B.J. Daniels - Justice at Cardwell Ranch

The name on the tombstone read Mary Justice Cardwell.

“Hello, Mother,” he said removing his hat as he felt all the conflicting emotions he’d had when she was alive. All the arguments came rushing back, making him sick at the memory. He hadn’t been able to change her mind, and now she was gone, leaving them all behind to struggle as a family without her.

He could almost hear their last argument whispered on the wind. “There is nothing keeping you here, let alone me,” he’d argued. “Why are you fighting so hard to keep this place going? Can’t you see that ranching is going to kill you?”

He recalled her smile, that gentle gleam in her eyes that infuriated him. “This land is what makes me happy, son. Someday you will realize that ranching is in our blood. You can fight it, but this isn’t just your home, a part of your heart is here as well.”

“Like hell,” he’d said. “Sell the ranch, Mother, before it’s too late. If not for yourself and the rest of us, then for Dana. She’s too much like you. She will spend her life fighting to keep this place. Don’t do that to her.”

“She’ll keep this ranch for the day when you come back to help her run it.”

“That’s never going to happen, Mother.”

Mary Justice Cardwell had smiled that knowing smile of hers. “Only time will tell, won’t it?”

Dear Reader,

It was so much fun for me to return to Cardwell Ranch. Crime Scene at Cardwell Ranch has been read by more than two million readers, so it was a treat to go back and find out what happened to the Justice and Cardwell families in the sequel. Justice at Cardwell Ranch is a story I’ve wanted to write for a long time.

When I was a girl, we had a cabin just down the road from where these books take place. I have such wonderful memories of the Gallatin Canyon. My brother and I had a fort out in the woods and spent hours exploring in what is now a wilderness area. I skied at Big Sky many times, and have hiked with a friend to Ousel Waterfalls, where part of this story takes place.

I hope you enjoy this return trip to the “canyon.”

BJ Daniels

www.bjdaniels.com

USA TODAY bestselling author BJ DANIELSwrote her first book after a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist and author of thirty-seven published short stories. That first book, Odd Man Out , received a four-and-a-half-star review from RT Book Reviews and went on to be nominated for Best Intrigue that year. Since then, she has won numerous awards, including a career achievement award for romantic suspense and many nominations and awards for best book.

Daniels lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, and two springer spaniels, Spot and Jem. When she isn’t writing, she snowboards, camps, boats and plays tennis. Daniels is a member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, International Thriller Writers, Kiss of Death and Romance Writers of America. To contact her, write to BJ Daniels, PO Box 1173, Malta, MT 59538, USA, or e-mail her at bjdaniels@mtintouch.net. Check out her website, www.bjdaniels.com.

BJ Daniels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This book is dedicated to my amazing husband.

He makes all this possible along with inspiring me

each and every day. Thank you, Parker.

Without your love, I couldn’t do this.

Nothing moved in the darkness. At the corner of the house she stopped to catch her breath. She could hear music playing somewhere down the street. Closer, a dog barked.

As she waited in the deep shadow at the edge of the house, she measured the distance and the light she would have to pass through to reach the second window.

When she’d sneaked into the house earlier, she’d left the window unlocked. But she had no way of knowing if someone had discovered it. If so, they might not have merely relocked it—they could be waiting for her.

Fear had her heart pounding and her breath coming out in painful bursts. If she got caught— She couldn’t let herself think about that.

The dog stopped barking for a moment. All she could hear was the faint music drifting on the night breeze. She fought to keep her breathing in check as she inched along the side of the house to the first window.

A light burned inside, but the drapes were closed. Still, she waited to make sure she couldn’t hear anyone on the other side of the glass before she moved.

Ducking, she slipped quickly through a shaft of illumination from a streetlamp and stopped at the second bedroom window.

There, she waited for a few moments. No light burned inside the room. Still she listened before she pulled the screwdriver from her jacket pocket and began to pry up the window.

At first the old casement window didn’t move and she feared she’d been right about someone discovering what she’d done and locking the window again.

When it finally gave, it did so with a pop that sounded like an explosion to her ears. She froze. No sound came from within the room. Her hands shook as she pried the window up enough that she could get her fingers under it.

Feeling as if there was no turning back now, she lifted the window enough to climb in. Heart in her throat, she drew back the curtain. She’d half expected to find someone standing on the other side lying in wait for her.

The room, painted pink, was empty except for a few pieces of mismatched furniture: a dresser, a rocking chair, a changing table and a crib.

She looked to the crib, fearing that she’d come this far only to fail. But from the faint light coming from the streetlamp, she could see the small lump beneath the tiny quilt.

Her heart beat faster at the thought that in a few minutes she would have the baby in her arms.

She heard the car coming down the street just seconds before the headlights washed over her. Halfway in the window, there was nothing she could do but hurry. She wasn’t leaving here without the baby.

The breeze rustled through the aspens, sending golden leaves whirling around him as Jordan Cardwell walked up the hill to the cemetery. He wore a straw Western hat he’d found on a peg by the back door of the ranch house.

He hadn’t worn a cowboy hat since he’d left Montana twenty years ago, but this one kept his face from burning. It was so much easier to get sunburned at this high altitude than it was in New York City.

It was hot out and yet he could feel the promise of winter hiding at the edge of the fall day. Only the memory of summer remained in the Gallatin River Canyon. Cold nightly temperatures had turned the aspens to glittering shades of gold and orange against the dark green of the pines.