At Close Range. Marilyn Tracy

      “Anything’s possible.”

      “Like for you to forgive me for last night?” Mack’s voice, deepened by emotion, seemed to slice right through her. Her gaze cut to his and the rough demand in his blue eyes snared her completely. She must have looked confused because he added, “For the stupid things I said?”

      “I should apologize, too.”

      “No, Corrie,” he said firmly, taking a step forward. “You had every right to be angry. You’ve been nothing but wonderful from day one. I’m the one whose been slinging a bushel of mixed signals.”

      “You were pretty clear last night,” she said. Her voice felt rusty, her jaw stiff.

      “Yes, if you mean my wanting to kiss you. And liking it. And wanting to do it again.”

      “You do?”

      “God, yes.”

      Dear Reader,

      Our exciting month of May begins with another of bestselling author and reader favorite Fiona Brand’s Australian Alpha heroes. In Gabriel West: Still the One, we learn that former agent Gabriel West and his ex-wife have spent their years apart wishing they were back together again. And their wish is about to come true, but only because Tyler needs protection from whoever is trying to kill her—and Gabriel is just the man for the job.

      Marie Ferrarella’s crossline continuity, THE MOM SQUAD, continues, and this month it’s Intimate Moments’ turn. In The Baby Mission, a pregnant special agent and her partner develop an interest in each other that extends beyond police matters. Kylie Brant goes on with THE TREMAINE TRADITION with Entrapment, in which wickedly handsome Sam Tremaine needs the heroine to use the less-than-savory parts of her past to help him capture an international criminal. Marilyn Tracy offers another story set on her Rancho Milagro, or Ranch of Miracles, with At Close Range, featuring a man scarred—inside and out—and the lovely rancher who can help heal him. And in Vickie Taylor’s The Last Honorable Man, a mother-to-be seeks protection from the man she’d been taught to view as the enemy—and finds a brand-new life for herself and her child in the process. In addition, Brenda Harlan makes her debut with McIver’s Mission, in which a beautiful attorney who’s spent her life protecting families now finds that she is in danger—and the handsome man who’s designated himself as her guardian poses the greatest threat of all.

      Enjoy! And be sure to come back next month for more of the best romantic reading around, right here in Intimate Moments.

      Leslie J. Wainger

      Executive Senior Editor

      At Close Range

      Marilyn Tracy

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MARILYN TRACY

      Ranging in subject matter from classic women-in-jeopardy scenarios to fallen angels fighting to save the universe, Marilyn’s books have placed on several bestseller lists and earned her such awards as Romantic Times Career and Lifetime Achievement Awards, and Best of Series. She claims to speak Russian with fair fluency, Hebrew with appalling mistakes and enough Spanish to get her arrested at any border crossing. She lives with her sister in Roswell, New Mexico, where the only aliens they’ve seen thus far are the critters in their new home, a converted railroad warehouse.

      For Dar, who lost Jim but has dear friends.

       For Linda, who survived chemo and has dear friends. And for Mom, who scared us all this year, but has cool daughters.

      Contents

      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

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 1

      “They say that curses follow blessings,” Rita said, snapping a top sheet over the bed. “That’s the way it happens. First the good, then the bad.”

      “Who’s saying this?” Corrie asked the housekeeper, not looking up from her notebook. She crossed out a word, penned in another.

      “Oh, you know. People. Lots of different people, smart people. Too many good things have happened here, they are saying.”

      “And there’s something wrong with that?”

      “There’s nothing wrong with good things. Good is good. But when so much good happens…”

      “It’s time for the bad?”

      “Sí, señora, that’s how it works.” Finished with the sheets and the comforter, Rita plumped the pillows with a vigor belied by her tiny frame. Five feet tall, with black hair and snapping black eyes, she couldn’t weigh more than ninety pounds dripping wet and could wrestle the most recalcitrant child into washing behind her ears. “And that Doreen at the post office? She’s talking about ghosts again.”

      Corrie chuckled, thinking of the bold young mother of three who peddled more gossip than stamps. “I should have thought she was too busy with her wedding plans to worry about ghosts out here,” Corrie said.

      “Oh, Doreen was talking wedding plans long before she snagged that young deputy marshal. See, there’s another good thing.”

      Corrie nodded absently, already back to studying what she’d written. It was less a journal than a song notebook, but as usual, the lyrics were too sharp and pointed, contrived in a harsh fashion. She sighed. She’d come to Rancho Milagro to join her friends and partners, giving up her safe career—or fleeing it—to help run the ranch. But secretly dreaming she could follow her heart’s desire, she’d run to the ranch in order to give herself the chance to write songs.

      If what she’d penned that morning was any indication of the future, and if Reba McEntire decided to sing songs with a decided bite, Corrie Stratton would be a surefire hit; otherwise, she’d better get back into journalism. No one wanted to listen to songs that dripped with romanticism only to end in a kick-in-the-face at the denouement.

      Rita moved to the carpet sweeper and began scratching it across the woven rug. “My mother had a saying, ‘Talk about something bad and the Devil won’t notice you.’ The priest, I don’t think he would agree, but me, I think she was right.”

      “What rhymes with loss?” Corrie muttered.

      “You writing a poem? I like the versos at church. I know, how about sauce? Moss?”

      “Or floss.” Corrie groaned and closed the notebook for the fiftieth time in a month. She laid her head down on the desk. “Why did I ever think I was a songsmith, anyway?”

      “You’re writing a song? Like ‘Qué Buena Esa Vida’? I like that one. ‘How good life is.’ Mmm. You write songs like that?”

      Corrie raised her head from the desk. “I wish,” she said. She pushed up and turned her attention on Rita. “Let me get this right, because so many good things have