Table of Contents
Rainbows and Rapture by Rebecca Paisley
Praise for Rainbows and Rapture and Rebecca Paisley
Amber House Books by Rebecca Paisley
Copyright Info Rainbows and Rapture
Rainbows and Rapture
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
Epilogue
About the Author
Amber House Books by Rebecca Paisley
Diamonds and Dreams
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Rainbows and Rapture by Rebecca Paisley
Does a delightfully innocent “soiled dove” dare to offer her heart of gold to a notorious gunslinger?
Russia Valentine is looking for a noble Prince Charming to make all of her happily-ever-after dreams come true. But when a hardened Texas gunslinger comes swaggering into the saloon where she works, she can’t resist falling beneath the seductive spell of his midnight-black hair and glittering obsidian eyes.
Santiago Zamora stopped believing in fairy tales—and happily ever afters—a long time ago. The last thing the reluctant bounty hunter needs in his life is a tart-tongued beauty who sings like a dying nanny goat, has a cat who insists on sleeping in his hat, attracts catastrophe wherever she goes, and makes his pulse pound with a dangerous desire he had hoped never to feel again.
When Russia tricks Santiago into helping her track the villain with the power to destroy all of her dreams, Santiago must fight the temptation to surrender to a spell of a different kind—one woven of passion and tenderness…and the irresistible hope that it might not be too late for him to find a happily ever after of his own—in Russia Valentine’s arms.
Praise for Rainbows and Rapture and Rebecca Paisley
“Charm, imagination and laughter! All you need is Rebecca Paisley!”—Lisa Kleypas, New York Times bestselling author
“Boldly goes where few writers go and she does it brilliantly!”—Eloisa James, New York Times bestselling author
“Rebecca Paisley is the Queen of unique and charming love stories!” Jill Barnett, New York Times bestselling author
“Rebecca Paisley dazzles the heart!” Teresa Medeiros, New York Times bestselling author
“One of the most talented writers in the genre, Ms. Paisley is an absolute delight to read! Once you’ve read your first Paisley, we can guarantee it won’t be your last!”—Historical Romance Writers
“Rebecca Paisley makes your heart sing with joy! Her talent shines brighter than any diamond. Historical romance at its best!”—Romantic Times
Amber House Books by Rebecca Paisley
The Barefoot Bride
Diamonds and Dreams
Rainbows and Rapture
Coming Soon
Midnight and Magnolias
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Copyright Info Rainbows and Rapture
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
Copyright by Rebecca Paisley. All Rights Reserved.
First e-publication 2014
Cover design by Control Freak Productions
Cover Photo Copyright Romance Novel Covers
Published by Amber House Books, LLC
http://www.amberhousebooks.com
For more information, contact [email protected]
Rainbows and Rapture
by
Rebecca Paisley
Amber House Books
Dedication
For anyone and everyone who has ever rescued an animal in need. For responsible people who spay and neuter their pets. For the big-hearted people who adopt when they can instead of buying. For each person who has ever performed the tiniest kindness toward an animal.
I give voice to all those animals now.
“Thank you, people. Thank you for caring about us. For doing whatever you can to make sure we get homes and love. Thank you for never giving up the crusade against Animal Abuse. For spreading the word that so many of us are forgotten or ignored and, sadly, eventually killed because no one came for us in our most desperate hour. We want to love people with no reservations, with the kind of love that only God could make us capable of feeling. We want to lick/kiss our special people and play with them and sleep with them and smile at them and be their Best Friends. We depend on you to continue watching over us and helping us to find our Forever Families. We might not all be fancified or perfect. But we are perfect in ways that defy any sort of name or description. We just need a chance. Please come and find us! You will never, ever be sorry. We love you.—The Animals.”
Chapter One
“I—Um… How was I, Miss Valentine?” the young cowboy stammered, clutching a pillow to his loins. His smooth cheeks coloring, he stood next to the bed and stared down at the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.
Russia didn’t miss the anxiety in his blue eyes. Pulling the sheet over her breasts, she summoned her brightest smile. “Jessie,” she began, wondering how much she should charge him, “there ain’t no two ways about it. You’re the best man I ever had in my bed. Lord have mercy, y’got me so hot that, if I was a hen? Well, I’d be layin’ me some hard-boiled eggs.”
Jessie’s eyes widened. “Real— Really?”
His astonishment touched her. She decided she’d ask him for only two dollars. “If I’m lyin’, may the sky open up and swallow me.” She glanced at the patch of Texas sky she could see through the small, cracked window of her cheap hotel room, and was relieved when she saw that the heavens didn’t appear to be opening up.
Her gaze returned to Jessie. Studying his youthful countenance, she guessed he was around sixteen years old and suspected she was the first woman he’d ever made love to. It had taken him all of one minute to complete the act, and if not for her help, it would have been over even sooner. But she didn’t feel a shred of guilt for lying to him about his sexual prowess. What would it hurt for him to think he was one of the world’s greatest lovers?
Reaching up, she smoothed a long, tapered nail down his thin arm. “Yeah, you was plumb nelly good, Jessie.”
He puffed out his gaunt chest, slid his fingers through a lock of her strawberry-blond hair, and bent to give her one last kiss. Smugness touched his boyish features as he began to dress.
“Much obliged for your comp’ny, Miss Valentine. I was a mite lonesome when I stopped here in Hamlett. I been travelin’ for near about two months. I’m on my way to New Orleans to see my ma. I ain’t seen her in five years on account of I’ve been
in California with Pa. Pa was supposed to have sent for Ma when he’d made his fortune, but he never made it. He— Well, he died instead.”
Russia noted the tremble in his voice and the lone tear that appeared at the corner of his eye. She knew then that she’d charge him only one dollar.
“I stopped here in Hamlett to see if I could buy somethin’ nice for Ma,” Jessie explained, wiping his damp cheek on his shirt and tugging on his boots.
As he rambled on about his mother, Russia examined the condition of his clothes. His shirt was patched, his breeches threadbare. His socks were full of holes, and the soles of his boots were so worn down she wondered if his bare feet touched the ground when he walked. “There’s a mercantile in town that sells real purty bonnets,” she suggested, but knew in her heart Jessie didn’t have enough money to purchase one.
He slid his hat on. “Ma always wanted a cameo pin to stick on her blouse. Do ya know how much them cameo pins cost?”
The hope in his voice piqued her compassion again. She’d charge him only fifty cents. “They cost a lot, Jessie.”
He nodded and stared at the floor. “Yeah, well, guess I best be goin’ now. I— How much— What’s the charge?”
She almost smiled at the way he raised his chin, and knew full well he was trying to act the part of a man who was accustomed to doing what he’d done today. She wondered if he realized he was blushing again. “There ain’t no charge. Go buy your ma a present.”
“But—”
“I said there ain’t no charge, Jessie.” She flung the sheet off and got out of bed, her hair streaking down to her pale thighs like red-and-gold flames. Donning a thin shift, she crossed the small room and took her ragged purse off the nail in the wall. After drawing forth a handful of money, she stared down at it. It was all the money she had.
She threw back her shoulders and returned to Jessie. “You take this now, hear?” she instructed him, thrusting the bills into the waistband of his breeches. “Ain’t much, but you can buy that cameo fer your ma now. It’ll have to be a small one, though.”
He fingered the money. “Miss Valentine, I can’t—”
“Meowin’ mountains o’ mucky mosquiter mummies, yes you can! I— Um… Y’see, Jessie, you was so damn good in bed, it’s only right that I pay you.”
She hoped fervently that he believed her. Truth was, though, she didn’t know what being good in bed eyen meant. She’d picked up the expression from a woman she’d met a few years ago. Because men liked hearing it, she used the compliment often. But men were all the same between the sheets. They all moaned and hollered and shook with what she assumed was some kind of grand ecstasy. So she moaned and hollered and shook right along with them. Men liked that, too.
But it was all an act. Oh, she’d heard from other girls in the business that pleasure was possible for the woman, but she’d never experienced anything remotely related to it. Because of that, she’d always figured it wasn’t all that important.
She smiled at Jessie. “Take that there money. By tonight, I’ll have doubled it.”
“Really?”
She glanced at the money, knowing it would take weeks to save that much again. “Could be I’ll triple it. Hell, maybe I’ll even ’druple it. ’Druple it? That ain’t right, is it? What’s that word fer when you four somethin’?”
Jessie shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, then,” Russia continued, grinning at him, “let’s just say that by tonight I’ll be close to a millionairett. You know—one o’ them women with millions. A rich woman like me can sure afford to give a man like you some money to buy his mama a present, right?”
Jessie couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat. Instead, he looked into Russia’s eyes. God, they were incredible. One was pure blue; the other was green with shots of the same blue. He’d never known anyone with two different-colored eyes before. Then again, he mused, his own eyes stinging, he’d never met anyone as unusual as Russia Valentine, either. He decided then that her rare eyes and outlandish name fit her perfectly.
His misty gaze swept down to her full breasts. Swallowing hard, he shuffled his feet and knew in his soul that behind those beautiful breasts beat the heart of an angel. “Miss Valentine, I—I thought girls like you were…hard. You know—real harsh. I seen a few, and it seemed to me like they didn’t have any feelin’s at all. They—”
“I’m hard, too,” she quickly informed him. “So hard that I reckon if you kicked me in the heart, you’d break your toe. I— It’s jist that mamas shouldn’t have to go through life without no cameos sticked to their blouses. I had a mama once, too, and if she was still alive I’d git her a cameo. Now go on, hear? I got things to do. Lord, I’m busier’n a one-armed paper hanger with the hives durin’ strawberry season, and you’re wastin’ my time.”
He nodded. “I’ll— Miss Valentine, I’ll never forget you.” Flustered, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her before rushing from the room.
When the door slammed shut, Russia sighed. “Spiders and spit curls, I done it again. Give all my money away. Now I’m broker’n the Ten Commandments.” Swearing never to do it again did her no good; she forgot the vow every time she entertained some down-on-his-luck client.
Listening to her stomach growl, she laced a silken curl through her fingers and looked around the room, soon spying Nehemiah lying in a pool of waning sunlight on the floor. She snapped her fingers, smiling when the green-eyed gray tabby came trotting toward her. Scooping him into her arms, she returned to the tousled bed and lay down.
Purring, Nehemiah snuggled next to her breasts and began to knead her thick hair, which lay spread all around her. “Sure, you can purr,” she told him. “You jist ate a mouse. But my stomach’s emptier’n a old maid’s dreams.”
To get her mind off her hunger, she let her thoughts wander. “Well, Neeners, we been here fer two days now. I reckon we’ll be movin’ on tomorrow. If we don’t, he’ll catch up with us. He’ll—”
She bit her lip, cursing herself for thinking of him. But the thought was already pounding through her mind now. She tried to remember something nice, something happy, but the apprehension remained, growing steadily toward terror. With trembling hands, she pulled the covers over her head, concentrating on the soothing sound of Nehemiah’s purring. The soft, slow vibration soon made her drowsy.
On the edge of sleep, she heard words drifting through her mind. Come to Wirt, darlin’. Come to yer sweet old Wirt. Remembered pain smashed into her, pain so real to her, she groaned in agony. And all the blood… God, the blood!
Abruptly, she sat up, rubbing her eyes in an attempt to shake her sleepiness. Many long moments passed before anger replaced her horror. “I hate this! Dirty hotel rooms! All the strange men! Me entertainin’ ’em! And the nightmares! I’m afraid to go to sleep! Is there gonna be a happily-ever-after endin’ to any o’ this, Beeny?”
“This?” Tears blurring her vision, she stared at the cracked ceiling that dripped with dust balls, and thought of all the wonderful things that might have come true for her. “If he hadn’t— If not fer him, maybe I’d be one o’ them real decent ladies. But what with him trailin’ after me, I cain’t stay in no town long enough to git me no decent way o’ life. I ain’t never gonna fergit what that bastard done or what he’s still doin’. If it’s the last thing I ever do, I’m gonna make Wirt Avery pay.”
But as she always did when swearing revenge, she wondered how she would ever bring that oath to fruition. She’d already told dozens of lawmen that her life was in danger, but no marshal believed the word of a harlot. And she couldn’t take care of Wirt by herself. The man was two hundred pounds of cold-blooded evil.
She needed help. Needed a man who was just as mean and dangerous as Wirt himself. “But who’s gonna help me, Green Eyes? Them lawmen don’t give a damn. And other men… They only want one thing, and it sure as hell don’t got nothin’ to do with helpin’ me. ‘Sides that,” she murmured and sighed, “there ain’t a man in the universe d
angerous as Wirt anyway, so I reckon I’ll be runnin’ fer the rest o’ my days.”
Self-pity filled her to the brim. She soon felt as though she were suffocating in it. Yanking the covers away, she sat up and reached for the tattered book lying on the bedside table.
Besides memories, the book of fairy tales was the only thing she had left of her mother. Turning the pages, she stared at all the words, wondering what each one said. She knew the tales by heart, but still wished she could read them herself.
A solitary tear rolled down her face. Nehemiah moved up her body, settled himself on her chest, and licked it away. The sensation of his rough tongue on her cheek made her wrinkle her nose and feel loved.
“This book,” she whispered, “was Mama’s when she was a little girl. She give it to me and tole me it’s about happy endin’s. She couldn’t read it, neither, but she remembered all the stories in it. When I hold it? Well, it’s like Mama’s tryin’ to remind me that good things do happen. Happily-ever-afters ain’t impossible.”
In answer, Nehemiah purred some more and nipped gently at her earlobe.
“I’m gonna find me one o’ them Prince Charmin’s one o’ these here days, Looly. He’s gonna be a fine and decent gentleman. Real different’n the men I meet up with now. He’s gonna wear Sunday-go-to-meetin’ clothes ever’ day o’ the week, and he ain’t gonna have no dirt under his nails. Not a speck, hear? He’ll have a good job. Maybe at a bank. He won’t ride no horse, neither. He’ll drive a gleamin’ carriage. He’ll use that fancy hair pomade to smooth his hair down, he’ll smell like bayberry soap, and he’ll be the kinda man who brushes lint off his sleeves. And y’know what, Deedle Berry? I’ll make him hand cookies ever’ single day. Jist like the ones Mama used to make fer me.”
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