Read the book: «The Missing Heir»
Mari smiled at him so trustingly that Russ’s heart turned over.
If she was an impostor, she wasn’t the only one. After all, he was pretending to be something he wasn’t.
Russ wasn’t what she thought he was—just a cowboy who was interested in her. Interested was putting it mildly, but the undercurrent of is-she-or-isn’t-she-the-missing-heiress flowed continuously beneath the surface.
Gathering Mari to him, Russ impulsively covered her mouth with his, doing his best to put all he felt into the kiss.
Doing his best to bury his suspicions…
Dear Reader,
Around this time of year, everyone reflects on what it is that they’re thankful for. For reader favorite Susan Mallery, the friendships she’s made since becoming a writer have made a difference in her life. Bestselling author Sherryl Woods is thankful for the letters from readers—“It means so much to know that a particular story has touched someone’s soul.” And popular author Janis Reams Hudson is thankful “for the readers who spend their hard-earned money to buy my books.”
I’m thankful to have such a talented group of writers in the Silhouette Special Edition line, and the authors appearing this month are no exception! In Wrangling the Redhead by Sherryl Woods, find out if the heroine’s celebrity status gets in the way of true love…. Also don’t miss The Sheik and the Runaway Princess by Susan Mallery, in which the Prince of Thieves kidnaps a princess…and simultaneously steals her heart!
When the heroine claims her late sister’s child, she finds the child’s guardian—and possibly the perfect man—in Baby Be Mine by Victoria Pade. And when a handsome horse breeder turns out to be a spy enlisted to expose the next heiress to the Haskell fortune, will he find an impostor or the real McCoy in The Missing Heir by Jane Toombs? In Ann Roth’s Father of the Year, should this single dad keep his new nanny…or make her his wife? And the sparks fly when a man discovers his secret baby daughter left on his doorstep…which leads to a marriage of convenience in Janis Reams Hudson’s Daughter on His Doorstep.
I hope you enjoy all these wonderful novels by some of the most talented authors in the genre. Best wishes to you and your family for a very happy and healthy Thanksgiving!
Best,
Karen Taylor Richman
Senior Editor
The Missing Heir
Jane Toombs
To Vickie Slavik, Milissa Anderson and Christine Scheel—who love and work with horses.
JANE TOOMBS
was born in California, raised in the upper peninsula of Michigan and has moved from New York to Nevada as a result of falling in love with the state and a Nevadan. Jane has five children, two stepchildren and seven grandchildren. Her interests include gardening, reading and knitting.
Dear Reader,
What ifs? are a writer’s constant companion. One of mine was: What if a woman suddenly discovered those who’d raised her from a newborn hadn’t told her the truth about her birth? This is how Marigold Crowley was born in my mind. I knew Mari had to be strong and resilient to handle such an unsettling surprise. I decided a loving but do-your-share ranch upbringing would give her the backbone to deal with the shock and, also, when the time came, to help her try to discover who she really was.
Because Mari never lost sight of her own integrity, she was a delight to write about as she not only navigated the chancy waters of legality, but at the same time had to sail carefully through the dangerous straits of learning about love.
Jane Toombs
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
R uss Simon hated what he was doing, but he knew he had no choice. None at all. As he turned the rental car off U.S. 395 onto a secondary blacktop road, he thought again that it’d been a stroke of luck to spot that ad in the Big Nickel newspaper someone left at the Reno café where he’d had breakfast. “Draft mare for sale, fifteen hands high, all offers considered.” After all, horses were his business. He fervently wished they were all that concerned him at the moment.
The May afternoon was warm, and the familiar scent of lilacs drifted in his open window, reminding him of his farm back east. So far he liked what he’d seen of northern Nevada. Good horse country. If things were different he just might consider buying some land around here.
When he rounded the next corner, the first mailbox he saw had Crowley Ranch lettered on the side, so he turned into the gravel driveway, heading for the blue-roofed house and stables set back among a clump of old cottonwood trees. As he neared the buildings, he looked around for the draft horse, but was distracted by a young rider who was winding an Arabian horse in and out among a series of barrels set up in the field next to the stables.
He was even more distracted when a young woman sitting on the top rail of the fence shouted, “Way to go, Yasmin!” She raised her broad-brimmed hat in a salute to the girl, revealing bright golden hair. Marigold Crowley, beyond a doubt. His quarry.
Russ pulled up beside the stable and left the car, sauntering over to the fence. “Am I speaking to the owner of the draft mare?” he asked.
Glancing at him, the woman nodded. “Be with you in a minute or two. Yasmin and I are almost finished with this session.”
Her husky voice seemed to settle somewhere in his bones as his gaze took in her delightfully trim figure. Watch it, Simon, he warned himself. This damn situation is complicated enough without you lusting after the woman.
Settling himself on the rail beside her, he forced his attention to the girl, who was riding what he realized was a truly magnificent Arabian gelding. Yasmin, who looked to be no older than six, handled the horse as though born in the saddle. If Ms. Crowley had trained the girl—her daughter?—then she was to be complimented on her teaching ability.
“You were almost perfect today,” Marigold told Yasmin when she dismounted and started to lead the Arabian toward the stables. “Stan’ll help you take care of Sheik. Then there’s milk and cookies in the kitchen while you wait for your mother to pick you up.”
Not her child, then, Russ thought. He jumped down from the rail and held a hand toward Marigold, but she smiled and slid off without his assistance. Were her eyes really the color of sherry or was he imagining it?
“So you came about the ad,” she said.
“I did.”
“Lucy’s in the far paddock. This way.”
Russ followed her, trying not to notice the enticing sway of her jean-clad butt. What the hell was wrong with him today? He could take or leave any woman, and this one was certainly off-limits. He lengthened his stride until he walked even with her.
“Lucy’s sort of stubborn, but a real sweetie,” Marigold said. “And smart. She learned the name I gave her in no time.”
“You changed her name?”
Marigold favored him with another smile. “She was an estray, as we call them in Nevada, so I didn’t know her name. I don’t think she ever ran with a wild mustang herd, but she sure isn’t from around here, because I placed an ad last year after she wandered by, and no one ever claimed her. I’d like to keep her.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, she’s expensive to feed and I really have no use for a draft horse.”
He liked her friendliness and the candid way she spoke. Plus that sexy voice… Enough! He needed to remember why he was here.
“I’m Russ Simon,” he said, “and I breed and raise draft horses for leasing.”
“My name’s Mari,” she told him. “Mari— Crowley.”
Had she hesitated briefly before saying her last name or had he imagined it?
“And there,” she added, stopping to point, “is Lucy.”
Russ wrenched his gaze from her and looked at the big mare in the field they’d come to.
“She’s a dapple-gray, as you can see,” Mari said, opening the gate.
Russ stared at the mare. It wasn’t possible. He headed for the horse, unable to believe his eyes. After reaching Lucy, he crooned softly to her while he closely examined her color. “She’s a Blue,” he said finally.
Mari blinked. A Blue? What was he talking about? “Lucy looks gray to me.”
He smiled at her and she blinked again. It hadn’t escaped her that Russ was one of the best-looking men she’d ever met, with the most fascinating green eyes. As if that weren’t enough, his smile was devastating. Plus, his jeans and shirt emphasized all the right places.
“I raise Blues,” he told her. “The color distinction is subtle, but it’s there.”
Mari shrugged. “If you say so.”
“I’ve been told the Blues descended from chargers used for jousting in the days of knights and fair maidens.” He sketched a bow. “Were I a knight I’d ask for a token from you to wear.”
Russ Simon was a charmer, and to her sorrow, she’d learned all about his type two years ago. She’d do well to keep that in mind. Trying to deflect the warmth seeping through her from his admiring gaze, she said, “I’ve often wondered where the knights put those tokens, considering they were pretty well encased in armor. Are you interested in Lucy?”
“Definitely. Just let me take a closer look to see if I can figure out her age.”
“From her teeth and the way she kicks up her heels when she feels like it, I’d say she’s no more than five or six, so she’d make a good broodmare for you.”
He nodded, his attention fixed on Lucy. By the time he finished his inspection of the mare, she was obviously entranced with him. No wonder, the way he stroked her in all the places a horse enjoyed, while he crooned softly to her. Mari couldn’t clamp down on her imagination quickly enough to prevent her from wondering if he knew how to caress a woman in the same loving way.
Gritting her teeth, she forced her mind back to viewing him as a possible buyer rather than a possible lover—that she didn’t need. What she did need desperately, was to sell Lucy before she ran out of money to feed her.
“I’ll buy her,” he said. “Name your price.”
“I intended to ask five hundred.”
“Out of the question. Lucy’s worth at least a thousand. I’d consider her a bargain at that. If you’ll keep her here for a while, I’ll throw in three hundred more for board while I arrange to have her shipped to Michigan.”
Mari did her best to conceal her surprised elation. “That seems more than fair. I’ll be glad to board her until you’re ready.”
Russ glanced at the ridge of mountains to the west and took a deep breath. “That’s sage I smell along with the lilacs, right?” At her nod, he added, “Do you happen to know if there’s any land for sale around here? I came to Nevada to look for a place to start a second horse farm.” He didn’t look at her as he spoke, staring at the Sierras instead.
“Actually, there’s an old ranch for sale just a few miles down the road from here.”
He swung around to focus on her, those green eyes catching her gaze so that she couldn’t move. Why was she so attracted to this man? Especially since she knew better than to get involved with another charmer.
“I’d ride over to look at that ranch if I had a horse a bit smaller than Lucy,” he told her.
He did have a car, after all. She meant to agree that Lucy certainly wasn’t a riding horse, and leave it at that, but what emerged was, “I’ve got other horses besides Lucy. We could both saddle up. That way I can show you where the ranch is.”
As he took her up on her offer, she told herself her impulsiveness didn’t matter, since nothing would come of this anyway, considering how little time she had left before she had to leave Nevada. Actually, she had a dozen things to do before evening, but somehow she wanted to prolong her time with Lucy’s new owner.
“We’ll settle up first,” he told her, and so she led him into the house.
Yasmin was gone. Mari shook her head; she hadn’t even heard Linnea Zohir, a friend and neighbor, drive in to pick up her daughter. Willa Hawkins, though, was in the kitchen, and she eyed Russ assessingly. Aware that the old woman suspected he might be a boyfriend instead of a horse buyer, Mari straightened her out during the introductions since Willa, who’d moved to Nevada from New York two years ago, tended to be outspoken.
“So you bought Lucy,” Willa said to him.
“’Tis high time someone did. Mari takes in every stray that comes along.”
And can’t afford to. Willa didn’t say the words, but Mari heard them just the same.
“Willa lives between here and the ranch you’ll be looking at,” Mari said to Russ.
“When I ain’t fixing food for the Crowleys,” Willa added. “Mari’s uncle Stan is working on being the worst cook in Nevada, and she’s too dang busy with all the ranch chores. So you’re going to take a gander at the Curwith place, are you? Needs a mite of work, I’d say.”
Later, the settling up done and the horses saddled—Mari had given him a horse named The Captain, while she rode her favorite mare, Tennille—she and Russ rode side by side along the verge of the secondary road in companionable silence for a time. Even though she was acutely aware of him, at the same time she couldn’t remember when she’d felt so comfortable with a man who was a relative stranger. Quite possibly because he, too, was a horse person. Either you were or you weren’t.
“So you live in Michigan,” she said after a time.
“Near Lake Huron,” he confirmed, glancing at her. “Great area, but I can see Nevada has its own charm.”
He meant the mountains and the climate, she told herself firmly. His words had nothing to do with her. Even if they did, she couldn’t afford to be interested. Not just because of where and what she was headed for this evening, but also because she wasn’t ready to trust any man.
As Willa had advised after that fiasco with Danny Boy, “Best you take a recess from men while you sort out what you learned about them from him. Get things straight in your head afore you let another of them make-believe cowboys come snaking around. You gotta be sure you’ve figured out how to separate the poisonous ones from the harmless.” Since she raised rattlers to milk their venom, Willa knew what she was talking about, whether she meant men or snakes.
“That’s where Willa lives,” Mari said, nodding her head toward the left. “She makes a good neighbor.”
“I’ll keep that in mind when I look over the place for sale. There’s nothing like good neighbors.” He smiled at her. “Especially ones who understand horses.”
Mari said nothing, and not just because she didn’t want to encourage him. Even had she wanted to, who knew what was going to happen to her life after this evening? Certainly she didn’t. And neither did Uncle Stan, for all he pretended to have no doubts at all. Why, oh why, hadn’t he discussed the matter with her before sending off that letter to Joseph Haskell?
For that matter, why had she offered to show Russ this property? Because she’d wanted to prolong her time with him, obviously. Bad idea. Still, she wasn’t sorry.
“How long have you lived in Nevada?” Russ asked after a time.
“All my life. Both in the state and on the ranch.”
“Ever think of leaving?”
She blinked. “Why, no, not really.” Which was true. “Why do you ask?”
“I’ve never gotten to know a real live Nevadan before.” He hoped his words didn’t sound as lame to her as they did to him. Back off, Simon.
Spotting the For Sale sign, he glanced around and, his gaze centered on a dwelling that had seen better days, said, “A genuine fixer-upper, no doubt about it.”
“The barn’s in fair shape, though.” She pointed.
“Have any idea what they’re asking?”
Mari shook her head. “Though since old Mrs. Curwith died, I did hear her nephew was eager to unload the place.”
After they rode around the property, Russ told her, “I’ll keep it in mind.” It wasn’t a complete lie. If the price was right, he just might look into it, even though buying Nevada land had nothing to do with why he was here. This did look to be a good place to raise horses.
“Get out there and size up this latest claimant before old Joe does something he’ll regret,” Russ’s father had urged. “His ticker’s in bad shape and he doesn’t need another disappointment.”
Russ took a deep breath, moving his shoulders uneasily. Spying was not his vocation. Or his choice. Particularly since he was inclined to like Mari Crowley. But this was the first favor his father had asked since the schism had opened between them. The first contact, as a matter of fact.
“I’ve always liked the Curwith property,” Mari said. “I wish we had that little stream that runs through it.”
“I noticed the stream.” Realizing he sounded abrupt—the result of his distaste for his role—he turned to look into her amber eyes. Never mind how open and honest her gaze appeared, that meant nothing. When he found himself admiring how the tiny flecks of brown accentuated the gold color of her eyes, he shook himself mentally.
“I appreciate you taking the time to show me the ranch,” he said, trying to sound properly grateful.
“It’s the least I could do for someone who paid me double what I was asking for Lucy.”
Waving that aside, he said, “To show my gratitude, I’d like you to have dinner with me tonight.” Only to get to know her better, in order to evaluate how much of a schemer she was, he told himself.
When she smiled, he thought she meant to accept, but then her smile faded. “I’m leaving town this evening, so I can’t.”
His pang of disappointment vanished abruptly when he took in the full import of her words. Leaving town. Because his father hadn’t been able to prevent Joe Haskell from inviting her to the island? Bad news.
“Later, perhaps,” he managed to say.
She looked uncertain. “I don’t think I’ll be back right away. Probably not before you leave Nevada.”
“Oh?” He tried to make the word an invitation to share a confidence with him.
Mari didn’t answer for a moment. If she hadn’t been leaving, it still wouldn’t be a good idea to go to dinner with Russ, even though she wanted to. As Willa would say, “Slow down, you’re going too fast.”
Best to end their acquaintance before she made the mistake of believing every word he said, as she’d done with Danny Boy. Before she had a chance to act on the attraction she felt arcing between them.
“I’ve enjoyed meeting you,” she said. “It’s always good to talk to a fellow horse lover.”
“Yes.”
Did he regret they had to part before they should have? Mari frowned. Where had that weird idea come from? Okay, so she knew. Because she regretted it. Because they ought to have had time to get to know each other. Maybe he wasn’t the poisonous kind. As it was, she’d never find out.
While riding back to her place, Russ began to ask her about her childhood, making, she thought, idle conversation.
“My aunt Blanche died two years ago,” Mari said. “She and Uncle Stan raised me, since my mother died when I was born.”
“Your mother was your aunt’s sister?”
She frowned at him, and he muttered, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get so personal. I was just curious.”
Mari didn’t explain any further. How could she when up until last week she’d thought her mother had, in fact, been her aunt’s younger sister? She still hadn’t gotten over the shock of what Uncle Stan had told her—that the woman who bore her had been no relation to Aunt Blanche. Mari didn’t know who her parents were, not really. She didn’t even know if this trip she was making to meet Mr. Haskell would give her the answer. Her mind was all jumbled with mixed hope and fear.
Finally pulling herself together, she said, a touch defensively, “I grew up very happily on the ranch.” And she had. But, somehow, her uncle’s news had tainted those years. Not that she blamed him. He believed he was telling her the truth when he said he was sure she was Joseph Haskell’s granddaughter. But was it really the truth?
Taking a deep breath, she turned to Russ. “How about you? Did you grow up on a farm?”
He shook his head. “In a city.”
“But you have a horse farm now?”
“It’s something I always wanted, even as a boy. To raise horses.”
“How wonderful to achieve your heart’s desire.”
His scowl surprised her. Surely what she’d said was harmless enough.
Evidently he’d taken note of her expression, because the scowl vanished and he said, “I’m glad I saw that ad for Lucy. Otherwise we might never have met.”
She was on the verge of saying that if he bought the old ranch, maybe they’d meet again, but she stopped herself. How could she know what her life might be like in the future? “Yes,” she replied simply.
Neither spoke again until they reached the stables and dismounted. Russ insisted on unsaddling and rubbing down his mount, and she didn’t argue, aware she would have done the same had she been the visitor. Horses needed to be taken care of by their riders—it was the first lesson her students learned. Just the same, his caring for the gelding pleased her. Russ was not one of Willa’s would-be cowboys. In her book, he was the real thing.
Eventually all the chores were done and, after washing up at the stable sink, they faced one another. For the last time, she told herself, unable to believe it was just as well. “Time to say goodbye.” She tried to inject cheerfulness into the words.
He took her hands in his. “I’d rather it were till we meet again.”
How warm his hands were. Warm and strong. Hers nestled inside his as though they belonged there. She could think of nothing to say. Certainly, “Don’t go,” didn’t make an iota of sense. Especially since, in a matter of hours, she was really the one who would be leaving.
She drew in her breath when he raised her palms and brushed his lips across one, then the other before releasing her. Without another word he turned and strode to his car. Her hands clasped together as though to hold on to the feel of his lips, she watched him drive away until the car and even the dust plume behind it was no longer visible.
