Touching Heaven

by Marie Higgins

  Touching Heaven

  Book Two in the “Grayson Brothers Series”

  Historical Western Romance

  By: Marie Higgins

  Copyright © 2012 by Marie Higgins

  Cover Design by Sheri McGathy

  Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Touching Heaven (Grayson Brothers Series, #2)

  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

  Epilogue

  OTHER BOOKS IN THE SERIES

  Find more books from Marie Higgins

  Author’s Bio

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  Peter Grayson is traveling the wayward path against his family's wishes, gambling to earn his living after his brother was shot and killed. Needing to experience life to the fullest now, Peter travels to Texas to reclaim his granddaddy’s sugarcane plantation. Finally, he saves enough from his gambling winnings to buy back the family home, but he’s robbed and left for dead. He’s nursed back to health by a kind—and mysterious doctor. Seeking revenge for the injustice dealt him, Peter tracks down the young thief and his lovely sister, Cecilia Ashby. Not only is Cecilia living on Peter’s plantation, but she’s keeping secrets of her own.

  Dedication

  I would like to thank Mary Martinez, Rachael Ann Nunes, and Veronica Mesia for helping me edit this story. You women are wonderful!! And a special thanks to my new friend on wattpad.com – Sharon Simmons, who was able to find some errors during editing that most of us couldn’t see. Thank you so much!

  Chapter One

  Texas, 1877

  Peter Grayson sauntered inside Deborah’s Delights and came to a halt. The name of the saloon described the establishment perfectly. Half-clad women strutted around like proud peacocks with the brightly colored feathered scarves that did very little to cover their undergarments. Their appearance suggested they were ready to give any man the pleasure of their company for the evening.

  In the past year and a half, he’d been traveling from one town to the next, visiting gaming tables—Satan’s own form of entertainment—Peter’s parents had called his new habit, when they nicely asked him to leave their ranch in Virginia City, Montana.

  He didn’t mind leaving. Not really. Life had become boring, and the family business of cattle ranching did not interest him. Instead, he wanted to drift from town to town and take in everything his very religious family wouldn’t allow him to do while he lived in Montana. His family never fully understood why he didn’t want to follow God’s path, but Peter decided this new way of life was something he had to do for himself.

  Releasing a satisfied sigh, he grinned as he swept his gaze around the room. The women who worked in Deborah’s Delights were by the gaming tables either sitting on a man’s lap or standing by his side. Company with one of the Delights was definitely something to look forward to, but there was only one purpose Peter came here in Brazoria County. To find the owners of his granddaddy’s sugarcane plantation and buy the land back.

  While growing up, Peter spent many summers with his paternal granddaddy here in Texas on the plantation. But it had been a good eight years since the old man had lost everything—thanks to the war. Pa had wanted Granddaddy to come to Montana to live with them, but the Lord had different ideas and took Granddaddy in his sleep before the old man could travel.

  Peter focused on the patrons sitting around the tables. At one particular table, a few faces looked familiar. Peter had a handful of friends while staying with his granddaddy, and within time, Peter would probably recall their names. But that would have to come later. He needed to join a game. He’d been saving some of his winnings, and if lady luck were on his side tonight, he might just win enough money to make an offer on the plantation.

  A copper-headed Delight walked passed him slowly, eyeing him from the top of his black Stetson to the bottom of his new boots. Her grin slowly stretched her rose-painted lips.

  “Can I help ya, stranger?”

  He nodded. “I’m looking for a game.”

  “If yer happy about spendin’ money, we’ll be happy to let ya play.”

  “I’d rather win, thank you kindly.” He tipped his hat, remembering the manners Ma had taught him.

  “Let me show ya to a table. I know these gents over here will be excited to have another player.” She hooked her arm through his and cuddled up against him, batting her eyes.

  “I’d be obliged if you would take me there, Ma’am.”

  “My name is Rose.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Peter Grayson.” He smiled, but focused on the table where they headed.

  Once they reached the table, they stopped. “Gentlemen,” Rose said, “Mr. Grayson would like to join y’all.”

  The other players mumbled their approval as each one eyed Peter suspiciously. He wouldn’t take it personally since he’d be studying them really soon as well.

  As Peter scooted himself next to the table, Rose softly stroked his face. “Can I get ya a drink, handsome?”

  “Not right now, but thank you for asking.”

  Smiling, she nodded and sashayed away.

  The next two hours passed quickly for Peter, and most of them were spent studying the other players. Soon, the stakes were high—and he planned on making them even higher.

  Rose had stood by his side more often than not, but he didn’t mind. “Mr. Grayson, can I get ya a drink now?” she purred.

  “That sounds good. How about I buy a round for the table? Tequila everyone?”

  The others nodded eagerly. By now Peter knew what things to do to win over his opponents, and especially keep them intoxicated as much as he could.

  Rose came back with the drinks and set them on the table before going back to her position right behind Peter’s chair. She seemed to have brought him luck. So far tonight, he’d increased his winnings.

  The cards had just been dealt for the next game, and as he studied them, he slid his palm across the woman’s back and over the swell of her crooked bustle. “Now this is what I call a great hand.” He patted her backside, which brought forth her husky laugh. All he received from the men were the rolling of eyes as they tossed down their drinks.

  The copper-headed woman leaned into him. The rosewater scent she must have splashed on this morning didn’t cover the aroma of her unwashed body very well, but he’d become used to associating with people like her, especially in this particular setting.

  Peter winked at the painted lady. Heavy black kohl outlined her smudged eyes. He supposed she coated her eyes heavily as she tried to hide her bloodshot gaze, but the liquor on her breath gave away her inebriated state.

  Across the poker table, a younger man coughed and drummed his finger
s near the coins beside him, making them clink together. “Mr. Grayson? Are you going to make a bet or not?”

  Peter met the other man’s stare. The blond man’s jaw tightened. If he was any more annoyed, the man might shatter a few teeth. Instead of heeding the silent threat, Peter’s light-hearted mood pushed him to goad his opponent. The man couldn’t be much older than twenty, if he had even reached that age yet. Peter remembered how cocky he’d been at that age. Now a man at twenty-six, he knew when not to be so full of himself.

  “Don’t be dense, boy.” Grinning, Peter moved his attention to the single card in his hand then the two already face up on the table. “Can’t pass on this offer.” He tapped the woman’s backside again, eliciting another high-pitched squeal. The blond man’s narrowed stare pierced Peter. He arched a brow as if to challenge this younger man. “Count me in.”

  He pulled away from Rose, leaned his elbows on the table, and peered at his cards. If he could convince fortune to be on his side, he’d be able to pull a royal flush. So far, the cards dealt face up on the table were a King and a Ten. He held the Jack of the same suit. He knew the card lying face down on the table was the Ace, and if the dealer passed him a royal lady, Peter was in for a big win.

  From across the table, the young buck kept his heated stare on Peter, still drumming his fingers—a sign Peter had recognized earlier on in the game that the kid was bluffing. Lying face up on the table, a set of Queens stared his opponent in the face. Neither one the royal lady Peter needed.

  Whose court will the pretty lady grace this evening? Mine or his?

  Peter withdrew a cheroot from his vest pocket and clamped it between his teeth. From another pocket, he pulled out a match. Using the rough edge of the table, he struck the thin piece of wood, and the tip flared. He put the match to the cheroot, took a deep draw, and then blew the smoke out through his lips. White clouds floated around the poker players, thick with the scent of tobacco.

  Sitting on Peter’s left, a Spaniard decorated with long, puckered red scars on his face and hands stared down at his cards, apparently unaware of the animosity radiating from the blond man. Judging by the cards face up on the table, the Spaniard looked to be in the process of gathering a small straight.

  The two men on Peter’s right were heavily into their cups, and he was certain they didn’t see much of anything—unless blurred. The cards in front of them were nothing exciting. But it wasn’t those two that made Peter cautious. The constant accusing glare from the blond man, the hard set of his jaw, and the irritating way he continued to drum his fingers raised hackles on the back of Peter’s neck.

  What could his opponent be thinking? Planning?

  The piano in the corner of the saloon plinked noisily off-key, but the laughter and chatter helped drown it out. Withdrawing his cheroot, he picked up his hundred dollar bill. For buying back Granddad’s plantation.

  “I’ll bid this pretty little paper bill right here.” With a grin, he tossed the money to the middle of the table.

  The Spaniard cleared his throat. “I’ll see your hundred and raise it another hundred.” He stretched his neck—a trait the man used when bluffing.

  One at a time, the two old cronies threw down their cards and scooted away from the table. The blond, high-stakes gambler tapped his chin with his finger. He was either going for a full house or four of a kind. Peter’s odds for getting what he hoped weren’t as promising.

  The blond smiled, displaying a full, straight set of teeth. Judging by his appearance, the kid’s parents must be wealthy. So what made the kid gamble? Peter clamped his teeth onto the cheroot. How he hated men like that.

  The kid tossed in his bet. “I’ll cover your bet and raise the pot a hundred more.”

  Both Peter and the Spaniard met the bet. The dealer dealt the last cards face down. For almost two years now, Peter made gambling an art form, and with that came his ability to maintain a poker face. He could possibly have a royal flush, and if the cocky boy didn’t have another Queen, Peter could take the game.

  If this card was the Queen of Hearts... He swallowed the lump of anticipation with a touch of his tequila before reaching for the card. Steadying his hand, he lifted the edge. His heart froze. His mind numbed.

  He took a deep breath as he pushed a stack of paper bills into the middle of the table. “I’ll raise you three-hundred dollars.”

  The Spaniard cussed and threw his cards on the table.

  A slight twitch pulled at the boy’s left eye. The kid bluffed. He didn’t have either the full house or four of a kind.

  “Careful, Hank,” the Spaniard said to the young’un. “Make certain before you bet. You don’t want your mother-hen sister to come and drag you out of here again.”

  The crowd who’d gathered chuckled. Hank kept a straight face and pushed three hundred dollars to the middle of the table. “I don’t believe you have a royal flush, Grayson. I’m calling. Show your hand.”

  Peter raised an eyebrow. “That’s a huge amount of money to be betting.”

  The kid narrowed his eyes. “I know what I’m doing.”

  Peter matched the bet before he flipped the single card in his hand. The Jack of Hearts landed next to the Ten and King. He reached for the next card, flipping over the Ace of Hearts. Gasps exploded around the table. One of the drunken old men belched then laughed.

  Color disappeared from Hank’s face. “There’s no way that last card is a Queen of Hearts.”

  “Do you honestly think I believe you have all four Queens?”

  His opponent’s eyes squinted. “But even three of a kind will beat what you have—which I’m certain is nothing.”

  Peter motioned his head toward the table. “Then show me the other Queen.”

  “No. I called, so you have to show your cards first.”

  Taking a deep breath, Peter reached for the last card. The room fell into silence—even the tinkering of the piano stopped.

  All eyes fell upon his hand. He slid his finger along the card’s edge then flipped it over. Loud gasps ricocheted off the wall.

  Swearing a blue-streak, Hank jumped out of his chair, and it toppled to the floor. He pointed at the Queen of Hearts Peter just turned over. “You had that card up your sleeve.”

  Silence now sliced through the room as everyone turned toward Peter. When his heart regained composure, reality hit him in the face. He’d won the jackpot. But because of his opponent’s accusation, the joy faded.

  Peter lifted an eyebrow, pushed away from the table, and stood. “Excuse me?”

  “I said, you’re a spineless cheater!”

  Gasps bounced off the walls again. A warm hand circled Peter’s elbow. Rose’s odor enveloped him, making him turn away. He yanked from the whore’s touch, but kept his wary stare on the other man.

  Peter withdrew the cheroot from his mouth. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Everyone knows I won fair and square.”

  The young buck’s face flamed a brilliant red. He fisted his hands. “Well, I’m willing to bet they’ll side with me instead of an outsider. You’ve only just arrived in town, so how do we know you’re not a cheater?”

  Peter tipped back his black felt hat. “Seems to me you’re a sore loser, kid. My advice to you is to go home and sleep it off.”

  The boy’s upper lip curled. “Admit you’re a cheater, or...I—I—I’ll kill you.” Hank reached for his pistol. People standing by him scrambled in different directions.

  Peter moved his right hand and found the butt of his Colt in a motion as smooth as fine whiskey, and just as fast. With fluid grace, stalwart, and assertive, he brought the barrel level with Hank’s face before the boy managed to lift his six-shooter even halfway from its leather holster. Color drained from his face for the second time tonight.

  Heavy steps echoed on the wooden floor, and a man who wore a silver star on the front of his vest arrived. He snatched the pistol from the boy. “Hank, what’s gotten into you? Do you want to spend another night in jail?”
>
  Peter arched an eyebrow. Another night?

  “But...but that man cheated.” The boy threw a glare at Peter over the sheriff’s shoulder. “He stole my money.”

  More footsteps pounded across the floor, and two burly men grasped Hank’s arms. The sheriff turned to Peter. “Mister, you’ll have to excuse Hank. He lost his parents a while back, and he still ain’t quite come to terms with it.”

  Peter nodded. “I’ll excuse him this time, but the boy should learn not to go spouting his mouth out of line.” He stuffed the gun back into his holster.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Peter leaned over the table and scooped the money into his hat. The room settled—even the piano started up a lively tune. Chattering grew in degrees the longer he gathered his winnings. He let out a sigh, relief flooding his body. He couldn’t stop the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  “I think it’s time to take my leave. Y’all have a good evening now.” He lifted the glass of tequila to his lips and tossed back the amber liquid, letting it burn as it slid down his throat.

  Curses came at him from the restrained man, but Peter tried to ignore them. As he walked away, his heart beat so fast it threatened to fly right out of his chest. He’d never experienced this level of happiness before. The goal he’d been working toward since leaving Montana was finally in sight.

  Lady Luck stayed by his side tonight, and hopefully, she’d continue to shower good fortune on him when he went to see Mr. Ashby—the current owner of Granddad’s home—and try to buy it back. By this time next week, Belle Grove would be his.

  CECILIA ASHBY TRUDGED up the deserted street of town, each step more difficult than the last, especially in men’s boots. She wanted to hurry to the stream and soak her tired limbs in the cold water, but propriety dictated she take it like a man.

  After all, she dressed like one.

  The silver moon lit her way—if only her eyes and mind would stay alert. Her horse had needed a shoe yesterday, so she’d left Matilda with the blacksmith. As there was no other means of transportation to Mrs. Upton’s house, and Cecilia had walked.