Margot Dalton - New Way to Fly

Amanda was so angry she could hardly control the shaking in her voice. “You think I’m just trying to impress other people.”

Brock’s dark eyes were calm as he looked around the cold, abstract apartment she called home. “Yeah,” he drawled. “I think you’ve decorated this place for effect. I can’t believe it’s your own taste.”

“Oh, really. We exchanged a few words at a party and that makes you an expert on me?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Brock said quietly. “But the minute I met you, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. I also thought there was more to you than a few inches of style and glamour. After all, how could I have been wrong for all those years?”

“What do you mean, ‘all those years’?”

“Forget it,” Brock said abruptly. He drained his glass. “I meant something else. Thanks for a nice evening. I won’t be bothering you again.”

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Special thanks and acknowledgment to Margot Dalton for her contribution to the Crystal Creek series.

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Sutton Press Inc. for its contribution to the concept for the Crystal Creek series.

Dear Reader,

“Harlequin’s new special series called Crystal Creek wonderfully evokes the hot days and steamy nights of a small Texas community…impossible to put down until the last page is turned.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

By now, romance readers across North America have come to know and love the inhabitants of Crystal Creek. At the Double C, we’ve witnessed joy and sorrow and Texas grit. At the Hole in the Wall, ingenuity and surprising reunions. At the Flying Horse, there’ve been hard times and desperate measures. In this volume, come on out to the Double Bar, where rancher Brock Munroe is holding body and soul together…with the help of the unforgettable Alvin. Amanda Walker, shopper extraordinaire, is the last person you’d expect to transform Brock’s life…or Mary Gibson’s, for that matter. But Margot Dalton weaves these characters’ lives together with a deft touch that will charm you, just as she did in Cowboys and Cabernet and Even the Nights Are Better.

And have you heard the news? Many readers have written to tell us that, once immersed in Crystal Creek, it’s hard to leave. Well, now you don’t have to! The terrific popularity of this series has prompted us to bring twelve new Crystal Creek titles your way! The series will continue with more wonderful romance created by the authors who first brought Crystal Creek to life, and Penny Richards and Sandy Steen will also be contributing new novels and characters to the continuing saga of Crystal Creek. Watch for them every month, wherever Harlequin books are sold.

Stick around in Crystal Creek—home of sultry Texas drawls, smooth Texas charm and tall, sexy Texans!

Marsha Zinberg

Executive Editor, Crystal Creek

One of the most appealing things about Texas people is their deep love for their animals, all the way from horses to house pets. I even noticed that sentiment creeping into my books on a number of occasions, including some where the animals almost take over the story (in much the same way that Texas animals rule the hearts and households of their owners). And for those of you who may wonder after reading this book, Alvin isn’t my dog. He’s actually a composite of many, many dogs I’ve met in my life. In fact, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you see a bit of your dog in him!

Margot Dalton

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

RICH AUTUMN SUNLIGHT spilled over the hills and valleys of Central Texas, dancing on the slow-moving river and touching the rolling acres with gentle fingers of gold. The noonday sky was high and endless, the air as crisp and clear as champagne. Far overhead, a red-tailed hawk rode the soft wind currents, rising and wheeling with effortless grace.

In a small corral pen of weathered split logs, a man straightened, wiped his hot face with his forearm and glanced up at the circling hawk.

“See that?” he muttered to the animal that lay trussed and heaving on the ground in front of him. “They’re lookin’ for you, pal. Another few days and you’d have been breakfast for those guys.”

The calf rolled his eyes and bellowed in agony. He was a large Brangus bull calf, destined someday to be a heavy thundering monster of an animal. At present, though, he was still plump and blocky, with an appealing baby look to his big dark eyes and a short blunt nose that bristled cruelly with porcupine quills.

The black-tipped quills protruded at all angles, giving the calf’s head the comical appearance of a big furry pincushion. But there was nothing funny about the anguish in his dark liquid eyes, or the strangled bellows of pain that issued regularly from his mouth.

“Pore little fella,” Brock Munroe muttered, gazing down at the calf, pliers dangling from his hand. He squinted up at the hawk again, then leaned against the corral rail to rest for a moment before returning to his unpleasant task.

He was a tall broad-shouldered man in his mid-thirties with a lean hard-muscled body, a handsome tanned face and a head of crisp springing dark hair that glinted warmly in the midday sunlight. A worn plaid work shirt rested easily on his wide shoulders, the seams bleached almost white by the sunlight, and faded jeans fitted snugly over his lean hips and long muscular legs.

Brock dropped to one knee beside the trembling calf to check a half hitch in the twine that held the little animal’s legs knotted in position. Then, frowning with grim concentration, he clamped the pliers onto another quill.

“This won’t take long now, pal,” he murmured to the calf. “I already got all the bad ones. These others are loose already, an’ they’ll just come out like butter. See?” he added, holding a quill aloft in the metal jaws of the pliers and brandishing it before the calf’s rolling dark eyes.

Brock worked doggedly, his big callused hands surprisingly gentle as he labored to extract the barbs from the calf’s soft nose.

“Next time,” he muttered, “you better listen to your mama, okay? I bet she told you not to mess with those porcupines. But did you listen? Oh, no. Just like all kids, had to learn the hard way, didn’t you?”

His deep gentle voice seemed to have a soothing effect on the animal. Gradually the calf’s trembling and straining lessened until he lay still on the dusty ground, his damp sides heaving, his neck outstretched in weary resignation.

“Now, that’s the way to do it,” Brock praised him, gently working out the last of the quills.

“That’s a real good boy. You just lie still a minute longer, an’ we’ll…”

He paused, reaching behind him for a bottle of yellow liquid disinfectant, which he uncapped and poured liberally over the animal’s swollen bleeding nose. The calf bleated loudly in surprise and outrage, gave the big man a wild reproachful look and tried frantically to struggle to his feet.

Brock chuckled at the animal’s look of pain and indignation. “That stuff smarts a bit, don’t it?” he said cheerfully. “I guess I shoulda warned you.”