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The Cattleman And The Virgin Heiress
Jackie Merritt
I MAY HAVE FORGOTTEN MY NAME, BUT I REMEMBER WHAT IT IS TO WANT A MAN.–Hope LeClaire Stockwell on her amnesiaThough Hope LeClaire's memory was in shards, in the arms of her gallant rescuer, Matt McCarlson, she felt entirely whole. Stranded on his ranch, they couldn't summon her past, so they focused on the present…and the sensual awareness sizzling between them. Then a torrent of memories came flooding in…and the "forever" she dreamed of was washed away. For Hope was a Stockwell, an heiress of untold wealth, and Matt was the sworn enemy of all aristocratic women. But Hope would not be denied her one chance at happiness…at becoming this proud rancher's wife….
If the walls of Stockwell Mansion could talk…
we’d welcome dear Madelyn and Brandon home at long last! To have the Stockwells’ mother and uncle back in the family fold after all these years of thinking them dead…well, we’re overwhelmed with happiness. Years ago, fueled by an unfounded inferno of jealousy, Caine Stockwell had cast out his own wife and brother—and falsely announced them drowned. Caine’s deception lasted for decades, and robbed the Stockwell siblings of their mother’s love—and a sister? It seems Madelyn had been pregnant at the time of her exile, and that child, Hope LeClaire, should have arrived in Texas to meet her clan days ago!
What could have detained Hope? We have a very ominous feeling about this, for the newspapers were splashed with her picture and the two-inch headline, Stockwell Heiress Found, making her a target for trouble. We can only hope she’s not in harm’s way, but nestled in the arms of a strong Texan hero….
Dear Reader,
May marks the celebration of “Get Caught Reading,” a national campaign the Association of American Publishers created to promote the sheer joy of reading. “Get Caught Reading” may be a phrase that’s familiar to you, but if not, we hope you’ll familiarize yourself with it by picking up the wonderful selections that Silhouette Special Edition has to offer….
Former NASA engineer Laurie Paige says that when she was young, she checked out The Little Engine That Could from the library fifty times. “I read it every week,” Laurie recalls. “I was so astounded that the library would lend books to me for free. I’ve been an avid reader ever since.” Though Laurie Paige hasn’t checked out her favorite childhood storybook for a while, she now participates in several local literacy fund-raisers and reads to young children in her community. Laurie is also a prolific writer, with nearly forty published Silhouette titles, including this month’s Something To Talk About.
Don’t miss the fun when a once-burned rancher discovers that the vivacious amnesiac he’s helping turns out to be the missing Stockwell heiress in Jackie Merritt’s The Cattleman and the Virgin Heiress. And be sure to catch all of THE CALAMITY JANES, five friends sharing the struggles and celebrations of life, starting with Do You Take This Rebel? by Sherryl Woods. And what happens when Willa and Zach learn they both inherited the same ranch? Find out in The Ties That Bind by Ginna Gray. Be sure to see who will finish first in Patricia Hagan’s Race to the Altar. And Judith Lyons pens a highly emotional tale with Lt. Kent: Lone Wolf.
So this May, make time for books. Remember how fun it is to browse a bookstore, hold a book in your hands and discover new worlds on the printed page.
Best,
Karen Taylor Richman
Senior Editor
The Cattleman and the Virgin Heiress
Jackie Merritt
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JACKIE MERRITT
is still writing, just not with the speed and constancy of years past. She and hubby are living in southern Nevada again, falling back on old habits of loving the long warm or slightly cool winters and trying almost desperately to head north for the months of July and August, when the fiery sun bakes people and cacti alike. Even Jackie’s cat, Tige, doesn’t go outside during the summer. Tige is Jackie’s pal, her friend, her pet. He’s an orange-striped tabby, neutered, of course, and too cute to accurately describe. She loves dogs, as well.
Silhouette Special Edition is delighted to present
Where family secrets, scandalous pasts and
unexpected love wreak havoc on the lives of the
infamous Stockwells of Texas!
THE TYCOON’S INSTANT DAUGHTER
Christine Rimmer
(SE #1369)
SEVEN MONTHS AND COUNTING…
Myrna Temte
(SE #1375)
HER UNFORGETTABLE FIANCÉ
Allison Leigh
(SE #1381)
THE MILLIONAIRE AND THE MOM
Patricia Kay
(SE #1387)
THE CATTLEMAN AND THE VIRGIN HEIRESS
Jackie Merritt
(SE #1393)
Available at your favorite retail outlet.
Visit Silhouette at www.eHarlequin.com
Contents
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 One
S he was on a road, the only thing she knew for sure in the nearly blinding rainfall. On a road in the black, black night, drenched to the skin and running. Running as hard as she could and still managing to breathe. Her chest ached from the gasping for air she’d undergone for…oh, Lord, how long had she been running? How far away was she from that terrible place?
And was he behind her in the dark? Fear made her take another look over her shoulder. She saw nothing but rain and darkness. Easily he could be toying with her, staying just beyond her scope of vision, knowing that he could reach her with a short sprint whenever he got over his perverted sense of fun.
Panic seized her again, and she forced her exhausted legs to run faster. She needed desperately to stop and rest and catch her breath, but she didn’t dare, not for a minute. Would it help her plight if she knew precisely where she was? she wondered as her mind frantically sought salvation from the most horrifying experience of her life. She had a general idea of her location, but this whole area was frighteningly unfamiliar.
If only someone would come along. A police car would be perfect but far too much to hope for when she hadn’t seen even one vehicle of any kind since her flight began.
And then, so suddenly that it sent a shock wave of fortifying excitement through her system, she saw a light. It wasn’t close and it appeared to be wavering in the torrential rainfall that was nearly drowning her and blurring her eyesight, but she felt confident that it was a light. A yard light, perhaps. Indicating that someone lived out there, someone who might be kind enough to open his or her door to a soggy, scared-to-death stranger and let her warm up, dry off and calm her wildly beating heart.
Without hesitation she headed for the light. In moments she realized that she was running in prickly brush that tore at her clothes and skin. Her chest felt as though it were on fire, her right side was aching badly, her legs screamed with pain and still she didn’t dare stop. Added to that list of miseries, she nearly fell down several times, as the ground had turned to slippery mud under her feet.
But the light gave her hope. Shortly she realized that she was crossing a road—a different road than the one she’d been on earlier. Even in the rain and darkness she could tell it was a different road, and gratitude flooded her heart. “Thank you,” she whispered as her pulse leapt tumultuously over this additional proof that she was approaching inhabited territory.
But on the other side of that road was a rise in the terrain, and it was muddy and slicker than ice. She couldn’t let it defeat her and she started up it. She lost her footing and fell backward. Grasping at anything to break her fall, she inadvertently twisted around, and when she hit the ground her head collided with a fence post.
She knew no more, and the rain mercilessly pelted her limp form and muddy face.
Matt McCarlson had heard the rain all night. At daybreak it was still raining, and Matt grimly got dressed and left the house to see what damage this powerful storm was wreaking. Wearing a yellow slicker and a wide-brimmed hat low on his forehead, he saddled his horse, Dex. Inspecting the ranch on horseback made sense. Storms of this magnitude and duration washed out roads, flooded creeks and created puddles the size of small lakes. Mounting Dex, Matt rode from the barn.
It was as bad as he’d suspected. Where water wasn’t actually standing because of runoff to lower ground, it was so dangerously slippery with mud that Matt had to watch every step Dex took. The trees around the house had lost branches and limbs, and the debris was scattered far and wide. Leaving the compound, Matt checked the creeks that wound—normally at a lazy pace—through his land, and just as he’d known in his gut would be the case, every single creek had overflowed its banks. It was a spectacle of flash flooding and nature’s formidable power, and it wasn’t at its worst yet because it was still raining.
Shaking his head disgustedly, Matt directed Dex for home. There wasn’t much he or the men working for him could do today. He’d tell Chuck Crawford, his foreman, to give the crew the day off. They could hang around the bunkhouse or try to get to Hawthorne, the closest town, if they wanted, though Matt doubted that the roads would be passable.
Matt was almost back to the barn when he remembered that he hadn’t picked up yesterday’s mail from the mailbox at the end of the ranch’s driveway. He decided to do that before holing up until the rain at least slowed down some. Yesterday’s mail delivery might be the last one for a week, he thought wryly as he approached the end of the driveway and the mailbox. He’d seen this kind of storm before, and if he managed to pull his ranch out of the financial doldrums into which it had descended this past year and he continued his life as a Texas cattle rancher, he would undoubtedly see it again.
Thinking of his financial problems pulled down his mood, which wasn’t the best to begin with. There wasn’t a place on earth that didn’t need regular rainfalls, but storms of this nature were downright depressing.
“Hell,” Matt muttered as he rode. Matt was just about to reach into the box for the mail when he spotted something strange. Turning his head, he gasped and mumbled, “What the hell?” He felt bile rise in his throat and an increased pulse rate. He saw a person lying in muddy water, resembling a pile of wet rags.
Was the person breathing? Heaven help him—he could be looking at a dead body.
Matt’s stomach turned over. He scanned the area for a car and saw none. Fearful conjecture created horrifying images in Matt’s brain. How had this person gotten here? The McCarlson ranch was miles from Hawthorne and almost that far from any other ranch. Was he looking at a victim of foul play?
With a suddenly bone-dry mouth and jangling nerves, Matt urged Dex over to the mud-streaked, soaking-wet, bedraggled creature. Sliding from the saddle to the ground, Matt blinked twice in genuine shock. It was a woman!
He could hardly believe his eyes. A woman! Where had she come from? Her face was unknown to him. Who was she, and what chain of events had delivered her to his doorstep? Was it something as simple as a flat tire or a disabled vehicle on the main road?
Well, he couldn’t just stand there and speculate, even though he was almost afraid to find out if she was alive or dead. This sort of thing wasn’t his forte, not even close. He was a rancher, not a medic.
And then he caught sight of something that made him grit his teeth and do what had to be done—there was blood in the watery mud next to her head. Obviously she had a head injury, a cut, a gash, some sort of wound that was seeping blood. Matt forced himself to kneel beside her. He removed the glove from his right hand and then took her wrist and felt for a pulse. He found one and breathed an enormous sigh of relief.
“Ma’am? Miss? Can you hear me?” he said, hoping that the sound of his voice would rouse her. At the same time he wondered how he would get her to the house if she didn’t come to.
One option was quickly eliminated. Lifting her onto his horse when she was unconscious wouldn’t be wise. She could have more than one injury and laying her over the saddle like a sack of potatoes could exacerbate her medical situation.
He hated leaving her alone while he went for one of the four-wheel-drive trucks—the only vehicles on the ranch that might make it through such heavy, clinging mud—but that really was his only choice.
“Miss, I’m going to be gone for a few minutes, but don’t be afraid, okay? I’ll be back in a flash. I just need to get a truck to—”
Her eyes opened, startling him, but the intensity of his relief momentarily weakened his knees.
“Hello,” he said gently. She stared at him and said nothing. “Hold on, maybe I can make you a little more comfortable.” Standing, Matt took off his slicker and laid it over her. She couldn’t possibly get any wetter than she was, but maybe the slicker would warm her a little. Kneeling again, he leaned over her and looked into her eyes. They were a beautiful blue color, but so dull and lifeless that he felt another jab of fear.
“Can you hear me?” he asked. “Does your head hurt? Do you feel any pain anywhere else?”
“No,” she whispered.
“Your head doesn’t hurt?”
“Uh, maybe a little. In back.”
He’d never seen such a blank expression in anyone’s eyes before, but he had no idea what it meant. “Are you sure you have no pain anywhere else? The reason I’m asking is that I want to get you out of the rain and into the house, and I don’t want to make matters worse by moving you if I shouldn’t.”
“No pain,” she whispered, and closed her eyes again. “Please, just let me sleep.”
“No! You need to stay awake,” Matt said sharply, causing her eyelids to flutter open again. “You have to stay awake until I can get you inside, do you understand?” He didn’t have to be a doctor to know that she should not be seeking sleep in this unholy situation; it was just common sense. She was obviously weak and probably chilled to the bone. She needed to get warm, she needed dry clothes and a doctor, and she needed those things now, or as close to “now” as he could manage them.
He made a decision then. The fastest, most efficient method of getting her to the house was for him to carry her there. Him, not Dex, not a truck.
“Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “I’m going to slide my arms under you and pick you up so I can carry you to the house. Please just lie still and let me do the work.”
Once again he received a totally blank stare, almost as though she didn’t comprehend speech at all, and yet she let him pick her up and slip and slide to his feet in the mud without any sign of objection.
It was slow going. He estimated her weight to be around 110 pounds and thanked the good Lord it wasn’t more. By the time he reached the house, however, it felt as though he were carrying a ton. His whole body ached, especially his arms and back. During the entire struggle, she had not uttered one sound, though he’d glanced down every so often to make sure that her eyes remained open.
“We’re here,” he said, gasping the message because he was out of breath and tired. Even so, he managed to hang on to her and still turn the doorknob.
A minute later, walking down the hallway to the bedroom area of the house, he felt renewed strength; it was almost over. There were three bedrooms, and he entered the first one he came to and strode to the bed. Laying her down on it, he straightened his back and groaned silently. It wasn’t that he was physically out of shape—far from it—but carrying another person for a good quarter of a mile wasn’t a common occurrence for him. Hell’s bells, was it a common occurrence for anyone?
Standing there, looking at her, he realized what a mess he had on his hands. She was injured, soaked through and muddy from head to shoes. Along with her worrisome physical condition, there was her listlessness, and the un-caring tone of her voice the few times she’d spoken. Shock, Matt thought. She had to be in shock. Her head injury was the most probable cause, but how had she gotten hurt in the first place? And way out here, on his ranch, to boot? It didn’t add up.
Regardless of so many questions without answers, she was here, in his house, and other than the ranch hands—who were probably wondering why he wasn’t at the breakfast table with them—there was no one else to help her. He was it, and he wished to high heaven there was another woman on the place, because someone was going to have to help her get out of those filthy, wet clothes.
“Okay,” he said under his breath, dreading that prospect. “Let’s take care of first things first. Miss, I’m going to call a doctor, Doc Adam Pickett. He’s a good doctor and a good friend, so don’t you lie there worrying. Stay put, all right? I won’t be long.” Matt took his slicker away from her and replaced it with a warm down comforter. “Try to relax, but don’t fall asleep.” He hurried from the room and headed for the kitchen telephone.
His heart sank when he put the receiver to his ear; there was no dial tone. The phone lines were down and who knew when they would be repaired?
