“I Don’t Want This,” Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Copyright
“I Don’t Want This,”
Summer said breathlessly.
“I don’t suppose it matters much whether you want it to happen or not,” Chase said, looking down at her with no smile at all on his face. “Sooner or later we’ll be lovers, Summer.”
“I’m not one of your easy-come, easy-go women.” She felt each throb of her heart as passion and panic combined to thicken her blood.
“No, you sure aren’t, are you? You’re no more what I ought to want than I’m what you should want, but the only way you can keep me from having you, Summer, is to fire me—now. Are you going to do that?”
She looked at him and said nothing.
“I didn’t think so,” he said softly. “I’ll give you a little time, boss lady, to get used to the idea. But not much.”
Dear Reader,
The celebration of Silhouette Desire’s 15th anniversary continues this month! First, there’s a wonderful treat in store for you as Ann Major continues her fantastic CHILDREN OF DESTINY series with November’s MAN OF THE MONTH, Nobody’s Child. Not only is this the latest volume in this popular miniseries, but Ann will have a Silhouette Single Title, also part of CHILDREN OF DESTINY, in February 1998, called Secret Child. Don’t miss either one of these unforgettable love stories.
BJ James’s popular BLACK WATCH series also continues with Journey’s End the latest installment in the stories of the men—and the women—of the secret agency. This wonderful lineup is completed with delicious love stories by Lass Small, Susan Crosby, Eileen Wilks and Shawna Delacorte. And next month, look for six more Silhouette Desire books, including a MAN OF THE MONTH by Dixie Browning!
Desire...it’s the name you can trust for dramatic, sensuous, engrossing stories written by your bestselling favorites and terrific newcomers. We guarantee handsome heroes, likable heroines...and happily-ever-after endings. So read, and enjoy!
Senior Editor
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Cowboys do it Best
Eileen Wilks
EILEEN WILKS
is a fifth-generation Texan. Her great-great-grandmother came to Texas in a covered wagon shortly after the end of the Civil War—excuse us, the War between the States. But she’s not a full-blooded Texan. Right after another war, her Texan father fell for a Yankee woman. This obviously mismatched pair proceeded to travel to nine cities in three countries in the first twenty years of their marriage, raising two kids and innumerable dogs and cats along the way. For the next twenty years they stayed put, back home in Texas again—and still together.
Eileen figures her professional career matches her nomadic upbringing, since she tried everything from drafting to a brief stint as a ranch hand—raising two children and any number of cats and dogs along the way. Not until she started writing did she “stay put,” because that’s when she knew she’d come home.
This book is for my daughter Katie, whose “horse sense” was as necessary to my story as her patience with her distracted mother has been to my writing. Thanks, Katie.
One
Three days after leaving Birds’ Eye, Wyoming, Chase McGuire killed his truck. It died when he was twenty miles outside of San Antonio, and still 277 miles from his new job on an offshore drilling rig.
Built like the rodeo champion he’d been until last year, and dressed like the cowboy he still was, Chase had a livedin sort of face that looked a bit older than its thirty-two years. His collection of smile lines said he was accustomed to the tricks life got up to from time to time, and generally took them in stride.
He wasn’t smiling now.
Chase stood with the hood up on his three-year-old pickup truck and stared at his engine, so blasted disgusted with himself he could hardly see straight. The air stank of hot metal and burned oil. Chase didn’t need the smell, though, or the sight of his oil-free dipstick to tell him he’d messed up royally this time. When the gentle tap-tap-tap that had worried him for the last few miles suddenly mutated into a loud clang-clang-clang just before he coasted off onto the shoulder, he’d known all too well what was wrong.
It was a clear case of negligent homicide. His dash instruments had gone out about fifty miles back. A fuse, he’d thought, and hadn’t stopped. He was due in Port Arthur that evening and still had a lot of miles to cover. Maybe he should have gotten an earlier start this morning, but Fannie had been mighty persuasive about lingering. What kind of gentleman would turn down a request from the lady who’d been kind enough to put a weary traveler up for the night?
Especially when his hostess was built the way Fannie was.
