Carol Arens - Rebel with a Heart

“There’s something about you.” Her eyes held him. “I can’t explain it, but you make me feel like … like I’ve been waiting for you forever.”

Had she waited? He had no right to expect her to have. He had no right to ask.

“Have you been?”

“I don’t know.” Her brow crinkled. “What is it that people wait for, Clark?”

He crushed her mouth with a kiss.

He whispered, “Lilleth …” in her ear. He kissed her again, this time slowly savouring her.

“Well,” she murmured at last, when he allowed her a breath. “You’ve just made it clear to me that in some ways I am still a virgin.” She curled her fingers into his shirt. “Come with me into the bedroom, Clark.”

AUTHOR NOTE

Are you like I am? Does your heart beat a little faster for a mysterious hero?

When I was eight years old I sat in front of the television set and fell madly, completely in love with Zorro/Don Diego. The humour of the Don made me laugh, but when the dashing protector emerged I melted. I carried that torch for a few years and, to be honest, there’s still a bit of the flame left.

Who can resist the lure of Superman/Clark Kent? Or Batman/Bruce Wayne? For me, the hero in disguise is an irresistible character.

For the longest time I’ve wanted to create one of my own. I hope you enjoy reading about Trace Ballentine/Clark Clarkly, and that just maybe your heart will beat a little faster.

Three cheers for heroes in disguise!

Best wishes and happy reading.

Rebel with a Heart

Carol Arens

www.millsandboon.co.uk

While in the third grade CAROL ARENShad a teacher who noted that she ought to spend less time daydreaming and looking out of the window and more time on her sums. Today, Carol spends as little time on sums as possible. Daydreaming plots and characters is still far more interesting to her.

As a young girl she read books by the dozen. She dreamed that one day she would write a book of her own. A few years later Carol set her sights on a new dream. She wanted to be the mother of four children. She was blessed with a son, then three daughters. While raising them she never forgot her goal of becoming a writer. When her last child went to high school she purchased a big old clunky word processor and began to type out a story.

She joined Romance Writers of America, where she met generous authors who taught her the craft of writing a romance novel. With the knowledge she gained she sold her first book and saw her life-long dream come true.

Today, Carol lives with her real-life hero husband, Rick, in Southern California, where she was born and raised. She feels blessed to be doing what she loves, with all her children and a growing number of perfect and delightful grandchildren living only a few miles from her front door.

When she is not writing, reading or playing with her grandchildren, Carol loves making trips to the local nursery. She delights in scanning the rows of flowers, envisaging which pretty plants will best brighten her garden.

She enjoys hearing from readers, and invites you to contact her at carolsarens@yahoo.com

Previous novels by the same author:

RENEGADE MOST WANTED

REBEL WITH A CAUSE

A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE

(part of Christmas Cowboy Kisses anthology)

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit 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.

To my daughter, Jennifer Lynne, because sometimes life takes a turn and grants you a miracle.

Contents

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 One

Riverwalk, South Dakota November, 1879

A splinter jutting from the boardwalk pierced Trace Ballentine’s trousers. He cursed his luck. He growled at fate. How could it be possible that he was facing one of the most pivotal moments of his life with a piece of wood stabbing his rump?

Admittedly, he hadn’t slipped by accident, but he hadn’t intended to take a woman down with him, either. Still, here the lady was, sprawled across his lap in front of the ticket counter at the train depot, with the contents of her valise scattered near and far. Undergarments and shoes, ribbons and hatpins littered the boardwalk, mostly crushed under the stack of books he had been carrying.

He snatched his shattered spectacles from under his knee and plopped them on his nose.

Even through a spiderweb of broken glass he knew this woman. Even after sixteen years of foggy memory and change he recognized his one true love.

“Why, you big...” She seemed to be searching for the nastiest word in her vocabulary.

“Oaf?” he supplied.

“Dolt.”

The accusation didn’t sting; she’d called him worse dozens of times in playfulness. Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t wounded to his soul.

Lilleth Grace Preston stared straight into his eyes without knowing who he was.

In every fantasy he’d ever had of their miraculous reunion they had showered tears and kisses all over each other.

He had vowed to love her forever, and damned if he hadn’t. He’d cherished her memory since he was fourteen years old, yet not a twitch of her eyebrow or a blink of her lashes revealed that she recalled him.

To be fair, how could he have expected her to? The last time they had been together he had been gangly, whereas now he was tall and filled out. Over the years his hair had darkened from blond to brown. These days he wore a beard, trimmed short and neat. Back then he had barely sprouted peach fuzz.

He was nothing like the boy he had been, while she looked very much the same. With her red curls, snapping blue eyes and mouth that went from a grimace to a smile in a flash, he’d have known her even if he hadn’t been cursed with a mind that remembered nearly everything.

“Kindly remove your person from under me, Mr....?” She arched one brow.

It’s me. It’s Trace.

“Clark,” he declared. He wrinkled his brow, then added a hiccup.

“Mr. Clark, your—”

“Clarkly, that is. Mr. Clark Clarkly, at your service, miss.”

“Mr. Clark Clarkly, kindly remove your knee from my bustle.”

“Your...? Oh, my word, I beg your pardon.” He straightened his leg and reached for her hand, desperate for just one touch, even if that touch was through a leather glove.

She allowed him to help her to her feet. He then made a show of being a buffoon by attempting to straighten her skirt.

Curse it, he was a buffoon, and he didn’t even have to act a part. Of all the disguises he could have chosen for this assignment, why did it have to be Clark Clarkly?

Had he ever dreamed that he might run into Lilleth Preston he’d have made himself a lawman or a cowboy. Anyone but good old Clarkly, the bungling, bookish librarian.

But Trace was good and stuck now. Most of the citizens of Riverwalk had made the acquaintance of Clarkly—run into him, quite literally. He couldn’t change identities midassignment. Too much was at stake. The innocent inmates at the Hanispree Mental Hospital depended on Clarkly.