When The Heart Beckons Page 35
Juliana held back as her aunt and cousin followed him into the baggage room. It would take some time to sort through the piles of trunks, crates, and boxes being unloaded from the train, and all she needed was a moment or two.
Quick as a wink, she slipped past a knot of travelers about to descend the platform steps, hurried down to the street, and then dashed toward the Gold Dust Saloon. It was the nearest one and the largest, from what she had seen. Her heart was pounding, for she couldn’t help feeling the very real possibility that she might encounter her brothers within those swinging doors. Of course, that was highly unlikely, but now that she was out West, it could happen.
She was just about to enter the saloon when suddenly gunshots roared from inside. The sound burst through Juliana’s ears, stunning her. Someone screamed, windowpanes rattled, and on the street all about her, people ducked for cover. Juliana, one hand upon the door, froze with terror.
For a moment, time seemed to stand still. She was trembling all over, yet she was dimly aware of the rough town behind her. She was aware of the April wind caressing her cheek, aware of the unnatural silence that had followed those first thundering shots. She was torn between an urge to flee, and an almost overwhelming desire to burst inside and see what had happened. But her legs wouldn’t move.
Then, before she could do anything, the saloon doors swung wide and a man charged out, colliding full force with Juliana. She was knocked sideways into the wall by the most stunningly handsome man she’d ever seen.
He was young, seemed to be in his late twenties, and very tall. Ink-black hair touched his shirt collar; steel-blue eyes stared out from a rough, sun-bronzed face. He looked as strong as Goliath, Juliana thought in a daze. She caught a fascinating glimpse of curly black chest hair beneath the collar of his shirt and something in the pit of her stomach squeezed tight. The snug black trousers he wore tucked into his boots emphasized rather than disguised a body that was lean and superbly fit, splendid with muscles. His physique bespoke power, but his expression bespoke danger. Dragging her gaze from that dark mat of chest hair to his face, Juliana nearly gasped. She had never seen anyone as handsome, and at the same time deadly-looking, in her life.
Danger emanated from him like heat from a stove. Beneath the black Stetson he wore the look of a man who had never once been tethered by the softening influence of love. This man had never been tethered by anything, Juliana realized. And those keen, intense blue eyes were like none other she had ever seen.
He was like none she had ever seen. As she steadied herself against the wall, recovering from being knocked aside, his gaze bored straight into her without a flicker of emotion.
“Beg your pardon, ma’am.”
He didn’t sound the least bit sorry.
His cold glance swept past, scanning either side of the road. He spoke again, his voice soft and even as he appraised the empty street.
“If I were you, ma’am, I’d step back a pace or this hombre will bleed all over that pretty dress of yours,” the stranger drawled without sparing her a second glance.
It was then that Juliana had the wit to tear her gaze from that magnetic face. Looking down, she saw with a quiver of horror that he was casually dragging behind him a man’s blue-and-yellow-shirted, blood-spattered body.
Juliana had never fainted before in her life, but she’d never seen a dead body before either. She took one look at the blood and guts spilling from the dead man and felt a great dry coldness sweep over her. The man was wearing a blue and yellow shirt—oddly familiar. He had golden blond hair, thick and silky, falling over his face.
The shirt, the hair ... it came to her with a jolt, it looked just like ...
“Tommy!” she whispered with a breath of horror, and then she pitched forward like a rag doll straight into the stranger’s arms.
The stranger caught her just before she hit the ground. Cursing, he was forced to release his hold on the dead man’s shirt and to sweep an arm about the swooning girl before she crashed onto the boardwalk. Just what I need, Cole Rawdon thought in disgust. A fool woman to slow me down.
“Damn it all to hell,” he muttered under his breath as her hat fell off and a tumble of gold curls cascaded down, nearly touching the ground.
A crowd was gathering. Rawdon hated crowds.
“What are you staring at?” He glared at the sea of faces, and the onlookers scattered. With a grimace he turned back to the woman, really seeing her for the first time. She was a slip of a thing, no more. And pretty as pie. Pretty? No, Cole decided. Pretty didn’t quite describe her. She was beautiful. For a moment he forgot about the dead man and the crowd, and found himself studying the girl.
Cole didn’t remember ever seeing skin so creamy and smooth, or hair quite so pure and dazzling a gold. Or features so elegant—as though they’d been cut from fine crystal. Breakable, that’s how she looked. Like she belonged on a china shop shelf, not the streets of Denver. For a moment he just stared at her, mesmerized. Then he came to his senses with a start. Hell, it was damned inconvenient to be stuck holding on to this female in the middle of Denver when he had to get Gus Borden’s corpse to Sugar Creek pronto. A two-hundred-dollar reward was waiting at the end of that four-hour ride—and Cole meant to claim it, and get rid of Gus, before the outlaw’s body started to rot. For a moment longer he let his eyes slide over the girl’s willowy form, admiring the soft curves beneath her fancy dress, the way her breasts strained against the tight fabric. Damn, she is something. Too bad I’m in a hurry, he thought, his eyes narrowing with regret. If I had more time, I’d wait around to see if she knows how to show a man proper gratitude. He doubted it. Any girl who fainted at the sight of a little blood was sure to be too weak-spined and silly to be any fun at all. Besides, Ina Day was dancing in the Red Feather Saloon in Sugar Creek tonight and she always knew how to show him a good time.
Cole tore his gaze from the delicate planes of the girl’s face with an effort. A thin man with dark whiskers was watching him warily from ten paces down the boardwalk. “Hey, you, come here,” he ordered. “Grab ahold of this woman and ... do something with her.”
As the man nervously approached, Cole saw the girl’s eyelashes flutter. About time. Suddenly she opened her eyes and gazed up at him in a dazed fashion. He felt his insides tighten. She had the most exquisite eyes he’d ever seen—huge, expressive, green as a Montana valley, and filled just now with a touching uncertainty that, if he’d been any other man, would have tugged at his heart. But Cole had been delayed long enough, and life’s hard blows had toughened whatever he’d once had of a heart.
“Been a pleasure getting acquainted with you, ma’am, but I’m afraid I’ve got to be going now,” he drawled, and dumped her without ceremony into the bewhiskered man’s aims. Without another glance at the girl who had interfered with the orderly execution of his business, he seized Gus Borden’s shirt collar and dragged him over to the sorrel horse tethered in front of the saloon. Flinging the body over the saddle and tying it securely in place, Cole forced himself to avoid looking at the little knot of bonneted women, curious children, and silent men who had gathered around the girl. He mounted Arrow and spurred the horse forward, directing the sorrel through the town. Denver, pretty much inured to violence in the streets and saloons, was already getting back to normal.
So much for Denver, and fainting women. As he left the town behind for the solitude of sagebrush and plains, Cole tried not to think about the girl with the golden cloud of hair. Tommy, she had said, just before she fainted, She’d been looking at Borden when she said it. Strange. Equally strange was the fact that the girl had been about to enter the saloon. She didn’t look like any fallen dove he’d ever seen; she looked damned respectable—aristocratic, even—but then, Cole thought, spurring Arrow on across the foothills, what did he know about women? Only what he’d learned from Liza, and that was all bad. Ina Day and the other dance-hall girls and whores he frequented now and then were fine and dandy conveniences for fulfilling the needs of
a man’s body, but he didn’t know a damned thing about any one of them, and he didn’t care to, either. Women were tricky, cunning, and treacherous creatures, that’s all he knew or needed to know. The prettier they were, the more dangerous they could be. According to this way of figuring things, that gold-haired beauty back there could be downright fatal.
Cole knew one thing. The sooner he forgot about her, the better off he’d be...
Continue on for an excerpt from Daisies in the Wind
Daisies in the Wind
Wolf Bodine looked like he was in the mood to pick a fight with someone. Why shouldn’t he target me? she wondered wearily. But his next words came as a surprise.
“It looks like I’m the one who’s beholden to you, Miss Rawlings.”
His tone was soft. Downright pleasant.
Caught off guard, she nearly dropped the cups. Hastily she set them in the sink and spun to face him, suspicion darkening her violet eyes. What was he up to now? “Not at all,” she said warily. “It was nothing.”
“You’re wrong.” Wolf had been trying hard not to notice how pretty she looked in her yellow-and-white calico dress, her cheeks flushed from the excitement of the night, her eyes overbright in her lovely, pale face. Every instinct told him to stop thinking so much about Rebeccah Rawlings. But she seemed to be haunting him these days, and he couldn’t figure out why. Frustrated by his own weakness, he nevertheless couldn’t keep his mind off how fresh and angelic she looked, how like summer flowers she smelled, how her slim eyebrows drew adorably together when she was thinking hard about something. And about how her feet fidgeted when she was nervous. They were fidgeting right now, Wolf noticed, and wondered with half amusement, half consternation if he made her nervous.
Lightning flashed beyond the window. Wolf stepped closer to her and saw her foot wiggle.
“You went out into the storm to rescue Joey, and you kept Billy from catching pneumonia,” he said, keeping his voice even and dispassionate, even when she turned those intoxicating eyes on him. “You took care of them both. You kept them warm and dry. I’d say that’s something.”
“Well—”
“Don’t argue with me. I’m trying to thank you.”
“It isn’t necess—”
“Rebeccah,” he cut her off. “Just say, ‘You’re welcome’.”
Confused, Rebeccah only gazed at him, feeling ridiculous. But it was hard to think when he was staring at her like that, hard to protect herself against his steady, powerful brand of charm.
Suddenly he grinned. Rebeccah’s heart turned over. He closed the distance between them with one stride, and before either of them seemed quite aware of what he was doing, he seized her with a firmness that would not be deterred and stared intently down into her face.
“It’s easy,” he continued, his tone more patient now, his vivid gray eyes glinting into hers with hypnotic warmth. She noted that his chestnut hair was damp, and this made it look even darker in the lamplight. He smelled of autumn rain and crisp leaves and good polished leather. His dimples deepened as he smiled, and he looked almost boyish, Rebeccah thought, her heart melting—yet not like a little boy at all.
“You’re ... welcome,” he prodded her gently. He sounded amused. His mouth curled in a slow smile. His face was only inches from hers. “Say it, Miss Rawlings.”
“You’re ... welcome, Sheriff.”
“Wolf,” he corrected swiftly.
“Wolf,” she murmured. A dizzy sense of unreality gripped her.
He leaned toward her. What the hell am I doing? Wolf wondered at the last moment, and paused. He told himself to pull away. But a force stronger than his own common sense kept him rooted to the spot, holding Miss Rebeccah Rawlings firmly by the arms, gazing directly into those brilliant eyes.
Then his lips touched hers. Lightly, tentatively.
“Wolf,” she breathed again, and her hands crept shyly against his chest.
That slight movement, the softness of her touch, was his undoing. Casting reservation aside, he deepened the kiss, and his warm, rough mouth captured hers. His powerful arms locked around her slender form before either of them realized what was happening. He inhaled the fresh, flower scent of her as he drew her close. Held her tight. Tasted deeply.
Rebeccah felt her senses swooning. Her full mouth clung eagerly to his. From her temples to her toenails she suddenly quivered all over with hot, glowing pleasure. Was this a dream—one of her many thousands of dreams since that night years ago when she’d stared into the jeweled heart of a campfire and hungered for him?
No, it was real. Real. His hands at her waist were strong, hot even through the fabric of her gown. His lips deliciously imprisoned hers, and she clung to the warmth of his mouth as if to sweet life itself.
“Sheriff ...” she gasped when he stopped for breath.
“Wolf,” he corrected her roughly, and kissed her again.
* * * * * * * * *
About the Author
Jill Gregory is a New York Times and USA Today best-selling author of more than thirty historical and contemporary novels and has been honored with the Romantic Times Lifetime Achievement Award, as well as with back-to-back Reviewer’s Choice awards for Best Western Historical Romance. Her books have been published in more than twenty-four countries. Jill grew up in Chicago and received her bachelor of arts degree in English from the University of Illinois. An animal lover, Jill loves long walks, reading, hot tea on a winter’s day, and the company of friends. She lives in Michigan with her husband, and enjoys her home overlooking the woods where the deer, rabbits, squirrels, and an occasional owl or hawk come out to play. Visit Jill on the web at www.jillgregory.net.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
About the Author