Her door was closed
Colt peeked over his shoulder, grateful nobody was around. But when it came time to actually put his fingers on the door handle, he hesitated.
And then his dog must’ve caught his scent from the room down the hall and began to bark.
“Mac!” he called out as softly as he could, immediately quieting the shepherd.
Colt opened Amber’s door and slid inside before he could change his mind. If someone had heard his dog and came out to investigate, they’d see him standing there. Not good.
Forcing himself to open his eyes, he scanned her room. Bed to his left. Table and chairs to his right. There was a purse sitting on top of one of the chairs, wide open.
Go.
But he couldn’t. He wasn’t cut out for this. The idea of rummaging through her things … He just couldn’t do it. He swung around to leave.
And came face-to-face with Amber.
Dear Reader,
It seems hard to believe this is my eighth Harlequin American Romance novel. It seems like yesterday that I made the decision to write about cowboys and the women they love, but I’ll admit, I almost stopped writing them. As many of you know, my life has been chaotic with the recent loss of my parents. Something had to give and I decided my adult horse stories (as I call them) would be it. I can’t tell you how many times I regretted that decision. So when my editor called and asked if I’d be interested in writing one more cowboy story, I jumped at the chance. Not only that, but I asked if I could write two.
It’s good to be back!
I love each and every one of my books, but Rancher and Protector has a special place in my heart. The book is about horses and the power they have over special-needs children. I first heard about this magical bond when asked to review a book for a nationally known horse magazine. The story was about an autistic child who traveled to Mongolia to ride horses. Why? You’ll have to read the story, but it was truly the inspiration for this book.
I hope you enjoy Rancher and Protector. As always, I enjoy hearing from readers. You can reach me on Facebook at www.facebook.com/pamelabritton or through my website www.pamelabritton.com.
Best,
Pamela
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
With over a million books in print, PAMELA BRITTON likes to call herself the best known author nobody’s ever heard of. Of course, that changed thanks to a certain licensing agreement with that little racing organization known as NASCAR.
But before the glitz and glamour of NASCAR, Pamela wrote books that were frequently voted the best of the best by The Detroit Free Press, Barnes & Noble (two years in a row) and RT Book Reviews. She’s won numerous awards, including the National Reader’s Choice Award and a nomination for the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart.
When not writing books, Pamela is a reporter for a local newspaper. She’s also a columnist for the American Quarter Horse Journal. Rancher and Protector is the author’s twenty-sixth title.
Rancher and
Protector
Pamela Britton
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To the lawman who saved our homestead.
Chris Ashworth, we couldn’t have done it without you. All the words in this book couldn’t express how grateful we are.
Chapter One
“All right, horse. We can do this the hard way or the easy way.”
Amber Brooks stared at the animal in question, a tiny window placed high in the wall giving her a perfect view of the brown horse as it cocked its head in her direction. The look it gave her clearly indicated disdain.
“Okay, the hard way.” Her hands tightened around the nylon strap someone had told her was a halter—although she had no idea how it worked.
“Just go play with a horse,” she murmured under her breath, mimicking the camp director. “You’ll do fine.”
As if handling an animal as big as a bookcase would be “easy.” What if it bolted out of the stall? Or charged in her direction? Or, God forbid, tried to bite her?
“Nice horsey horsey,” she said. The animal’s black mane seemed more of a dark gray in the stall’s ambient light—like the color of a snake. She shivered. Her feet felt heavy in the thick bed of pine shavings. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
She stopped by its head and looked down at the halter. Now what? Obviously, the smaller hole went around the horse’s nose. Or maybe its ear? But there was only one hole and so that didn’t make sense. Nose, she decided.
A soft breath wafted across her crotch.
“Whoa,” she cried, jumping back. “We don’t know each other well enough for you to be doing that.”
Someone coughed.
Amber turned in surprise to see John Wayne standing outside the stall.
Well, okay, it wasn’t really John Wayne, but it sure was a cowboy. Black hat. Checkered beige shirt. Cool blue eyes.
“He’s just trying to get to know you,” the man said, his deep baritone splashed with a Southern accent. “He doesn’t mean anything by it.”
Easy for the cowboy to say. Amber couldn’t take her eyes off her unexpected visitor. He was gorgeous. A hunk-o-hunk of burning love, as her friend Rachel would say. And just what was it about cowboys? They all looked the same. Five o’clock shadows. Square jaws. The smell of outdoors clinging to them. Was it part of the cowboy genome?
“I
