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Heartfelt Stories of the Old West
Amazon
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Category:
Romance
Publisher: Prairie Rose
Pages: 283
Copyright: January 2014
Price: $3.99 (eBook)
A collection of nine sensual Valentine's Day love stories of the old West that will leave no doubt--Cupid is a cowboy, and he's playing for keeps.
Desperate and alone, Skye O’Rourke finds courage and a love she thought she’d lost when a man from her past emerges from the shimmering desert heat.
Skye O’Rourke thinks her imagination is playing tricks on her when a man emerges from the shimmering desert heat. No one would willingly take a stroll under the scorching sun with a saddle slung on his back. She’s shocked to discover it’s Cade Coltrain, a man she once gave her heart to only to have him give it back.
Can she trust him not to abandon her this time? Yet, trusting each other is the only way they can survive. And love might just save them if they believe….
Excerpt
South Texas 1881
Her father had always warned her of how hot hell would be if she didn’t walk the straight and narrow.
Him being a man of the cloth and on a personal level with such things, she figured he’d known that of which he preached.
If ever there was a hell, this would be it.
Skye O’Rourke brushed back the hair from her face and took in the shimmering horizon and the landscape that baked under the sun like a piece of old buffalo hide.
God, how she hated this land and the incessant wind that dried crops and people, turning them to nothing but dust.
Weary and heartsore, Skye rested her forehead on the fencepost she was trying to set back into the ground with no success. At that moment, she hated Matthew O’Rourke for dying, for leaving her all alone, for bringing her to this desolate place.
And she cursed the blessed hopelessness that had squeezed out softness and dreams and laughter.
But most of all, it was the endless quiet that filled her days. The only sounds now were the creak of the windmill that sang its own sad song and the pitiful lowing of her sick milk cow mixed in with the occasional cluck of a chicken that ran loose in her yard.
Sometimes, she feared she was losing her mind.
The yearning to hear another voice rose up so strong at times it nearly strangled her.
This was no kind of life for a woman. If only she had somewhere to go and money to get there, she’d pack up and head back East. Somewhere far away from the desert of New Mexico. Somewhere to start a new life.
Sweat trickled down between her breasts soaking her bodice. Skye undid the buttons until she reached the frayed ribbon on her chemise underneath. It didn’t matter. Nothing much mattered. No one would see her even if she were to strip off her dress.
Impatiently, she shoved the fabric aside, desperate for a bit of cooling breeze.
Tears clogged her throat. How could she go on? And who would care if she couldn’t?
Movement in the distance caught her attention. She shaded her eyes from the sun. The tall figure of a man who had a gunbelt hanging low around his hips walked slowly toward her. He had something slung over his shoulder.
A saddle?
Why would a man walk in this heat?
Had she finally gone mad, seeing a vision only in her mind? She rubbed her eyes and looked again. He was still there, and getting closer.
Was this some new ploy of her enemy Hiram Dunston?
The man terrified her. When she’d refused his advances, he became livid and attacked her. Hiram bore responsibility for ripping out the fencepost she struggled to set back into the ground. She felt certain he’d also sickened her milk cow in addition to setting fire to a wagon. Thank goodness it hadn’t been in the barn. She shuddered to think how she’d manage if she lost her horse.
Erring on the side of caution, she strode to the house for Matthew’s old rifle. It didn’t shoot too straight, but at least it might scare off the man. She set her jaw. If it did turn out to be Hiram, she’d aim for his privates.
Skye raised the rifle to her shoulder and was about to order the stranger to stop when he staggered and went down to his knees in the dirt.
For several long beats of her heart, he struggled to rise. At last, he made it to his feet and once more shouldered the weight of the saddle. She dropped the rifle and ran to help, no longer afraid that he posed a threat.
“Water,” he croaked when she reached his side.
Up close, his sunburned face resembled a piece of leather. His blue eyes had glazed over from the heat.
“Let’s get you to the house first. Leave your saddle. We’ll come back for it.”
“No. All I have.”
“Fine.” She draped his free arm around her shoulders. “Lean on me.”
When they stumbled into the shadow of the sod house, he collapsed. She tugged the saddle from his grasp and hurried to the well. Pumping water into a pail, she ran back with it and handed him a cup full.
“Sip slowly. Too much will choke you.”
The stranger paid no heed, gulping it down. He dipped the cup in the pail and refilled it. Once more, he downed it in several big swallows. Then he dumped what remained in the bucket on his head. It ran down, drenching his midnight hair and shirt of the same color.
At last, he looked up. “Skye?”
“Who are you, mister, and how do you know my name?”
“You don’t recognize me,” he rasped. “I’m not surprised. It’s been a few years. Although, there was once a time I didn’t think you’d ever forget me.”
He looked vaguely familiar; something about those eyes the color of a deep silent pool of crystal water.
Skye gazed into those startling blue eyes that once made her dream, made her yearn, and made her want to move heaven and earth to have him lying next to her. She sucked in a breath. “Cade?”
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