скачать книгу бесплатно
Texas Rebels: Egan
Linda Warren
Heart of a HeroBig-city art instructor Rachel Hollister isn’t back home in Texas for more than a few hours before she’s lost in the woods surrounding Rebel Ranch. But, when a ruggedly handsome cowboy manages to save her life twice in the same day, it seems Rachel’s bad luck has taken a turn for the better!Rancher Egan Rebel can’t refuse someone in need, even the daughter of an enemy. It was Rachel’s father who unjustly sentenced Egan to prison years ago, but Egan’s drawn to beautiful, creative Rachel. He’s saved her life… now she might just become his future!
Rachel placed her hand on Egan’s forearm.
His eyes met hers. “It’s time to shelve the guilty feelings. Time to move on and accept that we did our best.”
She leaned over. “You smell good,” she whispered.
“Irish Spring soap.”
“Why are you not pushing me away?”
“I’m too tired.”
“Good. Don’t think. Just feel all the good things that we know about each other.”
“Rachel …”
She placed her forefinger over his lips. “You’re thinking.”
“Nothing can change my past.”
She curled into his side. “I’m not thinking about your past. I’m thinking about now. Here. You and me. We’re two consenting adults and can handle whatever happens.”
“What do you want to happen?”
She raised her head and stared into his gorgeous eyes. “Call me ma’am.”
His lips curved into a smile. “What do you want to happen, ma’am?”
Texas Rebels: Egan
Linda Warren
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Two-time RITA
Award-nominated and award-winning author LINDA WARREN loves her job, writing happily-ever-after books for Mills & Boon. Drawing upon her years of growing up on a farm/ranch in Texas, she writes about sexy heroes, feisty heroines and broken families with an emotional punch, all set against the backdrop of Texas. Her favorite pastime is sitting on her patio with her husband watching the wildlife, especially the injured ones that are coming in pairs these days: two Canada geese with broken wings, two does with broken legs and a bobcat ready to pounce on anything tasty. Learn more about Linda and her books at her website, lindawarren.net (http://lindawarren.net), or on Facebook, LindaWarrenAuthor, or follow @ Texauthor on Twitter.
I dedicate this book to Helen Sheffield, friend, author, teacher and supporter of anyone who was interested in writing. She encouraged and supported me over the years and I’m grateful for having known her. She was an amazing, loving, giving person who never met a stranger. Rest in peace, my friend.
Acknowledgements (#ulink_21b03b27-8311-5b88-9193-759d601c693c)
A big thank-you to the internet. The research for this book was done solely online: weeks of researching and double-checking and chatting to people who were nice enough to share their knowledge, especially about dog bites, prison and court proceedings.
Contents
Cover (#ubfaff7f4-fa5f-5228-8d1b-d2f8b62b3276)
Introduction (#ua62e25eb-d0fb-5c49-b37c-17738bd35a70)
Title Page (#ube2ecd0c-d25c-5ce8-83b3-e34fa40ab49a)
About the Author (#u2b68d5bd-7b13-510f-9ae2-d25effa1c60c)
Dedication (#ued24ab2c-2e6d-5df5-bce7-d55658afb6cc)
Acknowledgments (#ulink_58ae6a16-22ff-5617-9640-44952831a8ab)
Prologue (#u4dde39ef-a34b-5565-acde-8ceb6afd6fd6)
Chapter One (#u421d0956-506f-5fa6-bdee-0f2adae17020)
Chapter Two (#u3f251e95-9772-5741-bdb0-1f4a7701206b)
Chapter Three (#ua57a8c74-1e96-5736-8d98-cad23ea841a3)
Chapter Four (#u998943d6-b87f-508e-8a65-c97b4eea63b2)
Chapter Five (#u7fd6710a-9773-5722-b741-5605f66eccf9)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#ulink_da38b593-db69-550d-a2fe-6ce9afd372f8)
My name is Kate Rebel. I married John Rebel when I was eighteen years old and then bore him seven sons. We worked the family ranch, which John later inherited. We put everything we had into buying more land so our sons would have a legacy. We didn’t have much, but we had love.
The McCray Ranch borders Rebel Ranch on the east and the McCrays have forever been a thorn in my family’s side. They’ve cut our fences, dammed up creeks to limit our water supply and shot one of our prize bulls. Ezra McCray threatened to shoot our sons if he caught them jumping his fences again. We tried to keep our boys away, but they are boys—young and wild.
One day Jude and Phoenix, two of our youngest, were out riding together. When John heard shots, he immediately went to find his boys. They lay on the ground, blood oozing from their heads. Ezra McCray was astride a horse twenty yards away with a rifle in his hand. John drew his gun and fired, killing Ezra instantly. Both boys survived with only minor wounds. Since my husband was protecting his children, he didn’t spend even one night in jail. This escalated the feud that still goes on today.
The man I knew as my husband died that day. He couldn’t live with what he’d done, and started to drink heavily. I had to take over the ranch and the raising of our boys. John died ten years later. We’ve all been affected by the tragedy, especially my sons.
They are grown men now and deal in different ways with the pain of losing their father. One day I pray my boys will be able to put this behind them and live healthy, normal lives with women who will love them the way I loved their father.
Chapter One (#ulink_7a83bd7a-1764-509f-9f02-c30dc007ecf6)
Egan: the third son—the loner
A cowboy’s work was never done.
Holidays, weekends, in bitter cold and extreme heat, Egan Rebel was in the saddle on Rebel Ranch, herding cattle, branding, tagging, vaccinating, fixing fences and feeding. It never ended. But that’s who he was—a cowboy. It was a whole lot better than staring at cell bars in front of his face.
Freedom was free, or so they said, but for Egan it came with a price. One he paid every day of his life. He meandered his horse through a herd of red-and-white cattle, forcing the thoughts away. His dog, Pete, trailed behind, on watch in case a moody cow decided to charge.
The vast Texas ranch stretched across miles and miles of gently rolling hills dotted with oak, elm, yaupon, cedar and mesquite, then down into lush valleys of coastal hay fields, prairies of wildflowers and woods so thick only daylight could squeeze through. Two creeks and various natural springs flowed on the property. No place on earth could compare to the spectacular sunrises or the awe-inspiring sunsets. This was paradise on earth to Egan. Fresh air, blue skies and freedom. He’d left here once to his peril, but he would never leave again.
Buzzards circled overhead. He pulled up. A cow bellowed in distress at the edge of the woods. He kneed his horse, Gypsy, in that direction. When he saw the problem he swung from the saddle, the leather creaking as he did. A baby calf lay dead in the grass.
Jericho Johnson rode in and surveyed the scene. “What happened?” Jericho was Egan’s best friend. He’d saved Egan’s life in prison and for that Egan would always be grateful. Egan’s mother, Kate, had given Jericho a job and a home for his actions. They didn’t know much about the man, but Egan knew what was important.
He squatted by the red-and-white calf and pointed. “Teeth marks around its neck. A fun kill. Probably by a pack of feral dogs or wolves. This makes the eighth calf this month.”
Pete sniffed the ground and barked.
Egan followed the dog into the woods. “Come back, boy,” he called, and Pete trotted to his side.
“There are tracks leading to the McCray property.” Egan walked toward his horse. “The woods are too thick for a horse. Take the horses and Pete back to the ranch. I’m going to keep tracking on foot.”
Jericho removed his hat and scratched his head. He was a big man, about six-four. His nationality was unknown, but he’d once told Egan he was a little bit white, Mexican, Indian and black. With his long hair and a scar slashed down the side of his face, he was known to scare the strongest of men.
“Do you think that’s wise?”
Jericho knew of the feud with the McCrays and that avoiding them was always the best policy.
Egan removed his rifle from the saddle scabbard. “Crazy Isadore McCray has dogs and I just want to see if they’ve crossed over onto Rebel land. If Izzy has been killing our calves, I’ll call the sheriff. I don’t plan on being stupid and confronting him. Stupid once in a lifetime is all I can handle.”
“If the two of us track—”
Egan cut him off with a dark stare. “I know these woods like the back of my hand and I don’t need any help tracking. Tell Mom and Falcon I’m on it.”
Jericho inclined his head. “You got it.” He reached for the reins of Egan’s horse. “But if you’re not at the ranch by tomorrow, I’ll come looking.”
Egan nodded to his friend and squatted in front of Pete. “Go back to the ranch with Rico.” He rubbed the dog’s head. He didn’t want the feral dogs to kill him. Pete was an Australian blue healer, a cow dog, but if it came to a fight, he would be right in the middle of it.
Tipping his hat, Jericho rode away, Pete trotting behind. The dog stopped once to look back, but Egan didn’t motion for him to come, so he continued his journey behind the horses.
Egan shoved his hand into the pocket of his dark duster and pulled out his phone. No signal. He was alone, but it had been that way most of his life, even with six brothers.
Following the trail into the woods, he pushed through yaupons and mesquite. He kept his eyes focused on the ground. From the tracks, there had to be at least six dogs and one man. The woods grew thicker and the tracks disappeared, almost into thin air. He was close enough to the McCray property line to know Izzy had been up to no good. Egan may have told Rico he wouldn’t do anything stupid, but he wasn’t about to let Izzy kill any more calves on Rebel Ranch.
* * *
RACHEL HOLLISTER WAS LOST.
For over an hour, she’d been traveling this country back road and the scenery had changed from mesquite and scrub to thick woods. She cursed herself for being a coward and taking the long way home. She’d been away twelve years and still she was stalling, avoiding the moment she would walk in the door of the home she’d shared with her mother and family. The mother who had died because of her. Twelve years was long enough to deal with the guilt. The grief. Or maybe not. It was part of her now.
Every morning when she looked in the mirror she saw herself, but she also saw a young girl who’d been spoiled, pampered and far too used to getting her own way. Rachel didn’t like that girl and had had years to change her. But she hadn’t changed enough to face the past. That was evident by her taking this cutoff to nowhere. If she’d stayed on US 77 she would already be in Horseshoe.
She’d left the blacktop some time ago and now the road narrowed to merely a track. Her heart lifted when she saw a cattle guard. There had to be a house somewhere and she could ask for directions. She looked around for signs of human life, a barn, anything. But all she saw were woods and more woods. The track ended and she had nowhere to go.
Just then the engine made a funny sound and she could barely turn the steering wheel. She stopped and listened. The motor was still running but the car wouldn’t go. Now what?
She reached for her phone in her purse and tried to call her brother. No signal. She looked out the window and couldn’t see power lines. Where was she? Rachel got out of the car and an eerie feeling came over her. The May wind rustled through the trees, the only sound she heard.
She tried her phone again. Nothing. A sliver of alarm shot through her and she got back into the car. How was she going to get out of here? She mustn’t panic. She shut off the engine and waited ten minutes. When she started it again it sounded strange, not like before. She put the car in gear and pressed the gas. The steering wheel was still hard to turn and she knew she couldn’t go very far like this. She turned off the ignition.
Her choices were simple. She’d have to walk out or sit here and wait for someone to find her. From the silence, she feared that wait might be long. A tear slipped from her eye and she slapped it away. She could handle this.
She got out of the car again and looked down at her dress and heels. Not ideal for walking. Her suitcase was in the backseat, so she’d just change into jeans and sneakers.
As Rachel moved toward the door, something in her peripheral vision caught her eye. Her heart thumped against her chest. There was a man emerging from the woods. He was hard to see because he seemed as one with his surroundings. A dark duster like she’d seen cowboys wear in olden days flapped around his legs. His longish dark hair brushed against his collar, and he had at least a day’s worth of stubble. A worn hat was pulled low over his eyes, but what held her attention was the rifle in his hand.
Fear crept along her nerves as she got back into the car, locking the doors manually. The man continued to stride toward her. There was nothing she could do but wait. Who was he? And what was he doing out here so far from anywhere?
Her eyes were glued to him as he drew closer. She scooted away from the window, as if that would help. When he tapped on the window, she jumped; she was so nervous.
“Are you okay, ma’am?”
He peered at her through the window and she stared into the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. Instead of being paralyzed with fear, her body relaxed. His eyes were riveting. It was like coming in from an icy cold day into a room with a roaring fire. All she felt was the warmth, and she instinctively knew this man wouldn’t hurt her.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” he repeated, and his strong voice propelled her into action. She turned on the motor and reached for the window button, but nothing happened. The window wouldn’t move. She had no choice but to open the door.
As she got out, he stepped back and she realized he was tall. Even in her heels she had to look up.
“What are you doing out here?” His voice was deep, masculine and irritated.
“I’m lost,” she admitted. “I was headed to Horseshoe.”
“You’re miles away from Horseshoe.”
