‘Welcome to my valley.’

There went her nerves again. Cassandra couldn’t get enough of looking at the new Jack. Goodness. Wasn’t he handsome? Perhaps he knew it. Perhaps this new confidence she sensed in him came from being aware of how he was perceived by the women around him. And those women … they had such fine features and beautiful skin.

It hurt to remember that she’d once looked like that. That she’d once turned heads and garnered male attention.

She composed herself and tried to remain positive. Jack hadn’t asked anyone else to marry him; he had asked her. So Cassandra focused on what the future with him might bring, and gave him a cheerful nod.

‘Nice to be here finally.’

‘Yes, finally,’ he said, as if he were thinking about something more.

She swooped down to inhale the perfume of the roses, hoping the colour heating up her cheeks didn’t show.

Finally, after all these years, Jack McColton would be taking her virginity.

Kate Bridges invites you to her

MAIL-ORDER WEDDINGS

From blushing bride to rancher’s wife!

The Great Fire of Chicago might have changed

best friends Cassandra Hamilton’s and Natasha O’Sullivan’s lives for ever, but they’re determined to carve a new future for themselves as mail-order brides in the West.

Then along come their Stetson-wearing, gun-slinging, breathtaking new husbands—it seems Cassandra and Natasha have got a whole lot more than they signed up for!

Read Cassandra’s story in:

RANCHER WANTS A WIFE

And look out for Natasha’s story

WELCOME TO WYOMING

Coming April 2014

Rancher Wants a Wife

Kate Bridges

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Award-winning and multi-published author KATE BRIDGES was raised in rural Canada, and her stories reflect her love for wide-open spaces, country sunshine and the Rocky Mountains. She loves writing adventurous tales of the men and women who tamed the West. Prior to becoming a full-time writer, Kate worked as a paediatric intensive care nurse. She often includes compelling medical situations in her novels. Later in her education she studied architecture, and worked as a researcher on a television design programme. She has taken postgraduate studies in comedy screenwriting, and in her spare time writes screenplays. Kate’s novels have been translated into nine languages, studied in over a dozen colleges on their commercial fiction courses, and are sold worldwide. She lives in the beautiful cosmopolitan city of Toronto with her family. To find out more about Kate’s books and to sign up for her free online newsletter please visit www.katebridges.com

Previous novels by the author:

THE DOCTOR’S HOMECOMING

THE SURGEON

THE ENGAGEMENT

THE PROPOSITION

THE CHRISTMAS GIFTS THE BACHELOR

THE COMMANDER

KLONDIKE DOCTOR

SHOTGUN VOWS

KLONDIKE WEDDING

KLONDIKE FEVER

WANTED IN ALASKA

HER ALASKAN GROOM

ALASKAN RENEGADE

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my family for their loving support and for always coming through with their sense of humour.

In writing this story I owe many thanks to my fabulous editor, Carly Byrne, for her talented editorial input and advice. I’d also like to thank Linda Fildew for her support, and the entire team in the UK offices for their friendliness when I came to visit and their dedication behind the scenes.

I would like to thank my marvellous agent, Erica Spellman Silverman, for her enthusiasm and guidance, and the whole team at the Trident Media Group.

It’s a great pleasure to work with all of you.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter One

Chicago, February 1873 Mrs. Pepik’s Boardinghouse for Desolate Women

“What if my husband doesn’t like me? What if I don’t like him?” Cassandra Hamilton leaned forward at the crowded dining table. Her blond braid dipped over her shoulder as she lifted a stack of letters from her would-be grooms.

A dozen other chattering young women jostled around her to read the names and notes.

All these men, thought Cassandra, interested in her?

“Don’t worry so much, my dear. Wedding jitters are normal. Especially since you’ll be our first mail-order bride.” The landlady, plump Mrs. Pepik, peered down her spectacles at Cassandra and patted her hand.

A nearby fireplace sizzled with the last of the ice-covered logs they had rationed for this evening. The warmth penetrated Cassandra’s cracked leather boots.

“You’re pleasant and...and wholesome.” The landlady’s eyes flickered over the scar on Cassandra’s cheek before she politely gazed away from it. “He’ll like you.”

Cassandra ran her hand along her right cheek, wondering if she’d ever be comfortable again with her own looks. Sometimes when she was alone and immersed in a task, she blissfully forgot about the burn injury, but in the presence of others, their curiosity and sympathy rarely allowed her that freedom.

“And as for you liking him,” the landlady continued on a cheery note, “fortunately, you get to make the selection.”

Giggles of excitement erupted at the table. The sound was much nicer to listen to than the sadness and despair when Cassandra had first arrived.

They were all survivors of what everyone now, nearly a year and a half later, was calling the Great Chicago Fire. A catastrophe that had caused over three hundred deaths and had left a hundred thousand people homeless. The fire had stolen the only two people Cassandra had loved—her beautiful younger sister, Mary, and their fearless father—and had made Cassandra silently question in the horrible months that followed whether she wished to go on without them.

Once, on what would’ve been Mary’s nineteenth birthday, Cassandra had walked quietly to the railroad depot and had almost leaped onto the tracks before an oncoming locomotive. The only thing that had stopped her were the nearby voices of two children—a brother and sister arguing over a hopscotch game they were chalking on the pavement. It was then that Cassandra had realized what her little sister would desire, more than anything: for her to live a full life.

And so ever since Mrs. Pepik had come upon the idea of advertising “her young ladies” as mail-order brides in the Western newspapers, the boardinghouse had become a sanctuary of laughter and amicable debates.

Cassandra, good with geography, logically minded and possessing a surprisingly natural skill with investigation, had helped track down some missing persons in the aftermath of the fire. She’d found intervals of employment for herself and some of the other women, and she’d gone to the records office to follow up on lost documents for others. She had comfortably and voluntarily dealt with lawyers, bankers and jailers. Due to her meticulous uncovering of lost people and papers, some of the workingmen she’d encountered had jokingly nicknamed her “That Lady Detective.”

Now, Mrs. Pepik stretched closer, eager to hear of the decision at hand. “Cassandra, which man will it be?”

A slender young woman in the corner spoke up. “I’d take the jeweler in Saint Louis.”

“Oh, no,” said another, “My vote is on the reverend in Wyoming Territory.”

Cassandra’s dearest friend and roommate, dark-haired Natasha O’Sullivan, offered her perspective. “Which man stands out for you, Cassandra? Which one does your heart point to?”

Cassandra took a moment, pressed back against her chair and decided. “The man from California.”

She shuffled through the letters till she found his again. The one she’d been rereading ever since she’d received it three days ago.

“But he sounds as if he works too hard,” someone said.

“California,” Cassandra repeated. Of all the replies to her carefully worded advertisement, his clearly stood out.

“Because of all the sunshine,” Mrs. Pepik assumed.

“Because you’d like to find employment as a detective,” said Natasha. “And California would allow you that as a woman.”

“That is true,” said Cassandra. “But mostly it’s because I know him.”

Feet stopped shuffling. Women stopped talking. Hands froze on correspondence.

Cassandra peered down at his signature. Jack McColton. She was besieged with a torrent of emotions. How could she express to her friends all that she felt? Jack was a link to the loving past, a tender link to Mary and Father, a link to pleasurable times and heart-thrilling memories. Yet, he was also a link to painful times, to an explosive night and accusations she never should have made, to a time when her skin had been perfect and her looks had been whole. She’d behaved so shamefully when she was younger, assuming her good fortune would last forever.

Mrs. Pepik glanced at his name and cleared her throat. “How is it that you know this man, Jack McColton?”

Trying to ignore another wave of apprehension, Cassandra proceeded to explain.

Four Months Later Napa Valley, California

“I urge you to reconsider.”

“Is this why you called me to your office? It’s too late. She’ll be here any moment.” Jack McColton removed his Stetson. He ran a hand through his black hair as he stood by the door, exasperated at the contrary advice he was receiving from his attorney.

June sunshine and summer-fresh air poured in from the window, rustling the gauze drapes.

“Don’t throw it all away, Jack.” Hugh Logan was more than an attorney; he was slated to be best man at the wedding. Jack had come to trust him as a dependable friend in the three years he’d been living and working in the valley.

Hugh, in his mid-thirties and a few years older than Jack, rose from behind his mahogany desk to allow his tailor to mark his new suit. The tailor, a rotund man from eastern Europe who didn’t speak or understand English well, quietly pinned the gray sleeves.

“I’m not throwing anything away,” Jack insisted.

“A new ranch. Two dozen horses. A veterinarian practice. Neighbors who would like nothing more than for you to marry one of their daughters.” Hugh’s red hair glistened from a recent cut at the barber’s.

“I was intending to find a suitable wife in Napa Valley, but things don’t always work out the way you plan.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s time to throw away the plan.”

“I know this girl.”

“You mean you knew her five years ago.”

Jack, many inches taller with broader shoulders than his friend, disagreed. “I’ve got to go.”

“Reconsider, Jack. Take your time with this. Court her all over again. Then get married if you still want to. Maybe what she’s truly attracted to is that big ranch of yours.”

Jack scoffed.

“That’s the attorney in me speaking.” Hugh’s gaze flashed down to the tailor, who was kneeling and making his way round the edge of the waistcoat, giving no indication that he was intrigued by the conversation. Even so, Hugh lowered his voice. “You know it’s fair advice, Jack. Hell, last night in the saloon you told me yourself she spurned you when you were livin’ in Chicago. Now that my head has cleared, I’d like to bring it to your attention, for the record, that the only thing that’s changed since her rejection then and her acceptance now is your net worth.”

Jack frowned. “It’s not the only thing.” Yet the comments cut deep into his pride. Cassandra had never been the easiest woman to deal with; in fact, she’d been downright spoiled by her father. But she’d suffered through a hell of a lot since Jack had last seen her. Both physically and emotionally.

And five years ago, he hadn’t proposed marriage to her. Damn, at the time when he’d approached her, she was engaged to someone else. It had all been so complicated and convoluted.

Yet, he did recall that her rejection hadn’t been a gentle one.

Jack rubbed his jaw.

The tailor asked Hugh to turn, then continued pinning.

Mail-order brides weren’t uncommon in these parts. Jack didn’t know any personally, but he’d heard tales. There were so few women in the West that many men used any means necessary to procure a bride and start a family. Jack imagined that some of the women were desperate—as were the men—but some of the ladies were adventurous and wished to travel West. It was less restrictive here than in the East, for lots of women owned their own property and ran businesses, or worked just as long and hard on the ranches and vineyards as their husbands. At least, that’s what Cassandra had written—that in addition to the compatible marriage, she was looking forward to the freedom in choosing her own occupations to fill her time.

She’d always been ladylike and restrained, and had listened quietly to her father’s advice. Jack imagined she’d be just as respectful of his opinions, and that she likely only wished to start up a library, perhaps, here in town. Or a knitting group, or work with him in some capacity on the ranch.

The ground outside rumbled. A team of horses pulling a stagecoach suddenly thundered past the window. She was here.

Jack took a deep breath.

“See you at the wedding, Hugh.” He planted his Stetson back on his head and strode out of the office, trying not to let on that the words still bothered him.

* * *

Sitting in the cramped stagecoach, Cassandra peered up from the book she was discreetly reading, Tales of Bounty Hunters and Criminals. Through the dusty windowpane, she observed vineyards on the slopes and palm trees among the town’s buildings, and worried again how very late they were. She tried to suppress her rush of nerves. It was Wednesday afternoon at fifteen minutes past two—more than two hours behind schedule.

Would her soon-to-be groom still be here, waiting for her, or had Jack tired of it and left?

She opened her large satchel and slid the book in among her other things. There was a Chicago newspaper, another text entitled California Courts and the Legal Code, a silver-inlaid derringer pistol and a small box of .41 Rimfire cartridges.

The driver pulled the team of horses into a green valley and the pretty town called Sundial, and careened to a stop. The three other passengers with her—an elderly couple and a young cowboy—gathered their belongings as she quickly disembarked.

“Good traveling with you, miss,” said the old gent, blinking at Cassandra’s scarred cheek.

“Enjoy the last leg of your journey,” she replied, turning her injured side away.

The young cowboy nodded goodbye. Although she and he were roughly the same age—mid-twenties—in all the hours they’d spent together, he’d never once gazed at her with any masculine interest in his eyes. Not that she wished him to; only that she noticed self-consciously that since her injury, most men silently dismissed her in that way.

Wearing a wide-brimmed sun hat with a chiffon scarf pushed through the top and hanging at her temples as ties, Cassandra instinctively pulled the dangling fabric over her marred cheek. She slid into the awaiting crowd and searched the faces.

What would Jack think when he saw her? She’d explained the injury to him in her letters. He’d responded that it was irrelevant to him, that he simply wished her good health and was relieved that she hadn’t been seriously injured.

Of course, he had written those words thousands of miles away. Things might be different up close. He was about to marry her, and what man didn’t wish to be sexually attracted to his bride?

Normally, being outdoors under the blue sky and sun calmed her, but not today. She searched the assortment of faces for someone who might resemble the man who’d walked out of her world five years ago. Back then their relationship had been strained, for it was a time when she had been engaged to someone else.

No Jack McColton.

Cassandra twirled around to study more faces. She was looking for someone tall, on the skinny side, with black hair. He was a veterinarian now, he’d written, working with horses in the vineyards, lumber mills and ranches of Napa Valley. He’d studied veterinary science in Chicago and she’d often seen him with a textbook in his hands. He’d always had a love of animals, she recalled, more interested in the livestock people owned than who might be knocking at the front door.

Searching the eager faces looking back at her, Cassandra dusted her threadbare skirts and adjusted her plumed hat to shield herself from the gleaming California sun.

So much hotter and drier than Chicago.

So much more hopeful and filled with promise.

So much more anxiety-inducing than she’d thought possible when she’d agreed to become a mail-order bride at Mrs. Pepik’s Boarding House for Desolate Women. In the return address she’d given Jack, she’d left off the desolate part.

No need to tell him how far she’d fallen.

Besides, he’d see it in one glance, wouldn’t he?

Stop that, she told herself, and straightened her posture with dignity and pride.

She was here to start a new life with a man she had known to be hardworking and law-abiding. In choosing Jack over the other prospects, she was at least going with a known quantity. She knew his flaws as well as his strengths. Surely that was an advantage, wasn’t it?

But perhaps she’d been hasty, rushing to marry him because of past memories and his recollections of her late sister and father. Five years had passed. For all she knew, he might now be reckless and unfeeling. And back then, she hadn’t spent that much time alone with him. Sometimes a person’s behavior was totally different in private than in public.

“Cassandra?” said a deep male voice behind her.

Feeling a stab of terror mixed with excitement, she wheeled around and nearly bumped into him.

She got an eyeful of a very broad chest wearing a neatly pressed white shirt and leather vest. Holding on to her hat, she craned her neck and peered way, way up. Her scarf draped against her scar.

Those familiar deep brown eyes flashed at her with curiosity. Her first impression was that everything about Jack McColton was incredibly dark. Tanned skin, black hair, black eyebrows, black leather vest, black cowboy hat. And no longer thin. His shoulders were as wide as forever. Obviously, his work in the vineyards had seasoned his physique.

He reminded her of a Thoroughbred racehorse, muscled and built for speed. Her pulse tripped over itself in response to his powerful presence. Wavy hair, longer than the men wore in Chicago, touched his collar. A sheen of moisture from the heat of the sun dampened his brow. He was clean-shaven, but already a dark shadow underlined his firm jaw and cast shadows in the dimple of his chin.

“Cassandra,” he repeated in a rich baritone. “Good to see you.” And then her scarf came away from her cheek, exposing the ugly ripple of flesh four inches in diameter, and his studious eyes flickered over it.

The burning heat of embarrassment and shame, and an overriding wish to flee, overtook her. This is what you ordered, she thought. How terribly disappointed you must be.

He fumbled for barely a moment, almost imperceptibly, then glanced back up into her eyes with a smile. “You look lovely.”

She took in a deep breath, touched by his kindness.

Why did the rhythm of her breathing still break when she was around him? Why had it always been like this? She nodded and smiled in a confusion of emotions.

She hadn’t realized how parched her mouth was. “Well, I...Jack...this climate certainly agrees with you.” Clumsily, she reached out to shake his hand at the same instant he held out a bouquet of pink wild roses.

She took the flowers, mumbled a thank-you that got muffled when he leaned forward, planted a large warm hand on her wrist and pulled her forward over the roses in an awkward semihug that two distant relations might share. It was a wonderful display of strain and discomfort, the same awkwardness that had existed between them when she’d been engaged to his cousin, Troy.

Only now she was engaged to Jack, and all the witty and charming things she’d practiced to say on their first meeting flew out of her head.

“Sorry you got delayed,” he said. “The coach is never on time.”

“Thank you for waiting,” she replied, still flustered.

“May I take your bag?” He extended his hand, and before she could stop him, took her woven satchel. Due to the weight of her books and gun, it thudded against his side. “What on earth are you carrying? Cannonballs?”

She smiled at his quip. She hadn’t written to him about her desire to be a detective. She wanted to prepare herself first, to scope out the town and its facilities, and break the news to him gently, in the event he had any objections.

“How was your trip?”

“Long and dusty. But it is exciting to see this part of the country.”

He gave her another one of those sweeping glances that seemed to sum her up. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Because of the massive scar?

He awkwardly tried to make it right. “I mean because you used to be a touch heavier, remember?” Then he groaned. Perhaps that wasn’t quite what he’d meant to vocalize, either.

In her efforts to recall what he might look like, she’d forgotten that she herself had been on the plump side, last time they’d seen each other on the night of their ripping argument.

But if he’d had any decency at all, if he’d truly cared for her as he’d confessed that evening, why had he packed his things and left in the middle of the night?

Not a word goodbye.

He had tried to kiss her, but how on earth could he have expected her to react, when she was engaged to his cousin? What more could any decent man expect but a slap on the face?

Anger flashed through her. She was surprised by it and tried to hide it. She thought she’d feel a hundred different things when she saw him again, but never suspected she still hadn’t gotten over the callous way he’d left. Those buried feelings of betrayal surged up and stung her. She didn’t wish to be resentful. What she’d hoped to be when she arrived, had fantasized being, was a pleasant and optimistic bride.

Perhaps what she was truly indignant about were the circumstances she had found herself in, in Chicago—no way to support herself immediately after the fire, no family to help, relying on the mercy of a man to marry her.

“I guess we’ve both been through a lot of change.” She smiled faintly, trying to overcome her emotions.

The artery at the base of his dark throat pulsed. He seemed to sense her discomfort as he watched her. “And how is Troy?”

Her lashes flicked as she averted her gaze. “Fine, I suppose. In England somewhere, last I heard.”

She hadn’t spoken to that turncoat for five years, either, but how would Jack know that? All she’d told him in her letters, when he’d asked, was that their engagement had been over for quite some time. The truth was, after that huge row with Jack, she’d gone to Troy and had discovered that all the terrible things Jack had said about him—his drinking and his carousing with painted ladies—were true. Cassandra had severed her engagement that very night. Yet when she’d gone to tell Jack that he was right about his cousin, he’d been nowhere to be found.

Over the course of the next few days and weeks, she had realized that she hadn’t really loved either man.

And then out of the blue had come Jack’s response to her ad as a bride.

He frowned, as if trying to read her expression, and any residue of sentiment she might still have for Troy. She pressed her lips together and tried to express nothing.

My, how good she’d become at that game.

The moment stretched and stretched. Then two young ladies walked by, whispering something about him with admiration in their tone. Jack didn’t pay them attention; his dark eyebrows flickered at Cassandra. He rubbed the tense muscles in his jaw and tilted his mouth in an expression of friendliness.

“Welcome to my valley.”

There went her nerves again. She couldn’t get enough of looking at the new Jack. Goodness. Wasn’t he handsome? Perhaps he knew it. Perhaps this new confidence she sensed in him came from being aware of how he was perceived by the women around him. And those women...they had such fine features and beautiful skin.

It hurt to remember that she’d once looked like that. That she’d once turned heads and garnered male attention.

She composed herself and tried to remain positive. Jack hadn’t asked anyone else to marry him; he had asked her. So Cassandra focused on what the future with him might bring, and gave him a cheerful nod. “Nice to be here, finally.”

“Yes, finally,” he said, as if he were thinking about something more.

She swooped down to inhale the perfume of the roses, hoping the color heating up her cheeks didn’t show.

Finally, after all these years, Jack McColton would be taking her virginity.

Chapter Two

“My horse and buggy’s up this way,” Jack said to Cassandra as he found her larger piece of luggage and led her away from the crowd.

He tried to restrain the sorrow he felt when he gazed at her and the injury to her face. God. It had nearly felled him when he’d first seen her.

He took a deep breath, but his muscles were still tense.

The pocked flesh covered her entire right cheek. It wasn’t that her beauty was affected, for he saw the lovely woman she was and always would be. It was that he felt such guilt in seeing the scar. If he had been there in Chicago, he damn well could’ve prevented her injury. He likely would’ve been living nearby, could’ve helped her and her family escape the fire, could’ve removed Cassandra from the burning timbers of her home.

But he hadn’t been there for her, and not only had she lost her family, she had to live with the scar and the turning heads wherever she walked. Even now, men and women caught sight of her and followed her with inquisitive eyes. He tried to ignore them, and the ones shouting their hellos at him to give Cassandra time to adjust. He was ashamed at how much they were staring, and just wanted to get her the hell out of there.

He placed her suitcase and satchel in his shiny buggy and held out his hand to help her onto the seat.

She slid her palm into his. Was he imagining it, or was her touch slightly shaky? She hopped up onto the polished leather and quickly released her grip, before he could tell for sure.

“I thought we’d get married tomorrow evening,” he said, trying to break the strain between them.

“Tomorrow? My, oh my.” Her soft expression flashed with surprise.

Something flickered past her shoulder. When he looked to the two-story frame building across the street, he saw the white curtains shift in his attorney’s office. Cassandra followed his gaze and peered at the office, too, then to the courthouse and the land registry building, as if orienting herself to the town.

Jack tried to ignore Hugh’s warning all over again. He knew what he was doing. There were good solid reasons for doing this.

Lots of men got married. He was of the age. A wife would enhance his life, not detract from it.

“Is tomorrow too soon? Would you like more time to get to know...to get to know the place?” Standing on the street, Jack peered at her bunched-up skirts, over the lacy blouse peeking through her bodice, to the side of her left pretty pink cheek. A few strands of blond hair had trapped some beads of perspiration. The hot sun had already gotten to her face. Luckily, she was shaded now by the roof of the buggy. She was still wearing her hat with the billowing scarf ends covering her injury, and his heart buckled with tenderness and regret that she felt the need to hide behind it.

She inhaled, the tug of her breath making the feminine curves of her throat stand out. Her blue eyes shone. “Tomorrow’s fine.”

“Good. Reverend Darcy said he’d be available at six.”

“Six o’clock, then.” She rested her roses in her lap, as cool and unattached as if they were strangers.

He supposed so much time had passed, they were strangers.

“Just a simple ceremony, Cassandra. Then back to the ranch for a few days of...of rest before I get back to work.”

“Yes, that’s fine.”

They had agreed in their letters that simple arrangements were best. She preferred a small ceremony. There would be no reception, since she didn’t know anyone here and the arrangements would’ve been too difficult for her to schedule from Chicago. He had offered to do it but she had declined, and to tell the truth, he was relieved. The only thing she had asked for was a church wedding, and he was pleased to oblige.

The mare harnessed to his buggy craned her neck at him as if to say, “Hurry up. What’s taking you so long?”

Cassandra, perched on the edge of her seat, seemed disarmed by the animal’s antics and smiled.

He gave the mare a pat as he walked around to his side of the buggy. “Easy, there, River, we’re going.”

In Chicago, Cassandra had been full of life and energy, bouncing everywhere with her younger sister, Mary, in tow. Her eyes had sparkled with vitality, and she’d had a constant smile on her face. Cassandra was much quieter here. Less carefree. He couldn’t blame her, considering the sorrow she’d been through. Her clothes were much more drab, too, but they covered a curvy new figure that intrigued him.

Dark blond silky hair, pretty blue eyes. But she still had that thing about her, that way she had of putting up her guard. If she hadn’t recently accepted his marriage proposal, he’d swear by looking at her that she wanted nothing to do with him.

Would he ever be enough for her? Would this life in California come anywhere close to what she’d dreamed her life would be like in Chicago?

The last time they’d spoken in person, he’d tried to kiss her, and she’d been point-blank honest that she wanted nothing to do with him.

How could he ever erase those stinging words from his memory?

It hadn’t been the first time he’d tried to tell her that he had cared for her, but she’d always pushed him away. Black sheep of the family was what he’d been then, and no one would’ve been more against him as a possible suitor than her father.

And now, sadly, it was just the two of them trying to work things out on their own.

And still he couldn’t trust her.

Oh, he felt plenty for her, physically, but what surprised him most in seeing her was the guarded feeling that sprang up, the knowledge that he might be just as hurt by her now as he’d always been.

He stole another glance at her as he reached his side of the buggy. The contradiction in her demeanor—the almost-smile and the heated flush, contrasting with the reserve in her stiff posture, made him ache to touch her. In fact, he wouldn’t mind driving the buggy to the church right now, then taking her straight to the Valley Hotel, where they could share that room he intended on renting for her alone tonight. Where he’d strip her naked, starting with that silly hat, and that prim bodice, with its dozen little buttons, which was trying its best to hide the lovely profile of her breasts.

To hell with the polished politeness of Chicago society. He could teach her a thing or two about how men were supposed to behave around their women. But would he ever be enough for her?

“Howdy, Dr. McColton,” said one of the Birkstrom brothers as he walked by on the boardwalk. “Wanted to thank you for tending to that calf last week. She’s up and about like nothing happened.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Jack.

“Say, Dr. McColton,” shouted another rancher from across the street. “Could you drop by to inspect that new stallion I got yesterday? He’s jittery. I think the train ride shook him up. And he scratched himself on some barb wire this morning.”

With hesitation, Jack glanced in Cassandra’s direction, feeling guilty about the time he’d be taking away from her. But he couldn’t let an animal suffer. “I’ll squeeze in a visit later tonight.”

“Much obliged.” The rancher looked curiously at Cassandra, then nodded goodbye.

More folks nodded in greeting, but Jack turned his attention back to his bride. Bride. He swallowed hard at the reality. He’d never given marriage much thought. Since Chicago, he’d enjoyed his time with various women and saw no reason to change. Occasionally, he’d thought of marriage in the far future, something that he might do, perhaps should do if he wanted to pass down his land to an heir. Then, when he’d seen Cassandra’s ad, the feelings had come rushing at him like a thundering buffalo.

He climbed aboard the buggy, settled beside Cassandra and flicked the reins. The vehicle rolled smoothly down the main street, its bolts and springs newly greased for the occasion. He became extremely aware of the woman beside him, the proximity of her elbow next to his, the lilt of her chest, the shifting of her thighs beneath her skirts.

“This is incredible.” She craned her neck to take in the view.

Gently sloped hills rolled toward them, terraced with rows of grapevines. Orchards sat on other slopes, filled with peach and plum trees. Raspberry bushes sprang from another acreage. A stream gushed through the valley and on behind the cluster of stores and shops in Sundial, otherwise the place would be as dry as dust. In the distance, saws from the lumber mill echoed in the hills.

“Where’s your ranch?”

He pointed to a sprawling house halfway up the slopes, built of stone and fresh-sawed lumber from the mills. “The white one in the middle of the trees.”

“All that?”

He nodded with pride.

“You’ve worked hard, Jack.”

“And from the sound of it, so have you. You must’ve come to know some of the women at the boarding house quite well.” She’d done odd jobs to help support herself, she’d written in her letters.

She turned away and peered up at two soaring hawks. “Lovely people, all of them, trying to overcome such tragedy.”

He wanted to offer his condolences again on the loss of her sister and father, out in the open this time and not simply through written correspondence. How did one convey the depth of compassion after such a catastrophe? The Great Fire had occurred nearly two years ago, in October of ’71, but the loss was still raw. He shook his head at the thought that one-third of the city’s population had lost their homes. And many had buried loved ones.

“I was so sorry to hear the news about your father and sister. If I had known...I would have been there to pay my respects, and to help if I could.” As for comforting Cassandra, he had mistakenly assumed Troy would be there to do that. How wrong Jack had been. The cousin—the one whose parents had taken Jack in as a boy when his own had passed away from consumption—had offered no support to her at all, because he wasn’t even in Chicago at the time of the fire.

She swallowed and clasped a pink rose on her lap. “Thank you. You mentioned you were in the new lands of Alaska and didn’t hear about the fire till six months later. How did the news finally reach you?”

“I was on a ship traveling down the coast, heading to California. There was an old newspaper stuck inside one of the animal cages. When I opened it, there was a photograph of your street. Burned to ashes.”

He swallowed hard at the memory of pulling out those pages, and the horror of not only seeing it, but being trapped on a ship and unable to do anything, not knowing what had become of Cassandra and her family. “It took another two weeks for the ship to land, and for me to get more information on the fire.”

“That explains why I didn’t hear from you.”

“I tried sending a telegram to locate you. No luck. I wrote to the police. No reply. I wrote letters, two of them, addressed to your father. They came back to me with...with ‘Deceased’ written on them.”

She murmured, “How awful to hear it that way.”

“I tried sending one to Troy, but it was returned, too, with ‘Address Unknown.’ I could only hope you and he had married and you had moved away to another city before the fire started. Perhaps to New York to join his parents.” Only his parents weren’t in New York, according to the private detective Jack had hired, but had gone to Europe somewhere. As had Troy, it turned out.

“There was such chaos after the fire. The police were overwhelmed. All the mail got redirected. There was so much of it, the post offices didn’t know what to do with it all, or how to locate anyone. One hundred thousand people with no address.”

Jack shook his head in wonder that she’d survived all she had.

“I miss them.” Her eyes glimmered with tears, her nostrils flared, her chin trembled. The depth of her loss left him speechless.

Then she took a deep breath and her sorrow shifted. “They would like it here. Mary loved sunshine, and my father would pick your brain on how many other lawyers are in town and whether he could make a fine living here himself.”

“Gordon always did like a good argument.”

She could have taken the statement badly, considering how often Jack had debated with the old gent, disagreeing on everything from city planning to job opportunities. Instead, she smiled softly and nodded.

“What newspaper did you see my advertisement in?”

“San Francisco Chronicle.”

He’d been shocked as hell when he’d seen her ad as a mail-order bride. First, that she’d survived the fire alone, and was still in Chicago. Second, that she and Troy were not married.

Jack nodded in greeting to two older folks walking toward the mercantile that sat beside the post office.

Horses clomped along the rutted grooves of the wide road. Riders on horseback, and other wagons sped along the busy shops.

Cassandra craned her neck to look at the sheriff’s office and jailhouse when they passed it, and another law office.

“So after the fire, Cassandra...who took care of you?”

She pivoted sharply to look at him, her manner cautious. “I took care of myself. I got a room at the boardinghouse, and made my own way.”

There was a lot she wasn’t telling him about that boardinghouse. Jack had received a report three months ago from the private detective he’d hired for a few days, as soon as he’d discovered where she was. This time in dealing with Cassandra Hamilton, he would go into the relationship with eyes wide open. But there was no reason to upset her with his knowledge. She was obviously trying to forget that she had wound up at a home for desolate women.

Desolate women. What a blow to her pride that must’ve been. She’d come from a wealthy family, having a new dress for every occasion, servants who said yes to everything she’d asked. The property had been lost in the fire, the land itself used to pay off debts her father had. Damn. If Jack had known, he would have done something to help her.

The one thing the detective couldn’t clarify for Jack was when, exactly, she and Troy had ended their relationship. No one the detective had interviewed had firsthand knowledge of any fiancé, only rumors that she’d been engaged years earlier. So the thing Jack was most curious about was the thing still left up in the air.

“I hope you don’t mind my asking, but when did you call off your engagement?”

She paused. “Five years ago.”

“Five?” He flicked the reins and the mare turned the corner, past the two banks in town. A handful of people wove in and out of the bakery, and farther along, the smoke shop where a man could buy a good cigar. A stagecoach creaked by in the other direction and Jack tipped his hat in greeting to the driver. “I’ve been gone five years. So when, precisely, did you part company?”

Color crept into her cheeks. “The night you left.”

Jack tried to piece together the timeline. It meant after his argument with Cassandra, Troy must’ve come to her, as well.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her arms stiffened at her sides. “You didn’t leave a forwarding address. I didn’t even know what country you were living in.”

“Ah, hell.” Another wave of guilt washed over him.

If she had known where he was living, would she have reached out for help? Something told him the answer would still have been no.

He directed the horse and buggy around the town square and the large granite sundial that sat in the center. Spaniards had built the structure more than a century ago, and it was how the town got its name.

Cassandra craned her neck to see it, intrigued. “Can you truly read the time from it?”

“Of course. I’ll show you how next time, when we’re on foot.”

“Jack, now that we’re face-to-face...and seeing that the date is planned for tomorrow, I’m wondering about a few things.” She swung her knees slightly in his direction.

Questions? But there was much more he wanted to ask her about Troy. Such as why they’d severed their plans for marriage, and who had been the one to walk away. Jack doubted it had been her, considering how much she’d defended Troy on that night.

Jack relented to her curiosity. “By all means, ask away.”

He pulled in beside the Valley Hotel, a board and batten, two-story building with a large veranda encircling the main floor. He dropped the reins and looked at Cassandra. Her face was in shade, but a sharp shadow line from the hot sun sliced across her lap.

She struggled to find the right words. “There were at least two dozen people at the stage depot when you picked me up. You spoke to several of them, and we passed another half dozen on the way here. Yet you haven’t introduced me to one person.” The crest of her cheek flickered. “Didn’t you tell anyone about me?”

He muttered under his breath, castigating himself. He’d handled her arrival all wrong.

“I’m glad you’re here, Cassandra.” He exhaled, wishing he’d thought things through in a different way. “The fact is I did tell some folks you were coming. Not the whole world, though. I’m not sure why I kept it to myself. It certainly wasn’t to make you feel slighted. Maybe it was because I wasn’t sure you’d be on that stagecoach.”

“You thought I might not show up?”

“That’s right.”

She blinked. “I’m here.”

He slid down from the buggy, strolled around to her side and lifted her by the waist with all the careful enthusiasm he used to have around her in Chicago, when they were younger and heading out for an evening with a group of friends.

It must’ve taken her by surprise. The wind caught her skirts and she yelped in laughter, sailing over the boardwalk. When he planted her feet square in front of the Valley Hotel, beneath a palm tree, he noticed they were being watched from two doors down.

Four young women were coming out of a hat shop, smiling and chattering, all holding several packages. One of the taller ones, Elise Beacon, peered over at him and Cassandra and, apparently startled by the sight, dropped one of her purchases.

Not now, thought Jack.

One of Elise’s friends fumbled to retrieve the package for her, while the others whispered, and nudged her to continue walking.

Jack removed his hat in greeting. “Ladies.” Then he turned to Cassandra, who’d briefly glanced in their direction, and held out his elbow. “Shall we go inside?”

Chapter Three

Cassandra wondered who the women were who had stared at her and Jack. There was a taller one with brunette hair fastened up beneath a stylish hat, whose eyes had met hers. The woman had whispered something to a friend, and they’d both seemed to be stifling amusement.

Did they find something humorous about Cassandra? Surely they wouldn’t be laughing at her scar.

She decided she was being foolish. They obviously knew Jack, and were giving him female attention—which seemed to be a common pastime in Sundial. And why not? He was a charming, hardworking bachelor. But soon-to-be-married, she hoped they realized.

Jack held out his arm and she took it. Soon she was registering at the front desk, her bags were being whisked upstairs and she was exchanging pleasantries with the young man behind the counter. If he noticed her cheek, he didn’t let on that anything was amiss.

“Take care of her,” said Jack. “We’re getting married tomorrow.”

“Are you now, Dr. McColton? Congratulations to you both.” The boyish clerk swung the registry back toward himself, read her name and addressed her. “Miss Hamilton, welcome to the Valley Hotel. Will you be needing any amenities shortly? Something from the dining hall, or perhaps a bathtub filled?”

Jack interjected, “Cassandra, I’m hoping you’ll come with me to the ranch for dinner. Won’t you?” When he turned his handsome face toward her, her qualms subsided about the women she’d seen outside. There was no need to get stirred up about what might or might not happen in this town now that she’d arrived. She was here, and determined to make the best of it.

“I’d love to see it. But I do need time to get back this evening, soak in a hot tub and prepare for tomorrow.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Jack’s mouth. Heat flashed in his penetrating eyes, and she got the distinct impression he was imagining her in that tub.

She tried to squelch the flutter she felt, wondering what the marriage night would be like, and nervously brushed back strands of wispy hair. “Please give me ten minutes to freshen up. I’ll be right down.”

“Take twenty,” he said, strolling through the large, cool foyer.

The desk clerk tapped a bell on the counter. A porter appeared. Carrying her satchel, Cassandra marched up the wide wooden staircase behind him. The hotel wasn’t as grand as some in Chicago, but its Californian flavor—with rustic timber, a stone fireplace in the front entry and plenty of windows—was appealing.

She knew there’d be no time for a honeymoon. Jack had explained it in his letters. She wouldn’t be disappointed, she told herself. He enjoyed working hard in his profession, and made no excuses for it. She preferred that over someone sitting idle.

Besides, what other man who’d written to her asking for her hand in marriage had promised her an easy life? Not one.

The porter unlocked a door, handed her the key, set her large suitcase inside and politely left. Cassandra walked into the airy room. The furnishings were sparse, but a large window overlooked the street below. She pulled aside the curtain and noted again the buildings she would likely visit soon in her quest to become a detective—the sheriff’s office, land registry, courthouse, the two banks on the corner. She peeked to see if that brunette woman was still at the hat shop, but saw no sign of her.

Cassandra looked down at her faded clothes. Her well-worn jacket and long skirt appeared so paltry compared to the freshly tailored suit the other woman had been wearing. She came from money, no question. And judging by the daring expression on her face, she definitely knew Jack. Did the woman know he’d be married tomorrow? Cassandra removed the derringer and box of bullets from her satchel, and hid them in the dresser. She tucked the newspaper and books in, too. One other question burned in her mind as she prepared for the afternoon with Jack.

Who was that woman?

* * *

To Jack, it seemed almost like a regular outing with a regular woman, except this one would soon be his wife. He stretched out his legs in the buggy, repositioned his silver-tipped cowboy boots and grasped the reins in his callused hand. Warm winds enveloped him and Cassandra as they drew closer to his ranch.

She’d changed from her traveling clothes into something plainer—long brown skirts, an ivory blouse and patched shawl. She’d let her blond hair fly free, and he enjoyed seeing it spill over her shoulders. However, she was still wearing that damn hat with the dangling scarf she was obviously using to shield her scarred cheek.

He wished she’d chuck the blasted thing. She didn’t need it. But saying so might only embarrass her.

How many nights in the past month had he thought of what it might be like to bring Cassandra home?

He felt more awkward than he had imagined he would. When their knees brushed, when he pointed out his neighbors’ ranches on surrounding hills, indicated the train tracks that ran through the valley to reach the lumber mills, even when they simply sat and said nothing, a mountain of tension rippled between them.

It was as if they each didn’t trust the other. But why would she mistrust him? She was the one who’d turned him away in Chicago, more than once!

He was relieved when they finally approached the house. Red-colored dogwood lined the perimeter of the quarter-mile laneway. The buggy whisked into the shade of the big oaks as they neared the wide, two-story house. Sunlight danced off the clay roof, bounced on the walls of white-painted timber, and sparkled against blue shutters. A stone chimney dominated the north wall.

To the other side, one of his gardeners was painting the fence, his ranch hands were busy working at the two stables, and splendid horses galloped across the fields.

Cassandra turned her head to view the pretty sight. “How many horses do you keep?”

“Twenty-six at the moment. It’s gone as high as thirty-six. I rent them to neighbors, whenever they’re needed in the vineyards, or at harvest season, or sometimes for traveling. It works out well. My neighbors get the use of fine horses, and my animals get exercised.”

“And you get to buy and trade livestock. Impressive. What you’ve always wanted.”

He grinned at her perceptiveness.

The two sheepdogs came dashing out from the stables and circled around them, tails wagging.

Jack parked the buggy, signaled to one of the hands to come get it, and went to help Cassandra down from her seat. She didn’t need assistance this time. She managed to slide out before he got to her, skirts billowing in the wind, scarf flapping against her face.

She didn’t look well. Rather pale and shaken. “Are you feeling all right?”

She nodded. “It’s been a long journey.”

“I hope you’ll like it here.”

“It’s breathtaking, Jack.”

Her comment filled him with pride.

She smiled nervously, and when some of the men working in the vicinity cast their curious eyes her way, she stepped closer to Jack. The dogs swished their orange tails and panted at her. With a laugh, Cassandra bent down to say hello.

“Meet Caesar and Queenie,” he told her.

She gave them a pat and a rub behind the ears. “By your names, it sounds as though you rule this place.”

“Jack!” called his hefty foreman. “Sorry to bother you, sir. Got a scheduling problem with two of the mares.”

“Excuse me.” Jack left Cassandra’s side for a moment, conversed with his foreman, ironed out the dilemma and returned to her side.

His housekeeper and butler greeted Cassandra warmly when she entered the oak double doors. They were a married couple from England, Mr. and Mrs. Dunleigh. Although conservative in their ways, underneath their formal exterior, and once folks got to know them, they were very friendly. Jack had already explained to them the nature of Cassandra’s scar, that she’d been trapped in her burning home and that a timber had fallen across her face. She had dashed in after her father, to locate her sister upstairs. The other two hadn’t made it out alive, but Cassandra had been rescued by a volunteer fireman.

The Dunleighs discreetly ignored the visual marking.

“Miss Hamilton,” said the very tall housekeeper, whose gray hair was impeccably groomed. “Welcome to California.” Her gold-rimmed spectacles slid down her nose.

“Very nice to be here.”

“May I take your shawl?” asked her husband. He was six inches shorter than his wife and slightly hunched.

“Please.”

“And your hat?” asked Mrs. Dunleigh.

Cassandra hesitated, then slowly slid it off. No one paid her any mind. Jack hadn’t realized how tense he was about the whole hat thing until she finally gave it up, and he breathed out a sigh of relief.

He peered toward the table by the door, and the overflowing letter holder there.

“The mail came this morning, sir,” said Dunleigh. “Some correspondence appears to need your attention immediately. One letter is from the auction house in San Francisco.”

“I’ll get to it shortly.” There seemed to be a never-ending pile of paperwork from his suppliers and customers.

“Dr. McColton,” chirped the housekeeper, “I’ve set some refreshments on the terrace.”

“Very good.” Jack ushered Cassandra through the house.

He wished they would warm up to each other, but there was only strain. She took in the view as their boots tapped on the clay-tiled floors. Colorful rugs lay scattered in the sitting room between the horsehair sofas and chairs and fieldstone fireplace. Mexican artwork adorned the plaster walls. Twenty feet up, timber rafters crisscrossed the ceiling.

The kitchen, with two fireplaces, butcher-block counters, sideboards lining two walls, and a wide pine table, overlooked one of the terraces. The dining table could easily accommodate fourteen.

“My, Jack,” Cassandra said. “I had no idea your house was this huge. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Everything in California’s big. I didn’t notice.”

She tilted her head, eyes sparkling as if she didn’t quite believe him, and he noticed with a quickening of his pulse that there was some tenderness in her gaze.

“Shall we sit outside?” he asked.

She nodded. They made their way to the bamboo chairs beneath a trellis. Thankfully, the color had returned to her face, which was shaded by the lush fronds of the palm trees above. “What a gorgeous spot.”

Jack adored the view, too. It was why he’d decided to buy this piece of property. Land as far as the eye could see. Rolling vales and sloped vineyards that blended into a big blue sky. The scent of earth and wind, and a feeling that Mother Nature had taken extra care when she’d created Napa Valley.

“Sir,” interrupted the butler. “Two gentlemen to see you from San Diego.”

“Today? But they weren’t supposed to arrive till next week.”

“They mentioned they had business this way, sir, and wished to call on you today. Shall I—” Dunleigh glanced at Cassandra, who seemed to withdraw “—ask them to return next week?”

“Please go ahead, Jack.” Cassandra lifted a cool drink to her lips and sipped.

This wasn’t what he’d had in mind for her visit. He’d hoped to spend the whole day with her. However, the rest of the afternoon continued in the same manner. Every time they’d begin to talk, there’d be an interruption, and he was called away. Every time he’d try to lean over and say something more intimate than “Help yourself to another bite of cheese and grapes and walnuts,” one of the Dunleighs walked in with another announcement.

He found Cassandra outside two hours later, steps from the terrace, gazing at the colorful flowers and shrubs he and his gardeners took such pride in. She bent lower and sniffed a wild rose, a pink one, and her hair tumbled over her shoulder. She pushed it back with pretty fingers.

“Now I know where you got that beautiful bouquet.”

“Sorry for all the interruptions.”

“I think I’d better get back. There’s much I have to do for tomorrow.”

“Won’t you stay for dinner?”

“There’s something very charming about the tradition of being separated from the groom the night before the wedding. Don’t worry about me eating, I’ll order from the hotel. Sorry, I’m not very hungry now.”

He was concerned. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Yes, much.” Her eyes were brighter, her lips fuller and pinker.

“Do you need help with anything at the hotel? I’m sure Mrs. Dunleigh would be pleased to lend a hand. With your wardrobe, for instance.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He felt suddenly shut out of her life.

He understood she was a bride needing her privacy, but back in Chicago, she’d always shut him out of her thoughts and feelings. He shoved his hands into his pockets, brought back to their days there, when he’d been much younger and much more nervous around the fairer sex. Hell, he was a lot more experienced than he used to be, and being with Cassandra shouldn’t affect him. But the five years he’d spent carousing in saloons with entertaining women didn’t seem to help him now.

“I hope you’ll consider this a fine home, Cassandra,” he said.

“I look forward to it very much.”

He wondered whether he should show her the second floor, where the bedrooms were located—his, soon to be theirs—but decided not to. It would be awkward to press something so personal upon her, in full view of the staff, when he and Cassandra weren’t yet married.

“Tomorrow at six,” he reminded her. “I’ll have the Dunleighs come to your hotel at quarter to the hour to escort you to the church.”

She nodded and kept her distance.

He stayed at arm’s length, too. He wanted to kiss her, but his staff persisted in intervening. Cassandra didn’t seem to expect, nor did she appear to miss the fact that he didn’t approach her. When he was called away again by his foreman to check on a sluggish colt, Jack said goodbye to her and asked Mr. and Mrs. Dunleigh to accompany her to the hotel.

“We’ll see each other tomorrow,” Jack said.

“Have a good evening,” she replied, as cool as a moonbeam. She pulled her shawl around her slender shoulders and was gone.

* * *

He hadn’t kissed her!

Hours later, alone in her hotel room with a towel wrapped around her newly washed hair, Cassandra still couldn’t believe the slight. It was all she’d thought of since the moment they’d parted, during her ride back to town with Mr. and Mrs. Dunleigh, and during her bath on the lower floor of the hotel.

She stared at his pink roses on the nightstand. She’d placed them in a vase beside the lone lantern, which cast a dim glow. Why hadn’t Jack tried to kiss her? Had he found her repulsive?

She didn’t think so, for he was about to marry her. Most men wouldn’t wed a woman unless they found her appealing in some way. Besides, the way his burning gaze sometimes raked over her, she knew with a rush to her pulse that he sometimes found her attractive.

Perhaps he’d wanted to be affectionate, but the sight of her marred cheek had stopped him.

She couldn’t imagine how their wedding night would go. Was that promise of sexual excitement in his dark brown eyes deceiving? Or would his physical skills match the apparent appetite in his hungry gaze? If he was a passionate man, then why in blazes hadn’t he kissed her?

Some men put up a good act, pretending to be what they weren’t. Troy Wainsborough had been a prime example. On the surface, he’d been a successful attorney, a protégé of her father’s at his law offices. She’d been coaxed and prodded for years in his direction by her father. Beneath the surface, however, Troy had a darker side that involved drinking and loose women. He’d been belligerent to her, not a family man at all.

His cousin, Jack, who was taken in by Troy’s family at a young age upon the death of his parents, had always been labeled the black sheep. Her father had believed it, emphatically pointing out the young man’s disobedience to his aunt and uncle, his frequent brawls and his argumentative nature.

Cassandra’s misjudgment of Jack had come to light the night he’d left Chicago. Hours too late to apologize to him.

But here they had a second chance.

Dressed in her tattered nightgown, Cassandra lifted the hot iron she’d ordered from the front desk, and pressed it upon the limp lace of her wedding gown. Although the dress was thirdhand, passed down to her from Mrs. Pepik at the boarding house, Cassandra adored it. She gingerly ironed the collar and tended to the small creases beneath the bust.

At the thought of all her dear friends in Chicago, her chest ached with emptiness.

Everything here seemed so solitary.

She wished her sister were here to help her prepare for the wedding. She wished her father would be here tomorrow to walk her down the aisle. She wished she had a single friend in this town. Most fervently of all, she wished that Jack McColton had swept her up in his arms and kissed her as if she meant something to him.

With a catch in her throat, she set the iron aside. It was getting cool, and the ironing was finished. As practical as she was, Cassandra knew she’d better get some sleep tonight. But if she did have a true friend in this town, they would have spent the night talking, sharing thoughts about Chicago and what this new community was all about.

Instead, Cassandra finished the sandwiches she’d ordered from the kitchen, packed her luggage, gave her faded leather shoes a polish, and said a prayer for tomorrow.

When the sun beamed through her windows in the morning, she was awake and ready. She dressed in her casual clothes, dined by herself for breakfast and took a stroll down the boardwalk, ignoring the curious glances of strangers. Eventually she bought a newspaper and brought it back to the room.

In the afternoon, she read every article and advertisement. She paid particular attention to the Help Wanted section, news of a robbery on the San Francisco rail line, ads for the law offices, and properties for sale. There were lots of things people could hire her for—including searching for lost relatives, preparing documents to present to lawyers, helping to recover stolen property, and possibly uncovering criminal activity.

When the time neared, she brushed her hair, twisted ribbons through the blond strands and braided it to one side. She donned her corset, slipped into her stockings and garter, and stepped into her wedding gown.

There was only a tiny oval mirror nailed to the wall, just big enough to see her face, so she wasn’t able to get a full view of herself in her wedding finery.

Perhaps she should have procured a veil of some sort to drape across her face. She sighed, hoping Jack would overlook her imperfections. Not many men would accept her as a bride. She respected Jack McColton for his strong sense of honor and his desire to marry her despite her flaws, and prayed that it would be enough when it came time to spend the night together.

She looked down at the white fabric cascading over her hips. Everything seemed to be in order.

The gown had a high waistline, cinched beneath her breasts, a plunging neckline offset by a half collar at the back, puffy sleeves and a very long train. Cassandra carefully picked up the swirly back end and slipped the elegant loop over her finger to hold the train off the ground. Her shoes weren’t new—black stiletto boots with tiny leather buttons, the only good pair she owned—but they gave her a nice height.

She twirled with pleasure, and her hemlines brushed nicely over her ankles.

The knock on her door came at precisely quarter to the hour of six. When she opened it, Mr. and Mrs. Dunleigh were standing there in formal attire.

“My dear, you look beautiful.” Mrs. Dunleigh gave her a tender smile, and Cassandra felt more appreciated in that one simple act of kindness than she had all day.

“Thank you.”

The heavyset Mr. Dunleigh, more reserved than his wife, nodded at her scuffed luggage. “May I take your bags? There’s a man outside waiting to take them to the ranch.”

“Yes, please.” Cassandra had repacked her pistol, bullets and books, and now welcomed the help. She looked at her wild roses. “I nearly forgot about a bridal bouquet. These will do.” She picked up the bundle of roses, dried off the stems and wrapped the moist ends in a blue lace handkerchief. She wondered if Jack had imagined when he’d given them to her that she’d be carrying them down the aisle.

Ten minutes later, they were walking to the church. It was only a few blocks from the hotel, but even so, Cassandra attracted lots of attention. Shop owners peered out of their windows, a man sweeping the boardwalk stopped to stare, people on horseback craned their necks and a small child grabbed at her mother’s skirts and pointed.

The church on the corner was covered with clapboard. A tall steeple rose above it, shaded by redwoods.

“There has to be some mistake,” said Cassandra, drawing nearer and noticing all sorts of buggies lined up along the street. “We’re having a small ceremony. Just a few people. Maybe this is the wrong church.”

“No mistake.” Mr. Dunleigh said matter-of-factly. “This is the correct location.”

Mrs. Dunleigh leaned over to whisper, “I don’t know what’s gotten into Dr. McColton today. I heard him inviting everyone, whatever friends happened by the ranch. Said he should’ve announced the wedding weeks ago....”

Cassandra moaned softly. Had Jack assumed that she wanted a large ceremony because of her comment yesterday that he hadn’t told many people about their impending nuptials? It was kind of him to think of her...but this wasn’t what she’d meant. These were strangers to her, and would only increase her jitteriness.

“Come along, miss,” Mr. Dunleigh urged. “We’ll go through the side door and leave you with Reverend Darcy.”

“Leave me? Oh, no, please,” said Cassandra.

Husband and wife turned to her. The housekeeper’s spectacles slid to the bottom of her nose as she peered down at Cassandra. “Yes, what is it?”

“Mrs. Dunleigh, surely you’ll understand, but may I borrow your husband, please? My father’s not here, and I feel awkward asking a stranger. But it would mean the world to me if Mr. Dunleigh could stand beside me and walk me down the aisle.” Cassandra’s mouth went dry as she peered at the gentleman. “Please, Mr. Dunleigh.”

His wife pulled a hanky from her long sleeve and sniffled into it. “Of course, my dear, we wouldn’t have it any other way.” She gave a pointed look to her husband, who didn’t appear to be convinced.

His eyebrows were raised as he deliberated. When he hesitated too long, he was reprimanded by his wife. “Yes, of course,” she prodded, “he’d cherish the moment. Wouldn’t you, dear?”

“Absolutely,” he said with a simple nod. He wasn’t enthusiastic, but was gentlemanly about the matter.

Mrs. Dunleigh entered the front of the church. Cassandra and Mr. Dunleigh took the side stairs and stepped into the alcove at the back. Reverend Darcy, with short gray hair and a long black robe and collar, greeted her kindly. “Good evening. Welcome, welcome, lass.”

He gave her instructions on how they’d begin, then quickly departed. Cassandra stood nervously beside Mr. Dunleigh in the alcove. Judging by the shuffling of feet and amount of murmuring behind the wall, it sounded like a packed congregation.

When the pianist began “Here Comes the Bride,” Cassandra placed her hand on Mr. Dunleigh’s elbow and came out of hiding.

Up at the altar, Jack turned.

He looked splendidly handsome in a formal black tailcoat and blue cravat. His black hair caught the light cascading from an arched window, and the corners of his mouth lifted upward in what appeared to be approval. He glanced briefly at her burned cheek. His jaw tightened and she saw regret in his eyes.

What was he thinking?

Mr. Dunleigh marched her down the aisle. They fumbled a bit because their paces didn’t match. Cassandra, light-headed, felt the strain of tension and worry that had been building for months.

The pews were jammed with a hundred bodies, all turned in her direction and staring. Some looked curious, some aloof; some were smiling. Cassandra focused ahead, gripping her flowers as though they were a lifeline.

Jack’s best man was standing to his side, a dapper-looking fellow in a gray suit, with slicked-back red hair. Because of his cool expression, he was harder to read than Jack. On the other side, as Reverend Darcy had explained to her, his elderly wife was waiting to be a witness for Cassandra.

They reached the altar. Mr. Dunleigh faded away, and Cassandra stepped up beside Jack. His eyes flickered over her, then down to her roses.

“This is it,” he murmured. “Are you ready?”

She nodded and smiled, but couldn’t help but wish he’d said something more personal. She bowed her head as the minister began.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here together on this beautiful summer day to join this man and this woman.”

The rest was a blur to Cassandra. She was feeling queasy and started to rock. The next thing she knew, they were nearly at the end. Her head swam. Only a few more minutes...

“If there is any man who can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

“I object!” a woman’s voice called from the back.

Cassandra snapped to attention.

People gasped. Jack swung around sharply.

Dismayed, Cassandra swiveled in her wedding gown, peering past all the faces to the stylish woman in a plum-colored suit who’d stepped out to voice her objections. She was the brunette who’d dropped her package coming out of the hat shop yesterday when she’d spotted Jack and Cassandra together.

Bouts of nervous coughing and shuffling ran through the congregation. Did everyone else know about this woman and this potential problem?

Had Jack seen this coming?

Chapter Four

Chaos broke out as Jack looked on, feeling powerless at his own wedding.

Reverend Darcy tried to take control of the situation in a calm, clear voice. “Miss Elise Beacon, please say what’s on your mind.”

Murmurings and exclamations turned into dead silence.

Elise stood in a pew next to the aisle, surrounded by female friends. She grasped the railing in front of her and glanced at Jack with what seemed like apology in her eyes.

He steeled himself. How could she do this? What gave her the right? He tried to restrain himself, but burned with fury.

“Reverend, I’m sure the whole town knows that Jack has been courting me, with expectations of...of... I feel he’s being disingenuous to arrange a marriage to someone else.”

“Our courtship ended months ago,” Jack replied. He glanced at Cassandra, whose pretty mouth had fallen into a grim line. She’d lost her color, and his indignation flared at what this outburst was doing to her. “Reverend, I’m afraid Miss Beacon exaggerates the extent of our involvement.”

Elise appeared crestfallen. She’d always been overly emotional, overly wrought when things didn’t go well, and she certainly had no right to place blame at his feet. She was the one who’d flirted with other men when she’d been with Jack. But to say so here would be to smear her honor. No matter how unreasonable she was to voice her objections at his wedding, he would not stoop to her level.

Cassandra would have to trust him on this.

But dammit! He took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

Hugh, his best man, stepped out to try to smooth the difficulties. “Elise, everyone here knows and respects your forthright nature.”

The reverend latched on to Hugh’s train of thought. “Yes, Miss Beacon, it is always best to clear the air, and I do appreciate your communicating your thoughts on the matter. However, that is not a lawful reason to stop this wedding. Unless he formally proposed to you?”

Elise’s color heightened as she slowly shook her head.

“Now, are there any just causes why this marriage cannot lawfully take place?” The gray-haired gent scanned the crowd.

When Jack looked again at Cassandra, she seemed to be swaying. He leaped to catch her and her bouquet before both could collapse to the floor.

Other people rushed to their aid.

The front pew was cleared and Jack helped her sit. He knelt at her feet, the white folds of her gown billowing around them. “Cassandra,” he said gently.

“I’ll be all right,” she said. “So sorry. I think it’s the heat and lack of sleep.”

“There’s no need to apologize. It’s me who’s sorry.” And extremely concerned at her pale color. “Would you like to rest? Or would you like to leave?”

Cassandra didn’t immediately respond. Hugh, however, slid in next to Jack, in the new gray suit he’d had fitted in his office yesterday. “Can I do anything?” His words sounded genuine, despite his earlier warnings to Jack to steer clear of marrying a mail-order bride.

Jack shook his head.

“Seriously, Jack,” said Hugh, “maybe I can help by talking with Elise.”

Mr. and Mrs. Dunleigh appeared beside them and fussed over Cassandra. Jack stood up in the swarm of people and searched for Elise, but she was no longer there. Neither were her friends. Hugh shrugged his shoulders in frustration.

The crowd hushed and watched. Jack held out his hand and Cassandra grasped it with renewed strength. He helped her to her feet. Whatever had happened, she had recovered. The warm white color of her gown accentuated the fresh glow in her cheeks. Dammit, every time he looked at her burn, he felt a flash of guilt. Especially today. No bride should have to feel self-conscious on her wedding day. He sensed the tension between them, as if they were more like strangers than a couple who’d once known each other and were happy to be standing before the altar.

“I would like you to be my wife, Cassandra,” he said clearly, so there was no mistaking it in the crowd. “Would you do me the honor?”

“I would like to, very much.”

With relief, they turned to face the minister, and were wed.

* * *

She waited, but still there was no seductive kiss.

“I now pronounce you man and wife,” said the minister.

Jack briefly brushed his lips against hers. Cassandra wished for more, but gathered that he must be as apprehensive as she was, considering what they’d just been through with that combative woman. Why had she waited until that moment to speak out? She must have been seated in the congregation at least several minutes before Cassandra had arrived. Why not speak to Jack privately before the ceremony?

It was as though she had wished to be as dramatic and confrontational as possible. Jack’s explanation seemed plausible to Cassandra, and when she’d known him in Chicago, he hadn’t been one to string along any women. Plus there hadn’t been one person in the congregation who’d corroborated the woman’s story.

Cassandra was still trying to make sense of it when Jack whisked her outside and seated her in the buggy. To her disappointment, Mr. and Mrs. Dunleigh traveled with them. The butler took the reins, his wife sat in front with him, and Cassandra and Jack shared the rear seat. Cassandra desperately wanted to talk to Jack alone about what had happened, but considering that the Dunleighs were within earshot, she decided to keep her private thoughts to herself.

A few people hollered in good cheer as they left the church, and Cassandra wished she knew some of the friendlier ones.

The twenty-minute ride to the ranch was discouraging. She clenched her bouquet of wilting roses in her lap, looked out at the pastures and greenery, and wished that there wasn’t two feet of space between herself and her new husband. She wished he would at least touch her.

“I’ve made you dinner,” Mrs. Dunleigh said when they pulled up to the big house. “It’s warming in the oven. If you’d like me to join you and serve it—”

“That’s fine,” Jack interrupted. “We’ll manage from here.”

“Congratulations to you both,” said Mr. Dunleigh. “Sheila and I wish you many happy years together. And we look forward to many more years of service in this household.”

“Thank you,” said Jack, and Cassandra smiled in appreciation.

The gent tipped his bowler hat, then he and his wife headed toward a side entrance.

Cassandra looked after them. “They have their own wing of the house?”

Jack nodded. “They definitely won’t be joining us on our honeymoon eve.”

Flustered at the thought of finally being alone, Cassandra accepted his assistance from the buggy. His hands spanned her waist and she slid down beside him, so very conscious of his nearness.

“We were surrounded by other people for so long,” she said, “I thought we’d never be alone.”

Jack’s grin was a welcome relief from the tension of the past few days.

“I’ve let all the staff know we’re not to be disturbed. The Dunleighs have retired to their quarters, and the ranch hands and their cook are in the bunkhouse.”

He took Cassandra’s hand and pulled her around the house to the private entrance and terrace near the dining area. After opening the French doors, he turned, and before she realized his intent, swung her up in his arms.

“Over the threshold, right, Mrs. McColton?”

Hearing her new name spoken aloud made her shiver. She was his wife.

He set her on her feet inside the kitchen, where tantalizing aromas wafted from the brick wall ovens. And there were cut flowers everywhere—white and yellow roses, mountain orchids and pristine lilies of the valley.

When Jack set her down, he didn’t let her go. He allowed his palm to linger on her shoulder blade, the warmth of his touch seeping into her flesh.

Breathless, she looked up at him. His dark hair, newly washed, tumbled to the sharp line of his eyebrows. His skin was tanned from the sun and the wind, and a muscle rippled in his cheek. Those eyes, those dark brown eyes the color of moist earth and swirling clay, swept over her. Not in such a detached manner as when she’d first arrived, but more pulsating, controlling, tempting.

Yet the two of them were still ill at ease with each other. He reached down and brushed a strand of hair from her left cheek, her good side, and stroked it. His touch caressed her skin.

Then he dropped his hand and glanced around the kitchen, as if scoping out what the housekeeper had arranged for them.

Cassandra took the moment to try to compose herself.

She’d lost her heart once to another man, with dire consequences, and didn’t wish to risk it again. Though she and Jack were now married, the peril she felt in possibly having her heart ripped out a second time, only to be replaced with a painful emptiness, made her cautious. Perhaps more so now that they were wed.

There was so much more to lose.

Maybe it was the heartless ruin of everyone she’d lost over the last five years that struck her with such force. First, learning the truth about Troy, his uncontrolled fits of temper when he drank, his dalliances with prostitutes, his words, “I always found you too prim and proper,” the last time they’d spoken. How could his pronouncement still hurt so much?

And then the second aching loss that would never be filled—the missing presence of her sister, Mary, and the loving protectiveness of her father. Cassandra would forever feel that pain.

It seemed that life’s sorrows didn’t stop at just one heartache. They kept coming and coming...and all she could do was try to protect herself the best she could.

Cassandra had tried her hardest to remain optimistic—especially in the boardinghouse, with the other women. Some had lost children in the fire, and that pain had to be indescribable.

Being here with Jack, she felt so terribly vulnerable and fragile.

He had the power to destroy her.

If she let him. If she let him into her heart, into her soul, into her very life.

It would be much simpler, much less damaging to her, if she kept him at a distance. If anything, the outburst by Elise Beacon today had forewarned Cassandra of how much she could still hurt. She wanted to ask Jack about that other woman, but now that they were alone, she was reluctant to bring it up and spoil their moment.

He turned around again, a smile lingering on his lips.

“You’re a very beautiful woman,” he murmured.

Beautiful? Really? Her?

Her breath tripped in her throat. It was the first sensual thing any man had said to her since the fire. But...would Jack be terribly disappointed, as Troy had been, when they became more intimate? Not that she had ever slept with Troy, but their relationship had been physical enough on one occasion that it still brought shame to her cheeks. He’d partially disrobed her.

How could she have been so deceived into believing he had loved her?

Stop it, she told herself. This was nonsense, thinking like this when she had another man, a more honorable man, standing before her, trying to express some gentle words.

“You look very dashing in your suit. I had a lovely day.”

“It’s not over,” he said, and indicated that she should look around the room.

To their right, the dining table had been set with a lovely assortment of fine china, sparkling goblets and silverware. A feast was about to be consumed. Candles about to be lit.

Yet what she noticed most was that Jack had removed his hand from her back moments ago. A cold shadow, a phantom of his masculine touch, lay there instead.

“A toast to us?” He offered her the choice between a white chardonnay and a red pinot noir. “They’re both superb wines from the area.” They settled on the red, and he poured.

“It’s very nice,” she said, upon tasting it.

There was something very romantic, yet also very much missing, when the two of them sat down to eat, both in their wedding attire. Jack was attentive to her needs, serving her the finest cut of roast beef she’d ever tasted, potatoes pulled that day, green beans mixed with a walnut sauce, and savory desserts of raspberry custard and lime pie.

If they had been in love, the dinner might have been incredibly sentimental and romantic. Instead, without family and dear friends to share it, it seemed lonely. And awkward, with the two of them trying to pretend they were totally at ease with one another, that there was nothing but food on their minds, that they weren’t both thinking apprehensively of the wedding night ahead.

* * *

Jack was trapped in a primitive urge of desire as he led Cassandra up the winding staircase to his wing of rooms. What red-blooded male wouldn’t be anticipating a night with such a woman? She appeared so innocent and demure on the outside—always had—and that made him imagine all the more what lay beneath that shield of white lace and scrubbed skin.

There’d been some problems today at the ceremony that he needed to explain, but not now. The talk he wasn’t too thrilled about having with her could wait a bit longer.

“This way,” he said, leading her by candlelight to the far room with the best view of the valley. “Your luggage should be right inside.”

“There.” She spotted the bags on the right side of the bed—her side—and blushed.

Was there anything she didn’t blush at?

“I’ll show you to the bath.”

“You’ve arranged a hot bath?” She followed him into his private dressing room.

“Of course.”

“Well, then, you’ve thought of everything.”

The massive room was lined in oak cabinets and armoires. Clay tiles covered the floor, along with a colorful Oriental rug he’d purchased on the docks of San Francisco, coming in from Hong Kong. Matching tapestries clung to the high walls. A freestanding pewter mirror stood in one corner, along with a basin and pitcher of water.

He took her down a private flight of stairs to a private bathing room. It was easier to have the tub on the main floor so that he or his staff could haul the water outside to drain.

Logs in the fireplace crackled softly. He walked to the cauldrons of steaming water hanging above the fire, lifted one and carried it to the claw-footed porcelain tub. He added its contents to the fresh cool water already there, prepared by his staff.

“You’ll find everything you need here. Soaps, lotions, towels.”

“It’s the most incredible bathtub I’ve seen in a very long while.”

When Cassandra turned to face him, the train of her wedding gown snagged on his cowboy boots. Her pretty blond braid nestled against her breast. Her eyes, as clear a blue as the sky in June, looked at him directly. Lord, she did wonders to his equilibrium when she gazed so boldly at him. Her nearness aroused him. All he wanted was to see her out of those stays and laces and whatever else she was wearing underneath that feminine cover, and to see her golden skin beneath him in bed.

“Take your time. But if you wait too long, I’ll come looking for you.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Fair warning,” he replied with humor.

Her full lips softened.

He set the candle on the side of the tub and went up the stairs to the bedroom to retrieve her suitcase.

While he was there, he thought he should light a lantern for the bedroom, and another to provide her more light in the bath. He slid out of his boots, removed his formal jacket, tugged off his cravat and lifted the luggage and lantern. Quietly, in sock feet, he headed back down the stairs to the bathing room.

He hadn’t meant to startle her.

In his own state of pleasant shock, he stumbled upon her undressing.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean... I thought I’d bring you these....”

She was completely naked, with her luscious back turned toward him. Candlelight rippled over the beautiful curve of her spine, down the golden swell of her buttocks, and shimmered along the smooth length of her legs.

Dismayed by his sudden presence, she clutched her wedding gown to her front and whirled around, concealing herself. “Jack.” Her mouth puckered in dismay.

“More light,” he murmured in explanation, indicating that he’d brought the lantern. “And your clothes.” He set them down nearby, but couldn’t get his eyes off her beauty.

Her blond braid hung loosely over her bare shoulder. The soft curve of her collarbones swelled with every breath she took. She pressed the lace of her gown over her bosom and he couldn’t help but wonder how she might look if that dropped lower....

“Would you like me to leave?” he asked, restraining himself by every means he knew, but barely finding it possible due to the roaring of his blood.

Soft orange light glimmered over her cheeks. Every muscle in his body contracted, waiting for her answer.

“No,” she finally answered, and dropped her gown.

He was hypnotized as if by some magical trance. His eyes slowly raked over her body, starting with the lovely line of her throat, to the luscious swell of her jutting breasts and pointed pink nipples.

Her rib cage was remarkably slender, curving down to a flattened waist. His gaze hungrily sought the lower curves, following the rise of her belly to the triangle of blond curls, and her long, firm thighs.

Her voice was provocative. “Would you like to slip into the water with me, Jack?”

Chapter Five

Cassandra dipped her foot into the steamy liquid, loving the sensation of heat over her toes, then calves, then hips and breasts, then full nakedness. She felt more secure about herself beneath a layer of water; she was unaccustomed to any man gazing at her fully exposed, even if he was her husband.

It was her turn to gaze at Jack as he undressed.

Revealed by the lamplight, his expression was at first disquieted, as though he was unsure what to say. Then it was gone, his dashing face awash in a wicked glimmer of arousal and expectation. There were the mischievous dark eyes, the sensual mouth, the dimple in his chiseled jaw and the primal need she detected in the hurried pace of his breathing.

He draped his trousers on the back of a chair, followed by his gray waistcoat, then crisp linen shirt. She barely had the nerve to watch him, but then could barely turn away.

Stripped naked for a brief, glorious moment, he epitomized sexuality and rough strength. His chest rippled with muscles, his waist tapered to his hips, and his erection was so hard and upright she wondered how on earth they were supposed to fit together.

She stared, trying to fulfill her curiosity. So that’s what it looked like, the male part of him....

Embarrassed that she was staring, she reached for a cake of soap and slid it over her arm. How did a woman jump from being a virgin and shielding her most private parts from the eyes of men, to gain full acceptance and awareness of herself?

How was she supposed to be comfortable with this?

“Are you all right?” he asked, slipping one muscled leg into the tub, then the other. The hot water sloshed around them, nearly splashing over the top edge.

“It’s just that I’m not used to this.” She pretended to scrub dirt from her forearm.

“May I?” He took the soap from her, letting the bar slide between their fingers, ever so slippery and wet. “Relax,” he coaxed. “I won’t hurt you.”

He rubbed the cake up and down her arms, then the top of her shoulders, then down one breast. The cool soap slid over her areola, the sensation making the bud of her nipple swell. He moved the soap to her other side, then used his bare hands to lather her breasts. She inhaled in pleasure, leaned back and allowed him to caress her. She closed her eyes a moment, then felt the warmth of his mouth on her breasts.

The heat was incredible, the pull of wanton desire throbbing from her breasts to her stomach, making the center of her quiver with anticipation.

He teased her for a long time with his fingers, swirling them over her, down her arm, up the other one, across her collarbone and down her cleavage. He created a slowly building heat, until she was ready for so much more.

She opened her eyes and he approached, sliding on top of her, his large body on her slender one, splashing water over the tub edge and barely noticing. His mouth came down on hers.

Finally, a kiss.

It was soft and gentle. She’d gone too long without this, without a man in her life, without someone who wanted her.

The kiss didn’t last nearly long enough before he dragged his mouth along her left jaw and kissed her there, and down her neck. She gasped when he came back up the other side, over her jaw and pressed his rough cheek against her scarred one. It felt so intimate that she stopped breathing for a moment.

Then he ran his large hand along her waist and trailed down her hip and leg, making her burn with a splendorous promise that more was coming, soon to be hers.

The yearning. That shivery race of gooseflesh that rose and heaved. His hand was gliding farther down and over, and soon would reach...

Oh, he was there. That magnificent spot. He slid and stroked and pressed, slid and stroked and pressed, and just as she was ready, he lifted her out of the tub so her hips were raised up to his mouth, and he pressed his lips upon her.

It was exhilarating, the pleasure he brought. She was too alarmed, too surprised to fight it. His expert maneuvers were daunting. How did he know what she liked, what she wanted?

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