Mari smiled at him so trustingly that Russ’s heart turned over.
If she was an impostor, she wasn’t the only one. After all, he was pretending to be something he wasn’t.
Russ wasn’t what she thought he was—just a cowboy who was interested in her. Interested was putting it mildly, but the undercurrent of is-she-or-isn’t-she-the-missing-heiress flowed continuously beneath the surface.
Gathering Mari to him, Russ impulsively covered her mouth with his, doing his best to put all he felt into the kiss.
Doing his best to bury his suspicions…
Dear Reader,
Around this time of year, everyone reflects on what it is that they’re thankful for. For reader favorite Susan Mallery, the friendships she’s made since becoming a writer have made a difference in her life. Bestselling author Sherryl Woods is thankful for the letters from readers—“It means so much to know that a particular story has touched someone’s soul.” And popular author Janis Reams Hudson is thankful “for the readers who spend their hard-earned money to buy my books.”
I’m thankful to have such a talented group of writers in the Silhouette Special Edition line, and the authors appearing this month are no exception! In Wrangling the Redhead by Sherryl Woods, find out if the heroine’s celebrity status gets in the way of true love…. Also don’t miss The Sheik and the Runaway Princess by Susan Mallery, in which the Prince of Thieves kidnaps a princess…and simultaneously steals her heart!
When the heroine claims her late sister’s child, she finds the child’s guardian—and possibly the perfect man—in Baby Be Mine by Victoria Pade. And when a handsome horse breeder turns out to be a spy enlisted to expose the next heiress to the Haskell fortune, will he find an impostor or the real McCoy in The Missing Heir by Jane Toombs? In Ann Roth’s Father of the Year, should this single dad keep his new nanny…or make her his wife? And the sparks fly when a man discovers his secret baby daughter left on his doorstep…which leads to a marriage of convenience in Janis Reams Hudson’s Daughter on His Doorstep.
I hope you enjoy all these wonderful novels by some of the most talented authors in the genre. Best wishes to you and your family for a very happy and healthy Thanksgiving!
Best,
Karen Taylor Richman
Senior Editor
The Missing Heir
Jane Toombs
To Vickie Slavik, Milissa Anderson and Christine Scheel—who love and work with horses.
JANE TOOMBS
was born in California, raised in the upper peninsula of Michigan and has moved from New York to Nevada as a result of falling in love with the state and a Nevadan. Jane has five children, two stepchildren and seven grandchildren. Her interests include gardening, reading and knitting.
Dear Reader,
What ifs? are a writer’s constant companion. One of mine was: What if a woman suddenly discovered those who’d raised her from a newborn hadn’t told her the truth about her birth? This is how Marigold Crowley was born in my mind. I knew Mari had to be strong and resilient to handle such an unsettling surprise. I decided a loving but do-your-share ranch upbringing would give her the backbone to deal with the shock and, also, when the time came, to help her try to discover who she really was.
Because Mari never lost sight of her own integrity, she was a delight to write about as she not only navigated the chancy waters of legality, but at the same time had to sail carefully through the dangerous straits of learning about love.
Jane Toombs
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
Epilogue
Chapter One
R uss Simon hated what he was doing, but he knew he had no choice. None at all. As he turned the rental car off U.S. 395 onto a secondary blacktop road, he thought again that it’d been a stroke of luck to spot that ad in the Big Nickel newspaper someone left at the Reno café where he’d had breakfast. “Draft mare for sale, fifteen hands high, all offers considered.” After all, horses were his business. He fervently wished they were all that concerned him at the moment.
The May afternoon was warm, and the familiar scent of lilacs drifted in his open window, reminding him of his farm back east. So far he liked what he’d seen of northern Nevada. Good horse country. If things were different he just might consider buying some land around here.
When he rounded the next corner, the first mailbox he saw had Crowley Ranch lettered on the side, so he turned into the gravel driveway, heading for the blue-roofed house and stables set back among a clump of old cottonwood trees. As he neared the buildings, he looked around for the draft horse, but was distracted by a young rider who was winding an Arabian horse in and out among a series of barrels set up in the field next to the stables.
He was even more distracted when a young woman sitting on the top rail of the fence shouted, “Way to go, Yasmin!” She raised her broad-brimmed hat in a salute to the girl, revealing bright golden hair. Marigold Crowley, beyond a doubt. His quarry.
Russ pulled up beside the stable and left the car, sauntering over to the fence. “Am I speaking to the owner of the draft mare?” he asked.
Glancing at him, the woman nodded. “Be with you in a minute or two. Yasmin and I are almost finished with this session.”
Her husky voice seemed to settle somewhere in his bones as his gaze took in her delightfully trim figure. Watch it, Simon, he warned himself. This damn situation is complicated enough without you lusting after the woman.
Settling himself on the rail beside her, he forced his attention to the girl, who was riding what he realized was a truly magnificent Arabian gelding. Yasmin, who looked to be no older than six, handled the horse as though born in the saddle. If Ms. Crowley had trained the girl—her daughter?—then she was to be complimented on her teaching ability.
“You were almost perfect today,” Marigold told Yasmin when she dismounted and started to lead the Arabian toward the stables. “Stan’ll help you take care of Sheik. Then there’s milk and cookies in the kitchen while you wait for your mother to pick you up.”
Not her child, then, Russ thought. He jumped down from the rail and held a hand toward Marigold, but she smiled and slid off without his assistance. Were her eyes really the color of sherry or was he imagining it?
“So you came about the ad,” she said.
“I did.”
“Lucy’s in the far paddock. This way.”
Russ followed her, trying not to notice the enticing sway of her jean-clad butt. What the hell was wrong with him today? He could take or leave any woman, and this one was certainly off-limits. He lengthened his stride until he walked even with her.
“Lucy’s