The Marshal Takes A Bride

by Sylvia McDaniel

  He gazed back at her, his eyebrows questioning.

  She'd dealt with men like him before. She lifted her chin and turned her gaze to her other customers.

  "Many spirits are gathered in the room with us tonight," she whispered. She turned her face toward the heavens and called out loud, "Spirits, come to us. Let us speak with our dear departed ones again."

  With practiced ease, Rose quietly slipped her foot out of her backless boot. Her bare foot touched the hardwood floor as she eased it under her chair, until she touched the cool metallic bell. Gripping the handle of the bell between her toes, Rose shook the bell. The clapper clattered against its side three times.

  A lady sitting across from Rose jumped. Isaiah silently came in right on cue, stirring the air with a fan in the darkened room. Then the sound of chimes tinkled softly in the night air.

  Releasing the cowboy's hand, she clasped her palm to her head, moaning. "Ah...ah, so young. So tragic." She swayed. "A little girl with blond ringlets is coming toward me, wearing a pink pinafore. She says her name is Sar...no, her name is Sally."

  A gasp came from the darkness and one of the Women said in a weak voice, "My daughter's name was Sally, but her hair was dark, not blond." Her voice broke on a sob. "Is it Sally? Tell me more about her, please. Is she happy?"

  Rose ignored the woman's comment about her daughter's hair. "Sally says to tell you she's with her grandmother."

  Rose hesitated and then began to move her lips silently, as if she were speaking. "The two of them miss you and are awaiting your arrival on the other side."

  The lady burst into tears. "Thank God, she's not alone. I've been so worried about her."

  "Families often are reunited after death." Rose moaned and pulled her handkerchief to her lips.

  "I feel the presence of a man who was gunned down. A law-abiding man killed in a holdup."

  "My brother," the older woman sitting next to Rose proclaimed.

  Rose massaged her temples, moaning. She held up her arms as if seeking help from the sky. "Is his name Robert?"

  "Yes," the woman replied, stunned. "How did you know?"

  "He told me. He says you shouldn't feel guilty about his death. It was meant to happen. Your grandfather is with him."

  "But grandfather is still alive," the woman said, puzzled.

  Rose felt a moment of panic. Whoops, she'd guessed wrong again. The lady's age appeared to be in the mid-forties. Rose had been certain her grandparents were dead. She let out a moan. "I meant your great-grandfather."

  "Oh, we never knew him."

  The cowboy beside her snickered just loudly enough to be heard. He was going to cause trouble, blast him.

  "Oh, oh. The name Burnett comes to mind." She moaned. "Does anyone know someone named Tanner Burnett?"

  "That's me," a husky, curt voice from her left replied.

  It was the cowboy. Even in the dark, she couldn't help but remember six feet of rugged, tightly muscled man with honey-brown hair set against tanned skin and eyes that looked more dangerous than friendly.

  "Are you certain the person you're seeking is dead?"

  She could feel his gaze upon her, and the memory of his brown eyes gleaming with determination and purpose almost made her shiver.

  "He's been missing for over ten years," he acknowledged.

  "I have a vision of him in battle. There's danger all around him."

  His fist slammed against the table, causing sparks to fly from the bowl of incense and her patrons to jump in surprise.

  "Bullshit!"

  "Lady, how far are you going to carry this farce? You can't see my brother."

  "Monsieur!"she exclaimed, throwing up her hands in disgust. Gripping the bell with her toe, she rang it, signaling the end of the seance.

  "The sound of the bell indicates that the spirits have gone," she said between gritted teeth. "You've broken the spell. The spirits have all departed because of your disbelief. Your doubt has scared them away!"

  Isaiah lit a lantern, casting an ominous glow on the scene.

  A chill ran down Rose's back as she stared into the coldest pair of dark-brown eyes she'd ever seen. She stood and turned her attention to her other clients. "I'm terribly sorry, but once the spell has been broken, the spirits will not return this night. Thanks to Monsieur, our evening has been cut short. That is the way sometimes. Please come back and we will attempt to contact your loved ones once again." She gave him a look that could have plunged daggers into his heart. "Without Monsieur Burnett."

  He smiled a contemptuous sneer. "Lady, if you can speak to the dead, I can walk on water! All you're interested in is cheating people out of their money!"

  "Monsieur!" She motioned for Isaiah to usher her other customers out the door. Business had been good, and she didn't need gossip being spread around town about this little scene. "The Trinity River is right up the street, if you'd like to test your faith."

  "I don't need to test my faith. People like you do it all the time," he said.

  "If you don't believe in speaking with spirits, why are you here?" she asked bluntly, hoping to get rid of him quickly.

  "Everyone deserves at least one warning, and here's yours." He stood and moved around the table. "Don't be holding any more Séances."

  "This is a free country, is it not?" she said, using her best French intonation.

  "Not for cheats."

  "I am no cheat."

  "Lose the French accent!"

  "I cannot! It is where I was born, where I come from," she informed him.

  "I'm sure you've been around, but I'd wager you've never seen Paris," he said calmly, his voice a slow drawl of insolence.

  "Espéce de casse-couilles!" She said in French exactly what she was thinking. The man was certainly a pain.

  "Cut the parlee-voo, lady. I don't believe a word of it."

  "You should. I'm calling you, Mr. Burnett, every despicable word I know," she practically shouted at him, enraged at his intrusion in her cozy business.

  "Call me anything you want, but I'm warning you. Shut down your séance parlor. You picked the wrong person to try to con, and you're not going to get away with it."

  "And just who is this person I supposedly tried to con?" she asked.

  "My mother, Eugenia Burnett."

  "Ah ha!" Stepping in front of him, she stood within inches of this handsome yet foreboding man. The scent of masculinity drifted to her nose, a clean smell of virile male.

  "And if your mother wishes to learn more about your brother? Is this not her choice?"

  "My mother misses my brother, and I'll not have you taking advantage of her. This is the only time I'm going to tell you. Leave my mother alone, or I'm going to shut down your parlor."

  "Monsieur! If you don't want your mother searching for your brother, then you must talk to her. Not I!" She took a step back, letting her gaze travel the length of his person. "Besides, I see no badge. You do not have the authority to threaten me, or shut me down."

  He smiled, his full lips pouty, and took a step closer to her. His hand reached out, the tip of his finger gently tracing her chin, his rough skin sliding against hers. His touch left her oddly unsettled. She tried to swallow the lump that filled her throat.

  Now was not the time for her long-denied body to suddenly take notice of a man. She needed this town, needed this job.

  She didn't need a gun-toting, overprotective mama's boy, who looked like sin in a nicely bundled package.

  "I'll shut you down in a heartbeat," he said, low enough only to reach her ears. "My little brother, Tucker, is the marshal."

  Picking up his hat, he strolled out the door, his gun slung low around his hips, his pants snug against his backside.

  Rose watched him walk through the door and wanted to scream. Though they had gotten off to a slow start, business was just beginning to increase and the thought of having to pick up and start over again left her furious.

  No damn cowboy with a connection to the local law was going to run
her out of town!

  ––– end of excerpt –––

  Get it now on Amazon: The Rancher Takes A Bride

  The Outlaw Takes A Bride

  EXCERPT:

  “Maybe I don’t want to change,” he said, knowing it was a lie but unable to admit the need to exorcise his demons to her.

  Beth stared at him, her large hazel eyes round with sympathy, and seeing his greatest

  fear reflected in her gaze, he wanted to do anything to alter her opinion of him. The thought of her having pity on him was just too much to bear. He didn’t need anyone’s sympathy or compassion, especially hers.

  “Everyone has things in their past they’d rather forget I have a fair idea of what you might have done,” she said.

  He laughed, his voice twisted and filled with pain. “You have no idea. And I’m not going to enlighten you. You’re some lily-white debutante whose life was destroyed by the lack of an available husband. You’re looking for a man to take care of you; that’s why you became a mail-order bride.”

  “That’s not fair!” she said. “My choices were limited, to say the least.”

  “So why did you wait so long?” he questioned. “The war has been over for ten years. Surely you could have found someone before now?”

  She swallowed nervously. “I had my parents to take care of, and there was Pinewood, our plantation, to see about. Then Mother became sick, and I had to care for her.”

  “Excuses, lady. You could have married.”

  “Why didn’t you?” she said, her voice loud and strident.

  “Because I’m not the marrying kind.” He continued on, wanting to hurt her for making him feel, for making him want things he knew he could never have. “I’m not the kind of man a woman wants to tie herself permanently to.”

  “Even men who aren’t the marrying kind fall in love and marry eventually.” She stood and walked to his side, her white nightgown flowing around her hips. Her eyes flashed indignantly at him. She stopped right before him. “I’ve waited years for a husband. To have someone to wake up in my arms each morning, a baby to rock to sleep. Isn’t this what all women dream of? So why am I so bad for wanting the same things?”

  “You’re not as long as you know I’m not good husband material.” He took a deep breath and tried not to reflect on the circles of pink that he could see through the material. “But you think you can soothe my hurts and make me care about you enough that I’ll change my ways.”

  He watched as a rosy flush covered her face. Her hands were clenched at her side.

  “I don’t give a fig about your hurts.”

  Tanner didn’t want to stop. He wanted to inflict on her the pain she had made him feel. “You think that beneath this rough exterior there’s a man worth saving, worth turning into a husband. You’re wrong.”

  God, how he wanted her even when she was pushing him, making him feel things he’d long forgotten. He still wanted to feel her arms around him even as he was trying his best to push her away.

  “I have a man waiting for me. Why would I want a coldhearted bastard like you?”

  “Because the man you have waiting for you doesn’t make you feel like this.” He pulled her in his arms, and she struggled against him.

  “I don’t want to feel this,” she whispered her voice emphatic.

  “Oh, yes, you do.”

  “Bastard!”

  He laughed. “Call me that again—later.”

  Tanner lowered his lips to hers in a kiss that was both torture and pleasure. Torture because he could never have her and pleasure because nothing could stop him from taking her.

  His kiss was rough as he held her face between his hands, holding her immobile as he took her lips between his own. With a sense of urgency, he traced her mouth with his tongue as if to burn the feel of her lips into his memory.

  He’d resisted her for what seemed like forever, and he refused to wait any longer.

  His hands became tangled in the mass of curls that hung almost to her waist, and he clenched them, holding her even tighter. Savagely, he slanted his mouth over hers. She was stiff and resistant, and he stroked her tender lips until they were pliant and yielding beneath his. Reluctantly, she wound her arms around his neck.

  She tasted of peppermint and soap, of hidden pleasures and forbidden desires. She leaned into him, meshing her body against his until she suddenly broke away from his kiss.

  “Coldhearted bastard!”

  “You bet I am,” he said sealing her lips with his once again.

  ––– end of excerpt –––

  Get it now on Amazon: The Outlaw Takes A Bride

  If you liked the Burnett Bride series you might also like…

  A Scarlet Bride

  Alexandra Thurston wants revenge. Revenge on the husband who wrongly accused her of infidelity and divorced her, tainting her as a scarlet woman. She vows she will reclaim her good name and never marry again. However, her father wants grandchildren to be heirs to his banking fortune and he' s determined to find her a husband. He has no luck , though, until she finds herself caught in a compromising position with the handsome plantation owner, Connor Manning.

  Get it now on Amazon: A Scarlet Bride

  My Sister's Boyfriend

  A Contemporary Romance Novel

  EXCERPT:

  "Never again," Jennifer Riley vowed as she stepped into the black-paneled wooden coffin outside the entrance to the Hilton Hotel in downtown Tyler, Texas. Traffic whizzed by on Main street, while she laid inside the macabre structure. She tugged at her filmy black chiffon dress, trying to cover as much of her exposed cleavage as possible. "No matter how busy Julia gets or how much she pleads, I refuse to do this again. I didn't come back to Tyler to dress up as an over-the-hill sex queen."

  Paul, her sister's employee, stood quietly by, holding the lid open. "Ready?"

  Jennifer took a deep breath, dreading the darkness that would engulf her. "Yes, make it quick. I hate lying inside this creepy box."

  Jennifer watched the coffin lid come down, shutting out the noise and headlights from the traffic.

  "You all right?" Paul asked.

  "Hurry!” Her breath sounded harsh in the darkness. She felt the pallbearers lift the coffin onto the cart and roll it along the sidewalk into the hotel.

  After tonight, Julia, her twin sister, would have to find someone else to jump out of coffins and sing seductively when she needed help with her business. No ifs, ands, or buts!

  As the new Development Director at County General Hospital, Jennifer would be way too busy to fill in at her sister's fledgling singing telegram business. Not to mention that popping out of coffins could be damaging to her new career.

  The cart jostled along the hallway of the hotel until she heard wolf whistles and loud, boisterous, voices cheering, and she knew they'd arrived at the party.

  Paul rapped on the coffin lid. "Are you ready?"

  Jennifer cleared her throat and searched for the button that would pop open the door. Whatever happened to women jumping out of cakes? What nut case thought coffins were funny?

  The coffin lifted. She gripped the sides, trying to find her balance as the pallbearers slid the casket off the cart until the box stood upright. She landed with a jarring thunk on the floor. You just couldn't get good pallbearers anymore.

  Paul tapped on the side of the coffin to signal her it was show time.

  "In honor of your birthday, your friends and family have given you a gift from the other side. The other side of the hill, that is," Paul announced as the noise from the crowd swelled.

  Music started to play, and Jennifer hit the button on the inside of the wooden box. The lid sprang open and she slinked out, her chiffon dress clinging like a second skin that left little to the imagination.

  "Happy Birthday," she sang in her alto voice, her eyes blinded by the lights. She blinked rapidly, hoping her eyesight would adjust to the brightness of the room. When her vision finally cleared, she found herself staring into t
he face of the one man she'd hoped never to see again.

  There before her, wearing a stunned expression on his face and a Marvin the Martian child's birthday hat on his head, sat Brent Moulton.

  "Well, I'll be damned," said the captain of her old high school football team, the person voted most handsome and most likely to succeed.

  Jennifer's voice cracked as she gazed into the emerald eyes of the boy who'd once been the object of her teenage dreams. A lock of dark hair lay across his high forehead. His full lips smiled as she stumbled over the words to the song she'd sung countless times.

  I should never have agreed to do this tonight!

  Dancing for a man who, almost fifteen years ago, hadn't known the difference between her and Julia was anything but special, but the show had to go on.

  She slinked around him, her heart beating in her throat as she ran her hands along the hard, contoured muscles of his shoulders during her act. Brent must have existed on nothing but Wheaties since graduation, because his physique resembled a professional football player's, rather than that of a high school kid.

  Of course, he would never remember her. She had portrayed Julia that night so long ago when they'd pulled a switch on him. Nevertheless, deep down inside, the foolish young girl Jennifer had convinced herself that he'd known which twin he was with. To her, their identity seemed apparent. Yes, they looked alike, but when someone really knew the two of them, their differences were obvious.

  With a coo that she hoped resembled Christina Aguilera's crooning, she ran her fingers down his cheek as she began the last chorus of the song, the place in the act where she was supposed to lean forward and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. She gazed at his lips, full and inviting, and remembered the feel of them against her own that moonlit night when he believed he was kissing Julia's lips.

  She chickened out.

  ––– end of excerpt –––

  Available in August