Excerpt for RANCHER'S DREAM by B.J. Daniels

24/7/2018

A bride becomes a target in New York Times bestselling author B.J. Daniels’s latest can’t-miss suspense

Tragedy sent Deidre “Drey” Hunter running from rancher Hawk Cahill and into the arms of a sleek businessman who promised her a new life.

But dreams of Manhattan days and cosmopolitan nights shatter when he brings her back to an ultramodern paradise in her hometown of Gilt Edge—and vanishes on their wedding night.

Taunted by seclusion and silence, Drey starts to doubt everything…including her sanity. Only Hawk, the stubborn cowboy from her school days, believes the threats are real and that someone is ready to kill.

But is he willing to forgive the past if it means ending her nightmare?

You will die in this house.

The thought seemed to rush out of the darkness as the house came into view. The premonition turned her skin clammy. Drey gripped a handful of her wedding dress, her fingers aching but unable to release the expensive fabric as she stared at her new home. A wedding gift, Ethan had said. A surprise, sprung on her at the reception.

The portent still had a death grip on her. She could see herself lying facedown in a pool of water, her auburn hair fanned out around her head, her body so pale it appeared to have been drained of all blood.

“Are you all right?” her husband asked now as he reached over to take her hand. “Dierdre?” Unlike everyone else she knew, Ethan refused to call her by her nickname, Drey.

“I’m still a little woozy from the reception,” she said, desperately needing fresh air right now as she put down her window to let in the cool Montana summer night.

“I warned you about drinking too much champagne.”

He’d warned her about a lot of things. But it wasn’t the champagne, which she hadn’t touched during the reception. He knew she didn’t drink, but he’d insisted one glass of champagne at her wedding wasn’t going to kill her. She’d gotten one of the waiters to bring her sparkling cider.

So it wasn’t alcohol that had her stomach roiling. No, it was when Ethan had told her where they would be living. She’d assumed they would live in his New York City penthouse since that was where he spent most of his time. She’d actually been looking forward to it because she’d grown up in Gilt Edge, Montana, and had never lived in a large city before. Also it would be miles from Gilt Edge—and Hawk Cahill.

She’d never dreamed that Ethan meant for them to live here in Montana, at the place he’d named Mountain Crest. All during construction, she’d thought that the odd structure was to be used as a business retreat only. Ethan had been so proud of the high-tech house with its barred gate at the end of the paved road, she’d never let on that she knew the locals made fun of it—and its builder.

When Ethan had pulled her aside at the reception and told her that they would be living on the mountain overlooking Gilt Edge in his prized house, Dierdre hadn’t been able to hide her shock. She’d never dreamed… But then, she’d never dreamed she would be married to Ethan Baxter.

“Is there a problem?” he’d asked when he’d told her the news.

She’d tried to cover her discomfort. “I just assumed we would be living in New York City, closer to your business.”

“I’ve given up the penthouse. When I have to go to the city on business, I’ll be staying in a hotel.” He’d sounded a bit indignant as if she should have been more excited. “Mountain Crest will have to do.”

“I didn’t mean…” She had seen that there was nothing she could say that wouldn’t make it worse.

Now, as she found her breath, the premonition receding only a little, she had another paralyzing thought.

You’ve made a terrible mistake.

B.J. Daniels' life dream was to be a policewoman. After a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist, she wrote and sold 37 short stories before she finally wrote her first book. Since then she has won numerous awards including a career achievement award last year for romantic suspense.

She lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, two Springer Spaniels, Jem and Spot, and a temperamental tomcat named Jeff. When she isn't writing, she snowboards, camps, boats and plays tennis.