“A very amusing and imaginative romp that has the Joan Johnston stamp of excellence all over it.”— Affaire de Coeur When the gorgeous blonde sashayed into Oakville, Ethan Hawk was a goner—until she told him her name: Patch Kendrick. The tomboy tease he remembered from Fort Benton, Montana, was now a luscious lady hunting for her man: him ! Nothing, not even his outlaw past, would keep Patch off his trail. She knew that Ethan Hawk was the man for her—even when he galloped out of her childhood with a price on his head and nary a backward glance. Now that she’s found him again, she’s armed and ready for love. But before Ethan could yield his heart, he had to clear his name. So Patch set out to find the villain who framed him—and risked ambushing her lifelong dream. Joan Johnston  is the  New York Times  and  USA Today  bestselling author of more than sixty historical and contemporary romance novels. She received a master of arts degree in theater from the University of Illinois and graduated with honors from the University of Texas School of Law at Austin. She is currently a full-time writer living in Colorado. 1   She was a lady. Ethan recognized the breed, though it had been a long time since he had seen one quite so fresh from finishing school—feathers in her hat, gloves on her hands, and a steel rod running down her spine. He was hidden from view, sitting in a high-backed chair in the lobby of the Oakville Hotel. Waiting. Every so often his green eyes flicked to the dusty street outside. Watching.   His eyes were drawn back to the lady. The soft complexion of peaches and cream and a short, up-tilted nose contrasted with a strong, determined chin. His lip curled cynically. A lady used to getting her own way, he amended. She looked up at the hotel clerk from under long, feathery lashes that concealed big blue—not quite innocent, he thought—eyes. Her voice was melodious, not demanding, but not demure, either.   “I’d like a room, please,” she said.   “For how long?” the clerk asked.   Ethan watched the lady’s brow furrow. Her black-gloved hand reached up to smooth already perfectly arranged golden tresses bound up in a very ladylike bun at her nape. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m looking for someone who—” She cut herself off.   Ethan was distracted by something on the registration desk. The lady’s velvet drawstring purse, which exactly matched her rose red dress, seemed to be moving of its own accord. A moment later a pointed pink nose and long whiskers appeared at the center of the drawstring opening. Ethan grinned. Somehow a field mouse had gotten into the lady’s purse.   He started to call a warning but looked out the plate glass window first. He didn’t want to let them know where he was any sooner than necessary. Instead of speaking, he leaned back into the comfortable winged chair and waited for the fun to start.   To his amazement, elegant gloved hands surreptitiously poked the mouse back into the purse and once again drew the strings tight. Ethan’s brow arched in speculation. She wasn’t quite what she seemed, then. No lady in his experience had ever carried a mouse around in her purse.   “I don’t know how long I’ll be here,” the lady repeated. “I would love to have a bath sent up to my room. It’s been a long trip.”   From where? Ethan wondered. And who had she come to find in Oakville, Texas? Lucky man. Because besides being a lady, she was also a woman. Full breasts that would overflow a man’s hands, a tiny waist—unfortunately corseted—and long legs that he could imagine wrapped tight around him while he thrust deep inside her.   Ethan felt his body respond, felt the heavy pulse in his throat, the tightness in his groin. He reminded himself that the steel rod down a lady’s back didn’t usually bend for the finer pleasures in life. Besides, he thought bitterly, no lady was going to want anything to do with him—ever again.   “Hawk! Ethan Hawk! We know you’re in there. Come on out!”   Ethan rose slowly from the high-backed chair. He saw the stunned look on the lady’s face as she turned to stare at him. He grinned and tipped his Stetson to her. From the corner of his eye he saw the flash of sunlight on blue steel out on the street. He launched himself at the lady and yelled to the clerk, “Duck, Gilley!”   Ethan twisted in midair, trying to keep the lady from being crushed beneath him as he snatched her out of harm’s way. Several bullets crashed through the hotel window, sending glass flying. He landed on his shoulder and rolled several times away from the splintering glass.   The lady was a lovely package, but enough to knock the wind from him. He knew every second counted, but he lay frozen for a moment, infinitely aware of the curves lying beneath him. Her hat had come off, and her hair had come loose from its tight bun. A stray curl was tickling his nose, which was pressed against her throat. He blew it away, and felt her shiver.   Ethan lifted his head and looked into