EVERY MIRACLE HAS A PRICE
Barrel racer Tammy Jenkins has outrun a lot of things in her life. A tornado is not one of them. She barely manages to find shelter and safety at the ranch of a handsome stranger, but the storm is swift and merciless in its destruction. Now Tammy’s haunted cowboy hero needs her help...caring for a newly orphaned baby boy.
Alex Weston had given up on ever having a family of his own. With the arrival of Tammy and the baby, however, his home is suddenly brightened by laughter, warmth and Tammy’s graceful beauty. As much as his heart aches for more, Alex knows this is a temporary arrangement. Baby Brody needs a real family—something Tammy deserves, too. But can Alex let them go?
“I thought you never used this room...”
Alex’s soft breath tickled her neck. “I don’t,” he whispered. “But I’ll make an exception for Brody.”
He swept the flashlight over the interior of the room, highlighting baby blue walls, a wooden chest, rocking chair, changing table and...a crib.
She turned her head, stilling as her lips brushed the rough stubble of his jaw. Heart pounding, she fought the desire to nuzzle her cheek against his skin and asked, “Why do you have—”
“Nothing was damaged in here,” he said, voice husky. “The crib sheets are in the chest, and once you get Brody settled, you can have my room to yourself for the night.”
“But, Alex—”
“Not tonight, okay?” He lowered his head, his mouth moving against her temple and his broad palm settling on her hip. “Let’s just get some rest. We all need it.”
Of its own accord, her body sank back against his. She fit perfectly, his wide chest and muscular thighs cradling her as though she belonged there.
Had he lost a child?
Was that why he was no longer married?
The Rancher’s Miracle Baby
April Arrington
APRIL ARRINGTON grew up in a small Southern town and developed a love for movies and books at an early age. Emotionally moving stories have always held a special place in her heart. April enjoys collecting pottery and soaking up the Georgia sun on her front porch.
Visit April at Twitter.com/april_arrington or Facebook.com/authoraprilarrington.
Dedicated to Patricia B. of Alabama
This writing life is tough. Knowing you’re on the other side of the page changes everything and helps me make it to The End. You are a treasured reader, and the world is a great deal more beautiful with you in it.
Thank you for your sweet messages and for always reading.
Contents
Tammy Jenkins had managed to outrun a lot of things in life. But this had her beat.
“If you’re on the road, we urge you to take shelter immediately.” The truck’s radio crackled, and static scrambled the urgent male voice coming through the speakers. “...summer outbreak...multiple tornadoes spotted. We’ve received reports of funnel clouds touching down in Leary County, Georgia. The most recent...forming...Deer Creek community.”
Deer Creek. Tammy gripped the steering wheel tighter, recalling the crooked green sign she’d passed a few miles back. The bent edges and bullet hole through the center had obscured some of the letters, but the words were legible enough.
A high-pitched neigh and sharp clang split her ears. She glanced in the side-view mirror and cringed as the trailer attached to the truck rocked to one side, squeaking and groaning.
“It’s okay, girl,” Tammy called out. “I’ll find somewhere to stop soon.”
Razz, her barrel-racing horse, had experienced her fair share of close calls. And just like when they were about to take a tumble in the arena, the mare sensed danger approaching.
Tammy looked past the trailer and studied the darkening horizon behind them. The wall of black clouds gathered momentum, increasing in size and staining the sky. It swallowed up the dying light of the late-afternoon sun, and a green hue bled through the inky darkness. Thick grass lining both sides of the isolated road rippled with each powerful surge of wind.
Sour acid crept up the back of Tammy’s throat, parching her mouth. She jerked her eyes forward, refocused on the road and slammed her foot harder onto the accelerator. The engine rumbled, and the broken yellow line splitting the paved highway streamed by in a blur.
“No need to panic,” she said, nodding absently. “It’s July. These storms blow over faster than they appear. I’ll just have to outrun it before it gets started.”