Vicki Thompson - Boone's Bounty

Shelby began to quiver in anticipation. Embarrassed by how shaky she felt, she put both hands behind her back and leaned against the wall, pretending to be casual but desperately needing the support.

“Shelby.” Boone’s voice was strained. “Don’t lean like that.” His gaze lingered on her breasts, and his breathing grew ragged.

She realized that her attempt to be casual had resulted in her breasts thrusting out in what looked like an invitation. She hadn’t done it deliberately, but as she noticed his agitation—and the evidence of his arousal—her nervousness began to disappear.

And she discovered something very wicked about herself. Now that he’d said he wasn’t in love with someone else, she was ready to play on his weakness for her.

“Tell me to go away, Shelby.” His attention became fixed on her mouth. “For God’s sake, don’t look so ready to be kissed. You’re driving me crazy, you know that.”

“I know.” Meeting the challenge in his eyes, she moistened her lips and parted them, teasing him with a sultry look. “Drive me crazy, too, Boone. Just one last time….”

Dear Reader,

Willie Nelson tells us that mamas shouldn’t let their babies grow up to be cowboys. I suppose he’s entitled to his opinion. Personally, I wouldn’t look forward to a world without cowboys, which is where Willie’s advice might take us. I think I could round up a number of women who would agree with me.

Take Boone Connor. (And I’m sure plenty of us would love to.) Six feet five inches of lean, muscular cowboy. Boone’s a perfect example of why Willie should rethink his position. I’m extremely grateful Boone’s mama let him grow up to be a cowboy. Dressing that yummy man in a business suit would be a crying shame.

As my miniseries THREE COWBOYS & A BABY continues, Boone is daddy prospect number three. Like Sebastian (in #780 The Colorado Kid) and Travis (in #784 Two in the Saddle), Boone’s positive he’s baby Elizabeth’s father. But is he? Watch for the conclusion of the series when That’s My Baby!, a Harlequin single-title release, comes out in September. One thing you can count on: Elizabeth’s daddy will turn out to be…a cowboy!

Warmly,

Vicki Lewis Thompson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To the Goddesses of the Temptation e-mail loop, who coached me on the care and feeding of three-year-olds. You’re the best!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

SNOW.

Boone Connor sighed and switched on the wipers. Didn’t it just figure he’d hit a late-season snowstorm on his way over Raton Pass. Damn. It was nearly June. The snow should be gone by now. But his luck had been running that way lately.

And this didn’t promise to be one of those wimpy storms that sifted down from the clouds like cake flour and dusted the pine trees so they looked like a Christmas card. This wasn’t the kind of snow that blew off the road like white sand. Nope. This was a serious, drifts-to-your-crotch, black-ice-on-the-curves kind of storm. His truck tires were already losing traction.

The roadblock didn’t surprise him, but it sure frustrated the hell out of him. His old king-cab could make it through anything, and he sure was anxious about getting to the Rocking D to see that baby. His baby, most likely. The idea that he probably had a kid still made him dizzy. He couldn’t quite believe the baby was real, and setting eyes on her would help anchor his thoughts.

But Smoky was about to throw a crimp in his plans, obviously.

Boone rolled down his window and snow blew in, nipping his cheeks with cold. He ignored the discomfort and tipped up the brim of his Stetson so he could look the cop in the eye while he tried to make a case for getting past those orange and white barriers.

The patrolman, bundled to the teeth, looked up at Boone. “I’m afraid you’ll have to turn back, sir.” His breath fogged the air. “Road conditions are bad up ahead and getting worse by the minute.”

“My truck’s gots four-wheel drive, Officer,” Boone said, although he didn’t expect that information to make any difference. “And I’ve driven this road hundreds of times. I need to get to Colorado right away.”

“I understand that, sir.” The patrolman didn’t sound particularly understanding. He sounded as if he was sick to death of standing in the cold reciting this speech to unhappy folks. “But we can’t let you take a chance on that road until the storm’s over and the snowplow clears it. With luck we’ll be able to let people through tomorrow morning.”

“Hell.”

“There’s a little motel and café about three miles back,” the patrolman added, stomping his booted feet.

Boone knew the place. He’d stopped there for coffee a few times, but hadn’t bothered this trip because he’d been trying to outrun the snow. He’d never stayed at the motel. He mostly liked driving straight through until he got to where he was going. The motel wasn’t very big, as he recalled. Ten or twelve units, maybe.

He glanced up at the patrolman. “How many people have you sent there?”

“A few. But I expect most of them drove on back to Santa Fe. The motel’s clean, but not exactly the Plaza.” The patrolman glanced past Boone’s truck. “I’ll have to ask you to move your vehicle, sir. There’s someone behind you.”

Boone glanced in his rearview mirror and saw the small white sedan, its fog lights picking out the flakes and causing them to sparkle while the rest of the car was nearly invisible in the swirling snow. Now that vehicle had no business trying to maneuver down the road ahead, but Boone still thought he could make it with no sweat. Still, he knew a losing battle when he saw one. He put the truck in gear and swung it around to the other lane.

As he paused to roll up his window, he glanced over at the sedan. Its window slid down, and he caught a quick glimpse of the driver—young, blond and female. With her hair caught up in a funky ponytail on top of her head, she looked even younger than she probably was. His irritation with Smoky eased a little as he considered how vulnerable that woman would have been if no one had set up a roadblock to protect her from doing something stupid.

He heard her arguing hotly with the officer, and he shook his head in amazement. Yep, without that roadblock, she’d have done something real stupid. She’d have ended up a statistic for sure, off in a snowbank, frozen solid.

He rolled up his window and headed back down toward the motel, still marveling at how naive that woman was, thinking she’d drive that little bitty compact over a snow-choked mountain pass. Better to have the roadblock, even if it meant he’d get delayed, than to leave greenhorns like that free to take chances with their lives.

WHEN SHELBY MCFARLAND first saw the roadblock, she panicked, sure that Mason Fowler had reported her to the police. But no, the barricades were on account of the weather. The patrolman wanted her to turn back.

But turning back meant possibly heading toward Mason, who by now could be in hot pursuit. She abandoned her usual caution.

“You don’t understand,” she said to the officer standing beside the car. “I must get through. The road can’t be that bad!”

“I’m afraid it is, ma’am. You wouldn’t stand a chance with this light vehicle.” He leaned down and looked into the car. “And I’m sure you wouldn’t want to take any risks with that little guy. You a Spurs fan, son?”