Ex-gunslinger Jude Morgan lands in jail in a far-flung West Texas town. On the fourth day, the sheriff ushers in a beautiful woman dressed in men’s pants and toting her own six-shooter. Adriana Jones claims he is her worthless husband who married her, but never came home.The young woman makes a bargain with Jude in front of the sheriff. Jude is to come home where he belongs, and she will have him released. Once they’re alone, she explains his job is to pose as her husband to thwart the marriage advances of her neighbor, wealthy rancher Horace Caruthers. The older man wants her ranch to join with his; the Pecos River runs through her property.To seal the bargain, Jude wants a kiss. During the next few weeks, however, Jude and Addie learn that the kiss meant more than they intended. Then, when Addie's life is in danger, will Jude rescue his Addie? Or will Addie save herself and her gunslinger?Chapter One"Git up, boy."The jailer fumbled with the ring of keys until he found the one for the cell door. As he turned it in the rusty lock, the screeching sound echoed off the damp rock walls, along the narrow corridor, and out the open door at the end. The short, pudgy man swiped the sleeve of his shirt across his sweaty forehead and down one side of his pockmarked face. Jude clamped his back teeth down so hard he thought they might crack. The sound of the man's voice grated on his nerves worse than the key in the lock and the bellyaching of the other prisoners, and the disgusting stream of brown foamy liquid the jailer spit on the floor would turn a man's stomach. Sitting up on the hard bunk, Jude swung his long legs off the side. With no boots, he sure hated to walk around on the filthy floor, but he couldn't do anything else until he got them back.He could only wait until the sorry jailer told him why he had to stand. Ever since he'd been in this stinking, rotten prison in a town in the middle of nowhere, he'd done nothing but sit, fume, and curse. The brawl in the saloon hadn't amounted to a hill of beans, but he was well acquainted with small-town lawmen who loved to lord their position and badge over the peons who committed an offense in their town.As he stood and hitched up his loose pants, he watched the sheriff walk down the corridor toward him and the jailer. The man himself was nothing to look at. Skinny as a rail and strutting along like he owned the world. Damn, he hated the law.Instead, he riveted his attention on the woman trailing the man with the silver star on his chest. That is one good-looking woman. He watched her stride down the slanted corridor, her long legs encased in men's pants, boots fit to kill, and a Colt strapped around her firm, rounded hips. She'd pulled back her dark hair into a severe bun at the base of her long, smooth neck. With her black hat in her left hand, she slapped it on her leg once, twice as she neared the cell."This him?" asked the sheriff, as he turned and looked directly at her.