Navy Seal's Deadly Secret

Long skid marks showed where her car had slid much of the way down a steep embankment. They stopped about three quarters of the way down and turned into big splat marks in the rocks. That was where her car had rolled. Heart in his throat, he traced them to the bottom of the ravine.

Anna’s little red car was upside down, at least two hundred feet below.

His heart stopped. Literally stopped. He couldn’t breathe, and a ten-ton weight crushed his chest.

* * *

Be sure to check out the rest of the Runaway Ranch miniseries later this year!

Dear Reader (#u7af247a9-950a-5d0e-bb40-35d2bc41d8e4),

I’m delighted that you’ve joined me this month for the launch of my new series about the Morgan clan of Runaway Ranch, Montana. The Morgan family has a long history of distinguished military service, and the latest batch of Morgan boys is no exception, until Brett Morgan’s career goes up in smoke. Anna Larkin also left Sunny Creek in search of a dream and found only a horrible nightmare.

Now both of them have come home with their lives in tatters. Can they put their hearts back together and find a new life with each other in spite of past failures and the lingering secrets that follow them home?

Isn’t that a question we all face when life throws us a curveball? How will we pick ourselves up and go on? In my humble experience, it’s in our family we find our strength. It can be your blood family or intentional family, but they sustain us and lift us up when we’re overwhelmed by life.

It’s this love—this family—that the Morgan clan embodies, and why I’m so pleased to share their stories with you. So go pour yourself a beverage of your choice, curl up in a comfy spot and enjoy this book!

Warmly,

Cindy

Contents

Cover (#u87c19874-78cd-5c52-b380-be78cd5695d3)

Back Cover Text (#uaf11fb93-5615-5ff6-803f-7f2cea506269)

About the Author (#u5d34f2b8-8d4b-5377-b21a-dd9c04d8897f)

Booklist (#uc55374c6-fee7-5315-849d-af6d9e100322)

Title Page (#ue128365e-ebe2-5a4f-8757-33d9c90b6388)

Copyright (#u3c50ff3d-a242-5ac8-bab2-d86a59a764dc)

Note to Readers

Introduction (#uaa1053b1-064b-5784-b2fe-c73b6bbcf0ca)

Dear Reader (#ud7e279b2-082c-511d-b53a-b444f8ad9b8e)

Chapter 1 (#u226bb6b1-fe03-5d0d-9ecc-80ea6e8f41b3)

Chapter 2 (#u570899fc-902b-5ac6-bd3b-b44b65bdcfdb)

Chapter 3 (#ub8fb16e1-f499-5f9e-89c2-3e08c029cac4)

Chapter 4 (#u17ec9222-67ec-5ab9-a1e5-e40c5b023819)

Chapter 5 (#ubde2931d-858d-5466-b95c-fb311e5cb87a)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 1 (#u7af247a9-950a-5d0e-bb40-35d2bc41d8e4)

“Hoo baby, Anna. You’ve got a hot one at booth number nine!”

Anna Larkin glanced at the back of the diner and the lone man hunched in the last booth, looking intensely uncomfortable, as if he wanted to shrink into nothingness. As if he was attempting to be invisible, or at least to blend in with the locals.

Not happening. He was tall, broad-shouldered and gorgeous, with dark hair and eyes so blue she could see their color from the other end of Pittypat’s Diner. Not the kind of guy who would ever blend in with the mere mortals of Sunny Creek, Montana.

He’d given it a good try, though. He wore a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and she would bet he was wearing jeans and cowboy boots under the scarred linoleum table.

“Well, go on,” Patricia Moeller, the Pat of Pittypat’s, urged her. “Say hello to the pretty man with no wedding ring.”

Anna rolled her eyes at her boss. But she did tug down the hem of her T-shirt before she headed over with a glass of ice water.

Hoo baby didn’t cover the half of it as she drew near her customer. His face was tanned, his features strong, his cheekbones chiseled out of Montana granite. She guessed him to be about thirty years old. A thin, red scar started near his ear and ran down into his shirt collar along the powerful neck of an athlete.

She studied him more closely. He looked familiar. But surely she would remember a face like that if she’d ever seen it before.

The old caution kicked in. She knew better than to fall for a pretty face. Much better. She’d suffered enough psychological wounds from the last pretty-faced man who crossed her path to make her skittish for a lifetime.