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“I Promise You Won’t Be Lonely,” Morgan Said.
“At least for the next two years?”
“At least,” he said, nodding as he lowered his mouth to hers.
He didn’t want to dwell on the length of their upcoming marriage, or the reason for it. At the moment, the feel of Samantha’s soft body against his and the sound of her soft sigh were sending his libido into overdrive.
Tracing her lips with his tongue, Morgan deepened the kiss to leisurely reacquaint himself with her sweetness, to explore the woman who in two days would become his wife.
Knowing that if things went much further he wouldn’t be able to stop, he broke the kiss and took a step back. “I…really should check on a new colt,” he said, turning toward the back door. Without waiting for her response, he stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind him.
Their marriage might not be a love match, but the attraction between them was too strong to be denied. There was no way the two of them could live in the same house, day in and day out, without the inevitable happening between them.
It wasn’t a matter of if they made love. The question now was when?
Lonetree Ranchers: Morgan
Kathie DeNosky
KATHIE DENOSKY
lives in her native southern Illinois with her husband, three children and one very spoiled Jack Russell terrier. She writes highly sensual stories with a generous amount of humor. Kathie’s books have appeared on the Waldenbooks bestseller list and received the Write Touch Readers’ Award from WisRWA and the National Readers’ Choice Award. She enjoys going to rodeos, traveling to research settings for her books and listening to country music. She often works through the night so she can write without interruption while the rest of the family is sleeping. You may contact Kathie at P.O. Box 2064, Herrin, Illinois 62948-5264 or e-mail her at [email protected].
To Charlie, who puts up with my odd hours and loves me anyway.
And a very special thank-you to the Professional Bull Riders.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
One
“What the hell do you think you’re doing in here?”
In the process of building a fire in the big stone fireplace, Samantha Peterson jumped and spun around at the sound of the man’s angry voice and the old wooden door slamming back against the wall. The biggest cowboy she’d ever seen stood like a tree rooted in the middle of the threshold. Lightning flashed outside behind him and every story she’d ever heard about the bogeyman flooded her mind.
His eyes were hidden by the wide brim of his black cowboy hat pulled down low on his forehead, but if the grim set of his mouth was any indication, he was not only the biggest cowboy she’d ever seen, he was also the angriest. He took a step forward at the same time a gust of wind whipped his long black coat around his legs. That’s when Samantha noticed he held a rifle in one big gloved hand.
“I…I’m…ooh—” Samantha bent forward slightly, squeezed her eyes shut and groaned from the sudden tightness gripping her stomach.
“Good God, you’re pregnant!” He sounded shocked.
Anger coursed through her. He’d scared the bejeebers out of her and all he had to say was, “You’re pregnant?”
“Thank you for informing me…of that fact,” she said through clenched teeth. “I doubt that I’d…have noticed otherwise.”
“Are you all right?”
His voice sounded too close for comfort, but that was the least of Samantha’s concerns. She had a feeling this wasn’t one of the Braxton-Hicks contractions that she’d been experiencing for the past couple of weeks. It felt too different to be false labor. This felt like it might be the real thing. But that wasn’t possible, was it? She still had three weeks before she reached her due date.
“No, I’m not all right,” she said as the tight feeling decreased. Ready to give the man a piece of her mind, she straightened to her full height. “You scared the living daylights…”
Her voice trailed off as she looked up—way up—at the man standing next to her. The sheer size of him sent a shiver of apprehension slithering up her spine and had her stepping away from him. The top of her head barely reached his chin. At five foot six, she wasn’t an Amazon by any means, but she wasn’t short either. But this man was at least ten inches taller and appeared to be extremely muscular.
“Look, I’m sorry I yelled,” he said, his deep baritone sending another tremor through her that had nothing whatsoever to do with fear. “I expected to find one of the local teenage boys getting ready to throw one of his Saturday night beer busts.”
“As you can see, I’m not a teenage boy.” Samantha moved away a couple of extra steps. She needed to put more distance between them, in case a fast getaway was in order. At least, as fast as her advanced pregnancy would allow. “And I can assure you, I’m not getting ready to throw a drinking party.”
His mouth curved up in a smile and he used his thumb to push the wide brim of his cowboy hat up, revealing the most startling blue eyes she’d ever seen. “Let’s start over.” He extended his big hand. “I’m Morgan Wakefield.”
When she cautiously placed her hand in his, his fingers closed around hers and a warm tingle raced through her. As he stared at her expectantly, she had trouble finding her voice. “I’m, uh, Samantha Peterson,” she finally managed as she tugged her hand from his.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Peterson.”
“That’s Ms. Peterson,” Samantha corrected. “I’m not married.”
His gaze traveled to her swollen stomach, then back to her face before he gave her a short nod. Had that been a hint of disapproval she’d detected in his expression just before he gave her a bland smile?
If so, that was just too darned bad. It was none of his business whether she was married or not.
As they continued to stare wordlessly at each other, the sound of dripping water drew their attention to the corner of the room. Hurrying into the kitchen, Samantha rummaged through the cabinets until she found a large pot.
When she returned to the living room, she shoved it under the steady stream of water pouring from the ceiling. “That’s just great. Not even the roof on this place is in decent repair.”
She watched Morgan Wakefield’s eyes narrow. “Why do you care if the roof leaks or not?” he asked slowly.
“I was hoping it would at least keep me dry tonight,” she said, gazing at the rain water collecting in the pot.
“You’re staying? Here? Tonight?”
“Yes. Yes. And yes,” she said, smiling at his incredulous look. “I inherited it from my grandfather.”
“You’re Tug Shackley’s granddaughter?”
Samantha nodded and walked over to the wide stone hearth to slowly lower herself to a sitting