by Sara Luck
Sara Luck brings the pride and passion of frontier men and women to vivid life in these blazingly hot Western romances!
A Family for Maddie
A fearless governess comes to the aid of five young girls in need of a home—and catches the eye of one rugged Montana businessman with a wounded heart. Their desire is strictly off-limits, but it only takes a spark to unleash the heat of forbidden love!
“Western readers longing for authentic settings and sweet romance will find it all. . . . Rich in colorful, historical details. A memorable love story.”
—RT Book Reviews
“A Family for Maddie has vividly described adventures and heartwarming romantic moments.”
—Single Titles
Hearts Afire
In the wake of a shattering betrayal, a dazzling actress flees New York. Arriving in Colorado Springs, she is swept into a tumult of striking gold miners—and rescued by a mine owner who knows when he’s found something precious.
“Love and excitement fill every page of Luck’s story. Hearts Afire is the kind of romance you can’t put down.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Hearts Afire will capture your senses. This book will show readers true love is worth risking your heart for, and maybe much more.”
—The Bibliophilic Book Blog
Hearts Unbound
A captivating Basque beauty sparks the desire of a hard-living Boise physician—but her father has chosen a man for her, also a Basque. Will the challenges of the lonely Idaho range force tradition to cross a daring boundary?
“Not your typical Eastern-lady-meets-frontier-doctor Western . . . If you’re looking to be transported somewhere unusual, and if you enjoy family/cultural conflict, I recommend Hearts Unbound. . . . A solid read.”
—All About Romance
Rimfire Bride
A pretty and courageous schoolteacher comes to Bismarck and turns heads as a dress model in a shopwindow! And in the arms of the handsome single father who owns Rimfire Ranch, she discovers what home feels like.
“Luck’s devotion to historical accuracy shines again . . . Rimfire Bride warms the heart.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Exciting . . . A must-read . . . You feel as if you are there in 1882.”
—My Book Addiction Reviews
Tallie’s Hero
A Publishers Weekly Top 10 Romance for Fall 2012
The dangerous American West is no place for a genteel British novelist fleeing a scandal . . . but one plucky lady embraces the spirit of Wyoming—and captures the heart of her new hero, a daring rancher with big dreams of his own.
“The Wild West retains its appeal in Tallie’s Hero.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Steamy Western romance.”
—Fresh Fiction
Claiming the Heart
As the Texas and Pacific Railroad expands across the wild frontier, a spirited young woman experiences the triumphs and tumult of building a part of history . . . and loving a track man bound to a politically powerful family.
“Terrific . . . An enjoyable nineteenth-century Americana tale.”
—Genre Go Round
“Fast-paced, engaging.”
—Romantic Times
Susanna’s Choice
Sara Luck’s “promising debut”! (Romance Reviews Today)
In a dusty Nevada mining town, an aspiring newspaperwoman crosses paths with a wealthy entrepreneur from San Francisco, and everything changes—including her own uncertain destiny.
“Heart-warming . . . Sensual . . . This one’s a keeper!”
—Night Owl Reviews (5 stars, A Night Owl Top Pick)
Thank you for downloading this Pocket Books eBook.
* * *
Join our mailing list and get updates on new releases, deals, bonus content and other great books from Pocket Books and Simon & Schuster.
CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP
or visit us online to sign up at
eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com
Preface
I hope you enjoy Under the Desert Sky. People often ask writers where they get their ideas. Every family has stories that are told over and over, and through the years they get a little embellished. This is one such story. My grandmother often told us how her father, who had been a wealthy banker, lost the family fortune by investing in ostrich farming in Arizona. I wondered if this might be the genesis for a story, so I began my research, and what I found was fascinating.
Ostriches were indeed raised in the Salt River Valley, Arizona Territory, the first one being hatched in 1891. From then until the beginning of World War I, ostrich feathers were in worldwide demand in haute couture. In 1900, the United States imported $300,000 worth of feathers, and by 1910, South Africa was exporting ostrich plumes to the tune of $15 million, $5 million of which came to the American market. When I read these figures, I could understand why my great-grandfather decided to sink his money into an ostrich farm. I just wish he’d been better at market timing!
Prologue
Mount Olive, Illinois
1894
“Daughter, I think it’s time you and I had a talk.” Malachi Pence disappeared into his bedroom and returned with two envelopes. “I want you to read this.” He handed Phoebe an envelope.
Phoebe withdrew a piece of paper and began to read:
Young woman with good moral upbringing wishes a position as cook or general housekeeper, city or country: latter preferred. Box 27, Mount Olive, Illinois.
“Papa, what is this? That’s our address.”
“Yes, it is.” Malachi lowered his head. “You can’t stay here. Everybody knows what your mother did, and they aren’t going to let you live it down. I want you to marry a nice boy and have a family and be happy, but you saw what Virgil Hemann’s ma did when she found out your mother ran off with the preacher.”
“It’s all right, Papa. I didn’t want to marry Virgil anyway.”
“But don’t you see? There’ll be other Virgils who’ll think because your mother divorced me, you’ll do the same. You need to leave Mount Olive.”
“I can’t do that. I can’t leave you all alone.”
Malachi smiled. “You don’t have to worry about me. We both know Mrs. Droste has her cap set for me.”
Phoebe’s eyes began to cloud as she focused on the paper in her hand.
“That’s a classified I ran in a half dozen newspapers. I figured you’d enjoy the West.”
“Nobody’s going to answer an ad like that.” Phoebe held back tears.
“They already have. How does Phoenix, Arizona Territory, sound to you?” He handed her the second envelope.
1
Cape Town, South Africa
1900
Christian De Wet paced back and forth in the library of the house of Mrs. Marie Van Koopmans, the woman who’d raised him. Nineteen years ago he’d been living on the docks, surviving by his wits and the occasional handouts of strangers. Called Jacktar by the sailors, that was the only name he had ever known. When he was injured by a horse, Cecil Rhodes, a British businessman who had just stepped off a ship returning from England, took the injured boy first to the doctor, then to his good friend Mrs. Van Koopmans.
Rhodes and Mrs. Van Koopmans had named him, Rhodes calling him Christian, and Mrs. Van Koopmans giving him the surname De Wet, which had been her maiden name. She had assigned him the age of ten, by which reckoning he was now twenty-nine.
Mrs. Van Koopmans became his surrogate mother and Rhodes his mentor, providing an education for him at the Oriel College in Oxford. After graduation, Rhodes employed him in the offices of the Chartered Company in London for eight years.
Over the last few years Christian had been caught up in the Boer
War, which pit the Dutch against the British. What made the war particularly painful for him was that he was a child of both cultures. Mrs. Van Koopmans was Dutch, Rhodes was British, and Christian spoke both languages with equal facility. Because he knew nothing about his birth, he had no idea whether he was Dutch or English.
Today, a troubled Christian had come to see Mrs. Van Koopmans, saying, “During the siege, when we were trapped in Kimberley, I was sure the Boers were the aggressors. I saw how they dropped shells into the civilian population, hoping to do as much damage as possible.
“But when the siege was broken, I left Kimberley to be attached to the British columns—and what did I see? The British are burning houses to the ground and putting the displaced people into concentration camps where they don’t give them enough to eat. In Kimberley we were rationed because we were running out of food, but the British are doing this deliberately. They are starving their prisoners, who are mainly women and children.”
“I think you need to leave South Africa for a while,” Mrs. Van Koopmans said. “Does Rhodes have someplace else for you to go?”
“No, he’s hiding out in Rhodesia. After 126 days in Kimberley together, he and Colonel Kekewich are no longer on speaking terms.”
Mrs. Van Koopmans laughed. “And that’s bad? I think I have more respect for the British officer just hearing that.”
“I have to say, I thought when I was Jacktar and living on the docks, I had a hard life. But this war is much worse.”
“What do you plan to do?”
“I’ve written my letter of resignation and I intend to deliver it to Groot Schuur myself. I’m sure Gordon Le Sueur will be happy to accept it. He’s never liked me—I never quite had the right pedigree.”
“If you do this, you know you can’t stay in South Africa. Rhodes doesn’t like people whom he considers to be disloyal.”
“I know. There’s a steamer that should be leaving for New Zealand in a few days.”
“Tell me, do you really care where you go?”
“I don’t. New Zealand, Australia, India—it doesn’t matter.”
“What about America?”
“America? I hadn’t thought of that. I’m a British citizen, and I only considered the colonies.”
“It wouldn’t have to be permanent, but I do have something that might interest you. What do you know about ostriches?”
“Ostriches? I know during the early part of the siege some men brought in some eggs that made a fine breakfast.”
“You won’t be eating eggs, my boy. You’ll be escorting two pair of ostriches to my old friend Yhomas Prinsen. He bought an ostrich farm in Phoenix, Arizona Territory, and he wants to introduce some new stock into his flock. He asked me to arrange getting them out of the country.”
“Why?”
“The exporting of ostrich feathers to the United States is a big business for the Cape Colony. Now Yhomas thinks he can take some of that business for himself. He’s found the Salt River Valley in Arizona to be a perfect place to raise ostriches. The only problem he’s encountered is that the colonial authorities only allow birds to be exported for exhibits in zoological gardens.”
Christian smiled. “And so you are facilitating getting an exhibit out of Cape Town. Is that right?”
Mrs. Van Koopmans nodded. “I just hadn’t found someone I could trust to get them to Yhomas. Will you do it?”
“Shouldn’t I know something about these birds?”
“Would you do it if July went with you?”
“July? Is he still working for you?”
“Of course. He’s worked for me for twenty years. Why wouldn’t he still be here?”
Maricopa County, Arizona Territory
1900
Phoebe Sloan took off her brown felt hat and wiped her brow with the back of her sleeve as she rested on her rake. It’d been a long time since the last rain, yet a cloud was gathering in the west. She looked over to see that Trinidad was still mowing the alfalfa, so she began waving her hat to get his attention.
“Don’t you want me to finish the mowin’, Miss Phoebe?” her hired man asked.
“No, I want you to help Cornello get what’s cut into haycocks.”
“It’s not dry yet. Shouldn’t we leave it in the swath?”
“Yes, but if it rains, it’s ruined. So stop and help Cornello.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Trinidad lifted the sickle bar and moved toward Cornello, who was at the other end of the field. Soon the two men, who were both in their sixties, were pitching the hay into mounds.
Phoebe had been out in the sun for most of the day. She’d made a pallet for Will in the shade of a mesquite tree, and the two of them had eaten lunch together before her son had fallen asleep. She walked over to see if he was awake.
There was Will, her beautiful four-year-old, resting innocently on the patchwork quilt. She smiled when she saw where he’d built a house out of sticks, and fences out of seed pods. All his carved ostriches were separated into pairs.
Phoebe shook her head, wondering how many children would find enjoyment by playing with carved ostriches. She looked toward the sky. The cloud was getting darker, but she was reluctant to wake the sleeping child. Instead, she walked to the other side of the tree and knelt down beside her husband’s grave, where she began rearranging the rocks that outlined the site.
“I need to talk to you, Edwin.” She said the words conversationally as if her husband were sitting beside her. “I went to see Mr. Forbes this week to renegotiate the loan. He said he’d drop the interest rate to four percent if I could pay five percent by the end of the summer.” Her voice began to shake. “I don’t know if I can do it. Buck tells me Mr. Prinsen wants to buy every ostrich in the valley, but if I sell our birds now, I won’t have any way to make a living.”
“You’re a fool, Phoebe.”
Phoebe jumped when she recognized her brother-in-law’s voice. “Frank, what’re you doing here?”
“I came to talk to you. Charles Forbes told me you’d been in to see him.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Oh, yes it is. That’s my nephew over there, and I won’t let you kill him like you did my brother.”
Phoebe took a deep breath, but didn’t speak. They’d had this conversation before.
“You know what he did was because of you and your big ideas. What fool thinks there’s money to be made in ostrich feathers?”
“Mr. Prinsen thinks there’s money in it.”
“He grew up in South Africa—he knows something about ostriches, and there’s one thing he has that you don’t: money. Haven’t you learned that it takes a lot of money to keep this place going?”
“Our first birds are mature now—all it takes to keep them is alfalfa.”
“That’s a lie. You keep those two old men around. What do you pay them?”
Again Phoebe didn’t answer.
“Whatever it is, it’s too much. You should sell out and move into town.”
“I won’t do that. Not as long as there’s a breath in my body.” Phoebe gritted her teeth.
“It won’t be long until you’ll be lying right there beside Edwin. Have you looked at yourself lately? You look like a dried prune. Your hair is always a mess, your clothes are in tatters. What money you do have, you pour back into this worthless piece of sand.”
By now, tears were streaming down Phoebe’s face.
“I’ve told you before, I’ll take care of you.” Frank’s voice softened. “You don’t have to be here.”
“Yes, you have told me before, and you’ve told me what I have to do to earn it. But no matter how desperate I might get for money, I’ll never warm your bed, Frank Sloan.”
Frank stepped up to Phoebe. He wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Never say never, my dear Phoebe. You might find my bed much more to your liking than you ever found my brother’s.”
Phoebe slapped Frank hard.
A sardonic smile crossed his face. “
A spitfire—that’s what I like about you. If only it had been me that came to your bed that night, Will would’ve been my son.”
Just then, in the distance, thunder rumbled.
Phoebe left Frank standing by his brother’s grave as she gathered Will in her arms and ran to the house.
New York
Christian stood on the deck of the RMS Campania as tugs moved it into position at the Cunard pier. The ship had made the crossing in just six days, much faster than was the first leg of his voyage from Cape Town to Southampton.
He had no idea how difficult it’d be to take four ostriches out of South Africa. First of all, he had had to pay a $500-a-bird tariff just to get them out of the country; then the steamer, from New Zealand, had a flock of at least fifty sheep bound for England. The sheep upset the skittish birds, but the hardest part of the trip was traveling with July. Not even a first-class ticket would’ve enabled July to travel anywhere but in strictly segregated steerage.
Once they’d docked in New York, customs personnel came aboard to process the first-class passengers. This was little more than a cursory inspection, though when the inspector saw Christian’s rifle, which had been a gift from Mrs. Van Koopmans, he commented. “I’m not sure I can let the rifle through.”
“It was cleared in Cape Town.”
“Cape Town? What is your nationality?”
“I have a British passport.” Christian held his passport out.
“You don’t need that for entry into the US. Do you have paperwork on the rifle?”
“I do. Here are the authorization papers from both the American and British embassies.”
The official looked at the papers for a moment, nodded, then issued a letter of clearance.
At that moment, Christian saw July, along with several other passengers, being loaded onto a ferry. “Where are they going?”
“Ellis Island, but that’s not for you, sir. You’ve been cleared. You may go wherever you want.”