‘I regret I am not so sanguine.’
‘This is very good for my self-esteem.’
‘I meant it. Had I not possessed the presence of mind to speak now, I should have been reduced to fuming silence on the sidelines.’
She laughed, unreservedly this time. It lit her whole face and caused his heart to perform a wildly erratic manoeuvre. As usual she seemed quite unaware of the effect she was having. When she’d admitted to feeling nervous she could have had no idea that the boot was on the other foot.
As the other guests began to arrive they drifted apart for a while to mingle with the company. As Vivien had anticipated, her choice of gown did not pass unremarked to judge from the covert glances and swiftly concealed expressions of surprise. However, she was officially out of mourning now and didn’t care who knew it. Their opinions didn’t matter.
* * *
A short time later the musicians began to tune up and people gravitated slowly towards the ballroom. Max appeared at her side again.
‘Shall we?’
Almost shyly she placed her hand in his and they went in with the other couples. Her attention was so entirely focused on the man beside her that she failed to notice the glances that followed their progress or the looks of envy from other quarters.
The first dance was a cotillion. Vivien came back to earth abruptly. She had been so absorbed in the excitement and novelty of the situation that she hadn’t taken that in when Max asked her to partner him. Had he realised its significance when he spoke? His expression was hard to read. He led her on to the floor and the set formed up around them. And then the music began and it was as though ten years rolled away and they were back at the Harlstons’ ball on that long-ago summer evening. The last time they had danced together. Her throat tightened.
Max had not missed the fleeting expression of sadness in her face before she schooled it back to neutrality. He understood it very well and the reason for it.
‘You remember,’ he said.
‘How could I not? Was this a deliberate choice?’
‘Very much so.’
A movement separated them briefly and then brought them back together. She regarded him quizzically.
‘May I ask why?’
‘This was where we left off before,’ he replied, ‘but I hope with all my heart that it might be where we pick up the thread again.’
Her heart leapt towards her throat and it became impossible to speak. He still wanted a future with her; trusted her with his inmost feelings.
When she made no further reply Max felt a sudden chill around his heart. Was history about to repeat itself? Had he really lost her? The thought of all the empty years ahead filled him with terror. He understood then that if he could not marry her he would never marry anyone. Such a compromise was unthinkable now.
The dance parted them again and he watched her move away down the room, briefly smiling at other partners who smiled at her. His jaw tightened. For all that she denigrated her appeal as a marital prize he knew enough about the male sex to realise that there would be suitors for her hand. Not idiots like Feversham either, but mature men of good character with polished manners and kind natures who wanted to make her happy.
The next steps brought her back to him and then her hand was in his again where it belonged. She smiled at him and negative thought receded. It wasn’t over yet. He took a deep breath, glad now that he’d had the wit to ask for the first two dances. Perhaps the second might banish the spectres of the past.
* * *
It was a waltz, and that too was no coincidence, she realised. They’d never waltzed together because the dance had only taken the fashionable world by storm after she and Max had parted. Intimate and shocking, it had caused a stir at its inception. Vivien had only danced it on a few occasions and, while it had been enjoyable, the experience had been nothing like this. Of course then she had been partnered by men for whom she cared nothing and who were long forgotten. This close proximity was quite different; intimate and heart-stoppingly exciting.
‘A good choice?’ he asked.
She smiled tremulously. ‘A very good choice.’
‘I hoped you would think so.’ He paused. ‘After all, we never got a chance to do this before.’
‘Making up for lost time?’
‘No, moving on to something better.’
‘Symbolism again, Max?’
‘If you like.’
She did like. Now there were no sad associations; this time there was only exhilaration and the rightness of being in his arms. As they whirled around the room she let go of conscious thought and surrendered to the music and the moment. It was as though everything else had drawn away and there were only the two of them, flying. She didn’t want it to end.
Eventually it did and they withdrew together into the anteroom and then, by tacit consent, across the corridor into a small parlour beyond. For the space of a few heartbeats they watched each other in silence. Then he was suddenly much closer, his eyes searching hers.
‘I love you, Vivien. There will never be anyone else.’ He hesitated. ‘Could you ever feel the same for me?’
She found her voice. ‘I do feel the same, Max. I always have.’
‘Then...will you trust me with your heart?’
‘Yes, if you’re quite sure you want a mature widow with no money and two—’
The sentence ended abruptly as she was crushed against him for a passionate kiss. Unable to help herself she surrendered to it, relaxing against him, her mouth opening to his, every nerve alight with the taste and scent of him, her entire being filled with desire and longing.
He drew back a little, looking into her face. ‘I didn’t know how much you meant until I’d lost you. We’ve both paid a heavy price for that.’
Her arms slid around his neck. ‘Let’s not dwell on the past, Max. Let’s just seize the chance we’ve been given. We’ve wasted enough time already.’
‘Why so I think.’ He kissed her again, gently this time and lingering. ‘I mean to give you a thousand more of these.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘It might be regarded askance in such a public place.’
‘No, it won’t.’ He glanced toward the ceiling. ‘It has been sanctioned for the purpose.’
She followed his gaze and saw an enormous bunch of mistletoe overhead. Her eyes widened in amused disbelief. ‘Why, that looks like an entire plant.’
‘It is.’
‘Where on earth did it come from?’
‘The orchard.’
Slowly, the details of an earlier conversation returned. ‘You mean you...’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you hadn’t given up at all, in spite of the foolish things I said.’
‘I told you it wasn’t over.’
‘You had it all planned, even then. Right down to the mistletoe.’
‘A desperate man needs all the help he can get. I couldn’t put my faith in a small sprig.’
Vivien laughed. ‘I didn’t know you possessed such a romantic streak.’
‘Ah, but I do, as I intend to prove, my love.’ He bent closer, his lips brushing hers. ‘Starting now.’
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt of Whirlwind Cowboy by Debra Cowan!
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Chapter One
West Texas
June 1886
Where was sh
e? The ground was hard beneath her back. Her head pounded as she stared up at a gray sky and the sun hidden behind red-tinted clouds. Carefully pushing herself up on her elbows, she winced as sharp pain speared through her skull. Her shoulder ached, too. She was behind a two-story white brick building she didn’t recognize.
She touched her temple, and her fingers came away bloody. She inhaled sharply. Blood also streaked her pale blue floral bodice. What had happened?
A creaking sound had her looking over her shoulder. A saddled black horse watched her with dark eyes. Then she saw a wet stain a couple of feet away.
She eased over and touched it, startled to realize it was more blood.
Cold, savage fear ripped through her and she got unsteadily to her feet, fighting back panic. Whatever had happened here had been deadly. She couldn’t remember it, but she knew it.
Her head throbbed as she looked around wildly, trying to identify something, anything. Not the building hiding her or the store across a dusty street or the railroad tracks beyond. Nothing was familiar.
Alarmed and confused, she felt tears sting her eyes.
From the front of the building she heard the heavy thud of boots. A man muttered in a low, vicious voice. The hairs on her arms stood up and fear rushed through her.
There was no thought, only instinct. She gathered her skirts and hurriedly mounted the waiting horse, riding astride. Her skull felt as though it was being cracked open and she thought she might pass out from the pain.
Urging the animal into motion, she rode hard away from the unfamiliar buildings and headed for the open prairie. Someone yelled after her. She wasn’t sure what he said, but she didn’t stop.
Gripping the pommel with sweat-slick hands, she kept the horse at a full-out run until she was assured no one was behind her.
Then she slowed the horse to an easy pace. As far as she could see there was an endless sea of golden-brown prairie grass, dotted here and there with a few evergreen trees. The landscape looked familiar, but she didn’t know why. She didn’t know anything.
A forceful gust of wind had her grabbing the pommel. Bits of dirt and grass pelted her face as well as her mount’s. The animal slowed, but kept moving.
Dust whirled across the prairie. The horse’s hooves pounded in a steady lope. On and on. Daylight turned to gray. They crossed a dry creek bed, then topped a small rise. Through the swirling light and dirt, she spied a small cabin and a barn. As she rode up to the front of the house, she called out, but no one answered. There was no sign of anyone at all.
Glancing over her shoulder, she frowned at a boiling mass of clouds sweeping across the ground. The first stirrings of a dust storm. Being caught out in it could be deadly.
Fighting back panic, she decided to take shelter in the small cabin. She wasted no time settling the horse in the barn. After filling the trough with water from the pump just outside, she closed the animal inside and ran to the cabin, praying she would be able to get in. When she tried the door, it opened and she slipped inside with a big sigh of relief.
Shaking out her skirts then brushing off her hair and bodice, she took stock. A Franklin stove sat in the corner to her left, along with a sink and a pump and a short work cabinet. There was a small but sturdy-looking table, and straight ahead an open door revealed the foot of a bed.
The windows, real pane glass, shook as the wind gathered force. Her shoulders and neck throbbed, but she searched for candles or a lamp in case she needed light later.
Though small, the cabin was solid and would offer protection from the storm. Looking down, she stared at the bloodstains on her bodice. Her mind was empty. Why couldn’t she remember anything?
A shiver rippled up her spine. Not only was she completely alone and lost—she had no idea who she was.
* * *
After a week of tracking Cosgrove, Bram had lost him and returned home. Whirlwind’s sheriff, Davis Lee Holt, had wired every lawman in the state and promised to send word to Bram if he received any news.
Bram had duties at the ranch, but he still checked with Davis Lee every day about Cosgrove. Two weeks after the trail had gone cold, Bram got news. Surprisingly it was from his uncle, not the sheriff. Uncle Ike had witnessed Cosgrove robbing a bank in Monaco.
Bram had ridden straight to the small town located northwest of Whirlwind, where he discovered Cosgrove had murdered a man during that robbery.
Bram had picked up the outlaw’s trail again, this time headed east toward Whirlwind. Cosgrove would be a fool to go back there and probably hadn’t, but the approaching dust storm had erased any sign that he might have changed direction.
The past three weeks had been hell, and Bram laid that on Deborah as much as the outlaw he chased. He hadn’t spoken to her mother or sisters again, though Bram’s brother, Jake, had. He had felt it his duty to let Bram know Deborah still hadn’t returned home.
Bram tried to tell himself he didn’t care. She’d made her choice and it wasn’t him.
The spiraling wind swirled across the prairie, flaying his face and body with sharp bits of dirt and grit. The gunshot graze on his cheek was healing. Dragging his dark bandanna up to cover his nose and mouth, he knotted it tightly.
He was worn slick, dirty and madder than hell that this dust storm would force him to briefly suspend his search for Cosgrove, but he would find the low-down dog again. He wouldn’t stop until he did. In addition to being a rustler, Cosgrove was now a murderer. Bram wouldn’t be the only one out for the bastard’s blood. If possible, he hated the cattle thief even more than he had three weeks ago.
The wind swept around him and he barely caught his hat before it blew off. The small cabin on the edge of Circle R property was less than a mile away, so Bram directed his mount there.
By the time they reached the building, the red dust was thickening, spreading. At the barn behind the cabin, he dismounted and slid open the door. When his mount balked at entering, Bram grabbed the bridle to lead the animal inside. He understood the dun’s wariness. This storm made him uneasy, too.
The dust swirled inside, the wind noise escalating to a steady hollow hum. Bram quickly pulled off his saddlebags, unsaddled his horse, then removed the bridle.
Scout stomped, shifting nervously. Bram spoke softly, trying to calm the gelding. A clothesline stretched from the barn to the cabin and would enable Bram to find his way if the dust became too thick to see the house. Just as he bent to pick up his saddlebag, the horse backed up, almost pinning Bram to the wall.
“Whoa.” He laid a calming hand on the animal’s hindquarters and edged away from the weathered wall. That was when he saw another horse deep in the shadows.
Not just any horse. He blinked.
That looked like Cosgrove’s black mare.
No way in hell. Bram couldn’t be seeing what he thought he was.
He eased closer, noting that the animal was unsaddled and had been brushed down. Speaking softly to the horse, he lifted its left front leg, then the back one. A C had been crudely carved into the top of the mare’s rear shoe. It was slyly done, the top of the C coming out of the tack’s head, but this was Cosgrove’s horse!
The damn brand blotter had been forced to take shelter, too. Here!
Bram’s lips twisted. This was too good to be true, and he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to catch the bastard. Or kill him. After the murder committed by Cosgrove during that bank robbery, Bram would have no qualms about taking in a dead man.
Satisfied that there was enough water in the trough near Cosgrove’s animal for both horses, Bram returned to his things in the corner and slid his Spencer rifle out of its scabbard.
After checking his gun, he stepped outside. The wind nearly shoved him to his knees as he shouldered the door shut. Gripping the clothesline for support, he slowly made his way to the cabin’s back stoop.
He had the advantage of surprise, but because both the front and back doors opened into the large main room, he wouldn’t have the drop on Cosgrove for lo
ng. Once Bram opened the door, the wind would sweep in, alerting anyone in the cabin.
He slowly turned the knob, then flung open the door. He leveled his weapon, aiming straight at...a woman!
She screamed, stumbling back against the dining table and folding her arms protectively around herself.
“Sweet mercy.” Bram froze, his mind trying to catch up to what he was seeing.
There in the flickering lamplight stood a half-naked Deborah.
Deborah.
What the hell?
ISBN: 9781459244948
SNOWBOUND WEDDING WISHES
Copyright © 2012 by Harlequin Books S.A.
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:
AN EARL BENEATH THE MISTLETOE
Copyright © 2012 by Melanie Hilton
TWELFTH NIGHT PROPOSAL
Copyright © 2012 by Lucy Ashford
CHRISTMAS AT OAKHURST MANOR
Copyright © 2012 by Joanna Fulford
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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Snowbound Wedding Wishes: An Earl Beneath the MistletoeTwelfth Night ProposalChristmas at Oakhurst Manor (Harlequin Historical) Page 26
