Cheyenne's Lady Read online

  Addie Malone, brave frontierswoman and founder of Shotgun Ridge in the 1800s, would be proud to see the town’s bustling rebirth. Just last year it was nearly extinct. But thanks to the efforts of four smug, matchmaking old men, Shotgun Ridge was bursting at the family seams once more. Now it was time for a new bachelor roundup—and proud, fierce sheriff Cheyenne Bodine seemed just the man to lead the stampede to the altar!

  “That’s my bed. And I’m dying to know why you’re in it.”

  Emily frowned. “I think there’s been some kind of a mistake. Unless we’ve both leased this house, there’s obviously a question over who has dibs on this bed.”

  Cheyenne’s grin was slow and incendiary. “I assure you the house—and that bed—belong to me. Although giving you ‘dibs’ on it has a certain appeal.”

  His voice was incredibly soft, incredibly thrilling. Cheyenne Bodine was a sexual man. But she wasn’t here for sex. And as huge and uncomfortable as she was, it should have been the last thing on her mind.

  Should have been.

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to Harlequin American Romance, where you’re guaranteed upbeat and lively love stories set in the backyards, big cities and wide-open spaces of America.

  Kick-starting the month is an AMERICAN BABY selection by Mollie Molay. The hero of The Baby in the Back Seat is one handsome single daddy who knows how to melt a woman’s guarded heart! Next, bestselling author Mindy Neff is back with more stories in her immensely popular BACHELORS OF SHOTGUN RIDGE series. In Cheyenne’s Lady, a sheriff returns home to find in his bed a pregnant woman desperate for his help. Honor demands that he offer her his name, but will he ever give his bride his heart?

  In Millionaire’s Christmas Miracle, the latest book in Mary Anne Wilson’s JUST FOR KIDS miniseries, an abandoned baby brings together a sophisticated older man who’s lost his faith in love and a younger woman who challenges him to take a second chance on romance and family. Finally, don’t miss Michele Dunaway’s Taming the Tabloid Heiress, in which an alluring journalist finesses an interview with an elusive millionaire who rarely does publicity. Exactly how did the reporter get her story?

  Enjoy all four books—and don’t forget to come back again in December when Judy Christenberry’s Triplet Secret Babies launches Harlequin American Romance’s continuity MAITLAND MATERNITY: TRIPLETS, QUADS & QUINTS, and Mindy Neff brings you another BACHELORS OF SHOTGUN RIDGE installment.

  Wishing you happy reading,

  Melissa Jeglinski

  Associate Senior Editor

  Harlequin American Romance

  CHEYENNE’S LADY

  Mindy Neff

  To Carol Miller,

  For birthday lunches and adventures, hours of talking and solving all the world’s problems (we ought to have it straightened out by now, don’t you think?) and for a cherished friendship I treasure deep in my heart. I love you, girlfriend.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Mindy Neff published her first book with Harlequin American Romance in 1995. Since then, she has appeared regularly on the Waldenbooks bestseller list and won numerous awards, including the National Readers’ Choice Award and the Romantic Times Magazine Career Achievement Award.

  Originally from Louisiana, Mindy settled in Southern California, where she married a really romantic guy and raised five great kids. Family, friends, writing and reading are her passions. When not writing, Mindy’s ideal getaway is a good book, hot sunshine and a chair at the river’s edge at her second home in Parker, Arizona.

  Mindy loves to hear from readers and can be reached at P.O. Box 2704-262, Huntington Beach, CA 92647, or through her Web site at www.mindyneff.com, or e-mail at [email protected].

  Books by Mindy Neff

  HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

  644—A FAMILY MAN

  663—ADAM’S KISS

  679—THE BAD BOY NEXT DOOR

  711—THEY’RE THE ONE!

  739—A BACHELOR FOR THE BRIDE

  759—THE COWBOY IS A DADDY

  769—SUDDENLY A DADDY

  795—THE VIRGIN & HER BODYGUARD*

  800—THE PLAYBOY & THE MOMMY*

  809—A PREGNANCY AND A PROPOSAL

  830—THE RANCHER’S MAIL-ORDER BRIDE†

  834—THE PLAYBOY’S OWN MISS PRIM†

  838—THE HORSEMAN’S CONVENIENT WIFE†

  857—THE SECRETARY GETS HER MAN

  898—CHEYENNE’S LADY†

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Prologue

  “Well, Vanessa, me and the boys are making a pretty good go of this here matchmaking business.” Ozzie Peyton gazed at the portrait of his late wife, which held a place of honor over the stone fireplace. He still discussed every little thing with his sweet Vanessa—though he didn’t like to spread that around. Some folks just didn’t understand.

  The “boys” were Lloyd, Henry and Vern, the four of them affectionately known as the geezers. Ozzie didn’t mind the term; in fact, he kind of liked it.

  They were on an important mission, had taken matters into their own hands when they’d realized their small Montana town of Shotgun Ridge was in danger of dying out due to an overabundance of men and not enough women and children. Why, the good Lord intended for men and women to pair off in twos, fall in love, get married and procreate, you bet.

  But the durn bachelors here in town were a stubborn lot—clearly in need of a nudge here and there.

  “Now don’t go to fussin’” he said to Vanessa’s portrait. “You know my mind’s slippin’ a bit of late and these old hands aren’t quite what they used to be. Why, a mixup in address numbers is an honest-enough mistake.” He gazed into Vanessa’s timeless eyes, the eyes of a schoolteacher who could reprimand with a single look. He placed a hand over his heart, duly repentant.

  “Okay, okay, it was pure-dee deliberate. But Cheyenne Bodine was always close to your heart, darlin’. Why, if it weren’t for you, that boy would never have turned out so fine. And Emily Vincent—you remember her, don’t you, love? A little scrapper, that one, and a bit of a jinx if you recall, but wait till you hear what she’s gone and done now.” Ozzie rubbed his hands together, couldn’t contain the smile that spread across his face. It was a smile Vanessa loved—she always told him his eyes twinkled.

  “It’s all in the family, you see. And if ever there was the perfect lady for Cheyenne Bodine, it’s Emily Vincent. So we—me and the boys—figured it’d be best for everyone concerned if we got them under the same roof. Neither one of those kids knows a lick about babies—yet.” He winked at Vanessa and was certain her lovely lips curved in response.

  Chapter One

  Sheriff Cheyenne Bodine got a bad feeling when he came home to his modest five-acre mustang ranch to find a snazzy Mercedes parked in the driveway, its front tires resting in the grass as though the brakes had been a little faulty. Or else the driver was under the influence of a controlled substance.

  A three-quarter moon lit the cold October sky, illuminating his four-bedroom house. The fact that this all belonged to him chased away the loneliness he’d been feeling lately. Well, some of it.

  Still, loneliness aside, he hadn’t expected company. In the small town of Shotgun Ridge, Montana, Cheyenne knew the make, model and owner of just about every vehicle, and this one wasn’t familiar.

  The pretentious car with Washington p
lates stuck out like a prissy lady in a bawdy bordello.

  Suspicious by nature—compliments of his job—he slid out of the four-wheel-drive Bronco, his dog hopping to the ground beside him. The smell of fall air, hay and horses wrapped around him like a familiar blanket, yet something appeared amiss in his neat world.

  He cautiously pushed open the front door of his house. A blast of warmth from the furnace made his cold cheeks burn.

  “Heel, Blue,” he said quietly to the Siberian husky who was never far from his side.

  Brows drawn together in a frown, he followed the trail of luggage and female articles through the front hall to his bedroom.

  Great, he thought, picking up a snakeskin boot and a white parka that smelled ultrafeminine, some wise guy had gotten him a stripper. He sniffed again. The innocent scent of vanilla emanating from the downy fabric didn’t jibe with that image.

  When he reached the open bedroom door, his booted feet froze and his mouth dropped open.

  A woman was sound asleep in his bed.

  And this high-class Goldilocks was pregnant as all get-out.

  He moved closer to the bed, his cold fingers clenching around the soft leather boot he still held.

  Emily Vincent.

  His heart thudded as memories flashed. She’d lived in Shotgun Ridge for a while, but her family had moved during her senior year in high school. Her departure had left a hole in Cheyenne’s life.

  Although he’d mostly watched her from afar, she’d been full of spit and vinegar, and he’d been half in love with her. She’d had a penchant for being in the wrong place at the wrong time and had more than once been the center of scandal, her reputation suffering, even though he’d suspected she’d been innocent.

  It was the darnedest thing, as though trouble came knocking at her door.

  And once again Emily Vincent appeared to be in the wrong place.

  In his bed.

  And if she knew the thoughts he was thinking about her as she slept—scratch that, if the townsfolk knew what he was thinking, her reputation would once again be the subject of discussion.

  Blue bumped his cold nose against Cheyenne’s hand. He gave the dog a pat to let him know there wasn’t any immediate physical danger.

  Now, mental danger was a whole different matter….

  Easing into a chair beside the bed, not bothering to remove the sheepskin jacket that covered the sheriff’s star pinned to the front of his uniform shirt, Cheyenne settled in to give his fantasies an all-expense-paid spree.

  A DETERMINED LITTLE FOOT lodged under her ribs and Emily groaned, stretching out to get more comfortable. The last weeks of pregnancy were worse than she’d anticipated.

  She moaned softly and opened her eyes.

  The sight of the man and dog sitting beside her bed sent adrenaline straight to her head, making her dizzy, forcing a scream that came out more like a squeak.

  Scrambling for the covers, she snatched them to her chin.

  “No need for modesty. Aside from the boots, the rest of your clothes are still on you, though the skirt’s hiked up a bit.”

  “Cheyenne?” She jerked at the hem of her wool maternity skirt. It had only ridden up to midthigh, thank goodness.

  “One and the same, trouble.”

  Trouble. He’d been the only one to call her that and make it sound like an endearment rather than a judgment.

  Emily released her death grip on the blankets, and placed a protective hand over her stomach. Everything will be okay, now.

  “So,” he drawled, his tone exceedingly pleasant, “mind telling me what you’re doing in my bed?”

  Still groggy, heart pumping, it was a moment before Emily’s confused brain kicked in.

  And when it did, relief was washed away by the flood of all-too-familiar emotions. The fear. The sorrow. The reason she was here. The sheer terror of what lay ahead.

  But why was Cheyenne Bodine telling her she was in his bed?

  And oh, Lord, time had been very nice to this sexy man. The last time she’d seen him, she’d been seventeen and he’d been twenty.

  That had been fifteen years ago.

  Dark hair brushed the collar of his sheepskin jacket, and deep-brown eyes focused on her with an intensity that made her want to fidget. He was a tall man, with the strong bone structure of his Cheyenne ancestors.

  Silent and watchful, he emanated danger and oozed sex appeal.

  Her palms were damp and her insides trembled.

  She struggled to sit up, uncomfortable with their respective positions—she in the bed, him watching her like a polite panther, full of self-confidence and patience.

  He immediately reached out to help her, the perfect gentleman even though his gaze was still a bit wary.

  “Thanks. I feel like one of those children’s toys, you know? The ones that wobble but don’t fall down? Problem is, I wobble and roll and have a devil of a time getting vertical.”

  His piercing gaze slipped to her hugely rounded tummy, then to the naked ring finger of her left hand. Though his lips didn’t curve, amusement shimmered briefly in his eyes. “When are you due?”

  “In about three weeks.”

  “And you’ve come home for a visit?”

  His tone clearly stated he was still waiting for an explanation. Well, he wasn’t the only one. Shotgun Ridge was a friendly little town, but for heaven’s sake, the man was standing in her bedroom!

  “Yes, I’m here for a visit, sort of. But what are you doing here?”

  “I live here. That’s my bed. And I’m dying to know why you’re in it.”

  She frowned. Was he teasing her? “Look, I think there’s been some kind of mistake. Unless we’ve both leased this house, there’s obviously a question over who, exactly, has dibs on this bed.”

  “Leased it, huh? From whom?”

  “Ozzie Peyton.”

  His grin was slow and incendiary. “I might have known those old geezers were involved. I don’t know what they were thinking, but I assure you the house—and that bed—belong to me. Although giving you ‘dibs’ on it has a certain appeal.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, I’m as big as a moose!”

  “I have a good imagination.”

  His voice was incredibly soft, incredibly thrilling. Dear Lord, he was quick. And apparently very serious.

  She didn’t want to expand on this conversation. Truthfully, she was horribly out of practice with the flirting routine.

  Cheyenne Bodine was a sexual man, always had been. But she wasn’t here for sex. And as huge and uncomfortable as she was, that should have been the last thing on her mind.

  Should have been.

  Just went to show the potency of one Cheyenne Bodine!

  Flustered, nervous, she reached for her leather attaché case and rooted around for the lease agreement she’d been sent by the mayor. “I have the paper right here. And I checked the house numbers before I came in.”

  He took the form from her and lazily scanned it as though he had all the time in the world and nothing at all was amiss.

  “Easy-enough mistake. The numbers are off by one digit. This address is for the place next door.”

  “Oh, Lord, I’m sorry. It was dark—I thought I checked the numbers. I’m so embarrassed.” She tightened her hand around the leather satchel, holding it in front of her like a shield—which wasn’t easy, given the size of her stomach.

  “I haven’t unpacked yet. It’ll just take me a minute to clear out and move next door.” She was rambling, talking fast, but she couldn’t help it. His watchful silence was making her a nervous wreck.

  And just as when she’d been young, she’d made another mistake. What was it about this town? She’d been jinxed the entire time she’d lived here, star-crossed and accident-prone until the day she’d moved away.

  “Now there’s where you’re going to run into a bit of a problem.”

  “Why? I asked Ozzie Peyton for something close to you. Do you object to me being your neighbor?” />
  “I probably wouldn’t if it were a possibility. The place next door burned down several years back. The house was on my property, I used to rent it out, but after the fire, I couldn’t see any sense in rebuilding.”

  No wonder Ozzie Peyton had told her the house she’d thought she’d leased was furnished. Of course it was—with Cheyenne’s furniture.

  She was starting to feel thoroughly ungrounded. She’d been so tired when she’d come in that she’d just fallen into the bed, never looking around to see what was what. Now she did peruse her surroundings.

  Masculine, definitely, decorated with touches of his Native American heritage. She saw a photograph on the dresser of a man and woman, the woman’s hair as dark as a raven’s wing, the man’s as bright as the sun. And standing beside the couple were two little boys—one with the dark, striking features of his mother, the other as fair as the father.

  Cheyenne and Jimmy Bodine.

  Brothers who’d been estranged from each other over pride and a stupid mistake.

  Tears stung her eyes and throat.

  Jimmy had displayed that same photograph in his bedroom.

  “Hey, trouble.” Cheyenne leaned forward and touched her cheek, his thumb gentle as he caressed the fragile skin beneath her eyes. “No need to get upset. We’ll work something out.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s been a trying time for me lately.” She reached for his hands and held them in hers. “It’s not just baby hormones making me emotional. I’m afraid I have some bad news.” She squeezed his hands, said as gently as possible, “Jimmy’s dead.”

  His fingers tightened against hers, nearly crushing her bones. His eyes flared, his head shaking in denial. “No…”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “How? When?”

  “An accident on the highway. Two weeks ago. A semi hit a patch of black ice and caused a pileup.”

  She saw his throat work on a swallow, his gaze slipping to her pregnant stomach.

  “Why wasn’t I notified?”

  “I’m sorry. That was my fault. I was so stunned, in a fog.” Tears slipped down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again, the words horribly inadequate. “Jimmy was so excited about…” She couldn’t go on, simply pressed her hand to her stomach.