More Than A Cowboy. Peggy Nicholson
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“I always had a weakness for a woman with a guilty conscience.”
“Oh!” Tess spun around. Her horse spooked and stepped sideways.
In the shadows below the cliff Adam slouched in the saddle of his black mare. His smile gleamed like the Cheshire cat’s. “What brings you over my way?”
“I’m just out for my afternoon ride,” she said casually, leaning down to pat his bloodhound. “And what are you doing up here? Lose a cow?”
“I’m looking for rustlers, trespassers—or anybody who speaks English instead of Dog. You know there’s a toll for using this trail, don’t you?”
Her heartbeat fluttered in her throat. How did Adam do this to her with just a look? “Th-there is?”
“Yep. You have to come to my cabin and let me make supper for you. And you have to say something besides ‘woof’ while I cook it.”
“I…don’t know if that’s such a…good idea.”
“Goodness never even crossed my mind,” he assured her huskily. “Still, that’s the forfeit and it’s got to be paid.”
This was crazy. At best, Adam Dubois would complicate her life, which was complicated enough already.
And at worst?
His grin was wicked. Welcoming. She wondered how he’d kiss.
Dear Reader,
Well, here you have it, the sixth book in my series about the imaginary town of Trueheart, Colorado, and its surrounding ranches. You may remember Tess Tankersly from The Wildcatter. Last time we looked in on her, she was a mischievous twelve-year-old. A passionate bird-watcher and horse lover, Tess was barely starting to discover that most fascinating beast of all—man.
Thirteen years later (as time is measured in Trueheart), Tess is ready to meet her own alpha male. Not that she’s precisely looking, you understand. Tess has a couple of woebegone lynx on her hands—and one short summer in the high country to help these endearingly big-footed cats learn to survive in the wild. But can Tess survive the attentions of a mysterious, maddening cowboy named Adam Dubois?
You might also recall Adam from True Heart. He was the line camp cowboy whom rancher Tripp McGraw saw as dangerous competition in his courtship of Kaley Cotter. Now Adam’s back, and it turns out he’s much more than a smiling Cajun cowboy. He’s a moonlighting detective, with a mystery to solve and an elusive woman to chase.
So there are hearts for the capture and the game is afoot. Hope you enjoy it!
Peggy Nicholson
More Than a Cowboy
Peggy Nicholson
This one’s for Amy Mower the cat-lady
and her surly half-pint lynx
CONTENTS
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
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
AUTHOR’S AFTERWORD
CHAPTER ONE
“OH, SWEETIE! Oh, baby! Oh, you poor thing!” Tess Tankersly crouched before the pen and laced her fingers through the metal mesh. “How could they do this to you?”
The furry shape huddled at the far end of the cage didn’t open its eyes. Lying in a filthy nest of shredded newspaper, the big cat looked dead at first glance. Its ribs and shoulder blades and hipbones stood out starkly below the matted pelt.
Was it even breathing? Tess drew her nails along the mesh—and was rewarded with the faintest quiver of one black-tasseled ear. “You don’t belong in there,” she crooned to the animal. “Locked away from the sunshine. No snow to run through. No trees to climb. This isn’t right! Not right at all.”
She sat back on her heels and looked up at the hand-lettered sign wired to the top of the home-built cage.
Danger! Look, but don’t touch!
Canadian Lynx. Killer of the North Country!
“Yeah, right. Bunny rabbits, beware.” Tess leaned forward again to peer through the wire.
A free spirit of the forest and mountains imprisoned in a box so small it could barely turn around! Tess doubted the lynx could have stood upright in there.
But was it even well enough to stand? Tess had grown up on a ranch. She knew a sick animal when she saw one—the harsh coat, the hunched misery.
She had never been able to bear cruelty to animals. Hated to see wild things caged. Normally you couldn’t have dragged her to a roadside petting zoo, for fear of sights just like this. But one of her pickup’s tires had gone flat a few miles back toward Albuquerque. Although she’d changed to her spare, with two hundred miles to go between her and home, and a forecast of a late-spring snowstorm for this evening, she’d thought it wiser to stop and have the flat repaired at the first gas station she came to.
Killing time till the mechanic could get to her job, she’d made the mistake of following the signs that beckoned from across the two-lane country highway. Hazeltine’s World-Famous Petting Zoo promised
Adorable, Exotic Animals!
Thrilling Beasts and Hideous Reptiles!
Hug the Llamas and Hold the Rabbits!
There wasn’t a child in all of New Mexico who would’ve allowed his hapless parents to drive past that sign without stopping. And even at twenty-five, Tess still had a child’s delight in animals. Growing up far from the nearest town, she’d had more friends with four legs than two. So she’d paid her dollar admission and entered the dimly lit, dingy concrete-block building that housed Hazeltine’s zoo.
And past the not-so-huggable llamas—llamas bored enough to spit—then the pen of black-and-white goats who begged for treats and nibbled at the hem of her jacket… Beyond three cages of resigned rabbits and a cracked aquarium housing a surly bull snake mislabeled as a Deadly Diamondback Rattlesnake! she’d come at last to this…this outrage.
She gazed around, angry words leaping to her lips as the proprietor shuffled up behind her. “This cage is too small. And your lynx, Mr. Hazeltine, just look at him! He’s sick.”
“She. Ol’Zelda’s just taking a catnap, missy. She don’t get lively till sunset.”
“No, sir, I’m sure she’s ill. See how her eyes are running? And her nose? And clearly she hasn’t been eating. I’m a wildlife biologist, and believe me, you’ve got a sick animal here. She needs a vet.”
Bristles rasped as he rubbed his weathered