Doris Rangel - Marlie's Mystery Man

“Who the heck are you and get the heck out of my room!”

Marlie finally managed to get out.

Well, hell. They were back to this. “Marlie,” Caid said patiently, “I told you last night who I am. Remember?”

“Caid?” Her tone sounded disbelieving.

“Yeah. Caid Matthews.”

“Caid Matthews, you’re naked as a jaybird! Get out of my room!” Marlie screeched, throwing a pillow at him.

But Caid didn’t move. “You can see me?”

Marlie finally seemed to grasp the importance of the moment. She blinked, then slowly, wickedly grinned. “Yes, Caid, I can definitely see you.”

Dear Reader,

October is bringing big changes in the Silhouette and Mills & Boon worlds. To strengthen the terrific lineup of stories we offer, Silhouette Romance will be moving to four fabulous titles each month.

Don’t miss the newest story in this six-book series—MARRYING THE BOSS’S DAUGHTER. In this second title, Her Pregnant Agenda (#1690) by Linda Goodnight, Emily Winters is up to her old matchmaking tricks. This time she has a bachelor lawyer and his alluring secretary—a single mom-to-be—on her matrimonial short list.

Valerie Parv launches her newest three-book miniseries, THE CARRAMER TRUST, with The Viscount & the Virgin (#1691). In it, an arrogant royal learns a thing or two about love from his secret son’s sassy aunt. This is the third continuation of Parv’s beloved Carramer saga.

An ornery M.D. is in danger of losing his heart to a sweet young nurse, in The Most Eligible Doctor (#1692) by reader favorite Karen Rose Smith. And is it possible to love a two-in-one cowboy? Meet the feisty teacher who does, in Doris Rangel’s magical Marlie’s Mystery Man (#1693), our latest SOULMATES title.

I encourage you to sample all four of these heartwarming romantic titles from Silhouette Romance this month.

Enjoy!

Mavis C. Allen

Associate Senior Editor, Silhouette Romance

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For the TMTW faithful and the mountains that keep me coming home.

Silhouette Romance

Marlie’s Mystery Man #1693

Silhouette Special Edition

Mountain Man #1140

Prenuptial Agreement #1224

loves books…the feel of them, the sight of them, the smell of them. And she loves talking about them. She has collected them, organized them, sold them new and used, written them, worked with others to write them, read them aloud to children and has hopefully imparted the magic of them to the grade school, college and adult students she has taught over the years. History, philosophy, science, satire, Western, mystery…In her home, books are the wallpaper of choice.

Romances hold a special place on her shelves, however. A story that ends with a couple stepping into the future with love and hope may be an ideal, but it is an ideal she wishes for the tomorrows of every living thing in the universe. Love, after all, in whatever form it takes, is all that is.

Doris enjoys hearing from readers and you may contact her via snail mail at P.O. Box 5645, Victoria, TX 77903-5645, or via e-mail at Drangel@selectrec.net.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

“Hell, I can’t fire Waldo! He’s been ramrod on the Rolling M since before I was born.”

Snorting angrily, Caid Matthews down-shifted the pickup to climb another steep grade.

“He’s eighty, dammit, and I’m not firing him. Dad gave him a good retirement package. And it’s not like he’ll have to live on the streets. He can move to Florida, like he always said he would. Flirt with the blue-haired widows. Maybe marry one.”

“Sure that’s what he says, but everybody knows that’s just talk. Waldo’s lived in West Texas all his life, most of it in the Davis Mountains as a hand on the Rolling M. The day he shucks his Levi’s for swimming trunks is the day the sun stands still.”

Caid sighed and used a knuckle to rub the bridge of his nose. He’d been fighting with himself over this for the past week, his brain knowing the ranch could no longer afford Waldo’s salary, but his heart knowing it would kill the old man to leave the Rolling M.

And it wasn’t just Waldo. The Rolling M’s finances were in deep horse hockey in a way they’d never been before. Caid had trimmed everywhere he could find to trim, with part of him knowing it had to be done and the other part madder than hell that he had to do it.

Waldo had to go. There was no other way. And five hundred acres had to go, too. That five hundred acres might be only a drop in the Rolling M’s proverbial bucket, but never in the history of the ranch had any acreage been sold.

Though he knew there was no alternative, Caid often felt like his soul was being ripped in two.

The pickup topped the grade and settled into the long glide toward a wide valley below where he’d have several miles of flat. Good. Now he could make up time.

Hell of a thing. He’d driven from the ranch all the way to Fort Davis, even checked into the hotel so he could be at the bank first thing in the morning.

But he’d no sooner placed his duffel bag beside the bed than he realized he’d left the papers he needed for the bank on the kitchen table.

There was nothing else to do but return to the ranch and get them, then make the long drive back to town.

Just went to show the state of mind he was in lately. He’d never been this forgetful. Why, he’d even left his hat with his lucky jay feather back in the hotel room.

Now on the flats, Caid sent the ancient truck flying down the highway. The sun was low in the west and he hadn’t passed another vehicle in the last twenty miles—not unusual in this part of Texas.

“You ever stop to think that leaving those papers might be a way of telling you something?”

Caid shook his head angrily, wishing he could somehow yank his other, softer side completely out of his body. This constant inner debate with himself interfered with every decision he knew he had to make.

“I’ve got to sell and that’s all there is to it. It’s that or lose the whole damn ranch. I’m doing what I have t—”

A deer! Stepping right into the headlights.

With no shoulder to the road, he swerved off the highway completely to avoid the petrified animal. By the grace of God and three good inches, he missed it.

Unfortunately, he didn’t miss the sixty-year-old ponderosa pine.

“Your man is a western man, honey.”

“Oh, Gram. Please. I’m going to West Texas for a vacation, not another man. After Nicholas, I can’t think of anything I want less.”

“The Great Ones don’t care if you want him or not, Marlie. They just told me he’s in Fort Davis. Take him or leave him, it’s yours to decide.”

“I’ll leave him, then, but you can tell The Great Ones thanks for the playmate while I’m there. Just warn them that I’m not bringing home any souvenirs.”

“Don’t be flip, dear. It’s not becoming. Besides, the heart has a mind of its own.”

“Sounds like a country-western song, Gram. And I don’t have a heart anymore. Nicholas threw it out with yesterday’s leftovers.”

Recalling the conversation she’d had with her grandmother before leaving San Antonio, Marlie smiled grimly to herself and signaled to exit the interstate. Forty more miles and she’d be in the picturesque little town of Fort Davis where she planned to get a grip.

Forty extremely dark miles. The state highway had even less traffic than I-10, and led her through the kind of darkness San Antonio hadn’t experienced for over a century. A million stars spangled the sky.

Gradually, however, the stars along the horizon blotted into a jagged line that Marlie assumed were the Davis Mountains. The road twisted and turned as it wound among them, slowing her driving to a nervous crawl.

Marlie’s neck and shoulders ached with tension and exhaustion.

Sighing, she thought of the brightly lit motel she’d passed eighty miles behind her.

She’d almost stopped. Why hadn’t she? After all, she didn’t have hotel reservations to keep. Her friend, Jill, who had recommended Fort Davis as a great place to relax and hike—a good place to recover, she’d meant—had said reservations weren’t necessary this time of year.

Yet Marlie had passed up the motel and was now figuratively kicking herself for it.

This was supposed to be a vacation, not an endurance race. It didn’t matter if she spent the night in Fort Davis, for Heaven’s sake! Yet here she was, seven hours out of San Antonio and eighty miles past common sense.

Her part Native American grammie would say The Great Ones guided her. But then, Gram didn’t like to admit that any of her family were stupid. Stupid over men, stupid over sticking her nose into what was none of her business.

To Gram, descended from a noted shaman, everything was a sign. Take the blue feather that now rested in Marlie’s shirt pocket, for instance.

After uncharacteristically stalling her with errands and lunch and cleaning the kitchen, Gram had finally allowed Marlie to head out the door to get her vacation underway.

She’d placed a loving arm around Marlie’s shoulders and walked her to the car. “You’ll see,” the older woman said. “Your happiness is in the west, sweetness. Look. Here’s your sign.”

Following Gram’s pointing finger, Marlie obligingly looked down. A small blue feather lay on the concrete drive right beside the car door.

“Take it with you, dear. Your man has the other one.”

But Marlie had hesitated before picking it up.

The family had a saying: “When you’re going on a trip, never accept one of Gram’s little presents if she didn’t buy it.” All of them knew strange things happened when Gram decided to give “just a little something” from her own possessions.

Not bad things, mind you, but…strange ones.

So far, Grammie’s “little somethings” had brought into the family two husbands, a wife, a baby, a pet iguana and a 1970s VW bus for a delighted teenager—all of which came at considerable surprise to the cousins involved who had thought they were merely going from Point A to Point B for a little R and R.

Still, Marlie reasoned, the feather was a found object, not truly a gift. It ought to be safe.

She picked it up. The vibrant blue of the feather seemed to glow against her palm.

How very appropriate, she had thought. My bluebird of happiness is molting.

Fort Davis, two miles. Thank God.

Marlie’s eyes popped open.

Something had wakened her. What?

And then she knew.

Coming from nowhere, from everywhere, a soft, elongated groan seemed to fill the hotel room. With her heart slowing to a shallow, desperate chugging, Marlie held her breath, which wasn’t easy when what she really wanted to do was scream.

Inch by cautious inch, she sat up to peer into the darkness, but only the clock on the bedside table had any substance. Twelve thirty-six, it declared precisely in bilious, luminescent green.

Another soft groan floated into the darkness and Marlie gasped, yet squint as she might, she couldn’t see a thing.