Smoky Mountain Home. Lynnette Kent

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      Giving in to Jonah now would make it that much harder to hold out against him in the fight for her barn

      Ruth Ann leaned back, pulling away from his mesmerizing kiss. His hold loosened, but instead of stopping, he took the kisses from her lips to her cheeks, her eyes and her chin, which was almost as devastating.

      “It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

      “No.” She took a deep breath. “You don’t.” Pushing him, she managed a step backward. And another, breaking the circle of his arms.

      Jonah stood motionless, staring at her. Finally he took a deep breath and straightened. “You’re right. The situation is complicated and what just happened didn’t make anything better. My apologies.” Walking past her, he left the stall. Moments later she heard a truck engine start.

      She simply couldn’t afford to leave herself vulnerable where Jonah Granger was concerned.

      Dear Reader,

      Like many little girls, I enjoyed a love affair with horses. I read Black Beauty and also loved historical novels, where the characters went everywhere on horseback or in carriages. Like most teenagers, however, I eventually got busy with homework and boys, and my horse obsession died away.

      Or so I thought. When my own daughter wanted to ride, I drove her to the stable. While glancing around at the pastures, I was hit by a wave of intense longing. The stable owner walked up, we introduced ourselves and I said, “Can I ride, too?”

      That was almost eight years ago. These days I’m the devoted caretaker of five horses and twenty-two acres of land. I believed I’d left my junior high school dreams of a life with horses behind. Now I can’t imagine living without them.

      The heroine of Smoky Mountain Home, Ruth Ann Blakely, shares my passion for horses. She’s also passionate about Jonah Granger—passionately opposed to his plan to replace her beloved, historic stable with a new equestrian center. Yet she’s desperately in love with the man himself. Does Ruth Ann have to sacrifice her past in order to have a future with Jonah?

      I hope you enjoy spending time with Ruth Ann, Jonah and all the horse characters I had fun creating for this story. I love to hear from readers—please feel free to contact me at my Web site, www.lynnette-kent.com, or by letter in care of Harlequin American Romance.

      Happy reading!

      Lynnette Kent

      Smoky Mountain Home

      Lynnette Kent

      MILLS & BOON

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      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      Lynnette Kent began writing her first romance in the fourth grade, about a ship’s stowaway who would fall in love with her captain, Christopher Columbus. Years of scribbling later, her husband suggested she write one of those “Harlequin romances” she loved to read. With his patience and her two daughters’ support, Lynnette realized her dream of being a published novelist. She now lives in North Carolina, where she divides her time between books—writing and reading—and the horses she adores. Feel free to contact Lynnette via her Web site, www.lynnette-kent.com or write her at P.O. Box 1012, Vass, NC 28394.

      For Angela,

       consummate horsewoman and incomparable friend

      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 Fifteen

      Chapter One

      Jonah Granger was exactly what she’d expected.

      His straight black hair had been styled into a perfect tousle, no doubt at a salon in New York City which had charged two hundred dollars for the privilege. He wore gray flannel slacks with a dark-brown turtleneck sweater, probably cashmere, and managed to look artistic but still businesslike while showing off his strong, square shoulders and his flat belly. Add in Italian loafers and a discreet, hideously expensive gold watch. Everything about the man screamed class and money.

      Ruth Ann Blakely gritted her teeth as she watched the architect explain his design, and watched The Hawkridge School’s board of directors melt under the warmth of his smile. Even Jayne Thomas, their usually pragmatic headmistress, seemed swept away by the grandiose plans displayed on Jonah Granger’s easel.

      “Thirty-foot ceilings,” he was saying, “for air circulation and light, with a series of archways creating unique visual effects.”

      “Like a Gothic cathedral.” Board chairwoman Miriam Edwards sighed. “How wonderful.”

      Ruth Ann rolled her eyes.

      “Exactly,” Granger said, aiming the spotlight of his attention right at Miriam. “The clerestory windows provide ventilation in the summer and a solar-heating effect in the winter.”

      “Smart.” Harry Hopkins nodded. “Save on the heating bills.”

      Examining the backs of her hands, which testified to twenty-five or so winters spent working in an unheated stable, Ruth Ann bit her lower lip to keep from laughing.

      “The stall floors will be textured concrete, but the aisles of the stable will be paved with brick.”

      Oh, no, they won’t. Ruth Ann shifted in her chair. My horses aren’t spending their lives standing on concrete, not even if it’s underneath the mats you haven’t mentioned.

      “I’ve provided a lounge for parents and students.” Granger flipped the page to reveal an artistic rendering of what looked like a nightclub. “Sofas for conversation, tables and chairs for meals prepared in the full-sized kitchen equipped with marble counter tops and professional appliances, plus a complete audio-video system.”

      Ruth Ann burst out laughing.

      The thirteen board members sitting around the conference table turned to stare at her. Jonah Granger raised his straight black eyebrows and looked down the slope of his nose at her. “Is something funny?”

      She tried to control herself, but whenever she glanced at the drawing, she couldn’t help another cackle. “S-sorry,” she said finally, wiping her eyes. “That’s a—a really nice room.”

      “Thank—”

      “If you’re building a house or a hotel,” she interrupted. “But