Praise for the novels of LINDA LAEL MILLER
âA passionate love too long denied drives the action in this multifaceted, emotionally rich reunion story that overflows with breathtaking sexual chemistry.â
âLibrary Journal on McKettricks of Texas: Tate
âAs hot as the noontime desert.â
âPublishers Weekly on The Rustler
âThis story creates lasting memories of soul-searing redemption and the belief in goodness and hope.â
âRT Book Reviews on The Rustler
âLoaded with hot lead, steamy sex and surprising plot twists.â
âPublishers Weekly on A Wanted Man
âMillerâs prose is smart, and her tough Eastwoodian cowboy cuts a sharp, unexpectedly funny figure in a classroom full of rambunctious frontier kids.â
âPublishers Weekly on The Man from Stone Creek
â[Miller] paints a brilliant portrait of the good, the bad and the ugly, the lost and the lonely, and the power of love to bring light into the darkest of souls. This is western romance at its finest.â
âRT Book Reviews on The Man from Stone Creek
âSweet, homespun, and touched with angelic Christmas magic, this holiday romance reprises characters from Millerâs popular McKettrick series and is a perfect stocking stuffer for her fans.â
âLibrary Journal on A McKettrick Christmas
âAn engrossing, contemporary western romance.â
âPublishers Weekly on McKettrickâs Pride (starred review)
âLinda Lael Miller creates vibrant characters and stories I defy you to forget.â
â#1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber
December 22, 1896
LIZZIE MCKETTRICK LEANED SLIGHTLY forward in her seat, as if to do so would make the train go faster. Home. She was going home, at long last, to the Triple M Ranch, to her large, rowdy family. After more than two years away, first attending Miss Ridgelyâs Institute of Deportment and Refinement for Young Women, then normal school, Lizzie was returning to the place and the people she lovedâfor good. She would arrive a day before she was expected, too, and surprise them allâher papa, her stepmother, Lorelei, her little brothers, John Henry, Gabriel, and Doss. She had presents for everyone, most sent ahead from San Francisco weeks ago, but a few especially precious ones secreted away in one of her three huge travel trunks.
Only her grandfather, Angus McKettrick, the patriarch of the sprawling clan, knew sheâd be there that very evening. Heâd be waiting, Lizzie thought happily, at the small train station in Indian Rock, probably at the reins of one of the big flat-bed sleighs used to carry feed to snowbound cattle on the range. Sheâd warned him, in her most recent letter, that sheâd be bringing all her belongings with her, for this homecoming was permanentânot just a brief visit, like the last couple of Christmases.
Lizzie smiled a mischievous little smile. Even Angus, her closest confidant except for her parents, didnât know all the facts.
She glanced sideways at Whitley Carson, slumped against the sooty window in the seat next to hers, huddled under a blanket, sound asleep. His breath fogged the glass, and every so often, he stirred fitfully, grumbled something.
Alas, for all his sundry charms, Whitley was not an enthusiastic traveler. His complaints, over the three days since theyâd boarded the first train in San Francisco, had been numerous.
The train was filthy.
There was no dining car.
The cigar smoke roiling overhead made him cough.
He was never going to be warm again.
And what in Godâs green earth had possessed the woman three rows behind them to undertake a journey of any significant distance with two rascally children and a fussy infant in tow?
Now the baby let out a pitiable squall.
Lizzie, used to babies because there were so many on the Triple M, was unruffled. Whitleyâs obvious annoyance troubled her. Although she planned to teach, married or not, she hoped for a houseful of children of her own somedayâhealthy, noisy, rambunctious ones, raised to be confident adults and freethinkers.
It was hard, in the moment, to square the Whitley she was seeing now with the kind of father she had hoped he would be.
The man across the aisle from her laid down his newspaper, stood and stretched. Heâd boarded the train several hours earlier, in Phoenix, carrying what looked like a doctorâs bag, its leather sides cracked and scratched. His waistcoat was clean but threadbare, and he wore neither a hat nor a sidearmâthe absence of both unusual in the still-wild Arizona Territory.
Although Lizzie expected Whitley to propose marriage once they were home with her family, sheâd been stealing glances at the stranger ever since he entered the railroad car. There was something about him, beyond his patrician good looks, that constantly drew her attention.