Longwalker's Child. Debra Webb

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      Lauren watched as Gray smiled down at the child, the tenderness on his face almost more than she could bear.

      “Mommy! Mommy, did you see me ride the horse?” Sarah glowed with excitement.

      “I sure did, sweetie.” Lauren met Gray’s eyes only briefly. Even that contact sent an unwanted tingle up her spine.

      Gray dismounted and lifted Sarah off the horse.

      “I had this much fun!” Sarah exclaimed, holding her arms wide. “I want you to ride, too!” She looked expectantly from Lauren to Gray. “Please, Mommy?”

      “I’d be happy to take you,” Gray offered.

      Lauren glowered at him, which only made him grin. “All right, all right.”

      Once Lauren settled on the saddle, Gray slid in behind her. His palm flattened on her abdomen and pressed her closer to his hard male body. She trembled at the feel of him. His fingers knotted in the cotton of her T-shirt, then relaxed.

      He felt it too, she realized.

      Gray Longwalker might like to pretend he was in control, but when it came to this attraction between them, he was as defenseless as she was.

      Longwalker’s Child

      Debra Webb

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Thanks to a friend and fellow author Tina Leonard for keeping me straight on my Texas facts.

      This book is dedicated to the light of my life, my little girl, Melissa. God gave me a very special gift when he sent you to me. Be sweet always, and remember that I will always love you.

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      Debra Webb was born in Scottsboro, Alabama, to parents who taught her that anything is possible if you want it badly enough. She began writing at age nine. Eventually, she met and married the man of her dreams, and tried some other occupations, including selling vacuum cleaners, and working in a factory, a day-care center, a hospital and a department store. When her husband joined the military, they moved to Berlin, Germany, and Debra became a secretary in the commanding general’s office. By 1985 they were back in the States, and finally moved to Tennessee, to a small town where everyone knows everyone else. With the support of her husband and two beautiful daughters, Debra took up writing again, looking to mystery and movies for inspiration. In 1998 her dream of writing for Harlequin came true.

      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 One

      “I believe you have something that belongs to me.”

      Lauren Whitmore looked up at the tall raven-haired man filling her doorway. Wearing a black Stetson and duster, he all but blocked the bright morning sun, casting an ominous shadow across her threshold. His dark hair fell well past his broad shoulders, lending an even more roguish quality to his appearance. His face, all shadows and angles, was undeniably good-looking.

      At first Lauren considered that maybe the handsome stranger who’d knocked on her door was lost, but one good look into his eyes changed her mind and stilled her heart.

      Eyes that Lauren looked into every day of her life—the same intense gray eyes of her soon-to-be-adopted daughter. Fear slid through her veins.

      “I’m sure you’re mistaken, sir,” she finally managed to say despite the rush of hysteria crowding her throat. Lauren grasped the tarnished brass knob more firmly and prepared to close the door. Please God, she prayed, just let me get this door closed and locked so I can get to the telephone and call Don. He will know how to handle this.

      The man flattened one wide palm against the door, halting its movement. “Wait. You are Lauren Whitmore.”

      Lauren knew he wasn’t asking. This was the kind of man who calculated every move, every word. He knew exactly who she was before he stopped at her ranch and knocked on her door.

      “Yes,” she said, her voice strained with the effort of maintaining her composure. “I’m Lauren Whitmore.” Panic snaked around her heart as she groped for some kind of plan—any kind of plan to get rid of him until she could make just one call. “But there’s nothing here that belongs to anyone but me,” she hedged. Technically it was the truth—she was alone in the house.

      “This is your ad.”

      Another statement. He thrust the crumpled newspaper he held in his left hand in her direction. His expression determined, the angular features of his face slashed in granite.

      Lauren moistened her dry lips and tried to swallow, but she couldn’t. Her gaze dropped from his watchful gaze to the newspaper he offered. Concentrating hard to keep her hand steady, she took the paper and stared blankly at the ad circled in red. She didn’t have to read the printed words…she knew what they said because the ad did belong to her.

      Ice-cold dread formed in her stomach. This was the nightmare Don, her good friend and trusted attorney, had assured Lauren would never happen.

      Never, he’d emphasized.

      Lauren drew in a shaky breath and met the man’s piercing gray gaze once more. “Who wants to know?” she asked in the bravest tone she could muster. Her heart pounded wildly as she waited for the answer she didn’t want to hear.

      “Gray Longwalker,” he said roughly, as if accustomed to a particular reaction to the announcement. A muscle flexed in his deeply bronzed jaw.

      “I’ll need to see some sort of identification,” Lauren insisted. The delay tactic would prove futile, but she had to try. Though fear whittled away at her resolve not to run as fast as she could away from him, Lauren held her ground. She needed some inkling of his immediate intent.

      One corner of his mouth lifted in a patient but weary gesture that wasn’t quite a smile. She had the distinct impression that he had not smiled often during his thirty or so years. Somehow that thought disturbed her. Lauren tamped down the reaction. She would not feel anything even remotely related to sympathy for this man. This was the man who held the power to devastate the life she had built since coming to this town.

      Lauren squared her shoulders and met his searching gaze. Taking his time so that he could analyze her more thoroughly, he reached into the back pocket of his faded jeans and removed his wallet. The March wind ruffled the duster around his legs, the flapping sound loud in the otherwise stark silence.

      He flashed a Texas driver’s license. “Gray Longwalker,” he repeated, his tone wary now, as if he’d read her last thought. He shoved the worn leather wallet back into his pocket. “I’ve come for my daughter.”

      The words, though expected, echoed all the way through Lauren’s soul. She blinked twice. Her skin felt clammy, and the hasty breakfast she’d wolfed down less than half an hour ago threatened to make a reappearance. She knew the symptoms and what would follow. She willed herself to calm, taking a slow, deep breath to fight the light-headedness