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Matt paused in front of her
“Are we going to talk about it? Or are you going to pretend it doesn’t exist?”
“Talk about what?” She tilted her head to make eye contact.
“This.” He leaned in and brushed his lips across hers, then pulled away—too soon.
Her heart stumbled, then regained its balance as she quickly scanned the area, fearing one of the locals had witnessed the kiss. Thank goodness they were alone in the parking lot.
“We’re attracted to each other,” he said.
She shook her head.
“Deny it all you want, Amy. But it’s there in your eyes.”
Lord help her, she was in deep.
Dear Reader,
This year Harlequin Books celebrates its 60th anniversary—congratulations Harlequin!
I came across my first Harlequin book while waiting in a dentist office over twenty years ago. I’ve been hooked ever since. What I love most about Harlequin romances is the guaranteed “Feel-Good Sigh” at the end of every book. I’m especially fond of the Harlequin American Romance line, where everyday people from all walks of life, small towns or big cities, find their very own Happy-Ever-Afters. The characters in these stories often experience the same day-today struggles many readers deal with—working, raising children and juggling finances. A Harlequin American Romance book reminds us of what’s really important in the grand scheme of life—family, friends and love. I consider it a privilege to write for Harlequin and hope A Cowboy’s Promise leaves you with a “Feel-Good Sigh.”
For more information on my books please visit www.marinthomas.com, or contact me at [email protected]. For the most current news on Harlequin American Romance releases and their authors visit www.harauthors.blogspot.com.
Happy reading!
Marin Thomas
A Cowboy’s Promise
Marin Thomas
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Typical of small-town kids, all Marin Thomas, born in Janesville, Wisconsin, could think about was how to leave after she graduated from high school.
Her six-foot-one-inch height was her ticket out. She accepted a basketball scholarship at the University of Missouri in Columbia, where she studied journalism. After two years she transferred to University of Arizona at Tucson, where she played center for the Lady Wildcats. While at Arizona, she developed an interest in fiction writing and obtained a B.A. in radio-television. Marin was inducted in May 2005 into the Janesville Sports Hall of Fame for her basketball accomplishments.
Her husband’s career in public relations has taken them to Arizona, California, New Jersey, Colorado, Texas and Illinois, where she currently calls Chicago her home. Marin can now boast that she’s seen what’s “out there.” Amazingly enough, she’s a living testament to the old adage “You can take the girl out of the small town, but you can’t take the small town out of the girl.” Her heart still lies in small-town life, which she loves to write about in her books.
Each year since 2005 the U.S. Senate has passed a resolution designating the fourth Saturday of July
National Day of the American Cowboy.
“Pioneering men and women, recognized as cowboys, helped establish the American West…that cowboy spirit continues to infuse the nation with its solid character, sound family values and good common sense; the cowboy embodies honesty, integrity, courage, compassion, respect, a strong work ethic and patriotism.”
Whether he wears a military or blue-collar uniform or suit and tie to work, if you look closely there’s a little bit o’ cowboy in every American man.
Long Live the Cowboy!
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 One
“He’s still out there, Mama,” Amy Olson’s seven-year-old daughter, Rose, announced from her perch on the chair in front of the kitchen window.
Ten minutes earlier, a shiny black 4x4 extended-cab pickup towing a luxury horse trailer large enough to comfortably transport six animals pulled up the gravel drive. Amy hadn’t caught the license plate, but she doubted the driver was from Pebble Creek—no one in this area made enough money raising horses to purchase such a spiffy vehicle. But unlike her neighbors in the small eastern Idaho Valley, Amy was barely hanging on to her land much less making ends meet.
Positive she was viewing a mirage Amy tugged her blouse loose from the waistband of her jeans and rubbed the hem of the cotton material against the windowpane in front of her daughter’s nose. The shirt came away smudged with dust. When was the last time she’d cleaned, let alone washed windows? She glanced at the wall calendar and sighed. She’d tidied the house right before Christmas—five months ago.
The lone cowboy sat inside his truck, yakking on a cell phone. He looked toward the house once or twice, but mostly he stared out the windshield, grinning and gesturing with his arms. Then his head fell back and his shoulders shook. Whoever was on the other end of the call sure tickled his funny bone. Go figure. Amy didn’t find the cowboy or his fancy rig amusing.
As a matter of fact she’d lost her sense of humor—what there had been of it anyway—when the owner of her last boarded horse removed the animal from her farm a week earlier, drying up her sole source of income.
Who is he and what business does he have with the Broken Wheel?
“Is he lost, Mama?”
Lord, I hope so. She wasn’t in the mood for a visit from one of her husband’s creditors.
Since when do collection agencies send their henchmen out in diesel pickups towing horse trailers?
The truck door opened and Amy held her breath. A Stetson emerged. Then a pair of broad shoulders. She estimated his height to be around one or two inches over six feet. He moved around the hood and her first head-to-toe glance triggered a mini-heart attack.
Amy had a weakness for cowboys.
He paused midstride and her ticker resumed beating. His head turned toward the barn, revealing a strong jaw and a wide mouth, which wasn’t smiling now. After a moment, he swaggered—that’s how most cowboys, who believed they were God’s gift to women, walked—over to the house. He took the porch steps two at a time and instead of ringing the bell he pounded.
“Go upstairs and check on Lily,” she ordered her daughter. “But don’t wake her if she’s napping. And stay in your room until I call for you.”
Rose obeyed, grabbing the box of Cheerios off the kitchen table—her sister’s favorite food—before leaving the kitchen. Amy unconsciously brushed at her bangs.