No Ordinary Cowboy

No Ordinary Cowboy
Mary Sullivan

She'd rather be anywhere than here in Ordinary, Montana.Tackling the books for a failing ranch as a favor to a friend is not city girl Amy Graves's scene. And every time Hank Shelter stonewalls her search for the truth, she wants to be gone yesterday. Seriously. Still, something about the Sheltering Arms calls to her.Maybe it's the open spaces. Maybe it's the inner-city kids having the time of their lives here. Or maybe it's Hank, who is proving too good, too kind to be real. Despite herself, Amy's falling for his charm. But to put the ranch to rights she needs to know what he's hiding. Even if it destroys the sweet thing developing between them.

The loop settled over Amy, but also caught Hank

The rope tightened around them with the gentle persuasion of a mare nudging her colt home….

She’d raised her arms when he’d pulled her toward him and her hands rested high on his chest. They rose and fell with his quick breaths, branding him.

The sounds around him drifted away. He lost himself in Amy’s green eyes. His hands held the back of her waist, drifted down to her hips. He thought of ripe pears and his blond guitar.

She smelled warm, like the sun, like mango and papaya and coconut. Her skin looked soft enough to lick.

What if he did what he wanted and rested his head on her golden hair, felt the soft glide of it across his cheek? What if he leaned down to press his lips to her eyelids to close them, so she couldn’t see all of those handsome cowboys crowding around her? What if he kissed her until she was aware of only plain Hank?

Before he could act on the crazy impulse, she did the oddest thing. She closed her eyes and leaned forward, then smelled him with a delicate sniff.

She opened her eyes and smiled into his. “Soap. Nice.”

Dear Reader,

What is a born-and-bred city girl of Irish descent, who grew up in Toronto eating Greek pastries on the Danforth, noshing on grapes from her Italian neighbor’s vines and drinking Turkish coffee with her Macedonian friends, doing writing romance novels about cowboys and cowgirls?

They fascinate me! I admire the committed work ethic that compels them to raise cattle under the toughest conditions, to battle summer droughts and winter blizzards to maintain a way of life that has been bred into their bones.

I also love horses, love reading about them and watching them in movies. Sadly, I’ve never been on one. A hopelessly inept athlete, I never stop trying. Recently I went dogsledding for the first time and came home bruised and euphoric. Rock climbing is next. After that…horseback riding? Maybe it’s time to get up close and personal with a real live horse and even, gulp, ride one. Wouldn’t that be awesome?

I hope you enjoy my debut novel of a rugged cowboy who falls hard for a beautiful city girl.

Mary Sullivan

No Ordinary Cowboy

Mary Sullivan

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

When Mary Sullivan picked up her first Harlequin Superromance novel, she became hooked on romance. She wanted to write these heartfelt stories of love, family, perseverance and happy endings, about heroes and heroines graced with strength of character and hope. Mary believes that whether we live in the country, the city, or somewhere in between, home is where the heart is, with the people we choose to love.

To Kelly.

Home is where the heart is.

My heart is with you.

To Maureen, Michele, Molly, Sinead and Teresa.

I couldn’t have done this without you.

Thank you.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

“HANK SHELTER, if you’re there, pick up!”

Hank ignored his sister’s order and strode from the desk to the window, putting distance between him and the telephone.

“Leila,” he muttered to his empty office, “I don’t feel like tangling with you today. The answering machine can deal with you.”

He leaned against the wall beside the open window, his arms crossed, staring across his fields to the distant hills. June in Montana. Was there anything on this earth more beautiful than his ranch?

Correction. Not his ranch. Leila’s. Another of Dad’s crazy decisions, to leave the ranch to her. It should have been Hank’s. He pounded his fist on the windowsill.

“Hank,” Leila continued, “you can’t stick your head in the ground like an ostrich and ignore reality.”