Man...Mercenary...Monarch. Joan Elliott Pickart

she’d sit in a rocking chair and tell Olivia and Linda about the magnificent man who had touched her life so briefly, but so deeply.

      But not now. No, not now.

      Laura wandered up to the main road fronting the ranch and put the letters in the mailbox to be picked up by the rural delivery man. Thunder rumbled in the distance and dark clouds edged the horizon.

      Back in the house, she switched her cotton blouse for a red sweater, which she wore over gray corduroy slacks, then she made a fire in the hearth in the living room.

      Settling into one of the big, comfortable chairs by the fireplace, she actually managed to become engrossed in the mystery novel she was reading.

      An hour later, a sharp knock sounded at the front door and Laura jerked at the sudden noise.

      She hadn’t heard a vehicle approach the house, she thought, settling the book on the table next to the chair. Maybe one of the ranch hands was looking for Betty.

      She got to her feet.

      But the men used the mudroom door, she remembered, as she crossed the room. Maybe she’d been concentrating so much on her book that she hadn’t heard a knock on the rear door. And the thunder was still rumbling noisily so…well, whatever.

      Laura opened the door with a pleasant expression on her face.

      Then she stopped breathing as a gasp caught in her throat.

      Standing before her, with a blanket-covered bundle on his shoulder, was John.

      John, her mind hammered in disbelief. Her man of the magical night. Magnificent, tall, powerful, sensitive, compelling John was staring right at her with a shocked expression on his face.

      Dear heaven, how had he found her? What was he doing here?