Samantha Hunter - Straight to the Heart

Legs tangled, arms flailed, and a second later, Joanna was sprawled on the firm mattress with Callahan spread over the top of her.

The cool air from the air conditioning on her bare feet made her shiver – or was that from the heat from the heavy length of Ben’s body that was burning into hers?

“Um,” she said, licking her lips and looking up at him. He didn’t move. She didn’t ask him to. He felt good.

“Don’t do that,” he said, his breath sounding a little short.

“Don’t do what?”

“Lick your lips like that.”

“Oh, sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all.

“I should probably get up,” he said, his breath warm on her cheek. “But I really don’t want to.”

His words, his touch were pushing her too close to the edge.

And resisting temptation had never been one of her strong suits.

Dear Reader,

Straight to the Heart offered me the chance to write about my favourite of all law enforcement characters, the US Marshal. In this book, US Marshal Joanna Wyatt is the sister of Texas Ranger Jarod Wyatt, the hero from my Blaze, Hard to Resist. Joanna was raised by two strong Texas men—her dad and her brother, and she’s definitely carrying on her family tradition. It was a pleasure to get to know Joanna, a strong alpha woman, and to find her romantic match.

But what kind of hero would be right for such a heroine? Well, Ben Callahan, cowboy and former SEAL, suddenly appeared. He’s perfect for Joanna, and she for him, though romance isn’t easy for two strong people with similar personalities. Opposites may attract, but in my opinion, these two set off a lot more sparks on the way to their happily ever after.

Straight to the Heart was a fun book to write, and I hope you enjoy it. Let me know on Twitter, Facebook or email me at samhunter@samanthahunter.com, and thanks for reading,

Samantha Hunter

SAMANTHA HUNTERlives in Syracuse, New York, where she writes full-time. When she’s not plotting her next story, Sam likes to work in her garden, quilt, cook, read and spend time with her husband and their dogs. Most days you can find Sam chatting on the Blaze boards at Harlequin.com, or you can check out what’s new, enter contests or drop her a note at her website, www.samanthahunter.com.

Straight

to the Heart

Samantha Hunter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Thanks to Kathryn Lye for her encouragement on the

initial idea and while writing this book, and to the

Harlequin staff overall for all of their hard work and

support on every project.

To Jeannie Watt and Kari Dell, who were so generous

with their time helping this New York writer get a

handle on western life, cowboys and roadhouses. :)

As always, my love to Mike.

“YOU THINK HE’S COVERING FOR someone?” U.S. Marshal Joanna Wyatt set the file down on her boss’s desk, meeting Don’s eyes squarely. She had no idea why he was asking her about his case—the murder of a rodeo official by an organized-crime thug—but maybe he needed to brainstorm ideas. The cowboy who had witnessed the murder wasn’t cooperating, but that wasn’t her problem. She was impatient, wanting to know about her own status and her next assignment.

“That or he’s being threatened. Someone might have gotten to him, scared him. That would explain why he refused to come into protective custody, didn’t want to leave his family exposed. But he also rejected the idea of a protective detail. Said he could handle it himself,” Don responded, sounding tired.

Joanna pursed her lips, grabbing the report and scanning it again. Former navy SEAL, covert ops, cowboy. She knew the type. She’d been raised by two men with similar backgrounds, her father and brother, both Texans, both Texas Rangers. Ben Callahan’s response to protective custody didn’t shock her; a man like that tended to face his trouble head-on.

“I imagine he’s probably not afraid of much, and he probably could handle it himself,” she acknowledged. “This guy must have some serious skills, and friends who might back him up.”

Don scowled. “That may be, but he doesn’t have the jurisdiction nor the blessing of the U.S. government to do so. He’s a civilian now.”

“Why refuse a personal detail?” Joanna mused aloud.

“He said having bodyguards would draw more attention to him, that strangers would stand out like sore thumbs, raise flags.”

“He’s probably right. Texas towns are tight-knit communities. Everyone knows everyone, no exceptions.”

Don glared. Joanna shrugged. She couldn’t help it if Callahan was right.

“So what are you going to do? More importantly, when will I be clear to work? My shoulder is healed up well enough, and I’m ready.”

“The investigation into your last assignment hasn’t been closed. You won’t be back in fugitive apprehension until the assessment is complete.”

Joanna gripped the edges of the chair. “I’m on desk?”

Don smiled slightly. “Not quite that bad. You’re going undercover for WITSEC.”

“Witness security?” she echoed faintly. “But I don’t do witness protection. I chase bad guys, remember?”

Joanna lived for the chase. Always on the move, she’d taken down some of the worst of the worst. WITSEC, in her opinion, was nothing more than glorified babysitting. It was too slow and didn’t have nearly the excitement hunting down a fugitive offered.

“No way, I—”

“Listen, I know what you think of witness protection, but you go undercover to protect Ben Callahan or your backside is warming one of those chairs out there until the investigation into your last assignment is complete.”

“This sucks. I made one mistake, one small error in judgment—”

“You nearly got yourself killed and almost lost out on the apprehension of a dangerous suspect in the process. You pushed too hard, put yourself and the case at risk, and it’s not the first time. You need to dial things down a notch. Just for a while.”

“You don’t get the guys we’re after by backing off.”

“I know, and you’re one of the best we’ve got. But right now, you need to do this. Believe me, it took some wrangling for me to even get you this assignment, and that’s only because WITSEC is stretched to capacity. They need you.”

Suddenly it became clear to her why she’d been brought into this conversation.

“The cowboy? I thought he’d refused any protection,” she said.

“He did. And you seem to agree that a stranger would stick out like a sore thumb, but I think you could fit right in. He runs a roadhouse on his family ranch near Midland, and it just so happens they’re looking for help.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

He didn’t so much as crack a smile.

Joanna took a deep breath, settling back in the chair, trying to accept her fate. Undercover might not be too bad. At least it was out of the office, in the field, and if this is what it took to get the shrinks and administrators off her back, then fine.

“How long?”

“Three weeks. Keep him safe, let us know if there’s anything else going on—if you think he’s hiding something, if there’s a threat he’s not telling us about, some other reason he would refuse protection, anything. He can’t find out who you are—this is our only shot. If he makes you, we could lose him altogether. Don’t downplay this, Jo. And if things get messy, you call for backup—not like the last time.”

“Of course,” she said, crossing her arms. “But for the record, I did call for backup. It’s in the report. It’s not my fault they took forever to show up and I had to try to handle things myself.”

“Got it. But what happens next in your career rests on making this assignment work. I don’t want to lose you, so, like I said, make it work.”

Joanna could only nod. She was a professional, and an assignment was an assignment, but God help her, the next three weeks couldn’t pass quickly enough.

On her last case, she’d made a mistake. She’d decided not to wait for backup during a takedown—there wasn’t time, in her assessment, if they didn’t want a serial rapist to get away—and she’d taken a bullet for her trouble.

It was the only time she’d ever been shot, and it had almost been the last time. Missed a major coronary artery by an inch. She would have bled out so quickly she wouldn’t even have known what happened. The guy had been apprehended a little later, but it hadn’t been by her. That stung almost more than the gunshot.

Now, there was penance to be paid, and hers was babysitting Ben Callahan.

BEN CALLAHAN PAUSED IN THE doorway of the Lucky Break, the bar that he’d inherited from his grandfather, trying to figure out what was different. Scanning his surroundings, his senses honed by nearly eleven years as a navy SEAL, his gaze finally landed on the source of his curiosity.

Her.

A good deal of smooth, shapely feminine thigh was exposed by the short denim skirt that also showed off a spectacular bottom line. He wasn’t the only one who noticed. Men filing in for the lunch hour bestowed appreciative glances on the new waitress as she walked from table to table taking orders.

Dark-brown hair was caught in a loose ponytail that swished around her shoulder blades as she moved. The movement drew his attention to her strong, slim shoulders, tight waistline and long, graceful neck.

As she turned, he saw she wasn’t big on top, but she sure made the most of what she had. A tall drink of water, was the phrase his mother often used; it came to mind as he watched his new waitress.

Charlie, his best friend and second in command at the bar, had been in charge of hiring while Ben was out of town talking to the Feds. He didn’t want to be away any longer than he needed to, given the circumstances, but now he could stick close to home.

Fortunately, Charlie had been lucky with finding a new waitress for them. Interviewing new help wasn’t a job Ben relished, even as owner of the place, mostly because his mother was too likely to send in the daughters of her friends, who were better candidates for marriage than waitressing. Then there were former girlfriends who came around since he’d been back, some of them still single, others divorced.

That was the problem with returning to the town where you grew up. He still wasn’t completely used to it. It had only been a year, and leaving military life behind hadn’t been an easy choice.

Family, legacy and land often went together in Texas. Those ties meant something—it was a lesson he’d learned in the SEALs, where connections to your team meant everything. They meant your life. Connections to your family worked the same way, that was how Ben saw it, anyhow. He had served his country and now he served his family.

As well as copious amounts of beer to the locals.

When his grandfather had died, Ben hadn’t been home in over two years. He couldn’t change that, but he could do his granddad proud now.