Judy Duarte - Race To The Altar

Unable to help herself, Molly relived each stroke, each caress, each heated kiss until she missed Chase so badly she wanted to tell him she’d been wrong.

But she knew better than that.

With each second that silently tick-tocked through the room, time stretched and strained like a frayed rubber band, tighter and tighter until it was ready to snap.

Finally, a little pink dot formed, mocking every attempt Molly had made to convince herself she hadn’t conceived. She blinked her eyes a couple of times, hoping to clear her vision, hoping to see that the result screen had remained blank.

But that bright pink spot wasn’t going anywhere.

Molly sat on the commode for the longest time, peering at the testing apparatus and hoping for a different outcome until she was forced to accept the truth.

She was pregnant—with Chase Mayfield’s baby.

Dear Reader,

Summer is a perfect time to read. With all the books available to you, I’m glad you chose Race to the Altar, the first story in my BRIGHTON VALLEY MEDICAL CENTER series.

Those who enjoyed reading THE TEXAS HOMECOMING books will get a chance to return to Brighton Valley and experience a medical setting this time around. But don’t worry. You’ll meet a few cowboys and ranchers, too!

I love a good western—whether it’s a book, a movie or a song—and that’s why many of my romances have a Texas setting. So grab a glass of sweet tea—or maybe a sarsaparilla—and escape to Brighton Valley for a guaranteed happy ending.

When you finish Race to the Altar, be sure to visit my Web site, www.JudyDuarte.com, and let me know what you thought of the story and the setting. I’d love to hear from you.

Wishing you romance,

Judy Duarte

www.millsandboon.co.uk

always knew there was a book inside her, but since English was her least favorite subject in school, she never considered herself a writer. An avid reader who enjoyed a happy ending, Judy couldn’t shake the dream of creating a book of her own.

Her dream became a reality in March of 2002, when Silhouette Special Edition released her first book, Cowboy Courage. Since then, her stories have touched the hearts of readers around the world. In July of 2005, Judy won the prestigious Readers’ Choice Award for The Rich Man’s Son.

You can write to Judy c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10237. You can also contact her at JudyDuarte@sbcglobal.net, or through her Web site, www.judyduarte.com.

To the members

of the San Diego chapter of Romance Writers of America

for your friendship and support over the years,

as well as the wealth of knowledge I’ve gleaned

from your awesome workshops. You rock.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Chase Mayfield left his sponsors in the den of the sprawling ranch house and headed for the front door, his temper just barely under control.

What the hell had that been? Some sort of intervention?

When he’d been summoned to the gentleman’s ranch owned by Texas oilman Gerald Barden, he hadn’t given it a second thought. He’d figured the men wanted to discuss the racing schedule, the competition and what they expected from their driver in the upcoming season, so he’d been surprised when they’d laid down the law about how he would conduct himself off the track from now on.

But Chase didn’t like ultimatums—never had, never would.

Outside, the stars flickered overhead, and like the restless spirit that often swept through him, a warm summer breeze stirred up the leaves on the ground.

He wished he could kick that edgy spirit that had been a part of him since he’d been in diapers and had toddled after his older brothers, but he’d never been able to.

After climbing into the classic ’63 Corvette he’d recently restored, Chase turned the ignition and pumped the gas pedal. When the engine responded with a well-tuned roar, he put the transmission into gear and started the long drive back to Houston, hoping to put some distance between him and his sponsors.

Chase had always lived life in the fast lane, both on and off the track. Hell, he didn’t know how to live any other way; he didn’t even want to.

Besides, he’d had his fill of people bossing him around while he was growing up. By the time he hit his teen years, he’d decided not to put up with it anymore.

For that reason alone, he was tempted to flip open his cell phone, call Gerald Barden back at the ranch and tell him and his cronies what they could do with their money. But he figured it was best to let things ride for a while. After all, Chase didn’t have any other burning interests that left him many options.

Of course, settling down wasn’t much of an option, either. Marriage certainly hadn’t tamed the restlessness that plagued him, and neither had racing. Divorce might have ended his marriage, but racing and competition were in his blood.

Once on the open highway, Chase again pondered the ultimatum he’d been given.

“You’re going to have to stay out of trouble and bars,” Gerald had said. “We don’t like the press you’ve been getting, son. If you don’t fly under the media radar, you can kiss our money goodbye.”

He’d wanted to remind Gerald and the others that he’d been racking up points and bringing them the kind of success they’d been hoping for. But over the years he’d gotten to know Gerald better than the man might even know himself—and he’d learned when to push his point and when to keep his mouth shut.

And this had clearly been a keep-your-mouth-shut night.

“Family’s important to us,” Gerald had tossed in for good measure.

It was important to Chase, too, but he doubted if anyone believed him. He hadn’t been back home in ages. But he hadn’t been up for an argument with the men who signed the checks. Not tonight.

About thirty-five minutes into his drive, he noticed a sign that said Now Entering Brighton Valley.

That wasn’t right. Had he made a wrong turn? Where the hell was the county road?

A block ahead, a nearly burned-out neon bulb in a streetlight flickered, limiting his vision. He caught sight of several trash cans sitting curbside.

Chase glanced farther up the road, noting a big rig coming down the opposite side of the street.

Just as he realized he would need to make a U-turn so he could get back on the route to Houston, a small animal—a cat or a dog maybe?—darted out in the street, followed by a larger blur of pink. A child?

Chase had always been ready for the unexpected, especially on the road, but at this time of night he hadn’t expected to see a kid playing outside. He hit the brakes, all the while watching the blonde pixie caught in the high beam of his headlights freeze, her eyes wide, her mouth gaped, her pink nightgown billowing and revealing bare feet.

His first reaction had been to pull to the right, but when another child on a bicycle whizzed into his path, the only choice he had was to turn sharply to the left, hoping to broadside the semi rather than hit it head-on.

He gripped the steering wheel as adrenaline pumped through him and threw his mind into slow-motion mode.

With no air bags, no roll bar and only a fiberglass car body, this crash wasn’t going to be as easy to walk away from as the others had been.

Upon impact, pain exploded in his head, and then everything went black.