“Do you think it’s them?” Charlie shaded her eyes from the sun, apparently too distracted to put her hat back on.
“I hope so.” Isabelle hung on tight as Mason drove the wagon across the terrain toward the house. She tingled with excitement, eager to see her sisters.
A dog raced toward them and Charlie cried out. “Leon! It’s Frankie’s dog, Leon!”
The scrappy mutt barked and danced around, apparently keeping an eye on the perimeter of the ranch.
“Bring us to them, Leon!” Charlie waited while the dog reached up to sniff her hand. Then he barked again, ran in a circle and then took off running like a streak of lightning. Charlie laughed and spurred her horse on.
Isabelle and Mason made their way a bit more slowly considering they were in a wagon. It wasn’t fast enough, but Mason patted her arm.
“They’ll be there when you get there.” It wasn’t much, but it kept her from jumping out and running forward.
When they rounded the last group of trees into the cleared area, she saw Charlie in Frankie’s embrace. Jo stood next to them. Tears sprang to Isabelle’s eyes and ran down her cheeks.
“You found them.” Mason kissed her temple. “I never doubted you for a moment, Belle. You are a warrior at heart.”
Charlie pointed as the wagon rolled toward them. Frankie cried out and ran toward them. Isabelle could wait no longer. She jumped from the wagon and ran toward her sister. They met in a clash of arms and legs, falling to the ground with cries of delight and laughter.
“Cherie, you are here!” Frankie kissed her all over Isabelle’s face. “I thought I would never see you again!”
Mason reached them and set the brake before hopping down. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head.
“You French women are full of passion.” He reached a hand down and helped them up.
Frankie looked at him with surprise and then to Isabelle for an explanation. “Merci, monsieur.”
Isabelle waited until Charlie and Jo reached them and then hugged her spectacled sister. “Jo, I have missed you so much. I’ve missed both of you. We have so much to tell you. I don’t know where to begin.”
Charlie returned to Frankie’s side and stayed there. “You can start with him.”
Isabelle shook her head at her younger sister. “Jo and Frankie, this is my husband, Mason Bennett. Mason, these are my sisters Josephine and Francesca.”
He kissed the backs of their hands in turn and then smiled at all of them. “I see parts of all of you, but none of you look alike.”
“We are all part of each other.” Isabelle drew all four sisters into a hug. “A family is different parts that make a whole.”
“Why don’t we go to the house and have coffee?” Josephine, ever the practical one, gestured to the beautiful edifice ahead. “I think there is much to say.”
Isabelle nodded and walked toward her sister’s house, their hands linked. Mason followed in the wagon, giving her the time she needed with her sisters. She had done what she set out to do, to reunite the four sisters. Maman and Papa would be proud of her.
The future was theirs for the taking.
About the Author
Beth Williamson, who also writes as Emma Lang, is an award-winning, bestselling author of both historical and contemporary romances. Her books range from sensual to scorching hot. She is a Career Achievement Award Nominee in Erotic Romance by Romantic Times Magazine, in both 2009 and 2010.
Beth has always been a dreamer, never able to escape her imagination. It led her to the craft of writing romance novels. She’s passionate about purple, books and her family. She has a weakness for shoes and purses, as well as bookstores. Her path in life has taken several right turns, but she’s been with the man of her dreams for more than twenty years.
Beth works full-time and writes romance novels evenings, weekends, early mornings and whenever there is a break in the madness. She is compassionate, funny, a bit reserved at times, tenacious and a little quirky. Her cowboys and Western romances speak of a bygone era, bringing her readers to an age where men were honest, hard and packing heat. For a change of pace, she also dives into some smokin’ hot contemporaries, bringing you heat, romance and snappy dialogue.
Life might be chaotic, as life usually is, but Beth always keeps a smile on her face, a song in her heart, and a cowboy on her mind. ;)
www.bethwilliamson.com
Look for these titles by Beth Williamson
Now Available:
Marielle’s Marshal
Branded
Endless Heart (as Emma Lang)
The Malloy Family
The Bounty
The Prize
The Reward
The Treasure
The Gift
The Tribute
The Legacy
Hell for Leather
The Fortune
The Prospect
Devils on Horseback
Nate
Jake
Zeke
Lee
Gideon
Private Lives
On His Knees
The lie that saves her life could destroy their love.
The Prospect
© 2014 Beth Williamson
The Malloy Family, Book 10
Josephine Chastain never thought a case of typhoid would force her Oregon-bound family to leave her behind in Fort Laramie—in the care of the last man she trusts. Others in the wagon train may have accepted Declan Calhoun’s motives for kidnapping her sister Frankie, but not Jo.
When she wakes up from the three-week fever, though, she finds some things have changed. Declan is her husband. And their cabin is too small to contain the growing desire between them.
While Jo fights for her life, Declan finds himself falling for the bookish Chastain sister. A woman with a spine of steel and a seemingly bottomless well of smarts. In other words, everything he can never be.
Yet now is not the time to confess the little white lie that has thus far kept her safe. Not when he must figure out how to escape a quarantine that’s turned into extortion. And resist Jo’s determination to seduce him before she learns the truth. Before the unforgiving wilderness between them and safety claims their lives.
Warning: Be ready for a learned but stubborn woman, a man with a dark past who needs redeeming, and an adventure that will light your hair and your panties on fire.
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Prospect:
Outside Fort John
July 1848
Josephine Chastain wanted to kick the big Irishman until he begged for mercy, crying like a little girl. She clenched her fists hard enough that her nails dug into her palms, but she kept her face impassive, never letting Declan Callahan see how much he affected her. How much she wanted to punch him. It damn sure didn’t help that her stomach had been off for the last two days on top of this stress. She didn’t need or want any of it.
He was infuriating and condescending. A man who had no business speaking to her as though she were a three-year-old child or someone who had been dropped on her head as a baby.
“Do ya see what I’m saying, darlin’? This part goes through the hole here.” He pulled the cinch tight on the oxen’s belly. She’d learned to do it months ago in Missouri before they even left for Oregon. Now this great lummox was showing her for the sixth time in two weeks. She had nodded her head and stayed mute, letting him feel useful.
Yet he’d pushed her too far this time. He called her darling. Her. Plain old Jo Chastain, book lover, a quiet, thoughtful nineteen-year-old with brown hair and brown eyes. Nobody in his right mind would call her darling and mean it, to which she concluded he was making fun of her. The big, handsome, black-haired man with the easy smile was a cruel bully with his words. She hadn’t remotely forgotten he had kidnapped her sist
er, regardless of the penance he’d served by helping the wagon train and her family.
“I know perfectly well how to secure the oxen, Mr. Callahan. This lesson is completely irrelevant and highly annoying. I thank you to stop trying to instruct me in tasks I can already perform.” She pointed at him, surprised to see her finger wasn’t trembling. “You can return to your other duties as soon as possible.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. You can talk.” He shook his head. “The entire time I’ve worked this wagon train I ain’t heard you breathe a word.”
“Of course I can speak. I’m not mute or deaf.” She scowled at him. “I am also not an idiot.”
“You talk fancy too.” He grinned, white teeth shining from behind the thick black beard.
She hadn’t seen him smile before, not even once. The experience knocked her a little sideways and she had to blink to clear the image that burned into her vision. “I speak like a learned person.” She fluttered her hand in the general direction of the rest of the wagon train. “I’m sure someone does need your assistance. You do not need to spend any additional time with me.”
His brows went up. “Are you asking me to leave you alone, lass?”
Lass? She didn’t know whether to take umbrage with the moniker or be pleased he called her lass when she was nearly on the shelf. Perhaps it was an insult and she didn’t know it. The man confused her, muddled her thoughts until she couldn’t tell up from down.
“My name is Miss Chastain. I’ll also answer to Mademoiselle Chastain.” She kept her shoulders straight and chin up, even if she was twisting every which way inside.
“Medemezel? I can’t make my tongue form such a word. I’m an Irishman, lass, not a Frenchie.” His expression was entirely unapologetic.
“Regardless, I am sure you have something better to do than stand here and explain a procedure to me. I clearly know what I’m doing.” She wanted him to leave. The man set her on edge, with his intimidating size, his hairy face and the fact he had been responsible for kidnapping her sister. She didn’t care that he’d been under order or that Francesca had forgiven him. Josephine didn’t know why, since she wouldn’t have pardoned him so easily.
Declan made her anxious and off-kilter. Deep inside, she held a secret as to why, but that particular fact would never see the light of day. Oh no, she would have to be on her deathbed to confess, and even then, she might take her private thoughts with her.
“Lass, are you still there?” He waved his hand back and forth, its callused, blunt-tipped fingers so different from hers.
“You do see me standing here, do you not?” Her cheeks felt hot. Lord, her entire body felt warm. Damn the man.
“I’ve been talking to you and you were far away. Don’t know where, but you for certain weren’t here.” He stared at her too intently, peering at her as though he could see the secret she kept hidden.
“That is ridiculous. I have been right here, listening.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, medemezel, but you were woolgathering right then.” He secured the last ox before he wiped his hands on his trousers and patted the beasts on their rumps. Perhaps he was finally leaving.
She couldn’t stand another moment with him or she might explode into a million pieces. Possibly more. While they lived in New York, she taught children at their homes, privileged children who could afford a private tutor. Out here on the trail, she was nobody, the daughter of a wood craftsman and a nurse, with two younger sisters and one older. A wisp on the wind of life.
Declan made her feel as though she were more than a wisp. By talking to her when she obviously didn’t want to speak to him, he forced her out of the shadow she lived in. Jo needed to get back into that comfortable place before she did or said something she would regret. If only he would cease to acknowledge her or offer to help. She didn’t need a thing from him.
Except perhaps a kiss.
Her secret bubbled up and bit her on the backside so fast, she actually gasped. His head snapped up from where he was crouched and that deep blue gaze kept her in place. For one wild moment, she wondered if she’d voiced her secret aloud.
“Did something bite you?”
“Pardon me?” She resisted the urge to unbutton the top of her shirt. Heat crept down her neck.
“You yelped as though something bit you on your a—person.” He got to his feet and rubbed his hands together then put them on his hips, cocking his head to the side. “You’re a strange one, Josephine.”
She started at the sound of her name from his mouth. His Irish lilt made the “o” long and musical. Josephine needed to ignore her silly reaction and remember his shady past. The man was a thug from New York, ones she had seen on occasion in Brooklyn. He meant less than nothing to her, a hired hand on the wagon train. Someone who barely had the right to be there.
“I did not grant you permission to use my given name. Now if you will be on your way, we can all leave with the wagon train.” To her surprise, he tipped his hat and walked away. She expected him to continue speaking to her, at which point she might have shown how nervous she was. A disaster she hadn’t wanted to happen, of course. As she watched, his long-legged gait took him to Miss Edith’s wagon in moments. The old lady insisted on being carried in and out of the wagon each day. Declan had taken over that duty when John Malloy left to marry Jo’s sister and start a ranch in the Wyoming territory.
Jo told herself not to watch, but she found her gaze straying back to Declan. He gently picked up the older woman and set her in the wagon. She noted he didn’t smile or flirt with her as John had done. No, Declan was quiet with other people, not unfriendly, but reserved. He didn’t act the same way with her.
And she didn’t know why.
Is she a dead ringer…or a dead woman walking?
Mastering the Marshal
© 2014 Marie-Nicole Ryan
Loving the Lawman, Book 3
When U.S. Deputy Marshal Sam Dunaway arrives in Kenton Valley, Texas, for a murder trial, the last thing he expects is to run into his late wife Celine. The one who supposedly died in a boarding house fire shortly after she ran off with his life savings.
Despite her Plain Jane disguise, Sam isn’t fooled. As soon as his business with the trial is finished, the woman who broke his heart will pay.
Three years ago, Celine had good reason to use Sam’s money to go into hiding—and it’s a secret she must still keep, even if it means certain arrest and imprisonment. Because coming clean risks crushing rejection.
In spite of themselves, the embers of love roar into a passionate inferno, leaving Sam with a hell of a choice. To stick to his principles…or follow his heart.
Warning: This story contains a woman with a sewing basket full of secrets, and a highly pissed-off U.S. Marshal who wants her dead or alive—though alive is better. Just sayin’.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Mastering the Marshal:
Kenton Valley, Texas Hill Country, April 1890
Billy Rasmussen burst into Selma’s shop, skidding to a stop in front of the counter.
“Miss Nelson. Miss Nelson! The marshal just rode into town.”
“Billy Rasmussen, how many times do I have to remind you to close the door when you come in here?” Not that the child had any business in her dry-goods-and-sewing-notions store. Probably it was the jar of peppermint candies she kept on the counter he craved. More than probably. And refusing his bright blue eyes and dimpled cheeks simply wasn’t an option. A dusty cap covered his copper curls as he danced back and forth from one foot to the other. She moved swiftly to shut the door. Dust from deeply rutted Main Street blew in with the irrepressible youngster.
“He’s heading over to the sheriff’s office now. That Barnes feller is going to hang for sure.”
“You don’t know any such thing. There hasn’t been a trial yet.” Most likely the boy was right, though. She shuddered
at the thought of a hanging. “Why aren’t you in school?” She took a cloth and wiped a rime of dust from the counter and from the top of the candy jar.
“It’s recess.” He gaze darted toward the sweets.
“Is that so?” she asked, tamping down her inclination to smile. “And why aren’t you playing hide-and-seek with your friends instead of poking your little nose into grown folks’ business?”
“They’re stupid. All they wanna do is play kid games. Not me.” He pointed to his chest. “I’m gonna be a lawman like Sheriff Tate or that marshal what just rode into town.”
“Who just rode into town,” she corrected, then set about straightening the packages containing needles and pins until they were aligned just so. Billy’s little mouth turned downward and his narrow shoulders sagged as she delayed giving him his treat. He glanced toward the door, so she gave in. “I don’t suppose you’d like a piece of peppermint this fine morning?”
The boy’s eyes lit with anticipation as he nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I surely would.” He held out his somewhat grimy hand, and she dropped the sweet into his open palm. “Thanks, Miss Nelson.” He popped the mint into his mouth.
“Now, go on. I don’t want your teacher coming down here looking for you.”
With a gleeful grin, he nodded, dashed outside, and ran down the street. Her brief interlude with Billy was a game they played almost daily. Poor child. Reckon he’d had few enough treats in his young life. His father was a part-time drunk, but the boy had a hardworking and loving mother. Somehow the woman managed to keep Billy and his four younger brothers from starvation’s door by taking in washing and ironing. The boy’s buoyant spirit was a miracle, and Selma had no doubt he’d make something of himself. Maybe he really would be a lawman.
If the marshal had arrived, then the judge wouldn’t be far behind. The trial would take place soon. The killer of the sheriff’s first wife and unborn child would face a court’s justice, swift and true. The residents of Kenton Valley had long memories.
The Jewel: The Malloy Family, Book 11 Page 21
