Rage of Passion. Diana Palmer
A vacation at her godmother’s ranch near Abilene would have been the perfect place for Maggie Turner to escape her ex-husband’s threats. Perfect, that is, if it hadn’t been for Gabe Coleman. Tall, lithe and lean, he was just as blunt, rude—and powerfully sensual—as he’d been ten years ago.
His cold formality gave her the goose bumps. And his icy blue eyes watched her like those of a hungry cat—daring her to look beneath his savage surface. She thought marriage had cured her of desire. Then the raging passions of a Texas cowboy gave her a new lease on love.
Rage of Passion
THE
ESSENTIAL COLLECTION
New York Times and USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Diana Palmer
For my niece Helen, who sews a fine seam
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
Table of Contents
Chapter One
The telegram crumpled in the slender hand, a scrap of badly used timber that would have served better as the tree it once was. Pale green eyes stared down at it, hated it.
“Is it bad news, Mama?”
Becky's soft young voice broke through the anguish, brought her back to the reality of the huge empty Victorian house and the plain, withdrawn child.
“What, darling?” Her voice sounded odd. She cleared her throat and helplessly twisted the crumpled telegram in her hand. “Bad news? Well…yes.”
Becky sighed. She was so old for six, Maggie sometimes thought. Her life had been disordered from the very beginning. An exclusive boarding school hadn't made her an extrovert; it had only emphasized her painful shyness, made it more obvious.
“Is it Daddy again?” Becky asked quietly. She read the answer in her mother's worried eyes and shrugged. “Well, Auntie Janet is coming today,” she said with childlike enthusiasm and smiled. “That should make you feel better.”
Margaret Turner smiled back. Her daughter's rare smiles were magic. “So she is, although she isn't really your aunt. She's my godmother. She and your Grandmother Turner were best friends. What a nice surprise for us, meeting her last week. She didn't even know I had you, you lovely little surprise, you.”
Becky giggled—one of those sweet sounds that Maggie had heard so seldom lately. The boarding school was taking its toll on Becky, but there'd been no choice about it once Maggie went to work. She had no one to keep Becky after school, and her job meant occasional long hours and Saturday work. That left the child vulnerable, and Dennis wasn't above taking her away and hiding her somewhere. He was capable of anything where money was involved. And this newest threat, this telegram, made it plain that he was going to sue for full custody of Rebecca. He wanted Maggie to know immediately that he'd just given his lawyer the green light to go back to court.
Maggie swept back a strand of her short dark hair, which was very straight, curving into her high cheekbones. She was slender and tall, a good silhouette for the clothes that were such a rage this season. Not that she was buying new clothes. Thanks to her ex-husband's incredible alimony suit against her—which he'd won—and the fact that her attorneys were still draining her financially, times were getting harder by the day.
About all that was left was this white elephant they lived in and a relatively new car—and Becky's trust. Maggie's own father had never approved of her marriage to Dennis, although—at the time—she hadn't understood why. He'd cut Maggie out of his will entirely, leaving everything in trust for Becky. Maggie hadn't known this until his death, and she'd never forget the outburst from Dennis at the reading of the will. Her heart already broken, his callous attitude had taken the last of her spirit. After that, she hadn't really felt alive at all. She'd kept going for Becky's sake, not her own.
Dennis had tried to break the will. It couldn't be broken, but there were loopholes that would allow the administrator of the trust to sell stocks and bonds and reinvest them. Maggie could imagine what Dennis would do with that kind of control; in no time he'd have reduced Becky to poverty, robbed her of her inheritance.
As it was, Maggie was working long hours in a bookstore to make ends meet. She loved books, and the job was nice. But being without her daughter wasn't. She prayed for the day when she could bring Becky home and not have to worry that Dennis might kidnap her if she was left with a sitter. It was a good thing that Maggie didn't have a social life. But even in the days when her family had been wealthy and she'd had every advantage, she'd never cared for socializing. She'd kept to herself and avoided the fast crowds. She'd been much like Becky as a child—shy and introverted. She still was.
“I won't have to live with Daddy, will I?” Becky asked suddenly, and the look in her big eyes was poignant.
“Oh, darling, of course you won't!” Maggie drew the spindly-legged child close to her, caressing the incredibly thick hair that trailed down her daughter's ramrod-stiff back. Becky was all she had in the world now, the most precious thing she had left; the only