Praise for the novels of
LINDA LAEL MILLER
âCompletely wonderful. Austinâs interactions with Paige are fun and lively and the mysteryâ¦adds quite a suspenseful punch.â
âRT Book Reviews on The McKettricks of Texas: Austin
âMiller is the queen when it comes to creating sympathetic, endearing and lifelike characters. She paints each scene so perfectly readers hover on the edge of delicious voyeurism.â
âRT Book Reviews on McKettricks of Texas: Garrett
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
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)
Present Day
âSTAY IN THE CAR,â Sierra McKettrick told her seven-year-old son, Liam.
He fixed her with an owlish gaze, peering through the lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses. âI want to see the graves, too,â he told her, and put a mittened hand to the passenger-side door handle to make his point.
âAnother time,â she answered firmly. Part of her knew it was irrational to think a visit to the cemetery could provoke an asthma attack, but when it came to Liamâs health, she was taking no chances.
A brief stare-down ensued, and Sierra prevailed, but barely.
âItâs not fair,â Liam said, yet he sounded resigned. He didnât normally give up so easily, but theyâd just driven almost nonstop all the way from Florida to northern Arizona, and he was tired.
âWelcome to the real world,â Sierra replied. She set the emergency brake, left the engine running with the heat on High, and got out of the ancient station wagon sheâd bought on credit years before.
Standing ankle-deep in a patch of ragged snow, she took in her surroundings. Ordinary people were buried in church yards and public cemeteries when they died, she reflected, feeling peevish. The McKettricks were a law unto them selves, living or dead. They werenât content with a mere plot, like other families. Oh, no. They had to have a place all their own, with a view.
And what a view it was.
Shoving her hands into the pockets of her cloth coat, which was nearly as decrepit as her car, Sierra turned to survey the Triple M Ranch, sprawling in every direction, well beyond the range of her vision. Red mesas and buttes, draped in a fine lacing of snow. Copses of majestic white oaks, growing at intervals along a wide and shining stream. Expanses of pastureland, and even the occasional cactus, a stranger to the high country, a misplaced way farer, there by mistake.
Like her.
A flash of resentment rose suddenly within Sierra, and a moment or two passed before she recognized the emotion for what it was: not her own opinion, but that of her late father, Hank Breslin.
When it came to the McKettricks, Sierra had no opinions that she could honestly claim, because she didnât know these people, except by reputation.
Sheâd taken their name for one reason and one reason onlyâbecause that was part of the deal. Liam needed health care, and she couldnât provide it. Eve McKettrickâSierraâs biological motherâhad set up a medical trust fund for her grandson, but there were strings attached.
With the McKettricks, she heard her father say, as surely as if he were standing there beside her, there are always strings attached.
âBe quiet,â Sierra said, out loud. She was grateful for Eveâs help, and if she had to take the McKettrick name and live on the Triple M Ranch for a year to meet the conditions, so be it. It wasnât as if she had anyplace better to go.
Resolutely she approached the cemetery entrance, walked under the ornate metal arch way forming the word âMcKettrickâ in graceful cursive.