The Maverick's Midnight Proposal. Brenda Harlen

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       Prologue

      Lee Stanton paused as he entered the room, his gaze caught by the blinking light on his phone indicating that he had a message. He picked it up to check the call history. The same number had shown up on his display more than a dozen times in the past four days, though the caller, who’d identified himself as David Bradford, had only left two messages previously. This would be the third.

      He pressed the button to connect to voice mail, then punched in his access code.

      “This is David Bradford again, the private investigator from Tulsa, hired by Hudson Jones to track down Luke Stockton from Rust Creek Falls, Montana. Please call me back at 539-555-6234.”

      Lee hit the erase button.

      The investigator was nothing if not persistent, and the client—Hudson Jones—was obviously getting his money’s worth. Unfortunately, his perseverance wasn’t going to pay off this time, because it wasn’t possible to find someone who didn’t exist, and Luke Stockton had disappeared twelve years earlier on his way to Cheyenne, Wyoming.

      Lee tried to put the call out of his mind as he rummaged through the refrigerator, looking for something—anything—to throw together for dinner. After seven hours on horseback feeding cattle and checking perimeter fence, he was cold and tired and hungry. And apparently long overdue for a trip to the grocery store.

      He pulled a bottle of beer out of the fridge and twisted off the cap. He tipped the bottle to his lips as he picked up the phone again, dialing from memory the number for Peppe’s Pizza.

      While he waited for his dinner to be delivered, he turned on the television and flipped through the twelve channels that were included with basic cable as part of his rent. But nothing on the screen held his attention for long.

      For the past dozen years, he’d walked the right side of the law, working from sunup to sundown, falling into bed exhausted at the end of the day. But no matter how fatigued his body was, he couldn’t escape the memories that continued to haunt his dreams. Memories of a past he’d wanted only to leave behind. Now he couldn’t help but wonder if that past had caught up with him.

      ...hired by Hudson Jones to track down Luke Stockton...

      He opened the laptop he’d picked up secondhand and kept plugged in because the battery didn’t hold much of a charge. He opened a browser, then started a search for Hudson Jones.

      The results were numerous and instantaneous, and a quick skim of the headlines revealed that Hudson Jones was a millionaire cowboy originally from Oklahoma. Since he knew that Luke Stockton had never been to Oklahoma and hadn’t rubbed elbows with any millionaires in his past, he figured the PI had taken a wrong turn somewhere. He was about to close the browser when a headline announcing Hudson Jones’s marriage caught his eye. The name of the man’s wife: Bella Stockton.

      Bella? Married?

      Stunned, he clicked on the link and found himself looking at a photo of the millionaire cowboy and his beautiful bride. The caption indicated that the couple had exchanged vows early in June—almost six months earlier.

      Lee’s heart hammered against his ribs as he leaned toward the screen for a closer look. The stunning young woman in the white gown didn’t bear much resemblance to the awkward teen he remembered. Except for the eyes. Even in an online photograph, even after so much time had passed, there was no mistaking those big brown eyes.

      He blinked away the moisture that blurred his vision and finally acknowledged the truth that was staring back at him: Hudson Jones’s bride was indeed Luke’s little sister.

      And if her new husband had hired a PI to find Luke, then Bella must have told him about losing touch with her siblings. Maybe she’d even asked Hudson to help her find them.

      Lee shook his head and tipped the bottle to his mouth again. He was only speculating about her thoughts and motives. He had no way of knowing if Bella wanted to find Luke, but the possibility tugged at him.

      Half an hour later, after he’d finished another beer and half of his pizza, he finally picked up the phone and dialed the PI’s number.