Lynna Banning - Loner's Lady

“Most likely.” Jess didn’t say anything else for a long while.

Ellen struggled to absorb the words. How quickly her life had turned upside down. An hour ago…

Her cheeks grew hot. An hour ago she hadn’t been thinking about Dan at all. She’d been thinking about Jess Flint.

“Ellen. There’s…” he closed his eyes momentarily “…there’s more.”

Incredulous, she stared at him. “More? What ‘more’?” She punched her balled-up fist into his chest.

He caught her hand, imprisoned it in his, and when she tried to jerk out of his grasp, he lifted his arms and pinned her against him. “Ellen. Ellen.”

She went perfectly still. “All right, tell me the rest, damn you. Get it over with.”

“Do not read Lynna Banning expecting some trite, clichéd western romance. This author breathes fresh air into the West.”

—Romantic Reviews Today

The Scout

“Though a romance through and through, The Scout is also a story with powerful undertones of sacrifice and longing.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

The Angel of Devil’s Camp

“This sweet charmer of an Americana romance has just the right amount of humor, poignancy and a cast of quirky characters.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

The Ranger and the Redhead

“…fast-paced, adventure-filled story…”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

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

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Epilogue

Author’s Note

S he saw him coming up Creek Road and for a moment her heart stopped beating. Clutching the pitted garden trowel in one hand, she tucked a wayward strand of hair back under her blue sunbonnet and squinted into the late afternoon sun until her vision blurred.

But it wasn’t Dan. She released the breath she’d been holding and studied the man. A worn-looking leather saddle weighed down one shoulder, and a dark hat slanted over his eyes. He walked with a slight hesitation in his gait, as if one knee was stiff. Just another saddle tramp looking for a meal.

Ellen watched for a minute, then bent to the row of leafy vegetables and pulled up an extra half-dozen carrots for supper. She couldn’t bear the thought of someone, even a saddle tramp, going hungry.

Drawing in a slow lungful of the hot, earth-scented summer air, she resumed weeding. Probably lost his horse in a poker game. She sniffed at the thought and yanked a clump of chickweed out of the ground. What was it about gambling that men found so irresistible?

Getting something for nothing, Dan had told her once with a cocky grin. Ellen knew better. Most often he started with Something and ended up with Nothing.

Pulling the kitchen knife from her apron pocket, she sliced off a dozen yellow squash and two shiny green peppers. At least her simple meal would be colorful.

She straightened again as the man turned in at her gate. It took him a long time to push open the rickety contraption she had cobbled together out of used nails and crooked sugar pine limbs. It sagged badly, the rusted hinge held in place by a single screw. Another of the thousand and one things she hadn’t had time to fix.

“Miz O’Brian?”

Ellen stepped out of the vegetable patch toward him. “Yes? I am Mrs. O’Brian.”

Jess dropped the saddle where he stood. “My name’s Jason Flint, ma’am.” From beneath the brim of his hat he studied her face for a flicker of recognition. Nothing. Under her own floppy gingham bonnet, the woman’s blue eyes drilled into him like two steel bolts.

“Most folks call me Jess.” Again he waited for a reaction, but her sun-reddened features betrayed not a hint of feeling. Damn and then some. How lucky could he get?

She stuck out a dirt-stained hand. “Mr. Flint.” She had a strong handshake for a small woman, but quicker than he could wink she tucked her hand back into her apron pocket.

“Guess you’d like to know what I’m doing out here on your farm?”

Those blue eyes widened slightly, but she kept her face impassive. She’d make a good poker player, Jess thought. Or maybe she was just a careful farm wife who’d seen a good number of strays in her time.

“Truth is…” he began.

“You’re hungry,” she stated.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her hands went to her hips. “And broke.”

Jess hesitated. “Well…” He’d sold his horse and most of his possessions three days ago so he could eat. Hell yes, he was broke.

“Out-of-work-down-on-your-luck-and-lost-your-horse,” she said. It wasn’t a question. She ran the words together as if she was reciting a poem.

“Yes, ma’am.” He expected her to frown or purse her lips and tsk-tsk at him, but she did neither. Instead, she gave him a long look and headed for the back porch of the farmhouse.

Jess let his gaze follow her, hoping she’d say something with the word supper in it. He noted the peeling white paint on the house and the lopsided angle of the screen door. A hole as big as his fist gaped in the mesh. He’d bet she had a kitchen full of fat black flies.

The back door wheezed open and slapped shut and her voice floated to him through the screen. “Supper’s in half an hour. Wash up at the pump.”

Jess swiped off his hat, bent over the pump and splashed cool water on his face, then smoothed a handful of water through his hair. Glancing at the back door to make sure she wasn’t watching, he stripped off his shirt and rubbed water over his chest and neck.

Using his shirt, he dried off and shrugged the damp linen back on. The wrinkled garment smelled sweaty as a lathered horse, but at the moment it was the only shirt he owned.

With time to spare before supper, Jess carted his saddle out to the barn, then made a slow circuit of the farmhouse. The weathered paint on the north side looked more gray than white, but crisp white curtains hung at the parlor windows. A single wicker rocking chair sat on the wide front porch.

When he reached the back of the house, the screen door scraped open and he heard her voice again. “Suppertime!” Jess clomped up the back steps, hoping she wouldn’t hear his stomach growling.

The first thing he smelled was fresh coffee. The second was hot biscuits, and beyond that he didn’t care. This was as close to heaven as he was going to get for a while.