“I’m staying with you.”
Shelly couldn’t have heard him right. A man like Matt Collingsworth didn’t put himself out for a prospective employee. But then she wouldn’t have expected one of the richest men in Texas to be sitting across from her tonight, either.
“What did you say?” she asked.
“You shouldn’t be alone until we know why someone tried to kill you today.”
“And you’re planning to serve as my bodyguard? That isn’t necessary.”
“Actually, it is. Family tradition, the cowboy code and all that. A real man never walks away from a woman in danger.”
He’d walk away fast enough if he knew she was CIA and here to put him and his family away for life. She should be thanking her lucky stars for this entrée into the inner sanctum of the world she’d come to infiltrate. But only one word came to mind, and it seemed to be shouting inside her head and echoing through every cell of her body:
Help!
Joanna Wayne was born and raised in Shreveport, Louisiana, and received her undergraduate and graduate degrees from LSU-Shreveport. She moved to New Orleans in 1984, and it was there that she attended her first writing class and joined her first professional writing organisation. Her first novel, Deep in the Bayou, was published in 1994.
Now, dozens of published books later, Joanna has made a name for herself as being on the cutting edge of romantic suspense in both series and single-title novels. She has been on the Waldenbooks bestselling list for romance and won many industry awards. She is a popular speaker at writing organisations and local community functions and has taught creative writing at the University of New Orleans Metropolitan College.
She currently resides in a small community forty miles north of Houston, Texas, with her husband. Though she still has many family and emotional ties to Louisiana, she loves living in the Lone Star state. You may write to Joanna at PO Box 265, Montgomery, Texas 77356, USA.
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BY
JOANNA WAYNE
MILLS & BOON
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To all my Texas friends who so willingly share their
family stories with me. To my husband for putting up
with me when I’m so lost in one of my stories I forget
to cook dinner or come to bed. And a special thanks to
all my readers who love a cowboy tale the way I do.
Chapter One
Shelly Lane walked into the Country Café at one-forty on a Friday afternoon in the middle of June, following on the heels of Matt Collingsworth. Smells of fried chicken, cinnamon and fresh-brewed coffee greeted her. It looked like the sort of place you should seat yourself, but a short, plump woman with a knot of graying curls on top of her head was smiling and sashaying toward her.
“Hi, there,” the lady said, her charming Texas drawl pulling her words into extra syllables. “You can just sit anywhere, and Jill will be around to take your order in a jiffy.”
“Thanks.” Shelly glanced around and noted that she was the only one eating alone. Most of the customers were family groups, though there were a few tables with just lone cowboy types. Several looked her way. Most grinned and nodded. A few waved. Colts Run Cross was a very friendly town.
Shelly located Matt—he’d joined a group of men and one super-cute young lady at a table near a window—then chose a spot where she could observe him without making it too obvious. Actually, she didn’t mind him seeing her now that she was about to make contact with his mother.
The chair wobbled a bit as she slid it closer to the square wooden table covered in a blue plaid cloth. A simple vase holding two silk daisies sat in the middle, flanked by inexpensive salt and pepper shakers and a bottle of catsup.
Her attention returned to Matt. He was far more handsome in person than in the likenesses she’d studied of him. His hair was short, dark brown and only slightly rumpled by the Western hat he’d been wearing before entering the restaurant. His jeans were worn, but clean, and though she couldn’t see it now, she knew from stealthily following him about town that they showed off his lean, hard frame to perfection.
He glanced her way and smiled. A treacherous skip of her heart forced her to take a deep breath and regroup. Even the slightest attraction on her part could compromise her mission.
Jill stopped at Shelly’s elbow. “The special today is fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy and pinto beans. That comes with corn bread or biscuits and a dish of peach cobbler and ice cream for dessert. Or you can order off the lunch menu. It’s on the back.”
The waitress turned the menu over and tapped the offerings with her index finger. “What would you like to drink?”
“Just tea, please, with lemon.”
“Sure thing.”
Jill stopped off at Matt’s table, flirting shamelessly with him and his cohorts. Not that Shelly blamed her. They all had that sexy cowboy mystique about them. It was even more potent than Shelly had expected, but she knew that Matt Collingsworth was no simple cowboy. Nor was he your everyday Texas rancher.
Not only did his family own the second-largest spread in Texas, but they were sole owners of Collingsworth Enterprises, which encompassed the operations of Jack’s Bluff Ranch as well as Collingsworth Oil and its related subsidiaries. Which meant they had ties to some of the most high-ranking businessmen and politicians in this country and in other key parts of the world.
The waitress arrived with the tea and Shelly ordered a grilled chicken salad, which arrived in short order. She lingered over her food, finally leaving though Matt was still engaged in a very animated conversation with the others at his table.
The sun was blinding when she stepped out the door of the small café. She fished in her handbag for her sunglasses and put them on as she crossed the street to her dark blue, nondescript sedan. She was opening the door when she spotted a black car rounding the corner, speeding toward her.
Sunlight glinted off the barrel of a revolver as it slid through the open window. Her instincts and training kicked in at the speed of light. She searched the empty streets for someone to warn, then crouched behind the car door as the sound of gunfire and bullets pinging against metal shattered the quiet afternoon.
Even if she’d had time to retrieve her weapon from the car, she wouldn’t have had time to fire back. The car had roared past and she could hear the footsteps and voices of people rushing from the nearby shops, before she realized she’d been hit by a ricocheting bullet.
The keys slipped through her fingers and it felt as if a dozen wasps had all found the same spot on the back of her upper arm.