Kaitlyn Rice - The Third Daughter's Wish

All it had taken was a minute

Gabe had always thought part of Josie’s allure was her lack of complication. That men saw her spunk and realized she’d be fun and then gone.

But here she was, complicating his life all to hell.

He kissed her back.

He slid his hands beneath her coat, treasuring the sensual curve of her waist. He moved his fingers up her rib cage, stopping just below those voluptuous breasts.

He wanted to touch her there. He wanted to caress her to moans, then tear off her clothes and love her.

He wanted to tell her to stop looking for a father who hadn’t wanted her. She had him. He loved her.

He’d protect her.

Even from himself…

Dear Reader,

This last heroine in the HEARTLAND SISTERS trilogy is my husband’s favorite. Josie Blume is all tomboy, gutsy and feisty and not a lot like ultrafeminine me. I don’t worry about hubby’s preference, however. I think he might just see a hint of his own orneriness in Josie. And perhaps there’s a smidge of me in Josie’s hero, Gabe.

My favorite part of writing is the characters—always. When people ask me how I come up with different story ideas (surely they’ve all been done, they explain) my answer is simple: I start with two characters. We might try to put people into categories (see tomboy, above) but we are all so wonderfully different when it comes right down to it. Why else would my best friend still feel like my best friend after over thirty years? Surely I’ve met other only-child, Scorpio, mother-of-two intellectuals in a three-decade time span.

Maybe. But she’s the only one who responds to me as she does. (Hi, Lis!)

And that’s why Josie and her sisters were so much fun to write. The three siblings grew up under a special set of circumstances, without a lot of contact with the world beyond their rural Kansas home. Their personalities changed how that past affected them. Except for a common hope for a happily-ever-after, their goals were different. I hope you enjoy Josie’s quest for her heart’s desire.

I always enjoy hearing from readers. Write to me via my Web site at www.kaitlynrice.com.

Happy reading!

The Third Daughter’s Wish

Kaitlyn Rice

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To my Tiger Lily cousins: LaDonna, Debbie, Sheri, Karen and Joni, Rhonda, Connie, Dani and Julie

You are all wonderfully unique, wonderfully fun. Wonderful.

Thank you for sharing yourselves, for the support, and especially for the courageous tributes you gave to my mother.

Most of all, thank you for keeping me in the loop.

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

972—TEN ACRES AND TWINS

1012—THE RENEGADE

1051—TABLE FOR FIVE

1085—THE LATE BLOOMER’S BABY *

1104—THE RUNAWAY BRIDESMAID *

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

The man in the Wisconsin sweatshirt was eyeing Josie’s butt. Gabriel Thomas was sure of it now as he watched his good friend Josie Blume approach the pool table. She analyzed the break of the pool balls, then walked around to the far corner of the barroom. She grinned when she found the angle she liked.

Glancing sideways, Gabe noted that the other man’s attention shifted to Josie’s chest when she leaned over the cue stick. Of course he would look there. Guys did. Despite her diminutive stature, Josie hadn’t been short-changed up top. Those sexy assets curved inward to a well-toned waist, then flowed back outward to lean but feminine hips.

The woman was stacked.

She also had stylishly short brunette hair, kissably full lips and the biggest hazel eyes Gabe had ever seen. So yes, guys noticed her, Gabe included. Not that Josie would ever suspect. She thought of him as the big brother she’d never had, he was certain.

Which was for the best.

Josie must be unaware of Wisconsin’s interest, or she’d have called him on the carpet for his boldness. If she was receptive to the idea of a Wednesday-night hookup, she’d have told her admirer directly that she didn’t respond to drooling. If she wasn’t, well, she’d have told him directly to get lost.

Josie didn’t hint at what she wanted; she demanded it. And she didn’t hide her thoughts behind societal expectations or womanly wiles. If you had broccoli in your teeth or conceit in your behavior, she told you about it. Yet she greeted you with such an affable enthusiasm it would be hard to dislike her, even with that sometimes blunt honesty.

Obviously, Wisconsin found her agreeable.

She should have reacted by now.

What the hey! The man’s interest in Josie was no more Gabe’s business than her response to it. He and Josie were merely buddies. Unless she was taking up with a conspicuous drug dealer or abusive jerk, Gabe generally kept his mouth shut about her love life.

After waiting for Josie to make a series of shots—she missed the third by a fraction of an inch—Gabe walked around to stand next to her. He lowered his mouth to her ear and murmured, “He’s not your type, kid.”

Josie stood up straight and looked around. “Who?”

“Wisconsin.” Gabe turned to study the table. After pocketing his first solid ball, he scanned Josie’s perplexed expression. “The guy behind us in the ball cap. He’s enjoying those tight jeans of yours a little too much.”

She scowled. “These aren’t tight.”

He raised his eyebrows as he perused the table again. “The outline of your driver’s license is showing through your right hip pocket.”

He nearly cackled when he heard the slap of her palm against her bottom.

“You were looking?” she asked.

Oops.

“Not in that way,” he fibbed. As though he hadn’t noticed the query in Josie’s eyes, he strolled around the table and pretended to find the conversation a bore.

“I certainly hope not,” she chastised. “Anyway, so what if some guy’s noticing me?”

Gabe scrutinized the man against the wall behind her. After he’d bent to hit a great ricochet shot that sent his six ball into the corner pocket, he explained, “As I said before, he’s not your type.”

Josie stood very still, and Gabe knew she was trying not to crane her neck around to see her admirer. “I don’t have a type.”

“Sure, you do. This one’s too young, I think.”

She snorted. “If he’s in Mary’s Bar, he’s old enough.”

“You started sneaking in here at sixteen.”

“How would you know? We met when I was nineteen.”

Oops again.

Gabe had heard about Josie long before the day they’d officially met. The Blume family had been different enough to cause talk, even among the Augusta cliques who considered themselves too refined for small-town Kansas gossip. Gabe’s mother included.