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“You’re a … woman?”
In a breathless whisper, she said, “You just now noticed that? Could you let me breathe?”
Shocked, he shifted his weight to allow her to take breath into her lungs. This was the cat burglar?
She freed one arm and wiped away the powdery snow from her eyes as she whispered something else.
He cut his eyes to her, suddenly worried that he had injured her when he’d taken her down. She motioned for him to lean closer. He bent down.
Her free hand cupped the back of his neck, pulling him down into a kiss before he could stop her. Suddenly her lips were on his, her mouth parting as if they were lovers …
Reunion at
Cardwell Ranch
B.J. Daniels
B.J. DANIELS is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author. She wrote her first book after a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist and the publication of thirty-seven short stories. She lives in Montana with her husband, Parker and three springer spaniels. When not writing, she quilts, boats and plays tennis. Contact her at www.bjdaniels.com, on Facebook or on Twitter, @bjdanielsauthor.
There are books that seem to write themselves. And there are books that try to kill me. This one drove me crazy. But thanks to an escape to the Bahamas with people I love, I was able to finish the book. This one is for Danielle, Travis, Stelly, Leslie and, always, Parker. Your faith in me keeps me going.
Contents
The moment she’d stepped into the dark house, she could feel the emptiness surround her like a void. The owners wouldn’t be coming to Montana for Christmas this year. The couple was getting a divorce. The man’s third marriage, the woman’s first.
She’d gotten her information from a good source, but she’d learned, though, that you can never be certain of anything, especially the rumors that ran more wildly than the river ran through the Gallatin Canyon past Big Sky.
Standing stone still in the dark, listening, she waited for a few moments before she snapped on her tiny penlight. There were no other homes close to this one. The owners of these expensive spacious second homes wanted to feel as if they had the mountainside to themselves. Because of that there was little to no chance that anyone would notice if she turned on lights. But she didn’t like playing against the odds when it came to the chance of being discovered.
As she moved through the house, she saw sculptures that she knew had cost a small fortune and paintings like some she’d sat for hours studying in museums back East. She hurried on past them, reminded that time was never on her side. In and out as quickly as possible was her personal motto. Otherwise she knew all too well things could go very badly.
She found the painting in the master bedroom on the third floor. A twenty-by-sixteen-inch signed Taylor West original depicting a rancher on horseback surveying his herd. It was one of her favorites. She stepped to it quickly, admiring the brushstrokes and the skillful use of shading as she let the penlight move over it until she found what she was looking for.
Lifting it off
