“Kiss me,”
Julianne demanded. “Kiss me and don’t stop until…until…”
“We turn blue?” Tony said, feeling laughter and being surprised by it. Inside, he was serious, very serious.
“Until there’s no more hunger,” she whispered.
“If the hunger is satisfied, then we’ll be lovers in every sense of the word,” he warned her. “I’d kiss you until we both went crazy. If we were lovers.”
“Yes,” she cried softly. “Yes.”
“Would you melt in my arms? Would you yield to me? Give me anything I want?”
She forced her weighted eyelids to open, to meet his challenging stare. “What we both want,” she reminded him.
“If we were lovers,” he said roughly.
“If we were lovers,” she echoed in agreement.
Dear Reader,
I found out how effective a coyote fence was the hard way—I backed into one while trying to get the best picture of an impressive rock formation. The fence was made from cactus canes nailed side by side on a wooden structure. My hostess, who had a lovely flower and vegetable garden, said it also kept rabbits and other critters from sneaking in and eating the plants. I asked how she got the cactus nailed up without getting stickers. Her answer: “Very carefully.” I’m not saying this incident was the sole inspiration for Tony and Julianne’s story, but it certainly seemed to fit into their investigative efforts!
Best,
Laurie Paige
Under the Western Sky
Laurie Paige
LAURIE PAIGE
“One of the nicest things about writing romances is researching locales, careers and ideas. In the interest of authenticity, most writers will try anything…once.” Along with her writing adventures, Laurie has been a NASA engineer, a past president of the Romance Writers of America, a mother and a grandmother. She was twice a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award finalist for Best Traditional Romance and has won awards from Romantic Times BOOKclub for Best Silhouette Special Edition and Best Silhouette in addition to appearing on the USA TODAY bestseller list. Recently resettled in Northern California, Laurie is looking forward to whatever experiences her next novel will send her on.
This story is for Ali, Becka, Susan, Kris and Merry, who
wanted to know what happened to the three orphans.
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 One
Julianne Martin matched the address on the store-front to the label printed in block letters on the box of pottery she was to deliver. Yes, this was the place.
Something about the building—probably its rundown state—induced a definite sense of caution in her.
This wasn’t the most practical part of town to try to sell tourist goods. The Chaco Trading Company out on I-40 was a better location, with plenty of travelers heading west to the Grand Canyon and other national parks, and West Coast residents heading east for family reunions or a tour of the Four Corners and Mesa Verde areas.
Well, it was none of her business. She was just the delivery service…in more ways than one.
She smiled at the thought. As a midwife-nurse-practitioner, she’d been delivering babies on her own for three years. Happy years, she mused in satisfaction, filled with work that she loved.
Two days ago, out near Hosta Butte, she’d helped deliver a darling little boy to a Native American couple. The delighted father had asked her to bring his pottery into town and leave it at this store, which was located on a side street of Gallup, New Mexico. Since she lived only a couple of miles from town, she’d readily agreed.
In this part of the country, with its vast distances people helped each other when they could. Today was Saturday, the first day of October, and the earliest moment she’d had enough free time to keep her promise. She peered in through the open door of the shop.
“Hello?” she called, going inside and pausing while her eyes adjusted to the dim light.
The place was crammed with Indian blankets, baskets and carvings depicting Western themes, all in a helter-skelter fashion. A good dusting and some organization would help sales, in her opinion.
She grinned to herself. Her bossy ways were showing themselves, her brothers would have said. True, she admitted. She liked things to be in good order.
“Whew,” she said when she had the heavy box safely on the floor. “Anyone here?”
“Sure.”
A man appeared in the doorway behind the cluttered counter. He looked to be close to her own age, which was twenty-six.
No, older, she decided upon inspecting him more closely when he came forward and stopped beside the cash register. He had hair that was almost black and eyes to match. His face was lean and angular. So was his body—tall and wiry and muscular—definitely a man who kept himself in shape. He was perhaps an inch over six feet. He wore faded jeans, a T-shirt with a logo of Ship Rock on it and a billed cap advertising a local bar.
“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice a rich baritone with a gravelly roughness that was oddly pleasing.
His eyes took in everything about her—from her white cotton blouse and khaki cargo shorts to the woven leather huaraches on her feet. He lingered for the briefest second on her legs, which were nicely shaped, if she did say so, then his gaze returned to hers.
The impact of that probing stare did a couple of strange things to her. One, her sense of wariness increased. Two, so did her heartbeat. He made her nervous for no reason that she could pinpoint, but there it was—a hard beating of the heart, tension
