Rita Herron - McCullen's Secret Son

Brett stroked her hair and rubbed slow circles along her back. For the first time in years, Willow felt safe—cared for…

But he was only being nice. When she told him the truth about Sam, there was no telling how he’d act. He might hate her.

“Willow,” Brett said softly. “You’ve got to tell me what’s wrong. What happened?”

She sucked in a sharp breath and wiped at her eyes. Brett produced a handkerchief and slipped it into her hands. She wiped her face, then looked up into his.

He had the darkest, most gorgeous green eyes she’d ever seen.

She wanted to soak in his features, but looking at that handsome, strong face only reminded her of her little boy, who looked so much like him that it hurt.

He rubbed her arms with his hands. “Willow, talk to me.”

“I…don’t know where to begin.”

“You said it was a matter of life and death. I noticed the pickup truck outside and the crunched bike. Is that what this is about?”

“I wish it was that simple.”

McCullen’s Secret Son

Rita Herron

www.millsandboon.co.uk

RITA HERRON, a USA TODAY bestselling author, wrote her first book when she was twelve, but didn’t think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesn’t have to get a real job. A former kindergarten teacher and workshop leader, she traded storytelling to kids for writing romance, and now she writes romantic comedies and romantic suspense. Rita lives in Georgia with her family. She loves to hear from readers, so please write her at PO Box 921225, Norcross, GA 30092-1225, USA, or visit her website, www.ritaherron.com.

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To Aunt Nelda,

for her love of cowboys!

Love, Rita

Contents

Cover

Introduction Brett stroked her hair and rubbed slow circles along her back. For the first time in years, Willow felt safe—cared for… But he was only being nice. When she told him the truth about Sam, there was no telling how he’d act. He might hate her. “Willow,” Brett said softly. “You’ve got to tell me what’s wrong. What happened?” She sucked in a sharp breath and wiped at her eyes. Brett produced a handkerchief and slipped it into her hands. She wiped her face, then looked up into his. He had the darkest, most gorgeous green eyes she’d ever seen. She wanted to soak in his features, but looking at that handsome, strong face only reminded her of her little boy, who looked so much like him that it hurt. He rubbed her arms with his hands. “Willow, talk to me.” “I…don’t know where to begin.” “You said it was a matter of life and death. I noticed the pickup truck outside and the crunched bike. Is that what this is about?” “I wish it was that simple.”

Title Page McCullen’s Secret Son Rita Herron www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author RITA HERRON , a USA TODAY bestselling author, wrote her first book when she was twelve, but didn’t think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesn’t have to get a real job. A former kindergarten teacher and workshop leader, she traded storytelling to kids for writing romance, and now she writes romantic comedies and romantic suspense. Rita lives in Georgia with her family. She loves to hear from readers, so please write her at PO Box 921225, Norcross, GA 30092-1225, USA, or visit her website, www.ritaherron.com .

Dedication To Aunt Nelda, for her love of cowboys! Love, Rita

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

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

The last place Brett McCullen wanted to be was back in Pistol Whip, especially on the McCullen ranch.

He pulled down the long drive to his family’s ranch, Horseshoe Creek, his leg throbbing from his most recent fall. Damn, he loved rodeo and riding.

But maybe at thirty, he was getting too old to bust his butt on the circuit. And last week when he’d woken up in bed with one of the groupies, some hot, busty blonde named Brandy or Fifi—hell, after a while, they all sounded and looked the same—he’d realized that not a soul in the damn world really cared about him.

Or knew the Brett underneath.

Maybe because he was good at the show. Play the part of the bad boy. The fearless rider. The charmer who smiled at the camera and got laid every night.

Easier than getting real and chancing getting hurt.

He cut the lights and stared at the farmhouse for a minute, memories suffusing him. He could see him and his brothers, playing horseshoes, practicing roping on the fence posts, riding horses in the pasture, tagging along with their daddy on a cattle drive.

His oldest brother, Maddox, was always the responsible one—and his father’s favorite. Ray, two years younger than Brett, was the hellion, the one who landed in trouble, the one who butted heads with their father.

Brett could never live up to his old man’s expectations, so he figured why try? Life should be fun. Women, horseback riding, rodeos—it was the stuff dreams were made of.

So he’d left home ten years ago to pursue those dreams and hadn’t questioned his decision since.

But Maddox’s phone call had thrown him for a loop. How could he deny his father’s last request?

Hell, it wasn’t like he hadn’t loved his old man. He was probably more like him than Maddox or Ray. He’d always thought his father had a wild streak in him, that maybe he’d regretted settling down.

Brett hadn’t wanted to make the same mistake.

He walked up the porch steps and reached for the doorknob, then stepped inside, back into a well of family memories that reminded him of all the holidays he’d missed.

Last year, he’d seen daddies shopping with their kids for Christmas trees, and mothers and kids at the park, and couples strolling in the moonlight, and he’d felt alone.

Mama Mary, his dad’s housekeeper and cook and the woman who’d taken care of him and his brothers after their mother passed, waddled in and wrapped him into a hug.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Mama Mary said with a hearty laugh.

Brett buried his head in her big arms, emotions churning through him. He’d forgotten how much he loved Mama Mary, how she could make anything feel all right with a hug and her homemade cooking.

She leaned back to examine him, and patted his flat belly.

“Boy, you’ve gotten skinny. My biscuits and gravy will fix that.”

He laughed. Mama Mary thought she could fix any problem with a big meal. “I’ve missed you,” he said, his voice gruff.

She blinked away tears and ushered him into the kitchen. The room hadn’t changed at all—still the checkered curtains and pine table, the plate of sausage and bacon left from breakfast. And as far back as he could remember, she’d always had a cake or pie waiting.