Duke: Deputy Cowboy

Duke: Deputy Cowboy
Roz Denny Fox

His Heart Is On The LineDeputy sheriff and aspiring rodeo star, Dylan “Duke” Adams has his hands full with the recent string of burglaries in Roundup, Montana, especially when the thief strikes at his family’s ranch. Duke is trying to focus on the case, but he can’t stop thinking about a different thief–the petite blonde who just stole his heart.Angie Barrington can’t stand the rodeo. Though she’s seen plenty of abused rodeo animals at her rescue ranch, for Angie it runs even deeper. No matter how kind and compassionate Duke is—at the end of the day, he’s still a cowboy. Right?When Duke makes the nationals, he finally has a chance to bring prestige—and much-needed money—to Thunder Ranch. But if competing means losing the woman of his dreams, how can he ever win?

His Heart Is On The Line

Deputy sheriff and aspiring rodeo star Dylan “Duke” Adams has his hands full with the recent string of burglaries in Roundup, Montana, especially when the thief strikes at his family’s ranch. Duke is trying to focus on the case, but he can’t stop thinking about a different thief—the petite blonde who just stole his heart.

Angie Barrington can’t stand the rodeo. Though she’s seen plenty of abused rodeo animals at her rescue ranch, for Angie it runs even deeper. No matter how kind and compassionate Duke is, at the end of the day he’s still a cowboy. Right?

When Duke makes it to the national finals, he finally has a chance to bring prestige—and much-needed money—to Thunder Ranch. But if competing means losing the woman of his dreams, how can he ever win?

“Are you aware there are rumors floating around town,” Duke said carefully, “uh, connecting you to a top-tier bronc rider?”

Angie’s jaw dropped. Duke saw color splash her cheeks and he regretted saying anything at all.

“The man wants nothing to do with us.” Angie scraped back her hair with one hand, showing her irritation. “I have no idea where he even is,” she said with fierce finality. But her eyes filled with such a deep sadness that Duke, uncharacteristically, stepped close and wrapped her in a hug.

For a moment, Angie melted against Duke’s broad chest. She felt soft and feminine in his arms. But just when he thought she was going to pull him closer, she cleared her throat nervously and squirmed away.

Considering how flustered Angie looked now, Duke thought he probably ought to opt out of joining them for supper tonight. But Angie lit fires in him like no woman had before.

And whether she realized it or not, he suspected the feeling was mutual.

Dear Reader,

Linked stories done by a group of authors are a lot of fun to write. While it involves weeks of getting to know one another’s characters and writing styles, the collaboration experience is great. I was lucky enough to know nearly all six authors who share the Harts of Rodeo books, and I always snap up their books knowing they will be good reading. My hope is that all of our readers will love the cowboys/cowgirls in the Hart family and the people they fall in love with as much as we do.

I had a great time working with my fellow authors on this miniseries, and I’d like to thank Cathy McDavid, C.J. Carmichael, Shelley Galloway, Marin Thomas and Linda Warren for making the experience so wonderful. Be sure to follow the series with Shelley’s book, Austin: Second Chance Cowboy, which is available in October.

I love hearing from all my readers. You can contact me by email at rdfox@cox.net, or by letter at 7739 E. Broadway Blvd #101, Tucson, AZ 85710-3941.

Sincerely,

Roz

Duke: Deputy Cowboy

Roz Denny Fox

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Roz saw her first book, Red Hot Pepper, published by Harlequin Books in February 1990. She’s written for several Harlequin series, as well as online serials and special projects. Besides being a writer, Roz has worked as a medical secretary and as an administrative assistant in both an elementary school and a community college. Part of her love for writing came from moving around with her husband during his tenure in the Marine Corps and as a telephone engineer. The richness of settings and the diversity of friendships she experienced continue to make their way into her stories. Roz enjoys corresponding with readers either via email, rdfox@cox.net, or by mail (7739 E. Broadway Blvd #101, Tucson, AZ 85710-3941). You can also check her website, www.Korynna.com/RozFox (http://www.Korynna.com/RozFox).

Over the course of my writing career I’ve dedicated a book to almost everyone in my family except, I discovered, my two grandsons. Through nothing I did, there are two characters in these continuity books by the names of Austin and Evan—which are my grandsons’ names. I’m not sure they’ve read any of my stories to date, but I’m counting on them being enlightened enough one day to feel good about reading a romance.

So Duke: Deputy Cowboy is for them.

Contents

Chapter One (#u4c79722a-7c7b-5466-96ba-ccd00ea699f2)

Chapter Two (#u70e217f1-54fd-55fd-a9d7-66dea88ecd1e)

Chapter Three (#u151e0fd7-ccbf-5b85-855f-aa930521c4ce)

Chapter Four (#ue78eff88-ad83-521c-b277-94561de74648)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Recipe (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One

Dylan “Duke” Adams drove through the silent, shuttered town of Roundup, Montana, in the wee hours of Monday morning, headed home from a summer-weekend rodeo in Wyoming. Because he also served as Roundup’s part-time deputy sheriff he eyed businesses along the main street to see they were locked up tight and that side streets were vacant of anyone up to mischief.

Although, the problems of late that he and his cousin Sheriff Dinah Hart dealt with weren’t in-town robberies, but worrisome break-ins at outlying ranches.

He’d driven by himself to the rodeo in Sheridan. His twin brother, Beau, and cousin Colt Hart had both gone on to events in other states. Duke had earned good points in Wyoming despite the rank bull he’d drawn. And he felt great. If he made the National Finals Rodeo and won, it’d mean added prestige for him as a champion bull rider and would enhance business for the family ranch.

Still, his ride hadn’t been perfect and Beau nagged him to ride midweek in Custer, South Dakota. Beau nagged a lot. He knew Duke had promised Dinah he’d get home to help investigate the string of ranch burglaries piling up—too many for comfort.

Zorro, Duke’s German shepherd named for his black face mask, snored away in the backseat of Duke’s pickup. The Ford’s engine growled as Duke turned down an alley, a shortcut to his parking space outside his ground-floor apartment. As if sensing the change in the engine’s tempo, Zorro sat up, yawned and licked Duke’s ear.

“Easy, boy, we’re almost home.” Duke reached back to rub Zorro’s ears and immediately winced. He’d forgotten about the injury he’d sustained when he couldn’t release his bull rope quickly enough on his final bull. His fingers felt puffier now than when he’d left Sheridan. He should ice his hand down again, but, man, was he beat.

Pocketing his keys, Duke collected his duffel of dirty clothes and emptied it straight into the washer on his way through his back door. He stopped in the kitchen to draw Zorro a bowl of fresh water before heading to his bedroom where he stripped and jumped into a hot shower. Still damp, he fell into bed. Seconds later he heard Zorro pad in and settle on his dog bed. Almost at once the pet Duke had raised from a pup began to snore like a freight train. Duke rolled over, feeling his mind and body relax.

* * *

DUKE JOLTED OUT OF A SOUND sleep as his cell phone blared an obnoxious tune Beau had programmed into his phone as a joke. He patted the nightstand then recalled leaving the phone in the pocket of the jeans he’d kicked off at the foot of his bed. The room was black as spades. Zorro bounded up, barking his fool head off, making locating the phone more chaotic.

Shushing him, Duke scrabbled around hunting for his pants. He hit his sore hand on the bedside table and swore roundly. The bedside clock said 4:45 a.m. He’d slept for maybe two hours, he thought, digging out the noisy instrument at last. Any call at this hour meant trouble. “ ’Lo,” he rasped, doing his best to clear his foggy head.