It wasn't the first time danger had come to his ranch, but for Deputy Mason Ryland it was the final straw. Someone had been targeting his family for too long and the brooding lawman now had a new person to protect: horse trainer Abbie Baker.His newest employee's arrival suspiciously coincided with the latest attack, and it wasn't long before he uncovered a decades-old secret between Abbie and the Ryland clan. But as much as that connection rankled, Mason couldn't ignore the fact that someone wanted beautiful Abbie dead. As an upholder of the law, he'd keep her safely tucked by his side through the investigation. As a man, he'd offer his personal protection through the endless summer nights....About the AuthorUSA Today bestselling author, Delores Fossen, has sold over 50 novels with millions of copies of her books in print worldwide. She's received the Booksellers' Best Award for romantic suspense, the Romantic Times Reviewers' Choice Award and was a finalist for the prestigious Rita u00ae. In addition, she's had nearly a hundred short stories and articles published in national magazines. You can contact the author through her webpage at www.dfossen.com. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.The scream woke Deputy Mason Ryland.His eyes flew open, and Mason stumbled from the sofa in his office where he'd fallen asleep. He reached for his shirt but couldn't find it. He had better luck with the Smith & Wesson handgun that he'd left on his desk.He threw open his office door and caught the scent of something he darn sure didn't want to smell on the grounds of his family's ranch.Smoke.The wispy gray streaks coiled around him, quickly followed by a second scream and a loud cry for help.Mason went in the direction of both the smoke and the voice, racing out into the chilly October night air. He wasn't the only one who'd been alerted. A handful of his ranch hands were running toward the cabin-style guesthouse about a hundred yards away. It was on fire, the orangey flames licking their way up the sides and roof. And the place wasn't empty.His newly hired horse trainer, Abbie Baker, was staying there.That got Mason running even harder. So did another shout for help. Oh, yeah, that shout was coming from the guesthouse all right."Call the fire department," he yelled to one of the ranch hands.Mason also shouted out for someone to call his brothers as well even though they would soon know anyway. All five of them, their wives and their children lived in the family home or on the grounds of the ranch.Mason made it to the guesthouse ahead of the others, and he tried to pick through the smoke and the embers flicking through the night air. He hurried to the sound of his trainer's pleas for help.And he cursed when he saw her.Abbie was in the doorway, her body half in and half out of the house, and what was left of the door was on her back, anchoring her in place.The smoke was thick and black, and the area was already hot from the flames, but Mason fought his way through just as one of the ranch hands caught up with him. Rusty Burke. Together, they latched on to the door and started to drag it off Abbie. Not easily. It was heavy and bulky, and it didn't help that the flames were snapping at them.Mason didn't usually think in terms of worst-case scenarios, but he had a split-second thought that his new trainer might burn to death. The possibility gave him a much-needed jolt of adrenaline, and Rusty and he threw the door off her. In the same motion, Mason latched on to her arm and dragged her away from the guesthouse."I couldn't get out," she said, her voice clogged with smoke and fear."You're out now," he let her know.Out but not necessarily safe. The ranch hands were already there with the hoses, but he doubted the house would stand much longer. If it collapsed, Abbie could still be burned or hurt from the flying debris."Are the horses okay?" she asked. Mason was more than a little surprised that she'd think of the animals at a time like this."They're fine." At least he was pretty sure of that. "This is the only building on fire."Mason scooped her up, and she looked at him. It was pitch-dark, probably two or three in the morning, but thanks to the flames and the hunter's moon, he saw her eyes widen. A single word left her mouth."No."Mason didn't have time to question that no before she started struggling. She wasn't a large woman, five-five at the most and on the lean side, but she managed to pack a punch when she rammed her elbow against his bare chest. He cursed and put her in a death grip so she couldn't fight her way out of his arms."I'm trying to save you," he reminded her, and he added more profanity when she didn't stop fighting.Abbie was probably still caught up in the fear and the adrenaline, but Mason was finding it a little hard to be sympathetic with the cold rocky ground biting into his bare feet and with her arms and legs waggling around."We have to get away from the fire," he snarled.Those wide frightened eyes looked at the flames, and she stopped struggling just long enough for Mason to get a better grip on her.He started running toward the ranch office where lately he'd been spending most of his days and nights because of the heavy workload. He could deposit Abbie there and hurry back to see if the guesthouse could be saved. He wasn't hopeful, especially because the ranch wasn't exactly in city limits. It would take the fire department a good twenty minutes to reach them.The door to his office and quarters was still open, and he hurried inside, flipped on the lights with his elbow and placed her on the sofa. Mason looked down at her, to make sure she wasn't injured.She didn't appear to be.Visibly shaken, yes. Trembling, too. Pale and breathing way too fast. All normal responses under the circumstances.Her eyes met his again, and Mason saw the fear that was still there. And maybe something else that he couldn't quite put his finger on."Did you try to kill me?" she asked.That single question seemed to be all she could muster because she groaned, closed her eyes, and the back of her head dropped against the sofa.Mason huffed. That definitely wasn't something he expected to hear her say. He'd been a deputy for fifteen years, and his employee no doubt knew it. Even though most people were leery of him because.. well, because he wasn't a friendly sort, they didn't usually accuse him of arson or attempted murder."Why would I set this fire?" he demanded.Abbie opened her mouth, closed it and shook her head. She also dodged his gaze. "I'm not sure what I'm saying right now. I thought I was going to die."Mason guessed that was a normal response, but he was beginning to get a bad feeling about this."How did the fire start?"Abbie shook her head again. "I'm not sure. I woke up, and there was smoke all around me. I tried to get to the door, but I started coughing and couldn't see." She paused, shivered. "When I got to the door and opened it, it fell on me." Another pause. "Or something.""Or something? " he pushed.Oh, man. The bad feeling was getting worse, and Mason blamed it on that stupid question. Was there a nonstupid reason that she thought someone had tried to kill her, or was this the ramblings of a woman whose mind had been clouded with fear and adrenaline?"Or something," she repeated.Abbie pushed her light brown hair from her face. Long hair, he noticed. Something he hadn't realized because she always wore it tucked beneath a baseball cap. In fact, he'd thought of her as tomboyish, but there wasn't anything boyish or tom about the person lying on his sofa. In that paper-thin pale blue gown, she looked like a woman.An attractive one.Something Mason wished like the devil he hadn't noticed. She worked for him, and he didn't tread down that path. Business and sex never sat well with him."Did you leave the stove on?" he pressed.But all he got was another head shake—something else that didn't please him. He wanted some answers here, and he wanted something to tamp down that bad feeling in his gut. However, the knock on his already-open door had him shifting in that direction.It was his ranch hand Rusty. The lanky young man was out of breath and looked on the verge of blurting something out before his attention landed on Abbie. He motioned for Mason to meet him outside.Mason looked at Abbie. "I'll be right back." Yeah, it sounded like a warning and it was. By God, he was going to get those answers and settle this uneasy feeling. He would find out why she'd thought he had tried to kill her.He stepped outside with Rusty, and when he got a better look at Rusty's face, he pulled the door shut. "More bad news?" But it wasn't exactly a question. Mason could already tell there was.Rusty nodded. "The guesthouse collapsed. Nothing left to save."Well, heck. That didn't please Mason, but it could have been much worse. His trainer could have gotten killed.Abbie could have gotten killed, he mentally corrected.And he cursed himself for thinking of her that way. Mason blamed it on that blasted thin gown and those frightened vulnerable brown eyes."There's more," Rusty went on, grabbing Mason's attention.Mason took a deep breath, ready to hear the news he probably didn't want to hear, but before Rusty could spill it, he saw his brother Grayson hurrying toward them.Like Mason, his brother was half-dressed. Jeans that he'd probably just pulled on and no shirt. Even half-dressed, Grayson still managed to look as if he were in charge.And he was.As the eldest of his five brothers and the Silver Creek town sheriff, Grayson had a way of being in charge just by being there."How's the trainer?" Grayson immediately asked."Alive," Mason provided. He didn't add the customary and well part to that because he wasn't sure that was true. He should probably look to see if she'd had a blow to the head. After all, the door could have hit her when it became unhinged. She might even have a broken bone or two."The EMTs are on the way," Grayson explained. He looked at Mason. "Rusty told you about the guesthouse?"Mason nodded. "It's gone."Grayson stopped next to him, his breath gusting. Probably because he'd run all the way from the main ranch house. "Yeah. And there was a gas can by the back porch. Rusty managed to pull it out of there before the flames took over."What the devil? Mason mentally went through the reasons why Abbie would have had a gas can on the porch, and he couldn't immediately think of one. She trained his cutting horses and didn't have anything to do with any ranch equipment that required gasoline."Looks like someone could have set the fire," Grayson concluded.Arson. On the ranch.The anger slammed through Mason. Even though he had five brothers... Views: 69
Amanda’s one fired-up mercenary, but the truth about her new commander just might be too hot for her to handle.
When Amanda’s unit is assigned to a brand new base at the edge of company territory, she thinks she’s ready for anything until she wakes from cryo-sleep and finds that their new leader is far more than she expected.
Mercenaries don’t have time for the feelings Commander Wells stirs in her and none of her training could prepare her for the instant heat between them. When the big brass orders her to spy on him, Amanda’s sense of duty takes her personal desires to task.
Wells is keeping secrets, he’s behaving in unusual ways and suddenly Amanda has more to worry about than a few sparks. If the man she wants isn’t who she thinks he is, will the truth be too hot for her to handle? Views: 69
“An annual treat,” declared The Wall Street Journal of Anne Perry’s Victorian-era holiday mysteries. Now she continues this magnificent tradition with A Christmas Garland, a yuletide tale set in exotic India. This time the mistress of mystery tells the story of a terrible crime that sets the stage for another: accusing an innocent man of murder.The year is 1857, soon after the violent Siege of Cawnpore, with India in the midst of rebellion. In the British garrison, a guard is killed and an Indian prisoner escapes, which leads to yet more British deaths. Cries for revenge are overwhelming. Despite no witnesses and no evidence against him, a luckless British medical orderly named John Tallis is arrested as an accomplice simply because he was the only soldier unaccounted for when these baffling crimes were committed.Though chosen to defend Tallis, young Lieutenant Victor Narraway is not encouraged to try very hard. Narraway’s superiors merely want a show trial. But inspired by a soldier’s widow and her children, and by his own stubborn faith in justice, Narraway searches for the truth. In an alien world haunted by memories of massacre, he is the accused man’s only hope.The trial of John Tallis equals the white-knuckle best of Anne Perry’s breathtaking courtroom dramas. And thanks to a simple Christmas garland and some brilliant detective work, Narraway perseveres against appalling odds, learning how to find hope within himself—and turn the darkest hour into one full of joy and light.PRAISE FOR THE CHRISTMAS NOVELS OF ANNE PERRY A Christmas Homecoming“Could have been devised by Agatha Christie . . . [Perry is] a modern master.”—Pittsburgh Post-Gazette“Vastly entertaining . . . uplifting and thought-provoking by turns.”—The Star-LedgerA Christmas Odyssey“[Perry] writes with detail that invades the senses.”—Lincoln Journal StarA Christmas Promise“Poignant . . . should be on the Christmas stocking list of anyone who likes a sniffle of nostalgia.”—The Washington TimesA Christmas Grace“[A] heartwarming, if crime-tinged, complement to the holiday season.”—BooklistA Christmas Beginning“Intriguing . . . Perry’s use of period detail is, as always, strong and evocative.”—The Seattle TimesFrom the Hardcover edition.Review'Delightful ... The perfect gift for a whodunit addict who likes to curl up with a good book after Christmas lunch' -- Oxford Times 'A bite-sized mystery that could be fitted in after your Christmas lunch' -- Daily Telegraph About the AuthorAnne Perry is the author of two Victorian–era series––one featuring investigator William Monk, the other featuring police inspector Thomas Pitt––as well as a series set amid World War I. She lives in the Scottish Highlands. Views: 69
An intense, personal story of survival, a departure from the more sweeping "battle against great evil" tales that characterize the rest of the Harpers books. Journeying far north in defiance of her Harper superiors, Martine of Sembia finds herself trapped in the lonely, snowbound valley of Samek. Views: 69
An innocent young mouse lies murdered in a moonlit field as the screech of an owl echoes across the ripening corn. The Deptford Mice have escaped the horrors of Jupiter’s lair and sought refuge in the countryside. But once again they must face terrifying evil as they are embroiled in a series of horrible murders. At first the simple country mice suspect Deptford newcomer Audrey – but the truth turns out to be far more sinister. Views: 69
This is the story Harry Ransom. If you know his name it’s most likely as the inventor of the Ransom Process, a stroke of genius that changed the world. Or you may have read about how he lost the battle of Jasper City, or won it, depending on where you stand in matters of politics.Friends called him Hal or Harry, or by one of a half-dozen aliases, of which he had more than any honest man should. He often went by Professor Harry Ransom, and though he never had anything you might call a formal education, he definitely earned it. If you’re reading this in the future, Ransom City must be a great and glittering metropolis by now, with a big bronze statue of Harry Ransom in a park somewhere. You might be standing on its sidewalk and not wonder in the least of how it grew to its current glory. Well, here is its story, full of adventure and intrigue. And it all starts with the day that old Harry Ransom crossed paths with Liv Alverhyusen and John Creedmoor, two fugitives running from the Line, amidst a war with no end. About the AuthorFELIX GILMAN has been nominated for the John W. Campbell award and the Locus Award for best new writer. He is the author of the critically acclaimed Thunderer, Gears of the City, and The Half-Made World, which was listed by Amazon as one of the ten best SFF novels of 2010. He lives with his wife in New York City. Visit his website at felixgilman.com.Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.CHAPTER 1INTRODUCTIONSMy name is Harry Ransom. Friends call me Hal or Harry, or by one of a half-dozen aliases, of which I have had more than any honest man should. Don’t let that shake your confidence in me. I was a victim of circumstance. Often I went by Professor Harry Ransom, and though I never had anything you might call a formal Education I believe I earned that title. For the last few years it’s been Excuse me, Mr. Ransom, sir, from those beneath me and just plain Ransom from those above. I never cared for any of that and now I am free and on the road again with nothing but my name and my wits and my words.If you know my name maybe it’s as the inventor of the Ransom Light-Bringing Process, or maybe you believe in all that secret-weapon stuff they wrote in the newspapers, in which case I intend to set you straight. Or you may know me as the man who lost the Battle of Jasper City, or won it, depending on where you stand in matters of politics. If you’re an Officer of the Line who has intercepted this in the mails, then you know me as a Wanted Person but maybe you know to think twice before coming after me.If you’re reading this in the future maybe you know me as the man who founded Ransom City. It lies out in the unmade lands, or it will, one day. Maybe as you read this it’s a bright new century and Ransom City is a great and glittering metropolis and there’s a big bronze statue of me in a park somewhere—if I have any say in the matter there will be parks—well, who knows? I am an optimist. Maybe one day these pages will be read by every boy and girl in the West. Your grandfather will look over your shoulder and say, I remember old Harry Ransom, I saw him back in Nowheresville one time, that was a hell of a show but the bastard still owes me money. I am writing from no place in particular. All I’ll say is that it is a big red barn not so different in architectural grandeur from one of those old-world cathedrals you see in picture-books sometimes, although I guess more full of straw and dung. I have never been in a cathedral but I have been in a whole lot of barns. There are thousands like it in the Territory. The fields all around and the mountains in the distance are brown like an old coat. The man who owns the barn and the cows and the horses and all the straw and the dung is a good fellow, not educated but one of nature’s Free-Thinkers, and when we strike out West again he will come with us.I am writing on a typewriter that I salvaged from the old man’s office after Jasper City fell. Naturally it’s the very latest state-of-the-art machine. Nothing but the best was good enough for the old man. There’s a bullet-hole in its casing and some water-damage to its innards. Nobody thought I could get it working again but I did not get where I am today by being a fool, at least not in matters mechanical. In spite of my efforts the letter R still sticks one time out of four, and that is no small inconvenience for a man who likes to talk about himself as much as I do. On the other hand the machine types in triplicate, through an arrangement of carbon papers and clever little levers, so that when I type RANSOM it echoes across one-two-three sheets of white paper. The old man used this device to convey orders with the greatest possible efficiency. I want to talk to a lot of people as I go so this is a great time-saver. Well, we moved on from the big red barn. One of the Line’s Heavier-Than-Air Vessels was spotted overhead. It circled, writing a kind of black-smoke question mark in the sky. Most likely it had nothing to do with us—there’s fighting not far south of us, or so I hear—but we’re taking no chances. We left by night and took the road west. I am sitting and typing under the shadow of a big old cottonwood tree in a valley of rank grass and blackberry bushes and old tin-plated junk and fat dragonflies. Our numbers have been swelled by the barn-owner’s younger son and two of his friends, and I have just eaten one of his first-rate apricots, but the man himself stayed behind to sell off his furniture and settle his affairs. If all goes well we shall all meet up at a certain location on the Western Rim.I left a triplicate of letters in his care all about who we are and where we are going and what we are going to do when we get there, by which I mean the founding of Ransom City. We are going West. I waxed eloquent about the glories of the free city of the future and true democracy and the Ransom Process and the parks and the tall buildings I have planned in my mind’s eye and all the rest of it, and how every person who wants should follow us. One of the letters is to go to my onetime friend the famous Mr. Elmer Merrial Carson, formerly of the Jasper City Evening Post, one is to go to the editor of the Melville City Gazette,* and because I do not know any other journalists, the third is to go to an editor of Mr. Barn-Owner’s choosing.I thought everything would be easy to explain but it is not. I mean to set the story straight, because a lot of things have been said about me or by me that are not exactly true. It is not easy to tell a true story. Most of my practice with words has been selling things, which is not the same at all, it turns out.I am not yet thirty but I have had an odd kind of life and I have a lot to say before I go. Anyhow this is my AUTOBIOGRAPHY I guess, and so I will call this CHAPTER ONE, and below that INTRODUCTIONS, just like a real honest-to-goodness book.Copyright © 2012 by Felix Gilman Views: 69
Spymaster Chip is the King of Clubs – a professional bar manager and soldier – sent to run intel operatives out of a bar on Madhatter Station out near the Galactic Rim. Lila has been managing the bar in her sister’s absence for two weeks when, as she predicted using her deck of cards and her clairvoyant gift, Chip arrives. Sparks fly between them almost immediately, only spiking higher when they uncover a plot to take over the station. Can the new lovers and a handful of retired vets avert catastrophe and save the station?Chip didn’t expect to find the bar open for business when he arrived at The Rabbit Hole on Madhatter Station. Not only is it open, but a beautiful woman is running the joint. He’s instantly attracted to her, but tragedy in his past has kept him from getting involved in any but the most superficial of relationships. This woman, though, she tempts him like no other.Lila foresaw the coming of her own personal Charlemagne, the King of Clubs. She had no idea he would be so appealing though. A widow, Lila didn’t expect to be so attracted to the ex-soldier. Her female senses stir to life for the first time in years and she wants to get to know him better. A lot better.When pirates plot to take control of Madhatter Station, it’s up to Chip and Lila to organize the resistance. With a handful of well placed vets and a handful of pilots, they mount a defense, but will it be enough? Or will it be too little, too late? And what of the lovers? Will their love and belief in each other be enough to see them through one of the greatest tests of the human mind? Views: 69
Erotica/Mystery/Crime. 81568 words long. First published in 2006, 2006 Views: 69
FOR JESSICA,
The note was accompanied by a single red rose on a white satin pillow.
For Miami businesswoman Jessica Landon, the gesture was anything but
romantic. She'd been in snowy Montana less than a day, and already she'd
become the target of a rifle-toting Santa, then run off the road and
left for dead. Her protection through the holidays was sexy-as-sin
cowboy cop Ross McGarrett -- a man with a tragic past and a motherless
young daughter....
FROM YOUR SECRET SANTA
Ross liked city women and warm, tumbled beds. And Jessica fit him and
his bed to a tee. With Christmas approaching, Ross dared to believe in
love again -- but could he keep Jessica safe through the silent and
deadly night...? Views: 69
