Hard Rustler

A cowboy must face his past

Before he loses his heart…again

Supermodel Annabelle “Annie” Clementine is back in Whitehorse, Montana. And there’s nothing cowboy Dawson Rogers wants more than to see his ex-lover’s backside…on the road out. He’ll even risk his heart again and help sell her late grandmother’s house so Annie can leave ASAP. Except along with the house, Annie inherited a mystery. And if they don’t solve it soon, someone’s willing to kill for the answer.

Whitehorse, Montana: The Clementine Sisters

B.J. DANIELS is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author. She wrote her first book after a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist and author of thirty-seven published short stories. She lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, and three springer spaniels. When not writing, she quilts, boats and plays tennis. Contact her at bjdaniels.com, on Facebook or on Twitter, @bjdanielsauthor.

Also by B.J. Daniels

Cowboy’s Redemption

Dark Horse

Dead Ringer

Rough Rider

Renegade’s Pride

Outlaw’s Honor

Hero’s Return

Rancher’s Dream

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Hard Rustler

B.J. Daniels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07924-2

HARD RUSTLER

© 2018 Barbara Heinlein

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is for Julie Simundson Nagy, a true fan,

who has been a bright spot in so many of my days.

Writing is such a solitary endeavor with lots of stress.

I will see Julie and she will remind me that I’m not

alone in this. Her smile and enthusiasm keep me

grounded. Thank you, Julie!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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 Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

As her sports car topped the rise, Annabelle Clementine looked out at the rugged country spread before her and felt her heart drop. She’d never thought she’d see so many miles of wild winter Montana landscape ever again. At least, she’d hoped not.

How could she have forgotten the remoteness? The vastness? The isolation? There wasn’t a town in sight. Or a ranch house. Or another living soul.

She glanced down at her gas gauge. It hovered at empty. She’d tried to get gas at the last station, but her credit card wouldn’t work and she’d gone through almost all of her cash. She’d put in what fuel she could with the change she was able scrape up, but it had barely moved the gauge. If she ran out of gas before she reached Whitehorse...well, it would just be her luck, wouldn’t it?

She let the expensive silver sports car coast down the mountain toward the deep gorge of the Missouri River, thankful that most of the snow was high in the mountains and not on the highway. She didn’t know what she would have done if the roads had been icy since she hadn’t seen a snow tire since she’d left Montana.

The motor coughed. She looked down at the gauge. The engine had to be running on fumes. What was she going to do? It was still miles to Whitehorse. Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to cry. Yes, things were bad. Really bad. But—

She was almost to the river bottom when she saw it. At a wide spot where the river wound on its way through Montana east to the Mississippi, a pickup and horse trailer were pulled off to the side of the highway. Her pulse jumped at just the thought of another human being—let alone the possibility of getting some fuel. If she could just get to Whitehorse...

But as she descended the mountain, she didn’t see anyone around the pickup or horse trailer. What if the rig had been left beside the road and the driver was nowhere to be found? Maybe there would be a gas can in the back of the pickup or—Have you stooped so low that now you would steal gas?

Fortunately, she wasn’t forced to answer that. She spotted a cowboy standing on the far side of the truck. Her instant of relief was quickly doused as she looked around and realized how alone the two of them were, out here in the middle of nowhere.

Don’t be silly. What are the chances the cowboy is a serial killer, rapist, kidnapper, ax murderer...? The motor sputtered as if taking its last gasp as she slowed. It wasn’t as if she had a choice. She hadn’t seen another car for over an hour. For miles she’d driven through open country dotted occasionally with cows but no people. And she knew there was nothing but rugged country the rest of the way north to Whitehorse.

If there had been any other way to get where she was headed, she would have taken it. But her options had been limited for some time now.

And today, it seemed, her options had come down to this cowboy and possible serial killer rapist kidnapper ax murderer.

She let the car glide into the spot next to where the cowboy had pulled off the highway. I’ll just bum a little fuel and be on my way. Nothing to worry about. Just the thought made her laugh. Her life was one big worry right now, she fretted, as she took in the rangy-looking cowboy standing by his truck.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” She groaned. Taking risks is what got you into this mess. Like she had to be reminded.

The engine let out a final cough and died. Committed now, she had no choice as she braked next to the horse trailer. Turning off the key in the ignition, she checked her makeup and hair in the mirror. You’re Annabelle Clementine. You can do this. The woman who stared back at her from the mirror looked skeptical at best.

Bucking up her courage, she stepped out of the car, careful not to let her last pair of expensive heels get muddy. “Excuse me?” she called, determined also not to get too far away from her open car door. “I’m afraid I have a small problem and really could use some help.”

She was ready to make a hasty retreat back into the car, if need be. Not that she would be going far if things went south. But at least she could lock herself in. She instantly regretted the fact that she’d bought a canvas-topped convertible, which had been perfect in Southern California.

The cowboy had his back to her and hadn’t looked up from where he’d been digging around in the back of his pickup bed.

“Excuse me?” she tried again. He had to have heard her. But so far, he hadn’t acknowledged her presence in any way.

Forced to move away from the car, she took in the cowboy as she approached and wasn’t impressed with what she saw. But then again, she’d grown up with cowboys so she’d never understood the fascination. Admittedly, this one was tall, broad shouldered, slim hipped, long legged and not bad from the backside.

Unfortunately, everything else about him looked worn and dirty, from his jeans, boots and canvas jacket to the Stetson on the too-long dark hair curling at the nape of his red neck.

At her approach, he gave her a quick glance over his shoulder. She could see little of his face. He wore mirrored sunglasses against the winter glare, his hat pulled low. Under the dark shadow of his Stetson, she glimpsed several week’s growth of beard, making him look even more craggy and unkempt. No designer stubble on this cowboy.

Either he’d been on the range for days or this was as good as it got with him.

You’re not marrying him. You’re just bumming fuel. “Hello?” she said louder and with more attitude as he went back to what he was doing.

“There a problem?” he drawled in a low, lazy tone as he finally finished and turned, seemingly reluctantly, to give her his attention. She saw that he’d been feeding his dog in the back of the pickup. The dog—little more than a puppy—was a furry mutt with one blue eye and one brown one circled by a patch of black. He didn’t look much better than his owner.

She shifted her gaze back to the cowboy who was looking at her car as if he’d never seen one like it before. Probably doesn’t get off the ranch much.

He slowly slid his gaze back to her with a nonchalance that made her grind her teeth.

“Yes, there is a problem.” She’d thought she’d already told him that.

He lifted the brim of his hat, dropped his sunglasses down to look over them for a moment. She caught a glimpse of brown eyes as he surveyed her, making her feel nearly naked under the black cashmere sweater and slacks she was wearing, before he lifted his sunglasses again.

“I’m afraid I forgot to buy gas at the last station,” she said, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible—even if it did make her look like a fool. She had worse problems. “I was wondering if you might have some gas that I could borrow? Just enough to get me into town?”

“Borrow?” He chuckled at that. “And town being?”

She hated to even admit where she was headed. “Whitehorse.”

“That’s another hour up the road.”

As if she didn’t know that. “My car used more gas than I thought it would.” She gave a nervous laugh, hating that she had to resort to acting as if she didn’t have a brain. Back when she was making money, fuel was never an issue. She hadn’t realized how much a lot of things cost—until she couldn’t pay for them anymore.

He nodded, glancing toward the river as if considering her request. “I suppose I could siphon some out of one of my tanks.” He didn’t sound thrilled about it. Nor had he moved.

“I would appreciate that so much.” She glanced at her watch.

“Got some place to be, do you?”

“I have an appointment.”

“In Whitehorse?” From under the brim of his hat and behind the mirrored sunglasses, he studied her a few moments more before he sighed. “Best pull up next to my pickup while I grab a hose.”

She feared the car wouldn’t start, let alone move. But there must have been just enough fumes left for her to pull up before it died again. She shut off the engine, staying in the car to pop the gas compartment open and watch him move slow as molasses. He acted as if he had all day. He probably did.

Patience had never been one of her strong suits. She tapped a toe as she heard him talking to his dog, mumbling so she couldn’t make out a word. As if she didn’t know he was giving the dog an earful about her.

The dog, still in the pickup bed, wagged its tail enthusiastically at whatever the cowboy said. Whatever he was saying, he certainly found it amusing from that hint of a grin under the beard. Annabelle consoled herself with the thought that the mutt was probably the closest thing the cowboy could get to a female companion.

After a good five to ten minutes, he finished. She hadn’t thought past getting enough gas to get to Whitehorse. Now her stomach clenched at a thought. Not only should she offer him money, but he also might demand it. And since she had no money and doubted he took credit cards—even ones that weren’t frozen for lack of payment...

She watched him walk to his pickup to put the hose away and knew what she had to do. It was the coward’s way out. But she told herself that she had no choice. She’d been telling herself that for months now. Not that it made her feel any better as she quickly started her car and threw it into reverse.

Whirring down the passenger side window, she called out, “Thank you so much. If you’re ever in Whitehorse...” With that she took off, torn between guilt and glee over seeing that he’d given her almost a full tank of gas.

When she dared look back, she saw him standing by his pickup shaking his head as he watched her leave. She thought of that glimpse of golden brown. Even shaded under the brim of his old Stetson, those eyes... They’d almost seemed...familiar.

Chapter Two

Dawson Rogers swore as he pulled off his worn Stetson. Raking a hand through his hair, he watched the silver sports car take off like a bat out of hell.

“Annabelle Clementine.” He said the name like a curse. For years, he’d only seen her staring back at him from glossy women’s magazine ads. He’d been just fine knowing there was no chance that he’d ever lay eyes on her in the flesh again. She’d been real clear about never setting foot in this state again when she’d left all those years ago.

So what was she doing headed for Whitehorse?

That his heart was still pounding only made him more furious with himself. When he’d heard her voice behind him...he couldn’t believe it. He’d thought for sure that his worn-out, dog-weary body was playing tricks on him. He’d frozen in place, counting to ten and then ten again, afraid to turn around for fear he’d be wrong—or worse—right.

Now he swore, remembering his reaction to just the sound of her voice. Could he be a bigger fool?

And yet that voice had brought it all back. The ache in his belly, the stompin’ she’d done on his heart. Worse, the hope that set a fire inside him at just the sound of it. In that instant, he’d wanted it to be her more than he’d wanted his next breath. After everything she’d done to him, he’d actually felt a spike of joy at the thought of seeing her again.

And still he hadn’t turned around, because he’d known once he did, the disappointment would be as painful as the last time he’d seen her.

Turning, he’d seen her standing there and thought, Damn, the woman is even more beautiful than when she’d hightailed it out of here.

He’d been shocked—and still was. Annie. In the flesh. That she hadn’t changed except to become more gorgeous had left him shaken. A dust devil of emotions whirled inside him as he watched her drive away.

“What is she doing back here?” he demanded as the pup came over to the side of the pickup bed to lick his hand.

Sadie wagged her tail in response. “What am I doing asking you?” He ruffled the dog’s fur. Still, he found himself squinting after the sports car as it climbed the mountain on the other side of the river and disappeared around a curve. “What’s a woman who said she’d never set foot in Whitehorse doing back here? If I hadn’t seen her with my own eyes...”

For just a moment there, earlier, before she’d asked for gas, he’d thought...

Hell, he didn’t want to think about what he’d thought as he shoved his hat back on. “Let’s get on home,” he said to the pup as he reminded himself that Annabelle Clementine’s coming back had nothing to do with him.

He told himself that he shouldn’t have been surprised that she hadn’t changed. Still, it galled him. Her clothes might be more expensive and she drove a much fancier car, but she was still the same girl who’d looked down her nose at him—and Whitehorse—all those years ago.

It nagged at him. What could have brought her back? He shook his head, telling himself it was obviously none of his business. Best thing he could do was to forget about her—something he’d been working on for some time now.

After two weeks in hunting camp, he recalled that before he’d seen her, all he’d wanted was to get home, have a hot shower and climb into a warm, soft bed. If he hadn’t stopped beside the road to take a leak, let Sadie out and give the pup a snack...well, he might not have seen her at all.

The only thing that didn’t surprise him, he told himself as he lifted Sadie into the pickup’s front seat and climbed behind the wheel, was that the woman hadn’t given him the time of day. Hell, he couldn’t even be sure she remembered him. After all, it had been... How many years had it been? He wondered with a frown as he started the truck engine.

Thirteen. He let out a low whistle. Sadie’s ears perked up, but she lay back down and closed her eyes for the ride home.

And it wasn’t like Annie had ever given him a thought since she’d been gone, he reminded himself. She’d made it perfectly clear that they had no future before she’d left right after high school to find fame and fortune.

Dawson pointed the pickup toward Whitehorse, all the time trying to imagine what could have brought her back. Certainly not her grandmother’s funeral. Only her two sisters had made it back for that. Of course, they’d attended the funeral and left right away, but at least they’d shown up. He shook his head, thinking that he’d expected better of the girl he’d fallen in love with all those years ago. Given how much her grandmother had doted on her...

But he reminded himself that he’d always been wrong about the woman. He could no more predict what Annabelle was going to do than predict the Montana weather. He thought of that young fool cowboy who’d saved every dime he made that year to promise her something that would make her stay. He growled under his breath at the memory.

Well, he wasn’t that young fool anymore. Which was why he was going to give her a wide berth as long as she was in town. Not that he suspected it would be for long. Knowing her, she would be hightailing it back to California as fast as she could. Back to her fancy life in the spotlight.

“Which is just fine with us, huh, Sadie,” he said to his pup. “Don’t need the likes of her around here messing with our minds.” Sadie barked in answer and curled closer to him, making him laugh. “This was before your time,” he said to the dog, “But that woman was once nothing but walking heartache for this cowboy. Fortunately, I’m not that man anymore.”

His words sounded hollow, even to him. He felt his face flush at how much gas he’d given her and mentally kicked himself. He should have left her beside the road to fend for herself. But then, he’d never been able to say no to her—even when he should have known that a girl like her wanted something better than a cowboy like him.

* * *

ANNABELLE PUT THE cowboy and his dog behind her as she drove north. She was determined that nothing would get in her way. Once she did what she’d come for, she was out of here. Another one of those limited options.

She took the back way into the small Western town. The first settlement of Whitehorse had been nearer the Missouri River. But when the railroad came through, the town migrated north, taking the name with it. Old Town Whitehorse, as it was now known, was little more than a ghost town to the south.

Not that Whitehorse proper was a thriving metropolis. The whole town was only ten blocks square. Nothing but a siding along the railroad tracks more than a hundred years ago, it had become a small rural town like a lot of small rural Montana towns.

Why her grandmother had settled here was still a mystery, but when Annabelle’s parents had been killed, Grandma Frannie had taken Annabelle and her two sisters in without hesitation. Annabelle had grown up here, dreaming of a life she envisioned far from this dusty old Western town.

As she drove down the tree-lined street with the large houses that backed onto the Milk River, images of her childhood flickered like the winter sun coming through the leafless cottonwood trees. From as far back as she could remember, she’d grown up with one thing in mind: getting out of this town and making something of her life.

That sick feeling she’d become acquainted with over the past few months now settled in her stomach. Right now, she couldn’t face even thinking about how she’d messed up. Sitting up a little straighter behind the wheel of the car, she assured herself that everything was going to be fine.

She would just take care of business and put all the unpleasantness behind her. As she tried to look for a silver lining in all this, she noticed that she still had plenty of gas. It should last her for what little time she would be here, thanks to that cowboy. She shoved away the guilt. If she ever saw him again...

Down the block, she spotted the house. Her foot came off the gas pedal, the car slowing as she felt a rush of déjà vu. The house hadn’t changed—just like she doubted the town had—and for a moment it was as if she’d never left. So much had happened to her, she’d expected this part of her past would have changed, somehow.

Instead, it looked so much the same, she almost expected Frannie to come out on the porch as Annabelle pulled up in front of the large, two-story house and shut off the engine. The key to the front door was in her pocket, but she wasn’t ready to go inside. Not yet. Glancing at her watch, she saw that she’d gotten here early. There was no sign of the Realtor. Taking a breath, she let it out and tried to relax as she studied the house.

The white siding could use an overall paint job and the emerald trim needed a touch-up. But if she closed her eyes, she could picture herself and her sisters, the three Clementine girls, on that wide porch drinking Grandma Frannie’s lemonade and giggling like the schoolgirls they’d been.

She hadn’t realized that she’d closed her eyes until she felt them burn with tears. Her guilt was like one of her grandmother’s knitting needles to her heart. Yes, she should have made it to Frannie’s funeral. She’d had her reasons, and they hadn’t all been out of embarrassment for the way her life had turned out.