Renegade's Pride
A brand new title from best-selling author B J Daniels!The renegade cowboy returns! It's been nine years since Trask Beaumont left Gilt Edge, Montana, with an unsolved crime in his wake, and Lillian Cahill has convinced herself she's finally over him. But when the rugged cowboy with the easy smile suddenly shows up at her bar, there's a pang in her heart arguing the attraction never faded. And that's dangerous, because Trask has returned on a mission to clear his name and win Lillie back.Tired of running, Trask knows he must uncover the truth of the past before he can hope for a future with the woman he's never forgotten. But if Lillie's older brother, the sheriff, learns that Trask is back in town, he'll arrest him for murder. Now Trask is looking for a showdown, and he won't leave town again without one—or without Lillie.
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The renegade cowboy returns
Itâs been nine years since Trask Beaumont left Gilt Edge, Montana, with an unsolved crime in his wake, and Lillian Cahill has convinced herself sheâs finally over him. But when the rugged cowboy with the easy smile suddenly shows up at her bar, thereâs a pang in her heart arguing the attraction never faded. And thatâs dangerous, because Trask has returned on a mission to clear his name and win Lillie back.
Tired of running, Trask knows he must uncover the truth of the past before he can hope for a future with the woman heâs never forgotten. But if Lillieâs older brother, the sheriff, learns that Trask is back in town, heâll arrest him for murder. Now Trask is looking for a showdown, and he wonât leave town again without oneâor without Lillie.
This summer I rode behind the boat on a tube called Big Mable with one of my granddaughters who has no fear. As we were flying over the waves, mostly airborne, laughing, screaming and hanging on for our lives, I thought this is what keeps me writing. So this one is for Hayden, the teenager who I first rode with when she was fiveâand just as fast. Thanks for keeping me young and reminding me always that life is an adventure.
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A SLIVER OF moon hung high in Montanaâs immense night sky as Ely Cahill made his way out of the mountains. In the distance, he could see the ranch with its huge barn and, past it, the sprawling house where heâd once lived with his wife, Mary, which meant he didnât have that much farther to go.
He stopped at the edge of the dark pines to shift the heavy pack on his back. It had been easier making this trek when he was younger. Now at almost seventy his gold panning in the mountains took a lot more out of him. He couldnât bear the thought of the day he might not be able to make this trip.
Moving again, he licked his lips, anxious for that first drink heâd have once he reached town. Heâd been prospecting in the mountains for over a month now and had found enough gold that it was weighing down his pocket, begging to be traded for cash.
A cloud passed over the moon, pitching the Western landscape into shadow. As if a spider had raced along his bare skin, Ely shuddered and shifted the pack again. He stopped to sniff the wind, alert to danger. At first he thought it might be a bear ahead in the shadowed darkness. Heâd cleared the pine trees that blanketed the mountain and now looked down on the pasture. Nothing moved that he could see.
The moonlight glinted off the chain-link fence enclosure in the middle of the pasture. He felt his pulse bump up as his stomach did a slow, sickening roll. He had lived with the horror of what was buried inside that fence for years.
Now he listened, his ears attuned to trouble. As if what was buried there wasnât frightening enough, it was what the enclosure attracted that made his blood run cold. Goose bumps rippled over his skin, an eerie chill in the night air.
After all these years, Ely knew every sound the night made in this part of Montana, from an owl hoot to a hawkâs cry to the snap of a twig under the weight of a predatorâs paw. It was one reason heâd survived in the wilds all these years alone, which was the way he liked it.
Over the next rise, the lights of town beckoned. He licked his lips again, needing that drink more than ever. Boots heavy, he pushed on through the tall grass as he searched the horizon for whatever had spooked him. It wasnât the first time heâd felt his skin prickle at this particular spot. He suspected it wouldnât be the last.
His hand went to the back of his neck. He rubbed his nape under his long, curly graying hair and considered taking a detour around this particular spot. But it would take him a lot longer, and he was anxious now for noise and lights and food he hadnât had to cook himself. Also, he could almost taste that first shot of hooch.
Heâd been in the mountains too long. His stomach rumbled at the thought of hot cooked food. Cloud cover blocked the silver moonlight, deepening the darkness over the pasture that stood between him and civilization. He took a step, then another, the tall grass whickering against his filth-crusted canvas pants as he moved. He said the words like a mantra: whiskey and a bath in a tub with hot water and real soap. It propelled him forward a few more steps before he stopped again.
Nothing moved. Even the wind had stopped as if holding its breath. He might have thought heâd gone deaf if not for the tremulous thump of his heart.
It was on a night like this in 1967 that heâd first seen them. The memory was too fresh. He cursed himself for letting his thoughts take that particular path.
