Lynnette Kent - The Prodigal Texan

“Just walking a lady home.”

“I am home. This whole spread is my home.”

“You never know what might come out in the dark.” He covered the distance to the back porch, opened the door to the house and ushered her in.

“Thanks for letting me watch the foal be born tonight,” he said.

She turned to face him again. “You’re welcome. At least you weren’t totally useless. You made the phone calls, and you brought my coat.”

Jud laughed. “So happy to be of service, Ms. Mayor.

Aren’t you glad you changed your mind and let me stay in the foreman’s cabin here?”

“I guess so. But keep out of my way,” she said, retreating to the shadows within, “unless you want me to change it back again.” The thud of the house door punctuated her order.

“Not a chance,” Jud said softly, walking across the open ground toward the foreman’s cabin. “I’m not leaving until my business here in Homestead is done.”

He glanced over his shoulder just as a light upstairs winked out. “And that business, Miranda Wright, definitely includes you.”

Dear Reader,

My first job out of college involved physiology laboratory research, which was every bit as dull as it sounds. To perk up the day, we listened to the radio while we worked; since this was Nashville, Tennessee, the station of choice often played country music. One day a colleague of mine—obviously not a fan—complained that “every country music song talks about Tennessee or Texas!”

And why not? Texas, especially, has earned a preeminent place in the American legend, with the Alamo and the Rio Grande, with ranchers, Rangers and rustlers, with cattle drives and, yes, country-and-western music. I’ve enjoyed writing a story set against this unique and romantic background, particularly in a series with four equally unique and romantic Harlequin Superromance authors.

As The Prodigal Texan, Jud Ritter returns to Homestead, Texas, only to discover how much about his hometown remains the same. Most folks—including his own brother—still believe the lies that circulated about him all those years ago. If Jud is to redeem his reputation, he’ll have to prove to the people of Homestead just how much he has changed.

Mayor Miranda Wright has worked long and hard to transform her beloved town for the better. Now she must count on Jud Ritter to save Homestead from oblivion. Can she trust this onetime bad boy with the town’s safety? Should she trust him with her heart?

I hope you have a good time with Miranda and Jud and the folks in Homestead, Texas. Please feel free to write me at PMB 304, Westwood Shopping Center, Fayetteville, NC 28314, or visit my Web site at www.lynnette-kent.com.

Happy reading!

Lynnette Kent

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Kathleen

An editor in a million

With many thanks

I’m grateful, as well, for the chance to work

with Roxanne Rustand, K.N. Casper, Linda Warren

and Roz Denny Fox in developing the

HOME TO LOVELESS COUNTY series.

From brainstorming to nailing down the

smallest details, you folks were creative,

cooperative and downright fun!

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

May

THE DAY STARTED WITH A FUNERAL.

By five o’clock, Miranda Wright had endured as much neighborly nosiness, listened to as many insinuations and waded through all the close-minded arguments she could stomach. With a slam of the door and a twist of the key, she abandoned her Wright for Mayor campaign office, skipped town without speaking to a single prospective voter and took the long way home. With luck, a breezy ride through the wide-open Texas countryside would restore her peace of mind.

Since the meandering back road she traveled led pretty much nowhere except to her farm, she was surprised to come over a rise and find a black truck parked on the shoulder at the bottom of the slope. Engine trouble, maybe. And no cell phone would work in the deep trough between the two hills.

Despite her mood, Miranda did the neighborly thing and stopped a few yards behind the tailgate of the black Ford 250. No flat tires evident, no smoking engine. Just the driver, sitting motionless at the wheel. Sick? Disabled? Dangerous?

Wishing she could replace her navy funeral suit and high-heeled shoes with jeans, boots and a rifle, she stepped up to the driver’s window. “Everything okay?”

Then she saw who she was dealing with.

“If it isn’t Ms. Mayor-to-be,” Jud Ritter said, giving her his one-sided smile. “How’s it going?” He took a swig from a half-empty whiskey bottle. An identical bottle lay on the passenger seat. Empty.

“Hey, Jud.” The man had attended his mother’s funeral this morning. He had a right to drown his sorrows, but not behind the wheel. “What are you doing out here in the wilderness? You should be at home with your dad and Ethan.”

He barked a laugh. “Not likely, Ms. Mayor-to-be. ‘Don’t bother coming back,’ was the phrase, as I remember it. ‘You don’t belong here.’” He helped himself to another drink, then held out the bottle. “Want some?”

“Sure.” Miranda took it, stepped back and poured out a golden stream of whiskey. The sharp tang of liquor rose from the pavement. As she handed him the empty bottle, Jud stared at her, eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a straight line.

Finally, he shrugged. “That’ll teach me to be polite.” Groaning, he stretched an arm down into the foot well on the passenger side. “Good thing I know my limits.” He sat up again with a third bottle in his hand and proceeded to break the seal.

That was so like him—Homestead’s most infamous bad boy, a law unto himself, always finding a new way to flout the rules and make somebody mad. The citizens had heaved a collective sigh of relief when he’d left town after high school.

Miranda opened the truck door. “Come on, Jud. Get out. You can’t drive under the influence of two quarts of whiskey.”

“I know that,” he said, stepping down to the road. He staggered a little, then caught his balance. “I’m an officer of the Austin police department. I wouldn’t drive drunk, even in this redneck refuge.”

She gritted her teeth against the insult. “You can’t just park here until you’re sober, either. Who knows what could happen?” Why she even cared was a question Miranda couldn’t answer. She and Jud had squabbled and snapped and sniped at each other the entire twelve years they’d been in school together. The most humiliating moments of her adolescence had Jud Ritter’s name attached.

“Nothing’s gonna happen.” He looked at her, his brown gaze as guileless as a little boy’s. “I’m not bothering anybody as long as I’m parked on public property. I’ll spend the night under the stars, like a good cowboy should. Come morning, I’ll take my hangover and head back to Austin.”

Leaving the driver’s door open, he sauntered to the back of his truck, let down the tailgate and hitched himself up to sit on the edge. Miranda reached into the cab and took the keys out of the ignition, guaranteeing he wouldn’t be going anywhere till she decided he could. She’d give them back in the morning when he’d be suffering, but sober.

“Have a seat,” Jud said. “It’ll be a nice sunset in just a little while.”