by Cindy Nord
Where are you, mi mon amour?
Come back to me.
* * * *
An hour later, Brennen stepped from the riverboat Dexter onto Owensborough’s busy dock. In the four months since he’d first arrived, progress in the town had increased tenfold. Lantern lamp posts sent curly swaths of light along the scattered supplies crowding the small pier. He sidestepped past several workers and headed into town. Impatience lengthened his stride as every part of him ached to hold Annabelle.
His bootsteps scuffed against bricks as he dodged several delivery wagons. Halfway down Main Street, he spotted Sheriff Gruden stepping off the boardwalk in front of Cleo’s.
Perfect timing.
“Wait up, Sam,” he hollered, sprinting toward the man.
Gruden seemed genuinely surprised to see him. “Where’ve you been, Benedict? Miss Swan could’ve used your company.”
Brennen lifted the envelope between them. “Philadelphia,” he said with a grin. “Have you received any telegrams from there yet?”
The rotund man eyed the envelope with curiosity, then shifted back his gaze. “Nope, haven’t heard a thing.”
“This should suffice ‘til you do.”
“What the hell is this?” the sheriff asked.
“Just read it.”
With a grimace, Gruden removed the paper, then angled the missive toward the lamplight spilling from Buster’s Saloon. His eyes slowly widened as he scanned Mulholland’s explanation. Lifting his head, their gazes locked. Relief brightened his craggy features. “This for real?”
A smile curved Brennen’s mouth. “A real as rain on the bluegrass.”
“Well, hell’s bells, this works for me!” He shoved the dispatch into his coat pocket, and then slapped Brennen on the back. “What’re we standin’ here for, son? Let’s go get your gal.”
* * * *
The sound of voices from the outer office brought Annabelle to her feet. She peered through the darkness. Keys in one hand and a lantern in the other, Gruden stepped into the small room.
Blinking from the intensity of the bright light, she smiled. “How was your dinner, Sheriff?” she asked, surprised he was entering the room and not just poking his head around the door.
“Tasty, as always.” With a twinkle in his eyes, he shoved the key into the lock, turned, and pushed the barred door open. “You’re free to go, Miss Swan.”
“Free?” Confusion sent her pulse into a rapid sputter. “W-What do you mean?”
“You heard me.” He angled his thumb over his shoulder and chuckled. “Get going.”
“But...I thought…W-Who—”
“Your answer’s standin’ right out there.”
Confusion warred with hope. Unsure of anything, but praying for a miracle, she hurried into the office.
Brennen leaned against the frame of the open front door, his arms nonchalantly folded across his chest. A lopsided grin lifted his lips. “Hello, minx. You miss me?”
With a squeal, she ran toward him and he met her half-way. “Y-You’re safe,” she sobbed against his chest as he wrapped her within his warm embrace. “Oh Brennen! I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Yep,” he said, sweeping her up into his arms, “and that bastard Sullivan’s in jail and waiting his hanging.”
“Mon dieu…you did i—“
His lips claimed hers and she fell into the kiss, savoring, demanding, uncaring if anyone passing by the open door might see.
From behind them, Gruden cleared his throat. “All right you two. Get out of here ‘for I change my mind and decide to wait for that telegram.”
Brennen broke the kiss. “We’re leaving, old man,” he laughed. “Thanks for keeping her safe.” He stepped onto the boardwalk, Annabelle still in his arms. With a grateful smile, she glanced at the sheriff. “Yes, Sam, thank you so much for your kindness.”
The sheriff gave her a wink, then hollered, “And don’t forget to vote for me on Election Day, Benedict, you got that?”
“Got it!” Brennen strode down Main Street toward the stable where his horse and carriage waited. Pressing his lips against her temple, he whispered, “What do you say we go home, minx?”
She rested her head against his shoulder. “I’d say that’s a perfect plan, Monsieur Benedict. A most perfect plan, indeed.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Three weeks later sun streaked through the stained glass windows of the recently completed St. Alphonsus Church. Prisms of red and green and gold melded with a shimmer of cobalt blue to illuminate the sanctuary and people within. The inspirational scenes, air bubbles forevermore trapped in glass and leaded into great walls of light, reflected the testimony to forgiveness and love. For on this special autumn day the congregation gathered to watch their riverboat gambler who’d been keelhauled into providing bricks for the parish marry the runaway French beauty who’d grounded him.
“You’ve got the ring, right?” whispered Wallace.
Brennen nodded to his best man as he opened his palm. A plain gold band gleamed within a rainbow of light. “Yep, right here.”
“Good. Now don’t be nervous. I promise, you’re going to like married life.”
“As long as Annabelle’s happy, I’m happy.”
“That’s the one most important thing to remember, my friend,” Wise said on a soft chuckle.
“Indeed,” Brennen said. “And I thank Mother Superior for interceding on my behalf. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to use the church to marry Annabelle, me not being catholic and all.” He glanced to the choir loft near the alter where all five Ursuline nuns sat in solemn, black-draped dignity, their hands primly folded in their laps. He nodded at each one of them, and then paused on the wrinkled face of the abbess.
She sent him a most cheeky wink.
Brennen smiled, and winked back, his heart swelling with affection for the old battle ax who’d been the catalyst for the incredible changes in life.
The visiting priest from Owensborough cleared his throat and stepped before Brennen and the best man. His long black vestment overtopped by a white silk surplice and stole embodied the essence of this special first wedding in the church.
He nodded, and then shifted his gaze down the center aisle.
Davina Wise, the matron of honor, was slowly walking toward them. When she reached the front, she nodded and everyone turned to face the congregation. So many folks smiled back at Brennen. Men he’d hired to work on the estate and rebuild the back veranda, patrons he’d played poker with at Buster’s, the owners of the stable, the mercantile, and the bank. Hell, even Cleo, Mable, and Ellie had cleaned up quite nicely to attend. He’d even insisted that Jubal, Ruby, and Jasper be allowed to attend, and the three now sat in the front row nodding their approval of this blessed day.
A collective gasp arose and Brennen’s gaze shifted to the entrance.
Annabelle stepped into view. A glorious vision in lavender silk, she clutched a small bouquet of Queen Anne’s Lace and white daisies, her arm threaded through the protective crook of a dapper Sheriff Sam Gruden.
With each step they took toward him, pride filled Brennen.
Her gaze met his and tears of joy swam in Annabelle’s beautiful green eyes.
Throat tight with emotion, Brennen took her hand and drew Annabelle by his side. He loved this woman with every beat of his heart, and as they spoke their vows, the depth of every word shared underscored the promise of an everlasting love.
When the priest finally introduced them as husband and wife, the resounding cheers rattled the beams. In the years that followed when folks discussed this beautiful day, the one thing they remembered most was the kiss that sealed their deal.
Indeed, that one had no business being shared in a brand new church…
…no matter who had created its bricks.
Epilogue
Brennen rolled toward Annabelle and kissed her bare shoulder. A quick glance toward the porthole in their cabin confirmed their location. The Robert E. Lee should be d
ocking in Cincinnati before too long. They’d have just enough time to make arrangements for shipping their luggage to Virginia before boarding the eastbound train.
“’Spose we should get up,” he whispered, burying his face into the dark mass of curls nested near her ear.
“Hmmm,” she sighed, snuggling closer to him in the sleeping berth. “Not yet.”
Sounded good to him. “I’m thinkin’ of ordering a couple more brick making machines, what do you think about that?” He draped his arm around her when she rested her head against him.
“I think that’s a marvelous idea. Now that word has spread of how well you did with providing bricks to the Sisters, folks will come knocking on our door.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said. “In fact, yesterday at the reception, Mayor Kennady and Doctor Jordan mentioned the idea of building a hospital for Owensborough. Asked me if I’d be interested in providing the bricks, which I assured him I was. Later I told Jubal we’d definitely need to hire more men.”
She smoothed her hand over his chest. “How wonderful.”
“I’m also thinkin’ of naming my business B&J Bricking.”
“Why B&J?”
He laughed, imagining what the stamped impression across the bricks might look like. “B for Benedict and J for Jones. I mean, hell, without Jubal, I’d probably have lit out and never looked back after my first glimpse of the estate.”
“Remind me to give him a hug when we return to Le Belle Maison,” she said. “In the meantime, I’m looking forward to meeting Reece and Emaline. ‘Tis a most wondrous honeymoon gift you’ve given me, traveling to Shapinsay to visit with them.” She skimmed her mouth across his, and then whispered, “I think I’m going to like being married to you.”
“Sweeter words were never spoken,” he breathed as he nipped the side of her mouth and then pulled back the blanket, her skin velvet as he skimmed her curves. “You’re a goddess, minx.”
“Qui,” she giggled. “And this goddess is certainly glad she challenged you to a card game that night.”
“Yep, that was the best poker hand I ever lost.”
Annabelle opened her arms wider and welcomed him home. And as the Robert E. Lee slowly steamed up the Ohio, the riverboat scoundrel and his queen of hearts once again returned to paradise.
THE END
About the Author
Say hello to Cindy Nord…a “Top 100” Amazon Fiction Author, as well as a USA Today Recommended Read Historical Romance writer. She hopes you enjoyed reading BY ANY MEANS, the fourth and final book in her bestselling ‘The Cutteridge Series’ - each novel in this popular collection ‘stands-alone’, but you won’t want to miss the excitement found in book one NO GREATER GLORY, the #1 Civil War Romance at Amazon for over one full year. In her second book of the series, WITH OPEN ARMS, a #1 bestselling western historical romance, Cindy sets the love story around the turbulence of the great American west. Book three, AN UNLIKELY HERO, surged straight onto the coveted ‘Top 100 Romances at Amazon’ list thanks to her beloved readers. She is also honored to be a contributing author alongside notable NYTimes writers in the delightful SCRIBBLING WOMEN & The Real-Life Romance Heroes Who Love Them. All proceeds from this non-fiction anthology go straight to charity.
Cindy is a member of numerous writers groups, and her work has finaled or won countless times in writing competitions—including the prestigious Romance Writers of America National Golden Heart Contest. A luscious blend of history and romance, her stories meld both genres around fast-paced action and emotionally driven characters.
Please join her on Facebook at her popular Monday-thru-Friday morning “Coffee Klatch”, as well as social media sites such as Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest. And, of course, keep up with all her appearances, booksignings, and her love of sharing historical tidbits at her webpage.
Indeed, true love awaits you in the writings of Cindy Nord.
Long live historical romance!
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No Greater Glory
Amid the carnage of war, he commandeers far more than just her home.
The Cutteridge Series, Book One
Widowed plantation owner Emaline McDaniels has struggled to hold on to her late husband’s dreams. Despite the responsibilities resting on her slender shoulders, she’ll not let anyone steal away what’s left of her way of life—particularly a Yankee officer who wants to set up winter camp on her land. With a defiance born of desperation, she defends her home as though it were the child she never had…and no mother gives up her child without a fight.
Despite the brazen wisp of a woman pointing a gun at his head, Colonel Reece Cutteridge has his orders. Requisition Shapinsay—and its valuable livestock—for his regiment’s use, and pay her with Union vouchers. He never expected her fierce determination, then her concern for his wounded, to upend his heart—and possibly his career. As the armies go dormant for the winter, battle lines are drawn inside the mansion. Yet just as their clash of wills shifts to forbidden passion, the tides of war sweep Reece away. And now their most desperate battle is to survive the war with their lives—and their love—intact.
Click here to purchase NO GREATER GLORY for your Kindle:
Enjoy the following excerpt from No Greater Glory:
Emaline crossed the hallway and pushed open the library door.
Her eyes widened in surprise.
Reece Cutteridge sat at her desk, boldly examining the entries in her ledger.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, closing the door behind her with a firm shove.
He glanced up as she strode across the rug, then continued his study of the tome. She reached across the desk and flipped the volume closed, her heartfelt resolution to be pleasant toward the man squashed beneath the intricately tooled cover. “I’ll ask you again, Colonel. What are you doing in here?”
He leaned back and steepled his fingers. “I’m impressed with the horses in your stable and wanted to look over their bloodlines. They come from excellent stock.” A faint smile curved his lips. “The extent of your recordkeeping is remarkable.”
His compliment disturbed her. In fact, everything about him this morning disturbed her. She straightened and locked her arms across her chest. “I’ve always kept excellent household records. I would’ve told you what you wanted to know without you snooping. In fact, I can reel off the pedigree of each animal as easily as a child can the ABCs.”
The chair moved backward. He stood and rounded the desk, then came to a stop directly in front of her. Beneath his unbuttoned frockcoat, his white shirt lay open at his throat and a hint of dark hair teased her from the vee-shaped opening.
Emaline swallowed, squelching the preposterous urge to touch that sun-darkened spot. Heat prickled down her spine. She averted her gaze and settled on the taut set of his shoulders. The rush of warmth spread across her belly and down her legs. She attributed the sensation to emotional and physical exhaustion.
She refused to attribute it to need.
“Men aren’t the only casualties of war, Mrs. McDaniels,” he said, his silky smooth words drifting over her. “We lose good mounts in battle, too.” She looked back and nearly shuddered at the coldness reflected in his eyes. “When we leave, we’ll be taking your horses with us.”
“W-what?” she stammered. “You can’t take them. It took years for Benjamin to achieve that bloodline.”
“I didn’t ask for your permission.”
White-hot fury poured through Emaline. All her good intentions, all her attempts to understand this man, died in the wake of his words. She didn’t grieve the horses; they were another casualty of war.
What hurt most was how much he enjoyed this. “No, Colonel, you never did ask, did you? You pilfered my supplies, mocked my character and lifestyle, filled my home with your dying, and had the audacity to lure me in with your heartbreaking loss. Then when you had me falling under your wretched spell, you boldly proclaim you’re here to also steal my family’s heritage.” Her words tumbled out in a maddening rush. “Tell me, you…despicable heathen, do you plan on leaving me anything when you leave?”
He smiled flatly. “Vouchers.”
Vouchers!
Emaline nearly buckled. “I live for the day you ride into battle and are blown straight back to hell, for that is surely where you’ve spawned.”
“And that may well happen, ma’am,” he growled, his jaw tightening, “but when it does we’ll be riding your horses.”
With lightning speed, Emaline’s palm connected with his jaw. The blow rocked his head
to the side.
The echo hardly faded before he reached out to band her waist. With a strong jerk, he brought her up against him. His belt buckle pressed into the softness of her belly.
He leaned forward, dark eyes narrowing as he growled, “You will be paying me for that one.”
His hold tightened and he bent her backward. His other hand slipped up to bury fingers in the base of her braid. The lower he bent, the closer he loomed. Until, in a fierce possession, he finally covered her mouth with his. Hard and demanding, he deepened the kiss. His hand freed her plait, moving down the arch in her back, then farther down over the curve of her buttocks.
With an easy sweep, he lifted her and nestled her against him.
Emaline pummeled his shoulders.
He only tightened his hold.
An incomprehensible pressure gathered deep inside her. The longer he branded her and the harder she fought, the more mesmerizing the sensations spiraled…unabated and unrestrained, until finally her entire world tipped out of control. Her flailing ceased. Her hands dropped back to his shoulders. She no longer could fight against his intoxicating onslaught or staunch the flow of emotions cresting over her. In fact, she could no longer remember why she needed to fight this man at all. An incredulous yearning ignited somewhere deep inside and she issued a husky, guttural groan, her lips softening beneath his just one small fraction.