Cowboy Under Fire. Carla Cassidy

      

       “You think I’m in danger.” It was a statement, not a question.

      Forest hesitated a moment and then nodded somberly. “Even though you don’t remember it, you were viciously attacked. Until we know why or by whom, I don’t want you alone anywhere.”

      “Does that mean I’ve just gained a bodyguard?” Patience asked.

      He smiled. “Yeah, and I already know you don’t like it, but until somebody is in jail for attacking you or you finish up your work and leave here, you have your own personal bodyguard.”

      “But you have your own work to do here at the ranch,” she protested.

      “During the days when you’re in the tent doing your thing, I’ll be in the corral working with the horse. When you’re safe in your room, I’ll be in mine. If you decide to go anywhere for any reason, you need to make sure I’m with you.”

      His gaze was once again somber. “This isn’t optional, Patience.”

      * * *

      Be sure to check out the next books in this exciting series:

      Cowboys of Holiday Ranch—Where sun, earth and hard work turn men into rugged cowboys … and irresistible heroes!

       Cowboy Under Fire

      Carla Cassidy

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      CARLA CASSIDY is a New York Times bestselling author who has written more than one hundred books for Mills & Boon. Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write. She’s looking forward to writing many more books and bringing hours of pleasure to readers.

      MILLS & BOON

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      Contents

       Cover

       Introduction

       Title Page

       About the Author

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

       Chapter 4

       Chapter 5

       Chapter 6

       Chapter 7

       Chapter 8

       Chapter 9

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Chapter 13

       Chapter 14

       Chapter 15

       Chapter 16

       Epilogue

       Extract

       Copyright

Chapter 1

      She cast a tiny shadow, but was as snappy as a ticked-off Chihuahua. Forest Stevens cast a huge shadow but rarely got riled up about anything. Still, since the moment the petite Dr. Patience Forbes had arrived on the Holiday Ranch, she’d fired him up in a way he hadn’t felt before.

      Not that he’d done anything about it...at least not yet. Despite the fact that she’d been on the property for the past three weeks, he had yet to do much of anything except tip his black hat as she stalked back and forth from her room next to his to the blue tent where she worked.

      He was aware of the importance of her work. As a forensic anthropologist she’d been brought to the ranch by the discovery of a mass grave beneath an old shed that had been damaged in the spring by a tornado. The pit of bones had been unearthed when the ranch hands were tearing down the shed after the storm.

      He now stood just outside the tent where she and her assistant, a middle-aged man named Dr. Devon Lewison, had been dealing with the bones of the dead in an attempt to put skeletons back together again and gather information so that identities could potentially be established or a clue to the killer might be discovered.

      For the entire length of time that she’d been on the ranch, she hadn’t interacted with anyone except Devon and Chief of Police Dillon Bowie. She worked from dawn until dusk and didn’t take her meals in the cowboy dining room.

      Forest hoped to change some of that. For a man who was six-four and strong as an ox, a ridiculous nervousness raced through him as he drew a deep breath and stepped in front of the doorway of the tent.

      She immediately whipped around, her red, shoulder-length curls dancing with her movement as her green eyes narrowed in obvious irritation. “You’re blocking my light, cowboy.”

      Moving left or right wouldn’t change the fact that he completely filled up the tent entrance. “My name isn’t cowboy, it’s Forest... Forest Stevens.” He quickly swept his hat off his head, as if that polite gesture would somehow turn her deep frown into a pleasant smile. It didn’t.

      “Okay, Forest Stevens, what’s the problem?”

      She stood before a stainless-steel table where dried brown bones were laid out in the quasi-pattern of a human being. Forest averted his gaze from the remnants of death to her.

      “No problem,” he replied easily. “You’re staying in the room next to mine. I just figured it was about time we spoke.”

      “Good. Now we’ve spoken. Goodbye.” She dismissed him by turning her slender back on him.

      Forest stepped out the tent entrance and heaved a sigh of frustration. He shouldn’t be dismayed by her curtness. At least he knew not to take it personally. She hadn’t been friendly with anyone on the ranch. Even Dillon called her Dr. Dreadful or the dragon lady behind her back.