Buchanan's Pride

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Authors: Pamela Toth

BOOK: Buchanan's Pride
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“If you'd let me bed down in your barn tonight, I'd be much obliged...
 
“But I want to repay you. Maybe I can stick around for a few days, help you out.”
 
“I appreciate the offer,” Leah replied, “but I don't really think you're going to feel like cleaning stalls tomorrow. Isn't there somewhere you need to be?” she asked, though the idea of another pair of hands pitching in was sorely tempting.
 
“I'm in no hurry.”
 
Leah searched his face, desperately wanting to go along with what he'd suggested.
 
“You wouldn't have to pay me wages or anything, just room and board. How about it?” He stuck out his hand.
 
“Let's see how you feel in the morning,” Leah replied, cautiously putting her hand in his. Immediately his fingers tightened. Warm, strong and reassuring. His gaze remained steady, as though he had nothing to hide.
 
As he released her hand, his face relaxed into a mesmerizing grin.
 
“Fair enough,” she said without realizing it. What had she just gotten herself into?
Dear Reader,
Special Edition is pleased to bring you six exciting love stories to help you celebrate spring...and blossoming love.
To start off the month, don't miss
A Father for Her Baby
by Celeste Hamilton—a THAT'S MY BABY! title that features a pregnant amnesiac who is reunited with her long-ago fiancé. Now she must uncover the past in order to have a future with this irresistible hero and her new baby.
April offers Western romances aplenty! In the third installment of her action-packed HEARTS OF WYOMING series, Myrna Temte delivers
Wrangler
. A reticent lady wrangler has a mighty big secret, but sparks fly between her and the sexy lawman she's been trying very hard to avoid; the fourth book in the series will be available in July. Next, Pamela Toth brings us another heartwarming story in her popular BUCKLES & BRONCOS miniseries In
Buchanan's Pride
, a feisty cowgirl rescues a stranded stranger—only to discover he's the last man on earth she should let into her heart!
There's more love on the range coming your way.
Finally His Bride
by Christine Flynn—part of THE WHITAKER BRIDES series—is an emotional reunion romance between two former sweethearts Also the MEN OF THE DOUBLE-C RANCH series continues when a brooding Clay brother claims the woman he's never stopped wanting in
A Wedding For Maggie
by Allison Leigh. Finally, debut author Carol Finch shares an engaging story about a fun-loving rodeo cowboy who woos a romance-resistant single mom in
Not Just Another Cowboy
.
I hope you enjoy these stirring tales of passion, and each and every romance to come!
Sincerely,
Karen Taylor Richman
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S. 3010 Walden Ave., P.O Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian P.O Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont L2A 5X3
PAMELA TOTH
BUCHANAN'S PRIDE
To my daughter Melody Toth,
who has more talents than a diamond has facets,
and who is infinitely more precious.
 
And to my husband, Frank.
My forever starts with you.
Books by Pamela Toth
Silhouette Special Edition
 
Thunderstruck
#411
Dark Angel
#515
Old Enough To Know Better
#624
Two Sets of Footprints
#729
A Warming Trend
#760
Walk Away, Joe
#850
The Wedding Knot
#905
Rocky Mountain Rancher
#951
*Buchanan's Bride
#1012
*Buchanan's Baby
#1017
*
Buchanan's Return
#1096
The Paternity Test
#1138
†
The Mail-Order Mix-Up
#1197
*
Buchanan's Pride
#1239
 
*Buckles & Broncos
†The Winchester Brides
 
Silhouette Romance
 
Kissing Games
#500
The Ladybug Lady
#595
PAMELA TOTH
was born in Wisconsin, but grew up in Seattle, where she attended the University of Washington and majored in art. She still lives near Seattle with her two daughters and several Siamese cats. When she isn't writing, she enjoys reading, traveling, quilting and researching new story ideas.
The heroes of her books have won several
Romantic Times
WISH Awards and she has been nominated for five
Romantic Times
Reviewer's Choice Awards, including Best Series Romance for
Walk Away, Joe. Buchanan's Baby
and
Buchanan's Return
were on the
USA Today
bestseller list.
She loves hearing from readers and can be reached at P.O. Box 5845, Bellevue, WA 98006. For a personal reply, a stamped, self-addressed envelope is appreciated.
Chapter One
L
eah Randall was late. These days it seemed she was always running late for something.
Driving home from her job in town, she glared at her watch and pressed her foot down on the accelerator. Her old pickup rattled in protest, so she cranked up the radio for a song about love gone wrong.
Leah couldn't wait to peel off the panty hose that encased her lower torso like a second skin. Miss MacPherson, the spinster in charge of the library where Leah had spent the day cataloging and shelving books, was a stickler for what she considered proper attire. As soon as Leah got home, she planned to swap her straight navy skirt and tailored blouse for worn jeans, boots and one of her dad's old shirts. The week before, her only ranch hand had gone to live with his daughter in Seattle, leaving Leah to run the ranch alone. Thank goodness tomorrow was her day off from her paying job.
She'd had to stop and check on her mother before leaving town today and now it was nearly dusk. Another pickup, much newer than her own, was headed toward her on the highway. She stiffened as she recognized the gleaming late-model black Jimmy. Taylor Buchanan, the rancher from the spread bordering hers, raised a hand in greeting as the two rigs passed each other. Resolutely Leah stared straight ahead, both hands clenched tightly on the wheel.
Why did he bother? He must realize by now that she'd no more wave to a Buchanan than she'd say howdy to a coyote raiding her cattle. As far as she was concerned, one predator was just as bad as another.
Leah turned off the main highway and coaxed a little more speed from her old truck. This stretch of two-lane road was straight, flat and pretty much ignored by the local police. Darkness was falling rapidly now. As she slowed at her own dirt driveway, she switched on her headlights. If she hadn't, she might not have noticed what looked like a large bundle of dark clothes lying on the side of the road near a stand of aspens.
In the beam of her lights, the bundle turned over and a hand appeared.
Heart in her throat, Leah slammed on the brakes and the truck fishtailed in the dirt. Wishing that Duke, her dog, was with her, she grabbed a flashlight from the glove box and got out. A shiver of warning slid down her spine and she nearly wished Buchanan would drive by again, but the road remained stubbornly empty.
“Hello,” she called out as she edged closer to the still form, unsure what she'd find. “Are you okay?”
As Leah approached, she glimpsed a smear of blood on the man's pale forehead and heard him groan. What was he doing out here alone? Where was his car?
Thinking with dismay of the empty rifle rack in her truck, she peered uneasily over her shoulder. Had someone dumped this man? Were they still around, watching her? A shiver crawled up her spine as she squatted beside him on the ground.
He groaned again and his eyes fluttered open. At least he was conscious.
“It's all right,” she said automatically, playing the flashlight over his features. He appeared to be in his thirties, clean shaven, with short brown hair and a strong face that bore no other signs of injury. While Leah was wondering what to do, he squinted against the bright light and raised a protective hand to his eyes. His knuckles were scraped and swollen, as if he'd been in a fight.
“Damn, that's bright,” he grumbled. “Can't you aim it somewhere else?”
Relieved he appeared coherent, Leah shifted the light away from his face. “Sorry,” she said. “How do you feel?”
“Not sure,” he muttered, then rolled over and struggled to sit up.
“Hey, not too fast,” she warned him as he shut his eyes again and sank back down. “Your head's bleeding. You may have other injuries.”
He frowned and touched his fingers to the ugly wound on his forehead, wincing when he made contact. He was very attractive, despite the disfiguring bump. His eyes were thickly lashed, his cheekbones were angled and his chin had a cleft. He looked vaguely familiar, but Leah didn't know him. You didn't forget a face like his.
“What happened to you?” she asked.
He glanced away. “Don't remember,” he mumbled after a moment. “Who are you?”
Leah could certainly understand that he was shaken and confused. He might have been lying there unconscious for quite a while. “I'm Leah Randall,” she volunteered. “Are you hurt anywhere else besides your head?”
Gingerly, he moved his arms and legs while she wondered whether she should be checking for broken bones. Surely he would be able to tell, and she had no medical training beyond the most basic. With dismay, she thought of her hungry animals and the chores that awaited her. Driving him back to town would add an hour and a half to her day, and that was assuming it was safe to move him. She didn't know much about head injuries. Perhaps it would be all right to take him to the house and call for help instead.
“Nothing broken,” the man said, wincing as he flexed his battered hand.
While they were waiting for help to arrive, she could at least make him comfortable. The wind was coming up and he wasn't even wearing a jacket. Although his casual clothes were covered with dust, he looked too well dressed for a drifter.
With a muffled groan, he finally managed to sit up. “My head aches like hell.”
“Were you on horseback?” Leah asked. “Were you thrown?”
He shook his head and then he swore under his breath.
“Where's your car?” she persisted. “How did you get out here?”
He peered into the darkness surrounding them. “I don't know.”
Did he mean he didn't know where his car was or how he'd gotten here? It seemed pointless to grill him with questions. Let Sheriff Brody sort it out later.
Meanwhile, how was she going to get this man to the house? She couldn't lift him. He looked pretty solid, but if he could stand up, they should be able to manage. Leah was thin, but she was used to hard work. Her father had always said she was wiry and strong for her size.
Should she have insisted he lie still until the doctor came? Now that darkness had fallen, the temperature was dropping quickly. Leaving him here by the road didn't seem practical. Leah got to her feet and hoped she was doing the right thing. Maybe taking a stranger home wasn't smart, but she didn't have the time to stand around imagining all the scary things that could happen if she did. She'd always been a practical person, and this seemed like the practical thing to do.
“If we can get you in my truck, I'll drive you to the house,” she told him. “We'll call for help from there. You'll want the doctor to look at your head.”
He frowned again, his mouth taut, and she figured he must have a doozy of a headache. She was careful not to shine the light in his eyes.
“No doctor,” he pronounced as she helped him to his feet. “I'll be fine.”
Typical stubborn male. Leah was about to argue, but he swayed alarmingly. “Whoa there!” she exclaimed, sticking out a steadying hand. Even hunched over, he topped her by a head. “If you fall, I won't be able to catch you, so let's take it real slow.”
Resolutely he steadied himself, feet braced wide like a newborn foal, while she hovered anxiously. “Okay?” she asked when he took a step.
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Yeah. I can make it.”
Leah meant to take his arm, but something held her back. He was awfully big and very male.
He must have sensed her hesitation. “I'm in no shape to make a pass,” he said dryly.
“Of course not.” Heat ran up her cheeks at being read so easily and she moved closer. “Lean on me.”
Gingerly, he laid his arm across her shoulder. She'd been wrong. He was tall, but he was rangy rather than solid, with wide shoulders and long legs.
“What's your name?” she asked as they started walking.
“John.”
She waited, but no more information seemed to be forthcoming. “Well, John,” she said as they progressed slowly to the truck, “it looks as though that gash might need stitches. You're lucky Doc Hershaw still makes house calls.”
“I don't want a doctor,” he said again, pulling away from her as if to prove he could manage by himself.
Leah glanced at his clothes. His shirt looked new, his jeans weren't worn and he was wearing pricey boots, but that didn't mean he was flush. She knew plenty of ranch hands with fancy footwear and empty wallets.
“If you're worried about the bill, I'm sure you can work out something,” she told him as he took two more lurching steps. “You local?” Just because she'd never seen him at the library in town didn't prove much. Most of the ranches in the area hired extra help this time of year. She couldn't compete with the wages they offered; that was one reason she hadn't yet found a replacement for Eli.
“No, I'm not from around here,” John replied.
With a sigh, Leah circled his waist to steady him. When he swayed again, they both nearly went dowr.
“Sorry,” he gasped. “I'm a little dizzy.”
“Understandable.” She took more of his weight and they moved forward. Their progress was slow, but finally they got to the truck, where he sagged against the fender. She pulled open the passenger door, pushed aside the junk on the seat and hovered nervously as he braced himself and took a couple of deep breaths. What the heck was she going to do if he fainted?
Finally he grabbed the door handle and put his foot on the running board. His head was down. She held her breath. Was he gathering his strength or praying for it?
The muscles in his arms bunched under his plaid shirt. As he climbed up, Leah lifted her hands to give him a boost and stared helplessly at the denim pulled tight across his compact rear end. Before she could figure out where to put her hands, he was safely in the cab.
“All set?” she asked, annoyed at herself for her temporary distraction. The poor man had been hurt; the last thing he needed was a lonely female drooling over him. How pathetic.
His head bobbed in reply to her query. Carefully, she shut his door and circled the truck.
“I'd run you to town,” she explained after she'd slid behind the wheel, “but my ranch hand quit and I've still got stock to feed.” In the glow of the interior light, she glanced over to see that his head was resting against the back of the seat and his eyes were closed. His profile, starkly perfect, could have been lifted from an old coin.
“That's okay,” he muttered, as if talking hurt his head. “Nice you stopped.” He lapsed into silence, leaving Leah's curiosity unsatisfied as she tried to avoid the worst of the potholes. Despite her efforts, the truck bumped along like an old buckboard, forcing her to ease up on the accelerator until they were barely moving.
“Truck needs shocks,” John mumbled.
“Needs a lot of things,” she replied. The faded red pickup had been her father's. There was a Jeep out back, but it didn't run. Her mother had never learned to drive, so after his death Leah reluctantly sold the Mustang she'd owned since high school. There'd been no practical reason to keep it around, but she still missed that car.
“Your hired man quit,” John said after a couple more minutes, opening his eyes and turning his head toward her. “You shorthanded?”
“I was shorthanded
before
Eli left,” Leah admitted with a wry grin. “Now all I need is a few more hours in the day.”
“I'm sorry to keep you from your work.”
“Not your fault.” What else could she say? Leah hated feeling selfish, but her time was stretched so darn thin that sometimes she felt like a rubber band—ready to snap. She worried about the ranch and worried about her mother, and now John had dropped in her path. What was she supposed to do with him until help showed up? She probably shouldn't leave him alone in the house. It wasn't that she had much to steal if he was inclined, or able, but with that head injury, he could pass out right on her couch. She sure hoped Doc Hershaw was available. If he was on a call at the other end of the county, she had no idea what to do.
The man sitting beside her was wondering a few things, too, like who the hell he was and how he'd gotten here. Wherever
here
was. He had no idea. He didn't even remember his name, although he'd told her the first thing that had popped into his head. John, as in John Doe. His wallet was gone; he'd already checked. Either he'd been robbed or it had fallen from his pocket.
The loss of memory yawned like a big black hole that threatened to swallow him up until there was nothing left. The harder he tried to remember anything at all, the more his head throbbed and the more panicky he became. Licking dry lips, he sneaked a glance at the woman, Leah. She was young, maybe late twenties, with straight blond hair and light-colored eyes. With a little care and different clothes, she could be pretty.
Not that her appearance mattered. He had enough problems of his own.

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