Sanctuary with the Cowboy

When an on-the-job incident sends her home to her family's Hill Country ranch, Detective Aubrey Cavanaugh wants to hide away with a good bottle of vodka to ease her mind and her guilt.

She doesn't want to deal with family, friends, and least of all her former lover, Erich Harlan, who is now the ranch foreman.

Erich Harlan has his hands full with overseeing the ranch while Aubrey's parents are away. But he can see she is hurting. He might be the last person she'd turn to, but he won't give up until he knows what's causing her pain and how to make it go away.

After a dozen years apart, will she be willing to find Sanctuary with the Cowboy?




The sound of a truck on gravel woke her and she peeled her eyes open to look over the balcony at Erich’s truck. She’d finally fallen asleep as the sun came up, so her head was foggy and her fingers were stiff from clutching the blanket to her. He glanced up as he got out of his truck, and did a double take when he saw her there.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.
“We need to work on your greetings,” she muttered, unfolding herself from the chair. “I was sleeping.”
“Well, wake up. We have work to do. Your mom’s sending me to town to get some heaters for the festival.”
A heater sounded really good right now. She curled her frozen toes against the concrete of the balcony. But what time was it, and how long had she been asleep? Not long. “What time is it?”
“Eight thirty or so.”
Geez, she’d been asleep a little more than an hour. “I don’t feel like it.”
“I didn’t ask. Come on, we have work to do.”
She could stand here and argue with him, or she could just go. The truck would be warm, and the drive was long enough that she could get a nap in. For some reason that sounded really nice, napping in the car while he drove.
“I’ll be right down.”
Instead of hitting her luggage, she went to her closet and pulled out an old warm flannel shirt and jeans. She washed her face, brushed her teeth and braided her hair before heading downstairs.
“I hope you have breakfast and coffee for the road,” she said as she closed the door behind her.
He looked her up and down and grinned, his gaze lingering on her breasts that strained a bit against the flannel. “Wear that shirt a lot in Houston, do you?”
She scowled at him. “I haven’t worn it in years.”
“Still looks good on you.”
She strode past him to the passenger side of the truck, hoping she’d masked how pleased his words made her. “Turn on the heater. I’m cold.”

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