Granted,
Evangeline Webber was intoxicated when she saw the Ghost Horse at Silver Spear
Ranch, but the next time she saw the magnificent animal shimmering in the
moonlight, she was stone cold sober. The horse haunts her dreams, and so does
Rick Cambios-Plata. The aloof cowboy is a calming presence to the abused horses
he rescues, but Evangeline is anything but when he’s in the area. This trip was
supposed to be her sanctuary to help her get over the guilt of the death of her
soon-to-be ex-husband, however, both Rick and the ghost horse keep invading her
space. She has a feeling he’s hiding something, and her body wants to know
what.
Maverick
Cambios-Plata stays away from the ranch guests, but when Evangeline arrived,
his senses were on alert. He had to know why this woman was here invading his
every thought. His priorities and commitments were to preserve a legacy only a
few knew of, and Evangeline was a distraction and had nothing to do with the
lives he protected.
Or did she?
Evangeline
and Maverick each hold secrets, and one of them has no idea how much the truth
will change everything.
Evangeline blinked
several times to clear the blurriness from her eyes. The full moon cast a
luminous radiance over the ranch even beyond the corrals—and the silver streak
resembling a horse that raced across the grassy plain, bucking every few paces
and whinnying at the obsidian night. She glanced at the half empty bottle of
bourbon she clutched and back to the thundering steed glowing in the night.
“Oh hell, no.” She’d
been at the ranch for over three weeks and knew every horse in residence but
had yet to see any running wild as spectacular as this one. The wild horses in
the area were located at a sanctuary over an hour away in Hot Springs not in
this part of the Black Hills.
“Damn, Jackson.” She
and the owner of the local gas station, deli, laundry, and liquor store had
been on a first-name basis since she perused the alcohol department as
regularly as she could get to town. “What the hell did you sell me?” The
bourbon didn’t look or smell any different than anything else she’d purchased,
but Jackson had suggested the Black Hills Recipe would be unlike any other
bourbon she’d tried. Was it filtered through peyote or something? No, peyote
wasn’t native to South Dakota, but who really knew what went into locally
distilled spirits?
“Ma’am.”
Evangeline’s heart
stuttered at the masculine voice. “Keller, you startled me. What are doing out
here in the dark?”
The cowboy whisked
his hat from his head and raked his fingers through his dark blond hair. “I was
just checkin’ on the horses before I turned in. Up kind of late, aren’t you?”
She swung her legs
from the arm of the wooden rocker on the porch of her cabin. “I suppose. I
don’t have to get up early like you do, though.”
“Still trying to
find yourself out here?”
“Something like
that.”
Keller cocked his
head to the bottle tucked in her fingers. “Was that full when you started the
evening?”
She swirled the
amber liquor. “Maybe.”
“You be careful with
any shit Jackson recommends.” He stuffed his hat on head and tipped the brim to
her. “Ma’am. Enjoy what’s left of the evening while you can still remember.”
He stepped away
toward the bunkhouse. “Keller?”
“Yes, Ma’am?”
“Well, for one,
would you stop calling me ma’am?”
He snickered.
“Sorry, habit.”
“Good manners.” She
set the bottle on the porch and rested her elbows on her knees. “Did you see a
silver horse running across the meadow?”
“Tonight?”
“Like a few minutes
ago.”
“No, Ma…Miss Webber.
I didn’t.”
“Evangeline. How
about calling me Evangeline. I think I’ve been here long enough for that.
Anyway, are you sure? It was bucking and whinnying and flying across the
grass.”
“I was in a barn
full of horses. I hear lots of whinnying. Didn’t see it, sorry.”
Slumping back in the
rocker, she sighed. Maybe she was hallucinating. The clearness she was seeking
hadn’t exactly presented itself since her arrival. The lure of the mountains
and fresh air had brought her here. She needed a change, at least for a little
while. The day to day survival wasn’t working. She needed to snap out of her
funk. It’d been two years. She needed to move on. That’s what her friends and
family said. She didn’t see any of them having to handle what she did. Live
with what she did.
“Well, must be the
bourbon. Goodnight, Keller. I think I should hit the sack, too.”
Anna Hague
spends part of her days in the writing cave creating her own spin on love
stories. The other part of her days, she is a free-lance sports reporter
crafting stories about a variety of athletic events including high school,
college, and professional level sports.
She’s had
the fiction bug her whole life, but in 2015 decided, “It’s now or never.” In
November of 2016, her contemporary novel Captured Hearts debuted.
Anna reads
all sorts of love stories, and she writes the same way. She recently published
an erotic romance series with Wild Rose Press and has published the Heart
Series and opened up the Storm Canyon Series with the first book Thunderstruck.
Her motto:
Creating different paths to love because different is the only way I know.
She is a
member of the RWA and the Indiana RWA. Anna lives in Central Indiana with her
husband, three parrots, and two dogs.
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