Cowboy at the Crossroads. Linda Warren

      “Dr. Becca Talbert?”

      Becca recognized that voice. For the past year and at the oddest times, she’d seen his face and the sadness in his eyes. “Yes,” she answered readily.

      “This is Cord Prescott.”

      She already knew that. But why was he calling her after a whole year without a word? She hadn’t seen him since his wife’s funeral.

      “You may not remember me,” he said. “I’m Colton’s brother.”

      “Yes, I remember you, Cord, and your little girl. How are you?” Over the past year she’d often asked Colton about Cord and his daughter. He always said they were “trying to adjust.”

      “Not good,” he answered. “But I know you’re a pediatrician and I thought you might be able to help me with Nicki.” He paused and she could hear him drag in a deep breath. “I've taken her to several doctors, even a child psychologist, but she won’t talk to them. She insists on staying in her room, and she’s hardly eating. She’s lost so much weight I can’t stand it. She won’t talk about her mother. I think she’s making herself physically ill with grief. I’d really like to get your professional opinion.”

      “Of course. I’d be glad to help any way I can,” Becca said instantly, her heart heavy at the thought of what Cord was going through.

      There was another long pause. “Nicki doesn’t do well in an office setting. I was hoping I could persuade you to come out to the ranch and see her.”

      Dear Reader,

      Cowboy at the Crossroads is about Becca Talbert who first appeared in Emily’s Daughter. I’ve been asked so many times when Becca’s story is coming out. This is it. The wait is over.

      Plotting Becca’s life wasn’t easy. She has this marching-in-where-angels-fear-to-tread personality. So how would the trauma of finding out about her birth affect her? Would she continue to feel angry and resentful or would she accept her life and make the most of it? And—equally important—what type of man would steal her heart? Those questions took me some time to sort through, and Cowboy at the Crossroads will give you the answers. It may not be what you expect, but I hope you’ll enjoy this journey with Becca as she finds love and happiness—her way.

      Thanks for reading my books.

      Linda Warren

      P.S. Your mail is always welcome. You can reach me at P.O. Box 5182, Bryan, TX 77805 or e-mail at [email protected].

      Cowboy at the Crossroads

      Linda Warren

      MILLS & BOON

       Before you start reading, why not sign up?

      Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

       SIGN ME UP!

      Or simply visit

      signup.millsandboon.co.uk

      Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

      To my sisters-in-law, Sondra Siegert, LaVal Siegert, Melinda Siegert, Sandra Lenz and Betty Patranella, who have supported me wholeheartedly from the start. Thanks, ladies.

      And thanks to Dr. Mark Fuller, DVM, and Randy Rychlik, paramedic, who shared their expert knowledge.

      Any errors are strictly mine.

      CONTENTS

      PROLOGUE

      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

      EPILOGUE

      PROLOGUE

      WHAT SHOULD SHE SAY TO HIM?

      Rebecca Talbert knew she had to say something, but when she looked at Cordell Prescott words eluded her. He sat on the sofa in a dark suit with his elbows on his knees and his hands clutching a glass of punch. That expression of loss and sadness twisted her stomach into a hard knot.

      She hated funerals, especially when the person was so young and had died so needlessly. Anette Prescott’s death from alcohol poisoning had left not only a grieving widower, but a motherless four-year-old girl. Becca had never met Anette; in fact, this was the first time she’d actually met Cord. She knew Clay and Colton, his brothers; they were business associates of her father. Her parents were in Europe and she’d attended the funeral in their place. But she would have come, anyway, because she and Colton were close friends. There’d been a time she’d thought their relationship would develop into more, but the passion just wasn’t there. And she wanted that passion, the kind of deep, lasting love her parents shared. Based on her relationships to date, she had a feeling she was going to grow old looking for it.

      Becca took a sip of her punch and glanced around. They were in the large family room of the Prescott ranch house, a room that was attractively rustic with wood beams on the ceiling, a stone fireplace and hardwood floors. Colton had told her the ranch-style two-story house had been built by his great-grandfather in the 1800s and there’d been Prescotts here ever since. Cord was the rancher in the family; he’d continued to run Triple Creek, while his brothers had opted for another way of life in the city.

      As the grandfather clock chimed, Becca realized she had to leave, and soon. She was on duty at the hospital in an hour, and it was a thirty-minute drive back to Houston. She set her glass on a table. It was now or never. She had to offer her condolences to Cord, then make her way out to where the cars were parked. A few family and friends had returned to the ranch after the funeral, and Colton had insisted she come, although Becca felt a bit out of place.

      She took a deep breath and walked over to the sofa. When she sat beside Cord, he didn’t move or acknowledge her presence.

      “I’m so sorry about your wife,” she said. It sounded lame even to her own ears. He’d probably heard those words a hundred times today.

      He still hadn’t responded, so she started to get up. She didn’t want to cause him any more stress than necessary.

      Then his voice came. “I just wish I understood. Why? Why did this happen? Anette never drank that much. I just don’t understand it. And Nicki…” As he said his daughter’s name, his voice cracked.

      Becca did what she would have done with anyone who was in that much pain. She put her arms around him. He murmured something she didn’t hear, and to her surprise, his arms locked tightly around her. She knew he had had a drink and she didn’t know what he’d done with it. Nor did she care. She only wanted to comfort him.

      As his arms tightened, she became aware of his strength and the tangy masculine scent that filled her nostrils.