His Rodeo Sweetheart

“I’m going to grab something to eat.”

She needed to escape the urge to do exactly as he suggested—to sink into his arms and forget for the moment that she was the single mother of a very sick little boy.

“Claire.” He called her name and she ignored it, turning toward the kitchen.

“I need to eat.”

“No,” he said. “You need a hug.”

Funny how just a moment ago she couldn’t cry to save her life, yet his words brought instant tears to her eyes. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

She sucked in a breath, trying hard not to crumble because that was all it had taken—one gentle call of her name, one random act of kindness, one offer of a shoulder to lean upon—for her to lose strength.

“Don’t be kind to me because if you touch me I might crumble and if I crumble I don’t know if I’ll be able to put all the pieces back together again.”

He stared down at her with a kindness that melted her self-control. “If you crumble, I promise to help put you back together again.”

www.millsandboon.co.uk

With more than a million books in print, PAMELA BRITTON likes to call herself the best-known author nobody’s ever heard of. Of course, that changed thanks to a certain licensing agreement with that little racing organization known as NASCAR.

But before the glitz and glamour of NASCAR, Pamela wrote books that were frequently voted the best of the best by the Detroit Free Press, Barnes & Noble (two years in a row) and RT Book Reviews. She’s won numerous awards, including a National Readers’ Choice Award and a nomination for the Romance Writers of America Golden Heart^>® Award.

When not writing books, Pamela is a reporter for a local newspaper. She’s also a columnist for the American Quarter Horse Journal.

This one’s for Patti Mahany,

the best big sister a person could ask for. You make me laugh. You’ve listened to me cry. You’re always there for my daughter, and I appreciate that more than you know.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

There was something about a man in uniform.

Claire Reynolds had seen a lot of them over the years. It had gotten to the point that she hardly even noticed them anymore, but this man, she thought as a warm wind blew off the tarmac, this man stood out—and not just because he wore dress blues.

“Ms. Reynolds?” He walked out from beneath the shade of a C-40, although he had to yell to be heard. Behind him, across a strip of asphalt that shimmered from desert heat, the nose of a C-5 cargo plane lifted. The roar of its engines sounded as if a thousand storm clouds hovered overhead.

“You must be Dr. McCall?” she all but yelled back, a hank of her long black hair blowing across her face. She should have pulled it into a ponytail.

The man nodded, his hand lifting to his hat, a black beret with a gold oak leaf cluster near the pointy tip. Major Ethan McCall. Decorated soldier. Veterinarian for the US Army. She’d been on base before thanks to CPR—Combat Pet Rescue—but she’d never met this man. Was he new?

Beneath his hat, green eyes squinted as he turned to face the back end of the smaller cargo plane, the big bay door yawning open like the back of a semi. In the shade of one of the wings, an aluminum dog crate stood silent. Claire watched as a black nose and part of a snout popped out of one of the holes, then back in again. For some reason, it made Claire smile. She looked up at the man in uniform and found him staring at her.

“Thanks for coming all the way out here.” He looked away, and Claire took a moment to gather all her hair in one hand and twist it so that it would stay in place. He was young, much younger than she had expected. And handsome. She hadn’t expected that, either. Light brown hair. Strong jaw. Sideburns. A younger version of George Clooney.

“I didn’t mind.” And she hadn’t. She’d needed to get away, even though her troubles had followed her here. As much as she loved her six-year-old son, as much as she wanted to be there for him every step of the way, she’d craved a brief burst of freedom. So she’d made the long drive east and then south to the desert, leaving Adam in the care of her brother and sister-in-law. God help her, she’d wanted to keep on driving.

“Sorry about the uniform.” She looked up in time to see something cross behind his eyes. “Funeral detail.”

The reason for the heightened security presented itself. She’d been on base enough times to have the routine down by heart. But today there had been an added layer of tension. She did a half turn toward the plane and spotted it then. A casket sat just inside the cargo bay. It caused Claire’s heart to stab her rib cage, the same way it did whenever she heard more bad news about her son’s health.