The farther north Jacklyn drove, the more restless Dillon became.
He’d hoped the years had changed him, had at least taught him something about himself. But this place brought it all back. The betrayal. The anger. The aching need for vengeance.
“I’m sorry, where did you say we were going?” he asked. Jack, of course, hadn’t said.
“Your old stompin’ grounds,” she said.
That’s what he was afraid of. They’d gone from the motel to pick up a horse trailer, horses and tack. He couldn’t wait to get back in the saddle. He was just worried where that horse was going to take him. Maybe more to the point, what he would do once he and Jack were deep in this isolated country, just the two of them.
Big Sky Standoff
B.J. Daniels
MILLS & BOON
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This one is for Harry Burton Johnson Jr. Who knows how different our lives would have been had you lived.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
B.J. Daniels’s life dream was to write books. After a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist, she sold thirty-seven short stories before she finally wrote her first book. That book, Odd Man Out, received a 4½-star review from Romantic Times BOOKreviews and went on to be nominated for Best Harlequin Intrigue of 1995. Since then she has won numerous awards, including a career achievement award for romantic suspense.
B.J. lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, two springer spaniels, Spot and Jem, and an aging, temperamental tomcat named Jeff. When she isn’t writing, she snowboards, camps, boats and plays tennis.
To contact B.J., write to her at P.O. Box 1173, Malta, MT 59538, e-mail her at [email protected] or check out her Web site at www.bjdaniels.com.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Dillon Savage—The rustler had a few plans of his own when the woman who’d put him in prison broke him out for a special assignment.
Jacklyn Wilde—She was gambling her career—and her life—by teaming up with the charming cattle rustler.
Shade Waters—The elderly rancher was about to do something that he knew could get him killed.
Nate Waters—The son of the richest rancher in central Montana, he wanted the one thing he couldn’t seem to get—his father’s respect.
Sheriff Claude McCray—He had his reasons for wanting to see Dillon Savage back in prison, and one of them was a woman.
Tom Robinson—The rancher was hanging on by a thread. If he lost any more cattle he would go under.
Buford Cole—The ranch hand had been as close to Dillon Savage as anyone.
Halsey Waters—His death had left a hole in a lot of people’s lives.
Arlen Dubois—He had a habit of talking too much. But then again, no one listened, so what did it hurt?
Pete Barclay—The cowboy was a lousy liar. But was that all?
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
Dillon Savage shoved back his black Stetson and looked up at all that blue sky as he breathed in the morning. Behind him the razor wire of the prison gleamed in the blinding sunlight.
He didn’t look back as he started up the dirt road. It felt damn good to be out. Like most ex-cons, he told himself he was never going back.
He had put the past behind him. No more axes to grind. No debts to settle. He felt only a glimmer of that old gnawing ache for vengeance that had eaten away at him for years. An ache that told him he could never forget the past.
From down the road past the guardhouse, he saw the green Montana state pickup kicking up dust as it high-tailed toward him.
He shoved away any concerns and grinned to himself. He’d been anticipating this for weeks and still couldn’t believe he’d gotten an early release. He watched the pickup slow so the driver could talk to the guard.
Wouldn’t be long now. He turned his face up to the sun, soaking in its warmth as he enjoyed his first few minutes of freedom in years. Freedom. Damn, but he’d missed it.
It was all he could do not to drop to his knees and kiss the ground. But the last thing he wanted was to have anyone know how hard it had been doing his time. Or just how grateful he was to be out.
The pickup engine revved. Dillon leaned back, watching the truck rumble down the road and come to a stop just feet from him. The sun glinted off the windshield in a blinding array of fractured light, making it impossible to see the driver, but he could feel the calculating, cold gaze on him.
He waited, not wanting to appear overly anxious. Not wanting to get out of the sun just yet. Or to let go of his last few seconds of being alone and free.
The driver’s side door of the pickup swung open. Dillon glanced at the ground next to the truck, staring at the sturdy boots that stepped out, and working his way up the long legs wrapped in denim, to the firearm strapped at the hip, the belt cinched around the slim waist. Then, slowing his eyes, he took in the tucked-in tan shirt and full rounded breasts bowing the fabric, before eyeing the pale throat. Her long dark hair was pulled into a braid. Finally he looked into that way-too-familiar face under the straw hat—a face he’d dreamed about for four long years.
Damn, this woman seemed to only get sexier. But it was her eyes that held his attention, just as they had years before. Shimmering gray pools that reminded him of a high mountain lake early in the year, the surface frosted over with ice. Deeper, the water was colder than a scorned woman’s heart.
Yep, one glance from those eyes could freeze a man in his tracks. Kind of like the look she was giving him right now.
“Hi, Jack,” he said with a grin as he tipped his battered black Stetson to her. “Nice of you to pick me up.”
STOCK