Connal. Diana Palmer

      

Dear Reader,

      I really can’t express how flattered I am and also how grateful I am to Mills & Boon Books for releasing this collection of my published works. It came as a great surprise. I never think of myself as writing books that are collectible. In fact, there are days when I forget that writing is work at all. What I do for a living is so much fun that it never seems like a job. And since I reside in a small community, and my daily life is confined to such mundane things as feeding the wild birds and looking after my herb patch in the backyard, I feel rather unconnected from what many would think of as a glamorous profession.

      But when I read my email, or when I get letters from readers, or when I go on signing trips to bookstores to meet all of you, I feel truly blessed. Over the past thirty years I have made lasting friendships with many of you. And quite frankly, most of you are like part of my family. You can’t imagine how much you enrich my life. Thank you so much.

      I also need to extend thanks to my family (my husband, James, son, Blayne, daughter-in-law, Christina, and granddaughter, Selena Marie), to my best friend, Ann, to my readers, booksellers and the wonderful people at Mills & Boon Books—from my editor of many years, Tara, to all the other fine and talented people who make up our publishing house. Thanks to all of you for making this job and my private life so worth living.

      Thank you for this tribute, Mills & Boon, and for putting up with me for thirty long years! Love to all of you.

      Diana Palmer

      DIANA PALMER

      The prolific author of more than a hundred The prolific author of more than a hundred books, Diana Palmer got her start as a books, Diana Palmer got her start as a newspaper reporter. A multi–newspaper reporter. A multi–New York Times New York Times bestselling author and one of the top ten bestselling author and one of the top ten romance writers in America, she has a gift for romance writers in America, she has a gift for telling the most sensual tales with charm and telling the most sensual tales with charm and humor. Diana lives with her family in Cornelia, humor. Diana lives with her family in Cornelia, Georgia.

      Visit her website at www.DianaPalmer.com.

      Connal

      New York Times and USA TODAY Bestselling Author

      Diana Palmer

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      Contents

       Cover

Letter to Reader

       About the Author

       Title Page

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

       Chapter 3

       Chapter 4

       Chapter 5

       Chapter 6

       Chapter 7

       Chapter 8

       Chapter 9

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Copyright

       Chapter 1

      Because of the date, Penelope knew she wouldn’t find him at the barn. That was where he usually was at this hour of the day. Any other time, C. C. Tremayne was always two steps ahead of his men in feeding the animals, especially with the drought that had turned the grass brown and brittle these past few weeks. The drought had been a bad break for her father. Even with the Rio Grande only a few miles away, water was a precious commodity and wells kept going dry, leaving the tanks they filled empty.

      West Texas was usually hot in mid-September, but the wind was up and it was unseasonably cold this evening. Penelope had worn a jacket outside, and now she was glad she had. She shivered a little in the late afternoon chill.

      It was just beginning to get dark, and Penelope knew that if she didn’t get to C.C. before her father did, it was going to mean another nasty quarrel. Ben Mathews and his foreman had been at each other’s throats enough in recent weeks and Penelope didn’t want any more arguments. Her father always got bad-tempered when money was tight. Things couldn’t be much worse right now.

      C.C. was drinking. She knew it; it was that time of year again. Only Penelope knew the importance of that day in September in C.C.’s life. She’d once nursed him through a flu and a raging delirium and he’d told her everything. She didn’t let on that she knew, of course. C.C.—he was called that, although nobody knew what the initials stood for—didn’t like anyone knowing private things about him. Not even the girl who loved him more than life.

      He didn’t love Penelope. He never had, although she’d worshiped him since she was nineteen and he’d been hired as foreman when her father’s oldest hand retired. It had only taken one long look at the lithe, lean, dark-eyed man with the hawkish features and unsmiling face for her to fall madly in love with him. It was three years later, and her emotions hadn’t undergone