AK-Cowboy

If so—and the bastard had arrived on the scene before Tyler—Julia would have had more than harmless cattle to crack her whip at.

Julie’s first words to him had been to ask why he was following her. He’d taken the question as ludicrous, but for all he knew, some nefarious character had been tailing her.

His apprehension surged when he saw the note attached to the steering wheel. He squinted in the sunlight to make out the words.

In spite of the scribbled print, the message was clear.

Someone wanted Julie out of Mustang Run—or dead.

JOANNA WAYNE was born and raised in Shreveport, Louisiana, and received her undergraduate and graduate degrees from LSU-Shreveport. She moved to New Orleans in 1984, and it was there that she attended her first writing class and joined her first professional writing organisation. Her debut novel, Deep in the Bayou, was published in 1994.

Now, dozens of published books later, Joanna has made a name for herself as being on the cutting edge of romantic suspense in both series and single-title novels. She has been on the Waldenbooks bestseller list for romance and has won many industry awards. She is also a popular speaker at writing organisations and local community functions and has taught creative writing at the University of New Orleans Metropolitan College.

Joanna currently resides in a small community forty miles north of Houston, Texas, with her husband. Though she still has many family and emotional ties to Louisiana, she loves living in the Lone Star State. You may write Joanna at PO Box 852, Montgomery, Texas 77356, USA.

Ak-Cowboy

Joanna Wayne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my good friends Patsy and Hill. Hill for his law

enforcement expertise and willingness to share the information. To Patsy for putting up with me on the golf course when my mind is too convoluted with the current manuscript for me to concentrate on the game.

Julie Gillespie checked her rearview mirror. There was no sign of the black car that she’d feared might be following her when she’d pulled onto this two-lane blacktop road a few miles back. The driver of the other car must have turned off on one of the dirt roads. Probably just a rancher rushing home to his cattle.

Paranoia was a bitch.

But New Orleans was behind her now and she was off and running on a new case, icy cold, but one that she was dead set on solving.

This was Julie’s first trip back to the Texas Hill Country in many years and she was already enchanted with the scenery. She knew about Lady Bird Johnson’s wildflower legacy, but she’d never imagined the roadside blooms would be so abundant.

There was only a scattering of orange, red and yellow in the late March mix. The Indian blankets, goldenrods, buttercups and countless others would come later, but the bluebonnets were profuse.

She rounded a curve and a sea of brilliant blue stretched out as far as she could see. The wind tousled the blossoms so that they looked like gently swaying ocean waves. A few heads of cattle grazed in the distance, adding a Texas perfection to the vista.

Julie lowered her window and breathed in the smell of clean air, flowery perfume and the scent of recent rain. Apparently she’d just missed a downpour that had left the road wet and the ditches filled with water. A bank of low clouds still hovered at the horizon, but there were patches of blue directly overhead.

She turned her attention back to the road as she topped a hill. Good move since an oncoming pickup truck had drifted across the yellow line and was crowding her lane.

She swerved to miss it and skidded onto the shoulder. Adrenaline fired through her as she fought the wheel and tried to pull her white Ford Fusion back onto the blacktop.

To no avail. She careened through a shallow ditch and slammed into a barbwire fence post as the guy who’d unwittingly caused the accident sped out of sight. What a jerk.

The wooden post toppled and the strands of knotted wire drooped almost to the ground. She groaned. Now she’d have fence repairs to pay for out of her meager savings.

Jerking the gear into Reverse, she gunned the engine. The back tires spun like crazy, throwing globs of mud behind her. The car refused to move. Could this get any worse?

She opened the door and stamped her way to the rear of the car for a close-up assessment of her situation as mud smeared her sandals and splattered her bare legs. No visible damage so far to the car, but she was clearly stuck.

She could call a tow truck or wait and see if some passing rancher in a heavy pickup would stop and pull her out of the mire. The second option would be a lot cheaper.

Waiting wouldn’t hurt—unless she was being followed. That seemed more unlikely by the minute. Any tail worth his salt would have caught up with her by now.

Still, once she’d checked the front of the car and discovered only a dented bumper, she climbed back inside and locked her doors. And just in case someone who looked suspicious stopped before the helpful rancher she needed, she got her cell phone ready to punch in 9-1-1.