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Leanne Coulton needed help. Her brother was missing somewhere in Oregon’s Blue Mountains, and the last person to see him alive was a cynical, rugged tavern owner who seemed determined to make her life miserable.
The minute Nick Garrett set his eyes on Leanne, he smelled trouble. The kind of trouble he’d buried himself in the backwoods to escape. He felt obligated to help her, however, and sure enough trouble followed - in the shape of evil thugs, a ruthless villain, and most dangerous of all, a longing for Leanne that he was helpless to deny.
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Excerpt:
From the shadows at the back of the barroom, Nick Garrett watched the slender, elegant woman cross the worn carpeting to the bar. He’d seen plenty of women like her. One too many. But he’d never seen one here in the Blue Bucket Saloon. He knew money when he saw it. That cream silk blouse and tan skirt had never graced the pages of a Sears catalog, and he’d bet his best pair of boots that those were diamonds flashing at her ears.
He recognized the type, all right. He’d had more than his fill of that kind of trouble. Not that he actually had anything against money. After all, without it, he would never have hung on to the Blue Bucket, every last weather-beaten, broken down timber of it. No. It was the people who had too much of it that he despised. The people who used it and abused it and sold their souls for it. He forced his mind off his memories and concentrated on the woman instead.
She was attractive, if you went for that fine-boned, delicate look. Personally he preferred them a little more robust, and hungry. Wry amusement flicked across his rugged features, softening the hard planes of his face, as he imagined her cool elegance lying warm and eager in his bed.
No way, José. Stick to your own kind -- you knew where you were with them. One night of hot passion and on your way. No commitments, no regrets, and no one gets hurt. And, if a part of him deep inside suggested that he could be missing out on something important, he ignored it. To listen to it could mean exposing himself to risks, and Nick Garrett no longer took any risks.
His hard, navy-blue eyes narrowed as he saw her say something to Dan, her voice inaudible against the throbbing beat from the radio. Dan, his barman and longtime friend, sent him a glance.
She was arguing. She had her back to Nick now, but he saw the toss of her head, the impatient gesture of her hand. Again Dan caught his eyes, his brows raised in question.
Nick hesitated, then eased his long, muscular body away from the wall and prowled across the floor.
Lee stared at the pudgy-faced, balding barman in frustration. The last thing she wanted to do was sit in this stuffy, smoke-filled room, breathing in fumes of stale beer and body odor. She could feel the calculating stares directed at her back, and sensed the knowing nudges of the coarse-looking men crowding the bar.
More than anything, she wanted to turn around and walk out of this sordid little shack and breathe the hot summer air outside until she purged her lungs. But she couldn’t do that. Simon needed her, and she wouldn’t let him down. She struggled to regain the courage that had allowed her to walk into the bar in the first place.
“All right!” she said, raising her voice against the thump of country music. “If he’s not here and you don’t know where he is or when he’s expected, then I’ll sit her and wait for him. Or are you going to object to that, too?” She glanced up irritably at the speakers hanging on the yellowed walls. Her head throbbed with every foot-stomping beat. She snapped her eyes back as the barman spoke again.
“Suit yourself, lady. There’s no law says you can’t sit there all night if that’s what you want. Till two a.m., that is. Then we close.” And you’re out, his expression implied.
Lee’s chin lifted defiantly. “Then I’ll come back tomorrow. And the next day. Sooner or later your Mr. Nick Garrett will have to show himself.”
“And then what?”
The deep drawl had come from behind her and Lee swung around, her pulse quickening as she met the probing eyes of the man who towered over her. He wasn’t quite what she’d expected, though she wasn’t sure what she had expected. Someone older and, she realized with a quiver of awareness, someone not quite so attractive.
This man had to be somewhere in his mid-thirties and was wide-shouldered and lean-hipped, with a face that would definitely turn heads. His shirt and his close-fitting jeans were clean, and she could forgive the shadowed jaw.
“You’re Nick Garrett?” She almost wished he weren’t.
“I am.”
“You’re a difficult man to find.” He made no comment, and Lee fidgeted with the strap of her purse. “I’m Leanne Coulton,” she announced, and, when that elicited no response, added, “My brother is Simon King.”
She’d surprised him, she saw. The expression was fleeting but unmistakable. “I’d like to talk to you,” she said, “someplace where I don’t have to shout to be heard.”
At first she thought he was going to refuse, then he twisted on his heel, beckoning her to follow. He led her into a small office and shut the door, muffling the noise from the bar.
A scarred desk littered with papers stood before a narrow window. Lee saw Nick’s brief gesture and sat down on the aging chair, resisting the impulse to brush off the dust. The faded curtains diluted the sunlight, shading the room, and she felt a sharp longing to be back in the plush security of the Royal King. Damn Simon. What had he gotten her into?
She watched Nick move away, and she took the opportunity to run her eyes over his body. He was in peak condition, judging by the lack of surplus flesh. His long legs confined by the faded jeans displayed muscles that were well developed. Aware that she’d been staring, Lee looked up hastily as his legs disappeared behind the desk.
Nick ran a hand through his thick hair and looked at the woman seated opposite him. It was hard to believe this elegant creature was Simon’s sister. Brown eyes, olive skin -- a direct contrast to Simon’s blond, blue-eyed looks, though it had been hard to tell what Simon looked like beneath that beard of his.
Coulton, her name was. That meant she had to be married. What the hell was her husband doing letting her wander into places like this on her own?
He allowed his gaze to slide over her well-shaped body. She was taller than most women he knew, and pleasantly curved in all the right places.
When he met her eyes again, he knew she wasn’t entirely unaffected by him, and unexpectedly, desire curled its fingers low in his belly.
“Does your husband know where you are?” he asked abruptly. The words were out of his mouth before he’d realized he intended to say them.
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