Dear Reader,
I canât possibly put into words what a privilege it is for me to share a book with my heroine, Margaret Way. Her Red Cliffs of Malpara was the very first Harlequin romance novel I ever read, and is the book that inspired me to write romance novels in the first place. I canât think of anyone in the industry whom I admire more, or who has given me more pleasure with her wonderful books.
This project is my first for Harlequin and I have enjoyed it more than I can tell you. Iâve spent a number of years kicking around sites in the American West, places like Tombstone, Arizona, and San Antonio and Fort Worth in Texas. Iâve been on ranches. Iâve seen how hard the cowboys work. Iâve eaten beef and beans, and Iâve seen ranches the size of eastern cities in Montana and Wyoming. Iâve loved the western states ever since I was a small girl and read Zane Greyâs novels. I never dreamed that one day I, too, would have the privilege of writing books about the West and actually seeing them in print.
I hope that you enjoy the two stories contained in this volume. I know you are going to love Margaretâs, because sheâs never written a book that wasnât wonderful. But I hope you like mine, too.
Thank you all for your loyalty over the long years. I have the greatest readers in the world. And I love every one of you.
THE SUMMER SUN was rising. Judging by its place in the sky, Dana Mobry figured that it was about eleven oâclock in the morning. That meant sheâd been in her present predicament for over two hours, and the day was growing hotter.
She sighed with resigned misery as she glanced at her elevated right leg where her jeans were hopelessly tangled in two loose strands of barbed wire. Her booted foot was enmeshed in the strands of barbed wire that made up the fence, and her left leg was wrapped in it because sheâd twisted when she fell. Sheâd been trying to mend the barbed-wire fence to keep cattle from getting out. She was using her fatherâs tools to do it, but sadly, she didnât have his strength. At times like this, she missed him unbearably, and it was only a week since his funeral.
She tugged at the neck of her short-sleeved cotton shirt and brushed strands of her damp blond hair back into its neat French braid. Not so neat now, she thought, disheveled and unkempt from the fall that had landed her in this mess. Nearby, oblivious to her mistressâs dilemma, her chestnut mare, Bess, grazed. Overhead, a hawk made graceful patterns against the cloudless sky. Far away could be heard the sound of traffic on the distant highway that led around Jacobsville to the small Texas ranch where Dana was tangled in the fence wire.
Nobody knew where she was. She lived alone in the little ramshackle house that sheâd shared with her father. Theyâd lost everything after her mother deserted them seven years ago. After that terrible blow, her father, who was raised on a ranch, decided to come back and settle on the old family homeplace. There were no other relatives unless you counted a cousin in Montana.
Danaâs father had stocked this place with a small herd of beef cattle and raised a truck garden. It was a meager living, compared to the mansion near Dallas that her motherâs wealth had maintained. When Carla Mobry had unexpectedly divorced her husband, heâd had to find a way of making a living for himself, quickly. Dana had chosen to go with him to his boyhood home in Jacobsville, rather than endure her motherâs indifferent presence. Now her father was dead and she had no one.
Sheâd loved her father, and heâd loved her. Theyâd been happy together, even without a huge income. But the strain of hard physical labor on a heart that she had not even known was bad had been too much. Heâd had a heart attack a few days ago, and died in his sleep. Dana had found him the next morning when she went in to his room to call him to breakfast.
Hank had come immediately at Danaâs frantic phone call. It didnât occur to her that she should have called the ambulance first instead of their nearest, and very antisocial, neighbor. It was just that Hank was so capable. He always knew what to do. That day he had, too. After a quick look at her father, heâd phoned an ambulance and herded Dana out of the room. Later heâd said that he knew immediately that it was hours too late to save her father. Heâd done a stint overseas in the military, where heâd seen death too often to mistake it.