I'm now selling
Allura Designs Jewelry
Check out these beautiful gems
http://www.alluradesigns.com/cathy

"What's the Ice Earl doing here?" Laurette pointed down to the carriage below in the driveway. "I wonder what he wants."

Isabel blushed as her sister turned to look at her. "I have no idea." She didn't think she'd see him again.

"Uh-huh." Laurette gave her that you're-not fooling-me look. "I heard you danced with him last night after he was out in the garden with his hand up your skirt."

Her mouth dropped open and she stared at her sister. "Where did you hear that?"

"Amanda Hayworth says he carried you off" Laurette waved the paper she'd retrieved from the dresser drawer.

"Give me that." Isabel snatched the paper from her younger sister's hand. "Why didn't you tell me The Society Notes was here? I looked this morning and couldn't find it."

"Mama had tossed it out, but I got it out of the trash can."

What could Miss Hayworth have said that would provoke her mother to toss it away without letting her read it? Isabel's face grew hot as she read Miss Hayworth's account of what happened with Milborough.

Milborough. Her face grew even hotter just thinking about him. The way he'd held her when they danced. How he carried her outside. She'd been stunned when he crossed the room to help her. Although, he'd been watching her for some time, she never believed he'd come near her again. And now, he was here. She shuddered to think what that meant.

Oh mercy… What if he'd read…

Laurette snapped her fingers in front of her eyes. "Quit daydreaming and give me the whole story. What's he really like? Is he as cold as they say? Can he really freeze you with a look? I hear just being near him makes you shiver."

It did, but not for the reasons Laurette was thinking. "Earl Milborough is a bit intimidating, but I don't know about cold."

Her sister scrunched up her face, cocking her head and tapping a finger against her chin. "There's something you aren't telling me."

"Isabel," her mother poked her head around the door, "your father wants to see you in his study."

Laurette wiggled her brows. “The plot thickens.”

Bloody hell. Simon had to practically run to catch up with Cecily. She was being lifted up into the carriage when he did catch up. He got in beside her, slamming the door as he dropped down onto the seat across from her. She was upset. That was obvious from the way she refused to look at him.

“I promised to spend the evening with you and I intend to.” Hell, the way he said it made it sound like a threat. That wasn’t his intention, but it did get her attention.

“Don’t do me any favors.”

“I’m not.” The club was sounding more and more like a good idea. Too bad he’d just promised to stay home.

Although not all that far of a drive, the carriage ride seemed interminable. Simon had no idea what to say, so he’d said nothing.

Staring at his wife, who looked utterly miserable, he let out a sigh. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing.”

Now there was a lie if he ever heard one. Of course she wanted something from him or she wouldn’t have locked him out of their bedroom.

4 stars! "McAteer and Stang create a seamless novel that readers will enjoy. The primary and secondary characters are sharp and clearly defined, and it's wonderful to see the friendship between all of the characters develop. The passion between the protagonists is undeniable, but even more compelling is the emotional intimacy that develops. This solid start to the Bliss Society series will have readers anticipating the next installment."
– reviewed by Keitha Hart for Romantic Times Book

Jewels didn’t seem appropriate.  Although, since Corina was back living in the mistress house he probably should try something glittery to catch her eye.  But instead Andre opted for flowers.  Knowing roses were her favorite, he’d found a man who grew beautiful ones.

So here he stood on the steps like a chump with a huge bouquet of red, pink and white roses.  Of course, it was still bloody raining.

Nassar opened the door.  This time he grinned at him. “Ah, you come back.  You court. Very good.”

For all the good it would do him.  After two long days and two lonely sleepless nights, he’d finally decided to come.

Nassar stepped back letting Andre walk into house which was still decorated in gaudy, gilded red and gold with the pictures of naked cherubs and erotic statues that they used to laugh about.  They’d once felt deliciously wicked here.  This use to be his retreat, a place that he could be himself and let his dark passions run free.  Being here used to bring him comfort.  Not only was he surrounded by objects of sexual promiscuity, but he had also splurged on outrageously extravagant furnishings for the house that Corina never asked for.  Chandeliers of crystal, full sets of silver dinnerware, even a well-equipped kitchen; although he rarely gave her time to eat.  He’d set her up with a very generous allowance too, which to this day he suspected she put in the bank.  Now he felt empty standing among the ruins of their once happy life.

“You stay.  I tell.” Nassar bowed as he disappeared.

Not knowing what else to do, he stood holding the flowers, wondering if she would actually see him.

What would he do if she didn’t?

Before nerves could fully get the better of him, the huge man reappeared.

“She see you.”

He led Andre into a room that looked like the boudoir in one of London’s finest men’s clubs.  The thick carpet, marble fireplace and rich, decadently upholstered furnishings boasted of a kept woman. E’gads he’d forgotten how elaborate it was.  Mirrors graced a number of walls along with silk and gold enrichments from ceiling to floor. His gaze caught on the oil painting of a Rubenesque-like nude reclining on a chaise displaying her body to the viewer. He was getting hard just thinking of all the ways they’d made love in this room.  Even more so when he turned to face Corina, who sat perched on the edge of the red velvet chair that looked like a throne from some erotic tale.

Corina stood, trying in vain to hide her shaking hands.  At least she was as nervous as he was.  Maybe that was a good sign.

“I brought you some flowers,” he said, stating the obvious as if she couldn’t see that.  E’gads he was babbling like a school boy.

“Thank you.”  She handed them to Nassar.  “Have these put in water for me, please.”

Nassar hesitated, but then nodded before he left.

Now that they were alone, he needed to talk to her.  They weren’t going to get anywhere staring at each other.  He might as well get right to the point.  Who knew how long the big man would be gone?

“I’m not going to let you divorce me.”

“I should have known you wouldn’t be reasonable.”

“I am being reasonable.  You’re the one who is not.  Damn it, Corina, what do you want from me.  I gave you the protection of my name and—”

“And a chance to be respectable.  Well no thanks.  I’d take the passion of being scandalous over cold respectability any day.”

“What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?”

“The moment I became your wife you started treating me differently.”

“I had a staff of respectable servants.  I couldn’t very well have sex on the floor in every bleeding room of my house.  Besides you were pregnant.”  As soon as the word escaped his mouth he regretted it.  Saying that word out loud sucked all the pretenses out of the room, leaving them both vulnerable and naked.

“And we both know that’s why you lowered yourself to marry me.”

“I…”  He opened and closed his mouth.  They both knew it was true, so there was no sense in denying it.  He would have kept her his mistress if she hadn’t gotten pregnant.

“We can’t correct the past,” he said quietly.

“No we can’t.”  She folded her arms over her chest protectively.

“So what do you want?”

“A man who makes love to me with passion.  One who doesn’t treat me like I’m glass.”

“I back.”  Nassar reappeared, looming large in the doorway.  “You go.  Pay more tomorrow.”

He was beginning to think he was going to pay for a lifetime.

Someone was pounding on the door.  Corina threw back the covers and pulled on her robe before padding to the door of her bedroom.  Who could be here at this hour of the night?

Oh, shoot, she’d forgotten that she’d given him the night off.

Should she answer it?

She crept down the stairs. Through the curtains lightning flashed and rain poured.  Inside her house was quiet.

The pounding grew louder and more insistent.

Not being able to resist any longer, she pulled the door open to find her rain-soaked husband, standing with this fist poised to knock again.  Andre looked like a wild man with his hair all mussed, and the rain streaming down his face.

“It’s late.  I don’t feel like talking,” she blurted out, hoping he would see reason and leave.

“That makes two of us.”  He stepped forward, forcing her back into the house as he slammed the door.

“Andre, I don’t…” She backed up again, wary of the expression on his face.

“What?” He pulled off his coat, tossing it down on the floor.   “Like being flipping proper.”  His cravat followed.  “Do you think I do either?”

He began unbuttoning his shirt.  Then in frustration he ripped it, sending buttons flying.  “I bloody well hate being proper.”

“Andre.  I don’t—”

“What?”  He began undoing his pants.  “Want to live in my world?  Do you think I do either?  I used to love this house.  This place was my haven.  I could leave my world behind.  I’ve ruined that, too.”

She swallowed hard as his shoes came off along with his pants.  He moved purposely toward her, all solidly-built, fully-aroused male, stalking her like a tiger looking for prey.

She turned to flee, but he caught her arm, pushing her back against the wall.

“Do you want to be bad?” he whispered against her neck as he lifted her gown, pulling it over her head and tossing it into the air.  “Then let’s be bad together.”

He just wanted to be left the hell alone. Was that too much to ask? Ross Stanton, Earl of Brynmor, glared up at the ceiling as doors slammed on the floor above him. Voices whose words he couldn’t quite make out echoed in the hallways, followed by more doors slamming.

Bloody bleeding hell. Apparently, he was asking more than the ghosts, who’d invaded the dark, cold townhouse he’d rented, could give.

More door slamming. More yelling.

“Enough!” he thundered, slamming the flats of his hands on the top of his mahogany desk.

They either didn’t hear him or weren’t listening, because the yelling and door slamming continued.

“I said, enough!” he roared.

Yet again, he was ignored. Pushed beyond his patience, his temper sparked. All the doors in the house blew open and stayed that way.

As the house grew quiet, he relaxed, letting the crackle of energy around him back off to a slow sizzle. The silence was almost deafening. Had he frightened them off? One could only hope. He went back to responding to the correspondence that his man of affairs had left for him.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered as muffled voices floated down from the bedroom directly above his study. The one the servants refused to enter because they swore it was haunted. Lucky for him, he was the only one that could hear the ruckus the ghosts caused or else…

More silence.

Then, soft female crying.

“Well, well. That was an interesting trick.” A mellow voice with a hint of amusement in it made Ross look up. A medium-built man in rumpled riding attire leaned casually in the doorway of the study with his hands in his pockets. He was obviously a ghost. “And all this time we didn’t think you could hear us.”

“I can hear you,” Ross muttered as he went back to his work. Damn. Now they’d never leave him alone. “How the bloody hell could I not? You made enough noise to wake the dead. Pardon the expression. You’ve proved you’re here, now go haunt someone else.”

“I can’t. You see, I made a bloody mess of things one Christmas Eve, and I’m still paying for it.”

Despite his desire to end this conversation, Ross looked back up at the ghost. “What has that got to do with me?”

“I don’t know, but we’re connected. We have to be or else you couldn’t hear us. None of the others who lived here could hear us.”

Being able to see them didn’t necessarily mean they were connected to him or that he was supposed to help them. He’d seen ghosts most of his life. That, and his ability to manipulate people and objects with his mind, were talents he’d honed as a spy in the military. He’d often met ghosts who could give him information. However, he’d had to be careful not to get caught up in their agendas, a lesson he had learned the hard way. Since then, he usually tried to ignore the ghosts he encountered. If they didn’t know he could hear or see them, they left him alone.

“Since you’re the one who is alive, I supposed it will be your job to figure it out,” the ghost said, bringing Ross out of his thoughts.

“And if I don’t?”

“History repeats itself, and next year you could be haunting someone.”

Emma spun around, her eyes widening with a mixture of disbelief and excitement.

“I ....”  She stepped forward, laying a hand on his chest. “Just wanted to make sure you were real.  That I’m not dreaming.”

Ross was too stunned to step back. Even through the layers of clothes, he could feel the heat of her skin.  She was one of the few people who dared to touch him.  He liked the feel of her small hand pressed against his chest. This close, he could smell the soft scent of the rose water she used.

He didn’t want her see him like that. Although, the bullet merely grazed his shoulder it had knocked him off his horse.  He’d hit his head on a rock.  For days he’d had headaches.  Sometimes he still did. Along with the headaches came a ringing in his ears.  During the first days after he’d woken up, he'd had trouble saying words.  With hard work, he’d gotten past that, but not past the nightmares that haunted him.  He never wanted Emma to experience any of those.

“I wasn’t up to callers.”

“We aren’t callers.  We’re family.”

So she saw him that way. He wanted to be, but¼.“No.  We’re not.  I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.”

She stood silent for a long moment with her eyes searching his. “What did I do wrong?”

The hurt in her voice pierced like an arrow through his heart.  “You didn’t do anything wrong.  I should have never answered the first letter.”

“I thought we were friends.”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“Because of Brock.”

“Partly.”

Emma couldn’t stop herself from laying a hand on the arm of this man she’d loved half her life.  She felt the strength of the man beneath Ross’s dark clothes, beneath the tense muscles.  His emotions washed over her.  She could taste his disillusionment and anger and feel the depth of his emptiness.  She knew she should pull back, but couldn’t.  Instead, she stood absorbing his pain.

His dark blue eyes lifted and held hers.  Anger sparked in their depths.

Merciful heaven, he knew what she was doing.

Sweet Serenity is a character driven historical romance full of heartfelt emotion and chilling tension.  Author, Catherine Stang has found a place on my “watch for” list; she has sold me on her ability to capture romance and suspense in a historical novel; Bravo.  Review by Wisteria  http://longandshortreviews.blogspot.com/2007/11/review-sweet-serenity.html

SWEET SERENITY is a befitting title for this beautiful romance that will capture your heart from the very first page.  Catherine Stang knows how to capture her readers with charismatic characters wrapped into an intriguing plot that will leave you breathless and fulfilled. Billie Jo from Romance Junkies.  4 1/2 blue ribbons.

The late afternoon sun beat down unmercifully on Collin MacClarron as he stood with the crowd at the train platform. A blast of hot, dry wind sent dust flying all around him. He pulled off his black Stetson, wiping the gritty sweat from his forehead. His shoulder throbbed with the movement. It had a long ways to go before it was totally healed. His body was still weak from the fever following the bullet the doctor had pulled out of him a little over a week ago. He should have sent someone else to pick them up, but he couldn’t risk his daughters’ safety to just anybody. Besides, he missed his bairns so much he couldn’t bear the thought of not greeting them at the station.

“Expecting someone, MacClarron?” Sheriff Wallis’s deep voice rumbled beside him.

Collin looked over at his old friend. He thought himself tall at six-two, but Wallis towered over him by a good three or four inches. It was murmured around town that if Wallis’s sharp shooting skills didn’t scare outlaws away, his sheer size would.

His tall, bulky friend pulled out a cheroot from his vest pocket. “Can’t imagine what else would bring you to town on a perfectly good work day.”

Collin chuckled at how well Wallis knew him. “My girls and Rose are comin’. You?” He motioned his head towards the train.

“Nope,” Wallis replied in a cloud of smoke. “Just checking things out. Been…what?” He scratched his brown beard. “Almost two years since your girls were here?”

“Somethin’ like that,” Collin mumbled, hating the censure he knew was unintentionally in Wallis’s tone. They had argued the night Collin decided to send his girls home with Rose. It had been a difficult decision, but the only one he could make under the circumstances. If it hadn’t been for Wallis’s friendship, though, he never would have made it through the lonely years.

The train’s mournful whistle sent the crowd into a frenzy. Black smoke billowed up as the engine rumbled towards them. Collin could feel the ground tremble. Anticipation gnawed at his gut. All around him, people pushed to get closer to the arriving passengers.

As the door slid open, he held an eager breath. The conductor got off, snapping shut his pocket watch. A tall redhead descended, followed by a bald, older gentleman. At last Collin saw his Greta’s familiar golden curls. How she had grown! She was no longer the wobbly toddler he so fondly remembered. That knowledge made his throat tighten with sadness. God, what precious time he had missed.

His body protested as he knelt, holding his arms open for Greta and Cherise as they she came bounding down the wooden platform, their petticoats flying, to greet him.

Pain ripped through his shoulder as Cherise flung herself into his waiting arms. But that was nothing compared to the pain in his closely guarded heart. Greta watched them with rounded eyes and a thumb in her mouth. She didn’t recognize him, Collin realized with a jolt. As he savored holding Cherise, he wished Greta would allow him to hug her, too.

Over the top of Cherise’s head, he saw Alisha helping a limping Emily. It stunned him to see Alisha was fast becoming a young woman. While she still had parts of the impish child, she had blossomed.

He smiled at how well Emily had recovered. Despite her uneven gait, she had made a great deal of progress with the help of those doctors back east. He almost burst with pride watching them hurry toward him. He had missed out on so much of their lives. How could he ever let them leave again?

“Oh, Papa, it’s so good to see you!” Emily shouted. “Hi, Sheriff Wallis.” She turned, beaming up at Wallis.

“Hello, Emily.” Collin’s voice was hoarse with emotion.

She graced him with a warm smile, too.

“Hi, tidbit.” Wallis patted her head. “I’m gonna have to stay alert now that the MacClarron minxes are back.”

Collin chortled, thinking of all the trouble his girls had found to get into during the days following his wife’s and daughter’s funeral. Thanks to Wallis’s quick actions, a horse hadn’t trampled Emily when she fell from the hayloft. The memory still chilled him.

Greta pointed at him and said, “Ouch.” She shivered and her cute, round face wrinkled up with concern.

“She wants to know where you hurt,” Cherise interpreted.

Collin stared, unable to speak for a moment. His daughters had almost completely lost their accents. They sounded like strangers. What stunned him was that Gran had discussed his injury with them. How had she known about that unless Wallis, despite his protests, had wired her? Wallis shrugged under his questioning look.

It warmed him that they still cared enough to worry. Of course they would. You’re their father. But sometimes he wondered how much the two years of separation had affected their feelings toward him.

“Why canna she ask me—” Collin started, but Emily interrupted.

“What happened to Papa, Sheriff Wallis? Grandma Rose said that we didna need to know all the lurid details.”

Sheriff Wallis laughed at Emily’s perfect imitation of her grandmother’s burr.

“He was helping me chase bank robbers.” Wallis leaned down to talk to Emily. He tugged teasingly on a dark braid. “Remind me, and I’ll tell you the whole lurid story at dinner. That is, if I’m invited.”

Collin groaned as Cherise’s and Emily’s eyes sparkled with excitement. They always did love Wallis’s highly exaggerated stories.

“Really…you caught bank robbers?” Cherise asked.

“I sure did.” Wallis’s chest puffed out and he hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “Got those rascals locked up in my jail, waiting for a deputy marshal to come and retrieve them.”

“I gots a sore finger from the sleeping car,” Greta said, after pulling her thumb out of her mouth. She timidly held up her swollen pinkie.

Emily rolled her eyes, tossing back her braids. “It happened two days ago, goose. Papa doesn’t want to hear about that.”

“I do, too.” Collin bent to take Greta’s small hand in his. His gaze held her surprised one when he kissed her injured pinkie. He wished he could have been there to wipe away her tears. “I wanna hear everything.” He ruffled Greta’s bouncy curls, relieved when she returned his smile.

They all began talking at once, making it impossible to follow any of the fragmented conversations. Their familiar pattern of interrupting each other amused Collin.

“I play the pianoforte now,” Cherise announced with pride.

Emily pulled on his hand. “I can walk without my cane.” She whirled around slowly. “See, Papa?”

“So?” Alisha snapped, frowning.

Above their heads, he saw Rose coming toward them, her arm wrapped around a petite blonde.

Wallis whistled tonelessly beside him. “Hoppin’ horny toads! Who’s that with Mrs. MacClarron?”

“Our new governess,” Emily said.

“Think you can adopt me?” Wallis replied before Collin could put an elbow in his ribs.

Rose and her companion moved slowly through the crowd. His heart constricted. Gran looked older this time. He hadn’t ever thought of her that way before. She had raised him after his parents died. The woman was his rock.

His eyes met the lady whose arm Gran held. She stood slightly taller than Rose. A heavy black mourning dress swallowed up her gentle curves. A matching bonnet covered most of her golden ringlets, but he could still see her animated oval face, with its pert nose and full pink lips. Sparkling sapphire eyes framed by soft, thick lashes blinked back at him from under golden brows. Her face radiated warmth as she hung on Rose’s every word.

“Well, Collin, I’ve come all this way. Are you gonna greet me?” Rose spread her arms open wide. Her snapping green eyes defied him to say he hadn’t invited them. She knew damn well how he felt, and her expression told him so. Now she challenged him to make the next move. The words froze in his throat.

When he didn’t respond right away, she turned her attention to Sheriff Wallis. “Hello, Sheriff.” Rose gifted Wallis with a smile. “Still keepin’ the town safe, I see. My, how it has bloomed. I was surprised that the train stops here now. It didna the last time I came. I dinna miss that bumpy stagecoach ride, mind you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Wallis tipped his white Stetson. “We’re right proud that Dry Gulch was selected for a stopping point. We aim to keep it that way, so all our beautiful ladies can arrive in comfort. It’s good to have you back, Mrs. MacClarron.”

Rose tweaked Wallis’s cheek. “Rascal. You always could make me blush.”

“Wallis has a way with women, all right. Has them lined up along the street. In fact, I see one now.” Collin pointed off in the distance. “Isna that the Widow Darcy? Thought you promised to help load lumber in her wagon.”

“Yoo-hoo, Sheriff!” A bubbly, red-haired lady waved at Wallis from the other end of the platform.

Wallis’s tanned cheeks colored. “Gotta go. Duty calls.”

Collin laughed as Wallis strolled off toward the sawmill with Darcy’s arm linked in his. He pulled Rose into a fierce embrace. She felt so small and fragile nestled against his broad chest.

Stepping back, he swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. “I’m glad to see you, Gran,” Collin said, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m just amazed you came. The telegram dinna give me much time to change your mind.”

She patted his stubbly cheek. “That was the point, Collin, my boy.” Her voice faltered as she pushed a wayward strand of silver hair behind her ear.

“This is my companion, Serenity Springfield.” Rose motioned at the slender woman dressed in somber clothes. He immediately wondered for whom she grieved. His heart went out to her. Losing a loved one was never easy.

He extended his hand, taking her black-leather-gloved one in his large, calloused one. It felt delicate in his firm grip. Her cheeks turned a light pink. The effect was endearing. Serenity reminded him of fresh air and sunshine.

“This is my stubborn grandson and the wee lasses’ father, Collin MacClarron.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. MacClarron. Your grandmother has told me so much about you,” Serenity replied in a soft, cultured voice that held a slight British accent. Her fingers gently squeezed his. In her gaze, Collin read the sincerity of her words.

For the life of him, Collin couldn’t make himself release her hand. It felt so right in his. She had such dainty wrists and arms. The knowledge Rose would be watching over this gentle beauty seemed oddly comforting.

Rose cleared her throat loudly, stepping between the two of them, breaking the spell. “I’m glad to see I havena lost all my wits.” She rubbed her hands together. His girls giggled. “I can see the lass appeals to you.”

Collin forced his gaze away from Serenity, wondering what his grandmother was up to. Appeals to me? What the hell did that mean? The self-assured look on Gran’s face made him nervous. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach.

“Aye, the lass isna hard on the eyes,” Collin teased half-heartedly, trying to lighten the mood. He winked at Serenity, who blushed an even deeper shade of red.

“Good, then my request willna be too difficult,” Rose went on, her voice growing stronger. “You owe me a favor, Collin.” She wagged the famous finger. “I kept your secret and helped you out all those years ago. Now I’m calling in my debt.”

Collin shifted uneasily. His girls were staring at him with an expectation of something—he wasn’t sure of what—sparkling in their eyes. What ever it was, Gran was behind it. He had no doubt of that.

Saying no to Gran was next to impossible for him. She had comforted him the night he’d brought news that his brother had been lost at sea. Gramps had railed at him, but not Gran. It had been his fault, but Gran never accused him. She had just listened as he poured his heart out.

In the years that followed, Gran had never mentioned the money she gave him to start his farm, or how her moral support had swayed his grandfather into letting him leave the family shipping business. He owed her more than he could ever repay.

His girls all stared expectantly at him.

“You know I’d do anythin’ for you, Gran. What is it you want?”

“I want you to marry Serenity,” Rose said in a tone that brooked no arguments.

4 stars! "This first book in Stang's Finding Home series is set at the tail end of the Civil War. There is more than one romance brewing, and the involvement of all the heroine's family makes the story entertaining, because the focus more on relationships and less on the war."
– reviewed by Susan Mobley for Romantic Times Book

Her worst nightmare had come true. Cassandra Beaumont paced around the porch, squeezing the polished gun butt tight as she watched a group of Union soldiers ride brazenly through her yard. The roar of distant cannon fire set her already raw nerves on edge.

Please let me remember Tyler’s lessons on using the gun.

She jumped, almost shooting herself in the foot when the door creaked open behind her and her younger sister Rachel poked her head out. “Are you sure you don’t need my help?”

“Positive. Your job is to take care of the others.”

“But…” she protested.

“I’m finished arguing.” Cassandra grabbed the doorknob, pulling it shut to emphasize her point.

Unable to resist getting in the last word, Rachel cracked the door open again. “Just remember it was my idea to get Father’s revolver, and I’m a better shot than you.”

Cassie didn’t have to be reminded Rachel was a hoyden who loved to ride and shoot with their older brothers. But that was all the more reason for Rachel stay inside, away from the temptation to do something impulsive. Besides, Cassie was the oldest of the ones left at home. It was her responsibility to protect them.

“I mean it,” she snapped, hoping this time Rachel would listen to her.

There was long, dramatic sigh. “I’m going.” She jerked door shut, making Cassandra jump in spite of herself.

She held her breath, listening for the sounds of Rachel’s retreating footsteps. Good. Her sister was gone. Cassie exhaled slowly, steeling her rattled nerves as the soldiers brought their horses to a stop in front of the porch.

She regretted now she hadn’t practiced shooting a gun when she’d had the chance, instead of making excuses not to try. She’d always hated shooting. Just the thought of doing so made her quiver. The smell of gunpowder would burn her nose and the kickback would leave her wrist numb and shoulder aching for days. Being courageous alone in her father’s office was easy, but facing down Union soldiers was another story. Yet what else could she do? Somehow she had to protect her younger sister, her little niece and her very pregnant sister-in-law.

With her head held high, Cassandra willed herself not to let her fear show. If she got lucky, maybe they’d believe she was a crack shot. When pigs fly. She fumbled with the revolver. Was one bullet going to be enough? That was all she could find. Dear heavens, how had she ever convinced herself this was a good plan?

A tall man in an officer’s uniform started toward the porch. He had a powerful build, with a ruggedly handsome face. Thick, tawny-gold hair curled slightly around the collar of his blue coat. Sweet mercy, did he have to be so handsome? What the devil was wrong with her that she could even think about that?

Her mouth dried as he strode purposefully up the four brick steps to the top of the porch. With shaky hands, she raised the revolver, aiming it at his heart. Yet he didn’t seem worried as he slowly lifted his arms in the air, moving toward her with his unreadable amber eyes locked with hers. Their calmness terrified her. Why wasn’t he threatened by the gun in her hand? The pulse pounded in her ears as each step brought their inevitable confrontation closer.

When he stood just a few steps away, his stony expression gradually changed. His amber eyes lowered, perusing the weapon she held in her trembling hands. She had to act nonchalant. Heaven help her.

“You get back or I’ll blow you off this porch.” She waved the gun at him in a “move away” gesture.

He didn’t retreat as she’d hoped. Instead, he kept inching toward her, watching her with cool, assessing eyes. “I mean you no harm.” His voice had a deep, resonate, velvet quality that sent a shiver through her. “I just want to talk, angel. That’s all.”

That wasn’t all, and she damn well knew it. Cassandra’s hands shook more from fear than the cold. Chin up. Remember others are counting on you.

“I’m not fooling. If you come any closer, your men will be burying you this afternoon.” Her voice began quivering, despite her attempts to sound threatening. Legs braced apart, she lifted her chin, proudly staring the stranger down.

She almost lost her breakfast when he moved right up in front of her, so close the cold steel barrel pressed against his massive chest.

She squeezed the trigger, and to her horror, nothing happened. What the blazes… She flinched when he leaned over closer, whispering, “I’ll keep your secret this time, angel, but next time you aim a gun at someone’s heart, I recommend you cock it first. It won’t fire unless you do.”

Jessica aimed at the one holding another torch. Before he could throw it, she fired. He fell back with a sickening thud as flames consumed his body. She shuddered at the agonizing moan and awful sight. Smoke clouded her vision and made her eyes burn.

Another raider returned her shots, but she ducked, firing back. Her horse bucked as a lighted torch just missed them, setting the grass by her feet on fire.

She urged her horse away from the flames. Once she felt reasonable safe, she took aim, but froze before she could get the shot off at the sight of Caleb chasing Kay’s cows out of the fence. Was he protecting them or stealing them?

The man she was aiming at was firing back at her. A rider came between them, directing the others to follow him. His horse bumped hers, causingWindrunner to stumble, taking her down with him. Before she could grab his reins, her horse took off, heading back toward the farm. She wasn’t sure, because it all happened so fast, but she thought it might be Wyatt…Wolf.

>Was he helping them? What did that mean

Damn, damn, damn. She hit her hat on her dusty pants. Now she had no horse. As she started toward Kay’s house, she saw Gil out of the corner of her eye heading straight toward her. As he leaned down to pluck her up, another man came up behind her, swooping her up in his steel grip.

Jessica wasn’t in the mood for one of Phillip’s lectures on how a proper woman should behave. Really, the man could be such a self-righteous prig sometimes.

“What were you thinking riding out after those men?”

Anger sparked in her at his highhanded tone. Sometimes he acted as if he owned her. Since he eased up his hold, she resisted the urge to jerk her arm free.

“Did you think I’d stand by and let someone hurt my friends?”

“I didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers, my dear. It just scares me to think of the risks you took.”

Some of her irritation melted as he gently brushed a lock of hair off her cheek.

“You do too much with this farm and being responsible for all people you take in. I wish you’d let me help you.”

“I don’t… I’m not—”

He raised his hands, cutting her off. “I know.” He sighed. “Maybe you should think about what would happen to those you care about if you were killed.”

She tensed, staring at him. “Are you threatening me?”

“Of course not. It’s that other people might not be as understanding in regards to…”

She folded her arms glaring. This was a side of him she didn’t like. If he thought her a bad person now, what would he think if he knew her brother was an outlaw? Part her wanted to scream, I’ll never be a lady.

“Go on.” Her voice held some controlled anger he seemed to be ignoring. “They are children. Who their parents are shouldn’t matter.”

“But you know as well as I do that it does. Not every man would be as willing to taken them all in.” Clearing his throat, his face softened. “I don’t know why you keep putting me off, dear heart. You need a man around here. Surely Kay’s experience tonight should have shown you that.”

“And I see you’ve done a fine job so far.”

Jessica closed her eyes, groaning at Tyler’s deep bass voice, afraid to turn around. The shocked look on Phillip’s face told her exactly what she’d see.

Taking a deep breath, she gathered the courage to look behind her. Tyler stood with his large, muscular frame clad only in a sheet and the bandages around his ribs, filling the door frame. His head almost touched the top of it.

Great balls of fire, how could the man look even more dangerous without his clothes than with them on?

Phillip’s eyes were practically bugged out of his head and face was bright red with anger. “What the bloody hell is going on here? I thought you were a lady, but…”

The words died in his throat as Tyler lifted him off the ground, holding a stunned Phillip dangling in one fist. “I’d rethink insulting her if I were you.”

Phillip’s mouth worked, but no sound came out as Tyler lowered him to his feet. Showing all the indignation he could muster considering what had just happened, Phillip straightened his coat.

“This ends our relationship.” He slammed on his hat, stalking out.

Jessica folded her arms, glaring at Tyler.