of her comfort zone to give us a Heroine with dark hair and dark eyes but the remainder of the book is cookie-cutter. In fact, it is suspiciously like a couple of other DP book where the Hero had lost an arm (Beloved, Simon Hart story)and the Heroine the only one who can talk the drunken man off the ledge (Beloved,Carson Wayne & Mandelyn story). Cut and paste from those books and presto-change-oh, new book. I am diligently trying to hang in there since DP has always been an automatic purchase for me but I'm beginning to lose faith. From now on, I'll wait to read the reviews before I purchase the book.
16 of 19 people found the following review helpful.
Wyoming Frustrated aka P.T.S.S.
By Jaz'elle Lynn
Where do I even begin....
I made the fatal mistake of reading this book at the same time I was re-reading Denim and Lace. It took me days just to unconfuse the characters, because theyre so similar! I read these books now and treat them as rough drafts; thinking to myself aloud, and to the reading public of course, that " The next ones going to be better! I just know it is! ( I do this in my Judy Garland voice of course)
But by gosh Antie Em- it just isnt.
Shall we give her a half point for changing the heroines hair and eye color from standard Blond and Green, to her fall back colors of Black and Brown?
We shall! a half a point to DP.
Shall we give a partial point to making her heroine over the age of 21 and decently educated?
yes! another point to DP.
She gets a whole point for no Mercenaries,no Coup d'etat's,and no kidnappings!
Where she looses points for me is the unending Anthropology lessons ( i wanted to bury myself for a 1000 years then have my own bones carbon dated), the unceasing preachiness about health care ( we get it, not a fan of obamacare..got it!), and her single minded devotion to making us understand that her female characters are virgins because they are "out of date and not in touch with the rest of the world". Oddly enough her relentlessness about these issues havent bothered me as much until now. I think its because the characters set themselves apart and above from everyone out in " society" yet behave in such hypocritical ways.
Par Example: ( potential spoiler? maybe? doubt it?!) Bodie considers herself out touch and out of date because of her moral code, but she still goes and lets herself be taken semi nude photos of her kissing a stranger for money? C'mon? her mother loved her and didnt leave her anything? Really it didnt occur to her to get a laywer because the stepfather is a lecherous pig and he might be lying about the will? So shes gullable, and stupid..but its ok because shes pure? ok.right.sure!
And lets talk about Cane, our resident alcoholic who tears up bars (see Carson in Cattlemans choice) has one arm ( see Regan in Beloved, or better read it cause its awesome, and then maybe see the Fugitive as well) and hates when women reject him yet, just to show the heroine that he cant be held down, cuz' hes a playa playa- lets her catch him kissing another woman on their honeymoon. Where are his redeeming qualities exactly. He drives drunk, continually putting himself and the lives of others in danger, he supposedly loves the Bodie, but like Miley Cyrus, he just cant be tamed so he lets her think hes cheating- but its okay because hes got old fashioned morals. Well if those are old fashioned, give me new fangled any day. He's so emerged in his own misery about loosing his arm, he doesnt even entertain the "Christian Duty" of helping her when shes in need because he sees it as her coming on to him. Especially since all she does besides study and moon over him is rescue him from bars...and moon over him! I am a woman of faith...but Cmon!...,Cmon!!!!
At this point I realize I am suffering from Post Traumatic Story Syndrome. Im seeing phrases like "Dishy" and " Hungry" and I feel like im in a time warp. And...I'm not going to even touch the fanny pack thing. ( My very southern granny would have rather i stuff my bra with wallet and keys then be caught dead with a fanny pack!) Lexicon aside, I just couldnt bring myself to like either character much. All of her stories remind me of the lion and the mouse. The frail. plain, unassuming mouse, endures the roaring and ferociousness of the lion to pull the thorn out. of course to the gratitude of the lion. But is it worth it? Diana Palmer seems to think it is. Does she continually make her heroines plain in face, and poor in wealth so they can be rich and loyalty and spirit? Its good that the majority of her characters seem to latch on to her heros like birds imprinting, because she makes them so unappealing to other people.
The high point for me when was one particularly hyprocritical character gets her just deserts, but other than that I feel the effects of Post traumatic Story Syndrome or PTSS, really getting to me. Even in the most intimate moments her characters invariably repeat the same things "So sweet, its so sweet" Yes..sweet enough to give me a headache. (As I roll my eyes) Yes I know I know the big strong man can go to war, have 5 masters degrees, speak 9 languages- The HE almighty can take on the world, but hes awfrwaid of the widdle woman wif the widdle brweasts, so to keep her from getting close he lashes out and lashes out at her and..she takes it. This seems to be the re-occuring theme and im more than a little over it. Bodie does at time call him out on his unreasonable behavior, but his " I dont want her, but you cant have her- dont touch her shes mine-but I wont be tied down" attitude...just to much for me. Sorry folks...this one has me plum tuckerd! ( if she can say dishy- i can say plum tuckered!)
15 of 18 people found the following review helpful.
Its Wyoming, but not so very fierce
By Dona Literazzi
I respectfully believe that Ms. Palmers titles seem to bring visions of strength and boldness to mind. However I do not believe that her stories are living up to their titles. After reading many of her books, I decided to review this one because, I feel that as an author she is perhaps struggling with an ever changing world. It must be very hard to keep up ones standards, and convictions and have your characters echo them in this very unconservative world. But her fans, and I include myself in that number appreciate her wholesomeness, her traditional views, and charmingly provential plot lines. However, I think the reason she is repeating herself so very often is perhaps because she is afraid of dissapointing her core of readers? I for one do not like reading the same story time and time again, but there are those who do not mind it so much. I think a very big problem is that all of her characters have some prior affiliation. They are always the brother of a friend, a step brother, a guardian. Never just two strangers with no past. Not since Harden and Melinda's story have I seen this I believe. And it was quiet refreshing for the heroine to not have always had a crush on the hero, and be so very much younger than he This book, with Cane and Bodie is very much like her others and there are no surprises. This book leaves me only with questions about the author herself. Why is there always such a dramatic age gap? Can a man not find love with a peer? Why must her young ladies be so ignorant? Even virgins have more knowlege in these days. Why do her heros have to hurt the heroine so cruelly; because he loves her. I tell my daughter that "lamore non fa male" or love doesnt hurt. If it does, like the when the body hurts, something is wrong. Maybe she is writing for herself? Maybe she loved a man so very much she thought she could love him enough to make his pain go away. But we women are made of sterner stuff than this. We are made to love, and to be loved. I wish Cane, our hero, could have loved Bodie as "fiercly" as the title would suggest. Instead he hides behind strong drink, shallow insecurties and jealousy. This is not amore Diana. I have better hopes for her next title "The Rancher". It would seem there is no passion in the title to mislead us afterall.
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