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City girl. It was written all over her like a sign warning him to keep off. Sure, Slade McPherson would train her horse…With his ranch one bad day away from foreclosure, he can't afford to turn away a paying customer. But no way is this cowboy getting involved with a woman like Jordana Lawton—no matter how pretty she looks in a saddle.

Yet everything can change in an instant. A terrifying run-in with an angry bull tilts Slade's world off its axis, leaving him wounded and unable to compete in a race that could change his future, for good. With Jordana by his side, he just might stand a chance. But what happens when this old-school cowboy finds himself falling for a modern city girl?

• Sales Rank: #312928 in Books
• Brand: HQN Books
• Published on: 2011-11-15
• Released on: 2011-11-15
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 6.62" h x 1.00" w x 4.21" l, .40 pounds
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 384 pages

Features

• Great product!

Review
"Talented Lindsay McKenna delivers excitement and romance in equal measure." - RT Book Reviews

"McKenna's latest is an intriguing tale...a unique twist
on the romance novel, and one that's sure to please."
-RT Book Reviews on Dangerous Prey

"Emotionally charged...riveting and deeply touching."
-RT Book Reviews on Firstborn

"Gunfire, emotions, suspense, tension, and sexuality
abound in this fast-paced, absorbing novel."
-Affaire de Coeur on Wild Woman

About the Author

A U.S. Navy veteran, she was a meteorologist while serving her country. She pioneered the military romance in 1993 with Captive of Fate, Silhouette Special edition.  Her heart and focus is on honoring and showing our military men and women.  Creator of the Wyoming Series and Shadow Warriors series for HQN, she writes emotionally and romantically intense suspense stories. Visit her online at www.LindsayMcKenna.com.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.


"Boss! Look out!"

Slade McPherson was in a rectangular corral at his Jackson Hole, Wyoming, ranch with the meanest Hereford bull he'd ever dealt with. He heard Shorty, his wrangler, give a cry of warning. There was sudden movement behind him. Diablo, the bull, had been walking toward the chute to receive his yearly set of shots. Slade never allowed any horses in such a confined area with the bull. Diablo hated men. Slade wasn't about to allow one of his prized horses to be butted and injured by Diablo.

Whirling around, he saw Diablo toss his massive white-and-rust head, drool flinging in all directions out of his mouth. The bull had decided not to go into the chute and, instead, wheeled his one ton body around and charged Slade who was ten feet away. The bull bellowed, lowered his head and attacked.

Slade was five feet away from the steel-pipe fence. There was no way he could stop such a charge. All he could do was run like hell. And that's exactly what he did. Because he was six-foot-two inches in height and he had a long stride. Adrenaline shot through him as he dug the heels of his cowboy boots into the dusty floor of the corral. In two strides, Slade hit the fence, made a huge leap and landed on the third rung of the five-rung corral. The ground shook from Diablo's charge. As he jerked his leg up, still climbing to get away from the angry bull, Slade felt the brush of the bull's head against the heel of his boot.

It took a matter of two seconds before it was all over. Diablo roared and galloped around the small enclosure, tossing his head in frustration. Slade balanced himself on the fifth rung of the fence, watching his prized breeding bull bawl and race around the enclosure. That was close! Slade had lost count of the times Diablo had planned and waited until he'd get near enough to trample him to death. The bull had great genes for putting good meat on his offspring, but his personality sucked.

"Boss," Shorty panted, running over and looking up at Slade, "you okay? He grazed you."

Taking off his tan Stetson hat, the crown damp with sweat from the July day, Slade grinned and lifted his forearm. He wiped his brow with the back of his arm. "I'm fine," he drawled. "Close but no cigar." The sun was bright as it climbed higher in a deep blue sky. He glanced down at Shorty. The man was only five-foot-six inches tall, lean as a whippet and didn't look as if he could even make it as a wrangler, but he was one of the best. He came from good Irish stock with sandy-colored short hair and dancing green, elfish eyes.

"Good thing," Shorty muttered, worry in his tone. He stepped aside as Slade clambered off the pipe fence and landed on the dusty earth. "I'll tell ya, that bull seems to hate us humans more and more every year." Shorty's small face grew pinched as he watched the bull continuing to trot in circles, the drool from the corners of his opened mouth flying out like thin, glittering spider webs around his head and massive shoulders.

"Bad personality genes for sure," Slade agreed, settling the dusty, sweat-stained Stetson back on his head. He watched Diablo. Once the bull seemed cooled down, the animal walked quietly into the chute. For the Hereford, it was a game, Slade realized as he walked around the outside of the corral. At the chute, he dropped the rear slat that would keep the bull confined. Going to his green Chevy truck, Slade picked up the syringe lying on the seat. Once a year, Diablo got his necessary vaccinations. Shorty followed him to the stout pipe chute that now enclosed the twenty-five-hundred-pound bull.

"Boss, remember you got a new client comin' out here this afternoon," Shorty reminded him. The wrangler had been with Slade since he'd taken over the ranch.

Slade grunted. He really didn't want to hear that. Going to the chute, he said, "Stand by Diablo's head and distract him for a moment."

Grinning, Shorty moved to within a foot of the metal chute where the bull stood. "I'll be the decoy," he chortled.

Slade nodded and positioned himself at the rear of the bull. Diablo lived to find a human to trample. In the bull's mind, humans were a threat to his territory. And Diablo would never allow another male on two legs within the pastures he roamed with his herd of cows. If they came near, all bets were off, and he became enraged and would charge them. Good thing he thought four-legged horses were not threatening. Diablo snorted, his ears moving forward and back as Shorty slowly approached.

"Perfect," Slade murmured as he sank the needle into the thick, muscled area of the bull's well-padded hip. Diablo's entire attention was on Shorty's approach. As Slade withdrew the needle, he glanced forward to get the bull's reaction. There was none. His angry brown eyes were fixed on Shorty. "We're done," he called. Placing the emptied syringe back in the box on his truck seat, Slade said, "Release him back out into the pasture."

"Right, Boss," Shorty said with a quick nod. "He ain't gonna be happy, though. All his ladies are in the pasture across the road from him."

Pulling his leather gloves back on, Slade nodded. "Too bad. He can look, but not touch." Slade had a small herd of Herefords, fifty in all, that Diablo bred in early fall. It took nine months for gestation. In the early summer months, the calves were born. At that time, Diablo was separated from his band, a dirt road plus a stout metal-pipe rail fence between them. One never kept a bull with newly born calves. The chances of them being injured or killed by the bull was very real.

And Slade needed every calf that was birthed because after they reached a certain age, they would be sold to the meat market. And that meant money to pay a mortgage that was always a monthly nightmare to him. Above all, Slade never wanted to lose this ranch. He lived on the razor's edge of doing just that. Being a small-time rancher meant a constant balancing act with the bank mortgage on a monthly basis. Miss one payment and he'd be foreclosed upon. It can't happen!

Slade watched Shorty open the chute. Instantly, Diablo bellowed and shot out of it at a full gallop. The Tetons Ranch that Slade had inherited from his parents after his uncle died was only fifty acres in size. A very small ranch, all things considered. Diablo thundered out of the opened gate. Ahead of him was lush green pasture. And farther to his left was the stout pipe fence and a dirt road. All his ladies and their babies grazed peacefully on the other side. Diablo would pace for a while, walking up and down the fence line, tossing his head and reestablishing he was boss of his herd. Slade knew that the territorial bull would eventually settle down. Diablo would do his best to follow his herd, but the pipe fence and road always stood between them. Once the bull quieted, he would graze and watch his band from afar.

Shorty came back. He took off his dusty black Stetson and brushed it against his thigh. Dust poofed away from it. "Boss," he said as he pulled a crinkled piece of notebook paper from his back pocket, "here's whose comin' at 1:00 p.m."

Slade didn't like new clients, but they were his bread and butter, necessary to meet his financial obligations for the Tetons Ranch. "Okay, thanks," he grunted, taking the paper. Shorty managed Slade's endurance-training appointments. Carefully unwrapping the note, he saw Shorty had scribbled a name and phone number. Frowning, he tried to read it. Shorty was thirty-five years old, single and had never been married. He'd worked for Slade's Uncle Paul shortly before he'd died, and the ranch had been willed to Slade and his fraternal twin brother, Griff. Slade was now thirty-two, and he was grateful for Shorty's loyalty to the ranch and his family. He glanced up—Shorty's thin, narrow face was set in a grin.

"I 'spose you can't read my writin', Boss?'' "Got that right," Slade growled. He handed the note back to his wrangler. "Want to translate it for me?"

Chortling, Shorty read it and said, "Dr. Jordana Lawton is bringing her mustang mare named Stormy here this afternoon at 1:00 p.m." Shorty handed him back the note.

"A doctor?"

"Yes, Boss. She's an emergency-room physician, and Gwen Garner told me that Dr. Lawton is also a functional-medicine specialist and has her clinic near the hospital."

Mouth quirking, Slade asked, "What'd you do? Have a cozy chat with Gwen?" Her son, Cade Garner, was a deputy sheriff. She was the town gossip, but she was careful on what she said and made sure her information was correct before she passed it on to anyone else.

Turning red, Shorty shrugged. "Hey, Gwen said Dr. Lawton was a nice lady, Boss. I guess because Dr. Lawton is used to chattin' with her patients, she's real easy to talk to."

"You weren't her patient."

"No, but when we talked on the phone, she made me feel special," Shorty said, challenging him.

Shrugging, Slade muttered, "I don't care who she is so long as she can pay for the training. What's this about a mustang mare? Is she wanting endurance training?"

"For both of 'em, Boss. The doctor wants to know if her mare is capable of being an endurance-horse prospect from a conformation standpoint. So, I told her to trailer the mare out here and you'd take a look at her."

In Slade's business of endurance riding, of which he was many times a champion, people often brought their horses out for him to check out. "Okay. Anything else she wants?"

Shrugging, Shorty said, "The doc said if her mare's conformation was okay, she wanted to hire you to train both of them for level one riding."

Nodding, Slade interpreted this as money coming into his coffers to keep the bank at bay. He had weekly training sessions with nine male students. He knew how to get a horse ready for an endurance ride, whether it was a twenty, fifty or a hundred-mile challenge. And he also knew how to get the rider in shape, as well. "Okay, that sounds good. She got a background in endurance racing?"

"A little," Shorty hedged. "I really didn't get into much of a discussion with her on that, Boss. I figure you'll sort it out with her when she arrives here this afternoon."

"Okay," Slade said. Tucking the paper with the doctor's name and phone number into his dark red cotton cowboy shirt pocket, he said, "Let's get back to work. We need to start separating the calves from their mothers, branding and vaccinating them." That would be a weeklong activity. And Slade only had one wrangler. He worked from four in the morning to midnight every day. And every hour of daylight was precious.

"Right," Shorty murmured, following him to where their horses were tied to the corral fence.

As Slade mounted his buckskin quarter horse, Dude, his mind wandered back to Dr. Jordana Lawton for just a second. Slightly curious if she was a good endurance prospect, Slade hoped that it would work out so he had more money flowing in. He'd find out soon enough.

Most helpful customer reviews

6 of 6 people found the following review helpful.
Enjoyed reading~
By A. Mcintyre
I just read this book, and am now reading the next one titled "The Last Wrangler". So far I like the Last Wrangler a little better; however, The Last Cowboy has a solid and interesting plot, and brings in some other characters that tie people together from other books I've read of McKenna's (as does The Last Wrangler). It definitely has a heated romantic buildup between the two main characters, Slade and Jordana. Good read!

5 of 6 people found the following review helpful.
A different kind of cowboy
By What's On the Bookshelf
The book was okay. In my opinion the synopsis is a little misleading. When I initially read the first part about pure alpha male cowboy I envisioned a rancher tried and true. Think 1000+ acres with more cattle than one man can handle. That's not who Slade is at all. Yeah, he's a rancher and he has cattle...but that's not where his focus is.

Slade is a horse aficionado, specifically in the endurance race arena. This is why Jordana comes to him for help. She wants to improve her endurance standings, she's run races but now she's ready for the majors and Slade is the guy to get her ready. If you like horses and want to learn about something not heard of often (at least I haven't heard about endurance races often) this is a great book. The amount of detail McKenna goes into is good.

Jordana actually came across a little more alpha than Slade, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Her strong personality was a good counter to his, and that kept the fire between them flaming hot. I loved the back of forth of these two characters. There really wasn't much downtime especially when things turn bad for both of them.

A few of the plot points were predictable, but again that was fine for this book. This is not something that I'd suggest you'd read if you are looking for something to challenge you. It's an easy comfort read. Everyone ends up happy and even the bad stuff isn't horrible (bad yes, but not gut wrenching bad). I enjoyed the ease of the relationship and learning something new about horses. Oh, and of course Slade is still a cowboy because as Lindsay states: cowboys aren't just ranchers, they come in many different types.

4 of 5 people found the following review helpful.
Strong Modern Western
By Voracious Reader
This novel did have some flaws. The author repeated the same things several times, which seemed very redundant, and there were abrupt point of view changes within the same unit with no indication of the switch. There were also a few typos or errors, like using "high" for "thigh." Despite these things, however, I thought it was a much better book than the overall rating of three stars indicates.

I was cheering for the main characters all along, although Jordana was too much of an optimist, and Slade was too hard on himself and everyone else. There was too much lustful, sexual tension, but there was no actual sex until near the end, and it came amidst a committment, which made it a little more acceptable to me. At least it wasn't filled with casual sex, as so many others.

I gave it four stars, and that was a strong four. Without the very few curse words, the many sexual thoughts, and the one sex scene, I would have given it a five. I enjoyed the overall story that much.

See all 56 customer reviews...

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New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling sensation Linda Lael Miller returns with these classic McKettrick tales in one great collection!

Sierra's Homecoming

When she moved to her family's ancestral ranch, single mom Sierra McKettrick was disconcerted by the Triple M's handsome caretaker, Travis Reid. But when her son claimed to see a mysterious boy in the house, and an heirloom teapot started popping up in unexpected places, Sierra wondered if the attraction between her and Travis might be the least of her worries.

In 1919 widowed Hannah McKettrick lived at the ranch with her son and her brother-in-law, Doss. Her confused feelings for Doss and her son's health problems occupied all her thoughts…until the family teapot started disappearing. Could Sierra and her ancestor Hannah be living parallel lives?

The McKettrick Way

Meg McKettrick longs for a baby—husband optional. Perfect father material is gorgeous Brad O'Ballivan, old flame and new owner of his family's ranch in Stone Creek. Meg wants to do things her way…the McKettrick way. But Brad feels just as strongly about the O'Ballivan way….

Love, marriage, babies and a lifetime to share—that's what Brad wants. Not a single night of passion, an unexpected pregnancy and a woman who won't budge. For a rugged rodeo cowboy who never gives up, it's a battle of wills he intends to win…and nothing matters more than claiming Meg's wild McKettrick heart.

• Sales Rank: #744018 in Books
• Brand: HQN Books
• Published on: 2010-12-28
• Released on: 2010-12-28
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 6.62" h x 1.32" w x 4.21" l, .52 pounds
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 512 pages

Features

• Great product!

About the Author

The daughter of a town marshal, Linda Lael Miller is the author of more than 100 historical and contemporary novels. Now living in Spokane, Washington, the “First Lady of the West” hit a career high when all three of her 2011 Creed Cowboy books debuted at #1 on the New York Times list. In 2007, the Romance Writers of America presented her their Lifetime Achievement Award. She personally funds her Linda Lael Miller Scholarships for Women. Visit her at www.lindalaelmiller.com.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.


Present Day

"Stay in the car," Sierra McKettrick told her seven-year-old son, Liam.

He fixed her with an owlish gaze, peering through the lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses. "I want to see the graves, too," he told her, and put a mittened hand to the passenger-side door handle to make his point.

"Another time," she answered firmly. Part of her knew it was irrational to think a visit to the cemetery could provoke an asthma attack, but when it came to Liam's health, she was taking no chances.

A brief stare-down ensued, and Sierra prevailed, but barely.

"It's not fair," Liam said, yet he sounded resigned. He didn't normally give up so easily, but they'd just driven almost nonstop all the way from Florida to northern Arizona, and he was tired.

"Welcome to the real world," Sierra replied. She set the emergency brake, left the engine running with the heat on High, and got out of the ancient station wagon she'd bought on credit years before.

Standing ankle-deep in a patch of ragged snow, she took in her surroundings. Ordinary people were buried in churchyards and public cemeteries when they died, she reflected, feeling peevish. The McKettricks were a law unto themselves, living or dead. They weren't content with a mere plot, like other families. Oh, no. They had to have a place all their own, with a view. And what a view it was.

Shoving her hands into the pockets of her cloth coat, which was nearly as decrepit as her car, Sierra turned to survey the Triple M Ranch, sprawling in every direction, well beyond the range of her vision. Red mesas and buttes, draped in a fine lacing of snow. Copses of majestic white oaks, growing at intervals along a wide and shining stream. Expanses of pastureland, and even the occasional cactus, a stranger to the high country, a misplaced wayfarer, there by mistake.

Like her.

A flash of resentment rose suddenly within Sierra, and a moment or two passed before she recognized the emotion for what it was: not her own opinion, but that of her late father, Hank Breslin.

When it came to the McKettricks, Sierra had no opinions that she could honestly claim, because she didn't know these people, except by reputation.

She'd taken their name for one reason and one reason only—because that was part of the deal. Liam needed health care, and she couldn't provide it. Eve McKettrick—Sierra's biological mother—had set up a medical trust fund for her grandson, but there were strings attached.

With the McKettricks, she heard her father say, as surely as if he were standing there beside her, there are always strings attached.

"Be quiet," Sierra said, out loud. She was grateful for Eve's help, and if she had to take the McKettrick name and live on the Triple M Ranch for a year to meet the conditions, so be it. It wasn't as if she had anyplace better to go.

Resolutely she approached the cemetery entrance, walked under the ornate metal archway forming the word "McKettrick" in graceful cursive.

A life-size bronze statue of a man on horseback, broad-shouldered and imposing, with a bandanna at his throat and a six-gun riding on his hip, took center stage.

Angus McKettrick, the patriarch. The founder of the Triple M, and the dynasty. Sierra knew little about him, but as she looked up into that hard, determined face, shaped by the rigors of life in the nineteenth century, she felt a kinship.

Ruthless old bastard, said the voice of Hank Breslin. That's where McKettricks get their arrogance. From him.

"Be quiet," Sierra repeated, thrusting her hands deeper into her coat pockets. She stood in silence for a long moment, listening to the rattle-throated hum of the station wagon's engine, the lonely cry of a nearby bird, the thrum of blood in her ears. A piney scent spiced the air.

Sierra turned, saw the marble angels marking the graves of Angus McKettrick's wives—Georgia, mother of Rafe, Kade and Jeb. Concepcion, mother of Kate.

Look for Holt and Lorelei, Eve had told her, the last time they'd spoken over the telephone. That's our part of the family.

Sierra caught sight of other bronze statues, smaller than Angus's but no less impressive in their detail. They were works of art, museum pieces, and if they hadn't been solidly anchored in cement, they probably would have been stolen. It said something about the McKettrick legend, she supposed, that there had been no vandalism in this lonely, wind-blown place.

Jeb McKettrick, the youngest of the brothers, was represented by a cowboy with his six-gun drawn; his wife, Chloe, by a slender woman in pioneer dress, shading her eyes with one hand and smiling. Their children, grandchildren, great- and a few great-great-grandchildren surrounded them, their costly headstones laid out in neat rows, like the streets of a western town.

Next was Kade McKettrick, easy in his skin, wearing a six-shooter, like his brother, but with an open book in his hand. His wife, Mandy, wore trousers, a loose-fitting shirt, boots and a hat, and held a shotgun. Like Chloe, she was smiling. Judging by the number of other graves around theirs, these two had also been prolific parents.

The statue of Rafe McKettrick revealed a big, powerfully built man with a stubborn set to his jaw. His bride, Emmeline, stood close against his side; their arms were linked and she rested her head against the outside of his upper arm.

Sierra smiled. Again, their progeny was plentiful.

The last statue brought up an unexpected surge of emotion in Sierra. Here, then, was Holt, half brother to Rafe, Kade and Jeb, and to Kate. In his long trail coat, he looked both handsome and tough. A pair of very detailed ammunition belts criss-crossed his chest, and the badge pinned to his wide lapel read Texas Ranger.

Sierra stared into those bronze eyes and, once again, felt something stir deep inside her. I came from this man, she thought. We've got the same DNA.

Liam gave a jarring blast of the car horn, impatient to get to the ranch house that would be their home for the next twelve months.

Sierra waved in acknowledgment but moved on to the statue of Lorelei. She was mounted on a mule, long, lace-trimmed skirts spilling on either side of her impossibly small waist, face shadowed, not by a sunbonnet but by a man's hat. Her spirited gaze rested lovingly on her husband, Holt.

Liam laid on the horn.

Fearing he might decide to take the wheel and drive to the ranch house on his own, Sierra turned reluctantly from the markers and followed a path littered with pine needles and the dead leaves of the six towering white oaks that shared the space, heading back to the car.

Back to her son.

"Are all the McKettricks dead?" Liam asked, when Sierra settled into the driver's seat and fastened the belt.

"No," Sierra answered, waiting for some stray part of herself to finish meandering among those graves, making the acquaintance of ancestors, and catch up. "We're McKettricks, and we're not dead. Neither is your grandmother, or Meg." She knew there were cousins, too, descended from Rafe, Kade and Jeb, but it was too big a subject to explain to a seven-year-old boy. Besides, she was still trying to square them all away in her own mind.

"I thought my name was Liam Breslin," the little boy said practically.

It should have been Liam Douglas, Sierra thought, remembering her first and only lover. As always, when Liam's father, Adam, came to mind, she felt a pang, a complicated mixture of passion, sorrow and helpless fury. She and Adam had never been married, so she'd given Liam her maiden name.

"We're McKettricks now," Sierra said with a sigh. "You'll understand when you're older."

She backed the car out carefully, keenly aware of the steep descent on all sides, and made the wide turn that would take them back on to the network of dirt roads bisecting the Triple M.

"I can understand now," Liam asserted, having duly pondered the matter in his solemn way. "After all, I'm gifted."

"You may be gifted," Sierra replied, concentrating on her driving, "but you're still seven."

"Do I get to be a cowboy and ride bucking broncs and stuff like that?"

Sierra suppressed a shudder. "No," she said.

"That bites," Liam answered, folding his arms and settling deeper into the heavy nylon coat she'd bought him on the road, when they'd reached the first of the cold-weather states. "What's the good of living on a ranch if you can't be a cowboy?"

The elderly station wagon banged into the yard, bald tires crunching half-thawed gravel, and came to an obstreperous stop. Travis Reid paused behind the horse trailer hitched to Jesse McKettrick's mud-splattered black truck, pushed his hat to the back of his head with one leather-gloved finger and grinned, waiting for something to fall off the rig. Nothing did, which just went to prove that the age of miracles was not past.

Jesse appeared at the back of the trailer, leading old Baldy by his halter rope. "Who's that?" he asked, squinting in the wintry late afternoon sunshine.

Travis spared him no more than a glance. "A long-lost relative of yours, unless I miss my guess," he said easily.

The station wagon belched some smoke and died. Travis figured it for a permanent condition. He looked on with interest as a good-looking woman climbed out from behind the wheel, looked the old car over, and gave the driver's-side door a good kick with her right foot.

She was a McKettrick, all right. Of the female persuasion, too.

Jesse left Baldy standing to jump down from the bed of the trailer and lower the ramp to the ground. "Meg's half sister?" he asked. "The one who grew up in Mexico with her crazy, drunken father?"

"Reckon so," Travis said. He and Meg communicated regularly, most often by email, and she'd filled him in on Sierra as far as she could. Nobody in the family knew her very well, including her mother, Eve, so the information was sparse. She had a seven-year-old son—now getting out of the car—and she'd been serving cocktails in Florida for the last few years, and that was about all Travis knew about her. As Meg's caretaker and resident horse trainer, not to mention her friend, Travis had stocked the cupboards and refrigerator, made sure the temperamental furnace was working and none of the plumbing had frozen, and started up Meg's Blazer every day, just to make sure it was running.

From the looks of that station wagon, it was a good thing he'd followed the boss-lady's orders.

"You gonna help me with this horse," Jesse asked testily, "or just stand there gawking?"

Travis chuckled. "Right now," he said, "I'm all for gawking."

Sierra McKettrick was tall and slender, with short, gleaming brown hair the color of a good chestnut horse. Her eyes were huge and probably blue, though she was still a stride or two too far away for him to tell.

Jesse swore and stomped back up the ramp, making plenty of noise as he did so. Like most of the McKettricks, Jesse was used to getting his way, and while he was a known womanizer, he'd evidently dismissed Sierra out of hand. After all, she was a blood relative—no sense driving his herd into that canyon.

Travis took a step toward the woman and the boy, who was staring at him with his mouth open.

"Is this Meg's house?" Sierra asked.

"Yes," Travis said, putting out his hand, pulling it back to remove his work gloves, and offering it again. "Travis Reid," he told her.

"Sierra Bres—McKettrick," she replied. Her grip was firm. And her eyes were definitely blue. The kind of blue that pierces something in a man's middle. She smiled, but tentatively. Somewhere along the line, she'd learned to be sparing with her smiles. "This is my son, Liam."

"Howdy," Liam said, squaring his small shoulders.

Travis grinned. "Howdy," he replied. Meg had said the boy had health problems, but he looked pretty sound to Travis.

"That sure is an ugly horse," Liam announced, pointing towards the trailer.

Travis turned. Baldy stood spraddle-footed, midway down the ramp, a miserable gray specimen of a critter with pink eyes and liver-colored splotches all over his mangy hide.

"Sure is," Travis agreed, and glowered at Jesse for palming the animal off on him. It was like him to pull off a dramatic last-minute rescue, then leave the functional aspects of the problem to somebody else.

Jesse flashed a grin, and for a moment, Travis felt territorial, wanted to set himself between Sierra and her boy, the pair of them, and one of his oldest friends. He felt off balance, somehow, as though he'd been ambushed. What the hell was that all about?

"Is that a buckin' bronc?" Liam asked, venturing a step toward Baldy.

Sierra reached out quickly, caught hold of the fur-trimmed hood on the kid's coat and yanked him back. Cold sunlight glinted off the kid's glasses, making his eyes invisible.

Jesse laughed. "Back in the day," he said, "Baldy was a rodeo horse. Cowboys quivered in their boots when they drew him to ride. Now, as you can see, he's a little past his prime."

"And you would be—?" Sierra asked, with a touch of coolness to her tone. Maybe she was the one woman out of a thousand who could see Jesse McKettrick for what he was—a good-natured case of very bad news. "Your cousin Jesse."

Sierra sized him up, took in his battered jeans, work shirt, sheepskin coat and very expensive boots. "Descended from…?"

The McKettricks talked like that. Every one of them could trace their lineage back to old Angus, by a variety of paths, and while there would be hell to pay if anybody riled them as a bunch, they mostly kept to their own branch of the family tree.

"Jeb," Jesse said.

Sierra nodded.

Liam's attention remained fixed on the horse. "Can I ride him?"

"Sure," Jesse replied.

"No way," said Sierra, at exactly the same moment.

Travis felt sorry for the kid, and it must have shown in his face, because Sierra's gaze narrowed on him.

"We've had a long trip," she said. "I guess we'll just go inside."

"Make yourselves at home," Travis said, gesturtng toward the house. "Don't worry about your bags. Jesse and I'll carry them in for you."

She considered, probably wondering if she'd be obligated in any way if she agreed, then nodded. Catching Liam by the hood of his coat again, she got him turned from the horse and hustled him toward the front door.

"Too bad we're kin," Jesse said, following Sierra with his eyes.

"Too bad," Travis agreed mildly, though privately he didn't believe it was such a bad thing at all.

Most helpful customer reviews

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Great book with adventure, love, and lots of who done it
By noknots
Linda Lael Miller did it again with her McKetricks of Texas, she keeps you spinning between the men and women and gets you all confused until the very end. I thoroughly enjoyed reading this trilogy and the last come could hardly put down

1 of 1 people found the following review helpful.
A Blast from the Past
By Amazon Customer
This book is the beginning of the modern-day McKettricks and features the two daughters - Meg and Sierra. In comparison to the other books in the series, I found this one a little bland. Perhaps it was all of the emotional wrenching content or perhaps the presence of supernatural episodes in both. Needless to say, both daughters end up with their desired husband. Most surprising, this is probably the only time the readers of the series will fun across Sierra and Meg and Meg's husband, Brad. In spitr of this blandness of the stories, it is important to read this volume in order to maintain the continuity in the family saga.

1 of 1 people found the following review helpful.
A Linda Lael Miller Hook Book...
By Amy_V
This was a great book, it is the book that got me hooked to Linda Lael Miller Books. I just have to read more!!! I recommend this book to anyone willing to pick it up. It combines the love of western cowfolk books and of romance. I love how she combined these too topics into one outstanding book!!

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>> Ebook Download Silver Bells: Man of Ice\Heart of Ice (Man of the Month), by Diana Palmer

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Man of Ice

After a less than magical one-night stand, cynical Dawson Rutherford needs the help of the woman he considers seduced him. Barrie Bell, still reeling from their encounter, is ambivalent about aiding his scheme. She's kept a secret from Dawson…one that could free them both to love again!

Heart of Ice

Knowing she dislikes him down to his arrogant bones, Egan Winthrop invites Kati James to his ranch to research her next novel. He assumes she knows everything about love. But when passion flares between them, Egan is surprised at how Kati's heat just might be able to melt his heart of ice….

• Sales Rank: #351273 in Books
• Brand: Harlequin HQN
• Published on: 2012-09-25
• Released on: 2012-09-25
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 7.42" h x 1.54" w x 5.53" l, 1.05 pounds
• Binding: Hardcover
• 480 pages

Features

• 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.


There was a cardinal rule that people who gave parties never invited both Barrie Bell and her stepbrother, Dawson Rutherford, to the same social event. Since the two of them didn't have a lot of mutual friends, and they lived in different states, it wasn't often broken. But every rule had an exception, and tonight, Barrie discovered, was it.

She hadn't really wanted to go out, but Martha and John Mercer, old friends of the Rutherfords who'd taken a interest in Barrie since their move to Tucson, insisted that she needed a diversion. She wasn't teaching this summer, after all, and the part-time job that kept her bank account healthy had just ended abruptly. Barrie needed cheering up and Martha was giving a party that was guaranteed to accomplish it.

Actually it had. Barrie felt brighter than she had in some months. She was sequestered on the steps of the staircase in the hall with two admirers, one who was a bank executive and the other who played guitar with a jazz band. She was wearing a dress guaranteed to raise blood pressures, silver and clinging from its diamante straps at her lightly tanned shoulders to her ankles, with a long, seductive slit up one side of the skirt. The color of her high heels matched the dress. She wore her long, wavy black hair loose, so that it reached almost to her waist. In her creamy-complexioned, oval face, bright green eyes shone with a happy glitter.

That was, they had been shining until she saw Dawson Rutherford come in the front door. Her sophisticated chatter had died abruptly and she withdrew into a shell, looking vulnerable and hunted.

Her two companions didn't connect her stepbrother's entrance with Barrie's sudden change. Not, at least, until a few minutes later when he spotted her in the hall and, excusing himself to his hostess, came to find her with a drink in his hand.

Dawson was more than a match for any man present, physically. Some of them were spectacularly handsome, but Dawson was more so. He had wavy blond hair, cut conventionally short, a deep tan, chiseled, perfect facial features and deep-set pale green eyes at least two shades lighter than Barrie's. He was tall and slender, but there were powerful muscles in that lithe body, which was kept fit from hours in the saddle. Dawson was a multimillionaire, yet being the boss didn't keep him from helping out on the many ranches he owned. It was nothing unusual to find him cutting out calves for branding on the Wyoming ranches, or helping to drive cattle across the spinifex plains of the several-thousand-square-mile station in Australia's Channel Country. He spent his leisure hours, which were very few, working with his Thoroughbred horses on the headquarters ranch in Sheridan, Wyoming, when he wasn't buying and selling cattle all over the country.

He was an elegant man, from his hand-tooled leather boots to the expensive slacks and white silk turtleneck shirt he wore with a designer jacket. Everything about him, from his Rolex to the diamond horseshoe ring on his right hand, screamed wealth. And with the elegant good looks, there was a cold, calculating intelligence. Dawson spoke French and Spanish fluently, and he had a degree in business.

Barrie's two companions seemed to shrink when he appeared beside them, a drink cradled in one big, lean hand. He didn't drink often, and never to excess. He was the sort of man who never liked to lose control in any way. She'd seen him lose it just once. Perhaps that was why he hated her so, because she was the only one who ever had.

"Well, well, what was Martha thinking, I wonder, that rules were made to be broken?" Dawson asked her, his deep voice like velvet even though it carried above the noise.

"Martha invited me. She didn't invite you," Barrie said coldly. "I'm sure it was John. He's laughing," she added, her gaze going to Martha's husband across the room.

Dawson followed her glance to his host and raised his glass. The shorter man raised his in acknowledgment and, catching Barrie's furious glare, turned quickly away.

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" Dawson continued, unabashed, his eyes going now to the two men beside her.

"Oh, this is Ted and that's.. what was your name?" she somewhat abruptly asked the second man.

"Bill," he replied.

"This is my…stepbrother, Dawson Rutherford," she continued.

Bill grinned and extended his hand. It was ignored, although Dawson nodded curtly in acknowledgment. The younger man cleared his throat and smiled sheepishly at Barrie, brandishing his glass. "Uh, I need a refill," he said quickly, because Dawson's eyes were narrowing and there was a distinct glitter in them.

"Me, too," Ted added and, grinning apologetically at Barrie, took off.

Barrie glared after them. "Craven cowards," she muttered.

Most helpful customer reviews

1 of 1 people found the following review helpful.
Long Awaited Dawson Rutherford Story
By bratcat22
At last fans can get the LOOP story & sequel to Maggie's Dad, Man of Ice.This is the story of step brother & sister Dawson Rutherford& Barrie Bell(his Dad married her Mom) who have been in love with each other for years & the rocky road to love.The highlight of the book is the hotel scene.It made me laugh til I cried.Not telling anymore about it.Characters from Maggie's Dad make brief appearances.Heart of Ice; is the story of Egan Winthrop & Katriane James-she's a historical romance novelist & best friend to Egan's sister.He thinks Kati gets her love scence research by experiencing it first hand.Of course they're HOT for each other but won't admit it.All in all, if you're a DP fan,you will LOVE this book!

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Silver Bells and Christmas? Um...Not InThis Book
By terrylynn
I have no idea why this book has the title Silver Bells because it barely even mentions Christmas and has none of the things you expect to see in a holiday romance. I suspect is was done for marketing purposes, but it's a little misleading and the stories are just ok, not great, so I am giving it 3 stars.

Sometimes in romances the line between love and hate with the characters is so thin, it doesn't take much to change one to the other. And there is a reason that these two stories from Diana Palmer are entitle Man of Ice and Heart of Ice. Like I said, these two stories were just ok, not bad, just not something you need to race out and buy, especially at the hardback book prices.

Man of Ice was first released in 1996 and I liked it the most of the two. Dawson and Barrie are step siblings, his father married her mother and their relationship has been rocky since they were teenagers, and even worse in the last 5 years as an event in France turns their dislike into hatred, or so they think. Dawson needs Barrie to come back to the family ranch for a little while and she reluctantly agrees even though she thinks he is cold, cruel and heartless. Dawson understands her feelings, but with a recent secret revealed, Dawson is determined to melt the ice that binds their relationship. This story is told primarily through the dialogue of the two main characters as they tiptoe through the landmines of past hurts and betrayals so there is a lot of verbal sparring. The question is what will they find when the ice if finally thawed?

Heart of Ice is older, having been released in 1984 and gives us Egan, Kati and her roommate Ada who is Egan's sister. Kati is a romance author so Egan automatically assumes that she writes her love scenes so well because she has so much personal experience with it when in fact the opposite is true. Because he thinks so little of her, his remarks to her are vicious and cutting and they can barely stand to be in the same room together. When they are thrown together at Christmas, Egan decides that she may be a loose woman, but she has a body to die for and he wants her in his bed. When Egan invites Kati out to his ranch to do research for her next book on Wyoming, she reluctantly agrees. From that moment on it's a fight as each struggles with their feelings which waver between those murky lines of love and hate.

If you like your story arch to be presented primarily by the dialogue between the two main characters, you will probably like these stories and this book, but I am satisfied to give it 3 stars and I'll be a little more careful when I lay out money for a hardback book from now on!

1 of 1 people found the following review helpful.
She is always a good read
By the beav
This book was good to read and offered 2 stories in one book. The first book was short and not as interesting to me as her usual type of read. The second book was very good. Diana Palmer is a good choice in almost any book she has written.

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!! Free PDF Two of a Kind (Fool's Gold, Book 12), by Susan Mallery

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Two of a Kind (Fool's Gold, Book 12), by Susan Mallery

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New York Times bestselling author Susan Mallery welcomes readers back to Fool's Gold, where a onetime fling could become the real thing.…

Felicia Swift never dreamed she'd hear a deep, sexy voice from her past in tiny Fool's Gold, California. The last time Gideon Boylan whispered in her ear was half a world away…on the morning after the hottest night of her life. Her freaky smarts have limited her close friendships, and romance, but she came to Fool's Gold looking for ordinary. Gorgeous, brooding Gideon is anything but that.

Black Ops taught Gideon that love could be deadly. Now he pretends to fit in while keeping everyone at arm's length. Felicia wants more than he can give—a home, family, love—but she has a lot to learn about men…and Gideon needs to be the man to teach her.

As these two misfits discover that passion isn't the only thing they have in common, they just might figure out that two of a kind should never be split apart.

• Sales Rank: #126036 in Books
• Brand: Brand: Harlequin HQN
• Published on: 2013-06-25
• Released on: 2013-06-25
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 6.67" h x 1.00" w x 4.11" l, .45 pounds
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 384 pages

Features

• Great product!

Review
"There's a little fun, a little sizzle, and a whole lot of homespun charm."

-Publishers Weekly, on Summer Nights

"Mallery infuses her story with eccentricity, gentle humor, and smalltown shenanigans, and readers...will enjoy the connection between Heidi and Rafe."

-Publishers Weekly, on Summer Days

"If you want a story that will both tug on your heartstrings and tickle your funny bone, Mallery is the author for you!"

- RT Book Reviews on Only His

"An adorable, outspoken heroine and an intense hero...set the sparks flying in Mallery's latest lively, comic, and touching family-centered story."

- Library Journal on Only Yours

"Mallery...excels at creating varied, well-developed characters and an emotion-packed story gently infused with her trademark wit and humor." One of the Top 10 Romances of 2011!

- Booklist on Only Mine

About the Author

New York Times bestselling author Susan Mallery has entertained millions of readers with her witty and emotional stories about women. Publishers Weekly calls Susan’s prose “luscious and provocative,” and Booklist says “Novels don’t get much better than Mallery’s expert blend of emotional nuance, humor and superb storytelling.” Susan lives in Seattle with her husband and her tiny but intrepid toy poodle. Visit her at www.SusanMallery.com.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.


Rational thought and a working knowledge of hand-to-hand combat were useless when faced with the villainous power of the American house spider.

Felicia Swift stood immobilized in the corner of the warehouse, aware of the web, of the arachnid watching her, no doubt plotting her downfall. Where there was one female American house spider, there were others, and she knew they were all after her.

The logical part of her brain nearly laughed out loud at her fears. In her head, Felicia understood that spiders did not, in fact, travel in packs or scheme to attack her. But intelligence and logic were no match for a true arachnophobe. She could write papers, prepare flow charts and even do experiments from now until the next appearance of Halley's Comet. She was terrified of spiders and they knew it.

"I'm going to back away slowly," she said in a soft, soothing voice.

Technically, spiders didn't have ears. They could sense vibration, but with her speaking quietly, there wouldn't be much of that. Still, she felt better talking, so she kept up the words as she inched toward the exit, always keeping her gaze locked firmly on the enemy.

Light spilled from the open door. Light meant freedom and spider-free breathing. Light meant—

The light suddenly blacked out. Felicia jumped and turned, prepared to do battle with the giant mother-ofall-spiders. Instead she faced a tall man with shaggy hair and a scar by his eyebrow.

"I heard a scream," he said. "I came to see if there was a problem." He frowned. "Felicia?"

Because the spiders weren't enough, she thought frantically. How was that possible?

Fortes fortuna adiuvat.

She tried to rein in her unwieldy brain. Fortune favors the brave? That was helpful how? She had spiders behind her, the man who took her virginity in front of her, and she was thinking in Latin?

Felicia sucked in a breath and steadied herself. She was a logistics expert. She'd never met a crisis she couldn't organize her way out of, and today would be no exception. She would work from big to small and reward herself by doing the Sunday New York Times crossword in less than four minutes.

"Hello, Gideon," she said, bracing herself for her hormonal reaction to this man.

He moved closer, his dark eyes filling with emotion. She had never been all that good at reading other people's feelings, but even she recognized confusion.

As he approached, she was aware of the size of him—the sheer broadness of his shoulders. His T-shirt seemed stretched to the point of ripping across his chest and biceps. He looked lethal but still graceful. The kind of man who was at home in any dangerous part of the world.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

By here, she assumed he meant in Fool's Gold and not in the warehouse itself.

She squared her shoulders—a feeble attempt to look larger and more in control. Similar to a cat arching its back and raising its fur. But she doubted Gideon was going to be any more intimidated by her than he would be by a hissing tabby.

"I live in town now."

"I knew that. I meant what are you doing in this warehouse?"

"Oh."

An unexpected response, she thought, suddenly less sure of herself. A result of the spider encounter. Their powers were far-reaching. She'd planned to avoid any contact with Gideon for several months. Here it was less than five weeks into her plan and they'd run into each other.

"I'm working," she said, returning her attention to his question. "How did you know I was in town?"

"Justice told me."

"He did?" Something her business associate hadn't mentioned to her. "When?"

"A few weeks ago." Gideon's mouth curved into a smile. "He told me to stay away from you."

His voice, she thought, trying not to get lost in the memories of what the sound meant to her. While olfactory recollections were thought to be the strongest, a sound or a phrase could also shift a person back to another time. Felicia had no doubt she could easily be transported by Gideon's scent; right now she was most concerned about his voice.

He had one of those low, sexy voices. As ridiculous as it sounded, the combination of tone and cadence reminded her of chocolate. Now his voice was a vibration she was sure the spiders could get behind. She should—

Her chin came up as her brain replayed his statement.

"Justice told you to stay away from me?"

Gideon raised one powerful shoulder. "He suggested it was a good idea. After what happened."

Outraged, she planted her hands on her hips, then thought hitting Justice was a far better idea. Only, he wasn't there.

"What happened between you and me isn't his business," she said firmly.

"You're his family."

"That doesn't give him the right to get in the middle of my personal life."

"I didn't see you trying to find me," Gideon pointed out. "I figured you were comfortable with his.. intervention."

"Of course not," she began, only to realize she had been avoiding Gideon, but not for the reasons he thought. "It's complicated."

"I'm seeing that," he told her. "So you're okay?"

"Of course. Our sexual encounter was over four years ago." She had no idea if he'd guessed she'd been a virgin or not and didn't see any reason to mention it now. "Our night together was…satisfying." An understatement, she thought, remembering how Gideon had made her feel. "I'm sorry Justice and Ford broke down the hotel room door the following morning."

Gideon's expression changed to one of amusement. It was a look Felicia was used to seeing, and she knew it meant she'd somehow missed an obvious social cue or taken a joking comment literally.

She held in a sigh. She was smart. Scary smart, as she'd often been told. She'd grown up around scientists and graduate students. Ask her about the origins of the universe and she could give a fact-based lecture on the subject without having to prepare. But interpersonal interactions were harder. She was so damned awkward, she thought glumly. She said the wrong thing or sounded like a space alien with bad programming, when all she wanted was to be just like everyone else.

"I meant are you okay now," he said. "You screamed. That's why I came in."

She pressed her lips together. For possibly the thousandth time in her life she thought how she would gladly exchange thirty IQ points for just a small increase in social awareness.

"I'm fine," she said, offering what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "Couldn't be better. Thank you for coming to my rescue—however unnecessary that was."

He took a step toward her. "I'm always happy to help out a beautiful woman."

Flirting, she thought, automatically monitoring his pupil dilation to see if it was real or simply politeness. When a man was sexually interested, his pupils dilated. But it was too dark in the warehouse for her to be sure.

"What made you scream?" he asked.

She drew in a breath. "I saw a spider."

One eyebrow rose.

"It was large and aggressive," she added.

"A spider?"

"Yes. I have issues with them."

"Apparently."

"I'm not stupid. I know it's not rational."

Gideon chuckled. "You're many things, Felicia, but we're all aware that stupid isn't one of them."

Before she could figure out what to say to that, Gideon turned and walked away. She was so caught up in the way his jeans fit his butt that she couldn't think of anything to say, and then he was gone and she was alone with little more than her mouth hanging open, a herd of American house spiders and their plans for her.

Gideon Boylan knew the danger of flashbacks. They could come on suddenly and disoriented him. They were vivid, engaging all his senses, and when they were gone, a man had no way of knowing what was real and what was imagined. After being held captive for two years, he'd been ready to give in to madness. At least it would have been an escape.

His rescue had come just in time, although too late for the men who had been with him. But even being out of the hands of tormentors hadn't given him any sense of freedom. The memories were just as painful as the imprisonment had been.

Focus, he told himself as he loaded the CD and checked his playlist for the next three hours. He had put his past behind him. Some days he even believed it. Seeing Felicia earlier had been a kick in the gut, but he would take a flashback of a beautiful woman in his bed every time. Still, he'd had to take a five-mile run and then meditate for nearly an hour before he'd felt calm enough to head to the radio station.

"We're doing it the old-fashioned way tonight," he said into the microphone. "Just like we always do."

Beyond the control room, the station was dark, the way he liked it. He didn't mind the dark. If it was dark, he was safe. They'd never come for him in the dark. They'd always turned the lights on first.

"It's eleven o'clock in Fool's Gold and this is Gideon. I'm going to dedicate tonight's first song to a lovely lady I ran into today. You know who you are."

He pushed the button and "Wild Thing" by the Troggs started.

Gideon smiled to himself. He had no way of knowing if Felicia was listening or not, but he liked the idea of playing a song for her.

A red light flashed on the wall. He glanced at it, aware someone was ringing the front bell. After hours, the signal flashed back in the control room. An interesting time for visitors. He walked to the front of the radio station and unlocked the door. Ford Hendrix stood in front of the door, a beer in each hand.

Gideon grinned and waved his friend in. "I heard you were in town."

"Yeah, back two days and I'm already regretting the decision."

Gideon took the offered beer. "Welcome home the conquering hero?"

"Something like that."

Gideon had known Ford for years. Although Ford was a SEAL, they'd served together on a joint task force, and later, when Gideon had been left in his Taliban prison to rot, Ford had been one of those who had risked his life to get him out.

"Come on back. I have to put on the next song."

They walked down the long corridor. "I can't believe you own this place," Ford said, following him into the control room. "It's a radio station."

"Huh. That explains all the music."

Ford took the seat opposite Gideon's. Gideon put on his headphones and flipped a switch.

"This is my night for dedications," he said. "I apologize for going digital for a second, but it's the only way to cue up quickly. Here we go. Welcome home, Ford."

The opening of "Born to be Wild" began.

"You really are a bastard," Ford said conversationally.

"I find myself an amusing companion."

Ford was about Gideon's size. Strong and, on the surface, easygoing. But Gideon knew that anyone who had been to the places they'd been and done what they'd done traveled with ghosts.

"What brings you out so late at night?" he asked.

Ford grimaced. "I woke up and found my mom hovering over me in my room. Fortunately I recognized her before I reacted. I need to get out of there."

"So find an apartment."

"Believe me, I'm looking first thing in the morning. She begged me to wait, and I figured moving back home couldn't be too hard. You know, connect with family."

Gideon had made the attempt once. It hadn't gone well.

"My brothers are okay," Ford continued. "But my mom and my sisters are staying way too close."

"They're glad you're home. You were gone a long time."

Gideon didn't know all the details, but he'd heard Ford had left Fool's Gold when he was twenty and hadn't been back much in the past fourteen years.

Ford took a long swallow of his beer. "My mom's already asking if I've thought of settling down." He shuddered.

"Not ready for a wife and the pitter-patter of little feet?"

"No, although I wouldn't mind getting laid." Ford glanced at him. "You're in trouble, by the way."

"I always am."

His friend laughed. "Felicia went after Justice this afternoon. She said he had no right to tell you to stay away from her. When she gets mad, it's quite the show. Talk about a woman who can handle the big words."

"You know her?"

"Not well. The first time I met her was in Thailand."

When both Justice and Ford had interrupted Gideon's night with Felicia. Or rather the following morning. A polite way of saying they'd busted down the door and Justice had insisted on taking Felicia with him. Gideon had tried to go after her, but Ford had held him back.

Gideon hadn't seen her again until today. When she'd been fighting marauding spiders.

"She was pissed at Justice?" he asked.

Ford shook his head. "Leave me out of this. We're not in high school, and I'm not passing notes in study hall or asking her if she likes you. You'll have to do it yourself."

Gideon was tempted. That night had been memorable. She was an intriguing combination of determined, sexy and geeky. But he knew he wasn't her type—he wasn't anyone's. To the untrained eye he looked as if he'd healed, but he knew what was underneath. He wasn't a good relationship risk. Of course, if Felicia was looking for something less serious and more naked, he was all in.

Ford finished his beer. "Mind if I bunk in an empty office?"

"There's a futon in the break room."

"Thanks."

Gideon didn't bother mentioning it wasn't that comfortable. For a guy like Ford, a ratty futon was just as good as a four-star hotel bed. In their line of work, you learned to make do.

Ford dropped the bottle into the blue recycling bin, then headed down the hall. Gideon put in a CD, then searched until he found the right track.

"You Keep Me Hanging On" began to play.

Most helpful customer reviews

13 of 14 people found the following review helpful.
Two of a Kind--Another winner!
By Amazon Customer
The Fool's Gold books just keep getting better! I'd say that Two of a Kind was my favorite but I'd feel disloyal to the others. Susan Mallery is really a gem among authors. In Two of a Kind, Felicia and Gideon just want to be normal. Felicia is afraid she will never fit in because she is just too smart. Gideon is sure that he is broken and can never heal from the torture he endured while in captivity. I am in awe of Ms. Mallery for how she can make a story so light-hearted while touching on such gut-wrenching topics as the PTSD nightmares of so many of our soldiers. Felicia, for all her incredible book knowledge, doesn't see that the people of Fool's Gold love her for herself. She's quirky and fits right in. The biggest surprise of Gideon's life scares him beyond his ability to cope yet it is this unexpected gift that unites Gideon and Felicia and creates the family and the normal life they both want more than anything but are afraid to hope for. Once again Ms. Mallery creates my happy ending and makes me smile and hope for more happy endings.

10 of 11 people found the following review helpful.
Decent Read if You Are a Fan.....
By Shortie
After the introduction of Felicia in Just One Kiss, I was hoping to enjoy this book more that it's predecessor. I did, but I still felt there were issues with this book.

I felt that sections of the book jumped around...at one point I actually thought to myself, did I miss something? I also felt that large sections of this book were dedicated to introducing new characters so the series can continue. It was also strongly hinted at whom will be paired up with whom. Not necessarily a bad thing, but I felt like some of these characters were just thrown in and didn't feel like it flowed organically within the context of the story.

I liked that Gideon was a flawed hero however, for what his issues were and what he had dealt with, I felt that the ending was rushed and it didn't feel real that "true love conquers all"

In addition, the character of Mayor Martha has always been hinted at that `she knows all' but some of the comments she was throwing out in this book were just creepy and didn't feel like something she should know at all.

If you are a fan of the Fools Gold series, you will probably enjoy this book. I'm sure I will read the rest of the books in the series but I hope that Susan Mallery ends this series soon. It started off strong but seems to get crazier and less plausible with each book.

***I received an ARC in exchange for my review***

11 of 13 people found the following review helpful.
Another great novel by this author...Highly recommended this series/book.
By BBMoreB
I am a long-time fan of Susan Mallery's writing. The first time I experienced her writing was with her contemporary series, Blackberry Island. The Fool's Gold series captured and held my attention since the very beginning, Chasing Prefect. If you enjoy contemporary romances, then I recommend this author.

I was worried that it would be hard to read an entire book filled with Felicia's mechanical dialogue. Instead Felicia's social awkwardness led to humorous and entertaining moments, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Gideon is a tormented soul in need of peace. His character has been through an unimaginable trauma that has left him without the ability feel real emotion. Yet he is drawn toward the whimsical Felicia and is unable to resist the chemistry between them. The author matches seeming unusual individuals and creates astounding HEAs.

Disclosure: This ebook was provided to me free of charge for the sole purpose of an honest review. All thoughts, comments, and ratings are my own.

See all 800 customer reviews...

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Forced to his knees in agony whenever he speaks the truth, Gideon can recognize any lie—until he captures Scarlet, a demon-possessed immortal who claims to be his long-lost wife. He doesn't remember the beautiful female, much less wedding—or bedding—her. But he wants to…almost as much as he wants her.

But Scarlet is keeper of Nightmares, too dangerous to roam free. A future with her might mean ultimate ruin. Especially as Gideon's enemies draw closer—and the truth threatens to destroy all he's come to love….

• Sales Rank: #538740 in Books
• Brand: HQN Books
• Published on: 2010-06-29
• Released on: 2010-06-29
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 6.62" h x 1.19" w x 4.21" l, .47 pounds
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 448 pages

Features

• Great product!

About the Author

Gena Showalter is the New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of over fifty books, including the acclaimed Lords of the Underworld and Angels of the Dark series, and the White Rabbit Chronicles. She writes sizzling paranormal romance, heartwarming contemporary romance, and unputdownable young adult novels, and lives in Oklahoma City with her family and menagerie of dogs. Visit her at GenaShowalter.com.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.


Let's get the party started, Gideon thought with unparalleled determination as he stomped through the renovated hallways of his Budapest fortress.

The demon of Lies hummed inside his head, heartily in agreement. Both of them liked Scarlet, their alleged wife, but for different reasons. Gideon liked the look of her and the saucy, forked-tongued comments she made. Lies liked… Gideon wasn't sure. He only knew that the beast purred in approval every time she opened her beautiful, I-can-do-things-you've-only-dreamed-about mouth.

It was a reaction usually reserved for pathological liars. Except, the demon couldn't actually tell if she fibbed or not. Which meant beneath all that affection for Scarlet, Lies was frustrated, sensitive to every word that left Gideon's mouth. And that made Gideon's life frustrating as hell. He couldn't even call his friends by their own names anymore.

Was she or wasn't she a filthy freaking liar? And yeah, he was well aware of the irony. He, a man who couldn't utter a single truth, was complaining about someone who might be feeding him a big, heaping bowl of shit. But were they or weren't they? Had they or hadn't they? He had to know before he drove himself insane, puzzling over everything she'd ever said and everything he'd ever done and thought.

His request that she just lay out the facts, black and white, boom, done, over had been ignored for the last time.

He was finally taking action.

Hopefully, pretending to rescue her from his own dungeon would cause her to trust him. Hopefully, trusting him would cause her to open the hell up and answer his godsdamn questions.

Oops. His frustration was showing again.

"You can't do this, Gid," Strider, keeper of the demon of Defeat, said, suddenly keeping pace beside him.

Fuck. Anyone but him.

Strider couldn't lose a challenge, any challenge, without suffering as Gideon suffered when he spoke true. Including Xbox, and that was seriously screwing with Gideon's "Assassin's Creed" mojo, because yeah, Gideon had challenged him, trying to distract himself and work out the stiffness in his new fingers.

Anyway. Always, without question, he and Strider guarded each other's backs (video games aside). So, he shouldn't have been surprised that his friend was here, resolved to save him from himself. Didn't mean he'd roll over and play dead.

"She's dangerous," Strider added. "A walking blade through the heart, dude."

Yes, she was. She invaded dreams, presented sleepers with their worst fears and fed off the ensuing terror. Hell, a few weeks ago, she'd done it to him. With spiders. He shuddered, momentarily sick to his stomach as he pictured the hairy little bastards crawling all over him.

Pussy. Suck it up. He'd faced countless swinging swords without flinching—as well as the monsters wielding them. What were a few spiders? Another shudder. Revolting, that's what. He knew what they were thinking every time their beady eyes landed on him: tasty.

But why hadn't Scarlet invaded anyone else's dreams? He'd wondered about that almost as much as he'd wondered about their "marriage." The other warriors, their female companions, she'd left alone. Despite the fact that she'd threatened to slaughter every single one of them. Something she truly could do.

"Damn it. Stop ignoring me," Strider growled, punching a hole in the silver-stone wall seconds after they passed a closed bedroom door. "You know my demon doesn't like it."

Dust and debris plumed the air, a loud crack echoing. Great. Soon, other warriors would be up and running to find out what had just happened. Or maybe not. As temperamental as members of this household were (cough too much testosterone cough), they had to be used to unexpected, violent noises.

"Look. I'm not sorry." Gideon flicked his friend a glance, taking in the blond hair, the blue eyes and the deceptively innocent features that were somehow perfect for his he-man build. More than one woman had called him "beautifully all-American," whatever that meant. Those same women usually avoided looking at Gideon, as if even roving their gazes over his tattoos and piercings would blacken their souls. For all he knew, they were right. "But you're correct. I can't do this."

Which meant that Strider was wrong and, yes, Gideon damn well could do this. So suck it!

Everyone who lived in this fortress—and godsdamn, there were a lot of people, the number seemingly growing by the day as his friends each hooked up with their "one and only" (gag)—was fluent in Gideon Speak and knew to believe the opposite of whatever he said.

"Fine," Strider said tightly. "You can. But you won't. Because you know that if you take the woman out of this home, I'll go gray from worry. And you like my hair the way it is."

"Stridey-man. Are you hitting on me? Trying to get me to run my fingers through those mangy locks?"

"Shithead," Strider muttered, but his anger was clearly defused.

Gideon chuckled. "Sweetie pie."

Strider's lips even twitched into a grin. "You know I hate when you get mushy like that."

Boy loved it. No question.

They snaked a corner, bypassing one of the many sitting rooms the fortress possessed. This one was empty. As early in the morning as it was, most of the warriors were still in bed with their women. If they weren't weaponing-up at that exact moment, of course.

Out of habit, he scanned the area. In this particular room, portraits of naked men littered the walls, courtesy of the goddess of Anarchy whose warped sense of humor rivaled Gideon's own. There were red leather chairs (Reyes, the keeper of Pain, sometimes had to cut himself to quiet his demon, so red came in handy), gleaming bookshelves (Paris, keeper of Promiscuity, enjoyed romance novels), and weird silver lamps that twisted and curved over the chairs; he had no idea who those were for. Fresh flowers bloomed from vases, sweetly scenting the air. Again, he had no idea. Fine. He'd requested those. That shit smelled good.

Gideon breathed deeply of that fresh, delicious air. Except he ended up inhaling a nose full of guilt. Sadly, that happened all the time lately. While he luxuriated in this, his would-be wife rotted below in the dungeons. Before this, she'd spent thousands of years in Tartarus, so that made him doubly cruel for leaving her down there.

Really, what kind of man allowed such a thing? An asshole, that's who, and he was certainly king of them. After all, he was going to return Scarlet to the dungeon once his questions were answered. For, like, ever. Even if she was—or rather, had been—his wife.

Yes. He was a bad, bad man.

She was simply too dangerous to be permanently freed, her ability to invade dreams too destructive. Because when you died in one of Scarlet's nightmares, you died for real. That was it. The end. And if she ever decided to aid the Hunters, which could happen, scorned women and all that, the Lords would never be able to sleep soundly again. And they needed their beauty rest or they became snarling beasts.

Case in point: Gideon. He hadn't slept in weeks.

Slow down, his demon suddenly instructed. Moving too fast.

Usually Lies was merely a presence in the back of his mind. There, but silent. Only when the demon's need was great did he speak up. But even then, he had to say the opposite of what he wanted. And now he wanted Gideon to hurry up and reach Scarlet.

Give me wings and it's done, Gideon replied dryly, but damn if he didn't quicken his step. He could and did think what he meant. Always. He never lied to himself or the demon during these private moments. Maybe because he'd had to fight savagely and without mercy for such moments.

Upon possession, he'd been lost to darkness and chaos, a slave to his soul-companion and his evil cravings. He'd tormented humans just to hear them scream. He'd burned homes to the ground, as well as the families inside them. He'd killed indiscriminately, and taunted while doing so.

It had taken a few hundred years, but Gideon had finally clawed his way to the light. He was in control now, and had even managed to tame the beast. For the most part.

Strider heaved a sigh, regaining his attention. "Gideon, man, listen to me. I said it once, but I'll say it again. You can't take the female outside these walls. She'll run from you, you know she will. Hunters are in the city, we know that, too, and they could catch her. Recruit her. Use her. Or, if she refuses them, even hurt her like they hurt you."

One, Strider was speaking as if Gideon couldn't hold on to the wily temptress for a few days. And he could. He knew how to kick ass and take names with the best. Two, Strider was speaking as if Gideon would be unable to find her if he did indeed lose her. And three, Strider was probably speaking correctly, but that didn't soothe Gideon's sudden burst of anger. He may not be the smooth operator that Strider was, but he had some skills with the ladies, damn it.

More than that, Scarlet herself was a warrior. An immortal. She could surround herself with darkness. A darkness so thick no human light, and no immortal eyes, could penetrate it. Losing her wouldn't be as disgraceful as losing, say, an untrained human.

Not that he'd lose her, he told himself again, and not that she would want to run. He was going to seduce her. Was going to pleasure the energy right out of her and make her desperate to stay with him. Which shouldn't be too difficult. She'd liked him enough to marry him, right? Maybe.

Damn it!

"I know what you're thinking," Strider said after another sigh. "If she escapes you, so what? You'll find her."

"Wrong." He had thought that, yeah, but he'd soon discarded the idea. So there. What are you? A girl?

"Well, what happens to her while you're looking for her? During the day she needs protection, and if you're not with her, who's going to protect her?"

Fuck. Good point. Scarlet couldn't function during daylight hours. Because of her demon, she slept too deeply. So deeply that nothing and no one could wake her until sunset, a fact he'd discovered after nearly giving her a brain aneurysm while trying and failing to shake her into consciousness.

He had been shocked when, a few hours later, her eyes had popped open and she'd sat up as if she'd just taken a ten-minute power nap.

Which had raised other questions. Why did her demon sleep during the day, when the people around her were awake? Didn't that defeat the purpose of creating nightmares? And what happened when she traveled and the time zone changed?

"We're lucky we found her when we did," Strider continued. "If we hadn't had Aeron's angel on our side, we would've died trying to secure her. Setting her free, no matter the reason, is stupid and danger—"

"You haven't said that before." Over and over again. "Besides, Olive's no longer on our team." Meaning, she was. "She can't help us again if needed." Meaning she could. "Now, I hate you, man, but please keep talking." I love you, but shut the hell up! Seriously.

Strider growled his renewed frustration as they pounded down the steps that led into the dungeon, stained-glass windows giving way to crumbling, bloodstained walls. The air became musty, tainted with sweat, urine and blood. None of it was Scarlet's, thank the gods. His guilt couldn't have handled that. Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on whom you asked—she wasn't the only being locked away. They had several Hunters awaiting payback, aka interrogation, aka torture.

"What if she was lying to you?" his friend asked. The man didn't know when to quit, and yeah, Gideon knew Strider couldn't quit. Which was why he didn't simply punch his friend in the face and beat feet. "What if she's not really your wife?"

Gideon snorted. "Forgot to tell you. Sifting through truth and lies is difficult for me." Except with her, but he wasn't going to issue that reminder just then.

"Yeah, but you also told me you don't know with her."

One of them had a perfect memory. Excellent. "There's no way she can be my wife." The chances were slim, but yeah, they were there. "I don't have to do this."

When Scarlet had first invaded his dreams and demanded he visit her in this dungeon, he'd been helpless to do otherwise, filled with a need to see her, some part of him recognizing her on a level he still didn't understand. When she'd alleged they'd kissed, had sex, even wed each other, that same part of him had hummed in agreement.

Even though he didn't fucking remember her.

Why couldn't he remember her? he wondered for the thousandth time.

He'd been playing with several theories. The first: the gods had erased his memory. But that raised the question of why. Why would they not want him to recall his own wife? Why had they not erased Scarlet's memory, as well?

The second theory: he'd suppressed the memory himself. But again, why would he have done so? How would he have done so? There were a million other things he'd actually like to forget.

The third: his demon had somehow erased the memory when they were paired. But if that were true, why did he recall his life in the heavens, when he'd been a servant to Zeus, tasked with guarding the former god king at every moment of every day?

He and Strider stopped at the first cell, where Scarlet had resided the past few weeks. She was asleep on her cot, as he'd known she would be. And as he'd done each time he'd seen her, he sucked in a breath. Lovely. But…

Mine? Did he want her to be?

No, of course not. That would complicate the hell out of everything. Not that he'd let it matter. He couldn't. His friends came first. That's the way things were, and the way they would always be.

At least she was clean; he'd made sure she had enough water to drink and to bathe. And she was well fed; he'd made sure food was delivered three times a night. He would do the same when he ultimately returned her. That would have to be enough.

Don't hurry, Lies cried, practically jumping from one corner of his skull to the other. Don't hurry!

Cram it, buddy. I'll handle this. But he couldn't force himself to move just yet. He'd been waiting for this moment forever, it seemed, and wanted to bask in it.

Bask? He really was becoming a woman.

Look away before you get an erection, he told himself. All right, now that was more manly. He purposefully shifted his gaze. The walls around her were composed of thick, impenetrable stone. Therefore, she could never see the Hunters imprisoned beside her. Actually, Gideon didn't care about that. He didn't want the Hunters seeing her.

Yeah. He wanted mine. At least for now.

Most helpful customer reviews

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Wrapped in Wrath
By Karen Entzminger
The Lords of the Underworld is a great series, and the story about Aeron and Olivia definitely is a winner. The reader meets all kinds of people: Lords, gods and goddesses, fairies, harpies, and assorted demons and monsters. Start at the beginning with Into the Dark and then The Darkest Night. I actually bought most of them and look forward to the next book, The Darkest Torment.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Awesome
By Jill Carpenter
One of my favorite in the series.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Five Stars
By tish
It was all good!

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