Whirlwind Cowboy

by Debra Cowan

  “Good.” He laughed. “I want everyone to know you’re spoken for, even if you don’t accept the position.”

  She wasn’t testing him, but she had to know. They both did.

  “I think I’ll take the job.” Anxious and uncertain about his response, she studied him. “It will only be for two terms. I swear it.”

  “All right.” His gaze was soft on her face.

  Her arms tightened around him. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure I love you.” He thumbed away a tear on her cheek. “Don’t plan to ever stop. No matter what.”

  As she stared into his blue eyes, she knew they would make it this time.

  Epilogue

  The Christmas party at The Fontaine was the fanciest shindig Bram had ever seen. And this promised to be his best Christmas ever. Only one more school term for Deborah. Just four more months.

  Tomorrow he had to drive her back to Abilene for the beginning of the second term. But come spring, she’d be back here. With him. And they would marry. Finally.

  He stood near the front door at the foot of the staircase. Music from Jed Doyle’s fiddle and his brother’s mouth harp swelled inside the high-ceilinged lobby lit by gaslight. Red ribbons adorned the garland that trimmed the entire length of the banister and a giant tree in the far corner.

  Bram grinned as he watched the dancers whirl past. Quentin and Zoe Prescott had danced only twice. They were still mindful of the surgery that had recently given Quentin back the use of his legs.

  Bram searched the crowd for his fiancée. She stood on the opposite side talking to John Tucker, her attention frequently wandering to Bram. Except for this dance, they had partnered on every one.

  The whole town was here. Matt and Annalise Baldwin danced past, then Russ and Lydia. Their pa, J.T., led his new wife, Cora, out onto the floor.

  Ike and Georgia were back to full health, enjoying the evening. Duffy stood across the way, talking to Ef Gerard and his wife, Naomi. Riley and Susannah Holt stood with their daughter and son, all staring in awe at the towering Christmas tree. Bram wanted to sneak Deborah off to a room somewhere, but he was too aware of Millie Jacobson and what she might spew.

  Jake walked up beside him, grinning as if he had just bested Bram in a horse race. Over the noise of voices and music, his brother said, “Well, I was right.”

  Bram laughed, surprised at how excited he was.

  “Emma’s expecting?”

  “Yes.” Jake looked truly happy. There were none of the shadows in his eyes that Bram had worried might be there.

  He laughed, congratulating the other man. Jake had lost his first wife and their child several years ago. Bram had never known if his brother would want another child, even after he had fallen for Emma.

  “Emma’s glad, too?”

  Jake nodded. “And tired. She’s about to give out, so we’re going to stay the night here.”

  Bram said good-night as Jake went to collect his wife.

  Deborah caught Bram’s eye and she smiled, that slow sweet smile that always made his blood hum. Impatient to get his hands on her, he motioned her over.

  His chest went tight as she started toward him. Her ice-blue silk gown bared her shoulders and hinted at the swells of her breasts. Her upswept hair drew attention to her elegant neck. The dress was stunning on her, but all Bram cared about was getting her out of it.

  Davis Lee and Josie paused on their way out the door. Their daughter slept peacefully in the sheriff’s arms. “Merry Christmas, Bram.”

  “Merry Christmas.”

  Jericho and Catherine were next to leave. Evie was wide-awake, looking at everything from her perch against Jericho’s shoulder as he said good-night to them.

  Deborah finally reached him, lacing her fingers through his. “I have one more Christmas gift for you.”

  She’d already given him new work gloves and a shirt, made by Michal. His gift to her had been a simple diamond ring to wear on her right hand until they married.

  He leaned down so she could hear him. “If you say we can be alone, that will be the best Christmas gift I’ve ever gotten.”

  Eyes laughing, she took his hand and led him past the front door toward the less populated end of the lobby.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Russ said we could use his office.”

  Bram put both his hands on her waist and pushed her along. “That means we can be alone, at least for a bit.”

  She laughed, pulling him into the office. The soft gaslight polished her skin to the sheen of pearls.

  He glanced around. “Darn, I wish I hadn’t helped Russ move that bed out of here after he and Lydia married.”

  She swatted at him. The shaving stand remained, still across the room. A large desk with a leather chair behind it sat to their right, faced by a pair of chairs in the same dark brown leather.

  Bram backed up to check the lobby. Once he was sure no one was paying them any mind, he closed the door. He grinned and curled a hand around Deborah’s waist, tugging her to him.

  Her eyes sparkled. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Spending some time with my intended.” He covered her mouth with his, backing her against the desk. When he lifted his head, he kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her temple.

  She sighed, her hands curling into the fabric of his shirt to bring him closer even as she said, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “We should.” He nuzzled her neck and she tilted her head so he could kiss his way down her throat. “I’m going to need more to hold me the next four months than those little pecks you’ve been giving me all night.”

  “I need to tell you something.”

  Dragging his mouth over her chest to the swell of her breasts, he inhaled the sweet heady fragrance of woman. “Make it fast.”

  “You don’t have to drive me back to Abilene tomorrow. They’ve hired another teacher.”

  “What?” He snapped straight up, his hands tightening on her waist. “They can’t do that. You signed a contract.”

  “They’ve hired John Tucker to replace me.”

  “Tucker!” Bram thought his head might explode. “He knows how badly you want that job, what you went through to get it.”

  “He’ll teach there and I’ll teach here.”

  “What is going on over there? Is it Millie? Has she been up to her nonsense— What did you say?” Bram stopped, finally comprehending what she had said.

  Deborah’s eyes sparkled as she rolled up on tiptoe and kissed him. “I said I’ll be teaching here. The school board in Abilene agreed to accept John’s contract and Whirlwind agreed to accept mine.”

  He searched her eyes, looking for any sign of doubt, any hint of reluctance. “Are you sure? Did you do this for me? You don’t need to.”

  She clasped his face in her hands. “I did it for me, for us. Because I love you.”

  “Here, there or anywhere,” they finished together.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt of My Fair Concubine by Jeannie Lin!

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  Chapter One

  China, Tang Dynasty—AD 824

  Fei Long faced the last room at the end of the narrow hallway, unsheathed his sword and kicked the door open.

  A feminine shriek pierced the air along with the frantic shuffle of feet as he strode through the entrance. The boarding room was a small one set above the teahouse below. The inhabitants, a man and a woman, flung themselves into the corner with nowhere to hide.

  His gaze fixed on to the woman first. His sister’s hair was unbound and her eyes wide with fear. Pearl had their mother’s thoughtful features: the high forehead and the sharp angles that had softened since the last time he’d seen her. She was dressed only in pale linen underclothes. The man who was with her had enough daring to step in between them.

  Fei Long glanced once to the single wooden bed against one wall, the covers strewn wide, and his vision blurred with anger. He gripped the sword until his knuckles nearly cracked with the strain.

  ‘Bastard,’ he gritted out through his teeth.

  He knew this man he’d come to kill. This boy. At least Han had been a boy when Fei Long had last seen him. And Pearl had been a mere girl. Now she was a grown woman, staring at him as if he were a demon risen from the underworld.

  ‘Fei Long.’ Pearl’s fingers curled tight over her lover’s arm. ‘So now you’ve come.’

  The soft bitterness of the accusation cut through him. Pearl had begged for him to come back a year earlier when her marriage had first been arranged, but he’d dismissed her letters as childish ramblings. If he had listened, she might not have thrown herself into ruin and their father’s spirit wouldn’t be floating restlessly between heaven and earth.

  The young man stretched himself before Fei Long, though he failed to match him in stature. ‘Not in front of Pearl,’ he implored.

  Though he trembled, the boy fought to keep his voice steady as Pearl clung to him, hiding just behind his shoulder. At least the dog managed to summon some courage. If Han had cowered or begged for his life, he would already be dead.

  ‘Step away, Little Sister,’ Fei Long commanded.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Pearl.’

  ‘I’d rather die here with Han than go to Khitan.’

  She’d changed in the five years since he’d seen her. The Pearl he remembered had been obedient, sweet-tempered and pleasant in all things. Fei Long had ridden hard from Changan to this remote province, expecting to find the son of a dog who had stolen her away.

  Now that she stood before him with quiet defiance, he knew she hadn’t been seduced or deceived. Zheng Xie Han’s family lived within their ward in the capital city. Though lower in standing, the Zheng family had always maintained a good reputation. His sister had turned to Han because she’d had no one else.

  The tension drained out of Fei Long, stealing away his rage. His throat pulled tight as he forced out the next word. ‘Go.’

  The two of them stared at him in disbelief.

  ‘Go,’ he repeated roughly.

  Fei Long lowered his weapon and turned away while they dressed themselves. Shoving his sword back into its sheath, he faced the bare wall. He could hear the shuffle of movement behind him as the couple gathered their belongings.

  The bleakness of the last few weeks settled into his gut like a stone. When he’d left for his assignment to the north-western garrison, Fei Long had believed his home to be a harmonious place. Upon news of his father’s sudden death, he’d returned to find his sister gone and debt collectors circling the front gates like vultures.

  His father’s presence had been an elaborate screen, hiding the decay beneath the lacquered surface of their lives. Fei Long now saw Pearl’s arranged marriage for what it was: a desperate ploy to restore the family honour—or rather to prolong the illusion of respectability.

  When he turned again, Pearl and Han stood watching him tentatively. Each of them had a pack slung around their shoulder. Off to face the horizon with all their belongings stowed in two small bags.

  Han bowed once. ‘Elder Brother.’

  The young man risked Fei Long’s temper to deliver the honorific. Fei Long couldn’t bring himself to return the bow. Pearl met his eyes as they started for the door. The heaviness of her expression struck him like a physical blow.

  This was the last time he would ever see his sister.

  Fei Long took his money pouch from his belt and held it out. The handful of coppers rattled inside. ‘Here.’

  Han didn’t look at him as he took it.

  ‘Thank you, Fei Long,’ Pearl whispered.

  They didn’t embrace. The two of them had been apart for so long that they wouldn’t have known how. Fei Long watched their backs as they retreated down the stairway; gone like everything else he had once known to be true.

  * * *

  ‘Jilted lover,’ the cook guessed.

  Yan Ling’s eyes grew wide. The stranger had stormed up the staircase only moments earlier with a sword strapped to his side and the glint of murder in his deep-set eyes. She’d leapt out of the path of his charge, just managing to hold on to her pot of tea without spilling a drop.

  She stood at the edge of the main room, head cocked to listen for sounds of mayhem upstairs. Her heart raced as she gripped the handle of the teapot. Such violence and scandal were unthinkable in their quiet town.

  ‘Should someone stop him?’ she asked.

  ‘What? You saw how he was dressed.’ Old Cook had his feet in the kitchen, but the rest of him strained as far into the dining area as possible. ‘A man like that can do whatever he wants.’

  ‘Get back to work,’ the proprietor barked.

  Yan Ling jumped and the cook ducked his head back through the beaded curtain that separated the main room from the kitchen.

  ‘Worthless girl,’ her master muttered as she rushed the pot of tea to its intended table. She pressed her fingers against the ceramic to check the temperature of the pot before setting it down. Cooler than ideal, but still hot enough to not get any complaints.

  It was late in the morning and the patrons had thinned, but that was never an excuse to move any slower. Lately it seemed nothing she did was fast or efficient enough. She’d never known any life but the teahouse. The story was she’d been abandoned as an infant in the room upstairs, likely the very same one where a new scandal was now unfolding.

  She paused to stack empty cups onto a tray. At that moment, the young woman and her companion hurried down the stairs, leaving not even a farewell behind as they swept out the door. Yan Ling expected the sword-carrying nobleman to come chasing after them, but only an uncomfortable silence followed their exit.

  The patrons began to whisper among themselves. Her master should be happy. This incident would have the townsfolk lingering over more than a few extra teapots worth of gossip.

  When he finally emerged, the gentleman appeared surprisingly calm. He descended the stairs with a steady, powerful stride and his expression was as still as the surface of the moon. Instead of leaving, he marched directly over to the proprietor and flashed an official-looking jade seal. At that point, even the proprietor’s wife flocked over to welcome him. They ushered him to an empty table at the centre of the room, nearly breaking their backs bowing with such enthusiasm. Her master shot Yan Ling a sharp look, which she understood immediately. Bring tea and fast. She rushed to the kitchen.

  ‘Is there a lot of blood?’ the kitchen boy asked as she pushed through the curtain.

  ‘Shush.�
��

  She poured hot water over a fresh pot of leaves and flew back out with her hand around the bamboo handle. Back out in the main room, the stranger didn’t even spare her a glance as she poured the first cup for him.

  His robe was of fine woven silk and richly dyed in a dark blue. He wore his thick hair long, the front of it pulled back into a knot in the style of aristocracy. She was stricken by the strength of his features: the hard line of his cheekbones and the broad shape of his face, which narrowed slightly at the chin.

  With a cursory bow, she set the pot down and moved away. There were other tables to tend to and most patrons wanted to drink their tea in peace. Yet her attention kept on wandering back to the stranger.

  Hours later, he was still seated in the same spot. He wasn’t even drinking his tea any more. Instead, he had taken to staring into his cup.

  Government official, they guessed in the back room, though he travelled without any escort and had a sullen expression that continued to sink lower as the day slipped by. Her guess was that he needed something stronger than tea.

  By the end of the day, Yan Ling moved from table to empty table in a restless circle, wash rag in hand, as she wiped away at wooden surfaces rubbed bare from use. The teahouse crowd had long returned to their homes. Only the nobleman remained, still hoarding his cold tea.

  As long as he stayed there, she was supposed to attend to him. Her master had made that very clear while he sat comfortably in the corner, tallying up the cash. The wooden beads of his abacus clicked together, signalling that the day should be done.

  Her feet ached and no matter how much she wriggled her toes in her slippers, the feeling wouldn’t quite return to them. The clang from the kitchen meant that the cook and his boy were cleaning their pots. A mountain of cups and bowls and little plates would be waiting for her.

  Cook tried to get her to pry information from the man, but of course she wouldn’t do such a thing. He’d suffered enough public scrutiny that day to deserve some privacy. She guessed him to be twenty-five years, with a slight crease between his eyes that she imagined came more from deep contemplation than age.