www.millsandboon.co.uk

      BARBARA MCCAULEY,

      who has written more than twenty Silhouette romances, lives in Southern California with her own handsome hero husband, Frank, who makes it easy to believe in and write about the magic of romance. McCauley’s stories have won and been nominated for numerous awards, including the prestigious RITA^® Award from the Romance Writers of America, Best Desire of the Year from Romantic Times and Best Short Contemporary from the National Reader’s Choice Awards.

      To Melissa Jeglinski, the best editor an author could ever hope to have. Thanks for keeping me focused, for trusting me, for making me laugh and, most especially, for just being you. This one’s for you!

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      One

      Rand Sloan had a reputation.

      In fact, depending on who you asked and their gender, he had several. If you were a man, then bastard, hardheaded and bad tempered were a few of the words used to describe Rand. If you were a woman…

      Well, there were so many words. Amazing. Incredible. And certainly the most popular overall—extraordinary.

      But if there was one thing that everyone agreed on, men and women alike, it was that Rand Sloan was the best damn horse trainer in the entire state of Texas.

      At thirty-two he had an edge to him, as if he’d already done and seen more than any other man his age. On Rand, though, the lines that etched the corners of his coal-black eyes and firm mouth only added to his appeal. His hair, thick, shiny and black, fell untamed down his neck. More often than not, his strong, square jaw bore the same dark stubble. He never hurried—a fact greatly appreciated by the women who knew him—and he always carried his entire six-foot, four-inch, lean, hard body with purpose.

      Self-control and discipline were critical to Rand. When a man worked with a wild horse, those attributes could mean the difference between a nasty bruise or a broken leg. Even between life and death. Untamed horses were inconsistent and unpredictable, a few of the animals even teetered on the precipice of insanity. But all they needed was a little coaxing, a little patience, and he could pull them back, give them self-respect. Make them whole again.

      Perhaps that was why he’d been drawn to wild horses, Rand thought absently. Why he’d chosen his profession—or why it had chosen him. Because he understood what those animals were feeling.

      Because there were days, too many, when he also stood on that precipice.

      “Here we go, sweetheart,” he murmured as he led Maggie Mae out of her stall. The mare nuzzled the front pocket of his denim shirt, looking for a treat. He gave the animal a thick slice of crisp apple, rubbed the blaze of white on her forehead, then clipped her bridle to a ring on the redwood post outside her stall. The horse was small, but feisty and smart, a pretty two-year-old sorrel who would be auctioned off with the rest of the livestock and equipment when Rand’s mother put the ranch up for sale next month.

      Ignoring the hot, San Antonio breeze that swept through the barn, Rand set about his work. Work always cleared his mind, gave him balance. Today he needed that balance more than he’d ever needed it before.

      It wasn’t every day a man found out that his entire life—or at least his life from the time he was nine years old—was a complete lie.

      That Seth and Lizzie, his precious little Lizzie, were not dead. They were alive.

      Alive.

      That one word wrapped around his chest like a steel band and squeezed. Alive. His brother and sister were alive.

      Dust swirled around him as he raked numbly at the old straw, then replaced it with new. After he’d read the letter this morning from Beddingham, Barnes and Stephens Law Offices in Wolf River, Texas, he’d shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans. He hadn’t looked at it since, but he knew every sentence, every comma, every word by heart.

      But only one sentence mattered to him, only one that kept running through his mind, over and over…

      Seth Ezekiel Blackhawk and Elizabeth Marie Blackhawk, son and daughter of Jonathan and Norah Blackhawk of Wolf River County, Texas, were not killed in the car accident that claimed the lives of their parents…

      There were dates and the usual legal mumbo-jumbo, requests to contact the law firm as soon as possible in order to discuss the estate. But what the hell did he care about an estate? Seth and Lizzie were alive.

      Seth would be about thirty now, Rand knew. Lizzie maybe twenty-five or six. Over the years, Rand had never allowed himself to think about his sister and brother or the night of the accident. But there were