âEverythingâs a choice.â
âLike the way I chose to take the blame for the fire when the deputy came to question me,â Rio said. âI knew the consequences, Meg, but I did it because I wanted to protect you. I loved you.â
An acrid thickness welled up inside Megâs chest, pushing tears into her throat, her eyes. She took a deep breath, holding on by the fingernails she dug into her palms. âI appreciate that, Rio. Really, I do. But I wish youâd told them the truth.â
âI didnât know the truth,â he said quietly. âYou were gone.â
Dear Reader,
In Cowboy Comes Home, the hero and heroine both return to Wyoming after many years away. So have Iâfictionally speaking. Eight years ago, I wrote my very first Harlequin Superromance, The Maverick, with the small-town setting of Treetop, Wyoming. A good creation never diesâat least in my imaginationâso when I decided to write a story featuring a reformed bad girl, a cowboy hero and a ranch named Wild River, I knew I had to return to Treetop.
To refresh my memory, I revisited The Maverick for the first time since it was published. Fun research. (Though slightly scary, since it was way too late to revise!) Then I reread parts of Mary OâHaraâs Wyoming-set âFlickaâ series, which are among my favorite books from my horse-crazy years. Even more fun. Sometimes being a writer is the best job in the world.
I hope you enjoy this Wyoming reunion story. Cowboy Comes Home is my ninth Harlequin Superromance bookâwith more to come. And it all started in Treetopâ¦.
Happy reading,
Carrie Alexander
P.S. Visit me on the Web at www.carriealexander.com, where you can also find my backlist and drop me a line.
MEG LENNOX HELD OUT one hand, offering a palmful of sweet feed to the balky gelding showing her his hind-quarters. Behind her back she clutched the rope attached to the halter hung off her shoulder. The way the horse had reacted to her previous attempts to catch him, she might as well have been throwing a rattlesnake around his neck.
The chestnut lashed his tail. He wasnât easily fooled.
âQuiet now.â She chirruped, shaking her palm like a gambler with hot dice. âDonât you want your dinner?â
Sloopâs ears flicked back and forth. His head turned as if he might be persuaded, but the one visible eye rolled with suspicion, showing a white rim.
She stood still, even though the temptation to sidle closer was strong. The horse was almost within touching distance, the closest sheâd come to catching him during their half-hour battle of wills.
âHey, Sloop. Good fella. Thereâs nothing to be afraid of. Donât run away.â
Donât run away? The words pinched Megâs conscience. Sheâd always been good at running away.
She gazed past the fence and the weather-worn barn to the rolling pastures of Wild River Ranch. It was early October in Treetop, Wyoming, and the rich grassy greens of summer had faded to tan and ochre. The upright stands of high-country aspen marched up the foothills in golden epaulets.
Sheâd loved the ranch, but not her life here. Ten years ago, at barely eighteen, sheâd left behind her home and contentious relationship with her gruff, uncaring father. Forever, sheâd thought.
But in all the years sheâd searched, she hadnât been able to find the good life sheâd expected. When times had gotten really tough, sheâd instinctively fled back to Wyoming. To the ranch. Even though it hadnât been home for a long time, even in her heart.
Especially in her heart.
Meg turned her sigh into another crooning overture to Sloop. Some days, her hopes for the ranchâand herselfâseemed as unattainable as the stubborn gelding.
Sheâd returned too late. Both parents were dead, the land neglected. Her prospects were as bleak as the metallic-gray sky.
But Iâm home at last, even if itâs only half a home. Thatâs something.
She chirruped again. âSloop. Please let me catch you. Itâs gonna rain.â
The horse didnât mind being out in the rain, but she hadnât hammered and nailed the box stalls into shape for her own amusement. Renny and Caprice were already inside, pulling at the hay nets, their grain long gone. Only Sloop was being stubborn. His owner had warned her that the horse could be hard to catch. Meg had been certain sheâd have no trouble. Once upon a time, sheâd had a reputation for being good with horses.
Sloop swung around, his nostrils fluttering. The delayed dinnertime was finally getting to him.