Wildflower

by Lynda Bailey

  Now turn the page for an excerpt from Jennifer Jakes’ erotic western, Rafe’s Redemption, available now at Amazon.com.

  Rafe’s Redemption

  by

  Jennifer Jakes

  Chapter One

  November 1866—Western Colorado Territory

  When they got back to St. Louis, she was going to kill him.

  “Maggie!” Michael’s footsteps thundered down the hall.

  Her stomach churned at the urgency in her cousin’s voice. She fingered the necklace hidden in the pleats of her thick velvet skirt. She wouldn’t give him the locket, even though the heavy gold might be all that stood between her and starvation. At the rate Michael gambled, there’d be nothing left of their shared inheritance.

  She perched on the edge of the moth-eaten mattress, then stood, then sat and wrung her hands. All she’d wanted was to capture the western landscape with her sketches. How had the journey to California gone so wrong?

  “Maggie!”

  That’s how. Michael’s drinking and gambling had plagued the entire trip, despite his promises to change.

  “Goddamn it! A flush. A fucking flush.” One heated curse after another echoed down the corridor.

  Her pulse hammered in her ears as she braced for his anger.

  He had not changed. The devil himself would make a better traveling companion.

  Michael flung open her hotel door, slamming it against the rough plank wall. Drunken voices floated up from the bar room, cries for whiskey and women, crude, coarse words that flooded her face with heat.

  Never had she imagined such an uncivilized place existed.

  He stomped toward her, his once impeccable shirt wrinkled and stained. “Get up,” he snarled. “Now!”

  Maggie clambered to her feet and faced him.

  How many steps would it take to reach the door? “If you’ve come for more valuables, there’s nothing left,” she lied, praying her voice didn’t give her away.

  He gave a disgusted snort, then hung his blond head as if resigned to defeat. Despite her earlier thoughts about him, pity pricked her conscience and she stepped forward.

  “Wrong,” he sneered, shoving her against the wall. “I have one more piece of property to sell.” The reek of whiskey assaulted her nose with each punctuated word. “And it’s going to get me out of this hell hole in one piece.” His gaze roamed her body. Then he gave a satisfied smile. “Aren’t you?”

  Her heart clattered to a stop. A wave of nausea rose in her throat. Dear God, he intended to pay his debt with her. She threw her body into his, heaving with all her strength. But he didn’t budge.

  “Don’t be so eager, cousin,” he taunted. “We are going downstairs. There are some men who want to see you.”

  “No!” Blood pounded in her ears. “Michael, don’t do this.” She planted her heels and twisted, trying to get away. Hard fingers bit into her flesh as he dragged her through the door, toward the narrow stairs. She clawed at his hand, pierced the skin with her nails, but he tightened his grip until cold numbness throbbed through her arm.

  The necklace pressed hard against her waist as he forced her down the hall. There was no other way. She’d have to give him the locket.

  “Michael, wait! I have—”

  A vicious slap rattled her teeth, made the torn, dirty wallpaper dance before her eyes.

  “Shut up.” His lips twisted into a cold grin. “It’s just a good thing I hadn’t killed you yet.”

  Kill? Kill? The word crashed through her mind like a wave. What kind of monster had Michael become? Fear slithered down her spine. The deadly kind. He would kill her, then take the necklace.

  She’d have to think of another way to escape.

  “You might be stupid,” he continued as he pulled her down the stairs, “but at least you’re pretty. These backwoods simpletons only have the old whores who work here. The men will tear each other apart and pay top dollar to have you.”

  The statement buckled her legs. Splinters pricked her cotton stockings as he dragged her across the stained saloon floor. “Slow down,” she begged. “Let me walk.” And think.

  He stopped and twisted her arm behind her back, hard enough she climbed to her feet before the bones snapped.

  “Why? Why are you doing this?” And why had she ever felt sorry for him?

  “The money.” He shrugged. “Why else?”

  “I’ll give you my share!” Poverty, dear God anything, was better than this.

  “Generous, but too late, my dear.” He snatched a whiskey bottle from an empty table and gulped the amber remains. “But I’ll be sure and enjoy your half. I might even think of you while I spend it.” His smile froze. “Now, get outside.”

  Outside. Maybe she could break free and run, scream for help. There had to be someone in this town who would stop Michael.

  She struggled for a calming breath, but gagged at the stench of unwashed bodies that hung in the smoky air. Two painted women sauntered from a back room, their expressions bored despite Michael’s abusive stance.

  “Help me,” Maggie pleaded. “Get the sheriff.”

  The women’s raspy chuckles filled the room.

  “Ain’t no law ‘round here, honey,” one drawled. “The men do what they want.”

  No sheriff? What chance did she have without help?

  Michael shoved her outside where light snow fell on the small crowd waiting in front of the saloon. Her boots slipped on the frozen boardwalk, but he jerked her upright. A hush fell over the men when she faced them. Her heart skittered to a stop as she met their lustful stares.

  “See, gentlemen, just as I promised,” Michael shouted, his voice belying panic. “There’s no need for a lynch rope. This woman is worth more than enough to pay off my debt.”

  Whoops and yells filled the air as he pushed her onto a crate in front of the unpainted building.

  Her limbs shook with fear, teetering the box beneath her feet. “Michael, don’t—”

  He yanked her arm behind her back. “I will break it. It makes no difference,” he hissed. “Your arm is not what they’re interested in.”

  She swallowed hard and studied the sight before her—her future. The men stood like cattle, ankle-deep in mud and mire. Long unkempt whiskers covered dirty faces, whiskers with pieces of their last meal still hanging in the hair. For one fleeting second, death seemed preferable to belonging to one of these filthy creatures.

  She shuddered and looked from one end of the short street to the other. Where could she hide? Even if she could get away, it wouldn’t take the men long to search three buildings and a corral. There was no place to run, no place they couldn’t find her.

  “Now, Zeke, how much is my total?” Michael asked the saloon proprietor as if settling a supper bill.

  Zeke looked up from the paper he’d been figuring on. “You still owe three hundred seventyfive.”

  “I already gave you all her jewelry and gowns!”

  “And you still owe three seventy-five,” the big man growled as he reached for his gun.

  Michael’s jaw twitched as he turned to the group and gave a tense smile. “Well, she’s worth at least that much, gentlemen.”

  ****

  Rafe peered out the window of the mercantile to a crowd gathering outside the saloon. Trouble. Cougar Creek overflowed with it. That’s why he settled here, where he belonged. Or at least where his stepfather thought he belonged.

  He turned as Tom, the owner, came back inside from counting Rafe’s pelts.

  “Will there be enough to buy my supplies?”

  “Aw, sure. You had a good summer.” Tom moved to the stove and lifted a boiling pot.

  “What’s going on over there?” Rafe pointed out the window, then accepted a cup of coffee.

  “Stage busted a wheel yesterday. Come here to have the smithy look at it.” Tom wrapped his wrinkled hands around his cup and nodded to the street. “Some rich feller and his cousin had to put up at Zeke’s. Cecil told me the fool lost everythi
n’—and then some—playin’ cards.”

  Rafe turned to look outside again, watching the group collect a length of rope. “They’re going to hang him?” A cold ache filled his gut. He’d never understand why some men took pleasure in killing.

  “Reckon so.” Tom sipped his coffee. “I’ll go git your pelts now and start fillin’ your order.”

  “No, let me get them for you.” Rafe set the dented tin cup on the rough wooden counter. “You can start gathering my supplies. A storm’s coming. I don’t want to spend the winter down here.”

  He strode outside where a biting wind lifted his hat from his head. He pulled down the black felt and turned up his collar. Damn this blizzard. Those men were fools, standing in the cold when they should be headed home.

  He reached for the first armload of pelts, but the roar of the crowd made him turn. No one swung from the hanging tree. What had the men so riled?

  “One twenty-five!” a voice echoed down the muddy street.

  An auction? Whatever was being sold must be a rarity in these parts to bring that kind of money. Not that he cared. He didn’t need anything, rare or not.

  Still…he slopped through the mud for a peek at the commotion. He stopped beside Cecil Two-Feathers as someone yelled one hundred fifty.

  “What’s going on?”

  Cecil shook his head. “Nothing good.” He nodded to the front of the crowd.

  Rafe shouldered his way between two men, then moved toward the boardwalk. His gut clenched. Tom had said cousins; he hadn’t mentioned one was a young woman. A beautiful young woman. Lust shivered through him, hardened him.

  Damn it, he couldn’t get involved. He’d do her more harm than good.

  But seeing a woman being used like this pricked his conscience. Could he do nothing?

  She stood on a broken crate, wide-eyed and trembling, a queen surrounded by swine. Her fine tailored traveling suit, her regal stature, both out of place in this ramshackle town.

  A man held her in a cruel grasp as he encouraged the crowd.

  “Come now, speak up. She’s worth more than that. Never been bedded.”

  Fear for her ran thick through Rafe’s veins as memories of another time, another place, another woman being raped and degraded flashed in his mind. His gaze flicked back to the cousins. He shouldn’t interfere. Look what happened last time.

  But like last time, he couldn’t walk away.

  “I’ll give two hundred!” old man Dobson offered, dribbling a stream of tobacco down his chin.

  The woman’s blue-eyed gaze ran wild over the crowd. She leaned back on the crate, tugging on her arm in an attempt to break free. The man delivered a back-handed slap that stilled her actions and tangled long ebony waves down her back.

  Goddamn him. Rafe placed his hand on the butt of his pistol.

  “How about a look at what you’ll get?” the man suggested.

  He grabbed the top of her bodice and tore until the buttons popped. Delicate, smooth skin and pure white undergarments gleamed bright in the surrounding sea of drab browns and grays. She clutched the ruined dress and tried to cover herself, but the cousin twisted her arm until she cried out in pain, and her lush breasts spilled over the top of her corset, her pink nipples puckered by the cold.

  Her eyes widened, and a scarlet blush spread over her cheeks, but she drew back and spat into the man’s face.

  “Well, now, gentleman, you can see she’s a fiery one.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his face. “She won’t disappoint you in bed. What’s the bid?”

  “Two hundred fifty!”

  “Three hundred!”

  The blond man shook his head. “I’m afraid it takes more than that to have her.”

  A putrid combination of molded pelts and rotten eggs invaded the air. Rafe knew who stood behind him before the man spoke.

  “Three seventy-five. Now give her to me.”

  Skinner Joe’s voice confirmed the smell.

  If Joe took her, she’d be dead before spring. The perverse man took pleasure in hurting women, and just the thought of his hands on this lady made chills slither down Rafe’s spine. His hand tightened on the gun. Damn, shooting Joe would be less trouble than taking responsibility for a woman.

  “Ain’t nobody gonna pay more for her,” Joe argued.

  Damn, damn, damn. Rafe squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath. “Five hundred,” he shouted before he changed his mind.

  ###

  BUY LINK:

  http://www.amazon.com/Rafes-Redemption-Jennifer-Jakes/dp/1601549369

  Now for an excerpt from my sexy contemporary romance, Battle-Born Love, also available on Amazon.com.

  Battle-Born Love

  Lynda Bailey

  Chapter One

  Rory Dawson charged through the door ready for a fight.

  Too bad the only person in the tiny office was Eldon James, the fifty-year-old Paiute Indian who was as much a part of Dawson Repo as the battered tow truck parked outside.

  Eldon looked up from his scarred desk, concern on his face. “I take it things didn’t go well in court.”

  Rory stomped to the other desk as best she could in the low heeled sandals that pinched her feet to a smaller size. She plopped into the swivel chair with the torn vinyl and pulled off the torturous foot garb. Shedding her panty hose and denim skirt also held great appeal, but she figured waltzing around in her skivvies at eleven in the morning, even with the late March temperature nearing an unseasonable ninety degrees, probably wasn’t a good idea. She leaned her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes.

  God, she hated her life.

  Seconds later, Eldon’s chair creaked then her desk moaned as he perched on the edge. “Wanna talk?”

  No, she didn’t want to talk. Tears burned her eyes, but she battled them away. Breaking down wouldn’t help anything. The silence stretched out long and thin.

  “How much to bail him out this time?”

  God bless Eldon and his ability to cut to the meat of a matter. She forced herself to meet his gaze. “Ten grand.”

  He shook his head with a heavy sigh. “Guess that Reno judge isn’t gonna give him any leeway this time, huh?”

  “Not in the least.” She rubbed at the ache spanning her forehead. “With all his priors, we should be grateful his case didn’t get booted up to Federal Court.”

  “How’d he look?”

  “Pale. Scared. Old.”

  “Where you gonna get that kind of money?”

  Biting her lower lip to stop any trembling, Rory lifted her shoulders in a short, helpless shrug.

  “I’ve got a couple thousand you can borrow.”

  She snapped upright in her chair. “I’m not borrowing money from you. You and Ellie just bought that house. Your money needs to go to curtains or landscaping or whatever else Ellie thinks of. Besides, I sign your paycheck. If you’ve got that much money, I must be paying you too much.”

  Eldon grinned, his teeth a brilliant white against his dark skin. “We both know that ain’t the case.”

  She forced her mouth into a pitiful semblance of a grin. “Then no more talk about borrowing money. He’s my old man. I’ll take care of business. Somehow.” She straightened her shoulders, shoving her helplessness aside. “Is the ‘Vette outside the one we got the repo order on yesterday?”

  “Yep. Parked pretty as you please at the mall.”

  “Keys?”

  Eldon shook his head and headed for the back door. “Maybe I can jimmy the lock.”

  “No doubt it’s an electronic system.”

  “I’ll try anyway.” He paused in the doorway to look at her. “You should go home, boss. You look beat.”

  Left alone, Rory lost the battle to keep her head up. Fatigue crumbled her forward until her desk became a pillow.

  She looked beat because she was beat. She wished she’d been smart enough to remember a change of clothes before going to court. A worn pair of jeans, an old T-shirt and ratty ten
nis shoes would make her feel better, physically at least.

  In a burst of determination, she sat up and reached for her Rolodex. Maybe she could borrow Pop’s bail money. Her heart wailed at each blank card she turned.

  Ten thousand dollars!

  Where in the world would she get that kind of money?

  Jail time might do him good, she thought bitterly. Prove to him that his actions had consequences. She barked a laugh. The hollow sound echoed off the bare walls. Right. Consequences. For her.

  Rory pressed the heels of her hands to her temples. The headache she’d picked up after her father had gotten arrested three days ago threatened to leak out her ears.

  She couldn’t leave Pop in jail. She’d taken care of him ever since turning thirteen, when her mom split. She couldn’t stop now. No matter what, he was family.

  The only family she had left.

  She stood, hoping Eldon had aspirin in his desk, when the door burst open.

  And into her office strode a commanding masculine presence.

  He wore authority better than his charcoal gray, tailored suit. Tattered jeans and a tank top would be a better fit with his bronze complexion and sun-streaked brown hair which brushes the top of his suit collar.

  Recognizing the controlled look of indignation, the tight-fisted stance, she pulled back her shoulders. No longer a distraught daughter, she was now a businesswoman.

  She dealt daily with people enraged that their property had been repossessed, through no fault of their own, of course. Pricey suit or not, she knew exactly who she was dealing with. Still, when his acorn brown eyes honed in on her, she was glad she wore her best, if only, skirt.

  “Who’s in charge here?”

  His demanding tone failed to intimidate her. But a hot shiver of anticipation did skate down her spine at his silky baritone voice. She curved her lips into a smile. “How can I help you?”

  “You can help,” he enunciated each syllable as though she were a child, “by telling me where your boss is.”

  Her smile vanished. What a patronizing, chauvinistic jerk. Before she could set this guy straight, Eldon came through the back door and the stranger shifted his attention to him.