Buchverlosung zu "Verliebt in Texas (Wings of the West)" von Kristy McCaffrey

Hi! I live in Arizona and write historical western romances set in the American West. If you like cowboys and romance, I hope you will check out my Wings of the West series.

Read an excerpt from Falling in Love with Texas

Chapter one

North Texas

May 1877

"Are you lost, miss?"

The woman spun around in the saddle, startled. Her large bright blue eyes studied him intently under the brim of her brown hat.

In this remote corner of the Texas prairie, Matthew Ryan never expected to encounter a lone rider staring at three graves at the foot of the mountain. Immediately the image of a girl from the past rose in front of him, with similarly bright blue eyes. A lifetime had passed since that night in August when he last saw Molly Hart. He still hadn't gotten over her loss, the dull pain never seemed to subside completely.

"No, I'm not lost," the woman replied. Her sonorous voice wrapped him like a warm blanket.

"You're a long way from the nearest settlement." He clutched his hat as a gust of wind tried to knock it off his head. The signs of an impending storm were increasing. Dark clouds were already piling up on the horizon. Matt realized that neither he nor the woman would have much time to get away from here. He had better leave.

"You too," she replied.

"Did you know the Hart family?" He nodded towards the graves.

The woman turned away and nodded imperceptibly. A few strands of auburn hair peeked out from under her hat.

"I'm Matt Ryan." He let his gaze wander down the little valley towards the derelict house and what was left of the Hart ranch about a quarter mile away. A pasture fence, stables, and a barn still stood, overrun by steppe runners and buried under dust, ghostly guardians of a place that was once so lively. "My family runs a ranch about thirty miles east of here."

When he looked at the strange woman again, he found that she was staring at him in horror. "What is it?" he asked.

Her horse, a beautiful chestnut mare with a coloring not dissimilar to the woman's hair, nervously tripped in place in response to the rider's tension.

"Matthew Ryan?"

"Have we met before?" he asked.

Instead of answering, she asked him more questions. “How did the Hart family die? How did Molly Hart die?

Matt paused. Ten years had passed since his last visit to this place, ten years since three graves had been dug and the bodies of the murdered laid to rest. Was he a coward for not coming here sooner? He couldn't say it. All he knew was that Molly Hart's death still weighed heavily on him, feeling guilty for leaving her alone that night.

"About ten years ago, the ranch was attacked during a festival. Mr and Mrs Hart were killed. Molly disappeared.” His voice was calm, almost impassive, as he'd learned over the years in the Army and the Texas Rangers. It had become second nature to him to hide his feelings, which had helped with this work. He didn't want to think about the price he had paid for it.

"And from that you concluded she was dead?" She looked very distressed.

"No, not at first. But then we found her.”

"What exactly did you find?"

The wind swept through the valley, black clouds loomed overhead. As the old saying goes, "If you don't like the weather here in Texas, just wait five minutes." That's how quick it often changes. He and the woman had better take shelter.

Reluctantly, he forced himself to answer her. "A burned corpse."

Lightning flashed out of the clouds and the woman had trouble reining in her horse. "How could you be sure it was Molly?"

“Nearby we found a small gold cross that she always wore around her neck. And the charred body was the right size.”

She glanced over at the graves, giving Matt a chance to see her profile. She was dressed like a man, wearing dark trousers and an oversized, light-colored shirt, but there was no mistaking that she was a young woman. The reins were held by slender fingers, and her feminine curves and graceful carriage were pretty to behold. Although the horse became increasingly restless, she held herself in the saddle with natural ease.

"What's your name?" he asked loudly over the howling of the wind.

The look she gave him spoke of distrust, disbelief and... abandonment? The thought startled him.

The celestial floodgates opened and rain pelted down on them.

"We'd better go inside." He steered his horse down the path. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her hesitation. Fear shone in her eyes at the sight of the derelict ranch.

When he reached the abandoned building, however, she was right behind him. "I'll take the horses to the stables. Maybe there's somewhere dry in there for her.” He took the saddlebags from both animals and handed them to her. "Go inside already and see if we can wait inside until the storm is over."

She nodded.

The stable was in better shape than he had expected. As he tended to the horses, he thought about the woman and wondered how she knew the Harts. Ten years ago she must have been a child, maybe around Molly's age, and Matt was sure he would have remembered her if he had met her before. The summer the family was murdered, he had been helping out on the ranch at his father's request.

At that time he had become friends with nine-year-old Molly. It must have seemed strange to outsiders, after all he was eight years her senior, but her easy camaraderie had made him see in her the sister he had never had. The little one had immediately won a place in his heart and he felt like her friend and protector. But he had failed at the latter. His conscience has tormented him to this day.

He ran through the rain and almost crashed into the woman who was standing in the doorway and didn't seem to have stepped inside. He immediately drew his revolver and looked around for wild animals that might also want to hide from the storm.

He reached out and touched her arm.

She lunged forward.

"Calm down," he murmured, gently pushing her aside. He walked through the house and looked into every room. It rained through in several places, but fortunately there was no sign of other creatures. "Back bedroom feels dry."

Instead of following him, the woman with the piercing blue eyes and the fascinating voice stopped at the door of another room.

Matt frowned. When had he started finding her fascinating?

He was at the end of the hall when another flash of lightning briefly lit up the darkened house. The wet shirt stuck to her body and showed her figure clearly. Matt forced himself to look away. He had no intention of taking advantage of the woman's position in any way.

She disappeared into the other bedroom. He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his damp hair. Attractive or not, there was something odd about this woman. He followed her.

"Do you know what became of Mary and Emma?" she asked softly, not looking at him.

So she knew Molly's sisters. "Her Aunt Catherine brought her to San Francisco to live with her."

She exhaled and her shoulders relaxed a little. Then she bent down and picked up an old, dirty doll. "It was Emma's," she whispered.

"How do you know so much about the family who lived here?" Matt was frustrated that the woman revealed so little about herself. "Who are you?"

When she turned to him, he saw tears on her face in the light of the flashes. "I could tell you, but I'm afraid you wouldn't believe me. It was stupid of me to think I could come here and everything would be the same.” She stared at the doll in her hands and kept talking softly. "So many years are lost forever, for all of us."

"What's your name?" he asked urgently. An ominous foreboding slowly spread through him. It couldn't be. That was impossible.

Even when she said what he had long suspected, everything in him still resisted it.

Her warm voice drowned out the drumming of the rain and the rolling thunder. "My name is Molly Hart."