LITMIR.BIZ

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

       GAIL BARRETT

      always dreamed of becoming a writer. After living everywhere from Spain to the Bahamas, raising two children and teaching high school Spanish for years, she finally fulfilled that lifelong goal. Her writing has won numerous awards, including Romance Writers of America’s prestigious Golden Heart. Gail currently lives in western Maryland with her two sons, a quirky Chinook dog and her own Montana rancher-turned-retired Coast Guard officer hero. Write to her at P.O. Box 65, Funkstown, Maryland 21734-0065, or visit her Web site, www.gailbarrett.com.

      To my sister, Mary Jo Archer, for her wonderful support.

      ACKNOWLEDGMENT

      I’d like to give a huge thanks to author Adrianne Lee for her brainstorming help; farrier Kevin King for information about mules; Darlene Leivonen for answering my endless questions about horses; and especially Judith Sandbrook, for her super critique help. Thank you all!

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 1

      Yanahirca, Peru

      Trouble was coming.

      The warning shivered down Logan Burke’s neck like the graze of a cobweb, that whisper of danger, danger, he’d learned not to ignore. He knocked back his shot of whiskey, hissed as it scorched a raw, hot path through his gut, then slid his left hand to the Imbel .45 tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

      The men lurking in the shadows of the cantina shifted, and the muscles along Logan’s broad shoulders tensed. He eased himself into shooting position, flicked his gaze to the open door.

      The newcomer stood in the doorway, backlit by sunlight, but there was no mistaking her long, slender legs and female curves.

      He sucked a long, slow breath through his teeth. Trouble was right. A woman in this hellhole meant gunfights, bloodshed.

      But damned if the blood would be his.

      She strolled into the cantina, and the outlaws tracked her, watching her with feral eyes. These men were renegades, ex-guerrillas and terrorists hiding beyond civilization in a remote Andean village laid waste by poverty and war. Men with nothing to lose. Men waiting to die.

      Men he just might have to kill.

      The woman seemed oblivious to the danger. She sauntered straight toward him across the packed dirt floor, her fine-boned chin raised, the hips in those snug jeans swinging to the kind of sweet, sensual beat that compelled a man to watch. She drew closer, and he made out high, exotic cheekbones, dark, tilted eyes. And round, ripe breasts that shifted beneath her T-shirt, daring a man to touch, to taste, to take.

      The men stirred. Mutters broke the tight silence. The air reeked of testosterone.

      “Logan Burke?” Her voice was throaty, low-pitched. And any hope he had of avoiding trouble died.

      “I’m Dara Adams.” She pulled a small pack off her shoulder, held out a slender hand. The motion swept her thick, black braid past her hips.

      He ignored the hand, slid his gaze across the dim room to assess the danger. Three men. Five empty bottles. Enough firepower to run a war.

      But armed or not, he knew these men wouldn’t challenge him outright. They were cowards by nature, hyenas who skulked in the shadows, finding strength in packs. They’d watch, wait until they could shoot him in the back.

      This woman would give them the courage to try.

      She pulled her hand back. Her dark eyes flashed, and a flush climbed up her cheeks. “I need to talk to you. I heard you could help me.”

      “You heard wrong.”

      She blinked. Her sultry lips parted. “But…you don’t even know what I want.”

      “Doesn’t matter.” He worked alone, lived alone, never got involved. That was the rule he lived by. The rule he’d die by.

      The one rule he could never forget. His wife’s death had guaranteed that.

      “Of course it matters.” She frowned, glanced back at the outlaws. “Can we go somewhere to talk? Alone? I have a proposition for you.” She lowered her voice. “I promise it’s worth your while.”

      The edge of his mouth ticked up. And for a second he indulged himself, letting his gaze slide over those erotic lips and creamy throat, those perfect, tempting breasts.

      Hunger kicked low in his gut.

      “A business proposition,” she added, sounding breathless, and he tugged his gaze back up.

      “Sorry. I’m not interested.”

      “But I’ve spent three weeks trying to find you.” Her voice rose. “I’ve hiked all over Peru.”

      “Then you wasted

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