Rebecca York: Riley's Retribution

He had an unsettling effect on her—like no one she’d ever met

He was so damn self-contained, yet below the surface she could sense his mind working. An aura of danger surrounded him that she couldn’t quite resist.

Too bad he was the sexiest man she’d met in a long time. That was another major problem. He made her feel hot and needy, just by the way he looked at her.

And she knew that he found her attractive. That was part of the lure of the man for her—the exhilaration of knowing that he was responding to her…even in her condition.

Her lips firmed. She should be focused on the baby, not on this cowboy who had mysteriously stepped into her life.

USA Today Bestselling Author

Ruth Glick writing as Rebecca York

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Award-winning, bestselling novelist Ruth Glick, who writes as Rebecca York, is the author of close to eighty books, including her popular 43 Light Street series for Harlequin Intrigue. Ruth says she has the best job in the world. Not only does she get paid for telling stories, she’s also the author of twelve cookbooks. Ruth and her husband, Norman, travel frequently, researching locales for her novels and searching out new dishes for her cookbooks.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Riley Watson—He was known as the chameleon, but could he pull off the charade of his life?

Courtney Rogers—Was she an innocent bystander, or was she working with the terrorists?

Jake Bradley—He hated Riley for reasons no one knew.

Kelly Manning—Was he loyal to Courtney, or did he have another agenda?

Cameron Murphy—Would the leader of Big Sky get his bounty?

Boone Fowler—Why was he hiding out on a ranch in Montana?

Greg Nichols—What exactly happened after Courtney fired him?

Sheriff Bobby Pennington—He stood for law and order in Spur City…or did he?

Prince Nikolai of Lukinburg—He claimed to have good reasons for coming to Montana. But a hidden agenda lurked just beyond the fringes of his policy.

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

Epilogue

Even the weather was fighting her, Courtney Rogers thought as she pulled the pickup truck out of a skid on the two-lane highway.

If she’d known this freak storm was blowing up like a nasty surprise from the gods of the north, she never would have gone into Spur City.

“No, be honest. You would have left at five in the morning to beat the storm,” she muttered.

Since Ernie Hastings, her damn unreliable ranch manager, had quit six weeks ago, she’d been too short of help to send anyone else for food and other supplies. And too short of money to leave the buying to someone who might choose sugar cereal instead of oatmeal.

Only, the trip into town hadn’t quite turned out the way she’d expected. Midge Buckley had walked rapidly in the other direction when she’d seen Courtney coming, and Jeb Bittner at the general store had given her a hard time—just for the heck of it.

“Well, I guess you never really know your neighbors,” she muttered, then switched on the radio.

An antique Hank Williams song filled the cab. Unfortunately, it was the wrong choice, since old Hank was singing about lost love, and she couldn’t stop herself from reacting to the sadness of the lyrics.

When her vision blurred, she blinked her eyes.

“Get a grip,” she ordered herself. “You’ve come through bad times before. You’ll do it again.”

The swirling flakes and another recent snowfall hid the craggy Montana landscape, but she knew this stretch of road as well as she knew the vegetable garden in back of the ranch house.

She’d been born and raised in this country, and she’d been traveling back and forth to Spur City since her mom had strapped her into an infant car seat for the trip.

The Golden Saddle horse farm where she lived was a legacy from her parents. Mom had died five years ago. Dad had lived three years longer. And she’d been back home for the past two years—while her marriage was coming apart at the seams.

Her own lost love. Buried under a clash of lifestyles and values. And finally…buried for good.

She didn’t want to think about that. She’d loved Edward Rogers, even when she’d told him it was all over between them.

But she’d still prayed they could work things out. And after their divorce, her former husband had come to see her one last time before shipping out to an overseas assignment in Lukinburg.

Could they have made the out-of-kilter relationship work? She didn’t know. Because Lieutenant Edward Rogers hadn’t come home alive. He’d left her with a load of guilt and…

She tightened her hands on the wheel.

“Like Daddy always said, there’s no use crying over spilled milk. You’ve got to clean up the mess and go on from there.”

All she could do was go forward and try to dig herself out of the mess that had become her life.

Maybe her new ranch manager, Riley Watson, would make a difference.

And maybe he’d be just another piece of bad news.

Up ahead, the road crossed under a bridge, and she squinted because she thought she saw a figure on the span above her—just visible through the whirlpool of flakes.

A man was looking toward her. She couldn’t see him very well, but his posture looked strangely rigid…as if someone had fashioned him out of ice.

She squinted into the storm, trying to work out what the guy was doing out here in the middle of nowhere. Was he in trouble and looking for help from a passing motorist down here on the highway?

If so, she felt obligated to stop, because in this open country he could freeze to death if his vehicle had broken down.

She slowed, still dividing her attention between the man and the highway. Come to think of it, she didn’t see a vehicle. Had he walked to the bridge from farther down the highway?

As she squinted up at him, he moved. She blinked, trying to figure out what she was seeing. It looked as if he’d raised a rifle to his shoulder and was aiming it down toward her.

There was no other car or truck on the road.

If that guy was really planning to shoot at someone—it was her.

“No,” she whispered into the silence of the car.

Her heart was thumping as she sped up, trying to swerve out of the way or make it under the bridge before he could fire.

But she was too late. A rifle shot cracked. And the slug tore into the glass just above her head and to the right.

It was as though a stone had hit the windshield. Only that was no stone.

She skidded on the snow-covered road, skidded under the bridge, then kept barreling forward. Fighting the wheel, she managed to keep from crashing into the concrete abutment on her right. Defensive driving lessons her dad had given her leaped into her mind, and she pumped the brakes to slow her speed. But she still wasn’t able to control the truck. When she shot out from under the bridge, she was heading toward the shoulder.