EXCERPTS

Valiant

by

Lani Aames

Chapter One

An outburst of laughter on the other side of the livery barn caught Delaney Shaw’s attention. She didn’t see Harvey coming toward her until he took her by the hand to swing her toward the center of the room. She shook her head and tried to pull back, but he insisted with a good-natured smile and jerk of his head. Delaney gave in, picking up the beat of the lively music and falling naturally into the square dance steps.

Delaney enjoyed dancing with Harvey McKay. He was the best dancer in the town of Valiant, Colorado, and a good friend. At one time, he’d expressed an interest in courting her, but she’d put him off the same way she had discouraged any of the other eligible young men. All of them had given up on her long ago, and she was reconciled to being a spinster at the age of nineteen.

No one knew why she kept her distance from men and marriage. Even her father, bewildered at the thought that he might never have grandchildren, couldn’t understand her reluctance to allow any young man to come calling. He favored Harvey as a prospective son-in-law because, as sheriff, he knew what a good man his deputy was. But Delaney felt it best not to tell anyone, even her father, that her heart belonged to someone she might never see again. It was her secret to keep.

When the dance ended, Harvey led her to the refreshment table and ladled up a cup of punch for her. She thanked him and took a sip, but the music, the laughter, and the warmth were getting to her. She set the cup aside.

“Something wrong, Delaney?”

She looked up into his earnest face. He was a handsome man with a head full of sandy hair that never looked neat no matter how many times he ran a comb through it. His warm brown eyes were always friendly. She didn’t love him except as a dear friend, and she knew Harvey had never been in love with her. He was only trying to please her father by courting her. That was why they could be the best of friends now.

Sometimes, though, she wondered if she shouldn’t give in and make some kind of life for herself. Harvey was the finest man she knew, aside from her father, and he would make a good husband. However, she knew she couldn’t settle for less than what her heart cried out for, and she would wait as long as she had to.

“I need some air.”

Harvey set down his cup. “I’ll walk with you outside.”

“No, stay and enjoy yourself.” Delaney patted his arm.

“If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

She nodded then threaded her way through the crowd of people. Nearly everyone who lived within a few hours traveling distance of Valiant was present. The only exceptions were Marinda Cullen and her father, but their absence wasn’t unusual. Even when Marinda’s mother was alive, the Cullens had never attended any social gatherings in Valiant. John Cullen wouldn’t allow it, not even church services on Sunday.

Delaney retrieved her shawl and slipped outside. She stood still and let the early summer breeze cool her overheated skin. She had no intention of going back because she’d had enough frivolity for one evening. Harvey knew her well enough that when she didn’t return he wouldn’t worry. He would guess she’d walked home as she had on many occasions before.

Making her way around the various buckboards and shays, she came to the corral. She sighed and leaned against a post. A horse neighed, then another, and a trill of feminine laughter carried from the darkness on the other side. Probably Louisa Wilton. Louisa liked to giggle in the dark with boys. Delaney had never giggled in the dark with a boy, and sometimes she wondered what it would be like.

What would it be like if Harvey kissed her until he took her breath away? Delaney smiled and shook her head. She couldn’t imagine that much passion in Harvey McKay. No, the only boy she ever wanted to kiss left seven years ago. As far as she knew, no one had ever heard from him again.

______________________________

Starr For The Teacher
by
Tysche Dwai

“Class dismissed.”

They left in a roaring tidal surge of flailing arms and flying pigtails. Tin pails clanked and doors slammed as the children fled the prison of the schoolhouse into the dry grass heat of the Texas prairie, freed for the too brief days of summer.

Jayne Kincaid smiled, shaking tawny curls. Oh, to be young again…

With a sigh, the teacher stuffed the last books and papers into the worn leather satchel that served as briefcase. “Ready to go home?”

If anyone had said a year ago that this wild Texas flyspeck of a town would feel like home, Jayne would have said they were out of their mind…

* * * *

“Temptation, Texas,” grunted a voice outside the window as the stagecoach creaked to a stop at last, jolting Jayne out of a waking dream.

It felt like this rocking cage had been Jayne’s prison for weeks instead of days, but in truth the first part of this interminable journey had been aboard a coal-belching train. It was only here in the back of beyond that even that moderately civilized transport was unavailable.

Jayne gathered the valise and stack of books that had been comforting companions on this miserable trip and opened the door of the stage. Brassy sunlight assaulted the senses as the teacher stepped out of the coach, blinking against the glare.

Fresh out of teaching college with the highest marks in the class, Jayne was so sure that a lucrative post to one of the Eastern prep schools was in the future. It would be a simple matter of submitting an application and waiting for the acceptance. Only it wasn’t.

Not three weeks after graduation, Father was killed when his carriage overturned. Mother had been gone for many years, and Jayne was alone for the first time and unsure of what to do. When Father’s lawyer said that the estate was penniless and that a position had been arranged here in Temptation, there had been no choice but to take it.

“Well, well, well…what have we here?” drawled a throaty voice. “Surely this ain’t the new schoolmarm?”

Jayne blinked again and shifted his valise to free a hand. Raising it to shade his eyes from the glare, he made out a petite figure clad in buckskin astride a huge sorrel. “I’m the new teacher, if that is what you mean.”

The little redhead spat a stream of tobacco juice at his feet. “Well, if that don’t beat all. I send for a teacher, and they send me some city boy.”

“My services were contracted by Sheriff—”

“Prescott. Yep. That’s me. Starr Prescott, sheriff of Temptation.”

“You’re the sheriff? I was expecting—”

“You was expecting a man, and I was expecting a woman. Looks like we both got took.”

“I assure, you, Sheriff, I am fully qualified for this position.”

“I believe you.” She slid off the back of her horse with one fluid motion. “Probably for the best, actually. Some of them older boys would be a might hard for a woman to handle.” She cocked her head and stared up at him. “Looks like you can take care of yourself.”

He stared back. This tiny spitfire barely came up to his shoulder. He was pretty sure he could span her waist with his two hands, and it didn’t look as if she were wearing any of those cursed whalebone contraptions that he had seen advertised back east.

In fact, her collar was open at the throat, and from the swell of firm brown skin he could see peeping from her blouse, it didn’t appear that she was wearing anything at all beneath the shirt. He felt a most inappropriate stirring at the thought, and moved his valise to hide a telling bulge in the front of his trousers.

The sheriff didn’t seem to notice. She turned to the sorrel and gathered up the lead rein. “Come on, and I’ll show you where you’ll be boarding. ‘Course, the children are between sessions now, but I figured the new teacher might want a little time to get settled into town before the lessons started.”

They walked down the dusty main street of the town. Jayne looked about him curiously. The town was all clapboard and split shingles. The only building of any substance they passed was a windowless mud brick slab with SHERIFF over the door in block letters. He saw a general mercantile, a seamstress and two saloons between the jail and the side street that Starr turned down.

“Interesting town,” he commented.

“It’s home.” She shrugged expressively. “Here we are.” She pointed to a neat frame house with a postage stamp yard. “This here was the last teacher’s house. It’s yours now.”

Turning, she pointed out toward the horizon. “The school is over that hill about half a mile. If you want to put those things inside, I’ll take you over there.”

_____________________________________

To Tame A Gambler
by
Nancy Pirri

Chapter One

 Fortune, goodnight. Smile once more; turn thy wheel.

                          -William Shakespeare

 September 1894

Bozeman, Montana

The woman had her nose stuck in a Bible from the time John O’Connell boarded the stagecoach twenty miles south of Bozeman. He envied her position. She’d been lucky in securing a corner seat beside a window, with only one person on the side of her. He was squeezed between two decidedly plump matrons wearing fake-fruit decorated bonnets and reeking of lavender water. Damned lucky he wasn’t any bigger or the three of them wouldn’t fit.

“Bozeman’s right up yonder!” the driver called out cheerily.

John dusted off his black pants and jacket, in the process jabbing both women with his elbows. Both glared at him.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I think we’re all more than ready to get out into the fresh air.”

“Amen,” said the woman on his left, giving him a near toothless grin.

John shifted his gaze to the woman across from him, trying to gauge her age. Upon settling inside the coach, he saw her face in profile. She appeared young. Then she’d raised her Bible and hadn’t lowered it—not once. Between the book concealing her face and the small veiled felt hat on her head, he had no idea what she looked like.

He breathed a relieved sigh when he glanced out the window and saw people walking the streets, coaches being pulled by horses, buggies rumbling by. Ah, the sounds of city life—exciting and exotic!—the noise of people living life to the fullest. He couldn’t wait to leave the coach and set foot on solid ground.

They’d reached the Bozeman Coach Station. The coach door opened, and the driver leaned in to help the first woman out. “Lord, it’ll be wonderful to stretch our legs a bit, won’t it?” she said.

John nodded. “You are correct, ma’am.”

He pulled himself easily out of the coach after the woman, then turned and helped the woman who’d been on his right. She gave him a simpering smile. He sighed, mindful of the fact that women—young and old—were attracted to him. He was handsome enough, he supposed, but it wasn’t his looks that attracted them, it was his polite, respectful manners, instilled in him by his gentle mama. Though, when angry, that tiny woman wielded a switch better than a two-hundred pound man.

The last person he assisted from the carriage was the bookish gal. She accepted his hand then quickly dropped it with a murmured, “Thank you,” once her feet touched the ground. John felt his heart quicken when he got his first good look at the pretty young woman who stood no taller than his shoulder.

She took a step, stumbled and dropped her Bible.

He reached out a quick hand, cupped her elbow to steady her then released her when he was certain she was steady on her feet. When he bent to pick up the book, she did, too, and they bumped heads. “Sorry, miss. Just trying to be help…” he began, pausing when he looked at the Bible and saw another book tucked inside. A small one, its pages bent and ragged.

Still crouched, he glanced at the Bible’s owner who bent down facing him. Looking at her, John felt as though he’d been struck by lightning. He was drawn to her clear-eyed sign of intelligence in her eyes behind a pair of gold-rimmed metal spectacles.

He reached for the book. She did too, and her hand landed on top of his. She tried pulling the book from his hand but he kept a grip on it, curious to know what she’d been hiding in the Bible.

Tearing his gaze away from her pleading expression, he glanced down and closed the smaller book to reveal the cover. Murder and Love in Tucson City. She’d concealed a trashy dime store novel between the pages of her Bible. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, just held out her hand.

He gave her the book. Without a word, she tucked it back inside the Bible. Staring at her a moment longer he saw she wore a veiled hat that came down over her eyes. Beneath the veil, her nose was small and slightly pointy.

They rose simultaneously. He said, “I’m curious about—”

She murmured, “Please, don’t ask.” Her soft, gentle southern drawl intrigued him.

He’d met several southern belles since the Civil War years, and all of them were pleasant and well-mannered, not to mention undeniably feminine.

It was disappointing that she had been reading a ‘penny dreadful.’ He’d read a few himself to see what all the fuss was about. In his opinion, they equaled trash—unmitigated trash. Why would a perfectly respectable woman read such an unsavory book?

_____________________________________

Winning The Ranger’s Heart
by
Jane Carver

Three years he’d waited to meet her. Neal wasn’t sure if the jumpy feeling in the pit of his stomach was nerves or excitement. Didn’t make any difference. She said she’d meet him here at eleven. Unable to sit quietly in his hotel room, he got to Mae’s Diner early. By ten thirty, he’d already had three cups of coffee and two slices of pie. Now he wished he’d laid off that last piece. His jumpy stomach and coconut meringue pie were doing a tango in his guts. Even going to the restroom wasn’t an option at this point. What if he disappeared into that place and she walked in, didn’t see him and left?

“More coffee, sir?” The waitress appeared at his elbow so quietly he jumped when she spoke.

“No, thank you though.”

“You waiting for someone?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He kept his eyes glued to the doorway.

“She pretty?”

“Huh? How did you know?”

“Mister, when a guy watches a door like it’s his last hope, I figure there’s a woman involved, and it’s real serious.”

“Yeah.” Neal didn’t add anything else. He wasn’t used to talking to women.

“When’s she due?”

“Eleven.”

The waitress patted him on the shoulder once. “Good luck, cowboy.”

‘Cowboy’—that fit him, he supposed. From the local grain company cap he wore, to the blue-plaid flannel shirt, to the pressed jeans to the worn boots, he must have looked like an escapee from a farm. Truth to tell, he practically was. An escapee from a ranch. For at least a week hopefully. The time sort of depended on Jenny.

Neal wanted to get lost in daydreams about her but feared looking like an idiot. The small diner was filling up fast. If she didn’t show up on time, he’d give up his table to folks who really planned on eating.

Why in the world he thought she might not show up, he couldn’t figure. But that tight feeling in his guts was mixed with a little bit—a tiny little bit—of fear. Fear that she wouldn’t come like she said. Fear ’cause he had no clue what to say to her if she did walk through that door. The more he thought about what he was doing, the sicker he got.

Like one of those rendezvous people talked about and romance writers wrote about. Meeting someone in a strange town, halfway between his home and hers. Meeting a woman he’d never met before. Meeting a perfect stranger.

That’s when his thoughts did a sudden stop. Jenny wasn’t a stranger. They’d emailed back and forth for over three years. And while he’d never actually met her in person, he knew the deepest parts of her thinking, emotions and soul through her writing. She was no stranger. But she was about the most perfect woman he could ever hope to know.

Once again, the bell over the swinging door tinkled. Neal looked up so fast his neck snapped. Just an older couple coming for dinner.

“Easy there, cowboy. She’ll show.” His waitress grinned as she passed his side.

He nodded, but his throat felt like it was closing up. He shifted his butt in the hard chair and scuffled his feet where they sat side by side on the floor. The closer that minute hand moved to eleven o’clock the tighter he became.

Crash! Someone behind the counter dropped a large plate, and the clatter drew everyone’s immediate attention. Only he paid attention when that tiny bell over the door rang out merrily.

She came! Neal forgot to breathe when a tall auburn-haired woman in jeans stepped through the door with a sort of hesitant step. He drank in the sight of her as she came into the room and let the door slide closed behind her. She’d sent pictures and he recognized her easily, though his immediate thought was they didn’t do her justice.

Patrons packed the diner now, and with staff and folks passing back and forth she stopped to scan the crowd. Neal watched as she searched for him. He knew her. She didn’t know him. She’d never seen a picture of him. A last minute thought—how the hell would she know him from all these other guys milling around?

Her head swiveled toward his end of the diner. As suddenly as she stopped looking around, his heart stopped just as quick. Did she see him? One step forward and he locked glances with her.

She knew him—without a picture, she knew him!

Another step forward then it looked like she flew down the aisle toward him. Like a man with a string tied up his spine, he jerked out of his chair and stood, all six foot six of him, quivering like a thumped chalk line.

Straight into his arms she flew, burrowed her hands under his open Carhart jacket and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. She hugged him so hard he wondered if he’d ever be able to breathe again, and then his arms embraced her and he didn’t worry about breathing. Nothing mattered any more.