By Catherine Anderson
He Longed for... Race Spencer's gunslinging days are a long way in the back of him. he's now a rugged, first rate rancher, yet it is a solitary existence. Then destiny leads Race to an earthbound angel—lost and on my own' the only real survivor of an outlaw attack—and even his hardened center is moved. He sweeps the ivory-skinned good looks into his palms and contains her clear of chance. a lady to Cherish whilst blameless Rebecca Morgan wakes up in a stranger's include, her lifestyles has been replaced eternally. Race's contact makes her blood sing and stirs up feelings in her she by no means knew existed. yet this guy has a fearsome acceptance. And although her existence might depend upon him, can she belief him? Is it love she sees in her rescuer's darkish eyes.? Race Spencer's gunslinging days are a long way at the back of him. he's now a decent racher, yet it is a solitary lifestyles. yet then destiny lead Race to an earthbound angel—lost and on my own, the only survivor of an outlaw attack—and even his hardened middle is moved. He sweeps the ivory-skinned good looks into his hands and includes her clear of probability. whilst blameless Rebecca Morgan wakes up in a stranger's embody, she is aware her lifestyles has been replaced without end. although Race's contact makes her blood sing and stirs up feelings in her she by no means kenw existed, she is familiar with this guy has a fearsome recognition. And even though her lifestyles may well depend upon him, she does not comprehend if she will be able to belief him. Can it quite be love she sees in her rescuer's darkish eyes?
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Folks would talk about it for years to come. Not that he was all that worried. If he was guessing right and she was a cheek turner, killing went against her religion. Besides, he seriously doubted she had what it took to shoot someone. Three things had kept Race alive to see the ripe old age of thirty: being able to draw a gun faster than a man could spit and holler howdy, having the sense to choose his battles, and being a good judge of character. There was a gentleness in this young woman that ran bone-deep.
Smiling slightly, he rasped his fingertips on the whiskery stubble that shadowed his jaw. â€œI must look like hell,â€•he said. â€•As he lowered his hand, he heaved a weary sigh. â€œWe gotta talk this out, Rebecca. â€• Talk it out? She just wanted him to go away and leave her alone. He nudged the brim of his hat back, his gaze trailing slowly over her face. â€œI reckon the first thing I wanna do is lay all the cards out on the table. â€• She didnâ€™t want to be dealt with, she thought frantically, especially not by him.
That she was safe. Assuring her that he was sorryâ€”for not reaching the arroyo in time to stop the killing, for not knowing how to help her afterward, and for doing a damned fool thing like falling asleep beside her and scaring her half to death. At some pointâ€”Race wasnâ€™t sure exactly whenâ€”she stopped resisting his hold on her, and once she did, he let go. She sank against him then, her face buried in the hollow of his shoulder, one of her fine-boned hands curled in a loose fist over the front of his shirt.