Susan Crosby - Fortune's Hero

“I came here to thank you for saving my life.”

“You told me three months ago.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You kissed me. Pretty much said it all. Can’t say it was the best kiss I’ve ever had planted on me, but I got what you were meaning by it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “If I’d wanted to kiss you in a memorable way, I would’ve, but I guarantee you I put more emotion into that one kiss than any other I’ve given.”

“Well, isn’t that a sorry state of affairs.”

“I’m a good kisser!”

“If you say so, ma’am.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Have a safe drive back to town.” He walked away from her.

Dear Reader,

Anniversary celebrations aren’t just for marriages. And as I write this, I’m marking the anniversary of being offered my first book contract, eighteen years ago. Since then I’ve written thirty-six books. It still amazes me, every single day. The pleasure and privilege of creating a piece of work for others to read never fades.

Creating this particular book has been especially gratifying. Taking an independent Texas cowboy who’s much happier among stray dogs and horses, and pairing him with a society-born much younger woman was fun and challenging. I love that Garrett Stone is clear about what he wants and doesn’t want in life. Even more, I love how Victoria Fortune makes him change his very set mind.

I hope you enjoy taking their journey with them.

Susan Crosby

SUSAN CROSBYbelieves in the value of setting goals, but also in the magic of making wishes, which often do come true—as long as she works hard enough. Along life’s journey she’s done a lot of the usual things—married, had children, attended college a little later than the average co-ed and earned a BA in English. Then she dove off the deep end into a full-time writing career, a wish come true.

Susan enjoys writing about people who take a chance on love, sometimes against all odds. She loves warm, strong heroes and good-hearted, self-reliant heroines, and she will always believe in happily-ever-after.

More can be learned about her at www.susancrosby.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Bobbie and Ernie, The Cowgirl and Her Prince.

You wrote your own romance,

and you did it so well! With love to you both.

“Keep away from those cowboys, they’re ramblin’ men…”

The lyrics to the country song popped into her head the moment she saw the tall, blue-eyed man striding past her in the terminal of the small and private, but busy, Red Rock, Texas, airport.

He caught her staring, hesitated a second, then winked. Definitely the rambling type and one to stay away from. He touched a finger to his black Stetson and just like that he was gone, the moment over.

Then the tornado hit. That black hat was the last thing she saw before the roof was ripped from above her, the roar of air sucking everything within, including her, pulling her, dragging her. Around her, wood and metal flew and crashed, ricocheted and bounced.

Pain hit first, then panic. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t fill her lungs enough to scream. Noise. So much noise. Then suddenly no sound at all.

The quiet was almost as frightening. Gradually she heard crying, someone screaming, others calling out.

Her face was pressed against the cold concrete floor. She tried to move but couldn’t. The sound of someone running toward her crept into her awareness. A man flattened himself next to her, his face in shadows—her hero, whoever he was.

“You okay?” he asked.

“My legs hurt,” she managed to say, wiggling her toes and feeling them move inside her high-heeled boots, the rubble preventing leg movement.

He sprang up.

She grabbed for him, caught thin air. “Don’t leave me. Please, don’t—”

But he didn’t leave. Weight was lifted from her, twisted metal, lumber and laminate.

“Can you drag yourself out?” he asked, this giant of a man who’d single-handedly raised the wreckage. “Hurry. There’s not much time. You can do it, sweetheart. Try.”

There was nothing to grab. Her useless polished fingernails dug but found no traction. She caught her breath against the unexpected pain of moving and exerted herself a little more, tried to belly crawl like a solider. Just when she thought she was going to be stuck there forever, he gripped her arm and yanked her from under the debris. Her feet cleared the mess a second before it came tumbling down. He scooped her into his strong arms and rushed away as the whole building creaked and moaned.

Panic set in. “My family…?” she asked.

He angled his head. “Over there.”

She’d just started identifying relatives when part of the building they’d left crumbled with a final whoomph. If he’d been a minute later, she’d have been buried alive. She clenched him tighter, too shocked to say anything.

“I’ve got you,” the stranger said. “You’re safe.”

The cowboy, she realized finally. The man who’d winked at her. She hadn’t recognized him without his hat.

“Help will come soon,” he said, his voice comforting.

She looked up as he set her down. An eerily calm sky replaced portions of the roof of the two-story structure. She’d been sitting on the other side of the room. How far had she been pulled—or thrown?

“You think you can stand on your own?” he asked.

“I think so.” Her eyes were level with his chest. She focused hypnotically on the bolo tie he wore, silver and onyx, before looking up at him.

“You’ll be okay,” he said, releasing her, understanding in his eyes.

Before he could abandon her, she grabbed him by his bolo and tugged him down for a quick, hard, thank-you-for-saving-me kiss, over as soon as it started. Her heart lodged in her throat, damming up the words trapped inside. She couldn’t even ask his name—or tell him hers.

He cupped her shoulders and moved back. For an instant his eyes met hers, then he was running away from her. Paralyzed, she didn’t budge for a minute, then she finally focused on her surroundings. It looked like a war zone. Some of her family were sitting in shock; some were running around. Suitcases were scattered everywhere. What had once been a small plane lay nose-down not twenty feet from where she’d been sitting before the tornado hit.

When she turned back to the terminal she saw no sign of the cowboy. Transfixed, she moved toward the luggage, thinking to stack it all together, needing something to do. Then she heard sirens approach and she staggered toward the sound, waving—

Victoria Fortune jerked awake, sweating, her sheets tangled, her long, dark hair stuck to her skin. She’d had the dream again, the same vivid but increasingly detailed dream. The tornado had struck on December 30 in Red Rock, Texas. She’d been headed home after being a bridesmaid in her cousin Wendy’s wedding. Now, three months later, Victoria was safe in her own bed, in her own condo, in her hometown of Atlanta, Georgia. Three months, and she was still dreaming about it.