The Morning-After Proposal. Sheri WhiteFeather

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      The

       Morning-

       After

       Proposal

      Sheri Whitefeather

      MILLS & BOON

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      To Diana Ventimiglia, my editor’s assistant.

       Sometimes Diana seems like my assistant, too.

       She helped me with the production schedule on this

       series, one hectic day after the other. Thanks, Diana.

      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

      Epilogue

      One

      Dylan Trueno had finally found her. And he wasn’t letting her go.

      Not this time.

      Determined to make his point, he stared straight into her eyes, making her catch a stunned breath.

      Instant recognition, he thought. The reoccurrence of a time-bomb attraction.

      They stood face to face in the doorway of a cozy old house on the Rocking Horse Refuge. Dylan had been searching for her for eight months, and today he’d hit pay dirt.

      He moved a little closer, and she took a step back. Just seconds ago, she’d answered the door to find him standing there, flinching at the sight of him.

      She didn’t say anything and neither did he. He kept staring at her, piercing her with his gaze. She wore a floral-printed blouse and slim-fitting jeans with a frayed hemline. Her face was devoid of makeup and her jewelry consisted of a simple gold cross.

      He thought she looked much too lean, as if she’d lost weight since the last time he’d seen her, as if she’d been to hell and back.

      But he knew she had.

      Trapped, she glanced away and fidgeted with the ends of her hair. It was blonde now, but she was still the same girl who’d purposely disappeared.

      “Julia,” he finally said.

      “My name is Janie Johnson,” she replied, using her alias, pretending to be someone else. “But my boss calls me JJ.”

      Dylan assumed she worked for the old man who owned the refuge. “I spoke with Henry on the phone, and he’s expecting me.”

      “He told me we were having company. A famous horse trainer. But I didn’t even think—”

      “That it would be me?” He wanted to reach out, to hold her, to lift her into his arms like he’d done before. But he kept his hands to himself. “This isn’t a coincidence. I came here looking for you.”

      “You’re mistaken. I’m not Julia.”

      “Yes, you are. We both know you are.”

      Silence stretched between them, and Dylan cursed beneath his breath. Finding her had become his relentless pursuit. And now that he’d located her, she denied being Julia.

      Her stubbornness struck a frustrated chord. She wasn’t supposed to mess with his emotions. She wasn’t supposed to twist him out of shape, to contort every gut-clenching part of his life.

      But she did.

      Because he wanted her. He didn’t care if they were practically strangers. That wasn’t an issue for him. They’d shared a moment in time that went beyond logic.

      The day they’d met, he thought. The day she’d cried in his arms. The day she’d almost kissed him.

      “Why is Henry expecting you?” she asked suddenly.

      “To discuss the fundraiser you’re having.”

      “You lied to him? You offered to get involved?”

      “I needed an excuse to look for you, to see if you were here. Would you have preferred that I told him the truth? Besides, you’re lying to him, too.” He challenged her, baiting her to admit who she was.

      She did, in a disturbing way. “Henry knows me as JJ, and that’s who I want to be.”

      “It’s too late for that.”

      “Not if you go away.” She fussed with her hair again, making the ends flutter, like wheat in the wind. “Not if you leave.”

      “I can’t do that.” He intended to take her home.

      But first he had to tell her about her mother, to be the bearer of pain-packed news, something he would always despise himself for. “Come outside with me. I have to talk to you.”

      Just then, a graveled voice sounded in the background. “JJ, is that our guest?”

      She paused, got a panicked look in her eyes. Like a doe caught in the sites of a rifle, she went anxiety-ridden still, imploring Dylan to protect her identity.

      For now, he agreed. “We’ll talk later.” The last thing he wanted was for her to get the urge to bolt, to run away.

      She nodded, and within seconds, Henry appeared. He was a kind, crusty cowboy, with a bent body and a craggy-lined face.

      He greeted Dylan, shaking his hand a bit too vigorously. The old man seemed excited to meet him. Of course Dylan had acquired a level of fame. He traveled extensively in his line of work, and western riders from all over the country paid top dollar to attend his clinics and demonstrations.

      Henry invited him inside, escorting him to a small, homespun parlor. Dylan took the chair closest to Julia and focused his attention on her, determined to stay by her side.

      To not lose her again.

      JJ’s mind whirred like a tornado. Could she do this? Could she sit across from Dylan and pretend that he didn’t affect her?

      He looked exactly the way she remembered him. He was dressed in a denim jacket, Wrangler jeans and a silver-and-turquoise belt buckle that glimmered at his waist. He wore his rain-straight onyx-colored hair to his shoulders, and a western hat rested on his head.

      A cowboy, she thought. An Indian. A man who’d invaded her dreams. A man she’d clung to a little too deeply.

      He lifted the brim of his hat, revealing an even deeper, more intense expression.

      A connection to Julia.