Patricia Rosemoor: Heart Of A Lawman

“I don’t know…I mean, I’m not…” They were so close, Josie was almost in Bart’s arms. “You’re trying to confuse me again.”

More touching was involved as she peeled the shirt down off his shoulders, first to free his good right arm, then to slip it off his injured left. Though she tried not to stare, she couldn’t help admiring his magnificent musculature. Nor could she ignore his flat stomach and the light dusting of hair that trailed down below the waist of his jeans.

Bart cupped her cheek, turned her face to his. “Someone hurt you,” he said. “A man. Tell me.”

“I’ll get some ice packs for your arm.”

“What’s your name?”

“Josie Wales.” She turned away.

He slowly pulled her head toward him. Then he brushed her mouth with his. Just a momentary touch. Even so, she shuddered at the sensation that was strangely erotic.

“I meant your real name….”

If only she knew….

Dear Reader,

I’ve always thought that if I were to move from Chicago, it would be to northern New Mexico. I love the look and the feel of the place—the brilliant sunny skies with a clear light that inspires me; the rugged landscapes that remind me of a past that I still romanticize as I did when I was a kid.

And so it was an exceptional pleasure for me to bring a bit of that romanticized past to my latest Harlequin Intrigue books. SONS OF SILVER SPRINGS—half brothers Bart, Chance and Reed—return to save the Curly-Q Ranch despite bitter memories of each other and their relationship with their father who is dying. In doing so, they not only find danger and the loves of their lives, but a new respect for family and tradition.

If you enjoy their ride, please let me know—P.O. Box 578297, Chicago, IL 60657-8297. Send an SASE for information on upcoming books.

Regards,

Heart of a Lawman

Patricia Rosemoor

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Q: What was the first romance you ever read?

PR: It was called Double Date and I was in the third grade. I finished my schoolwork and pulled out my book, only to have Sister Ursula confiscate it disapprovingly because it was a “Senior” library book, and being only seven, I was supposed to have a “Juvenile” card. When she returned it the next day, she suggested I should start reading books about history instead.

Q: Where do you get your inspiration?

PR: Often from learning about real struggles of real people. Other times from subjects that concern me, especially when it comes to animal welfare.

Q: What do you feel is special about this particular series, SONS OF SILVER SPRINGS?

PR: In spending time in New Mexico to do the research, I met a family that has recently opened their ranch to vacationers in an effort to preserve their way of life. I felt honored that they allowed my husband and I to stay in their home and be part of their family for a few days. And in doing so, I learned a new respect for those who pursue traditional ways of life (hard work and simple pleasures) in lieu of big-city careers and amenities. I hope that my true appreciation is apparent in the SONS OF SILVER SPRINGS series.

To read the complete interview with Patricia Rosemoor, log on to our web site at www.romance.net.

Barton Quarrels—The last thing the lawman wanted was to get involved with a woman who brought trouble with her.

Josie Wales—With no memory, how could she figure out who was after her?

Emmett Quarrels—Owner of the Curly-Q, Bart’s father has secrets of his own.

Hugh Ruskin—The bartender was hostile to Josie when he didn’t get what he wanted.

William “Billy Boy” Spencer—The new cowboy at the Curly-Q seemed to know more about Josie than she did about herself.

Tim Harrigan—The boarder at the Springs Bed and Breakfast was willing to do anything for Josie.

To research SONS OF SILVER SPRINGS, my husband and I went straight to the source—a ranch in New Mexico called Rancho Cañón Ancho, a jewel set in canyon splendor along the Mora River. We got more than we’d bargained for, both in the background information I was seeking and in hospitality. So I would like to thank Bryan and Kathy Turner, a couple who really ride for the brand and are keeping alive traditional ranch life for their son, Ethan. Also thanks to Kathy’s mom, Betty Snow, who helped Kathy feed and entertain us in true Southwestern fashion.

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

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

He was still behind her!

Heedless of the dark, moonless night, of the winding, downhill road and rain-slicked pavement, of the clumsy vehicle at her command, she jammed the accelerator all the way to the floor.

As if bitten, the truck she had stolen leaped forward crazily and threatened to shoot straight off the road.

Palms sweaty, she white-knuckled the steering wheel…successfully wrestled the cumbersome old rattletrap around a hairpin curve and away from the sheer drop…darted her nervous gaze to the rearview mirror….

Nothing for a moment. Then she saw the twin beams make the turn, as well. The headlights seemed a bit more distant, but still they kept pace with her.

She held her breath, the only sounds filling her ears the rumble of the engine punctuated by worn wipers clack-clacking as they streaked across the windshield.

It came to her then that she would never be free of him. She’d tried everything in her power, and still he was there, a dark phantom, a portent of her future. What little she had left of one, for the distance between his headlights and the truck was closing.

He would never let her go. Never let her get away.

Never let her live.

And she had no one to blame but herself.

Sickness welled in her as she acknowledged the fate that she had brought down on herself. Her chest tightened and the bitter taste of acid filled her mouth. Her eyelids stung as self-anger grew.

“No!”

She slapped the steering wheel so hard her palm stung. She wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not after everything she’d endured.

But the tears flooded her eyes, and even as she swept around another downward curve, she dashed them away with a shaky hand. Only a second’s inattention—that fast!—and the truck veered over, halfway into the oncoming lane. Before she could pull it back in line, her eyes filled again, this time with bright, blinding lights. The windshield wipers swept the image into focus: another vehicle heading straight for her.