by Sandra Jones
Beckoning him near with the curl of her index finger, she opened the top hook of her corset, exposing more of her breasts. She tilted her head back, allowing her loose hair to slide off her shoulders, just the way he preferred.
Kit slid out of his coat and slung it on the bed behind her, never taking his eyes from her. “Sweetheart, you look—” he wet his lips and lifted his gaze to hers, “—like you’ve been waiting for me.”
She smiled, and he sank onto the bed beside her. Taking his hand in hers, she said, “I certainly have and for far too long. Now how are you gonna make it up to me?”
“Cora,” he murmured, stroking her hand between both of his. His gaze darted from hers. “I have to tell you something unpleasant.” A line appeared between his eyes.
She’d not seen this much concern in his expression since she’d been in jail. This certainly wasn’t the way a man should begin his profession of love—if he’d even entertained the idea. “What’s wrong?”
“I…don’t even know where to begin.” His breathing had become shallow, and the muscle in his jaw worked. “There’s been an appalling mistake. I made a mistake.”
He’d told her before of his sense of worthlessness, how he’d always felt useless for anything but being a gunslinger or a sponging idler.
Suddenly, worry for him replaced her own sense of self-preservation. She sat up and reached out to him, touched his arm soothingly. “I’m sure it’s not so bad. What happened? Is it the ranch? The cattle are here?”
Each of her questions brought a shake of his head. “No. Something I did the first week I stayed at the Willows. I was being a rash fool.” His gaze flicked up to hers briefly. “You had me so rattled that I started thinking about things, what my life had been, what it ought to be…”
She eased back to study his eyes. If this was his declaration of love, it was starting from a very auspicious beginning…unless it was a declaration of something else, perhaps the opposite.
Her heart began to ache. “Are you telling me you made a mistake being with me, Kit?”
He frowned. “No. Of course not.” He reached for her cheek and caressed her. “Oh, Christ, I didn’t mean you. Or us. That we’re a mistake.” He shoved his fingers through his hair, seemingly torn apart.
She thought back. Whatever he was having such difficulty saying had begun the week he’d arrived in Fort McNamara. Had it been when he’d accepted the position of sheriff? “Did you break a law? Is it one of the men you arrested? What, Kit?”
He put his hand behind her neck and pulled her gently forward until his lips touched hers. His kiss was slow and hard, bittersweet yet achingly tender. When he broke the kiss, his eyes were the color of a rainy day.
“I ordered a bride,” he mumbled.
She eased back a fraction to read his expression. Was this another of his jokes? “What do you mean?”
He wasn’t smirking this time. Instead, he nodded, hanging his head as if deeply remorseful. “One of your ladies must’ve found my letter and mailed the request to my lawyer. Hastings had her sign a contract and everything.”
“You’re married?” She gasped. A chill flashed across her skin. “Of all people, Kit, tell me you aren’t married.”
“No. Not yet. I mean—” he grasped her shoulders as if fearing she would flee, which she might, “—I’m not going to marry the lady. I never intended for her to come here.”
“She’s here?” Oh, this was getting more dreadful by the second. She stood and went to the wardrobe to look for some clothes to put on. What she really needed was time to collect her emotions. Tears pricked her eyes. Kit would never be hers. Now they couldn’t even be lovers. How could she make love to him when he belonged to another woman?
She found a shirt and explained over her shoulder as she dressed, “I know my employees take married men all the time. That’s how we’re able to keep our doors open. But I don’t have to. And I’m not gonna start now.”
She pulled her skirt on and turned around to find Kit standing behind her. He held his coat in his hands and was rummaging in its pockets.
“I’m gonna pay for her to go back home, Cora. I don’t want a mail-order bride. I was stupid to think any woman would do.” He stopped digging and tossed the coat aside. “Uncle Bart always said if I found the right woman, I should marry the gal and never let her go. Now I know he knew exactly what he was talking about.” His mouth quirked up at the corner in the way she found so adorable.
She shook her head as her eyes swam in tears. “But she’s here for you. You asked for her.”
He held out his hand between them and opened his palm, showing her a silver ring. “I was gonna ask you. That’s what I’m doing right now…in my own inept way.”
Oh, gracious. She picked up the ring with trembling fingers and examined it. The piece was slightly heavy with a single perfect rose standing in relief on the top. A new tear formed in her eye, and she wiped it away.
“I thought you liked roses. Asa made it,” he spoke in a quiet, hesitant voice.
“I love them. It’s stunning.”
Perhaps the most beautiful piece of jewelry she’d ever seen. She curled her fingers tightly around it, basking in the sentimentality of the gift and his thoughtfulness. But a ring wasn’t what she’d been waiting for.
She put the ring back in his palm. “I can’t accept it. It should be hers.”
“Cora, no.” His voice wobbled.
She moved past him, hurrying for the door, needing to be away from him before she changed her mind. “Give it to her. Make the most of this. She chose to come here.”
He caught her hand, keeping her from heading downstairs. She pulled against him, but he drew her clenched fist to his mouth and kissed the back of her hand. “Lady, you can’t make me marry anyone else. You’re the only one for me.”
Her stomach dipped as he turned her hand over and held the ring out to her again. “Let me handle the mess I made, but first hear me out. I don’t want to marry anyone but you. Would you…mind being my wife?”
She swallowed a bubble of laughter at the absurdity of that question. “Of course I wouldn’t mind, but—” she wiped at the tear on her cheek with the sleeve of her blouse, “—why do you want me? You could have someone less…”
“Troublesome? Sure I could.” He brightened, not quite smiling. “But trouble makes life more interesting. Besides, I don’t think Mrs. Tambor would like this ring much.”
She frowned, nonplussed. “Why? It’s perfect.”
Seemingly undeterred by her objections, he slid the ring on her finger, causing a riot of butterflies within her.
“Just push the button.” He motioned at the ring and waited, rocking back and forth on his boot heels.
On closer examination of the ring, she saw a tiny indentation on the side. She pressed her thumbnail against it, and the face swung open, revealing a smooth, shiny surface. “A mirror?” She looked again and noticed behind the rose face was an engraving:
To Cora, with my love always, Christopher.
The air left her lungs as she read the words over and over. The most beautiful words in the world, but they would be so much better said aloud. She glanced up sharply and found him watching her, his expression tense.
“The writing’s very tiny. Do you think you could read it to me?” she asked sweetly. When he stood there looking tongue-tied, she stepped closer, lifting the ring under his nose as she slid an arm around his waist. “Please?”
A line of concentration appeared on his forehead, making her long to kiss it away and ease his mind, but no. This time he needed to seal the deal.
His lips moved but no sound came out. Then, with a frustrated breath, he closed the ring’s cover and wrapped his arms around her waist, bringing her close against him. He looked directly into her eyes. “It says I love you, and I do.”
She grinned and slid her
other arm around him. “Okay, Sheriff. I guess you’ve got yourself a bride.”
He smiled and kissed her, pulling her tightly against his form, a kiss so stirring it left her winded. Giving her more and more kisses, he lifted her off the ground until they both burst into relieved giggles and botched kisses.
When at last they sobered and pulled apart, she looked up at him and frowned. “So what will you do about your mail-order bride?”
He winced. “May I introduce you? Perhaps we can figure out a suitable arrangement for her in town.”
She felt nothing but sympathy for the woman’s predicament. And though Kit was responsible, she didn’t think he should suffer so much for the error. It wasn’t as if he’d actually mailed the letter himself or knew he was going to fall in love with another woman. She nodded. “Certainly.”
By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, the hushed voices they’d heard from above became recognizable. Ben and the woman sat on the sofa, knees almost touching as he shared a story with her about a contrary cow. The lady threw back her head in laughter and gave Ben a playful pat on the knee.
The couple was too absorbed in each other to notice they were being watched.
Cora looked at Kit questioningly.
He shrugged. “Well, she did say she wanted to live on a farm—”
About the Author
Sandra Jones is the author of sensual historical romances. A former bookseller and librarian, she’s always had her nose in a book.
When not researching or writing her next novel, she enjoys being with family, reading, cooking for her husband, and watching British TV. At home in the South, her house overlooks a river and a farm, where most days you can find her working to the sounds of wildlife and cattle.
Sandra loves to hear from her readers. Visit her website at www.SandraJonesRomance.com.
Look for these titles by Sandra Jones
Now Available:
The River Rogues
Her Wicked Captain
His Captive Princess
Don’t miss the other title in Sandra Jones’s The River Rogues series!
She played right into his hands.
The River Rogues, Book 1
Possessing uncanny people-reading skills like her mama, Philadelphia “Dell” Samuels has spent thirteen years in her aunt’s rustic Ozarks home, telling fortunes over playing cards and trying to pass as white. But the treacherous Mississippi River childhood her mama dragged her away from finally catches up to her on a steamboat captained by her old friend Rory Campbell.
Known to his crew as the Devil’s Henchman, Rory is a gambler in need of a miracle. Following the cold trail of his boss’s wife and bastard daughter, Dell, Rory has only one goal in mind: saving his crew from the boss’s cruelty by ruining him. The only one who can defeat the Monster of the Mississippi is the man trained to take his place. Rory’s convinced he can lure his boss into a high-stakes game against a rival, and with Dell’s people-reading skills, the monster will lose everything.
Under Rory’s tutelage and protection, Dell agrees to the tortured captain’s plan. Passion and peril quickly bring them together as lovers. But when Rory’s plan goes awry, the lives of the innocent depend on Dell’s ability to read the situation correctly—and hopefully save them all.
Warning: There’s not enough moonshine on the Mississippi to keep this fortuneteller from saving The Devil’s Henchman, a high-stakes gambler—and her childhood friend—from his boss’s cruel attentions. Touches upon issues of child abuse, revenge, and redemption.
Don’t miss this other title by Sandra Jones
Earned respect is sweet…but deserved revenge is sweeter.
Warren de Tracy was assured the Welsh village of Dinefwr would be an easy conquest, as would the widow of its fallen prince. Wedding her will appease the locals and win the respect of his liege, the usurper King Stephen.
Instead, Warren is ambushed, taken prisoner by a hooded Welshwoman with skin that glows like moonlight. If he must die at her hands, at least his honorable death will silence the whispers of disloyalty hanging over his name.
Princess Eleri has never seen a knight as stoic—and as eager to die—as Warren. She’d love to oblige the bastard, but something in his ocean-blue eyes stays her hand. Plus, suspicion nags at her, for the arrows that wounded him and killed his men are Norman, not Welsh.
A ghostly prophecy portends danger that thrusts the enemies closer together, where hate explodes into passion that won’t allow Eleri to surrender Warren to her vengeful clan. But returning him to his king breaks more than it mends…and for Warren, retaliation will be sweet, indeed.
Warning: Contains a Norman warrior with a thirst for justice, a Welsh rebel princess with second sight and a steady bow hand, magical prophecies, and a plot of royal proportions.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
His Most Wanted
Copyright © 2015 by Sandra Jones
ISBN: 978-1-61922-625-8
Edited by Heidi Moore
Cover by Kanaxa
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: November 2015
www.samhainpublishing.com
