True Heart

“It takes a tough heart. That’s why I want you to sell out to me. You’re better off without this.”

“Better off with—”

The same thing he’d said in his kiss-off letter nine years ago! You’ll be better off without me.

She jerked upright in his arms. “Who the hell are you to tell me that?”

His tender half smile faded to bewilderment. “Hey, I’m just trying to—”

She brought her hands to his chest and shoved, arching her back against his hold. “That’s right! You’re doing this all for my own good. Taking my ranch from me. You’re such a considerate guy!” She shoved him again, but still he held on. For just a moment there—oh, she was such a fool to feel safe and loved in his arms! Nothing but her old longings betraying her—just as they’d betrayed her the first time all those years ago. It isn’t me he gives a damn about! Tripp takes what he needs for himself, then tells you he’s done you a favor!

Well, not this time, Kaley vowed….

Dear Reader,

Have you ever dreamed about living in the perfect little town? Some place small and friendly enough that people know your face. Where the menfolk tip their Stetsons at you when they drive by. Where the women remember if you take after your mama’s side of the family or your daddy’s.

A town just big enough that a few inquiring strangers wander through every year, then are beguiled by its warmth and charm into staying. A town rich in beauty, with snow-capped mountains looming on the horizon, and cattle ranches spreading out all around, and a white church on a hilltop perfect for storybook weddings.

Trueheart, Colorado, first took shape in my mind with the book Don’t Mess With Texans, when my heroine, Susannah Mack, hid out from her vengeful ex-husband there. I couldn’t resist revisiting the place in The Baby Bargain, to help widowed ranch owner Dana Kershaw find a new soul mate while she doubled her family.

And now, in True Heart, we return for the third time, when Kaley Cotter comes back to have her baby, save the family ranch—and rediscover the love of her life.

So welcome to my town—or welcome back! Slide into a booth at Mo’s Truckstop and order a steakburger and fries to go with your story. Or maybe you’ll want to try the new café in Trueheart, where Michelle serves cassoulet to the ladies, and French chili to the men—and it’s all from the same pot.

As always, thanks for reading!

Peggy Nicholson

To Christina Canham, fearless on the foredeck,

fearless in the kitchen, frequently admirable, perpetually amusing. Closest to a little sister I’ll ever have. Chrisso, how I’ll miss our Girls’ Nights Out. Sail on, kid, but don’t be a stranger.

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

KALEY BOSWORTH DANCED straight out of the doctor’s office that afternoon and bought a double armload of sunflowers. And beeswax candles—every last tall, creamy-white fragrant candle that the florist had in stock. Fifty-seven, in all.

Now they stood in unlit readiness on the counters to either side of the door that led from her kitchen to the attached garage. From there they spread out over the other counters, the marble-topped central work island, the table in the breakfast nook. She’d even set candlesticks at the doorway to the butler’s pantry.

More candles beckoned the eye into the pass-through pantry, then on to the dining room, to its long, lace-covered mahogany table, where the remaining tapers stood in two silver candelabra. Between the candelabra on the table, she’d placed a cut-crystal punch bowl, filled to overflowing with the sunflowers, entwined with pink honeysuckle and roses from her own garden. Color and a blaze of light to match her mood.

The table was laid with their best sterling and china. Champagne stood iced in a wine bucket for Richard, along with a bottle of sparkling cider for herself.

All she needed was her husband to help her celebrate. Richard was only ninety minutes later than he’d said he’d be that morning—still well within his self-imposed margin of two hours, after which he’d usually phone to say that some case had delayed him and she shouldn’t wait supper.

But tonight he hadn’t called.

“So, any minute now,” Kaley half sang as she stood by a window in her darkened living room, hugging herself, bouncing on her toes with impatience as she peered down to the distant street corner.

Headlights knifed through the summer dusk with swift assurance. Streetlights rippled over a sleek, sliding shape—a dark blue convertible swung around the bend and arrowed straight for the house. “Yes!” Kaley snatched up a box of matches and ran for the back door.