Kindle Edition
Category:
Romance
Publisher: Amazon
Type: Fiction
Copyright: August 17, 2020
ISBN-13: 9798664169270
Price: $3.50 (eBook)
Landry Barlow has little interest in putting down roots until Nadine Harper barges into his saloon with an innocence he can’t resist.
Landry Barlow’s gambling and outlawing has garnered him the reputation of a menace, and a handful of enemies. But in sleepy Jackson Creek, his foremost concern isn’t someone gunning for him. His brother wants him to trade his saloon for a homestead, partner with him outfitting the army with horses. Raised in a bordello by a mother who valued her parlor more than him and deceived by another, Landry isn’t sure he’s meant to put down roots. But then, Nadine puts her faith in him and something inside awakens.
Camped for the night along the trail to western Texas, Nadine Harper’s father loses his footing in a gopher hole and breaks his leg. Nadine gets him to the nearest town, but the only business with a light glowing is the saloon. Swallowing her qualms, she barges inside the watering hole and freezes at the glint in the eyes of the heavily-muscled man barreling down on her. But when he loses his steeliness to take charge of her father, she’s swept up in the tingles peppering her skin. Dangerous and handsome, Landry is a man worth knowing.
Excerpt
Chapter 1, Scene 1
Jackson Creek, Texas August 1865
Landry Barlow poured coffee into a tin cup then slipped out the door into the alley behind his saloon. Propping a shoulder against the wall, he watched the sun sink on the horizon. Swirls of dust danced up the side street to his right and he lifted his face to the breeze, welcomed the cool air blowing across his brow. Spending the afternoon working beneath the hot sun wasn’t to his liking. He’d rather deal stud but didn’t have a choice if he wanted to move into his new home by week’s end.
He took a swig of coffee, wondered if he was making a mistake. He liked owning the saloon and living in its private quarters. The space was the first comfortable home he’d had since he left California a handful of years ago. But, as with everything else in his life, a feeling hinted Landries wouldn’t be his for long. Most likely, he’d lose the saloon the same way he won it, over a game of stud. When that happened, he’d need another place to live.
He flicked his gaze toward the evening sky, an image of the log cabin he built coming to mind. Situated near a stream beneath low-hanging branches, a porch ran the length of the front of the house. Inside and to the left was a parlor, with a fireplace along the outer wall. Behind that was the kitchen. The rear door opened to a smaller porch, and two bedrooms occupied the right side of the cabin.
Two? He took another swallow of coffee. Don’t need two. Or a fancy sitting room. Shoulda just made one room. But Slade convinced him he needed walls. And, in the near future, a springhouse. Hardly. Landry wrinkled his nose.
His big brother was the family man. Married a handful of months, Slade lived on a farm outside Jackson Creek with his wife, mother-in-law and sister-in-law. His wife was a good woman. The same was true for his mother-in-law. These past weeks working alongside Slade Mrs. Prescott insisted Landry join them for the evening meal. She even packed a sack of leftovers for him to take back to the saloon. But Slade’s sister-in-law…
Landry rolled his shoulder blades inward, eased them back into place. No doubt Camille Prescott was pretty, and might prove a good wife for some poor soul, but she made his skin crawl. Too many times she batted her lashes his direction, snuck up behind him to steal a kiss.
Pth. He spit into the dirt, saw the sun had finally sank and went back inside. Stirred the stew simmering in a pot on the back burner then sat at the table in the center of the room that served as kitchen and parlor and drummed his fingertips on the scratched wood.
New living quarters was one thing, but was he ready to trade poker for putting down roots? Go into business raising horses with his brother? Part of him favored the idea. He finally forgave Slade for running out on him and Hunter, and Jackson Creek was as good a place as any to reside. The parcel of land he bought was less than an hour outside town and bordered the southern rim of Slade’s property. But gambling was in his blood, as much a part of him as the air he breathed. Then again, with the cabin shrouded by trees from three sides, his enemies would be hard-pressed to find him and his alias, Lan Bellows. They’d concentrate on the saloon with his name painted in big letters on the outside wall.
Need a woman, the thought floated up from deep within. He squashed it, same as last time it surfaced, and snatched up his cup. Shoved out of the chair and strode up the hall toward the door separating the living quarters from the saloon, entered the dimly lit watering hole paneled in dark wood.
A polished bar took up the wall to his right. Behind the bar, shelves held various bottles of liquor and glassware. Tables stood in the center of the room, one occupied by two old-timers in floppy hats and another by cowpokes playing stud. Two of his working girls leaned against the counter along the left wall, one stifling a yawn and the other caressing the rim of a whiskey glass. Sawdust covered the floor and opposite him a large window overlooked Jackson Creek’s main street. Batwing doors were to the left of the window and a polished staircase to the right.
Shuffling across the floor to the end of the bar nearest him, Landry set his cup on the wood and nodded a greeting to the dark-haired man behind the counter wiping glasses with a dingy towel. He met Burke a long spell ago, owed him for helping Landry sneak off a riverboat. But Burke didn’t want money, just friendship. He didn’t say why, and Landry knew to not ask.
“You just get back from your spread?” Burke approached, stuffing the towel into his apron pocket.
“Yeah. Got a stretch of fence built.”
“You want whiskey with that?” He nodded toward Landry’s cup.
“No. Have to get up early tomorrow. Slade’s coming to help raise the barn. He’s bringing men with him, or so he says.” Landry sneered. The last time Slade said he was bringing men to help he hadn’t shown up for a week. ‘Course, at that time, rain settled over Jackson Creek and Slade was working furiously between downpours to shingle the roof over the new addition to his house.
“Forget him. Those four,” Burke nodded toward the cowpokes, “are spoilin’ for a fight. Told them the girlies ain’t free. Said they want to hear it from you, that—”
The batwing doors forcibly swung open. Flapped back into place. Swung open again.
“What the?” Landry’s right hand instinctively settled on one of two ivory-handled Colts strapped around his waist. From the corner of his eye, he saw Burke reach beneath the bar for the shotgun.
A body wearing skirts rushed into the saloon then froze, her hand clutching her throat. In the dim light, Landry saw her gulp, her wide gaze darting around the room and her slim shoulders trembling.
Female in distress? Or someone else? He clamped down on his back teeth, reckoned she was most likely the latter. Respectable women shied away from saloons, especially when unaccompanied and at night. Of the enemies he had, there were some who wouldn’t hesitate to use a woman to lure him into the open. Or pay one handsomely to get close enough to shoot him in the gut.
“Whaddya think?” Burke whispered.
Landry shrugged then shoved away from the bar. “See the cowpokes stay put.” He cautiously approached the woman, the back of his neck prickling.
Long, brown hair in need of brushing tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. A worn dress of blue fit snug across her heaving bosom, the toes of her scuffed boots poking out from beneath the dress’ hem.
He dragged his gaze back up her length, noted jagged fingernails flush against a delicate throat… pouty, pink lips set in an oval face… wetness clinging to thick lashes… fear etched into green eyes.
Bright green eyes.
He ignored the thump his heart gave and halted just out of her reach, wondered which of his enemies had the greenbacks to pay for her services. Hired guns didn’t come cheap. “Ma’am, something I can do for you?”
Her gaze traveled down the length of him then back up, settled on the pistols at his waist. “I…” She took an uneasy step backward. “I…” Her hand slid from her throat down her front, grasped the folds of her dress and twisted the frayed material.
Damn, but she’s a good actress. Better than those he paid to see perform on a New Orleans stage.
Suddenly, the tears swimming in her eyes spilled over her lashes and down her cheeks. Her legs buckled. She caught herself before she fell, a tortured sob escaping her. “Please, help me. My father…” She pointed a shaky finger toward the batwing doors behind her. “The street is dark and I…” She inhaled sharply. “I don’t know where to find a doctor.”
Nice. He silently applauded her. Hinting her father was ill. And the tears… There was no better way to coerce a man than with a heartfelt lie. But he wasn’t fooled by her breathless voice and the moisture marring her smooth skin. His upbringing taught him women were just as good at lying as men. Some were even better.
“I don’t see your father. Where is he?” He folded his arms across his chest, stared pointedly at her.
“He’s in our wagon.” She shifted toward the window. “There, past the pane.” And pointed toward something just out of sight then swung back his direction. Her gaze landed on his guns again and she flinched. “Please? Pa broke his leg.”
The sight of her features crumbling touched on something deep within, reminded him females shouldn’t carry the weight of a grave situation. That was a man’s duty.
They shouldn’t lie, either.
Clamping down on his back teeth, he forced himself to look beyond the tears streaking down her pretty face and concentrate on her reason for seeking him out. She was an accomplished actress who was able to cry on cue, show fear over his guns while hiding one beneath her skirt. But could she kill him in cold blood?
“Please?” she begged again. “At least, direct me to the doctor.”
“All right.” Playing along with her ruse was the only way to discover which of his enemies hired her. Or waited outside for him.
Stepping forward, he cupped her elbow and lead her past the slatted doors, paused outside and looked to the left, then to the right. Didn’t spy anyone lurking in the shadows. “You’d best be telling the truth.” He dropped a hard look on her. “If someone’s waiting for me, you’re gonna take the bullet.”
“Huh?” She stared up at him, afraid. Worked her jaw but no words passed between her lips.
Landry returned his attention to the street and assessed the shadows again. “Let’s go.” With one hand on his gun, he pulled her in front of him and set a slow pace past the saloon’s window. “What’s your name, darlin? If this is an ambush, undertaker’s gonna need to know.”
“Undertaker! I don’t…” Her shoulders sagged. “Nadine Harper.” She pulled free of his hold. “There’s my wagon. Pa’s in the back.”
She hurried toward the canvas and for the first time since she entered his saloon, Landry reconsidered her. If she was here to see him dead, she wouldn’t put herself in the path of a bullet.
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