The Last Honorable Man. Vickie Taylor
“You may, ah, kiss the bride now.”
Elisa’s bubble burst. Even the Ranger looked startled when he turned to her, his gray eyes roaming desperately from his grandmother to Elisa. She could have sworn his grandmother was holding her breath, love shining in her eyes as she waited for her grandson’s big moment.
Elisa might have let the moment pass as Del gave her a perfunctory kiss that served as a reminder that theirs was only a partnership, but she couldn’t stand seeing the woman’s confusion.
Without daring to contemplate the consequences, she reached up and pulled him down for a real kiss.
It was as if a door unlocked inside Elisa, the entrance to a place she’d closed off long ago. The place that was feminine and sensual.
Suddenly she wasn’t kissing the Ranger to please his grandmother. This was all for herself. And the sense that finally, finally, she didn’t have to be the strong one any longer.
Dear Reader,
Our exciting month of May begins with another of bestselling author and reader favorite Fiona Brand’s Australian Alpha heroes. In Gabriel West: Still the One, we learn that former agent Gabriel West and his ex-wife have spent their years apart wishing they were back together again. And their wish is about to come true, but only because Tyler needs protection from whoever is trying to kill her—and Gabriel is just the man for the job.
Marie Ferrarella’s crossline continuity, THE MOM SQUAD, continues, and this month it’s Intimate Moments’ turn. In The Baby Mission, a pregnant special agent and her partner develop an interest in each other that extends beyond police matters. Kylie Brant goes on with THE TREMAINE TRADITION with Entrapment, in which wickedly handsome Sam Tremaine needs the heroine to use the less-than-savory parts of her past to help him capture an international criminal. Marilyn Tracy offers another story set on her Rancho Milagro, or Ranch of Miracles, with At Close Range, featuring a man scarred—inside and out—and the lovely rancher who can help heal him. And in Vickie Taylor’s The Last Honorable Man, a mother-to-be seeks protection from the man she’d been taught to view as the enemy—and finds a brand-new life for herself and her child in the process. In addition, Brenda Harlan makes her debut with McIver’s Mission, in which a beautiful attorney who’s spent her life protecting families now finds that she is in danger—and the handsome man who’s designated himself as her guardian poses the greatest threat of all.
Enjoy! And be sure to come back next month for more of the best romantic reading around, right here in Intimate Moments.
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Senior Editor
The Last Honorable Man
Vickie Taylor
VICKIE TAYLOR
has always loved books—the way they look, the way they feel and most especially the way the stories inside them bring whole new worlds to life. She views her recent transition from reading to writing books as a natural extension of this longtime love. Vickie lives in Aubrey, Texas, a small town dubbed “The Heart of Horse Country,” where, in addition to writing romance novels, she raises American quarter horses and volunteers her time to help homeless and abandoned animals. Vickie loves to hear from readers. Write to her at: P.O. Box 633, Aubrey, TX 76227.
To Ann Leslie Tuttle, editor extraordinaire, for her
unswerving faith and consummate professionalism. Thanks for everything!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 1
Mine honour is my life; both grow in one;
Take honour from me, and my life is done.
—Shakespeare, King Richard II Act 1, sc. 1
Silence gathered in the wake of gunfire.
Sergeant Del Cooper straightened from his shooting crouch, tugged his Stetson low on his forehead to block the glare of the August sun and hitched the stock of his shotgun up tight under his damp armpit.
So much for Sunday being the day of peace.
Squaring his shoulders, he rose from behind the old Buick he’d used as cover. One by one the others appeared from the shadows of shallow doorways and behind the stoops of dull gray industrial buildings, stepping into sunlight so bright their silhouettes blurred in a hazy glow. The four of them met in the middle of the road and strode forward together, their booted heels scuffing the long shadows cast on the blacktop in front of them. A crimson stain slashed across Hayes’s sleeve, but at least they were all on their feet. Del doubted the men in the warehouse at the other end of the road could say the same.
Overhead, an outraged shriek broke the quiet. Del tipped his head back. Squinting against the sun’s brilliance, he watched a blackbird circle between the crisp, blue sky and the pewter clouds of gun smoke hanging low over the street, their sulfurous fumes burning his nose and throat. The bird offered another raucous challenge, swooping to defend his territory.
“Sorry, fella,” Del said. “The fightin’s all over.”
A bead of sweat squeezed past his hatband and rolled toward the corner of his eye. He wiped it away with the sleeve of his duster. The cowboy coat’s long hem swished and swirled around his calves. It was too hot for any kind of jacket this time of year in Dallas, but the long coat covered the shotgun when Del snugged the barrel up against his thigh, and Del hadn’t wanted the weapon to draw attention to himself or his teammates.
Huh. As if anyone with half a mind wouldn’t take one look at them and see trouble coming.
From his position on the end, he glanced down the line at the others. At an imposing six foot four and nearly two hundred lean pounds, Captain “Bull” Matheson set the pace from the right-center spot in the row, his left hand resting on the butt of the Colt holstered at his hip. To the captain’s right, with handgun still drawn, dangling loose but ready at his side, wiry-bodied Clint Hayes kept pace, somber faced and silent. Only Solomon, the diminutive new kid next to Del, with her six-shooter stretched in front of her in a white-knuckled grip, had the wild-eyed look of the untried.
“Some of ’em got away,” she said, breathless.
He spared her a glance. Katherine “Kat” Solomon’s eyes were bright, jumpy. “Some of ’em didn’t.”
“You got one.”
“Yeah.” He shifted the Remington twelve-gauge so that the barrel rested in the crook of his arm and concentrated on keeping his legs steady beneath him. All of a sudden his knees felt as if they had more joints than they ought. “I got one.”
It was days like this—days when the adrenaline rushed through his veins like a swollen river one moment, then dried up like bones