Dear Reader,
I had no idea when I wrote The Rancher & the Runaway Bride that I was starting a dynasty that would encompass three generations of Whitelaws in Texas. I grew up in a large familyâsix girls and one boyâand I always wondered what it might have been like to have older brothers. For heroine Tate Whitelaw, her brothers Garth, Jesse and Faron, turn out to be a little more protective than she would like. When they set boundaries that she finds too constraining, she heads off on an adventure that lands her in troubleâand leads her to her one true love.
I hope youâll enjoy this book in my HAWKâS WAY series, which follows the lives and loves of a powerful and prolific Texas ranching family.
Long after writing The Bluest Eyes in Texas, Iâm still writing about Texas Rangers and making them my heroes. Theyâre a fascinating, elite breed of modern-day lawmen who remain renegades and lone wolves. Burr Covington is one of my favorites!
I have no trouble picturing âthe bluest eyes in Texasâ because my heroineâs eyes arenât really blueâtheyâre the color of Texas bluebonnets, which are actually a striking lavender. I have pictures of my children playing among those glorious Texas wildflowers, which blanket the hill country in south Texas each spring.
I invite you along as Burr Covington, a Texas Ranger from the wrong side of the tracks, rescues the governorâs âice princessâ daughter from kidnappers, and then falls head over heels for The Bluest Eyes in Texas.
I love hearing from you! You can contact me through my Web site at www.joanjohnston.com. Be sure to sign up on my mailing list if youâd like to get notice of upcoming titles.
Happy reading!
âMAY I KISS YOU good night, Tate?â
âOf course you can, Hank.â
âYour brothersââ
âForget about them! Iâm a grown woman. I certainly donât need permission from Faron or Garth to give you a simple little good-night kiss.â Tate Whitelaw stepped closer to the tall cowboy and slipped her arms around his neck. The bright light over the front door didnât quite reach to the corner of the railed porch where she was standing with Hank.
Hank took advantage of Tateâs invitation, drawing her into his arms behind one of the massive fluted columns that graced the front of the house and aligning their bodies from breast to hip. She was uncomfortably aware of his arousal, since only two layers of denimâher jeans and hisâseparated their warm flesh. His mouth sought hers, and his tongue thrust inside. It was more than a simple good-night kiss, and Tate suddenly found herself wishing she hadnât been quite so encouraging.
âHankââ she gasped, pulling her head back and trying to escape his ardor. âI donât thinkââ
Hankâs arms tightened around her, and Tate found herself in a wrestling match. She struggled to get the heels of her hands to his shoulders to push him away. He gripped her short black hair with one hand and angled her face for his kiss.
âHank! S-stop it!â she hissed.
Caught up in his lust, Hank was oblivious to Tateâs urgently whispered entreaties. Tate had already decided it was time to take desperate action when the issue was taken out of her hands. Literally.
Tate knew someone had arrived on the scene when Hank gave a grunt of surprise as he was jerked away from her. Her brother Faron had a handful of Hankâs Western shirt in his grasp and was holding the young man at armâs length.
âWhat the hell do you think youâre doing with my sister?â Faron demanded.
Hank blinked owlishly. âKissing her?â
âWho the hell gave you permission to kiss her?â
âI did!â Tate said through gritted teeth. Fisted hands on hips, chin up, she faced her brother defiantly. âWho gave you permission to interfere!â
âWhen I see my kid sister getting mauledââ
âI can take care of myself!â
Faron arched a brow, and Tate knew it was because she hadnât denied the fact she was being mauled. Hank had just been a little exuberant, that was all. She could have escaped her predicament without her brotherâs interference.
To Tateâs horror, Garth shoved open the front screen door and asked, âWhat in blue blazes is going on out here?â
âI found this coyote forcing his attentions on Tate,â Faron said.
Garth stepped onto the porch, and if the sheer size of him didnât intimidate, the fierce scowl on his face surely would have. âThat true?â Garth demanded of Hank.
Hank gulped. âPerspiration dripped at his temple. The color left his face. âWell, sirâ¦â He looked to Tate for rescue.
Tate watched Garthâs lips flatten into a grim line as he exchanged a decisive look with Faron. Hank had been tried and convicted. All that was left was sentencing.