The Texas Soldier's Son
He never expected to live againOr have a family…Whilst Army ranger Kyle Benning was believed dead in an explosion, his widow, Nicole Shelton gave birth to his child. Now she’s a prime suspect in a murder case! Kyle battles trauma and a dangerous killer to rescue the woman he still loves…
Читать The Texas Soldier's Son онлайн беплатно
âJacob is your son.â
A thrilling new Top Secret Deliveries story
Army ranger Kyle Benning never expected to live again...or have a family. When he was believed dead in an explosion, Nicole Shelton gave birth to Kyleâs baby. Now sheâs a widow and a prime suspect in a murder case! Everything Kyle once knew is as dangerous as a war zone, but he battles trauma and a killer to rescue the woman he still loves.
KAREN WHIDDON started weaving fanciful tales for her younger brothers at the age of eleven. Amid the gorgeous Catskill Mountains, then the majestic Rocky Mountains, she fueled her imagination with the natural beauty surrounding her. Karen now lives in north Texas, writes full-time and volunteers for a boxer dog rescue. She shares her life with her hero of a husband and four to five dogs, depending on if she is fostering. You can email Karen at [email protected]. Fans can also check out her website, www.karenwhiddon.com.
Also by Karen Whiddon
The CEOâs Secret BabyThe Copâs Missing ChildThe Millionaire Cowboyâs SecretTexas Secrets, Loversâ LiesThe Rancherâs ReturnThe Texanâs ReturnWyoming UndercoverThe Texas Soldierâs SonRunaway ColtonThe Temptation of Dr. Colton
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-07891-7
THE TEXAS SOLDIERâS SON
© 2018 Karen Whiddon
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a âLicensed Deviceâ) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ⢠are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
Dedicated to my daughter, Stephanie Waters.
One of the strongest women I know. I love you, Steph.
Contents
âHeâs dead?â Nicole Shelton-Mabry gripped the phone so hard she thought it might break. âWhat do you mean, heâs dead? He was fine when he left for work this morning.â If by fine, one meant hungover. Last night her husband Bill had staggered in at 3 a.m., slurring her name, already in a rage by the time sheâd hurried downstairs. The black-and-blue bruise on her upper arm had been his response to her tentative hello. Luckily, once heâd vented his anger, heâd stumbled to the couch and passed out before he could hit her again.
The pain had blossomed like an explosion. Since she had experience covering bruises, and luckily this time he hadnât got her face, she knew she needed to put ice on it. Wincing as she explored her arm and shoulder with tentative fingers, she supposed she ought to be glad he hadnât broken anything this time.
Prone on the couch, heâd let out a snore. Sheâd stood staring at him for a moment, hatred mingling with her pain, and wished sheâd had enough guts to grab her cast-iron skillet and slam it into his skull until heâd never be able to hurt her again. Instead, sheâd gone to the freezer and wrapped ice in a dishtowel, glad baby Jacob still slept in his crib upstairs.
Sheâd taken a deep breath, crossed the room and carefully removed Billâs wallet from his back pocket. He loved to carry wads of cash and his drinking made him careless with his money, so sheâd been removing as much as she safely could each time he passed out.
