Judy Christenberry - A Randall Thanksgiving

Harry looked puzzled. “Why would he do that?”

“He wants me to stay in Rawhide,” Melissa explained. “He’s trying to find someone to marry me.”

The deputy grinned and raised his brows. “That shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“If that’s a compliment, thank you. But I don’t think you understand that Dad has chosen you as the primary candidate for my not-so-future husband. You’d better start running.”

“Assuming I’m not interested.”

Her voice was firm when she told him, “It doesn’t matter. I’m going back to Paris after the holidays.”

“Oh, yeah? Then I’d better kiss you goodbye.”

Without any more warning, he pulled her into his arms and planted a kiss on her lips like none she’d ever received. Then he walked away, leaving her befuddled brain to wonder—if that was a goodbye peck, what would his real kiss be like?

Dear Reader,

Welcome, once again, to Rawhide, Wyoming, the home of the Randalls. This is the story of Griff and Camille’s (Cowboy Come Home) daughter. Melissa left home six years ago to study in France and hasn’t been back since. When her mother asks her to come home for the holidays as a present to her, Melissa agrees. Then the magic of Rawhide, and all her family, wraps around Melissa and persuades her to return to the fold.

Of course, there’s also Deputy Sheriff Harry Gowan, who was introduced in A Randall Returns. He is the perfect match for Melissa—at least he appears to be, until a visitor from France arrives on the scene. Then confusion reigns!

I really love writing the Randalls—they make me feel as if I’ve come home again. I hope you enjoy this book, and look forward to our next visit to Rawhide, Wyoming, and the Randall family.

And here’s to Thanksgiving, a time for family and gratefulness. What better holiday to celebrate with the Randalls!

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Judy Christenberry has been writing romances for over fifteen years because she loves happy endings as much as her readers do. A former French teacher, Judy now devotes herself to writing full-time. She hopes readers have as much fun with her stories as she does. She spends her spare time reading, watching her favorite sports teams and keeping track of her two daughters. Judy lives in Texas.

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

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

From under his hat, Deputy Sheriff Harry Gowan surveyed the scene at the local steak house and bar in Rawhide, Wyoming. It was Friday, the second busiest night in town. And he was in charge of keeping the peace.

His roving gaze stopped when it lit on a young woman sitting at a table in the center of the room. She didn’t look like an inhabitant of Rawhide, with her short, spiky brown hair and that bright red lipstick on her pouty lips. Still, she was beautiful…and she was alone.

He strolled over to her table. He had no objection to strangers in his town, and besides, as an employee of the city, wasn’t it part of his job to make people feel at home in Rawhide?

“Evening, ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat. “I suspect you might be new to town. If there’s anything I can do to help you enjoy your stay, please let me know.”

The young woman smiled at him and he was struck by her beautiful blue eyes.

“How nice of you. I could use a dance partner,” she said, looking expectantly at him.

Now Harry was embarrassed. He fought the urge to back away. “Sorry, ma’am, but I can’t dance with you.”

“Why not…Sheriff?” she ventured.

“Deputy,” he clarified, nodding at the badge on his chest. “I’m on duty, and dancing isn’t in the deputy manual. The sheriff would fire me if he caught me. Besides, I’m a really lousy dancer,” he confessed. “But I can get you a partner.”

Without waiting for her consent, he turned and headed for the bar, where a few cowboys had their boots propped up on the foot rail. “Hey, Josh,” he called out to a friend. “I’ve got a favor to ask.”

“Anything, buddy.”

“There’s this knockout looking for a dance partner. I told her I’d find her one.”

Josh broke into a smile. “Lead the way. I haven’t met a real knockout in a while.” He put down his beer and followed Harry across the room. “Where is she?”

“Right there,” Harry said, pointing toward the center table.

Josh came to an abrupt halt. “Wait a minute. You don’t mean that siren sitting by herself, do you?”

Harry let himself look at the woman. “Who else? She’s something, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, she’s something, all right, but I won’t be dancing with her.”

Harry stared at his friend as if he’d lost his mind. “Why not?”

“’Cause I don’t dance with my cousins, Harry.”

“Cousin?”

“People would think I was crazy…or weird.”

“She’s a Randall?” Harry stared at the woman. “No, she can’t be. I know all the Randalls!”

“She’s been living in France since before you came to Rawhide. She’s Uncle Griff’s daughter.”

“What are we going to do? I promised to find her a partner.”

Josh surveyed the room. “There’s Dwight Barnes. He’s a dancer.”

“Yeah, but…” Barnes wouldn’t be Harry’s first choice but he’d do. “Okay, you go get him while I tell her he’s coming.”

Harry walked back to the table where the young lady sat sipping a beer. “I didn’t know you were a Randall.”

“Aren’t Randalls allowed to dance?” she asked, her eyes teasing.

He bit back Josh’s retort, saying instead, “Your cousin Josh went to get a guy to dance with you—Dwight Barnes. I just wanted to tell you not to go outside alone with him.” When she seemed taken aback by his warning, he hurriedly said, “Dwight’s a good dancer, but… Well, you don’t know him, so I thought I should say something.”

“Thanks for the warning, Deputy,” she said sweetly, “but I do know how to handle men.”

“Then my apologies,” Harry said, and tipped his hat, prepared to walk away.

“Wait,” she said at once. “You haven’t told me your name.” She fluttered her thick lashes at him.

“I’m Harry Gowan, deputy sheriff.”

“Nice to meet you, Harry Gowan, deputy sheriff.” She flashed him a brilliant white smile, momentarily stunning him. He was about to ask her name when Josh strode up, the dancer cowboy following.

“Hey, Melissa, this is Dwight Barnes.”

“How nice to meet you, Mr. Barnes,” Melissa said.

Harry watched her flutter those same lashes at Barnes and was pleased to see that he wasn’t the only man who melted at her feet.

He guessed Ms. Randall was telling the truth. She did know how to handle men.

MELISSA RANDALL RETURNED to her parents’ house at 11:00 p.m., an incredibly early hour if she were still in Paris. It was even early in Rawhide, Wyoming, on the weekend.

Her parents were waiting up for her, making her feel more like an eighteen-year-old than a twenty-six-year-old who had lived abroad for six years.