Time After Time

by Elizabeth Boyce

  She recovered from her surprise and stood her ground with a verbal attack. “My God, but you are as persistent as a skin rash!”

  Lucas’s brows rose at her peevish tone, but he didn’t comment on her unflattering analogy. “You gave me quite a scare, you know. You left without a word to anyone, and you took my butler with you.”

  “I apologize for the inconvenience, my lord,” she said sarcastically. “As you have seen, Finchley is fine. Though I cannot vouch for his health after I’m through with him for conspiring against me.”

  “He’s in my employ; his loyalty is to me.”

  “Ah,” she said. “So you’ve come all this way from London to lecture me on household hierarchy?”

  His sharp features were suddenly bleak with remorse. “I’ve come here to bargain with you.”

  She sucked in a deep breath. She was about to tell him she wasn’t interested in any more of his bargains when she noticed the documents laid out on the low table next to the chair he’d just vacated.

  “I’ve had weeks to think about how we are to go on from here. I didn’t want to just barge back into your life, seduce you and take over, as I did before.” Lucas gestured to the table. “Those papers give you complete control of the Ravenstone estates while they are under my name. It’s all legal — you can keep as many unwanted horses or any other animals you want to keep, and you can use the profits from the estates to fund Colonel Martin’s endeavors.”

  He was giving up control of his estates? The ones he’d tried to save by marrying her? She opened her mouth to speak but he silenced her with a raised palm.

  “I would hand the estates to you if I could, but because we’re married, this was the only way you could have control of them. You can speak to a solicitor and review the documents if you want to.”

  She shook her head. “No, that’s fine. I trust you.”

  One side of his mouth kicked up in a faint, half smile. “I am giving you control of the estates because it’s the only thing of value I have to give you.”

  She felt dazed. “Why?”

  “Because I would rather live my life under your mercy than to be without you ever again,” he rasped.

  “Oh, Lucas — ”

  “You were right,” he continued. “I’ve been living in the past for way too long, but I didn’t realize it until you left me, until you showed me what a bleak future I had without you in it.” Naked pain slashed his features. “If you would give me another chance, nymph, I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for the way I’ve treated you.”

  She didn’t know what to say. This was beyond anything she had ever expected from him. Lucas was giving up everything he thought was important. For her. It was an unbelievably amazing gesture. But it wasn’t what she wanted at all.

  “I love you, Penelope,” he choked out, as if the words were being gouged from his chest. “It took me awhile to realize it, but I do now. I want you to have a choice, which is why I brought these documents. You don’t have to share my bed if you don’t want to, but please don’t leave me like that again, sweetheart.”

  “Lucas — ”

  “The other documents on the table are divorce papers.”

  Her head snapped up. “You’re going to divorce me?”

  Lucas fixed his gaze just beyond her left shoulder as if he found it too painful to look at her. “The control of the estates is yours whether you stay married to me or not,” he said hoarsely. “As far as I’m concerned, you deserve it after all you’ve suffered because of them. I’m not bribing you to stay married to me. If you don’t want to be my wife any longer,” he paused to clear his throat, “I can at least know I’ve done what I could to make you happy.”

  “What?” She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or hit him. She had a feeling she would end up doing all three.

  “It’s your choice, nymph. I want you to know that whatever you choose, you will be provided for.”

  Oh, her poor, tormented, fierce warrior. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and love him until all his hurt was healed. Instead, she chose to punish him a little bit for all the pain he’d caused her. “I don’t need to share your bed ever again?”

  Lucas hauled her against his shaking frame. “I want to share my life with you, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Because without you, nothing in my life has meaning. Let me see you at dinner and breakfast and let me hold you at night. Let me be your home. Let me share my life with you, and I’ll give you anything you want. Everything you want.”

  Happiness pierced her heart. How could any woman deny a man who was willing to give up everything to keep her? He was hers. After a lifetime of waiting, he was finally hers.

  She walked over to the table and flung the papers in the fireplace — that’s what she thought of his bargain. Then she faced him and raised her eyes to meet his.

  “You are everything I’ve ever wanted,” she whispered.

  Lucas groaned as he reached for her and claimed her lips in a desperate kiss that was filled with yearning. She held him to her and kissed him back, a sweet kiss that spoke of a love that not only demanded, but forgave all.

  “You’re everything I’ll ever want,” she said against his lips.

  Lucas held her tighter, giving her another fiercely tender kiss, and she gloried in it. For once in her life, she had a home. She pulled back and looked into his eyes.

  “There’s one thing I want to discuss before we get carried away,” she said, only half joking.

  Lucas tensed. “What is it?”

  “Were you really serious about my not sharing your bed?”

  His dark eyes searched hers intently. “Is that what you want?”

  “No,” she admitted. “I want to share myself with you, too. All of me.”

  Lucas hugged her tight. “Good.”

  “Besides, we’ll make wonderful parents,” she added.

  “You’ve always been the soul of modesty,” he teased before claiming her smiling lips again in a sweet kiss.

  “I love you,” she told him when he finally raised his head.

  Joy was evident in his features, making him look much younger. “I was afraid I’d never hear you say that again.”

  Her lips twitched in amusement. “Me either,” she admitted. “Lucas?”

  “Yes, love?”

  “How did you find me?”

  Lucas laughed and kissed her again. “Someone reminded me that you like to hide in the most obvious places.”

  About the Author

  Ivory was born in the Philippines and lives in Carlisle, United Kingdom, with her husband and their perpetually hungry canine. She’d love to hear from you. Contact her through www.ivorythewriter.wordpress.com or through her twitter handle @ivory_lei.

  Sneak Peek at Crimson Romance

  Shadow Beneath the Sea by Joanna Lloyd

  Lady Broke

  Rachel Donnelly

  Avon, Massachusetts

  This edition published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

  www.crimsonromance.com

  Copyright © 2013 by Rachel Donnelly

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-7026-4

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7026-1

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-7027-2

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7027-8

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © 123rf.com

  To my father, who taught me to trust in my heart, and to my husband, who loved me eno
ugh to believe in my dreams.

  Contents

  Dedication

  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 TWENTY-THREE

  About the Author

  A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance

  CHAPTER ONE

  Nevada 1870

  The thunder of hooves beat in the distance.

  Or was it the heat?

  The air prickled. Christie pushed a curl from her moist forehead, letting her breath ease past her lips. A fat black fly hummed like a bouncing buzz-saw in the open rafters above. The only thing cool in the mercantile was the sweat trickling down her back.

  She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, resisting the urge to tap her fingers on the wooden counter. If Mrs. McDermott didn’t make her selection soon, she’d be forced to race past the woman and her brood of youngsters, and leap right into the watering trough.

  The high collar of her blue muslin gown chafed like a noose, reminding her of her father’s ultimatum — ‘choose a husband or I’ll choose one for you.’ Ha! As if it was that simple — like planning a menu or purchasing an Easter hat. There would always be more dinners. A hat could be stuffed in a closet until next year, but a husband was for keeps.

  Her father made no bones about his choice. Though he was miles away in Boston, she could still picture the stubborn look on his face. Apparently, he didn’t realize she could be just as stubborn. She’d never laid eyes on this man Cavanaugh, and had no intention of marrying a complete stranger.

  The trick was coming up with a worthy opponent.

  Gad!

  Just thinking about it made her head ache. Luckily, the past few weeks there’d been no time for dwelling on it. Helping Uncle Will run the mercantile took every ounce of energy, which reminded her, there was another order in the back to be packed.

  Christie’s gaze strayed to the front window. Where in the world was Cousin Leigh? There were deliveries to be made.

  “I’ve settled on the rose buds,” Mrs. McDermott said, smoothing her bony hand over the bolt of gingham piled atop three others on the counter. Her hazel eyes narrowed under her black bonnet. “But my Tom is partial to blue. Clinton!!! Put that slingshot down and mind your brother,” she threw over her shoulder. “Yes. I do believe I’ll take the blue. The blue checkered, Miss Wallace. That’s the one.”

  “A lovely choice.” Christie rolled out the bolt of gingham in a succession of thumps. “I’m sure it will make sturdy curtains.”

  “Oh no, that’s not for curtains. That’s for the dress I’ll be needin’, for the barn raisin’ dance on Saturday. I’ve a hankering for something new to kick up my heels in. Colby!!!” She screeched without moving a muscle, as though she had eyes in the back of her head. “Get away from that window and help your brothers load the wagon!”

  “It will make a beautiful dress,” Christie assured her hurriedly, attempting to cover her faux pas, though cringing inwardly at the thought of Mrs. McDermott whirling around the dance floor, swathed in giant blue checks like a tablecloth flapping in the wind. Good gracious, did no one pick up a Harper’s Weekly this far west?

  “I hope you’re coming. Every young buck in the county will be there, and they’ll all be itching to have a dance with a city gal.” Mrs. McDermott leaned over the counter, her hazel eyes twinkling in her sun-weathered face. One limp brown curl danced beneath the pink satin ribbon of her poke bonnet. “I met my Tom at a barn raising. He ain’t much to look at, but he sure can dance.”

  “There’s something going on at the post office, Ma!” One of the boys hollered from the window.

  “If you don’t get that wagon loaded, there’ll be something going on round the seat of your pants!” Mrs. McDermott flung back, then continued with her tale without taking a breath. “Twirled me around so fast my head didn’t stop spinning for days. Mark my words, you can’t go wrong with a dancing man.”

  “Oh, why is that?” Christie said, wondering how dancing could possibly qualify a person for the important responsibilities of matrimony.

  “Fast moving men is hard workers.” Mrs. McDermott winked. “They’re lady broke.”

  “Looks like a hold up!” Another boy said with a gasp.

  Christie’s heart gave a leap, fingers freezing in a tangle of strings.

  “What a rascal!” Mrs. McDermott whirled round, then marched to the window at the other end of the store.

  All four youngsters raced to converge at her skirts.

  Christie abandoned the brown paper parcel to rush around the counter and join them.

  “Land sakes!” Mrs. McDermott declared. “I believe you’re right!”

  Christie stood by the window transfixed.

  The scene before her unfolded like nothing she’d ever beheld.

  Two men raced out of the post office, which also served as the bank, across the street, carrying strong boxes, waving pistols in the air.

  “They’re wearing red bandannas,” the smallest boy reported from his lookout on the pickle barrel. “They’ve all got guns!”

  Christie’s blood rushed.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  Uncle Will was at the post office. He’d gone to order supplies. She reeled from the window, her first instinct to rush for the door.

  Two thunderous explosions rent the air — like volleys of fireworks.

  Christie froze in mid-flight.

  Much as she wanted to charge out the door to Uncle Will’s rescue, it would be madness to do so. No matter how frustrating, she had little choice but to watch from the window and wait. Dear Lord, help him, she silently prayed. I’ll do what Father says. I’ll marry Nathan Cavanaugh — anything, if you just keep Uncle Will safe.

  “Where’s your brother?” Mrs. McDermott yelped . “Where’s Harley?”

  “He’s under the wagon!” His brother pointed out the window.

  Christie spied the boy’s hat poking out from behind the spokes of one of the wheels. Hopefully, he had the sense to stay put.

  Men poured out of the saloon, kicking up dust down the street. Some headed down the boardwalk toward the post office, spurs jingling, mouths gaping. Some shouted and pointed. A few brave souls headed for their horses.

  “Come on!” One of the masked men on horseback shouted. Another man burst out of the post office with a staggering gait. The two on horseback spurred their horses, then galloped off down the road. The third man, who appeared to be injured, attempted to hoist himself up in the saddle.

  A crack of gunfire split the air.

  The robber’s horse reared, causing him to lose hold of the reins.

  The horse charged off in a cloud of dust.

  Out in the open, with no cover in sight, the robber had little choice but to make a run for it, making a beeline for the wagon Harley was under.

  Mrs. McDermott gave a loud choking gasp. She made the sign of the cross then began praying a string of Hail Mary’s with furious intent.

  Christie held her breath.

  Another shot flushed the robber from the back of the wagon with a whining ping.

  The wagon team reared, jerking
the reins so hard, they almost pulled the hitching post from the ground.

  The front door of the store crashed open, rattling the glass in the front window.

  Christie covered her head with her hands.

  In staggered the robber, like a drunk crawling from a whiskey barrel. Blood dripped down one arm from a crimson hole the size of an apple.

  Mrs. McDermott hauled her youngest off the pickle barrel by the scruff of the neck, then took cover with the rest of her brood behind the sacks of grain.

  Christie stared at the intruder in horror, heart beating madly in her chest. Her up-bringing hadn’t prepared her for such dangers. People didn’t shoot at each other in broad daylight in Boston. Faces of loved ones flashed through her brain — her father, her sisters, Meagan and Evie — and Robby, her dear sweet Robby. Would she ever see him again?

  Her knees shook beneath the full skirt of her gown. Then, she remembered who she was — a Wallace. A Wallace didn’t cower. They didn’t shrink and run. They met life head on. She drew herself up to her full five foot eight inches, looking the outlaw straight in the eye. “What do you want?”

  The robber motioned toward the counter with the barrel of his Colt. The grim tone of his voice belayed his hospitable words. “Don’t want no trouble, ma’am. But I’d be much obliged if you’d show me the back door.”

  Christie gave a quick nod. Though she hated to help him escape, she had little choice. She had to get him out of there — away from the children.

  She strode to the back of the store. She could almost feel his pistol boring into her spine with every step. She hastened around the end of the counter, then pointed at the door leading to the outside stairs.

  The clang of bells sounded against the front door.

  Christie’s belly gave a sickening lurch.

  The robber ducked down behind the counter at her feet. In his haste, the red bandanna slipped down to his chin.

  For a split second their gazes locked.

  His green eyes narrowed in a murderous glare.