Lassoing a Bride
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THE PRETTIEST LITTLE HORSE THIEF—Gail L. Jenner
Rebecca Williams doesn’t need a man. One abusive husband was enough and now that she’s widowed, she resolves to make her own way in the world of horse trading – with only Shih-chai, her Navajo “grandfather,” as companion and hired hand.
Colt Ryman is a stranger who happens upon Rebecca after a cowboy-turned-thief assaults her. He finds himself captivated by the beautiful but stubbornly independent widow, and he determines to make her his own.
In the heat of the moment, and after Rebecca’s life and reputation are again threatened, the widow finds herself married to Colt Ryman. In spite of her protest, however, she comes to discover that this stranger is more husband than the late Frank Williams, and that love can sometimes, quite unexpectedly, have the power to heal.
UNEXPECTED BLESSINGS—Sarah J. McNeal
When Juliet Wilding’s dreams are crushed, she cancels her wedding plans to Harry O’Connor. But Harry is not about to give up on the only woman he has ever loved. What neither of them expects is the event that will forever change both their lives.
NO LESS THAN FOREVER —Tracy Garrett
Doctor Franz Bittner is satisfied with his life as it is. He has a good practice in a place where he is respected, in spite of his German birth. He has good friends and enough income to provide him with a few comforts. A wife would only complicate things. Then a tiny blond stranger is pulled from the river and everything changes. With one smile she captures his attention—and steals his heart.
Rebekah Snow Redmann barely survived her abusive husband’s attack. Though she was given to him to pay her father’s debts, she’d rather die than go back. Then she ends up in the care of the handsome local doctor and he stitches up more than her wounds—he mends her soul. With him, she discovers everything that she believes she can never have...a love that will last forever.
THE BANK ROBBER’S LAMENT—Sara Barnard
With his troubled past never far from his mind, the once-handsome Smith heads out to lose himself in the anonymity offered by the American West. When he arrives in Gabriel's Settlement, Texas he succumbs to the lifestyle of quick money and adventuresome living offered by a gang of wily bank robbers. It isn't until he crosses paths with Johanna Johannsen and her daughter Sadie that Smith discovers he isn't the only person in Texas with a looming past, and some people's devils are much closer to home than his own. When he learns of the Dalton Gang's plans to stick up the bank in Gabriel's Settlement, Smith must make a choice. But is he strong enough to face his past and be the man his own father couldn't be?
THE BRIDE AND THE BADGE—Livia J. Washburn
Emily Savage just wanted to help out her injured aunt. She never dreamed that she would wind up in the middle of a train robbery or being stalked by a charming but dangerous outlaw.
Texas Ranger Nick Braddock had a grudge of his own against the desperado Clay Galloway, a tragic secret that went beyond Nick's desire to bring law and order to the Lone Star State. When Galloway's pursuit of Emily Savage involved Nick, he had even more of a reason to bring the outlaw to justice.
At first, Emily is just the bait for the trap that will allow Nick to settle his score with Galloway at last. But she comes to mean more to him than that, and both of them will have to survive the fires of danger to discover what truly lies between them.
LASSOING A BRIDE
Gail L. Jenner
Sarah J. McNeal
Tracy Garrett
Sara Barnard
Livia J. Washburn
NEW PRAIRIE ROSE PUBLICATIONS
SUMMER RELEASES
LASSOING A GROOM
LASSOING A MAIL ORDER BRIDE
COWBOY CRAVINGS
Lassoing A Bride
Copyright © 2014 by Prairie Rose Publications
Cover Design Livia Reasoner
Cover Image: iStock_000027079558Large
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
“The Prettiest Little Horse Thief” Copyright © 2014 by Gail L. Jenner
“Unexpected Blessings” Copyright © 2014 by Sarah J. McNeal
“No Less Than Forever” Copyright © 2014 by Tracy Garrett
“The Bank Robber's Lament” Copyright © 2014 by Sara Barnard
“The Bride and the Badge” Copyright © 2014 by Livia J. Washburn
TABLE OF CONTENTS
The Prettiest Little Horse Thief by Gail L. Jenner
Unexpected Blessings by Sarah J. McNeal
No Less Than Forever by Tracy Garrett
The Bank Robber's Lament by Sara Barnard
The Bride and the Badge by Livia J. Washburn
PRETTIEST LITTLE HORSE THIEF
Gail L. Jenner
Sometimes it’s the stolen and unexpected love that has the power to heal a broken heart
As water pooled around her ankles, Rebecca felt a refreshing chill. She needed the shock of the cold to clear her mind.
It had been another hard day. After three months of struggling to get back on her feet, it seemed there should be a silver lining somewhere, but once more, it had eluded her.
She stepped further into the stream, the water encircling the lacy edges of her knickers. She scooped up a handful and splashed it across her shoulder, gasping at the sudden cold.
The sale had not gone well. Shih-chai, or Grandfather, her old Navajo ranch hand, had warned her she’d be disappointed, saying that the men who had conspired against Frank were determined to break her.
She hadn’t listened. But try as she might, no one wanted the two mares she had taken to the sale. The dozen men straddling the board fence had studied the pair of bays before regaling her with every reason they weren’t worth the asking price.
Dent, a loud-mouthed cowboy who prided himself on his natural ability as a wrangler, had been the most vitriolic. “You may be the prettiest horse thief in this part of the country,” he spat, “but that’s all you are. Frank never paid a dime for anything, and he probably stole these two. Ask anybody. He owed ev’rybody money, which means these cayooses ain’t really yours to sell.”
She’d stood her ground, flashing him a contemptuous look, then, turning to a second cowboy, remarked, “They’re hardy, and worth double what I’m asking.”
The sandy-haired cowboy had only shrugged.
After that, no one offered her anything, so she returned home with two mares and an empty purse.
The sound of hoof beats against dry earth startled her. Quickly, she scrambled up the rocky embankment, but not quickly enough.
Three riders approached
Dent, sitting astride a small Appaloosa, grinned down at her. On either side of him rode men she didn’t recognize. Both let out a whoop when they realized she was standing in front of them with only her thin undergarments covering her pale flesh.
“I came thinkin’ we could strike a bargain,” crooned Dent as he wheeled off his horse. “But I never bargained on this.” His eyes swept over her with cold and hungry admiration. “Yep,” he whispered, “you gotta be the prettiest horse thief I ever seen.”
Rebecca steeled herself. What a fool she’d been to think that it was safe to disrobe in the middle of the day. Instinctively, she reached for the dress she’d thrown over a bramble bush.
Dent reached it first. Raising it to his face, he inhaled. “I do believe I smell— what? Sage?”
She wrenched it from his fingers. “Why are you here?”
Dent looked around as if thinking someone might suddenly appear out
of nowhere. Unfortunately, Rebecca had left Shih-chai back at the barn, sneaking past him so that he couldn’t stop her from slipping down to the stream. Now, she regretted her foolhardy decision.
Would she never stop being so impulsive?
“I want those two mares,” snapped Dent.
Rebecca held her tongue; she had to think before she got herself into more trouble. “What are you willing to pay?”
Dent chuckled. “I ain’t paying a dime. I told you, Frank owed ev’rybody something, and he owed me more than thirty bucks.”
“What?”
Dent stiffened. “You callin’ me a liar? Seems to me, even a pretty little thief better tread softly…” He took a step closer, his glance sending a sharp warning through her.
Rebecca hesitated.
Dent laughed. “Figured as much.” He turned back to his companions. “You got somewhere else to be?” he growled.
The men snickered and spun their horses back toward the ranch. “Don’t be too long,” called out the man on the right. “We’ll have those mares caught in no time.”
Rebecca was shivering now, but not from cold or wet. She had to get away. But there was only the water and a rocky escarpment upstream, and she was barefoot.
Dent, already anticipating her response, grabbed her by the arm. Then he reached for her hair and yanked her down to her knees.
He was on her before she could get away, and as she tried to wriggle free, he leaned back and slapped her.
She cried out, but Dent was stronger than she’d realized. She’d been a fool to think he was just a no-account cowboy. His hands were as brutal as vise grips and he held her fast, his breath coming in short, liquor-tainted gasps.
He hissed, “No gettin’ out of this—”
The next moments became blurred as Rebecca struggled against his weight and heat. He raked his foul-smelling mouth across hers and, for a moment, she thought she could manage an escape; she drew one knee up under him and violently thrust it upward.
“Agh!” Dent wailed and slapped her again, his face contorted, his eyes dark with desire. He jerked at the ties of her camisole even as she tried to wrench herself free.
Suddenly, the distant sound of an approaching rider registered in her brain, and she cried out again. Anyone, she thought. Let it be anyone who—
But Dent seemed not to hear as he tore at the fabric of her garment. Again, she tried to move out of his grasp, pushing and shoving, but without success.
Then a horse whinnied, and a man’s thunderous voice boomed. “Let her go!”
Rebecca gasped, “Please—”
Simultaneously, Dent fell against her, his body stilled by a blow to the head.
****
Colt Ryman reached down and dragged the unconscious man off of the woman. “You okay, miss?”
Though considered by many to be a rogue, he could not tolerate disrespect toward a woman—any woman. Neither was he a patient man, so he wasn’t about to wait for the scoundrel to try and explain his barbarous behavior.
The woman stared up at him, her darkly-lashed eyes brilliant in the dying afternoon sunshine. He helped her to her feet, her thin cotton undergarment torn and hanging loosely about her.
Realizing she was sorely exposed, he turned his eyes away from her full, heaving breasts and pulled off his own shirt. As he wrapped it around her, he saw she was trembling all over. Blood trickled from a cut on her lip.
“Can you stand?”
The woman did not respond at first, then, somewhat dim-wittedly, she raised her face to his.
He studied the dark eyes; eyes that looked out from some unknown hiding place. What was it that burned there—fear, bitterness, resignation?
He pulled her closer, wanting to protect her, hoping that his own body heat might comfort and revive her.
He led her to his horse. “Let’s get you home,” he whispered. “Can you slip your foot into the stirrup?”
Again, the woman said nothing, only grabbed at the saddle’s strings, so Colt gently hoisted her into the saddle before climbing up behind her. He glanced back at the man still lying in a heap. He considered putting a bullet into him, but decided against it.
He’d been on the run long enough; he’d like to slow down for a spell—and killing a man in cold blood was not his style.
Colt’s horse picked its way westward. As they crested a stony ridge, Colt spied a thread of smoke.
“Is that home?” he asked, looking down at the woman cradled in his arms. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, her breath coming in short puffs.
He pressed his horse on. If not her home, perhaps someone here would at least recognize her.
****
The small frame house was square and squat, a simple farmer’s home. There was no picket fence, no flowers. The nearby barn was only slightly better constructed and maintained, boasting a pitched roof and two shuttered windows on the side nearest him. A pole corral looped around three sides of the structure.
Colt noticed a mare and foal standing at one end of the pen while three or four chickens clucked noisily nearby.
He rode up to the house and called out. “Hallo!”
There was no response, but seeing that the barn door was open, he edged his horse closer to the barn.
He called out a second time. No one emerged, so he decided he’d chance it and take the girl inside. Whoever lived here couldn’t resent being neighborly when this woman needed help so desperately.
Colt slid out of the saddle, keeping one hand on the woman’s leg. She began to slump, but he drew her to him and lifted her into his arms. He made his way to the house. Oddly enough, the door was slightly ajar.
He kicked it open and carried the woman into the dim and dreary interior. Spotting a bed in a small alcove, he laid her down and stepped back.
He really had no idea what to do next. Would she wake up soon? he wondered. He looked around, inspecting his surroundings. There was little to admire, only an elaborately hand-carved rocking chair and a few scraps of fabric at the windows and across the table.
Glancing back at the woman, he realized she was as pretty as a picture resting there, her dark hair framing a slender and shapely face. Much of her was revealed, in spite of the woolen shirt he’d wrapped her in, and he shook himself for responding to her in such a physical way.
He needed to find out who she was and where she belonged.
He left her and headed to the barn. Immediately, he spotted an old man crumpled just inside the barn door.
Colt rushed to him. The old man, an Indian, had been beaten. Who the hell had done this—and why?
The man’s eyes fluttered open. They were as dark as two hard chunks of coal.
“Are you okay?” Colt asked.
The eyes narrowed.
Colt continued, “Please, I have a woman–inside–and she’s been hurt…”
The old Indian staggered to his feet. “Becca?”
“I don’t know who she is. Maybe you can tell me.”
Colt helped the old man into the house.
“Becca,” he groaned as he rushed to the woman. She hadn’t moved, but remained unconscious. He muttered something in a language Colt couldn’t understand.
Colt felt a wave of relief. “You know her? She was being assaulted, by a man.”
“You kill him?” The old Indian turned his piercing dark eyes on him.
“No. Maybe I should have—”
“Yes,” said the Indian flatly. He murmured, “Shih-chai will.”
“Shih-chai?”
The Indian did not explain himself, but Colt wondered if he were Shih-chai.
The old man grunted. “Bad men take her horses. Five. And Frank dead.”
“Frank? They killed a man?”
The man shook his head. “No. Husband… he die many weeks ago. Not a good man. Not a bad man, but no good for Becca.”
Colt sighed. This was getting more complicated by the minute, and he certainly didn’t need this complication to his alrea
dy-complicated life. But he wasn’t one to back down, even when the odds were stacked against him.
He looked down at Becca who had finally begun to stir.
The elderly man, as tender as any father, leaned over and began to mumble, stretching out one arthritic and wrinkled hand, stroking the young woman as one would a small child. Again he spoke in a language Colt did not comprehend.
Rebecca smiled. “I prayed you would come, Shih-chai,” she whispered to him, not seeing Colt. “I knew you would find me.”
Shih-chai shook his head. “He find you.”
Rebecca looked past Shih-chai. “I don’t remember—” she said, turning back to the old Indian.
“Just as well,” Colt said, stepping forward.
“I only remember—” she said, frowning, “the water. It was cold.” She shook her head. “And then…and then…the men.” Suddenly she began to tremble. “Dent. It was Dent.”
She looked up at Colt. “How did you find me?” Her eyes appeared luminous in the shadows of the windowless alcove as she searched his face.
Colt explained. “I spotted the Appaloosa from a ridge half-a-mile away, and wondered why such a fine looking horse, saddled and bridled, might be wandering free. I made my way down to the stream...” He didn’t finish his thought…that it was then he spotted the man assaulting her.
Shih-chai nodded. “And bad men come here. Took mares. And stallion.”
Rebecca straightened, color returning to her face. “Frank’s stallion?”
She glanced from Shih-chai to Cole, who stood over her. She looked him over carefully, and his lips curved, watching as she noted his ragged blue pants, well-worn boots and long brown hair tied off with a thong. She wondered if he might be an outlaw. Or maybe a Yankee, still wandering and nowhere to go?
She cleared her throat. “I need to thank you … sir,” she began awkwardly, looking down. He saw the instant she realized she was dressed in his shirt, and that he’d probably seen more of her than he should have in getting her covered decently. She pulled the shirt more closely about her. “I — I don’t even know your name.”