Mystery writer Phoebe Anderson owes her success to killing her first husband on paper seventeen years earlier. Now someone has actually done it. When she decides to take a few days away on the ranch of her best friend’s brother-in-law, she doesn’t expect romance to find her...or murder to follow her.
Mason Meadowlark is happy with his wild cowboy ways, avoiding love since the death of his baby and the end of his marriage twenty years ago. When Phoebe shows up, he fights to control his emotions but soon wonders if she just might be worth the risk of opening his heart again.
With an obsessed fan close on her heels, Phoebe is thrown into her own murder mystery…and the next target on his list is Mason.
Phoebe shuddered and stilled.
Like the aftershocks of an earthquake, trembling overtook her body. Her knees wobbled, but Mason caught her before she collapsed.
“What’s wrong?” He hugged her briefly then brought his face even with hers. “Phoebe, tell me. Why are you shaking? What’s happened?”
“Oh my God, Mason.” She spread her hands on his chest and glanced back at the bathroom. “Tell someone to call an ambulance. Hurry!”
He took a step toward the ladies’ room, but she grabbed his shirtfront. “No!” She peered around him and shouted. “Someone call nine one one.”
Mason touched his pocket. “My cell’s in the truck.” He grabbed the shoulder of a male customer, the closest person to them. “You got a cell on you?”
The man nodded and pulled a phone from his pocket.
“Call nine one one right now. There’s been…” His face questioned her.
“Someone’s badly hurt in the bathroom. Oh hell, hurry!” She thumped her palms against his chest.
The man pulled out his cell as he raced into the ladies’ room.
Phoebe wrapped her arms around Mason, tipped her chin upward, and found the words. “It’s that waitress, Mason. Carla.”
His expression went blank, from concern for her to no comprehension.
“There’s so much blood.” She stifled a gag, the sweet, copper penny reek still heavy in her nostrils. “Her throat.” A shudder rippled the length of her body. “I think she’s dead.”