Texas Gun Smoke. Joanna Wayne

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      Thanks to all the readers out there who love a

      good romance and keep buying my books. A

      special thanks goes to Ruth Foreman, a reader

      who has been with me since my very first book.

      Though we’ve never met in person, we have

      become good friends via e-mail. She is a

      constant source of inspiration, an optimistic,

      cheerful person dedicated to her faith and

      family. Even losing her home to the devastating

      floods of Katrina couldn’t destroy her loving

      spirit. She’s the kind of fan that makes

      writing a real joy.

      Chapter One

      A light rain started to fall, making the road that wound its way to Jack’s Bluff Ranch dangerously slick. Not a safe night out for man nor beast. Most days Bart fell into the former category. He slowed his pickup truck and turned up the volume on his radio, singing along with George Strait, though one of them was a bit off-key.

      Bart stretched, then shed the necktie he’d loosened much earlier. He hadn’t wanted to drive into Houston tonight, especially in this monkey suit. But his mother had refused to take no for an answer. Not that he didn’t agree with her that philanthropy was important or that her work in spearheading the drive to raise funding for the new children’s wing at the hospital was a worthy task; but sipping champagne and making small talk with a gaggle of rich socialites wasn’t his scene.

      It still amazed him that his mother could waltz from ranch life at Jack’s Bluff to Houston society functions so effortlessly. The only dance Bart knew was the two-step, and that was the way he liked it.

      His mom had opted to stay in town and spend the night with his brother Langston and his new family, leaving Bart to make the hour-plus drive home alone. Normally he wouldn’t have minded, but tonight he could have used the company just to stay awake and alert. It had been a long day. Ranching was not a nine-to-five job.

      He caught sight of a pair of bucks at the edge of the road in front of him. He slowed even more. You never knew when a deer would take a notion to run right in front of you. He’d totaled a pickup like that last year. Worse part was it had killed the doe.

      The rain picked up. He turned on the defroster to clear the windshield. The visibility improved only slightly, but he’d be home in less than ten minutes.

      He tried to stifle a yawn, then jerked to attention. What the hell? Two cars were speeding toward him, driving so close they were all but swapping paint.

      A second later he saw sparks fly as the outside car sideswiped the other and sent it rocking and bouncing along the shoulder before the driver managed to get all four wheels back on the highway. If this was some teenage game of chicken, they were taking things way too far. Somebody was likely to get killed. Maybe him.

      He slowed and took the shoulder as the cars collided again. This time the smaller one went flying off the road. It slid down an incline and then rolled over, coming to a rocking upside-down stop a few yards ahead of Bart. The lunatic driving the attacking car sped past him.

      Bart СКАЧАТЬ