Falcon Read online

  Re-experience Joan Johnston’s beloved story of finding love in unexpected places

  Previously published in February 1995 as The Unforgiving Bride

  Rancher Falcon Whitelaw always swore he’d never get married, until he found himself saying “I do” to widowed mother Mara Ainsworth. And the worst part is, he knows she’s only marrying him for his medical insurance.

  But one look at Mara’s sick little daughter makes Falcon question everything he thinks he cares about. He’s never become so invested in a child’s life before, or loved a woman like this…

  Praise for New York Times bestselling author Joan Johnston

  “A guaranteed good read.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham

  “Joan Johnston does short contemporary Westerns to perfection.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Johnston warms your heart and tickles your fancy.”

  —New York Daily News

  “Joan Johnston continually gives us everything we want…fabulous details and atmosphere, memorable characters, a story that you wish would never end, and lots of tension and sensuality.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Absolutely captivating…a delightful storyteller…Joan Johnston [creates] unforgettable subplots and characters who make every fine thread weave into a touching tapestry.”

  —Affaire de Coeur

  New York Times bestselling author Joan Johnston started reading romances to escape the stress of being an attorney with a major national law firm. She soon discovered that writing romances was a lot more fun than writing legal bond indentures. Since then she has published a number of historical and contemporary category romances. In addition to being an author, Joan is the mother of two children. In her spare time, she enjoys sailing, horseback riding and camping.

  Hawk’s Way: Falcon

  Joan Johnston

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  PROLOGUE

  FALCON NOTICED THE WOMAN right away, even though she was standing in the middle of a crowded sidewalk in downtown Dallas. She was not the sort of female who usually attracted his attention, being boyishly slim and merely pretty, rather than beautiful. But there was something about her that drew his eyes and held him spellbound.

  He had barely begun to admire her assets—long, silky black hair whipped by the hot summer breeze, spectacular blue eyes and a tall, supple body—when he spotted the little girl at her side. The woman was joined a moment later by a man who slipped his arm around her slender waist and captured her mouth in a hard, possessive kiss. The little girl quickly claimed the man’s attention, and he leaned down to listen to her excited chatter.

  Falcon felt a sharp stab of envy that he wasn’t the man in the quaint family picture. Not that he wanted kids, or wanted to be married, for that matter, but he would have given anything to be on the receiving end of the warm, approving look the woman gave the man as he attended to the little girl.

  He was startled to realize that he knew the man. Which meant he could easily wrangle an introduction to the woman.

  She’s married.

  Falcon didn’t dally with married women. At least, he never had in the past. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. There was no reason why he couldn’t meet her. Without stopping to think, he approached the trio.

  “Grant? Grant Ainsworth?” Falcon inquired, though he knew he wasn’t mistaken.

  “Falcon Whitelaw!” the man exclaimed. “I haven’t seen you in—it must be ten years!”

  “Nearly that. Guess we lost touch after graduation from Tech,” Falcon said with a smile as he extended his hand to meet the one that had been thrust at him. He forced himself to keep his eyes on his old football teammate from Texas Tech. But he wanted to meet the woman. He wanted to feast his eyes on her face at close range. He wanted to figure out what it was that made her so alluring.

  “What have you been doing with yourself, Grant?” Falcon asked.

  “Got married,” Grant replied with a smug grin. “This is my wife, Mara, and my daughter, Susannah.”

  Falcon turned to greet Mara Ainsworth. He was sorry she wasn’t one of those progressive women who shook hands with a man. He would have liked to touch her. She nodded her head and smiled at him, and he felt his stomach do a queer turn. He lifted a finger to his Stetson in acknowledgement of her. “Ma’am.”

  Because he knew it was expected of him, he lowered his eyes to the little girl. She was hiding half behind her mother’s full skirt. Susannah had Mara’s black hair, but her eyes were hazel, rather than blue. “Howdy,” he said. “You’re a pretty little miss. Almost as pretty as your mother.”

  The little girl giggled and hid her face completely.

  From the corner of his eye, Falcon caught the flush of pleasure on Mara’s face. He wanted to touch her cheek, to feel the heat beneath the skin.

  “How old is your daughter?” he asked Mara. He needed a reason to look at her. His eyes lingered, cataloging each exquisite feature.

  “Susannah’s seven,” Mara replied.

  Falcon heard Grant talking, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Mara. For a moment he thought he saw something in her open gaze, an attraction to him as strong as the one he felt for her. But he knew that was only wishful thinking.

  Her lids lowered demurely so her lashes created two coal crescents on milky white skin. Whatever she was feeling, it was hidden from him now. Her lips parted slightly, and he could just see the edges of her teeth. He had to restrain a harsh intake of breath at the overpowering desire he felt to claim her mouth with his. He had never felt a need so strong or so demanding.

  Falcon was aware that Grant was asking him something, but he only caught the last half of the sentence.

  “…so if you’re staying the night in Dallas, maybe we could get together and have a few drinks for old times’ sake,” Grant finished.

  Falcon saw the quick flash of annoyance on Mara’s face. Obviously she would rather have Grant to herself than share him with an old friend. Falcon started to give her what she wanted but realized that if he had a few drinks with Grant he could find out more about Mara, more about the state of their marriage. It looked happy from the outside, but if there were problems, maybe there was a chance Mara would welcome his attention.

  Falcon hated what he was thinking. It wasn’t like him to go after some other man’s woman. But there was something about Mara Ainsworth that struck a chord deep inside him. If he had found her unattached, he might even have contemplated giving up his bachelor freedom. But it was folly to let himself even think about her so long as she was another man’s wife.

  By the time Falcon had come to the conclusion he ought to just get the hell away from the Ainsworths, he realized he had already invited Grant to have drinks with him at a bar near the stockyards.

  “What brings you to town, anyway?” Grant asked.

  “I’m here to buy cattle for my ranch.”

  “Didn’t know you had a ranch of your own,” Grant said.

  “I inherited the B-Bar from my grandfather, my mother’s father, about five years ago,” Falcon replied.

  Grant whistled in appreciation. “If I remember rightly, that’s quite a spread.”

  Falcon hadn’t done anything to earn the B-Bar, but he was proud of owning it. It was a big spread. He glanced at Mara to see if she was impressed. Most women were. But she was watching Grant. She had caught her lower lip with her teeth and was chewing on it. She looked worried about something. Was his rendezv
ous with Grant going to interrupt some previously made plans?

  Falcon had grown up in a family where strong wills were the norm. He had learned that with determination and a little charm, he could usually get what he wanted. As a result, he wasn’t used to denying himself anything. That had worked out fine, because there hadn’t been anyone but himself to please for the past five years since he had inherited his grandfather’s ranch. Suddenly he found himself wanting to take the worry from Mara’s brow, even if it meant giving up the opportunity to quiz Grant about her while they were having drinks.

  “Look,” Falcon said, “if you all have other plans for the evening, I don’t want to intrude.”

  Mara had opened her mouth to respond when Grant said, “No plans. I’ll meet you at eight. See you then.”

  Falcon watched the gentle sway of Mara’s hips as Grant led her away. She glanced back at Falcon over her shoulder and caught him staring at her. He felt himself flush, something he couldn’t remember doing for a long, long time. He tipped his Stetson to her one more time. It looked like she wanted to say something to him, but Grant kept walking, his arm around her, and the moment was lost.

  When the three of them were gone from sight, Falcon exhaled a long, loud sigh of regret. The woman of his dreams had just walked out of his life. He debated whether he ought to do something else tonight and leave a message at the bar for Grant that he couldn’t make it. His feelings for Mara Ainsworth were dangerous. If he pursued the matter, he was asking for trouble.

  But when eight o’clock came, Falcon was waiting at the Longhorn Bar. Five minutes later, Grant Ainsworth came in. There was a bond between teammates that extended beyond ordinary friendship, and Falcon was reminded of all the times he and Grant had tipped a brew after winning a difficult football game. He knew nothing of what had happened to Grant after college, but he intended to find out.

  A country band with a wailing violin was playing up front near the dance floor, but Falcon had settled in one of the booths near the back, where the noise wasn’t quite so loud nor the smoke so bad.

  “What are you drinking?” he asked as Grant slid in across from him.

  “I’ll have a whiskey, neat,” Grant replied.

  Falcon gestured to a waitress wearing skintight jeans and a peasant blouse and ordered the drink Grant had asked for and another Pearl beer for himself.

  When the drinks arrived, Grant held up his glass and said, “To pretty women.”

  Falcon grinned. “I’ll drink to that.” He took a sip of beer; Grant had finished his whiskey in a few swallows.

  Grant slammed his glass onto the table and said, “That went down pretty damn smooth. I think I’ll have another.” Grant gestured and had the waitress bring him another whiskey.

  “You need any ranch hands for that place of yours?” Grant asked after he had taken a sip of the second drink.

  Falcon was startled by the question. “You need work?”

  Grant shrugged. “Been laid off recently. Could use work if you’ve got it.”

  Actually, Falcon was sure he had all the help he needed. But he thought of Mara and Susannah without food on the table and said, “Sure. There’s always room for another hand.”

  Grant’s shoulders visibly relaxed. He finished off the second whiskey and called for another. “You don’t know what a relief that is. Mara was beginning to think I would never…But I’ve got a job, after all, so everything will be fine.”

  It was plain from the look on Grant’s face that he and his wife must have argued over the matter. Falcon was happy to change the subject to what he wanted to talk about most.

  “Where did you meet Mara?”

  “Her father was foreman on a ranch in west Texas where I worked right after college. I took one look at her and knew she was the one for me. It took a little convincing to get her to say yes. But she did. We’ve been married for eight years now.”

  “Where have you been living?”

  Grant looked sheepish. “Here and there around Texas. We’ve moved every year or so. Last job I had was in Victoria. We came to Dallas because I heard some ranches around here were hiring help.”

  Falcon frowned. Most cowhands were footloose and fancy free—when they were single. A married man settled down in one place and raised his family. He wondered whether Grant had willingly left all those jobs, or whether there was something he had done to get himself fired. He had seemed steady enough in college, but college was ten years ago.

  Had Grant Ainsworth become a thief? Was he a bully? Lazy? Incompetent? Cantankerous? Any of those faults would get him laid off in a hurry.

  What had it been like for Mara to move around like that? Could she be happy with a man who was constantly losing his job? He recalled the adoring look on Mara’s face when she had watched Grant with Susannah. Whatever Grant’s shortcomings, Mara apparently still loved him.

  “There are some houses on the property for hired hands. You’re welcome to use one of them,” he heard himself offer.

  “I’d appreciate that,” Grant said. Only he wasn’t looking at Falcon when he answered.

  Falcon was amazed and appalled when he realized that Grant was flirting with a pair of women sitting at a table across from them. He felt outraged on Mara’s behalf. A man with a wife like her waiting for him at home had no business making eyes at other women. Suddenly Falcon didn’t want to be where he was anymore.

  “Look, I’ve got to be up early tomorrow. The drinks are on me—for old times’ sake. I’ll see you when you get to the ranch.” Falcon threw a twenty on the table.

  “There’s no need—”

  Falcon cut Grant off with a quick shake of his head. “Call it a celebration of your new job.”

  At the door to the bar Falcon glanced back and saw that the two women had already joined Grant in the booth. He scowled. Son of a bitch was cheating on his wife! Falcon felt a burning anger deep in his gut.

  Falcon realized he just might have discovered why Grant had been let go from jobs so often. Suppose Grant played around with women wherever he went? That would certainly raise the hackles of the men he worked with and get him booted fast. Falcon grimaced. What kind of man had he just hired to work on the B-Bar?

  Falcon thought of having Mara Ainsworth living on the B-Bar, in a house where he could see her every day. Knowing her husband didn’t appreciate her. Knowing she loved the bastard anyway.

  It was going to be hell.

  * * *

  FALCON HAD WANTED to see Mara Ainsworth again, but he had never dreamed it would be at her husband’s funeral. He stood at the back of a crowd of mourners shrouded in black, waiting for a chance to speak to her, to tell her how sorry he was that Grant was dead. And he was sorry, for Grant’s sake. No one deserved to die that young. Deep down, in places where honesty reigned, he felt that Mara was better off without him. But he wasn’t going to voice those feelings. He owed Grant that, at least.

  But he couldn’t forgive Grant for the utter senselessness of his death: his friend had been killed in a one-car accident the same night Falcon had met him in the Longhorn Bar. Falcon bitterly regretted leaving Grant with money for several more drinks. Obviously Grant hadn’t sobered up before he got behind the wheel. It was a tragedy that happened all too often, and Falcon could only be grateful that there had been no innocent victims in the accident.

  If Falcon felt guilty at all, it was because he coveted Grant’s widow. Mara was free now. He could have her if he wanted her—after a decent period of mourning, of course. Even he wasn’t blackguard enough to go after a grieving widow.

  But he wanted her. More than he ever had.

  Dressed in black, Mara had an ethereal beauty. The deep circles under her eyes only made her look more hauntingly attractive. He knew she couldn’t have gotten much sleep in the past week since Grant’s death. Susannah stood beside her mother looking bewildered.

  Falcon had tried to see Mara when he first heard about the accident, but realized he didn’t know how to find her. He had
read an announcement of the funeral services and made plans to attend. That way he could talk to her and extend his sympathy. And find out where she planned to go from here.

  Because he wanted to know where he could find her when she had finished mourning Grant Ainsworth.

  The graveside service had ended, and most of those gathered for the funeral had returned to their cars. Susannah had apparently gone with one of Mara’s friends, because Mara was alone beside Grant’s grave when Falcon approached her.

  “Mara,” he said.

  It took her eyes a second to focus, but he knew the instant she recognized him, because her features twisted with loathing.

  “How dare you show your face here!” she said in a harsh, bitter voice. “My husband is dead, and it’s all your fault!”

  Falcon was stunned at her accusation.

  “You invited him to that bar! You got him drunk! And then you let him drive home!”

  “I—”

  “I hate you!” she said in a venomous voice. “I hope you rot in hell! I hope someone you loves dies a horrible death!”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a low, ululating cry of pain. Her face crumpled in a mask of despair as she dropped to the grass beside her husband’s newly dug grave. Her body shook with sobs of grief.

  There was thickness in Falcon’s throat that made it painful to swallow. He had never dreamed that she would blame him. How could she think he was responsible? He hadn’t even been there when Grant left the bar. It wasn’t his fault. She was wrong.

  Not even in the farthest reaches of his mind had he planned to get Grant drunk and send him out to die in a fiery one-car crash. He had wanted Mara, it was true. But he had never wished Grant dead so that he could have her.

  Small chance of his having her now. She hated his guts. She never wanted to see him again. She would as soon scratch out his eyes as look at him.

  Falcon wanted to reach out to comfort her, to hold her in his arms and let her cry out her pain against his chest. He actually went so far as to touch her shoulder. “If there’s ever anything I can do to help…”