It's the Wild West, 1881, and Dr. Sloan McCallan Grant is wanted for murder. He runs from the law to find the one person who can clear his name...the wife of his accuser.
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WANTED FOR MURDER:
Falsely charged, Dr. Sloan McCallan Grant runs from the law to find the one person who can clear his name: the wife of his accuser. Heading west, one lead after another turns up nothing but trail dust, until he meets Hannah Colbert, the beautiful trouser-wearing, gun-toting sister of the woman he seeks.
A FIERCELY LOYAL WOMAN:
When Hannah's sister and niece suddenly show up on her doorstep needing help, she is determined not to let them down. She'll do whatever it takes to protect and provide for the only family she has left. But can she protect her heart from the charms of the mysterious saddle tramp, McCallan, a man hiding much from his past?
He placed the lamp on a counter and moved directly in front of her, saddlebags draped across his arm, hat in his hand. Shadows played across his unreadable expression.
"You'll find the hotel right across the--"
He reached around her waist and pulled her against his hard chest. Before she could react, his lips swooped demandingly down on hers.
She desperately wanted to pull back. She really did. Her brain, however, seemed incapable of giving the command. And oddly enough, the simple act of breathing became a chore of great dimension. His mouth moved skillfully over her lips. The heat from his hand seemed to sear her skin through the fabric of her dress. Her mind started to whirl, then slowed as he drew back. "Mr. McCallan!" she managed indignantly, holding the back of her trembling hand against her tingling mouth.
"Miss Colbert," he returned smugly, then settled the weather-beaten hat on his head. Casually he slung the leather bags across his shoulder. "I firmly believe in going after what I want, and I've wanted to kiss you since you came out of that creek. Knew I was going to kiss you." He moved to the door. "Consider it payment for saving your pretty little neck."
The smile on his insolent lips only added fuel to the angry blaze burning through her body.
He tipped the brim of his hat. "Goodnight, Hannah Colbert. Sweet dreams."
Without looking back, he left.
The rhythm of Hannah's heart pounded wildly in her ears. She barely heard the door close or the ticking of the clock that hung on the wall.
The nerve of the man!
But what did she expect? After all, he was without moral character...a nomad. Just like the irresponsible fool her mother had taken off with, he was bold and reckless. No doubt she was in more danger from him than she'd been from the snake he'd shot.
Through the glass she watched his murky form step off the boardwalk, cross the street and evaporate into the stormy darkness.