Judy Duarte: Call Me Cowboy

She glanced over her shoulder, taking in the stunning view one more time. But not through the office window that looked out at the Empire State Building.

It was the fair-haired “cowboy” who’d caught her eye and made her heart skip a beat.

He slid her a smile. “I’ll call you.”

She knew he was talking about the case. But somewhere, deep in her heart, she wondered what it would be like to wait for another kind of call from him.

A personal call.

Still, that was silly. The man probably had a legion of women clamoring for his attention.

And Priscilla wasn’t planning to ride off into the sunset with anyone….

Dear Reader,

No matter what the weather is like, I always feel like March 1st is the beginning of spring. So let’s celebrate that just-around-the-corner thaw with, for starters, another of Christine Rimmer’s beloved BRAVO FAMILY TIES books. In The Bravo Family Way, a secretive Las Vegas mogul decides he “wants” a beautiful preschool owner who’s long left the glittering lights and late nights of Vegas behind. But she hadn’t counted on the charms of Fletcher Bravo. No woman could resist him for long….

Victoria Pade’s The Baby Deal, next up in our FAMILY BUSINESS continuity, features wayward son Jack Hanson finally agreeing to take a meeting with a client—only perhaps he got a little too friendly too fast? She’s pregnant, and he’s…well, he’s not sure what he is, quite frankly. In Judy Duarte’s Call Me Cowboy, a New York City girl is in desperate need of a detective with a working knowledge of Texas to locate the mother she’s never known. Will she find everything she’s looking for, courtesy of T. J. “Cowboy” Whittaker? In She’s the One, Patricia Kay’s conclusion to her CALLIE’S CORNER CAFÉ series, a woman who’s always put her troublesome younger sister’s needs before her own finds herself torn by her attraction to the handsome cop who’s about to place said sister under arrest. Lois Faye Dyer’s new miniseries, THE MCCLOUDS OF MONTANA, which features two feuding families, opens with Luke’s Proposal. In it, the daughter of one family is forced to work together with the son of the other—with very unexpected results! And in A Bachelor at the Wedding by Kate Little, a sophisticated Manhattan tycoon finds himself relying more and more on his Brooklyn-bred assistant (yeah, Brooklyn)—and not just for business.

So enjoy, and come back next month—the undisputed start of spring….

Gail

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my favorite associates at WalMart #2094 in Vista, California:

Valeen Archibald, Lydia Bustos, Donna Camper, Sarah Colwell,

Bobbie Hernandez, Judy Pace, Mary Murphy and Norma Rubio.

Thanks for your support!

An avid reader who enjoys a happy ending, Judy Duarte loves to create stories of her own. When she’s not cooped up in her writing cave, she’s spending time with her somewhat enormous, but delightfully close family.

Judy makes her home in California with her personal hero, their youngest son and a cat named Mom. “Sharing a name with the family pet gets a bit confusing,” she admits. “Especially when the cat decides to curl up in a secluded cubbyhole and hide. I’m not sure what the neighbors think when my son walks up and down the street calling for Mom.”

You can write to Judy c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10237. Or you can contact her through her Web site at: www.judyduarte.com.

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoy reading Call Me Cowboy as much as I did writing it.

In fact, as part of the fun, I’ll be sponsoring a special contest on my Web site during the month of March 2006.

What kind of contest?

Why a chili cook-off, of course!

If you think your favorite recipe can compete with Becky Epperson’s Snake-adillo Chili, enter online at: www.JudyDuarte.com. But since this is a cybercontest, your secret recipe will remain safe and yours alone. All you have to do is enter the name of your special chili.

The winner will be announced on my Web site on April 15, 2006, and will receive a six-month subscription to the Special Edition book club and have a choice of five autographed books from my backlist. There will be prizes for the runners-up, too.

So why not fire up your computer and head over to my Web site now? See you there!

Wishing you romance and a happy-ever-after.

Prologue

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

Cotton Creek, Texas

The stairway creaked, and Priscilla opened her eyes. It was dark, and someone big was carrying her.

“Daddy?”

“Shhh, baby girl. It’s okay. I have you.”

Only the Snoopy night-light lit their way.

“Where are we going?”

He shushed her. “Go back to sleep, honey.”

Priscilla rested her head on her daddy’s chest, nuzzling her cheek against the soft flannel of his shirt, feeling the steady beat of his heart, the familiar buckle in his step as he limped toward the front door.

She yawned. “I’m really tired, Daddy.”

“I know, baby.”

Priscilla didn’t want to get up. She wanted to go back to her bed, with its Pound Puppies sheets and bedspread.

As they stepped outside and Daddy carefully closed the front door, the night air cooled her face and her bare toes.

A hoot owl called from the trees, and a doggy barked in someone else’s yard.

“It’s cold, Daddy. And it’s dark.”

“Everything is going to be just fine, honey. You wait and see.” Daddy carried her for a while, down the driveway and to the street, where he’d parked his truck.

The engine was running, and the heater made it all warm and cozy.

“I have a pillow and blanket for you,” he told her. “Why don’t you try and go back to sleep. We have a long drive ahead.”

“Where are we going?” she asked as she crawled across the seat.

“To a happy place,” he told her as he climbed into the pickup and closed the door.

Priscilla looked over her shoulder and out the back window. She could hardly see the house, until a light went on in the upstairs window.

“Where’s Mama?” she asked. “Why isn’t she going with us?”

“Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll call her in the morning and you can talk to her.”

They drove all that night and the next day, but they never did stop and call Mama.

And they didn’t talk about her anymore either.

Twenty-two years later

Priscilla Richards wasn’t in the party spirit, but she held a full glass of champagne and went through the social motions—the feigned smiles, the required chitchat.

Outside, the night was bright and clear. Inside, the penthouse was elegant, the decor festive.

Byron Van Zandt, an investment banker, had spared no expense in throwing a first-class celebration for his daughter Sylvia’s recent promotion. He’d even hired a violinist through the philharmonic. So it wasn’t any wonder that the mood of those in attendance was upbeat.