His Texas Runaway. Stella Bagwell

       Chapter One

      Roslyn DuBose switched on the headlights and peered at the navigation map illuminated on the dashboard of her car. Wickenburg, Arizona, was less than three miles away. Surely she could hang on until she reached the small desert town. Pulling off to the side of a dark, lonely highway, even for a short rest, wasn’t a safe option. Not for her, or her unborn baby.

      Gripping the steering wheel, she blinked and hoped the cobwebs in front of her weary eyes would go away. For the past two days she’d driven over a thousand miles and fatigue was beginning to overtake her. Tonight she had no choice but to settle in for a rest. Hopefully when her father read the note she’d left for him back in Fort Worth, he’d understand and not intervene. But Martin DuBose wasn’t an understanding or forgiving man. Sooner or later, he’d come after her.

      Determined, Roslyn drove onward, toward the lights dotting the dark horizon. Until the two-lane highway seemed to be coming at her in undulating waves.

      God help her, she was going to faint!

      The horrifying thought was zipping through her brain at the same time she spotted a brick building with a wide graveled parking area.

      Wheeling the car to a halt beneath the dim glow of a security light, she turned off the engine and reached for a water bottle resting in the cup holder next to her seat.

      Damn. It was empty. When had she downed the last of the water? Winslow? Flagstaff?

      Resting her head against the seat, she splayed a hand upon the large mound where her waist used to be and felt the child moving against the bottom of her rib cage.

       Hang on, little darlin’. In a minute I’ll feel better. Then I’ll find us a nice meal and a soft bed.

      Another kick landed somewhere in the region of her bellybutton and if Roslyn hadn’t been so exhausted she would’ve smiled at the notion of the baby reading her thoughts. For now, she was barely able to muster enough energy to peer beyond the windshield at the sign hanging over the door of the building.

       Hollister Animal Clinic.

      She’d parked in front of a veterinary clinic that appeared to be closed for the night. At least no one was around to accuse her of loitering, she thought, as she leaned her forehead against the steering wheel.

      Just a minute or two more of rest, she promised herself, and then she’d move on.

      * * *

      On a normal day, Chandler Hollister tried to close his veterinarian business at six in the evening. But his days were rarely normal. On most evenings, he went far past seven or even eight at night, performing last-minute surgeries or dealing with emergencies that couldn’t wait until morning. Such was the case tonight.

      The last three hours he’d spent driving to a ranch in a remote corner of Yavapai County, then riding horseback to a rugged arroyo to doctor one cow who’d had difficulty calving. Being the only vet in the area made his job challenging, but he wouldn’t change it for anything.

      Now, as he drove the last half mile to Hollister Animal Clinic, he glanced at the digital clock on the truck dashboard. “Eight fifteen. Not too bad considering I’ve been up since four thirty this morning. I might actually get home to Three Rivers before ten tonight.”

      In the seat across from him, Chandler’s young assistant let out a weary groan. “You might be feeling like a stud colt, but I’m dead beat. And we still have the horses to unload and put to bed for the night.”

      Chuckling, Chandler nudged the brim of his gray Stetson back off his forehead. “Trey, you’re thirty years old. Six years younger than me. You should have energy to spare.”

      Trey grunted. “I’m not used to working sixteen hours a day, six days a week, like you are.”

      “You should be getting used to it,” Chandler said wryly. “You’ve done it for the past two years.”

      “Yeah, and what am I getting for it? Besides a paycheck and a continual state of exhaustion?”

      Chandler grinned. “Fulfillment, Trey. You can go home tonight knowing that cow and her little baby are going to be fine.”

      “They won’t be fine if she and the baby can’t climb out of the arroyo. If it rains—”

      Chandler’s laugh interrupted his words. “Rain? Are you kidding? There’s no danger of seeing a drop of it for weeks. Besides, if it did start raining, old Amos would winch the pair out to higher ground.”

      “You’re right. That old man is just like you, he’d try to help a sidewinder if he thought it was sick.”

      “Sometimes snakes need doctoring, too,” Chandler replied.

      The familiar sight of the clinic came into view and Trey promptly scooted to the edge of his seat. “Hey, Doc, a car is parked in front of the building. Sure doesn’t look like it belongs to any of the girls, either.”

      Chandler flipped on the turn signal and steered the truck into the clinic’s parking area. As he peered at the light-colored car parked at an angle to the building, he decided Trey’s assessment was right. There wasn’t a chance the unfamiliar vehicle belonged to any one of his staff.

      “No,” Chandler agreed. “That’s a Jaguar. A fairly new one, at that.”

      Trey whistled under his breath. “Must be Mrs. Whitley with one of her Siamese cats. She’s wealthy enough to drive a Jag. But how would the woman know you’d be back here tonight?”

      “I doubt Mrs. Whitley would splurge on a luxury car. She’s as miserly as her late husband used to be. But she’d win the trophy for showing up after hours.” He drove on past the building and parked the truck and trailer near a maze of sheds and holding pens. “Take the horses on to the barn. I’ll check out the car.”

      Trey opened the door and jumped to the ground. “Guess you’re going to open up and take care of that damn cat.”

      “If need be. Or if you’d rather, I’ll take care of the horses and you can deal with the cat,” Chandler offered with a baiting grin.

      “Oh, hell no. I’ve had enough scratches and bites for this month.”

      “Trey, it’s only the second day of April.”

      “That’s my point, Doc.”

      Chuckling, Chandler left Trey to deal with the horses and walked down a short slope to where the car was parked near the entrance of the clinic. The lights were off, and the tinted windows were up, making it difficult to see whether anyone was inside.

      He rapped his knuckles on the driver’s door and called out, “Hey, anyone in there?”

      Long seconds passed without any response and Chandler was about to decide the car was empty when the window slid down a few inches and he found himself peering into a woman’s wide, wary eyes.

      “The clinic is closed for the night,” Chandler told her. “Do you have an emergency?”

      “Emergency?”

      “An emergency with an animal,” Chandler patiently explained. “Do you have a pet with you in the car?”

      The eyes that had been warily studying him blinked and then the window lowered