His Medicine Woman

“I can’t speak for you, Johnny. But nothing about our time together felt like make-believe to me.”

His stoic features didn’t flinch, but deep in his eyes she saw something flicker and knew that her words had touched him, perhaps even hurt him.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked bluntly. “It’s been five years. All of that ended back then.”

“Not for me.” She stood up so abruptly she swayed. Before she could latch a steadying grip on her chair, Johnny was instantly at her side, sliding a bracing arm around her shoulders.

Sucking in a deep breath, she dared to glance at his dark face. “You don’t have to bother yourself,” she said tightly. “I’m all right.”

He cursed under his breath. “You’re exhausted.”

“I’ll get over it.”

But I’ll never get over you.

Dear Reader,

When Johnny Chino first appeared in my MEN OF THE WEST series, I was completely smitten with his outward appearance. After all, what woman can resist tall, dark and rough around the edges? But it was his solitary attitude that really snared my attention. I wanted to dig deeper and learn more, but the more I tried to peel back the layers of his emotions, the more he wanted to hide. Fortunately, my heroine, Bridget Donovan, came along and pushed exactly the right buttons to make the real Johnny Chino emerge from his shell.

I truly believe that love and forgiveness are the two most powerful emotions that exist. And together, they can overcome anything that holds us back from happiness. But Johnny, like so many of us, has to learn the hard way that love and forgiveness are co-dependent. Neither can survive without the other.

I hope you’ll travel with me again to Lincoln County, New Mexico and discover how my hero learns to forgive, not only the hurts of his past, but also himself. And in doing so, finds the love of his life.

God bless the trails you ride,

Stella Bagwell

STELLA BAGWELL has written more than seventy novels. She credits her loyal readers and hopes her stories have brightened their lives in some small way.

A cowgirl through and through, she loves to watch old Westerns, and has recently learned how to rope a steer. Her days begin and end helping her husband care for a beloved herd of horses on their little ranch located on the south Texas coast. When she’s not ropin’ and ridin’, you’ll find her at her desk, creating her next tale of love.

The couple have a son, who is a high school maths teacher and athletic coach. Stella loves to hear from readers and invites them to contact her at [email protected].

Stella Bagwell

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To all my family and friends living in

the Choctaw Nation.

Johnny. Johnny.

Her heart whispered his name as the Jeep carried Bridget Donovan closer and closer to the man she’d never been able to forget. Tonight was the first time she’d heard his voice in nearly five years and the sound of it had shaken her, almost as much as his request.

Will you come to my home? Grandmother is sick.

Tears suddenly blurred her vision and she automatically eased her foot from the gas pedal as she struggled to compose herself.

Even though the two of them resided in the same southern area of New Mexico, their lives moved along different trails. Once they’d parted, she’d never expected to cross his path again. But she’d often dreamed, hoped and desperately prayed that might change one day. He’d contacted her tonight out of desperation and nothing else. Yet that made little difference to her. The only thing that mattered was in a very few minutes she was going to see the only man she’d ever loved.

Johnny Chino didn’t know why he continued to clutch his cell phone as he stared out the window at the dark dirt road leading up to his mountainside home. He’d already forced himself to make the call. A call he’d once sworn to never make again. But for some reason he couldn’t slip the instrument back into his pocket and out of sight. Instead he gripped the phone as though he could hold on to her voice. Hold on to her.

The idea was as ridiculous as the dreams and hopes he’d once had for the two of them. And now he felt like a fool for standing at the window, watching with a mixture of dread and eagerness, for the flicker of her headlights.

She wasn’t coming to see him. No, those times were gone and long past, he grimly reminded himself. She’d moved on without him. Just as he’d intended.

The Jeep rattled across the wooden slats of an old cattle guard and then Bridget pressed hard on the accelerator as the gravel road began a steep climb between tall pines mixed with white-trunked aspens. The autumn night was cold and clear, but the starry sky was blotted out by the thick forest covering this portion of the Mescalero Apache Indian Reservation.

Years had passed since she’d traveled this particular road, but driving the unfamiliar twists and turns in the dark wasn’t nearly as unsettling as the thought of what she might find once she reached her destination.