Under Montana’s big sky, two lovers will find their way back to one another…if an unsolved murder doesn’t pull them apart forever….
In Big Timber, Montana, land and family is everything. So when Destry Grant’s brother is accused of killing Rylan West’s sister, high school sweethearts Destry and Ryan leave their relationship behind in order to help their families recover from tragedy.
Years later, Destry is dedicated to her ranch and making plans for the future. Plans that just might include reuniting with the love of her life…until her brother returns to clear his name and the secrets of the past threaten her one chance at happiness.
Rylan is done denying his feelings for Destry. But when clues begin to link her brush with death to his sister’s murder, will discovering the truth finally grant them their chance at love or turn them against one another for good?
“I’m still the same man you fell in love with.”
She looked into his eyes. “I don’t think so.”
“Like hell.” He dragged her to him with one arm around her waist. His mouth dropped to hers in a demanding kiss that stole her breath. She could feel the thunder of his heart against hers. Wrapped in his strong arms, she lost herself in the kiss. She felt the passion, the chemistry that had always made her pulse pound. The kiss fired that old aching need for this man she couldn’t have.
It swept her up, made her forget for a moment the gulf that lay between them. He drew her closer, pressing his body to hers, deepening the kiss. With desire burning through her, all she wanted was for him to sweep her up in his arms and carry her upstairs to her bed.
Unforgiven
B.J. Daniels
I had only sold four books when my former newspaper managing editor convinced me to quit a job I loved to follow my dream. That day, I promised to dedicate my first single-title book to him. So this book is for you, Bill Wilke. Neither of us could know back then what a huge favor you did for me.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
THE WIND HOWLED DOWN the Crazy Mountains, rocking the pickup as Sheriff Frank Curry pulled to the side of the narrow dirt road. He hadn’t been to this desolate spot in years. Like a lot of other residents of Beartooth, he avoided coming this way.
The afternoon sun slanted down through the dense pines, casting a long shadow over the barrow pit and the small cross nearly hidden among the weeds. The cross, though weathered from eleven years of harsh Montana weather, stood unyielding against the merciless wind that whipped the summer-dried weeds around it.
After a moment, Frank climbed out of the truck, fighting the gusts as he waded into the ditch. Someone had erected the wooden cross, though no one knew who. Back then the cross had been white. Years of blistering hot summers and fierce, long snow-laden winters had peeled away the paint, leaving the wood withered and gray.
The brisk fall wind kicked up a dust devil in the road. Frank shut his eyes as it whirled past him, pelting him with dirt. The image he’d spent years trying to banish flashed before him. He saw it again, the young woman’s broken body lying in the barrow pit where it had been discarded like so much garbage.
The lonesome moan of the wind in the tops of the thick wall of pines was the only sound on this remote rural road. That night, standing here as the coroner loaded the body, he’d sworn he would find Ginny West’s killer if it was the last thing he ever did.
Now, he looked again at the cross that marked this lonely place where Ginny had died. The wind had plastered a dirty plastic grocery bag against its base.
Feeling the crippling weight of that vow and his failure, Frank crouched down and jerked the bag free. As he rose to leave, he heard the sound of a motor and looked up to see a small plane fly over.
* * *
RYLAN WEST LAY DAZED in the dirt. He’d lost his hat, gotten the air knocked clean out of him and was about to be trampled by a horse if he didn’t move—and quickly.
To add insult to injury, as he lay on the ground staring up at all that blue sky, he saw Destry Grant’s red-and-white Cessna 182 fly over. He didn’t have to see the woman behind the controls to know it was her plane. Hell, he could call up Destry Grant’s face from memory with no trouble at all and did so with frustrating regularity even though he hadn’t laid eyes on her in more than ten years.
In the past few weeks that he’d been home, he’d made a point of staying out of Destry’s way. He told himself he wasn’t ready to see her. But a part of him knew that was pure bull. He felt guilty and he should have. The last time they’d seen each other, he’d made