THE TEXAN
an excerpt by the author)
JOAN JOHNSTON
BAYLEIGH CREED CAUGHT HER BREATH WHEN OWEN BLACKTHORNE stepped into the cool night air. He was close enough to touch. His shaggy black hair looked rumpled, as though he'd shoved both hands through it in agitation. When he started to move off the porch, Bay reached out and grasped his sleeve.
A second later she was slammed back against the wall, a powerful male hand at her throat choking her. She could feel the heat of him, the solid maleness of him. And panicked. She clawed at Owen's flesh with her nails and drove her knee upward toward his genitals. He thrust her upraised knee aside, and the full weight of his oversix-foot frame shoved hard against her from shoulders to thighs.
Bay froze, staring up at him in mute horror. Her body trembled in shock. She tried to speak, but there was no air to be had beneath the crushing pressure of his grip on her throat.
"What the hell ... ?" He released her throat and grabbed her arms to yank her into the narrow stream of light from the kitchen doorway.
She gasped a breath of air, coughed, then gasped another, pressing a shaky hand to her injured throat. She wrenched to free herself, but he let her go without a struggle and took a wary step back. She rubbed her arms where he'd held her, wishing she'd approached him more directly.
"What are you doing out here, Mizz Creed?" His voice was clipped but controlled. The violence she'd felt in his touch was still there in his eyes, which glittered with hostility.
"It's Dr Creed," she rasped, glaring back at him.
He lifted a black brow. "Well, Dr Creed."
She opened her mouth to say I need your help. But the words wouldn't come. There was nothing wrong with her voice. She just hated the thought of asking a Blackthome for anything.
"I haven't got all night," he said. "There's an emergency at the barn-"
"Ruby's foal has already been delivered safely," she said. "I made up that story because I wanted to speak privately with you."
"You delivered Ruby's foal?"
She saw the confusion on his face. "Your sister tried to manage by herself and ran into trouble. Since your vet was out of town, she called me."
Owen grimaced, but to his credit, didn't berate his sister in front of her. Neither did he thank Bay for saving the foal. "You've got me here now," he said. "What is it you want?" His hands fisted on his hips in a way that made her think he was itching to wrap them back around her throat.
She lifted her chin and met his gaze. Big mistake. His gray eyes had turned into shards of ice. His body was wired tight, like frayed barbed wire ready to snap and tear flesh.
Her stomach clenched with unaccustomed fear, which she told herself was unreasonable. She'd simply surprised him, and he'd reacted to the threat like the lawman he was. He couldn't know how frightening it was for her to be imprisoned against the wall by his large, muscular frame. She swallowed past the soreness in her throat and said, "My brother's in trouble."
"Which one?"
"My younger brother Luke."
His eyes narrowed, and his hands left his hips and crossed over his broad chest. "I knew I should have arrested him last night. What's he done now?"
"Luke hasn't done anything," Bay retorted. "But he seems convinced your brother Clay has."
Owen snorted with disbelief. "What's your brother accusing Clay of doing now?"
"The same thing he accused him of last night."
His lips curved in amusement. "What is it you expect me to do? Arrest my brother?"
Bay put ice in her voice to take the smile off his face. "I believe my brother is in danger, and that your brother is the one threatening him.".
"I'd be more inclined to think the opposite," Owen said. "Your brother's the one who attacked mine last night."
Bay was starting to feel some of Luke's frustration. She was tempted to turn and walk away. But what if her delay in seeking help cost Luke his life?
When Bay didn't speak, Owen shook his head in disgust and turned back toward the house.
"Wait!" Bay reached out to stop him but jerked her hand back, remembering how he'd reacted the last time she'd touched him without warning.
© 2001 by Joan Johnston
