His thumb brushed her chin. “I see you were able to clean up.”
“You, too.” She smiled, quite aware that he was still touching her. She stood motionless so as not to break the connection.
“You’re awful pretty.” His gaze moved from the flat plane of her chest bared by her neckline to her mouth. His eyes darkened.
She remembered that look! And the answering flutter in her stomach. Before she realized it, she had taken a step toward him.
“Damn.” He shifted closer too, muttering, “Ought to kiss you and see if you remember that.”
His voice was so low she barely caught his words, but when she did a wave of heat flushed her body. Nervous now, she let her tongue come out to moisten her lips and a nearly pained look came over his face.
For a split second she thought he might kiss her. She wanted him to because she suddenly, shockingly, recalled the feel of his mouth on hers. She wanted to feel it again….
About the Author
Like many writers, DEBRA COWAN made up stories in her head as a child. Her BA in English was obtained with the intention of following family tradition and becoming a schoolteacher, but after she wrote her first novel there was no looking back. An avid history buff, Debra writes both historical and contemporary romances. Born in the foothills of the Kiamichi Mountains, Debra still lives in her native Oklahoma with her husband.
Debra invites her readers to contact her at PO Box 30123, Coffee Creek Station, Edmond, OK 73003-0003, USA, or visit her website at: www.debracowan.net
Previous novels by this author:
WHIRLWIND BABY
WHIRLWIND BRIDE
Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
AUTHOR NOTE
This is the eighth and final book in my Whirlwind, Texas series. As such, I had a difficult time writing this letter. It took me a while to realise that the reason I had so much trouble knowing what to say is because I’ve ‘lived’ in Whirlwind for almost ten years.
The series was originally conceived as three books, but I soon discovered there were other characters with stories to be told. Over the last couple of years I’ve had quite a lot of mail about the romance of Bram Ross and Deborah Blue, so it seems fitting to end the series with their story. These two are destined to be together, but before they can have a future they have to deal with their past, and Deborah doesn’t remember it—or Bram—at all. I hope you find their story as special as I did.
This series has been a delight, and these people have become like family to me. It is my wish that they have brought you a fraction of the joy they brought to me.
Happy Trails!
Whirlwind Cowboy
Debra Cowan
To all the readers who love Westerns
as much as I do and so enthusiastically embraced the Whirlwind series—this one’s for you.
Prologue
West Texas May 1886
The sharp crack of gunshots still echoed in Bram Ross’s ears as he urged his horse away from the shoot-out at the Eight of Hearts ranch. Wincing, he wiped at the blood running down his right cheek. He could smell it on the warm May air.
Only minutes ago Bram and his friends had been in a confrontation with a band of cattle rustlers and the man who had given them their orders. Dr. Annalise Fine had been smack in the middle of it. Thankfully, she was unhurt and safe now with Matt Baldwin.
The sheriff and two other men were taking the dead bodies of the outlaws and their boss back to Whirlwind.
Only one man had gotten away.
Now Bram rode hell-for-leather after Cosgrove, the snake who had slithered off in a hail of bullets after one of his shots had plowed a furrow in one side of Bram’s face. He barely kept his fury in check as he followed Cosgrove’s tracks southwest across the prairie from Eight of Hearts land and onto the Baldwins’ property.
Considering how many men had been firing weapons, it was lucky only the outlaws had been killed.
Bram was beyond angry that Cosgrove had escaped. He had more than one score to settle with the rustling bastard. The skunk hadn’t only injured Bram, he had stolen so many Circle R cattle that Bram’s family had come close to losing their ranch.
In moments he reached Ross land, passing the small cabin his brother had spruced up last year before his wedding. Grass and dirt flew from under his gelding’s hooves as they thundered across the prairie. Bram realized Cosgrove was headed toward the west edge of Circle R property.
And the house where Deborah Blue lived with her mother and three sisters.
Why was the lowlife going this way? Foreboding snaked up Bram’s spine. Did it have anything to do with Deborah? It was no secret that Cosgrove was interested in her, but to come here on the run from the law and Bram? The closer he got to the house, the harder his gut churned.
Though the tracks stopped a good distance from the roomy log house, Bram urged his mount there anyway. If Cosgrove was fool enough to stop here, he wasn’t leaving. Bram quietly dismounted, pulled his rifle from his scabbard and slipped carefully to the corner of the house. No sign of anyone in the garden at the side of the house or in the corral or barn. No one riding through the tall prairie grass behind. There was no sound from inside and no one answered his knock.
If Cosgrove had stopped here, maybe no one had been home. The tightness across Bram’s chest eased slightly—until he heard the rattle of an approaching wagon. He raised his rifle, then quickly lowered it when he saw Mrs. Blue in her wagon with three of her four daughters. No sign of Deborah among them.
His gut knotted. Instead of waiting for the women to reach him, Bram strode toward them.
Recalling the row he’d had with Deborah last night, he wondered if perhaps she hadn’t answered his knock because she was still angry.
“Hello, Bram.” Deborah’s mother, a tall, thin woman, gave him a wobbly smile. Seeing his bloody cheek, she drew in a sharp breath. “Are you all right? What happened?”
“I’m fine, ma’am.” He yanked off his hat, quickly explaining that there had been trouble at one of the neighboring ranches.
There was no sign Cosgrove had been here, no sign that Deborah had left with the bastard. So where was she? “Deborah isn’t with you?”
“No,” Jessamine Blue said. “She stayed here while the girls and I went to town.”
Apprehension drummed through him. “I knocked, but got no answer.”
Mrs. Blue frowned, touching the knee of the raven-haired daughter beside her. “Jordan, go check the house.”
The sister closest to Deborah in age, with the same black hair and blue eyes, allowed Bram to help her from the wagon, then hurried inside.
He had just handed down the older woman when Jordan returned with a piece of paper. She sent Bram an uncertain look before reaching her mother. “She’s gone! She left a note.”
Gone? For