He's My Cowboy

by Diana Palmer, Rebecca Zanetti, Delores Fossen

Genres: Romance Anthologies & Collections; Western Romance

Synopsis

In a charming western anthology headlined by one of the most trusted writers of western romance, three bestselling authors offer stories of sexy cowboys finding their perfect matches.
 
THE HAWK’S SHADOW * Diana Palmer
Gil needs to prove himself in his new role as sheriff’s investigator. That means working alongside a hotshot expert from the state crime lab who’s come to Colorado to help untangle a long-ago mystery.  But if they stop butting heads, they might discover a surprising connection . . .
 
RESCUE: RANCHER STYLE * Rebecca Zanetti
Leaving the Marines and returning to Redemption as heir to the family ranch—and guardian to three wayward teenagers—Greg is in way over his head. But he’s learned some deadly lessons since leaving his first love behind. And when she’s in danger, nothing will stop him from saving her.
 
A COWBOY KIND OF ROMANCE * Delores Fossen
After eight years in the Air Force, Brenna’s hanging up her uniform and returning home to Loveland, Texas. News of her parents’ separation has shaken her faith in love, even if the whole town is eager to matchmake between Brenna and her high-school flame. But never underestimate a cowboy’s powers of persuasion . . .
 

Release date: June 27, 2023

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 336

Sample

It was a miserable Monday morning. Undersheriff Gil Barnes was filling out a report from a local citizen about a robbery, one of the very few that had ever happened in Benton, Colorado. His boss, Sheriff Jeff Ralston, was out of the office. In his absence, Gil was in charge.

He’d just been given the new position of sheriff’s investigator. He was crazy about forensics, and while working as a sheriff’s deputy, he’d completed two certificates in this special field already at the local community college, going to night classes. He’d also aced a certificate through distance learning, and he belonged to two international forensic societies. But so far, he’d had no reason to use those skills.

It wasn’t as if they had that many murders in Benton. Occasionally somebody got shot, but more often than not, it was accidental. Of course, there had been the recent excitement when a nearby rancher was targeted by his sister’s murderous boyfriend. But that case was solved and there hadn’t been a murder. This past year there had been a murder with a knife. What a mess that had been. And years ago, there had been a notorious murder involving the mentally challenged heir of a millionairess. That had long been solved. In recent times, there had been a couple of attempts. But just attempts.

He sighed as he went down the form, filling in the information for the files. At the front desk sat the new receptionist, a pretty brunette who was answering the phone. She was the youngest of three sisters whose family had been the wealthiest in town but had fallen on hard times. The other two were married. This one, Jane Denali, was the prettiest of them all and the nicest. The sheriff, Jeff, was sweet on her.

Just as well that she didn’t do anything for Gil, he reckoned. He’d had his heart broken by a fickle woman a few years earlier, when he was in the military, and he’d never gotten over the humiliation of being thrown over publicly and insulted in the process as the woman transferred her affection to his drill sergeant. These days, he mostly ignored women. Oddly, that seemed to draw them. Go figure, he thought, amused.

He didn’t notice Jane’s quick glance at him. He was very attractive. He was tall, built like a rodeo rider, all muscle without any exaggeration. He had blond hair and dark eyes and a face like a movie star. Jane tried not to notice. He was obviously not interested in her.

He was just finishing filling out the form when the front door opened. He heard the receptionist ask who the newcomer needed to see.

“There’s a body!” the man exclaimed, red-faced. He was wearing working clothes, and his shoes were full of mud from the rain. “We need the sheriff!”

Gil got up and moved out to the front office. “Actually, you need me,” he said, smiling. “Hi, Red,” he greeted the city worker. “What’ve you got?”

“A body,” he said. “We were repairing a water break, and there’s a skeleton under the pipe!”

“Are you sure it’s a person and not an animal?” Gil asked.

Red nodded. “Absolutely. And it’s been there for some time. The clothes it was wearing are just tattered cloth, almost disintegrated.”

Finally, a real crime to solve, and the body was skeletal remains. Gil muttered under his breath. Well, this one was going to require a forensic archaeologist, and he didn’t have the credentials yet. That meant he was going to have to share the case with some hotshot from the state crime lab. It was a very specialized skill . . .

Gil followed the city worker back to the site, where he went through the routine procedure of cordoning off the area and securing the evidence. Luckily the water break was a few feet down from the remains, or there would have been more problems. It was right at the edge of the city limits, within throwing distance of the local elementary school, a florist’s shop, and the big brick mansion where the town’s mayor, Dirk Handley, lived with his wife.

“We’ll need a forensic archaeologist,” Gil murmured.

“Sure looks like it,” Red said. He grimaced. “I guess I can’t keep working . . . ?”

“Sorry. No. Not until I deal with the crime scene. You can patch the pipe, but that’s all.”

“That’s something, at least. Everybody’s raising Cain, especially Mayor Handley.” He looked past Gil and groaned. “And speak of the devil . . . !”

“What the hell is going on down here?” Handley, a tall, red-faced, redheaded, overweight man, glowered at the workers around the hole. “And why hasn’t this water leak been patched?!”

“We have a problem,” Gil said, pointing to the skeletal remains in the hole.

Handley scowled. He moved closer to the hole and looked down. He hesitated a few seconds and swallowed, hard. “My God,” he said to himself. He took another breath. “Who is it?”

“We don’t know,” Gil said. “Body’s obviously been there a long time, but I’ll need help to excavate the remains and work the crime scene. This involves forensic archaeology. I’ll have to get somebody here from Denver.”

The mayor drew in a breath. “Poor devil,” he said softly. “Any idea who he could be?” he asked.

“None. We don’t even know if it is a man or a woman,” Gil said. “It will take an expert.”

“Then, how long until your expert can get here?” Handley asked abruptly. “And more importantly, when can I get my water back?”

Gil didn’t say what he was thinking. “Soon,” he promised. “I told them they could patch the leak.”

“All right, then.” Handley looked once more into the hole. “Poor devil,” he said again. “Well, keep me informed.” He glanced at the undersheriff. “Should we call the press? They might help identify who it is.”

“Not just yet,” Gil said diplomatically. “First things first.”

“Let me know. Re-election is coming up soon,” he said. “A little publicity never hurts. We don’t let anybody get away with murder in our town.”

Gil was affronted. “Mayor, we don’t even know if it was a murder yet,” he said.

Handley blinked. “We don’t?”

“He could have fallen into the hole; he could have had a heart attack . . .”

“Right. And nobody noticed him.”

“It’s a very deep hole,” Gil reminded him, “and if it was dark . . .”

“Okay, I see your point. Damn, it’s cold out here,” he muttered. “Going back inside. Fix that leak, please. My wife’s raising hell in the house.”

“We’ll get right on it, Your Honor,” Red told the mayor’s retreating back before he made an unseen face at Gil and returned to work.

Gil left a deputy at the scene to make sure the body wasn’t disturbed. Then he went back to his office and called the state criminal investigation unit for assistance.

“Oh, sure, we’ve got a graduate right out of college who’s a whiz at forensic archaeology, and she’s available right now!” the man said, a little too enthusiastically. Red flags were going up in Gil’s mind. “Here, let me have her talk to you. Hold on!”

Gil sat at his desk. He overheard the man calling to someone.

“This is right up your alley,” he told someone else. “His name is Gil Barnes. He’s the sheriff’s investigator over in Benton. He needs to talk to you.”

There was a pause and then a perky voice. “Hello?” a female answered.

“Yes. This is Gil Barnes—”

“He already told me that,” she interrupted. “What sort of problem do you have?”

“Skeletal remains,” he began.

“You need a forensic archaeologist for that,” she returned.

“I know what I need! Why the hell do you think I called the state crime lab for assistance?” he growled.

“Well!” she exclaimed. “If you’re going to be adversarial, this will not be a pleasant association. No, not at all. You shouldn’t speak like that to people who are just trying to help you . . .”

“You aren’t, and I didn’t,” he muttered. “Look, I need someone to process a body. Can you do it?”

“Of course I can do it,” she replied. “I’m a forensic archaeologist. There are very few of us, you know.”

He ignored the comment. “When can you come?”

There was another pause, then a joyful male voice agreeing that she could leave the office immediately. That wasn’t reassuring, either.

“You’re in, let’s see, Benton?” she murmured, as if she were looking at a map at the same time. “Yes, I can be there this afternoon about two, if that’s all right? Do you have an airport?”

“Yes,” he said with exaggerated patience, “we have an airport. Real planes land at it every day.”

“Sarcasm will not win you points with me,” she assured him.

“Hallelujah,” he said. “I’ll expect you at two. If you’ll phone the office, someone in a real sheriff’s car will come to the real airport and pick you up.”

“Now, see here . . . !”

He hung up as she was speaking.

Sheriff Jeff Ralston, standing right behind him, was almost doubled up laughing. “You poor man,” he exclaimed. “I wouldn’t be in your shoes for bank notes! I’ll bet she’s fifty and skinny as a rail and has hair that stands out on both sides.”

“And probably horns,” Gil agreed heavily. “I’m going to study forensic archaeology in case we ever find another skeletal remains in my lifetime,” he told his boss. “Just so I never have to deal with that person ever again!”

Jeff checked his watch. “While you’re waiting, you might check the database for missing persons in town or in our county. Of course, we don’t have an age or sex for the victim yet, but it wouldn’t hurt to do a preliminary search. It’s not like we have a lot of people go missing.”

“That’s true enough,” Gil said. “I’ll do that.”

And he did. But nothing turned up. It wasn’t surprising. A lot of missing persons cases never made it into the national database for one reason or another. This was one of those times.

In the meantime, Jane Denali finished the form she was typing and went to lunch while Jeff stared after her admiringly.

“Why don’t you ask her out?” Gil teased his boss.

Jeff sighed. “I don’t do anything for her,” he said wistfully. “But she sighs every time she looks at you. Why don’t you try your luck?”

“I’m off women,” Gil said quietly. “Now, about this DB that Red found. That phone call you heard was about this forensic archaeologist I’ve got coming over from Denver to take a look.” He made a face. “She’s got the personality of a snapping turtle, but maybe she’s good at her job. She’s flying in today.”

Jeff’s eyebrows arched. “That’s quick. I’d think she was much in demand, it being such a rare skill.”

“That’s what I thought. Her co-worker sure seemed anxious to get her out of his office,” he recalled. He shook his head. “After talking to her for five minutes, I understood why.”

“Well, if she’s good at her job, you can manage to get along with her for a day, right?”

“Sure,” Gil lied, and mentally crossed his fingers.

“I wonder who the remains could be?” Jeff wondered out loud. “We don’t have that many people go missing around here.” He scowled. “That water line was put in just after Mayor Handley—well, he wasn’t the mayor at the time, just a clerk at the hardware store—moved into that house with his wife.” He rolled his eyes. “She married him for what he had. Poor guy. She never wanted kids or a family life, just money, and Handley’s people were loaded.”

“If his family had money, why was he working as a clerk at the local hardware store?” Gil asked, curious.

“His dad believed in the work ethic. No easy path for his only child, no, sir. The boy worked his way up from cleaning the floors at the family business to selling stock to delivering lumber. The old man was a hard taskmaster. He cowed Dirk.”

“Shame.”

“It happens.”

“How many years ago was it when the mayor moved into that house?”

“Let me see, I was away in the military at the time, but my mother went to the wedding—she never liked Nita Handley—and it was the year the Autumn Festival was established in Benton, floats and bands and all. That was . . .” He thought about it for a minute. “Twelve years ago, roughly.”

“You’re a wonder, Jeff,” Gil said. He grabbed up his hat.

“Where are you off to?”

“The county office to look at copies of the weekly newspaper. To see if it lists any disappearances from twelve or so years ago.”

“I like the way you think,” Jeff said with a chuckle.

“Pays to have a curious nature if you’re going to investigate murders,” Gil replied with a grin.

Gil went through pages and pages of the newspaper without turning up anything.

“Any luck?” Judge Garrett, the longtime judge of probate court, asked after an hour, her short gray hair gleaming in the light from the overhead bulb.

“Nothing.” He sighed. “I wish there was a way to search these papers for key words.”

“It would be nice,” she agreed. “Maybe one day we’ll get a willing volunteer to do that for us. It would be a tremendous help.” She looked over his shoulder. “What are you looking for, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Anybody who disappeared between eleven and thirteen years ago,” he told her. He glanced up at her and smiled. “We found a body when city workers unearthed a broken water line.”

She was frowning, deep in concentration. “Marley Douglas,” she murmured, nodding. “Yes, it was Marley. He disappeared quite suddenly twelve years ago. He was on his way home from church one Sunday evening, but he never made it. I remember because it was raining cats and dogs. We had the worst flood in Benton’s history.”

He was taking notes on his phone. “How old was he?”

“Marley? Let me see, he was in his forties.”

“Married?”

She shook her head. “No. He never married. He lived with his sister. She’s long dead. There was no other family. They never found a body. Someone said he ran off with a woman he’d met at a carnival that was in town, but that was just a rumor.”

He stood up. “Judge Garrett, you should have been a detective,” he said with a grateful smile. “You’re super!”

She laughed. “First time I was ever called that, for sure. If it was murder, I hope you can find who killed him,” she added gently. “He was a sweet man. Everybody loved him.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks again.”

He went back to his office and stopped in the doorway. Jane Denali and Jeff Ralston were listening to a slender woman with curly dark hair that stuck out all over her head, dressed in a very expensive, perfectly fitting gray pantsuit with a spotless white blouse, holding a rolling suitcase.

“Well, can you have somebody find him?” She was raging as she pushed oversize glasses back up on her nose. “I don’t have time to stand around waiting for people!”

Jane and Jeff looked over her shoulder at Gil with expressions of profound relief.

“That’s Gil,” Jeff said. “Sorry, work to do.”

“Phone to answer,” Jane mumbled, and ran toward her desk.

The object of their attention turned around and glared at Gil from gray eyes in a flushed face that was pleasant but nothing more. “So you’re the investigator, are you?” she asked sarcastically, giving him a cold appraisal. “You don’t look much like one!”

Gil’s dark eyes slid over her with nothing more remarkable than indifference. “What are you supposed to be?”

She almost gasped. “I’m a forensic archaeologist!” She flared at him.

He shrugged, arms folded over his broad chest. “Don’t look much like one.”

They glared at each other while a visitor to the office smothered a laugh and took off for the ladies’ room.

She shifted irritably. He had a hawkish look about him. Or a hawkish shadow look, she thought wickedly. “Can I see the supposed human remains you found?” she demanded.

“Sure,” he said. “But who picked you up from the airport?”

“I decided to drive. Now, where is it?” she persisted, looking around, while Jeff, in his office, quickly closed the door.

“I had it in my desk drawer but people complained,” he drawled. He looked down at her smart low-heeled, highly polished black shoes. “Want to go look at the body?”

“We refer to such things as skeletal remains,” she huffed.

“Refer to it however the hell you like,” he said with a blithe smile. “This way, then.”

She left her suitcase by the door and followed him out to one of the deputy sheriff cars. He bypassed his own, spotless one, and ushered her into one that had been used the night before to apprehend two drunken brawlers. It hadn’t been cleaned, and it reeked of beer and unpleasant intestinal fluids.

She made a face. “Don’t you people know about Lysol?” she demanded as she fumbled her seat belt on.

“Sure,” he said, starting the car. “It comes in a can and smells like a hospital. I think the sheriff has a can of it. Want me to go back and get it?” he offered, putting on the brakes.

She ground her teeth together. “Let’s explore the crime scene first.”

“Up to you.”

He drove her to the broken water line, which was covered in mud. So was the pavement all around it.

She got out of the car by herself, noting that her companion wasn’t offering to help, and almost slid down into the mud.

She grabbed the door handle, holding on for dear life while her feet did a hula.

“Sorry about the mess,” Gil said. “Rain, you know.”

She made a rough sound.

“It’s right over here.”

He’d deliberately stopped several yards from the site where the body was found. She slipped and slid and muttered under her breath. She wasn’t wearing a raincoat. She didn’t even have an umbrella. Gil was decked out in his yellow slicker, with another over his hat.

“Don’t they have raincoats in Denver?” he asked.

She glared at him. “It wasn’t raining there,” she pointed out.

He almost bit his tongue trying not to mention the availability of weather apps on the internet.

She stopped just above the body, which had been covered by a tarp on sticks so that the remains themselves weren’t disturbed.

She drew in a breath and wrapped her arms around herself. “Well, we can’t tell much from up here,” she murmured.

“Sorry. Want to go down into the pit?”

“You need to get the coroner out here and have him remove the body to the morgue, unless you don’t have a coroner . . . ?”

Just as she spoke, a van drove up and a young woman with short curly hair got out. “Hi, Gil, nice day for it, isn’t it?” she asked, and paused to light a cigarette.

“I do not smoke!” the forensic expert said pertly.

“Well, I wasn’t going to offer you a cigarette,” the coroner returned simply. “Good God, the price of cigarettes is outrageous!” She blew out a cloud of smoke and coughed.

“Smoking is for idiots!” the other woman muttered.

“Really?” the coroner asked, and sounded interested. “What’s standing around in the pouring rain without a raincoat called?”

Gil got between them. “Cassie, we need to get the body to the morgue,” he said.

“Sure. Worked the crime scene already?”

He nodded. “About three hours ago. Not much in the hole. A chewing gum wrapper and some sort of stick, like from a popsicle. We bagged it and sent it to the lab for analysis.”

“Our lab, I hope,” the archaeologist mumbled.

“The FBI lab,” Gil replied with faint arrogance. “With so little trace evidence, we felt that the lab with the greatest expertise would be best.”

She didn’t try to argue with that. She sneezed and reached into her pocket for a tissue. “Can we leave? I’m freezing.”

“No wonder.” The coroner shrugged, snug in her hooded raincoat. “It’s cold out here.” She gave the woman’s fancy suit a raised eyebrow. “Nice suit. I’ll bet it looks good in Denver. See you, Gil,” she added before the visitor could open her mouth.

Gil drove the woman back to town. She sneezed the whole way.

“Who are you?” he asked.

She drew in a breath. “Nemara Landreth.”

He just nodded. Odd name. Odd woman. He kept driving.

She pushed back her wet hair and took a deep breath. It had been a long, painful week. Her new co-workers in Denver already hated her guts and had made their opinion of her crystal-clear. They couldn’t wait to shoot her out the door into this hick town to oversee this hick case. She was an expert. Her grades had been phenomenal in college. She had the best education money could buy. And what was she doing with it? Looking at an ancient skeleton in a hole.

“I could have worked in DC for the FBI lab,” she muttered.

“You sure could have,” he said enthusiastically. “There’s still time to apply. There are flights out of our airport all day. You could fly over to Denver and go straight to the nation’s capital.”

She glared at him. “No, I can’t. I work for the unit in Denver.”

“Poor damn guys.” He glanced at her with pretended shock. “Oops. I didn’t mean to say the quiet part out loud. Sorry.”

She was flaming mad. Her lips made a thin line. She glared at the road straight ahead. “I spent years in college for this!” she growled, waving a small hand at the horizon.

“Yes, I’m sure it must be a real come-down, having to waste your brilliance on a cold case in the backwoods.”

She glanced at him. He sounded pleasant enough.

She shifted in her seat, drew in another breath, and sneezed again.

“Any particular reason why you didn’t check a weather forecast before you came here?” he asked.

She grimaced and stared down into her lap. “Weatherby.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Weatherby,” she repeated gruffly, averting her face. “I found him dead in his cage this morning.”

He felt a twinge of guilt. He had a pet of his own, one that kept him mostly dateless. He wasn’t sharing that with Lucrezia Borgia here, however. “What killed him?” he asked.

“Don’t know,” she said huskily. “Vet’s doing an autopsy.”

He stopped at a traffic light. “Had him long?”

She nodded. “Seven years.”

Her voice sounded rusty. He could imagine she was grieving. If he lost Bert, he’d be grieving.

“Sorry,” he said after a minute.

She drew in a breath. “Yes. Me too.” She glanced at him from red eyes. “You got a pet?”

He nodded. “Just one. Bert.”

“Had him long?”

He nodded again. “Nine years.” He smiled. “He’s a lot of company.”

“So was Weatherby.”

“Give it time. It’s as hard to lose a pet as it is to lose a human sometimes, they say.”

“You ever lost a pet?”

“No. But a friend, and a partner, yes.”

“Oh.” She moved again. “Sorry.”

“Thanks.”

She sat back in her seat, peering at him. “You ex-military?”

He laughed softly. “What gave it away?”

“Your posture,” she said simply.

His eyebrows arched.

“There’s a way military people carry themselves,” she explained. “It’s different from the way most people walk.”

“Well!”

He sounded impressed. She felt a tiny skirl of pleasure. Most people weren’t impressed with her, despite her credentials. In fact, most people didn’t like her. It was a fact of life that she’d accepted long ago. A lot of it was due to her relatives. The rest . . . well, she was shy, and she didn’t really know how to interact with other people. She never admitted it, of course. She never showed weakness to the enemy. And the enemy was, pretty much, everyone.

Gil pulled up in front of the sheriff’s office and glanced at the black SUV she drove to the precinct.

“Nice vehicle,” he said.

She managed a shy smile. “Thanks. It’s got a great sound system.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I like . . . music,” she said hesitantly.

“Yeah. Me too.”

He got out and opened his door. He started to open hers, but she made it ahead of him and walked into the sheriff’s office. Her luggage was right where she’d left it.

“You didn’t leave your gear in your SUV,” Gil remarked, gesturing toward her bags.

“It’s got a lot of specialized equipment in it,” she explained. “I wanted it to be safe.” Then she flushed, because it sounded as if she thought Benton was full of thieves. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out,” she blurted out.

“No worries,” he replied.

Gil walked her into Jeff’s office.

The sheriff had been on the phone, but he h. . .