The Wrangler And The Runaway Mom
WAY OUT WESTTHE WITNESSWhen a terrified Dr. Maggie Rawlings saw her ex-husband killed, she feared her little boy might be next. They started running, with every man a potential threat–even if her son was constantly in search of a daddy. And a cowboy. And he found both in Colt McKendrick….FBI agent-disguised-as-rodeo-cowboy Colt knew the drill: protect Maggie and her son, and then, when the danger passed, move on. But with each trusting look from the adorable little boy–not to mention each sizzling moment spend with Maggie–Colt was finding a hands-off policy harder and harder to live by….Because there's nothing like a cowboy.
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THE WITNESS
When a terrified Dr. Maggie Rawlings saw her ex-husband killed, she feared her little boy might be next. They started running, with every man a potential threat—even if her son was constantly in search of a daddy. And a cowboy. And he found both in Colt McKendrick…
FBI agent-disguised-as-rodeo-cowboy Colt knew the drill: protect Maggie and her son, and then, when the danger passed, move on. But with each trusting look from the adorable little boy—not to mention each sizzling moment spent with Maggie—Colt was finding a hands-off policy harder and harder to live by…
Previously published.
“My feelings for you are not in the least brotherly, Maggie.
“I would have thought that kiss in your trailer earlier proved that.”
At that reminder, the air seemed to vibrate suddenly with charged tension. Maggie cleared her throat. “I, ah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”
“What about it?” Colt asked.
“Well, obviously, it was a—mistake.”
“A mistake?”
“Of course,” Maggie answered. “It was a chemical reaction...stimulated by the fact that we were in such close proximity, alone there in the trailer.”
“Well, Doc, I hate to point this out, but we’re in even closer proximity right now. And we’re alone. Feeling any chemical reactions?”
“No,” Maggie answered, as primly as a schoolmarm. “It must have been a...one-time occurrence, and now it’s completely out of our systems.”
This time Colt laughed. “A chemical reaction. Right. You keep telling yourself that, Doc. Maybe sooner or later you’ll even believe it.”
RAEANNE THAYNE
lives in a crumbling old Victorian in northern Utah with her husband and two young children. She loves being able to write where she is surrounded by rugged mountains and real cowboys.
For Kjersten Thayne,
the best daughter a mother could ask for, and for Avery Thayne, who deserves coauthor status, since he insisted on sitting on his mother’s lap through nearly every page.
Contents
Margaret Prescott choked back a scream and watched her husband topple to the thick carpet of his office like a marionette whose strings had been severed. Only the blood seeping from the neat round hole in the middle of his forehead shattered the illusion.
The two figures standing over the crumpled form of the man she’d once thought she loved didn’t even turn in her direction. Michael’s heavy oak washroom door, ajar just enough to allow her a distorted view into the room, must have muffled the tiny cry that rasped from her throat.
“What the hell you do that for, Carlo?” The tall one with the droopy eyes and beak of a nose that gave him a morose expression stared at the other man.
Carlo, thin and wiry, with short-cropped hair so blond it was nearly white, lifted a shoulder negligently and slid the sleek chrome revolver inside his tailored suit coat. “I lost my temper. He should never have baited me like that.”
His blue eyes were dead, Maggie thought, fighting to hold on to lucidity through the panic that clawed through her. Cold and flat and dead, like a cobra’s.
“How we supposed to find the merchandise now?” Droopy Man snarled. “What’s DeMarranville gonna say?”
“I imagine he’ll say good riddance.”
“Only problem is, you killed the stupid bastard before he could tell us where he hid the stuff.”
“Ah, but he did tell us.”
“You mean that bit about his wife carrying the secret or whatever the hell he said? That was just bull, to get us off his back.”
“You think so?” Carlo looked impassively at Michael’s body—at the blood that had begun to pool under his head, at the sprawl of lifeless limbs—then back at the other man. “I believe you’re wrong. I think the good lady doctor knows exactly where our merchandise is. I have no doubt she’ll be more than happy to lead us right to it.”
“You’re screwed in the head. Why would she do that?”
“You don’t give me nearly enough credit, Franky.” Carlo’s mouth twisted into a small smile that sent chills rippling down Maggie’s spine. “I’ve been told my powers of persuasion are quite extraordinary.”
Without a backward look at the man whose life he’d just taken, he turned and walked out of Michael’s office.
When the other man followed him, Maggie swayed in the washroom, her breathing coming shallow and fast. Several moments passed before she worked up the courage to push the door open.
Michael’s vacant eyes stared at her from the floor in familiar accusation. As if it were her fault, all of it. If only she had been able to call for help somehow when she had heard them all come into the office. If only she’d been able to provide a distraction by coming out instead of choosing to remain in the washroom when she heard their raised voices and accusations against Michael.
If only she had been smarter or faster or stronger.
