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RESCUED BY THE RANGER
RESCUED BY THE RANGER
Dixie Lee Brown
Releasing on Sept 8th, 2015
Avon Impulse
The only thing Rachel Maguire wants is to send this smart-mouthed, muscled military man packing. She knows Garrett has his own reasons for staying, so when he offers Rachel a deal—two days to prove his worth or he leaves—she reluctantly agrees. Despite wanting to loathe him, Rachel finds herself drawn to his quiet confidence…and the way he fills out a t-shirt.
But when Rachel receives a phone call from the past, everything changes. The stalker who destroyed her life ten years ago is closing in once more. Refusing to put anyone else in harm's way, Rachel hits the road hoping to lure danger away from those she loves. But Garrett won't leave this sexy spitfire to face her stalker alone. He'll do anything to protect her. Even if it means risking his life—and his heart.
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DIXIE LEE BROWN lives and
writes in Central Oregon, inspired by what she believes is the most gorgeous
scenery anywhere. She resides with two dogs and a cat, who make sure she never
takes herself too seriously. When she’s not writing, she enjoys reading,
movies, and trips to the beach.
A wave of anger
hit Garrett hard as he watched the red-haired woman school her expression into
patient nonchalance, yet she couldn’t hide the fury that burned in those green
eyes. Garrett, taking his cue from her, forced a smile and shifted his weight
to one of the barstools. “Huh! They just left the place unlocked?” He stared
directly at the kid. “Seems reckless. Any slimy piece of riffraff could wander
in and sit himself down.” A faint smile crossed quickly over Rachel’s face, but
apparently the idiot beside her was too stupid to take offense. Garrett would
have to try harder.
The kid leaned
back in his chair, and a black scowl twisted his features. “I won’t be tellin’
ya again to clear out. A fella stickin’ his nose in around these parts is
askin’ for a beatin’ . . . or worse.”
Garrett’s gaze
shifted to Rachel as she slowly lifted her eyes to his. She studied him
curiously for a second before the slimeball squeezed her hand cruelly and she
bit her lip, muffling a small sound. The tautness of her body and the
determined set of her jaw telegraphed her intention ahead of her movement, and
Garrett started toward them seconds before she jumped to her feet, sending her
chair flying backward. Rachel fisted her right hand and flung a haymaker at the
punk’s nose. Obviously quicker than he looked, the kid saw it coming and easily
caught her wrist, yanking her arm behind her back. With one foot, he pulled the
closest chair into position and forced her to sit, then turned to face Garrett
with a make-my-day smirk on his face. Clearly enjoying himself now, he twisted
Rachel’s arm higher, bending her over the table, and a cry escaped her this
time. “As I was sayin’, it’s time for you to go.”
Garrett held his
ground. The woman’s eyes still flashed with fire, but fear seemed noticeably
absent, if the instinct to knock the kid on his ass was any indication. Maybe
they were a couple and this was their
idea of Saturday-afternoon foreplay. Damn. He hated getting involved in family
matters, but he’d never been able to abide violence against women.
A deep breath
later, he’d committed himself to what was likely to follow. “Thanks for the
warning, but I think I’ll hang around for a while. Unless you want to let this
pretty little bartender here sell me a drink.”
The guy took a
step toward the edge of the table, still grasping Rachel’s wrist. “Hey! You
hard of hearin’ or somethin’? You’ve got two seconds to git back on the road or
I’m gonna kick your ass.”
Garrett laughed,
then let his forced humor fade as he squared his stance. “You can try if you
want.”
The guy roared
like a wounded rhinoceros, released the woman’s wrist, and lurched around the
table toward Garrett. Rachel didn’t waste a second. She darted away from the
table, vaulted over the top of the bar, and dropped out of sight on the other
side.
Garrett braced
for the lunatic’s clumsy attack, but with three strides still separating them,
he heard the distinctive sound of a Winchester lever-action rifle. The charging
bull in front of him obviously recognized the sound as well.
He skidded to a
stop and threw his hands in the air. “Now, Rachel, baby. You don’t wanna do
that.”
“I sure as hell
do, you sorry excuse for a single-celled amoeba. I told you if you ever laid a
hand on me, I’d kill you, and I meant it.” Rachel’s voice was silky smooth and
hard-edged.
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