Rosemary Carter - A Husband Made In Texas

“I’m asking you to many me.” “I’m asking you to many me.” An intense emotion showed in Kaitlin’s face; it was in her eyes, in the sudden trembling of her lips. Flynn held his breath as he waited for her to speak. But when she did so, her voice was contemptuous. “Marry you?” In that moment there was the sound of her mother in Kaitlin’s tone. The sound of that well-bred Southern beauty in whose eyes Flynn Henderson had never been and could never be anything more than a simple cowboy. “Why not?” he asked mockingly. About the Author Rosemary Carter was born in South Africa, but has lived in Canada for many years with her husband and her three children. Although her home is on the prairies, not far from the beautiful Rockies, she still retains her love of the South African bushveld, which is why she likes to set her stories there. Both Rosemary and her husband enjoy concerts, theater, opera and hiking in the mountains. Reading was always her passion, and led to her first attempts at writing stories herself. Title Page A Husband Made in Texas Rosemary Carter www.millsandboon.co.uk CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN Copyright

“I’m asking you to many me.”

An intense emotion showed in Kaitlin’s face; it was in her eyes, in the sudden trembling of her lips. Flynn held his breath as he waited for her to speak.

But when she did so, her voice was contemptuous. “Marry you?”

In that moment there was the sound of her mother in Kaitlin’s tone. The sound of that well-bred Southern beauty in whose eyes Flynn Henderson had never been and could never be anything more than a simple cowboy.

“Why not?” he asked mockingly.

Rosemary Carter was born in South Africa, but has lived in Canada for many years with her husband and her three children. Although her home is on the prairies, not far from the beautiful Rockies, she still retains her love of the South African bushveld, which is why she likes to set her stories there. Both Rosemary and her husband enjoy concerts, theater, opera and hiking in the mountains. Reading was always her passion, and led to her first attempts at writing stories herself.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

FIVE years to the day since he had left the Mullins ranch, Flynn Henderson was back. He had left the ranch on a horse, all his worldly possessions contained in two bags. He returned piloting his own plane and with a document worth a small fortune in his hip pocket.

As he brought the plane around in a great sweeping circle, he saw a flash of red and brown on the range beneath him. Round he went again, lower this time, only just clearing the tops of the trees, flying over brushlands and cattle and stretches of mesquite. And there it was again, clearer this time, that same red and brown. Only now he could see that the brown was the colour of a cantering horse, red the colour of its rider’s blouse.

One more circle. And then he was bringing the plane to the ground, unerringly, expertly, knowing just where to land—even though he had never landed a plane there before. Through the cockpit window, still some distance from the airstrip, he saw the horse and its rider.

Would Kaitlin remember the promise he had made the last time he had seen her?

Opening the door of the plane, he leaped lithely to the ground. The horse was moving quickly. Leaning nonchalantly against the side of the plane, Flynn waited.

He could see her clearly now: the girl on the tall brown horse, blond hair streaming behind her. Memories flooded back as he watched her. He had forgotten her litheness in the saddle, the sensuous ease with which she rode, almost as if she had been born on a horse, as if she had ridden before she had walked. Which in a sense she had done, because—so legend had it—her rancher father bad put her in front of him on his saddle from the moment she could sit.

At the edge of the airstrip, she reined in her horse. Seconds later she was running towards him. Flynn, who had thought himself hardened against all emotion, found himself sucking in his breath as she came nearer, reedslender—had she always been quite so thin?—and graceful as a gazelle.

His mouth hardened as he remembered the promise he had made, and the reason for it. Five years ago they had humiliated him, Kaitlin Mullins and her parents, without compassion, without any thought to his feelings. Lovely Kaitlin, with whom—stupidly—he had imagined himself in love. On the day he left, he had vowed to come back here as owner of the ranch.

It was only more recently that he had thought of completing his revenge by laying claim to the daughter as well as the ranch. Once the idea came to him it took hold: Kaitlin Mullins would be his!

There had been bad times, rough times, days when he had been tempted to give up his plans. But always, the decision to own the ranch had given him strength and reinforced his ambitions. He had come a long way in five years, he thought wryly.

‘Hello, Kaitlin,’ he said.

She stopped quite still. She was tall for a woman, but at six and a half feet he towered above her, and he saw the way she tilted her head back to look at him.

Expressions came and went in her lovely almond-shaped eyes: shock, surprise, and something else, an expression that was difficult to read.

‘Can it be...? Flynn...?’ The words emerged slowly, almost painfully. In seconds her cheeks were drained of colour, and she seemed to sway on her feet. There was a part of Flynn that wanted very badly to reach out and steady her—but he didn’t

‘Flynn.’ Her voice shook. ‘It is you!’ She was visibly shaken.

Drily, he said, ‘Yes, Kaitlin, it’s me.’

She came up close to him. ‘My God, I don’t believe it!’

Abruptly, he stepped out of her reach. ‘Why is it so hard to believe?’

Kaitlin must have registered the rebuff, for the colour returned to her cheeks. ‘You’re the last person I expected. And in a plane...’

‘It isn’t unusual for Texans to fly, Kaitlin.’

‘I know that. But you’re a cowboy, Flynn.’

He laughed mockingly. ‘And cowboys don’t fly?’

‘I didn’t mean—’

‘What did you mean?’ he asked deliberately.

Now that she was over her initial shock, Kaitlin was beginning to look angry, too. ‘You know what I meant, Flynn, you always did.’

‘You could be right. Let’s try this. Cowboys are lowly, sweaty beings who know all about horses and cattle, but very little about anything else. When they go anywhere, it’s usually on horseback. Pick-up truck or bus if need be. Planes and the people who fly them exist in a different world. Your world, Kaitlin. How am I doing so far?’

Her hands clenched at her sides as she took a step backwards. ‘It’s so long since we last saw each other. We should be catching up, not exchanging angry words.’

‘How long exactly, Kaitlin? Do you know?’

His gaze searched the small oval-shaped face, lingering on eyes that were as green as the grass after a good spring rain, and on tendrils of fair hair shot with gold; on skin that was fresh and glowing, as if she had already spent hours riding through the brushlands, and on sweetly curved lips that seemed to have been made for a man’s kisses. A potent combination.

And yet, familiar as she still was to him, he could see she had changed. The Kaitlin he remembered had had the soft slightly rounded figure of a girl soon to leave her teens: she was so thin now, and very tanned. Her body had a wiry look, that made her look athletic. Hair which used to curl around her head was drawn back in a long pony-tail, with just those few tendrils escaping onto her forehead. The clothes she wore were basic, with no concession to fashion: plaid shirt, a pair of faded jeans, and on her head a Stetson to protect her from the fierce Texas sun.