FRAMED!
For years after the suspicious death of his wife, single dad Wyatt Monroe isolates himself on his Wyoming ranch...until hes accused of murder. With a body at his doorstep, hes arrested and Wyatt has only one hopea blue-eyed, blond bodyguard. But itll take more than skill for work-obsessed Jackie Blain to save her reluctant client, who just wants to be left alone. Shell have to gain his trust by keeping him and his daughter safe. With their lives in her hands, Jackie is faced with her toughest assignment eversaving the cowboy and guarding her heart.
On the surface Jackie looked sweet, almost fragile....
But Wyatt had glimpsed the hard steel beneath that soft exterior. A bodyguard. Who wouldve thought it?
So tell me about the dead man, she said.
I didnt kill him.
Didnt say you did.
He pointed to a dirt road up ahead. Take a left.
Jackie turned, her gaze straying to the rearview. Were being followed.
He might think the woman was paranoid or crazy. But considering this morning hed found a dead body on his porch and spent the past seven hours in jail, he wasnt going to doubt her. Sticking his head out the window, he strained to listen. A motorcycle.
Hang on! She stomped on the brake and twisted the wheel, sending the truck into a spin and coming to a halt facing the way theyd come. Their headlights swept over an oncoming motorcycle...moving at a good clip and heading straight for them.
TERRI REED
At an early age Terri Reed discovered the wonderful world of fiction and declared she would one day write a book. Now she is fulfilling that dream and enjoys writing for Love Inspired Books. Her second book, A Sheltering Love, was a 2006 RITA® Award finalist and a 2005 National Readers Choice Award finalist. Her book Strictly Confidential, book five in the Faith at the Crossroads continuity series, took third place in the 2007 American Christian Fiction Writers Book of the Year Award, and Her Christmas Protector took third place in 2008. She is an active member of both Romance Writers of America and American Christian Fiction Writers. She resides in the Pacific Northwest with her college-sweetheart husband, two wonderful children and an array of critters. When not writing, she enjoys spending time with her family and friends, gardening and playing with her dogs.
You can write to Terri at P.O. Box 19555 Portland, OR 97280. Visit her on the web at www.loveinspiredauthors.com, leave comments on her blog, www.ladiesofsuspense.blogspot.com, or email her at terrireed@sterling.net.
The Cowboy Target
Terri Reed
www.millsandboon.co.uk
MILLS & BOON
Before you start reading, why not sign up?
Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!
SIGN ME UP!
Or simply visit
signup.millsandboon.co.uk
Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.
But Jesus called the children to him and said,
Let the little children come to me,
and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. I tell you the truth,
anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.
Luke 18:16,17
To my childrenyou are the joys of my life.
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
Dear Reader
Questions for Discussion
Excerpt
ONE
There was a dead man on his porch.
Wyatt Monroe looked into the mans beaten face. Dried blood covered his body in dark splotches. Purple bruises mottled his skin. Lifeless eyes stared back at Wyatt.
Recognition rocked him back on his heels.
He grabbed his cell from his back pocket and dialed 911. His gaze scanned the buildings of his ranchhis foremans house, the hay barn and stables, the equipment shed, feed shedand the Wyoming landscape beyond, searching for the threat. Snow swirled in the air and covered the pastureland spread out over the sixty-thousand-acre ranch.
All appeared quiet and undisturbed on this brisk March morning.
Lane County Emergency Department, the female operator answered. Whats your emergency?
Eleanor, this is Wyatt Monroe.
Hey, Wyatt. Whats wrong?
He could picture the older woman whod been manning the towns emergency line for longer than he could remember. But that was life in Lane County, Wyoming. Predictable and steady. The way he wanted his life to be. Sans dead bodies.
Is Gabby okay?
The concern in Eleanors voice wrapped around Wyatt and squeezed. Too many people in this town wondered if his little girl was safe with him. Three years after his wife, Dina, had died, he couldnt escape the speculation and suspicion. Even from her grave she was wreaking havoc with his life.
That was what women did. They wormed their way into a guys heart and then stomped all over it. His mother had done it to his father. Dina had done it to Wyatt.
Never again.
His gaze lifted to the second floor of his family home. The dormer window with the pink, frilly curtains was closed to protect his four-year-old from the winter weather.
But how protected could she be if someone had dumped a body on his front porch so callously?
Gabbys fine, he said, assuring himself as much as Eleanor. Its George Herman.
Eleanor snorted. Whats that rascal gone and done now?
Wyatts gaze strayed back to the bloodied, lifeless body of his ranch hand. Gaping wounds littered his torso. Bruises covered his face. The skin of his knuckles had been scraped raw. Poor George.
It was no secret Wyatt and George hadnt seen eye to eye on most things. But the man had been a hand on the Monroe Ranch since Wyatt had been old enough to sit a horse. Wyatt couldnt bring himself to fire him. He and Dad had been friends. And George didnt have anyone or anyplace else to go.
Got himself killed. A shudder worked through him. He worked to keep his voice calm. I found him on my front porch.
Death was a part of life. He knew that. Hed dealt with more than his share. But still...
The silence on the line was as loud as a shotgun blast.
Wyatt swallowed back the memories of the last time hed had to make an emergency call. The night Dina had died. The night the town had turned on him, accusing him of murder.
A burn spread through his belly. Her death had been an accident. But few believed him. Including his own mother. Which solidified his belief that women couldnt be trusted with his heart.
Ill inform the sheriff, Eleanor stated with a decidedly cool tone to her voice.
Appreciate it, he said and hung up.
The front door opened behind him with a barely discernible squeak. Wyatt pivoted and strode toward Gabby, her sweet, freckled face peering through the crack in the doorway.
Daddy?
He shooed her back inside with a wave of his hands. Its too cold for you to come outside in your jammies. He stepped inside the warm house and firmly shut the door behind him. His daughter didnt need to see the horror on the porch.
Gabby lifted her arms. I want pancakes.
When Penny comes over, Im sure shell make you some pancakesif you ask politely. He glanced at the clock. His pulse still thundered like the horses he bred. Penny would be here any minute. His foremans wife watched Gabby during the day while Wyatt worked.
Swinging Gabby into his arms, he carried her into the living room and deposited her on the worn brown leather couch. For now, why dont you snuggle up under this blanket? He tucked a fussy blue blanket around her tiny body. As a special treat today, you can watch some TV before breakfast.
Her bright green eyes lit up. Barney!
The favorite of every preschooler. He kissed the top of her curly red head before turning on the television and tuning into the channel with the big purple dinosaur. Gabby, I need you to stay right here, okay?
She didnt answer. Her attention remained captivated by the singing character on the screen.
Love for this little child pierced his heart. He searched her sweet face. She looked so much like Dina, the same red hair, the same freckled nose and emerald eyes. He didnt see any of himself in Gabby. Like a knife, the thought sliced as deeply as it always did when he let his mind travel down that perilous road.
A scream from outside split the air. Wyatt flinched. Penny had arrived. Hed hoped to get back out front before shed walked over. One last glance at Gabby assured him she was too engrossed in her show to have heard the scream. He hurried out the front door.
Penny Kirk clutched a hand over her mouth and held on to the porch railing with the other. Beneath the bright red wool cap pulled low over her graying hair, her lined face was pale, her eyes wide with shock.
Grimly stepping over George, Wyatt went to Penny and steered her away from the sight of the dead man. Her scream had brought others pouring out of the outer buildings.
Pennys husband, Carl, ran to his wifes side. His untucked plaid shirt flapped against his denim-clad thighs, and white shaving foam covered half of his face. What happened? Are you hurt? He wrapped his arm around Penny.
George, she said and broke into tears.
Wyatt met Carls gaze. Gesturing with his head, he announced, Hes dead. On the porch.
Carls gaze widened. Wyatt saw the questions, the suspicions, and knew this was just the beginning of what promised to be a mess.
Wyatt recaptured Pennys gaze. Gabbys inside watching TV.
Pennys eyes filled with horror. Did she...?
Wyatt shook his head. Thankful for that.
Penny blew out a breath of relief. Ill go to her.
Grateful to the older couple whod virtually adopted him and Gabby as family, Wyatt knew he and Gabby wouldnt have fared well without them over the years. Theyd come on board the ranch before Wyatts dad passed on, had witnessed the turmoil of Wyatts marriage and had stepped in as surrogate grandparents for Gabby as soon as she was born. Dina had resisted their help, but Wyatt thanked God for them every day.
The sound of tires coming up the snow-packed gravel drive drew Wyatts attention. The sheriffs brown sedan pulled to a stop. Two deputy cars and the medical examiners van pulled in behind him.
Wyatt went to meet the law officer, who was climbing out of his vehicle.
Sheriff Craig Landers was tall and broad shouldered beneath his brown leather jacket and tan uniform. His salt-and-pepper hair poked out from the curled edges of a tan Stetson. His sharp gray eyes took in everything. The crowd of ranch hands circling the front porch, the body lying at the top of the stairs. And Wyatt.
Forcing himself to stand taller, Wyatt met his stepfathers gaze head-on.
Wyatt.
Sheriff.
The older mans eyes narrowed. Give me the lowdown.
I came out front about twenty minutes ago and found George just as he is.
You didnt move the body, did you?
No. Wyatt had learned the hard way that contaminating a crime scene would only make him look guilty. At least, it had with Dina. Hed tried to give her CPR. Her blood had ended up on his clothes. For some, that was enough to label him responsible for her death.
Thankfully, Wyatt had God and a lack of incriminating evidence on his side. He could only hope and pray God would see him through this ordeal, too.
Good. Landers strode forward. Okay, everyone back away. Let Andrew through, he said, indicating the medical examiner.
Wyatt watched as Andrew, an older man with a full beard and wire-rimmed glasses, examined the body.
George had been ornery and arrogant, but he didnt deserve to die. Who would do this? And why leave him on Wyatts porch?
Wyatt, you understand we have to search the grounds. Landerss voice broke through his thoughts. The sheriffs voice held a note of compassion.
Knock yourself out, Wyatt stated. He didnt have anything to hide. And he intended to be right on their heels doing a search of his own. Nobody harmed one of his people. Tell your boys to be mindful of Gabby. Shes in the living room watching television.
Sheriff!
Wyatt turned toward where a deputy stood beside the open door to Wyatts dark blue truck. Winter sunlight glinted off the object the deputy held up with a gloved hand.
The air left Wyatts lungs in a rush.
His steel-bladed hunting knife, covered in blood.
* * *
Jackie Blain punched the freestanding, heavy black bag. Jab, jab with the right hand. Whack with her left elbow. Right foot roundhouse kick. Jab, jab. Whack. Kick. She focused on the punching bag with single-minded attention. For the moment, she was in the heat of battle against an imaginary assailant wanting to part her from her client. Not happening on her watch. Ever. That was why she trained two to three hours a day. At least, every day that she wasnt on an assignment.