Johanna Lindsey
Heart of Thunder
Contents
Cover
Title Page
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
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Epilogue
Enter the World of Johanna Lindsey
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Praise
Other Books by Johanna Lindsey
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
February 8, 1870, Denver, Colorado
SAMANTHA stopped pacing as she caught sight of herself in the large oval mirror over the fireplace. She was standing across the room, far enough away from the mirror to see almost a full view of herself. Samantha’s eyes glittered. She didn’t see how provocative she looked in the stylish two-piece dark-green-taffeta suit trimmed with black velvet. All she could see was that her hair, which she had spent an hour arranging artfully, had fallen into complete disarray because of her furious pacing. Two of her silken auburn locks hung all the way to her slim waist.
Samantha gritted her teeth and stomped across the large hotel suite she was sharing with her friend, Jeannette Allston. Jeannette was not at home, but even if she had been, Samantha wouldn’t have tried to hide her anger. Usually, she did keep her temper in check around the petite blonde girl, but just then she was too furious. Furious.
She halted her angry stride and stood directly in front of the oval mirror, hands on hips, glaring at herself. Large emerald eyes flashed back at her.
“See what you’ve done now, Samantha Blackstone Kingsley?” she hissed at the mirror. “You’ve gone and let him upset you again. Look at you! Estúpida!” She often cursed in Spanish because she knew it as well as she knew English.
Viciously she poked the loose curls back into place, not really caring anymore how she looked. Her green velvet hat would hide the coiffure anyway. She would put it on just before leaving. If she left. If Adrien ever got there to escort her to the restaurant.
An hour late—an hour! Her stomach growled with hunger, and that increased her fury. Why had she told Jeannette she would wait there for Jeannette’s brother? She should have left with Jeannette. But, no, Samantha wanted the chance to be alone with Adrien. It seemed she was never alone with him.
She loved Adrien, she adored him, and how could she let him know it unless she could get him alone for just a little while? But Adrien was late. He was always late, and this time she was furious about it.
This one time she had had a chance to have Adrien all to herself, but he had spoiled it by being late, and he had put her in a temper because of it. When he came, if he came, she was just mad enough to let Adrien Allston know what she thought of him! The nerve!
Why had she chosen him to fall in love with? Sophisticated Adrien. Handsome—no, beautiful. He was simply beautiful. Not too tall, but so muscular, so virile looking.
He was going to be her husband. Of course, Adrien didn’t know that yet. But Samantha had known it from the moment she met him, two years before. He was the man for her. And Samantha always got what she wanted. Ever since she had come to live with her father ten years before, when she was only nine, she had had everything her way. She was used to getting what she wanted.
And Samantha wanted Adrien. So she would get him, one way or another—if she didn’t alienate him completely today.
She really had to calm down, because she couldn’t afford to vent her anger on Adrien. He wouldn’t expect it at all. She had always managed to be the sweet, gentle lady he thought she was. From the moment Jeannette had confessed that her brother couldn’t tolerate emotional disturbances of any kind, Samantha had never raised her voice in his presence. She was always calm, even demure. What an effort! She who was always so quick to fly into a rage, so temperamental.
Spoiled, her tutor had called her, spoiled and selfish and willful. But he didn’t understand what she had gone through during her first nine years, living with her grandmother in England. So he didn’t know that, once she had tasted freedom, she couldn’t get enough of it. She was determined to forget the rigidity of those first nine years, determined to do whatever she wanted. And if she had to show a little temper at times to get her way, and if she was spoiled, what of it? She got her way. Always.
Maria, the Kingsleys’ housekeeper, who was the closest thing to a mother Samantha had ever had, was more kind than the tutor. Maria called her pequeña zorra—little fox. “You are wily like la zorra, niña,” Maria would scold whenever she saw that determined gleam in Samantha’s eyes. And one day she had added, “You are wise enough to handle your papa, but someday you will meet a man you cannot handle. Then what will you do, niña?”
But Samantha had scoffed and replied confidently, “I will have nothing to do with a man I can’t handle. Why should I? I’m not ever giving up my freedom.”
That had been…how long ago? Nearly three years. Right before she went East to finishing school. But she still felt the same way. And she would be able to handle Adrien, she was sure of it. Sure enough to marry him.
But he didn’t know about her plans. Why, Adrien hardly knew she was alive. It was a wound to her vanity, for if Samantha was anything, she was beautiful. It was her good fortune, yet she took it for granted and had never given it much thought—until recently. Because, for all her effort, for all her endeavoring to improve what the good Lord had given her, Adrien still didn’t notice.
Hers was almost a classical beauty, and she had vivid coloring, hair that gleamed almost crimson in certain light, and eyes like the brightest of emeralds. A fine, slim figure. And remarkable features that demanded more than one look from anyone. But did Adrien look? He seemed to see right through her, to look, yet not to be looking at all. It was maddening.
Samantha’s belly grumbled embarrassingly loudly and shook her out of her reverie. She glared at herself in the mirror once more and then suddenly, in a fit of temper, ripped out the pins she had taken such pains with and let the bright reddish-brown locks fall over her shoulders and back in an abundance of unruly waves and curls.
“That settles that,” she said petulantly, spiting herself and her gnawing hunger. “Now I can’t go even if you do show up, Adrien.”
Too late, she realized she was hurting no one but herself. Adrien wouldn’t care. In his typical emotionless way, he would serenely ignore the possibility that she might be angry because of his tardiness. Then again, he might not show up at all. The lunch hour was long past. Was Jeannette still waiting for the
m in the restaurant with the chatty widow they had met on the bumpy stagecoach ride from Cheyenne to Denver? Mrs. Bane had taken it upon herself to be the girls’ unofficial chaperone. Or had Adrien gone straight to the restaurant because it was late? Had he just forgotten about their luncheon engagement?
“Damn him,” she swore softly. She was alone, and no one would hear the shocking breach of etiquette. “If I didn’t love him, I’d kill him.”
The knock on the door startled her. Her eyes narrowed, then widened in dismay as she remembered what she had done to her hair. Oh, why couldn’t he have come five minutes sooner, before she gave in to her temper?
“Go away, Adrien,” Samantha called reluctantly. “I have decided to forgo lunch today.” Would he be disappointed?
The knock sounded again, and she frowned as she started toward the door. “Didn’t you hear me?”
“Yeah, I heard you, Miss Kingsley, but why don’t you open up anyway?”
Samantha stopped. It wasn’t Adrien. She would recognize that voice anywhere, though. Tom…Tom…She couldn’t remember his last name, but the man had been at the stage depot last week when they arrived. He had taken an instant liking to her—a disagreeable liking at that. The man was downright rude. He was ignorant, as well, for he had followed her around all week, talked to her whenever he could, and would not accept her hints that she was not interested in him.
He was handsome, in a rugged sort of way. A young man, he was prospecting in Denver, trying to strike silver, like so many others. Gold had dwindled in the Pikes Peak region, but silver had only just been discovered the year before.
But Tom held no interest for her. In fact, he’d begun to frighten her, with the intimate way he spoke to her when no one else could hear, and the way his eyes roamed over her, as if he were trying to imagine what lay beneath her clothes and was doing a good job of imagining. But what disturbed her the most, what angered her, was that the man actually believed she was attracted to him despite her having gone out of her way to show him otherwise. The last time she had passed him in the hotel lobby, refusing even to glance his way, he had pulled her aside and warned her to stop playing hard to get! He had said he was running out of patience. She had been so shocked that she hadn’t known what to say when Jeannette asked what was wrong.
And now he was at her door. Why?
He had the audacity to pound then, a loud and insistent pounding. “Come on now, Miss Kingsley, open up the door for me.”
“Get away from my door, do you hear?” she ordered angrily. “I’m not going to open it, so just leave.”
It was quiet for a moment, quiet enough to hear the doorknob turning. Samantha gasped. The nerve! Worse, the door was not locked. It opened slowly, and the tall young man stepped into the room. He grinned, quickly closing the door behind him.
Samantha was speechless—but only for a moment. “Are you crazy?” she demanded, her voice rising on each word. “Get out of my room!”
He just shook his head, amused. “I aim to stay, Missy, least till we’ve had a little talk.”
She threw up her hands. “Lord, you are crazy.” And then she drew herself up stiffly and attempted a calm approach. “Look, Mr…. whatever your—”
He cut her off with a narrowed look and said sharply, “Don’t pretend. You know my name. Tom Peesley.”
Samantha shrugged. She had never heard the name before, but she seemed to remember everything else he had ever said to her. It was because of him, and the way he stalked her, that she wouldn’t leave the hotel alone. He was always in the lobby, always, as though waiting for her.
“I don’t care. Can’t you understand? Why won’t you leave me alone?”
“I hear what you’re sayin’, Miss Kingsley, but I know better. When are you gonna stop pretendin’?”
“Just what is that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean,” he growled. “You like me, but you gotta keep pretendin’.”
Samantha held her tongue. Was he angry? So far he had been a very exasperating man, hardheaded, persistent, but not really threatening. Yet he was huge, tall, and brawny, with enormous arms and shoulders, hard-muscled from working in other men’s mines when he wasn’t looking for his own stake. She remembered him telling her about that, that and the reason he stayed in Denver. He liked the excitement of a large city, and Denver was large, almost Eastern in its prosperity. Unlike most towns that had started with the gold rush, Denver had survived, and the town continued to grow.
“Well, Missy?”
“What?”
“You didn’t answer me.” He ran a large hand through reddish-gold hair in a show of impatience and then pinned her with light brown eyes. “When are you gonna stop pretendin’ so we can get down to some serious courtin’? It’s time for some honest talk ’tween you and me.”
“You and me?” she snapped. “There is no you and me. Why can’t you get that through your head?”
“Stop it, woman!” he shouted. “I warned you this mornin’ that I was runnin’ out of patience. You either start actin’ more friendly, or I ain’t gonna be responsible for my temper.”
Samantha stared, aghast, but held her tongue. His outburst made her wary. He was such a large man. He made her feel much smaller than her five feet four inches. And she could well believe he was capable of violence. What chance would she have of defending herself against him? And what on earth had she ever done to make this man think she wanted to court?
He was glowering at her, waiting for her to answer him. She frowned. How could she get rid of him? Oh, Lord, why didn’t Adrien come? He could stop this.
“Mr. Peesley—Tom—why don’t we discuss this on the way down to the lobby?” Samantha smiled warmly, hoping he would not be suspicious of her sudden change in attitude. “You can escort me to the restaurant where my friend, Miss Allston, is waiting for me.”
But he shook his head stubbornly. “We’re stayin’ right here until we get this settled.”
His obstinacy infuriated her, and she forgot to be wary. “How can we settle anything when you won’t listen?” she asked heatedly. “The plain truth is that I don’t like you. In fact, you have pestered me so much that I’m actually beginning to dislike you intensely. Is that clear enough for you, Mr. Peesley?”
In two long strides he was towering over her. Samantha gasped as he grabbed her shoulders and shook her. Her head flew back, and she found herself staring up into his angry eyes.
“You’re lyin’,” he growled ominously, and shook her again. “I know you’re lyin’. Why?”
Tears stung her eyes. “Please. You’re hurting me.”
He didn’t loosen his hold. “It’s your own damn fault.”
He brought his face close to hers, and she thought he was going to kiss her. But he just looked into her eyes, shining then with tears. He seemed to be willing her to say what he wanted to hear.
Less harshly, he said, “Why can’t you admit you feel the same way I do? I knew you were for me the moment I saw you. I’ve had my women and left ’em. I never wanted to marry any until I saw you. Is that what you’ve been waitin’ to hear, that I want to marry you?”
“I…” She started to deny it, but thought better of her temper—and his. She pushed at him, struggling to get out of his grip, but he didn’t budge. “Let go of me!” she demanded.
“Not until you answer me.”
Samantha wanted to scream, to swear, but ladies didn’t swear. That had been drummed into her during the last few years. Ladies might swear in their minds, or, if they were alone and it was absolutely necessary, they could utter a mild curse. But never, ever in public. It was a pity, because Samantha had a few choice names for this oaf. She knew some pretty shocking words, words she had picked up from her father’s vaqueros on the ranch. They had spoken freely, unaware that the English miss was quickly learning Spanish.
Most of their words had meant nothing at her young age. Once she had asked Maria what a puta was, and Maria had slapped her. Sh
e hadn’t spoken to Maria for a week after that, and she never asked her the meaning of a word again.
Later, she went to an Eastern school, where the girls talked openly and descriptively about sex and men, when an adult was not around. They were quick to answer all her questions and not at all shocked—well, maybe only a little—by Samantha’s vocabulary of words forbidden to ladies.
This man was making it very difficult to remember that she was a lady. She would give anything for a gun, she told herself. But her derringer, which was in her purse on the writing desk, would do no good. With only one bullet, it was suitable for city travel, where a single shot would bring help. No, she needed the gun in her bedroom—her six shooter.
“I’m waitin’, Missy, and I’m gettin’ damn tired of waitin’,” Tom growled.
Samantha took a deep breath to keep from shouting. “You want answers, then you give me one first. Whatever did I do to make you assume I cared for you?”
He frowned. “That’s a fool question.”
“Humor me.”
“What?”
“Just tell me!” Samantha said, exasperated.
“Well…you know. The moment you seen me you was all smiles, battin’ those pretty green eyes at me. You were the most beautiful gal I’d ever seen. I knew right then you were for me.”
Samantha sighed. Lord, she would never smile politely at another man again.
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