How a Cowboy
Stole Her Heart
Donna Alward
The Rancher’s
Dance
Allison Leigh
Dear Reader,
Sometimes it takes a while for characters to get their story. When Clay Gregory strolled into One Dance with the Cowboy and warned Andrew to be good to Jen, I knew he was hero material. What I didn’t realize was how hard it would be to find him the right woman. You see, I couldn’t just come up with a heroine-to-order and make her fit. I tried. A few times, actually. But nothing was coming together right and I went on to write other books.
But Clay’s a bit stubborn. And all the while I was writing other stories, he was waiting, sometimes not so patiently, for his turn. Finally I realized the problem was that I had been looking for love in all the wrong places, as the song goes. Clay didn’t need a woman to breeze into Larch Valley and sweep him off his feet. He needed to see what was right in front of him all along.
I’m so pleased that you’re finally going to read Clay and Meg’s story. As always, I love hearing from readers so please drop by my website at www.donnaalward.com, or contact me through my publisher.
Best wishes and happy reading,
Donna
About the Author
A busy wife and mother of three (two daughters and the family dog), DONNA ALWARD believes hers is the best job in the world: a combination of stay-at-home mum and romance novelist. An avid reader since childhood, Donna always made up her own stories. She completed her arts degree in English literature in 1994, but it wasn’t until 2001 that she penned her first full-length novel and found herself hooked on writing romance. In 2006 she sold her first manuscript, and now writes warm, emotional stories for the Cherish line.
In her new home office in Nova Scotia, Donna loves being back on the east coast of Canada after nearly twelve years in Alberta, where her career began, writing about cowboys and the West. Donna’s debut novel, Hired by the Cowboy, was awarded the Booksellers Best Award in 2008 for Best Traditional Romance.
With the Atlantic Ocean only minutes from her doorstep, Donna has found a fresh take on life and promises even more great romances in the near future! Donna loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website at www.donnaalward.com, her My Space page at www.myspace.com/dalward or through her publisher.
To the beautiful, brave survivors everywhere.
You are amazing.
CHAPTER ONE
CLAY GREGORY stood in the middle of the barn corridor, his booted feet planted on the cold concrete and his hands shoved into the pockets of his sheepskin jacket. His breath formed frosty clouds in the air and his dark eyes glittered beneath the brown knitted hat he wore in lieu of his customary Stetson.
Meg looked away, determined to ignore him. Clay Gregory thought himself a cut above and she didn’t mind taking him down a peg or two this cold March morning. She refused to glance his way again, instead giving her shovel a satisfying scrape along the stall floor. She dumped the soiled straw into a waiting wheelbarrow. She made the same action twice more, each time her heart thumping a little harder as he remained silent. The increase in her heart rate wasn’t from the physical exertion, though the exercise was a welcome feeling after months of taking it easy.
Nope. The hammering pulse was one hundred percent caused by Clay. The last time he’d spoken to her it had been to accuse her of running away. She’d wanted to make him understand, but his mind had been closed. The spectre of cancer had killed most of her romantic illusions where Clay was concerned, and his harsh words had finished the job. She’d told herself she was over her schoolgirl crush, but his censure had bothered her more than she cared to admit. Because there wasn’t just a crush at stake. They’d been friends first, and the words he’d flung at her had hurt more than he knew.
“Megan.”
Finally. His deep voice seemed to fill the corridor and she took a measured breath. She stood the shovel on its blade and rested her hands on the handle as she looked up, meeting his gaze dead-on. “Hello, Clay.”
He took a step forward. Meg gripped the shovel handle and stepped back, resuming her task. She had to keep working. She didn’t want to talk to Clay, not this morning. Facing things one at a time was what she intended to do and Clay Gregory’s closed mind was not on the list for today.
“You’re back,” he said, and she realized he was only a few feet behind her.
“Yes, I’m back. Thanks for noticing.”
“I came looking for Dawson.”
Oh, so he wasn’t here to see her after all. She bit down on her lip to keep from blurting out the sharp reply that had formed in her head. There was no reason for her pride to be hurt. Clay had said some very painful things last spring. When he’d accused her of running away he was right. She had been, but her reasons had been solid. At least to her. She made the best decision she could and she didn’t regret it one bit. She was here now because she’d made the decision to fight with all she had. If Clay didn’t like it that was his problem.
“We had some problems with calves last night,” she said blandly. “Dawson went back to bed and I said I’d do the horses.”
She didn’t need to look at Clay to know he was scowling. He had a way of frowning that made a line form between his eyebrows. When she’d still been able to tease him she’d called it a penny slot, and many a time she’d wanted to smooth the crease away but she’d been too chicken to touch him in such an intimate manner.
She’d save herself that humiliation, thank you very much. The only thing worse than having a crush on her brother’s best friend while growing up had been the possibility of acting on it and being rejected. As she surely would have been. Clay had never shown the slightest interest in her that way. He’d always treated her like an annoying little sister.
“Give me the shovel,” he said, and his long arm reached around and closed over hers on the black handle.
Megan ignored the automatic zing that raced down her limbs at the contact and pulled the implement out of his grasp. “What are you doing?”
His response was to grip her shoulders and turn her around.
She looked up—a long way up, because Clay was over six feet tall and she came in at a measly five foot five. She couldn’t help the thrill that coursed through her at his nearness.
Coursed through every part of her body, save one. On the right side of her chest she felt nothing, because there was nothing there.
This was so not how it was supposed to go. Clay Gregory and the cancer were in the past. She wished she could just forget about them both. But both had left their indelible mark no matter how hard she tried to move past them.
“What was Dawson thinking, letting you do this?” he demanded, the line between his brows now a deep crater above his nose.
She pulled away and lifted her chin. Not like it would make her any taller, but it made her feel better. “Dawson doesn’t let me do anything. He’s not the boss of me.”
Great. That made her sound what, ten years old? She glared at him as best she could. She hadn’t come back to Larch Valley just so people could start bossing her around and treating her with kid gloves. “I’ve been mucking out stalls since I was a kid, Clay. If you want to see Dawson,