The Gentrys: Abby. Linda Conrad

      LINDA CONRAD

      Born in Brazil to a commercial pilot and his wife, Linda Conrad was raised in south Florida and has been a dreamer and storyteller for as long as she can remember. After her mother’s death a few years ago, she moved from her then-home in Texas to Southern California and gave up her previous life as a stockbroker to rededicate herself to her first love: writing.

      Linda and her husband, along with a Siamese-mix cat named Sam, recently moved back to south Florida. She’s been writing contemporary romances for about five years and loves sharing them with readers. She enjoys growing roses, reading cozy mysteries and sexy romances, and driving her little convertible in the sunshine. But most important, Linda loves learning about—and living with—passion.

      It makes Linda’s day to hear from readers. Visit with her at www.LindaConrad.com.

      To Susan Litman, the best editor ever.

       Thanks for letting me push the limits.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Epilogue

      Society Bulletin

      Mr. & Mrs. T. A. Gentry, V,

      To Throw Texas-Size Bash

      Local ranchers and newlyweds Cinco and Meredith Gentry are hosting an old-fashioned down-home barbecue on the sixteenth of this month to celebrate the twenty-fourth birthday of Mr. Gentry’s sister, Abigail Josephine Gentry.

      Abby Jo, as she’s known to her friends, recently returned to Gentry Wells after earning her degree in Ranch Management at Texas A&M.

      The birthday barbecue is expected to be the social occasion of the season. The lucky party-goers will not only enjoy Texas-size portions of food and drink, but can expect a good ol’ Texas-size heap of fun and dancing till dawn. Rumor even has it that one of Texas’s favorite country-western bands, the Dixie Dudes, will be playing for guests’ enjoyment.

      This writer, for one, will be polishing her silver buckles and trying on her new snakeskin dancing boots in anticipation of a good-time Texas shindig.

      One

      Abby Gentry winced as she climbed down from her saddle onto the scrub-filled, back-country dirt of Gentry Ranch. She grounded her horse under a mesquite tree, pulled her heavy rope from its ring and glanced over toward the dry-wash. Every bone and muscle in her body ached.

      She was young enough that riding out here on the range for the past ten or twelve hours should’ve been no big deal. In one week she would be just twenty-four, and her body ought to be able to withstand a lot more punishment than that. Heck, she was raised on the back of a horse. Sighing, she chalked the aches and pains up to sitting on her back end for too long while away at college.

      She pulled off her bandanna, pushed back the black felt Resistol, and wiped the sweat from her forehead and the back of her neck before plopping the hat back onto her head. Stomping around in her dusty riding boots, she kicked the kinks out of her legs. Abby had always thought that ranching chores were the most important part of life on the range, and these days she needed to be sure to take a more visible role in them. Her dream of becoming the Gentry Ranch foreman seemed to be almost within her reach.

      Abby twisted around to see if her trail partner, Billy Bob Jackson, had ridden into view. She didn’t see any sign of the cranky old man she’d known for most of her life. He’d told her to go on ahead when he needed a little break.

      The plan was for her to ride along the fence line at a slow pace until he caught up. But as she’d guided her horse along the rim of this deep dry-wash, she’d spotted the dark shadow of a downed critter at the bottom.

      She figured the animal was another one of the dead or dying yearlings they’d been coming across as they checked the fences and windmills in this section of the ranch over the past three days. For several months now the Gentry Ranch had been losing calves to some kind of predator. Part of her job out here was to save the animals that could be saved and to find evidence of what had killed the others.

      If the critter in this wash was already gone and she couldn’t help him, Abby at least hoped to make an educated guess as to what had killed him. She anchored her rope to the mesquite and, at the rim of the dry wash, she circled the free end of the rope and stepped into it, tightening the loop under her arms.

      Actually, she was relieved not to have to explain anything to Billy Bob before climbing down the jagged rocks lining the ravine. He would’ve wanted to be the one to go over the side and check out the carcass.

      While she slowly lowered herself over the rim, the blazing afternoon sun made waves of heat reflect off the white limestone boulders lying at the bottom of the wash. Abby felt the very blood in her veins begin to boil as she struggled to reach the floor of the wash fifteen feet below.

      When