B.J. Daniels - Corralled

Logan liked her attitude. He just wasn’t sure he believed she could go from being rich and famous to being poor and unknown.

“Anyway, it probably doesn’t matter,” she added with a toss of her head.

“What do you mean, it probably doesn’t matter?”

Again she looked away. He reached over to turn her to face him again. “What aren’t you telling me? What was the real reason you ran away with me?”

“I told you. It was my girlhood fantasy to run away with a cowboy,” she said.

He shook his head. “The truth, Blythe.”

She swallowed, her throat working for a moment, then she sat up a little straighter as if steeling herself. “I think someone has been trying to kill me.”

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 at www.bjdaniels.com.

Corralled

USA Today Bestselling Author BJ Daniels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This is for my little brother, Charles Allen Johnson

who, like the rest of the Johnson family, has always

given me something to write about.

As he heard the music, he slowed his Harley, the throb of the engine catching the beat coming from the out-of-the-way country-western bar.

His kind of place.

He had been headed back to his hotel before that. But drawn to the music, he parked his motorcycle out front and pushed through the door into the dimly lit room. A clamor of glass and conversation competed with the band onstage.

Like him, most everyone inside was dressed in jeans and boots. The dance floor was packed, the air scented with beer and perfume as he stepped up to the bar and ordered a cold one.

Later he would recall sensing her presence even before he turned, a draft beer in hand, and first laid eyes on her.

He shoved back his Stetson, leaning against the bar, as she made her way through the crowd on the dance floor as if heading for the door. Her tight jeans hugged her hips as they swayed to the music, her full breasts pressing into the fabric of her Western shirt.

His gaze went to her boots, a pair of fancy Tony Lama’s so fresh out of the box that he could almost smell the new leather. That alone would have made him steer clear. Then he saw her face. It wasn’t classically beautiful or even unusual enough to hold most men’s attention.

No, but her expression of total bliss caught him like a well-thrown lasso. She stopped him in his tracks as he watched her. She was clearly lost in the music and he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

When she finally looked up, her gaze locked with his. Her eyes were the color of worn jeans, her lashes dark and thick like her hair cascading from beneath her straw cowboy hat. She’d tied her hair back with a red ribbon, but loose tendrils had escaped and now framed her face.

As she started past him, impulsively he stepped in front of her. “I think you owe me a dance.”

Her lips turned up in an amused smile. “Is that right?”

He nodded and, leaving his leather jacket on the bar stool, took her hand. She didn’t put up a fight as he led her out onto the dance floor as one song ended. If anything, she seemed curious.

“You sure you can keep up with me?” she said challengingly as a fast song began.

He grinned, thinking the woman had no idea who she was dealing with. He was Montana born, raised on country music and cowboy jitterbug. But to his surprise, she had no trouble staying with him, giving back everything she got. He loved the way she moved with the music, all grace and sexy swing.

Everything about her surprised and thrilled him, especially the way they moved together. It was as if they were one of those older couples he’d seen in Montana bars who had danced together for years.

When the song ended and a slow dance began, she started to draw away, but he dragged her back and into his arms. She looked at him, that challenge still lighting those washed-out blue eyes of hers.

“What makes you think I don’t have friends I need to get back to?” she asked as he pulled her closer, the two moving as one to the sweet sounds coming off the guitar player’s strings.

“Why would you want to go back to them—if there really are people waiting for you—when you can dance with me?”

She laughed. It had a musical quality that pulled at him just as he’d been drawn to the bar band earlier.

“You are quite full of yourself,” she said as if not minding it all that much.

He shook his head. “I just know there is nothing I want to do tonight but dance with you,” he said honestly.

She grew serious as the song ended and another boot-stomping tune began. Her gaze locked with his as he let go of her.

“Up to you,” he said quietly. Her answering smile was all invitation.

He took her hand and whirled her across the middle of the dance floor as the music throbbed, the beat matching that of his heart as he lost himself in the warm spring night, the music and this woman.

He made only one mistake as the band took a break not long before closing. He offered to buy her a drink, and when he turned back, she was gone.

As he stepped to the front door of the saloon, he was in time to see her pull away in an expensive silver convertible sports car, the top down. She glanced over at him as she left and he saw something in her expression that made him mentally kick himself for not getting her number. Or at least her name.

As she sped off, he walked back to the bar to finish his drink. He told himself that even if he had gotten her number or her name, he was only in Bigfork until tomorrow. He had to get back home to the ranch and work. But damned if he wouldn’t have liked to have seen her again.

When he pulled on his leather jacket, he felt something in the pocket that hadn’t been there earlier. Reaching his hand in, he pulled out a key. It wasn’t like any he’d ever seen before. It was large and faux gold and had some kind of emblem on it. He couldn’t make it out in the dim light of the bar, but he had a pretty good idea who’d put it in his jacket.