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Madeline Baker/Amanda Ashley
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Madeline Baker/Amanda Ashley
Foreign Editions Buy Renegade Heart Here: Or Here: Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc. (800) 481-9191 (10:00 AM - 9:00 PM EST) P.O. Box 6640 Wayne, PA 19087  RENEGADE HEART Russian Paperback Edition  RENEGADE HEART Russian Hardback Edition |
RENEGADE HEART March 1989 Scheduled to be reissued Oct. 2008 When beautiful Rachel Halloran took Logan Tyree into her home, he was unconscious, a renegade Indian with a bullet wound in his side and a price on his head. To Rachel, he was nothing but trouble, a man whose dark sensuality made her long for forbidden pleasures. To her father he was the answer to a prayer, a gunslinger whose legendary skill could rid the ranch of a powerful enemy. But Logan Tyree would answer to no man...and to no woman. If John Halloran wanted his services, he would have to pay dearly for them. And if Rachel wanted his loving, she would have to give up her innocence, her reputation, her very heart and soul. Prologue His name was Logan Tyree and he was on the run. And like every other man who had ever been lucky enough to escape from the hell-hole known as Yuma Prison, he was determined never to return. Better to die of thirst beneath a blistering Arizona sun, or bleed to death from the heavy .45 caliber slug lodged low in his left side than return to a life behind bars. Yuma Territorial Prison! A hundred and ten degrees in the shade. A miserable five-by-eight foot cell; no windows, just cold gray walls and a steel-barred door. Yuma! Eighteen months of scummy lukewarm water and putrid food not fit for a pig. Lice-infested blankets and heavy chains. Chains that hobbled his feet and curbed his long, carefree stride. Chains that rattled annoyingly with every step, loudly proclaiming the loss of his freedom. Chains that scarred his flesh and shriveled his soul. Well, the chains were gone, he mused sourly, but the scars remained. He carried other scars, too - faint, silvery streaks that criss-crosed his broad back and shoulders like a finely spun spider web. Scars left by the whip. Damn! Just the thought of the last was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat. There had been one guard in whose hands the lash had come alive, until it was no longer nine feet of limp rawhide, but a sibilant twisting tongue of flame that danced endlessly over shrinking, cringing flesh. They only had to beat him once. Other men, rebelliously proud and foolishly stubborn, died under the lash, sobbing for mercy. But Tyree was no fool. There was no hope where there was no life, and there was no mercy in the Yuma pen. And so he had swallowed his pride and curbed his tongue. Outwardly, he became a model prisoner, forcing himself to say, "Yes, sir" and "No, sir", obeying every command meekly and without question or complaint. And all the while he was seething inside. Seething with the need to be free, to see the stark beauty of the Arizona desert, to climb the lofty mountains of Montana, to ride across the vast rolling grasslands of the Dakotas. The love of the wild country was strong within him and he had yearned for the unfettered freedom of the plais as some inmantes had yearned for whiskey or women or a deck of cards.... He swore softly as the bay stumbled, praying that the game little mare's strength would last until he reached the Mescalero stronghold high in the distant mountains, or at least until he found a decent place to make a stand against the posse that was little more than two hours behind him. But even as the thought crossed his mind, the bay stumbled for the last time... |
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