Always You (26 page)

Hello and thank you to all my readers! If you want to find my classic ebook western romances, look no further than my COWBOY HEROES WESTERN SERIES.

From gunfighters Quinn Lassiter, Gabe Morgan and Roy Steele, to bounty hunter Cole Rawdon, rancher Tucker Garrettson, and Sheriff Wolf Bodine, my COWBOY HEROES are some of the toughest and most dangerous men in the West. You’ll also meet the brave and spirited young women who fall in love with them and win their hearts, and who find love, excitement, and adventure they never dreamed of.

Why do I love writing about cowboys?

Cowboys have always been my heroes. From the time I was a little girl, my favorite TV shows were “Fury” (every Saturday morning!), “Bonanza” (be still my heart, little Joe), and the “Lone Ranger”. I wanted Silver for my very own. As I got older, the “Rifleman” owned a piece of my heart. And then, of course, there was James Garner, so smooth as “Maverick”. Perhaps at the very top of my list was “Laredo” — I used to watch that show with my mom, and it had everything, hot cowboys, action, humor, great dialogue — and did I mention hot cowboys?

I’ve always loved cowboys. And mine are all together under one roof, so to speak, in my COWBOY HEROES WESTERN SERIES.

Happy reading!

All my best,

Jill

Read an Excerpt from

NEVER LOVE A COWBOY

Another novel in the Cowboy Heroes Western Series

Montana

1882

“Welcome home, honey.”

For a moment Emma Malloy couldn’t reply to her father’s huskily spoken words. As she stepped across the threshold of the beloved two-story ranch house where she had grown up, her throat closed up, aching with emotion.

She was home.
Home.
With lavender dusk gathering behind her across the great mountain-scalloped Montana skyline, the house of her childhood, of countless precious memories, welcomed her as no other place ever could. Cheerily lit, cozy, beckoning, the house invited her with the aroma of fresh-baked bread, the glow of a fire to banish the coolness of the night, and the warmth of the people who meant the most to her in the world.

After five long years at school in the east, she was back at Echo Ranch, back where she belonged.

And there was only one thing in the world that could possibly spoil it.

But she wouldn’t think about that—about
him.
Not now.

She wouldn’t let anything ruin this moment, least of all Tucker Garrettson.

Her face shone as she turned in a slow circle and took in the familiar comfortable furnishings of her home.

“Just as I remember,” she breathed.

Her father set down her trunk and smiled. He’d seemed somewhat quiet on the ride home from town, and even though he’d insisted nothing was wrong, she still wondered. But now there was no mistaking the joy that lit his handsome, craggy face.

“It’s good to have you back, Emma. Real good.” His eyes grew wet as she suddenly launched herself into his arms. “Ah ha, little girl,” he chuckled hoarsely, stroking her hair, “you haven’t changed so much after all. I see you still cry only when you’re happy, never sad, eh?”

“True,” she gasped, dashing away the tears. “And Papa, I
am
happy—so happy to be home. I’ve missed you more than I could say. And I’ve missed the ranch and Whisper Valley. And...” she took a deep, emotion-laden breath, “and all of Montana,” she acknowledged with a fierce little laugh. “Philadelphia is splendid, but it isn’t home.”

“Never will be?”

“Never will be.”

She hugged him tight, this big bear of a man who had raised her since her mother died when she was seven. He’d sent her east to school, as he’d promised her mother he would, to give her a taste of life outside Whisper Valley and Echo Ranch. And she’d missed him every day. She’d missed the way he’d tousled her hair when he greeted her in the morning, missed the low easy timbre of his voice as he gave instructions to the ranch hands at the start of each day, missed the quiet evenings they’d spent together in his study. During these evenings, Emma would have been curled in the armchair with a novel, and her father would have been at his desk, working, always working on the ranch books, with a cup of whisky-laced coffee at his elbow and the rich aroma of his cigar breathing masculine life and character into each corner of that sturdy, handsome room.

She’d come back home the first summer, but not since, and though Winthrop Malloy had visited Emma several times a year back east, it hadn’t been the same as being together here, where they both belonged.

Relief flickered in Win’s keen brown eyes as he heard her words and realized that her years at a fancy girls’ school among rich easterners hadn’t changed. her. Oh, she was taller all right, and as shapely as a beautiful young woman ought to be, and her rich silky black hair—which had almost always been either clamped in braids or left to fly in wild disarray in her youth—was now prettily curled and kept in place with a rose-colored velvet ribbon which matched her traveling dress. But she was still his darling bright-eyed Em, the girl with more spunk than any ten cowhands, the girl who could outride anyone this side of the Rockies, who could shoot a rifle as well as he could himself, and who loved Whisper Valley every bit as much as he did.

“Corinne, look who’s back. Corinne! Hell, where are you, woman?”

Before Emma even had time to take three steps into the large, high-beamed parlor, footsteps pounded through the hall from the kitchen and she was enveloped in cushiony arms that squeezed tight.

“Wal, now look at you. All grown up and pretty as a picture. What happened to that scrape-kneed little monkey who used to steal chocolate cake when my back was turned?”

“Guess she grew up.” Emma grinned as she leaned back in the embrace of the plump little gray-haired woman whose bright green eyes were no larger than peas.

“I won’t cry again,
she thought fiercely, blinking back tears as she kissed the housekeeper’s leathery cheek, and nearly overcome by affection for this plainspoken woman who had cared for her ever since her mother had died.

“She sure did. Now hold still, and let me look at you. Turn around, Emma. My, my, what a dress. Made in Philadelphia, I’ll wager?”

“Actually, Paris.” Emma waited patiently as Corinne inspected her from head to toe, her head tilted, bird-like, to one side. She seemed fascinated by the delicate black lace trim and elegant train of Emma’s rose silk traveling dress. And by the intricate beadwork on her matching rose shoes. Corinne also studied her face, the way she held her shoulders, and the line of her figure.

Finally, the housekeeper’s expression broke into a wide grin. “You’re sure every inch the lady.” She chuckled, then shook her head wonderingly. “Who would’ve guessed that my wild little monkey would’ve turned into such a high falutin’ fancy-looking gal?”

She said it with love and rich pleasure, and looked ready to burst with pride.

“Well, fancy...
maybe
. The clothes are, at least.” Emma laughed. “But I feel it only fair to warn you—even now, I wouldn’t turn my back on a fresh-baked chocolate cake, Corinne, if I were you.”

“Which you ain’t, that’s for sure. If you was me, you’d be plumb tuckered out. I’ve been cooking your homecoming meal all afternoon, and now it’s going to burn if I don’t get back in that kitchen and tend to it.”

This was the Corinne she remembered. Always muttering, grumbling, her bark far worse than her bite.

“Mmmm.” Emma sniffed the air appreciatively. “Don’t tell me you fixed roasted chicken?”

“
And
beef stew.
And
them potatoes fried with onions you always had a hankering for.”

“
And
chocolate cake,” Win Malloy added, winking at Emma as Corinne sent him a scowl before bustling back toward the kitchen.

Hefting Emma’s trunk, he started toward the curving oak staircase. “Corinne’s been fussing in the kitchen for days. And polishing floors and lamps as if royalty was coming to stay.”

“Everything looks wonderful, Papa.”

“You’ll find that nothing much has changed since you’ve been away.” He turned right at the head of the stairs and led the way to her bedroom. “I’ve kept your room as it was. Thought you might want to add some new things, pick out what you want. I expect you’ll want some fancy female knickknacks. Maybe some new curtains. Whatever you like, Em. Change whatever you want in the house, too. This is your home, and it should suit you now that you’re all grown up.”

“As a matter of fact, I do have a few ideas about that. I brought some things with me from Philadelphia, from Aunt Loretta’s house. But oh...”

She broke off as she reached her doorway. Warmth and pleasure and a thousand happy memories flooded through her.

It was all just as she remembered. The room was large and simply furnished, with a wide featherbed covered by the same green and blue patterned quilt she’d had since she was a child, and with the same rag doll cradled on a pillow in the center. The green cotton curtains at the window were somewhat faded now, as was the rag rug across the polished wood floor, but the bedside table and lamp, the bookshelves, and the big oak dresser with the gold-framed photograph of her mother sitting atop it, beside a white china pitcher and basin, were as sturdy and solid as ever.

“It does feel
wonderful
to be home,” she said softly, glancing over at her father with satisfaction. But with a sinking of her heart, she saw that he looked distracted again. His brows were knit, his eyes shadowed with worry, and it was obvious his mind had wandered to something other than her homecoming.

Something that deeply troubled him.

“Papa, what’s wrong? Please tell me.”

He stiffened, and his attention sharpened on her, even as a flush came over his face. “Nothing, honey. Nothing worth speaking of. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

“Is there something I
should
be worried about?”

“Yep, sure is.” He moved toward her and pinched her cheek, a glint of warm humor suddenly lighting his eyes. “How you’re going to beat off all the young cowpokes for miles around once they hear you’re home. And once they see what a looker my little girl’s grown into. Why, I’ll have to fight ‘em off night and day—”

“Papa,” she scolded him. “You’re changing the subject.”

He grinned at her.

“See you downstairs, honey. I reckon you’ll want to rest for a while after your trip.”

Then Emma was alone in the room of her childhood, surrounded by the familiar sights and smells—the dancing fragments of memory.

Papa’s probably only concerned about some minor problem with the ranch,
she told herself as she set her small silk handbag on the table. She made up her mind to coax him into telling her about it at supper.

Then, with light, eager steps she crossed to the window and lifted the curtain, hoping to catch the final glow of sunset. But she was too late. Mysterious gray darkness draped the land. But pure Montana air wafted like cool silk over her, and she knew that the glorious mountains and canyons, the grass-rich plains, and the singing waterfalls were out there and would be there in the morning, as they had been a thousand mornings before.

She could wait.

For now, all she could see were the shadowy shapes of the ranch outbuildings and in the distance, the jaggedness of black looming peaks.

Whisper Valley—the most beautiful place on earth.

“I won’t leave you again,” she whispered.

She thought of the letter inside her handbag, the letter from Derek Carleton tucked alongside her lace handkerchief and velvet money pouch.

It was a marriage proposal, written in Derek’s flawless black script, and it was eloquent and heartfelt. She’d memorized every word of it.

But she had yet to answer it.

First, I guess I need to decide if I’m in love with him,
Emma thought ruefully, tracing a finger across the windowpane.

Love.
That was something she hadn’t yet figured out. How
did
one know when one was in love? She enjoyed Derek’s company when he escorted her to balls and parties and operas. She liked him, she enjoyed kissing him—but she didn’t feel anything like the raging passion she’d always associated with being in love.

And, even if she did love him, Emma had made up her mind that she would only marry him if he would agree to live here in Montana, preferably at Echo Ranch.

And that was one very big “if.”

Derek was headstrong and ambitious, and the son of a powerful railroad magnate. He had plans of his own. And she wasn’t sure if he loved her enough to meet the one condition she’d impose if she
did
decide to accept his proposal.

She wanted to live in Montana. Period.

Her gaze fixed again on the darkness beyond her window and shifted, without her being aware of it, to the south, where the Garrettson ranch straddled a huge chunk of the valley.

Emma’s turquoise eyes narrowed. Why was she thinking about the Garrettsons?

None of them are worth a plug nickel,
she reflected, letting the curtain drop. They were the only part of Whisper Valley she hadn’t missed at all—especially
Tucker
Garrettson.

With any luck at all, he’d have left home by now and she’d never see him again. That would suit her just fine.

Luck
? Emma whirled away from the window. She kicked off her shoes and sank down on the bed to rub her feet.

It was luck that had started the feud between the Malloys and the Garrettsons sixteen years ago
. Her father’s luck
.