'Til Death Do Us Part: Blackwood's Woman\Roarke's Wife (Hqn)

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9780373775996: 'Til Death Do Us Part: Blackwood's Woman\Roarke's Wife (Hqn)

Blackwood's Woman

At first J.T. thinks beautiful Joanna Beaumont is just a spoiled socialite roughing it on Blackwood Ranch. But then he discovers the danger she's fled from?and the real reason she needs him. Suddenly, all that matters to J.T. is seeing her safely through the long, hot nights?.

Roarke's Wife

Cleo McNamara desperately needs a husband?someone to father her child and protect her from a would-be murderer. Security expert Simon Roarke is happy to take the job?and the sizable paycheck. But Cleo is more than he'd bargained for?and with her life on the line, now is the worst possible time for Simon to lose his heart?.

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Excerpt. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

No. Absolutely, positively no. Not now. Not today. Not on this lonely stretch of road. Not when it was ninety degrees in the shade.

Glancing at the red warning signal, Joanna Beaumont groaned. What could be wrong? Her Jeep Ranger was less than four years old and she had it serviced regularly. How dare it cause her a problem when she took such good care of it!

She wondered just how far she could drive with the warning light on before the vehicle quit. She was miles away from the ranch, even farther from Trinidad, and she'd left the reservation behind nearly two hours ago.

Clouds of white steam rose from beneath the Ranger's hood. Damn! That had to mean either the radiator was overheating or one of those stupid hoses had burst.

Admitting defeat, at least temporarily, Joanna pulled the Jeep to the side of the road, cut the engine and sat there fuming for several minutes. Well, no use just sitting. She popped the hood, opened the door, got out and marched around to the front of the Jeep. Water. She heard water dripping. No, she heard water pouring.

Billows of steam gushed from the engine. Joanna kicked the front bumper, then yelped when pain shot through her foot. If it had been a flat tire, she could have fixed it, but this was altogether different.

She gazed up at the midafternoon sun, blinding in its intensity. Elena and Alex were in Santa Fe and wouldn't be home until late, so if she called the ranch, she'd have to ask Cliff Lansdell to help her. It wasn't that she disliked the ranch foreman, it was just that Cliff had a difficult time accepting the fact she wasn't interested in a relationship with him.

When the steam began to subside, Joanna leaned over cautiously and peeped beneath the hood. At first she couldn't see anything wrong, then she noticed a small tear in the radiator hose. Dammit! Well, she didn't have any choice. She'd just have to call Cliff and allow him to play her knight in shining armor.

Perspiration beaded on her forehead. Late springtime in northern New Mexico might be cooler than in the southern part of the state, but daytime temperatures could still rise to smoldering degrees in the month of May. When she'd first come to Trinidad, over four years ago, Joanna would have expected nothing but an arid desert region, had it not been for Annabelle Beaumont's descriptions of the mountains and trees and crystal-clear streams.

Slipping inside the Jeep, Joanna lifted her cellular phone and dialed the Blackwood ranch. The phone didn't ring. What now? Glancing at the phone's digital face, she saw that the battery was low. It was her own fault; she'd forgotten to charge the battery last night. How could she have been so stupid?

Now what was she going to do? Well, there was only one thing to do—start walking. It was a good ten miles to the ranch house, but if she was lucky, someone she knew would come along and give her a lift. Trinidad was a small town and she knew practically the whole population.

Locking the Jeep, Joanna swung her enormous leather purse, containing her 25-mm semiautomatic, over her shoulder and headed straight up the road. She hadn't gone far when she thought she heard the sound of drums—somewhere far away, just a distant rumble. Perhaps it was thunder. Well, rain in New Mexico wasn't impossible. Maybe an electrical storm was brewing. Glancing up, she saw the sky was still clear. And blue, so incredibly blue. Sparse, virgin-white fluffs of cloud floated overhead.

Lowering her eyes to protect them from the glare of the sun, she saw a horse and a lone rider on a nearby flat-topped hill toward the north. Blinking once, twice, she felt certain the image was a mirage. But no. They were still there. A big man astride a magnificent black-and-white Appaloosa.

The sky at their backs, the afternoon sun coating them with a coppery gold glow, man and horse resembled a bronze statue. Joanna's heart pounded. Her palms grew clammy. There was nothing to fear—not in Trinidad, not from the fine people she knew and respected. Surely this man was from the ranch, a hand she would recognize as soon as he rode closer.

But he did not move, simply sat there high above her, staring down at her. She waved at him. He didn't respond.

"Hey, there, are you from the Blackwood ranch?" she called out as she walked off the road and began to climb the hill. "My radiator hose sprung a leak."

The man didn't answer her, but he did direct his horse into movement. She continued toward her potential rescuer; he rode slowly in her direction. Joanna swung her purse across her chest, unzipped the top pouch and felt inside for her gun. She sighed when she felt the cool metal. If this man turned out to be a stranger, he was a possible threat. Joanna never took chances when it came to her safety. Since surviving the brutal rape nearly five years ago, she had purchased a small handgun and taken several self-defense classes.

When the horse stopped a good twenty feet away, Joanna stared at the rider. She didn't recognize the man, had never seen him before in her life, and yet she had the oddest sensation that she somehow knew him. Her whole body trembled, but the quivering riot was contained within, showing only a slight tremor in her hands. She could not stop staring at the man even though the very sight of him created a sense of foreboding.

He was big, wide-shouldered, long-legged and narrow-hipped, and probably well over six feet tall. But it was not the perfection of his body that held Joanna spellbound; it was his gloriously rugged masculine face. Straight, jet-black hair that touched his collar at the back of his neck had blown down across his forehead, escaping his tan Stetson. Over his left eye he wore a black patch. He glared at her with his uncovered eye, the look unnerving her. Joanna swallowed, and tried to look away. She couldn't.

In one glance she took in his long, straight nose, his cleft chin, and the hard set of his full lips. Whoever he was, he was Native American, or at least part Native American. If he was Navajo, perhaps he would respond to their standard greeting.

"Yd' dt' eeh," she said.

He merely glared at her even harder, and she instinctively knew he had understood her words.

In the four years she had lived in New Mexico, she had accomplished her goals of building a new life and establishing herself as an artist, but her romantic fantasy of finding a man like Annabelle's Benjamin Greymountain had remained an elusive dream. Until now.

Don't be ridiculous, she told herself. Stop acting like an idiot. She forced herself to look directly at the horse. Breathing in deeply, she took several tentative steps in the stranger's direction.

"Can you help me?" she asked. "My Jeep ran hot and I need to get to the Blackwood ranch."

He dismounted slowly, placing one booted foot and then the other on the ground. Joanna swallowed hard. He was a lot taller than six feet. Closer to six-four. And his eye wasn't brown as she'd thought; it was some light shade of amber and almost translucent in its paleness.

He stared at her, unsmiling, his brow wrinkled. He crossed his arms over his chest and inspected Joanna from head to toe. She slipped her hand inside her open purse, clutching her gun. Her instincts warned her that this man was dangerous, but somehow she didn't think he intended to do her any bodily harm.

"Look, I need to get to the Blackwood ranch. The main house is about ten miles from here," Joanna said.

He took a step toward her. Without thinking, she stepped backward. Realizing what she'd done, she stopped, tilted her chin and looked directly at him.

"Can you help me or not?" What was the matter with him? Was he deaf?

"I won't be heading back toward the Blackwood ranch for a while." His deep baritone voice had a gritty quality, a gravelly tone.

"Are you a new ranch hand?"

"No."

She wished he would quit inspecting her. She was beginning to feel like a bug under a microscope. "You realize you're on Blackwood property out here, don't you?"

Just a hint of a smile twitched his lips and then vanished completely, returning his mouth to its former frown. "If you're not in a hurry to get back to the house, you're welcome to come with me. Otherwise—" he glanced at the long, lonely stretch of road "—you'll have to walk."

Was he out of his mind? Did he think she'd go riding off only God knew where, with a total stranger? "Can't you take me to the ranch and then come back and do whatever it is you were going to do?"

"Why should I change my plans?" Uncrossing his arms, he stroked the big Appaloosa stallion's neck.

"I suppose saying it would be the gentlemanly thing to do would have no meaning for you, would it?"

"None whatsoever," he said, turning his back to her. "Well, what's it going to be? Are you riding with me or are you walking?"

She had every intention of telling him she would walk. Removing her hand from her purse, she turned around and faced the road. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him mounting his horse. The sun reflected off the silver ring on the third finger of his right hand. Since living in New Mexico she'd seen countless silver-and-turquoise rings, but none that was identical to the one she wore—Anna-belle Beaumont's keepsake of love. The ring the stranger wore was an exact match. Was it possible that it was Benjamin Greymountain's ring? But how would this man have come into possession of the ring?

The stranger motioned the Appaloosa forward, coming straight toward Joanna. Slowing the horse to a standstill, he leaned his body to one side.

"Last chance." He held out his hand.

Joanna stared at his big hand, her vision focusing on the silver ring. Her heart hammered in her chest; the beating thundered in her ears. She looked up into his dark face—into that pale amber eye—and swayed toward him. ...

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