Caving into You (Love in the Old West series Book 1)
Page 1
“I’m a novelist...a romance novelist.”
Clint’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean.... Do you write...?”
Hilly seemed to understand his question. “No, not those kinds of romances. Mine are all pretty tame...just like my life. Nothing very exciting happens to me, so I have to make it up. You know how it is.” She shrugged and grinned self-deprecatingly.
Clint, short of breath as he gazed into Hilly’s twinkling blue eyes, could not imagine that her days were not filled with men who wished to court her, but perhaps she considered that tame.
“I can’t imagine,” he murmured, accidentally speaking his thoughts aloud.
She shrugged again and shoved her hands deeper into her pockets. “It’s true. On the other hand, I’ll bet your life is pretty exciting. Gunfights every day, women hanging on you, the romance of working in a historical town.” She raised an arm as if to encompass the whole of Tombstone.
Clint dropped his eyes to the boardwalk.
“Oh, I don’t know about all that,” he muttered.
“Which? The gunfights? Women? The romance?”
“None of them,” Clint said. He looked up to meet her laughing eyes, caught between the need to escape her questions and a heady desire to stay in her company. But for the past six months, he had avoided close encounters with people, and he stiffened his resolve. Loneliness would not drive him to fall into the arms of a strange woman from the twenty-first century.
He tipped his hat again. “Well, I’ll be goin,’ ma’am. I hope you catch the show later.”
“Oh, I will,” she said brightly. “It’s nice to meet you, Clint.”
“You too, Miss Creighton.”
He passed her and forced himself not to turn around and watch her walk away. He crossed the street and headed for his trailer. When he thought it was safe, he looked over his shoulder, knowing she would have turned the corner and disappeared from view. But Hilly hadn’t moved. She watched him.
Clint jerked his head around, but not before Hilly raised her hand in farewell.
Maybe being stuck in the twenty-first century wasn’t so bad after all, Clint thought with a lift of his lips and his spirits.
Caving in To You
Bess McBride
Caving in To You
Copyright 2014 Bess McBride
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the publisher and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
Cover Art by Tamra Westberry
Formatted by IRONHORSE Formatting
Contact information: BessMcBride@gmail.com
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To the historical reenactors and actors of Tombstone who throw themselves down in the dirt every day for our enjoyment and thrill.
And to my loyal readers and fans. I wouldn’t write these stories if it weren’t for you!
Dear Reader,
Thank you for purchasing Caving into You. On an extended winter stay in Southeastern Arizona, I found the area of Tombstone and the Dragoon Mountains so historical that I was compelled to write a time travel set in the late 1800s, and Caving into You was the result of my efforts. I do plan a series of at least three books set in Arizona, called Love in the Old West. Caving into You is Book One of that series.
This is the story of Clint, a man of the nineteenth century American West, and Hilly, a modern-day gal whose voice pulls Clint from the past.
Thank you for your support over the years, friends and readers. Because of your favorable comments, I continue to strive to write the best stories I can. More romances are on the way! You know I always enjoy hearing from you, so please feel free to contact me at BessMcBride@gmail.com, through my web site at www.BessMcBride.com, or my blog Will Travel for Romance.
Thanks for reading!
Bess
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Books by Bess McBride
About the Author
Prologue
Interstate 10, Southeastern Arizona, March 2013
Hilly Creighton slowed the car when she saw the sign that read Tombstone. Tombstone! The name evoked images of the Wild West—lawmen and outlaws, gunfights and saloons. Cars began to pass her on the interstate as she contemplated taking the exit and running down to Tombstone. She had no idea how far south it was, though, and couldn’t take her eyes off the road to look at a map.
She checked her watch. Eleven o’clock. She still had plenty of time before she was expected at Rob’s house almost three hours north, in Phoenix. In fact, her brother probably wouldn’t get off work for another five hours, so she would no doubt arrive early anyway unless she stopped and had some lunch. She wasn’t sure what time Tina and the boys came home from work and school, but the idea of parking in the driveway and waiting for someone to show up didn’t appeal to her.
Hilly had flown down to El Paso for a romance writers’ conference and decided to rent a car to drive to her brother’s house for a long overdue visit before flying back to Seattle. She hadn’t seen him in about a year. A short road trip sounded like just the thing—something to brush the cobwebs away and perhaps stimulate the creative flow. Without romance in her life for the past five years, she felt as if she’d been writing by rote, just typing words in an ancient language that even she could no longer understand.
Maybe just a quick stop. After all, what was the point of driving if she didn’t want to see the sights? She could just as easily have flown to Phoenix. Hilly made the decision and took the exit for Tombstone. Another sign revealed it was only 27 miles. She had plenty of time.
A wide golden-hued desert valley spread away in front of her, flanked by dark lavender mountains on both sides. Mesquite trees dotted the landscape of yellow grasses that swayed in the wind. Though the picture could have seemed drab at first glance, Hilly admired the subtle variations in the gold and purple palettes.
Some miles down the road, she noted large shadows creeping across the mountain faces, and she looked up through her wind
shield to see dark clouds gathering toward the south. She had no experience with the desert in the late spring and wondered if a storm was coming. As ominous as the clouds were, if they let loose with torrential rain, she doubted that she would be able to see.
Hilly began to regret her decision to stray from the highway. Perhaps she should have waited until she arrived in Phoenix and asked her brother and his family if they wanted to go down to Tombstone on a day trip. She wasn’t particularly adventurous on her own, leaving most of her thrills to computer research for the romance novels she wrote.
On passing a sign noting Tombstone was 5 miles ahead, Hilly noted a dark spot on a small hill close to the road. Was it a deer? Some other type of animal? She slowed and squinted but couldn’t make it out. On a whim, she pulled over onto shoulder of the quiet highway and studied the area. It didn’t seem to move, nor did it look to be too far from where she was. Rather than a living creature, it almost looked like an opening to a cave of some sort.
A cave? Well, how mystical was that? Hilly opened the car door without forethought. The wind had picked up, and she had to push the door open and jump back as it slammed shut. She looked up at the sky. The dark clouds, coming from the direction of Tombstone, were approaching rapidly, and she could see sheets of rain coming down toward the south.
Hilly hardly thought the historic town would be pleasant in the rain. She would have to run from building to building and wouldn’t really be able to see anything. She sighed, thinking she should probably turn around and head on to Phoenix.
The wind whipped her hair in front of her face, and she pushed it aside to eye the depression in the hill again. A possible cave! And so close to the road. She couldn’t resist taking a peek, and wondered if she had time to dash over there, look inside and run back for her car before the rain hit.
Hilly thrust her keys into her jeans pocket and hurried off through the brush toward the hill. Her progress was hampered by the unexpected thickness of the dry grass, but she reached the bottom of the hill in ten minutes. She clambered up, grasping at rocks and grass until she reached the small opening she had seen from the road. The wind whipped up the dust at the cave entrance, and she kneeled down, trying to peer inside. Instead of being the sort of cave one could easily walk into, the opening tilted downward...like a sinkhole. Tempted to climb down into it, Hilly resisted the urge. She had no flashlight and she could smell the rain in the air—dusty and wet. The hole could possibly cave in or flood while she was in there.
“Hello down there,” Hilly called, listening for an echo. “Hello, hello, hello...” she called again. She hardly expected a response, but it made her chuckle to do it. And she was sorely in need of a laugh...of any emotion, really. Who knew? Everything was fodder for a book. Maybe she’d toss a cave into a story and see what sort of fantasy novel she could produce!
The first drops of rain hit her head, and Hilly called out one last time.
“Hello down there! Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
There was no response—no echo, no dragon, no wizard, no bats. Not even a handsome prince in dire need of her help. Hilly shook her head, laughed again, and raced back down the hill for the car. She hopped in and headed back up the road toward the interstate and Phoenix. Tombstone would have to wait for another day.
Chapter One
Six months later, Tombstone, Arizona
Clint fired off one last round before crumpling to the ground. A volley of shots flew over his head, but he lay still...pretending to be dead. Dust flew into his nostrils as Larry and George fell beside him. He resisted the urge to wipe his face. Dead men didn’t move.
The crowd cheered and roared approval for the shooters—the Earps and Doc Holliday. The strains of tinny music filled the air, and a stentorian voice boomed that the Clantons and McLaurys had met their match.
Clint lifted one eyelid and squinted against the bright sun. The show was over, and the Earps had saved the day once again. He pushed himself off the ground, holstered his gun, grabbed his hat and held out a hand to Larry who lay next to him. George rose slowly and dusted himself off.
Larry and George gave short bows and waved to the clapping crowd. As always, Clint refused to bow or wave, preferring to shove his hat on his head and escape the eager tourists who wanted to pose for photographs with the notorious Tom McLaury of the O.K. Corral. Though the job required that he make himself available for photographs, his boss had never pushed the matter. Clint slapped the dust from his trousers and strode out of the show enclosure and down the street toward the RV park. His day was not done. He had one more show at 3 p.m.
He hopped onto the wooden boardwalk and rounded the corner of the candy store, looking neither to the left or the right. In his haste, he bumped into a tourist—a young woman with startlingly bright crystal blue eyes who cried out.
“Ouch!” she squeaked. She jumped back holding her arm, and Clint bowed his head.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he said gruffly. “I wasn’t lookin’ where I was goin.’ Are you all right?” He looked down at her arm. Had he really hit her that hard? “Did I do that?”
“No, I’m fine,” she said breathlessly. “An old car accident.” She lowered her arm and stuffed her hands in her blue jeans. A rust-colored hooded jacket reflected the color of her shoulder-length hair.
“Well, my apologies again, ma’am.” Clint tipped his hat and moved to step around her, but she attempted to step around him at the same time. He moved left, and she did too. He stood fast and bowed briefly.
“After you, ma’am,” he said, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his lips as color rose in her cheeks. A redhead with light skin and freckles, her blush was charming, and his heart thumped uncomfortably. He cleared his throat.
“Oh, sorry,” she murmured with a laugh. “Are you one of the gunfight reenactors? I just missed the show, didn’t I?”
Clint nodded. “Yes, ma’am, but there’s another show at 3 p.m.”
“Two hours?” She sighed. “Okay, thanks. I guess I’ll just wander.” She moved to step past him and then paused. “So, which one are you?” She tilted her head assessingly. “Let me guess. Wyatt Earp? You look like a Wyatt Earp.” She grinned.
Clint laughed. “Not likely, ma’am. The Earps get to wear nice clean clothing because they don’t take a nosedive to the ground, what with they’re supposed to be the good guys. I’m Tom McLaury—every single time.”
“Oh, how do you do, Tom?” She held out her hand—small and fair. “I’m Hilly Creighton. So, which one are you then?”
Clint grasped her hand, so soft in his own rough hands. His body shuddered with laughter, but he suppressed it.
“No, my name is Clint Woodrow. I play Tom McLaury, one of the cowboys involved in the shootout with the Earps and Doc Holliday?”
Hilly blushed again. “Oh, I’m sorry. How silly of me. As you can see, I haven’t done much research. I’m just getting started really. I’m not sure if I want to set a story here or not.”
“A story?”
“I’m a novelist...a romance novelist.”
Clint’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean.... Do you write...?”
Hilly seemed to understand his question. “No, not those kinds of romances. Mine are all pretty tame...just like my life. Nothing very exciting happens to me, so I have to make it up. You know how it is.” She shrugged and grinned self-deprecatingly.
Clint, short of breath as he gazed into Hilly’s twinkling blue eyes, could not imagine that her days were not filled with men who wished to court her, but perhaps she considered that tame.
“I can’t imagine,” he murmured, accidentally speaking his thoughts aloud.
She shrugged again and shoved her hands deeper into her pockets. “It’s true. On the other hand, I’ll bet your life is pretty exciting. Gunfights every day, women hanging on you, the romance of working in a historical town.” She raised an arm as if to encompass the whole of Tombstone.
Clint dropped his eyes to the boardwalk.
“Oh, I don’t know about all that,” he muttered.
“Which? The gunfights? Women? The romance?”
“None of them,” Clint said. He looked up to meet her laughing eyes, caught between the need to escape her questions and a heady desire to stay in her company. But for the past six months, he had avoided close encounters with people, and he stiffened his resolve. Loneliness would not drive him to fall into the arms of a strange woman from the twenty-first century.
He tipped his hat again. “Well, I’ll be goin,’ ma’am. I hope you catch the show later.”
“Oh, I will,” she said brightly. “It’s nice to meet you, Clint.”
“You too, Miss Creighton.”
He passed her and forced himself not to turn around and watch her walk away. He crossed the street and headed for his trailer. When he thought it was safe, he looked over his shoulder, knowing she would have turned the corner and disappeared from view. But Hilly hadn’t moved. She watched him.
Clint jerked his head around, but not before Hilly raised her hand in farewell.
Maybe being stuck in the twenty-first century wasn’t so bad after all, Clint thought with a lift of his lips and his spirits.
Chapter Two
Hilly cursed herself for ogling the actor and hurriedly turned the corner and moved down the sidewalk. She hadn’t thought he was going to turn around and catch her staring at him.
Tall and lean with tanned skin, surprisingly soft blue eyes, and dark blonde hair peeping out from under his cowboy hat that tapered to longish dark sideburns, he was the epitome of every handsome Western hero she had seen in the movies. He didn’t have one of those long thick mustaches that so many cowboy movie stars seemed to sport, and she for one was glad. It would have hid his smile—the broad smile that made her heart thump. His beige canvas pants, light blue shirt, faded red bandana and dark brown vest were a dusty mess, that was for sure, but he’d said something about taking a “nosedive” to the ground, so maybe that was it. Hopefully, he didn’t always wander around with filthy clothes.