There have been times in my life when I’ve jokingly said, ‘I wish I could start all over again—change my name, my location … go someplace where no one knows who I am.’ That got me thinking. What if, for reasons not of my choosing, I had to do all those things? What if I wound up in the wrong place at the wrong time and my life was put in danger—or the lives of my loved ones? Could I do it? Give up everything and assume a new identity?
That’s what hippotherapist Trisha Bolton must do when she enters a witness protection programme and finds herself in a new town with a brand-new name. She’s not allowed any contact with those from her past and has learned the hard way that it’s better not to trust anyone—not even neurologist Mike Dunning, whose quiet intensity puts her on guard from their very first meeting. Yes, there are sparks erupting between them, but it’s better not to become too attached—because at any moment her past might just catch up with her.
Thank you for joining Trisha and Mike as they navigate the waters of trust and betrayal and learn the true meaning of new beginnings. I hope you enjoy reading about these very special characters as much as I loved writing about them.
Love
Tina Beckett
His Girl From Nowhere
Tina Beckett
MILLS & BOON
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To my three children. Each of your births marked a new beginning. I love you very much.
‘… a tension-filled emotional story with just the right amount of drama. The author’s vivid description of the Brazilian jungle and its people make this story something special.’
—RT Book Reviews on DOCTOR’S GUIDE TO DATING IN THE JUNGLE
‘Medical Romance™ lovers will definitely like NYC ANGELS: FLIRTING WITH DANGER
by Tina Beckett—for who doesn’t like a good forbidden romance?’ —HarlequinJunkie.com
Contents
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
SOMEONE WAS IN her barn.
At least, according to her horse’s soft nicker there was. Balancing the bay gelding’s right rear hoof on her thigh, Trisha Bolton paused, the curved metal pick in her hand coming to a halt as she listened. Great. It had taken a couple of firm nudges to get Brutus to lift that last leg so she could finish scraping the debris from the bottoms of his hooves. She didn’t want to signal she was done until she actually was. Because she doubted he’d co-operate a second time—even for a chunk of carrot.
Brutus snuffed, a huge exhalation of sound, and shifted his weight. Maybe he was just impatient to be let out to graze with the other horses.
“Steady, boy.” She readjusted her grip so his hoof didn’t slide down her thigh and drop onto her foot. “We’re almost done.”
“Hello?” she called out, just in case. “I’m over in the cross ties.”
No one responded.
She frowned as she caught the soft sound of footsteps at the far end of the concrete aisle between the stalls, heading her way. So there was someone here. The shoes were quiet, making little sound, each step planted carefully. Not rubber-soled quiet like a tennis shoe, but not the defined click of a riding boot either.
Five miles south of Dusty Hills, Nevada, her little chunk of land lay at the very end of a quarter-mile dirt track. Not the kind of place someone just happened upon. If you found her operation, it was because you came looking for it. And she didn’t have a client at all today, which meant...
Oh, Lord. Roger?
She swallowed hard, then forced herself to relax. No, he’d been moved to Virginia. Would be there for a very long time, according to the courts.
Today was their third anniversary, though. It would be just like him to reach out and remind her that he was still a part of her world, no matter how many miles separated them.
Brutus would be able to see whoever was here from his position at the front of the stall. Trisha, however, still hunched over his back hoof, had her choice of two lovely views: the slatted back wall of the grooming area or her horse’s muscular backside. She could take her pick.
She tried again. “Who’s there? Larry?”
Her barn helper wasn’t scheduled to muck out the