Cowboy For Keeps. Brenda Mott

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      “Why are you here?” she repeated

      “Whatever you felt for me is long past,” Reno continued. “And you know I never looked at you that way.” She bit the inside of her cheek after telling the half lie.

      “You’re right on one point,” Cade said. “I still care for you, Reno. But I don’t ever want to hurt you again. I’ll be going back to Idaho after Dad—”

      She gave a dry laugh. “Cade, everyone I’ve ever cared about has left me in one way or another. I’m afraid I don’t trust anyone anymore. So you see, you’re here preaching to the choir.” She held out her hands, palms up. “I’ve already told myself I’ll never let you hurt me again. I feel nothing for you, Cade. Not contempt, not love…nothing.”

      Liar.

      She could forgive him for leaving her, but she couldn’t forget.

      Dear Reader,

      This book is very dear to my heart, as Reno is a woman much like me. Proud of her American Indian heritage, Reno Blackwell loves the land, especially the mountains of Colorado. She does her best to live in harmony with the wild mustangs that roam her ranch and the government property surrounding it. In honor of her grandfather’s memory, Reno has created a sanctuary for those mustangs too old, lame or otherwise unwanted for adoption.

      Like the horses she loves, Reno’s had a tough row to hoe—betrayed by the man she thought of as her father, left alone when her grandfather passed away. And deserted by Cade Lantana, a good-looking cowboy seven years her senior.

      Reno hung on to the courage she’d learned from Grandpa Mel and stayed at her home in Eagle’s Nest, on Wild Horse Ranch, where she created the mustang sanctuary. But she’s never forgotten the betrayal she felt when Cade left Eagle’s Nest. Now Cade is back, a BLM ranger, out to get the poachers who are stealing the mustangs Reno loves with all her heart.

      Reno is also determined to see the poachers pay for their crimes, and equally determined to guard her heart against Cade.

      Come with me, dear reader, and ride the trails of Colorado’s western slope. Let’s see what it takes for a strong-headed woman and an equally strong hero to forget the past and focus on the future.

      I love hearing from my readers. You can reach me at [email protected]. Please reference the book title on the subject line.

      Brenda Mott

      Cowboy for Keeps

      Brenda Mott

      TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

       AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

       STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

       PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

      MILLS & BOON

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      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      When Brenda Mott isn’t busy writing or rescuing animals—she has more than thirty dogs at any given time—she enjoys curling up with a good book (naturally!), riding her horses or walking her dogs along the riverbank. Brenda can trace her family roots back to the Cherokees who walked the Trail of Tears, and her ranch—twenty-one acres deep in the Tennessee woods—is located on part of what used to be the original claims of the Cherokee Nation. Brenda’s stories often reflect her love of horses by having a ranch-themed plot. She enjoys writing romance best of all, because there’s always a guaranteed happy ending. She loves hearing from her readers. You may reach her at [email protected].

      This book is dedicated to my father, his father and

       to my son, Chance (a-da-na-ta di-ni-la-wi) and my

       cousin, Melvyn—Cherokee men who are every bit

       as tough and loving as Reno’s Grandpa Mel. And

       to my daughter, Loretta—a smart, strong woman

       like Reno. Neh-go-he-luh ah-yuh-we-yah.

      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

      CHAPTER SIXTEEN

      CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

      CHAPTER ONE

      LIGHTNING CUT ACROSS the sky with a vengeance, turning darkness to light for the span of a heartbeat. Long enough to give Reno Blackwell a clear glimpse of the horses. They raced through the clearing below, scattering like spilled marbles. Flared nostrils and urgent whinnies made their fear palpable—more so than the pounding of hooves on rock.

      Without a second thought, Reno sent her own mount plunging over the edge of the hillside. The ground slid away beneath the blue roan, rock striking rock as Plenty Coups tucked his haunches and propelled himself forward in a hell-bent-for-leather descent.

      Thunder rumbled like an angry spirit, and the long-awaited rain poured down relentlessly. As horse and rider reached the bottom of the slope, Reno searched the darkness for signs of human movement. She prayed for another flash of lightning, a glimpse of a headlight…anything to help her locate the poachers.

      There. At the edge of the clearing.

      All-terrain vehicles moved easily across the rocky ground, driving the mustangs forward, herding them along. Reno spotted at least two ATVs—and men with rifles—before the sky blackened again, but she could still see the bobbing glow of headlights. Her pulse pounded in her temples.

      The mustangs. Her mustangs…At the sight of the men’s rifles, she’d tasted the sharp copper of adrenaline, but now thoughts of her own safety fled. She had to turn the herd.

      With a shout of rage, Reno dug her heels into her gelding’s sides, rain rolling off the brim of her hat as she leaned forward in the saddle. If she could steer the mustangs away from the mouth of the canyon ahead, they might have a chance. Once inside, they would be trapped. In another flash of lightning—the bolt too close for comfort now—she spotted the Judas horse, one sent by the poachers to lure the mustangs onward. He was running ahead of the herd, showing them the way. She pointed the blue roan straight at him.

      Plenty Coups responded like the warrior he was named for. Fearless and surefooted, he galloped along the sagebrush-dotted wash, despite the darkness. Like Reno, he’d