Rita Herron - Cowboy to the Max

Sometimes a cowboy’s only as good as his name

Rancher Carter Flagstone refuses to take the fall for a crime he didn’t commit. Branded a murderer five years ago, he’s dead-set on getting freedom—and revenge. But after locating the woman who helped frame him, Carter is shocked to find Sadie Whitefeather scared, alone and hiding out in a remote Texas town. And what he discovers about the unforgettable night they spent in each other’s arms makes Carter even more eager to learn the truth. On the run, with no one to turn to but each other, Carter finds forgiving Sadie isn’t so hard after all. And clearing his name is more important than he ever imagined....

Sadie was the last woman he’d made love to before his freedom had been ripped away.

And even though he’d hated her for not stepping forward to clear him, while he’d lain on that brick-hard cot every night in prison, he’d fantasized about making love to her again.

Only, now his touch made her cringe with horror.

She wrapped her arms around herself. “You broke in?”

Damn it. He had to be patient. And he had to protect her.

“Because you were screaming,” Carter said, intentionally lowering his voice. “I thought the guy who shot at us had broken in.” He gestured toward the sheers. “Maybe through the window.”

Her gaze darted to the window then back to him, as if she was trying to decide whether to trust him. Whether to believe him.

He suddenly wanted that trust more than anything he’d wanted in a long time.

Almost as much as he wanted his freedom.

Cowboy to the Max

Rita Herron

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Award-winning author Rita Herron wrote her first book when she was twelve, but didn’t think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesn’t have to get a real job. A former kindergarten teacher and workshop leader, she traded her storytelling to kids for writing romance, and now she writes romantic comedies and romantic suspense. She lives in Georgia with her own romance hero and three kids. She loves to hear from readers, so please write her at P.O. Box 921225, Norcross, GA 30092-1225, or visit her website, www.ritaherron.com.

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CAST OF CHARACTERS

Carter Flagstone—He is determined to prove he’s innocent of the murder he was convicted of, even if he has to force Sadie Whitefeather, the woman who slept with him and then framed him, to help him clear his name.

Sadie Whitefeather—She had her reasons for betraying Carter and is terrified of him and the man who threatened and assaulted her five years ago.

Everett Flagstone—He died of lung cancer after leaving prison—or did he?

Dennis Dyer—Carter was incarcerated for his murder—but was he a pawn in a twisted plan to set up Carter?

Jeff Lester—This brute attacked Sadie and has stalked her for five years; why did he want Carter in prison?

Sheriff Norman Otto—He arrested Carter for murdering Dyer. Is he on the right side of the law or does he have a hidden agenda?

Loretta Swinson—Did Jeff Lester’s girlfriend know what he was up to?

Elmore Clement—Carter’s cousin inherited Carter’s father’s land. Only, Carter swears he has no other family. Is Clement a fraud?

To Ms. Culpepper, my childhood librarian

who taught me to love books.

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 Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter One

Carter Flagstone would die before he would go back to prison.

Which might just happen if he didn’t find out who had framed him for murder.

He rolled over on the makeshift bed he’d made in one of the unused barns at the Bucking Bronc Lodge, breathing in the smell of hay, fresh air and freedom.

A freedom that was temporary at best. One that had come at a cost. A guard had been injured in the prison escape, and fingers were pointing at him as the shooter.

His escape only made him look more guilty of that crime and the murder of that man named Dyer, the man he’d been convicted of killing five years ago.

The police had orders to shoot to kill. His damn mug shot was plastered all over the television and in the papers. And if that guard died and the cops caught him, and by chance he lived, he’d end up on death row.

Yep, Texas held one of the highest records for executions, and adding his name to the list would be his claim to fame.

Just like his sorry old man’s name would have gone on the list if he hadn’t developed lung cancer. Hell, the state had decided to save their money and the publicity. Killing a dying man just didn’t seem worthy.

His bones creaked and his muscles ached as he unfolded his body from the floor and stood. The scars on his arms and chest looked stark and ugly in the thin stream of light seeping through the slats of the barn.

He’d always been a fighter, but prison had hammered in those instincts and made him better at it. Meaner. Tougher. Harder. Unrelenting.

He would use those skills now to find out who’d framed him, put him in jail and ruined his future.

Then he’d get on with his life.

A desolate emptiness filled him at the thought. What life? He’d lost it all the minute the police had slapped the handcuffs on him.

Even before that, he’d been on a downward spiral. He’d had a major rift with his two best friends, who were now rich and owned their own spreads. He’d drunk himself into bar fights and jail more than once before he was incarcerated and earned a reputation that meant no one would hire him if he tried to get a job.

And now his old man was dead, but his ranch had gone belly-up and the bastard hadn’t even had the courtesy to will it to him. It was one last dig into his soul that said how much his father had hated him.

Outside, the sounds of the ranch burst to life. The gentle summer breeze fluttering the leaves on the trees. The noise of trucks cranking as workers started the day. The hush of a mare’s tail swishing flies.

All sounds he’d missed and yearned for daily. Anything to replace the clank of metal chains, keys unlocking cell doors, feet padding in rhythm as the prisoners were led to the mess hall like cattle to the trough.

Well aware he’d return to that mundane life if he didn’t make use of his time, he peeked through the crack in the door to see if the coast was clear. Cows grazed in the lush pastures, two geldings galloped across the flat ranch land, their hooves pounding the grass. The sound of a truck’s engine rumbled down the dirt drive.

Maybe it was Frank Dunham, his buddy from the pen who had landed a job at the Bucking Bronc Lodge. Dunham had owed him and helped him hide out here for the past two days, but if the police found out, Dunham’s parole would be revoked and he’d go back to jail.

Carter didn’t want that on his conscience.

Sweat beaded on his neck as he watched the truck blaze a dusty trail toward the barn. No, not Dunham’s. This truck was black, had shiny new chrome wheels, was newer.