Chapter excepts for Redemption
No Greater Love
Blurb: Seven men, condemned by a witch for hurting the woman they loved. Only another witch can help them find redemption.
Serena Gray is at a crossroads: she hates her job, and is one day away from having to decide whether she can even go back. A mysterious delivery gives her another path to choose. One she never expected.
She makes her choice—and is transported to a cavern with seven men.
Seven men, who had been condemned by her great aunt for the crime of breaking a woman’s heart. One by one, she will have to help them find redemption.
Nick Saunders is chosen first, and finds himself in WWI France, appearing almost at the feet of a beautiful, strong nurse.
Victoria Belham came to France to tend the wounded soldiers, to give back after losing her husband to the war. When an American arrives at the base hospital, his charm and kindness slowly work through the barriers around her heart.
But Nick holds part of himself back, hiding a secret that keeps Victoria from letting him in.
Nick senses her withdrawal, even as she responds to his touch. He has seven days to find his way into her heart. Seven days before he’s condemned to the hell of his own creation, for good this time.
~ ~ ~
One
Serena Gray knew nothing of the curse, until it fell into her lap.
Literally.
She was on the front porch, toasting her 30th birthday, and mourning/celebrating the end of her twenties, when a white delivery truck pulled up in front of her small cottage.
“I don’t remember ordering anything,” she muttered. With the last of her family gone, there wouldn’t be any surprise gifts. For the first time since she received the letter from her great-aunt’s attorney, informing Serena of her death, she felt truly alone.
She pushed to her feet—carefully, since she’d lost track of her mimosa toasts. A man stepped out of the back of the truck, carrying what looked like a small trunk. He was tall, with the normal tan of a delivery driver in Southern California, and he filled out his black shirt-and-shorts uniform quite nicely.
Serena smiled at him, and held on to the front pillar of the porch, dizzy from moving forward.
I didn’t have that many mimosas. Did I?
When the delivery man appeared in front of her, she forgot her question. Because he actually appeared in front of her.
One second he was at the back of the truck. The next he stood at the base of the steps, holding out the trunk.
“For you, Serena Gray. A 30th birthday gift from your Aunt Adriana.”
“I don’t—have an Aunt Adriana.”
His smile dazzled her. “Ah, but you do, my darling girl. This gift has waited for your power to mature. Adriana had regrets before her death, and this is one of them.” He set the trunk at her feet. “Her final wish was for you to remedy this, if you can.”
The mention of power told her all she needed. “Addie. You’re talking about Addie.” Her great aunt—who had sworn she was 500 years old, and had seen kings rise and fall. It was all because of her power, of course. A power Serena had inherited, Addie had always told her, though she wouldn’t know it until she was old enough to understand, to wield it with the compassion Addie had never had in her own heart. “She left me this?”
The man nodded. “It was entrusted to me, as her last friend.” He pulled a piece of what looked like parchment out of his pocket, and unfolded it. “She also gave me these words, for you.”
He handed over the parchment. Serena took it, blinking her eyes to clear them, until she realized it was the writing that blurred, not her eyesight.
“I can’t read this.”
He flashed another heart-stopping smile. “Give it a moment.”
Serena looked down at the parchment again—and almost dropped it when the black scribble leaped into focus. “Oh, my God.”
She had to sit after she read the first sentence.
My dearest Serena,
If you are reading these words, then your power has manifested, and you are ready for what lies inside the trunk.
I am finally at rest, and my darling friend Malcolm has brought to you my most powerful, most regretted vengeance. I will say no more, as everything will be revealed once you explore the contents of the trunk.
All I will add is this: you are, and have always been, precious in my heart. Because of this, because of your generous and loving nature, I know you are the only one who can reverse what I have wrought.
I remain, always, your loving aunt.
Addie
Serena read the short letter again, then looked up at the man. Malcolm.
“Is this some kind of joke?”
The gleam in his dark green eyes faded. “I fear not, sweet Serena. Adriana had a sometimes unforgiving heart, and in her long life, she cultivated a hatred for men that had her—ˮ He cut himself off. “I am treading ground I swore not to. I can tell you this much; if you have need of me, all you have to do is touch any item inside the trunk, and I will do all I can to assist.” He crouched in front of her, his big, warm hand closing over her shoulder. “You are not alone in this, whatever you may think.”
He leaned in and kissed her cheek before he stood, then tipped his baseball cap and strode down her narrow sidewalk back to the truck. With a final salute, he slid into the open driver’s side and pulled away, leaving her alone.
Alone with a small, battered wood trunk, and a mind full of questions.
~ ~ ~
Serena decided she needed walls around her, and something warm in her stomach, before she opened Addie’s last gift.
A pot of strong Earl Grey tea, along with some of her fruit scones from yesterday, sat on her scarred farmhouse table, next to the trunk. It looked—smaller than it had on the porch, and less battered.
Serena perched on the edge of the sofa in the living room and stared at it, twisting her fingers around each other until they ached from the abuse. She knew her birthday would be a turning point in her life, a day to decide which path to take next.
The trunk—and the unwanted knowledge that came with it—were not one of those paths.
“You always liked to blindside me, Addie.” This trumped every other shocking, unbelievable statement Addie had ever made. “All right.” Serena pushed to her feet. “Putting it off won’t make the damned thing go away.”
She walked into the kitchen, sat at the chair in front of the trunk, and carefully poured a cup of tea, adding a little milk to it. In her mind she could see Addie shudder at her choice, and smiled. Addie drank tea—any tea—with only lemon, freshly squeezed, thank you very much.
After sipping her way through half the tall cup, she ate one of the scones, got up to clean the small plate, and sat again, taking a deep, not so steady breath. She had procrastinated long enough.
The simple latch on the front of the trunk popped open the second she touched it, and left her fingers tingling. Her heart beat faster as she slowly lifted the curved lid. A second letter lay on top of several velvet wrapped lumps. Serena shook out her hands, picked up the letter, and opened it.
She decided to read it out loud, needing the sound of her voice to help ground this unreal experience.
“Serena.” That sounded more like Addie than the flowery note Malcolm had given her. Short, to the point. “By now, you’ve met my Malcolm. He’s the only man I have ever trusted completely. You can do the same.” That was high praise, coming from Addie. She had considered most men worthless. “Stop stalling, Serena.”
She took another breath, and kept reading.
“Inside this trunk, you will find three things: my athame, which is a symbolic transfer of my power to you, a set of instructions, and a pendant. Do not touch the pendant until you have finished the instructions. I can’t stress this enough. Without the understanding of what you need to do, you may lose your way, and sacrifice the lives now in your hands.” She dropped the letter, her hand tingling from contact. “God, Addie—what did you do?”
Serena stared at the contents of the trunk. She could walk away now. No one would know…
“I would.” She sighed. “And I couldn’t live with such a cowardly choice.” She picked up the letter and kept reading. “Your heart is kind, and true. You are what these men need to find their way back. Trust in your heart, in your good sense. I believe in you, Serena. I always have. It’s a heavy burden I leave you, but one I know you will take on with the courage that has always been inside of you. Follow the instructions, my dear niece, and may the Goddess bless you. Addie.”
After carefully setting the letter on the table, Serena rested her head in her hands, dread at what she would find in those instructions like a weight in her stomach.
She had to walk away, just for a minute. Just to breathe.
She paced through her small, single story cottage, trying to ignore the fact that she felt different since she touched the trunk. More alive, more—aware. She had always admired Addie’s sharp, clear view of the world, if not her cynical commentary. After Serena’s parents died, Addie had taken her in, loved her the only way she could; with a heart that had obviously been abused one time too many.
But Serena had always known she was loved, and Addie’s often caustic outlook only had Serena looking harder for the good in people, while respecting the truth that everyone can do bad things.
Serena’s need to do good herself had pushed her into a job she now loathed, as a social worker for Child Protective Services. Every day, she saw the evil in people, and it had worn her down so much she finally took a leave of absence.
Today was Sunday, her last day of freedom, and she still hadn’t decided whether or not she could step back into that world and keep her sanity. Addie’s unexpected gift might be the answer. Or it might lead her down a path she could never escape.
“It’s probably already too late,” she whispered, staring down at her hands.
A pale glow surrounded her fingers; the same glow she had seen around Addie at odd moments. Addie had told her straight out that it was power she saw, and being able to see it meant Serena had inherited her own.
Until now, Serena had always thought Addie was teasing her.
She tucked her hands in the pockets of her sweater, and made her way back to the kitchen, determined to finish this.
“All right.” She sat, and reached in for the long, narrow lump she knew was the athame. The blue velvet fell away from a silver scabbard, decorated with the amethysts and rose quartz she remembered. Her hand tingled again as she closed it around the silver hilt. She set the athame down and rubbed her hand against the leg of her well-worn jeans. “Right—deal with that later. Instructions next.”
The second lump felt like a box, so she snatched her hand away from that, and picked up the third one. It crinkled, which told her there was paper inside the velvet wrapping. She let the creamy velvet fall open, and took out a thick, folded packet of the parchment Addie had always used for letters.
The first page almost had her abandoning the trunk and running out of the cottage.
To Break The Curse of The Seven
Instead, she set the page down, and pressed one hand to her heart as she read what Addie had done.
~ ~ ~
Minutes after Serena whispered Malcolm’s name, huddled in the corner of the wide front porch, he appeared.
“Serena? Oh, my heart.” He strode across the porch and pulled her up, into his warm embrace. “You opened the trunk.” She nodded her head, and burrowed deeper into the soft wool sweater he wore, his woodsy scent surrounding her. “Let me take you inside, darling girl. You’re shivering.”
He guided her into the cottage, and sat with her on her worn leather sofa. His big hand rubbed her back, slow, soothing, comforting. His presence helped chase away the panic that had threatened to swallow her when she’d read Addie’s instructions.
“What did she do, Malcolm?”
He sighed, easing her back until she met his dark green eyes. Blonde hair brushed his wide shoulders, hair that had been hidden by his baseball cap. “Addie told you her age?”
“I didn’t believe her.”
“Of course not.” He smiled. “You are a sensible, grounded young woman. Which is why Addie chose you for this task.”
“To break a curse?” Serena fought to keep the panic she felt out of her voice. “Release men she trapped in some kind of limbo? If I believed it—which I’m not sure I do— how exactly am I supposed to do it?”
“The instructions are there, simple and clear.”
She sighed. “Send them back to their own time, give them a second chance to let a woman love them. Simple, but hardly easy.”
“I don’t believe easy was ever used.”
She smacked his chest, smiling up at him. “Now I know why she liked you. Same twisted sense of humor.”
He kissed her forehead, then eased her back to his chest, his fingers caught in her blonde curls. Serena had stopped trying to fight them years ago, and once she let them have free reign, they finally started to behave. Malcolm’s touch soothed her, the steady beat of his heart as calming as his presence. “Addie gave this task to you, because she knew your heart would lead you.”
Serena sat, pulling out of his embrace. “My head says to run in the opposite direction, as fast as I possibly can.” Once she spoke the words, she knew she’d made her choice. She stood, backing away from Malcolm. “And that’s what I’m going to do.”
He rose, tall and imposing in her small living room. “Serena—”
“I’m sorry, Malcolm. I can’t do this.” She crossed her arms, the disappointment in his eyes leaving her cold. “I’m not what Addie always insisted I should be. I’m not a—witch.” Just saying the word out loud left her shaky and unsure of herself. Unsure of who she should be, and who she was. “Despite what Addie thought, I don’t have the power to help them.”
“Serena—”
“Please go. I don’t need you.” She wanted to flinch after she said the words, but she swallowed, and lifted her chin.
“I understand your fear.” Malcolm bowed his head. “I am always here for you, Serena. All you need do is call.”
He walked away from her, across the living room, and she sucked in her breath when he faded out of sight.
How had her life gone from boring to strange in one day?
~ ~ ~
Big Sky Love
Blurb: Seven men, condemned by a witch for hurting the woman they loved. Only another witch can help them find redemption.
Charles de Witt is the next to be chosen by the pendant – and he finds himself in a small town in the Wild West. It is unlike his own time, but he is determined to make a go of saving himself, no matter who the pendant chooses for him.
That choice turns out to be a petite, red-haired spitfire, so different from the women he prefers he knows it will never work.
Kate Maguire can hardly believe her eyes when she first sees Charles – dressed in a lavender velvet jacket, as out of place in Starwood, Montana as a pig at a tea party.
But behind the dandy is a man with skill, and a surprisingly good heart.
The more time Charles spends with Kate, the more he wants to be part of her life. But that will be up to her.
When the unexplained accidents on her ranch become more dangerous, Charles turns from suitor to protector – even when she wants nothing to do with his protection. He knows he will have to break through the wall of her pride and stubborn self-sufficiency, before he is dragged back into the curse forever.
~ ~ ~
One
Serena Gray stood next to the ledge holding the six remaining emerald and silver pendants, and studied the men she still had to save.
Aiden McLeod lounged against the far wall of the cavern, studying her. This time, his expression was neutral, but he usually glared or leered at her, depending on his mood. Kit Burke leaned on his crutch, in the middle of an animated discussion with Charles de Witt. The noble nodded every once in a while, tall, lean and devastating in his grey trousers and lavender velvet jacket. If there was a man who could carry off lavender, it was Charles.
Robert Macintosh, Ben Rowland, and Rory Turner all waited quietly, but anticipation hummed around them. Another man would have a chance at a new life.
All he had to do was get the woman chosen by the pendant to fall in love with him. In seven days.
Serena sighed. Her Aunt Addie had set the bar high for these men.
“Okay.” Her voice had all of them turning to her, any conversation cut off mid word. “Are you ready to find out who’s next?”
Each man nodded, and Serena took a deep breath. She closed her hand over the identical emerald she wore, and recited the simple spell that activated the pendants.
“With these words, I beseech,
open to me, so I may reach.
North to South, East to West,
help me give these men their test.
Agreement is given, the time is at hand,
arise, and send each man to the chosen land.”
At first, nothing happened. The men looked at each other, obviously nervous, and started muttering. Then heat burst through the pendant at her breast. A second later, the pile of silver shifted, one of them finally untangling itself from the rest. It lifted into the air, and headed straight for Charles.
He closed his eyes, a combination of relief and fear on his face. It changed to pain when the chain lowered itself around his neck.
He sank to his knees, his hand gripping the pendant.
“God in heaven,” he whispered. “It hurts more than—”
He disappeared before he could finish the rest.
Serena sagged against the wall, letting her fingers slide off her pendant. “Now we wait.”
Two
Charles stumbled, and managed to throw his hands up before he slammed face first into a wooden wall. He laid his forehead against the warm, splintered wood, and took a shuddering breath. The pendant burned at his breast, and every inch of his body ached, worse than it had when the curse yanked him into his own private hell.
After a few slow, deep breaths, he eased himself off the wall, and took his first look around. He was in some sort of alley, with cracked dirt under his feet, and low wood buildings surrounding him. Using the wall as a support, he started to head for what looked like the main street—and halted when a feminine voice filtered into the alley. A feminine, furious voice.
“I told you no, Evan Kransky. Now get your hands off me.”
Charles pushed off the wall and headed for the street, ignoring his headache, and the way his legs shook. He was never one to allow a woman to be assaulted, not if he was in a position to come to her aid.
First sight of her halted him. The woman was all of five feet, if that, with an explosion of red hair that surrounded her freckled, heart-shaped face. What made his heart pound were the clothes she wore.
A white, button-down shirt hugged her torso, tucked into a pair of brown trousers that outlined her hips, and her shapely, long legs.
The man looming over her was whip thin, but Charles could see the corded muscles in his forearm, revealed by the rolled sleeve of his shirt.
“Do you have to declare yourself so loudly?” he said. Charles bristled at the anger in his voice. Barely controlled anger. “And in the middle of town?”
She tried to yank free again, with no success. The exasperation flashing in her clear blue eyes made Charles smile.
“I do when you ask me the same stupid question.” She lifted her chin and stared up at him, clearly annoyed.
Oh, he liked her.
“It’s not stupid. I love you, Katherine—ˮ
“Stop saying that! And don’t call me Katherine.” She pulled free, obviously catching him by surprise. “The answer will always be no, Evan. As much as I enjoy our friendship, I won’t marry you.”
Evan’s face turned red, and Charles moved forward. He knew the sign of a man about to lose control, all too well.
“How dare you embarrass me in front of—ˮ
“Is there a problem here?” Charles stepped between Evan’s raised fist and the petite fireball who looked ready to tackle him. “I believe the lady said no, my good man.”
Evan lowered his arm, staring at Charles. No—he was staring at Charles’ jacket.
Granted, the lavender velvet was a bold choice, but Charles knew he carried it off. More than a few women had told him as much.
Evan smiled at him. Charles wanted to punch the smirk off his face.
“Is that—pink? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a real man wear a pink jacket.” He reached out and fingered the sleeve. Charles held his temper, with an effort. “A pink, velvet jacket. Do you actually have man parts, or are they—ˮ
Charles’ fist cut him off.
The man flew backward, raising a cloud of dust when he hit the street. Charles shook his hand, his knuckles stinging from the contact. It had been a while since his last fight, and he knew he would pay for this later.
“Are you all right, Evan?” The redhead stood over him, arms crossed.
“That dandy punched me.” He rubbed his jaw, staring at Charles.
“Yes, he did.” She glanced over her shoulder, but instead of the gratitude Charles expected, she looked—angry. No—she looked furious. “Go home, Evan. We’ll finish this later.”
He stood, still glaring at Charles. “I’m not leaving until we—ˮ
“Later, Evan.” Her tone would have frozen fire.
He grumbled under his breath, then walked away. The redhead watched after him, hands on her hips. “I didn’t ask for your help, British.”
“I find that most women need assistance when they are accosted, whether they ask for it or not.”
She spun, those blue eyes flashing as she stalked over to him. She had to stand on tiptoe even to reach his chin.
“I’m not one of your frail, helpless society women. I can take care of myself, and I was doing just fine before you jumped in and decided to play hero.” She pushed wild waves off her cheek. Charles bit back a smile when they sprang back, caressing her freckled skin. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in New York, toasting with the wealthy snobs?”
“You do seem to have a low opinion of anyone who happens to have money.”
“I’ve met enough to know that most of them aren’t worth the air they use.” She glanced at his jacket, one eyebrow raised. “You won’t get far wearing that. Though you do have a powerful swing, for a—ˮ
“Wealthy snob?”
For the first time, she smiled. Charles nearly stumbled at the effect. That smile lit her face, sparkled in her eyes.
“Damn,” she said. She didn’t sound happy.
“Did I offend you again?”
“No.” She let out a sigh and took his hand. “You just charmed me. Let’s get you out of this jacket before you have to fight every other man you cross paths with.”
“I fear I do not—ˮ He checked his pockets to be certain before he continued, and found the small roll of notes he always kept for emergencies. “I have little money. And I doubt your local merchants would take foreign bank notes.”
“Can you do anything besides look pretty in your clothes?” She sighed again. Charles found it amusing. A woman had never amused him as she did, or left him as stunned.
He studied his surroundings. It took no imagination to come to the conclusion that he had acquired Ben’s pendant. This town looked as rough and wild as those described in the penny dreadfuls his nephew Mason loved so dearly.
“I know horses,” he said. He had been riding them before he could walk. “May I assume that you are offering me a position, Miss…?”
“Kate Maguire.” She held out her hand, not to be kissed, but as a man would. Charles shook it, smiling as he did so. “I own a ranch outside town, and if you’re as good as you seem to think, I could use a hand with the horses.”
Grief flashed in those clear blue eyes, dulling their fire. Charles wanted to wipe away that grief. His need to do so had him taking a step back.
“I would like the chance to prove myself.”
She smiled at him, the grief easing. “You never answered my question. What are you doing here?”
“I am newly arrived. Do you happen to have the name of this fine town?”
She laughed, her blue eyes dancing with humor. “This fine town isn’t even on any map. You’re standing in front of the most popular whorehouse in the town of Starwood, Montana.”
She crossed her arms, obviously waiting for him to make some derogatory remark.
Instead, he smiled at her. “Does that mean there is more than one?”
Her laughter sent a wave of heat through him. And he knew—this petite firecracker of a woman was the one chosen for him by the pendant.
She could not have been less his type.
“The mayor doesn’t like to brag, but he has four. This one,” she pointed at the building behind him, “happens to be the biggest.”
“And that is what makes it the most popular?”
“More rooms, more business.” She said it with a straight face.
Charles smiled again. He could hardly help himself; she spoke with the openness and fire of a man, but had the pretty face and the trim curves of a woman. Openly displayed for all to see. He was not all that certain what he thought of such a display.
“I am going to assume you are not part of that bustling business,” he said.
She tilted her head to one side. “I should be insulted, but I’m oddly flattered. Must be the accent.”
“Are there other qualifications for this position?”
“You need to be able to ride a horse, not be afraid of cattle, and basically, be breathing.”
Charles raised an eyebrow. “I sit a horse quite well, thank you. And I do happen to be breathing.”
Her smile made him want to cradle her face, to find out if her skin was as soft as it looked. Her voice jerked him out of the pleasant image. “And you’re in Starwood because…”
“I am ready for a new life.” That was no lie. “I find myself in need of funds, and your offer sounds as if it might suit me.”
She studied him, a frown marring her forehead. She looked as if she were already regretting her offer. Had he said something to offend her? He did that quite often, without realizing it.
“The offer is this, if you can accept it—you work for me. You take orders from me. Period. Does that sit well with you?”
In answer, he held out his hand. “I believe introductions are in order. I am Charles de Witt.” He left out his title, aware that it would mean nothing here in the colonies. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Maguire.”
She took his hand, and he was surprised by the calluses on her palm. “Kate will do. We don’t stand on ceremony here, Charlie.”
He nearly shuddered. “Charles.”
“Got it.” She started walking down the street, and grinned at him over her shoulder. “Charlie.”
With a sigh, he followed her, stepping up to a raised boardwalk.
He had a better view of the town from here. It was more prosperous than his first view of it led him to presume, the wood buildings neat and freshly painted. Even the brothels looked well maintained.
And it seemed he had just signed on as a ranch hand. To work for a woman.
Adriana must be laughing in her grave.
Kate stopped halfway down the boardwalk and turned around. “Does it meet with your approval, Charlie?” She moved back to him. “You’ll be spending a good part of your time in town. I have horses in the stable here, to loan out to the locals who don’t want to own one, or can’t afford to.”
“So, I will be taking care of horses in two locations?”
“If you pass muster. And if I still have the ranch in another month,” she muttered, almost too quiet for Charles to hear.
But he did.
She pushed aside whatever thoughts put such concern in her eyes, and gave him a smile. “We need to get you outfitted. That pretty jacket will barely get you to the end of the street.”
Charles knew he would be ribbed by the local cowboys. They had no sense of high style, judging from what he had seen. The ribbing started three steps down the boardwalk.
“Hey, pretty boy—where’d you get the pink coat? It’d look great on little Kate.” The man laughed so hard, he doubled over with it.
“You’re hilarious, Nat.” Kate marched up to the huge man, and Charles braced himself. “You know pink clashes with my hair.”
He burst out laughing again, and patted Kate on the back. The pat nearly pitched her off the boardwalk.
She recovered, smiling at him, then gestured for Charles to keep going.
Charles ignored the comments and insults flung after him, as he had nearly every day of his life. As a noble, he was meant to rise above it. His training came in handy now.
He followed Kate into a crowded shop. Once inside, he recognized it. The village near his country estate in Kent had such a shop, one that sold a bit of everything, suitable for the local population.
Kate moved to the long front counter, and spoke to the man standing behind it. “I have a potential new hand, Myron, and as you can see,” she waved at Charles. “Charlie is not suitably dressed for the trail.”
“Charles,” he said. He had a feeling it was a futile effort.
Kate confirmed it. “Charlie is my replacement for Ben, who up and quit to join a cattle drive. I think it was over a woman.”
“He did chase after the pretty ones,” Myron said. “Even you, Kate.”
The information shocked Charles. He was linked to a woman who had been involved with Ben.
You are a spiteful witch, Adriana.
Kate’s voice pulled him back to the conversation. “This should cover what Charlie needs.” She laid a small bag on the counter, the contents clicking softly.
Myron tucked the bag in his trouser pocket, then stepped around the counter and studied Charles, one hand rubbing his chin. “I believe I have everything you need, in the back. Give me a minute.”
He moved behind the counter, and disappeared through the open doorway. From here, Charles could hear him shuffling through inventory, obviously finding the perfect, prosaic, cowboy outfit. Charles resigned himself to wearing rough fabric and uncomfortable shoes.
The man returned, holding a pile of clothing. He pulled the first item off the top. “I assume you wanted him to have trousers.”
Kate nodded. “One pair to wear, one pair to wash.” She winked at Charles. He found himself amused by her, and also attracted to her. The more time he spent with her, the more refined she seemed. He preferred his women refined. “I’d also like a second shirt,” she looked down at his feet, “boots, if you have them, an extra pair of socks, and a hat.”
Myron shoved the pile at Charles. “Be right back.”
Charles looked at the clothing in his arms, then at Kate. “Shall I try these on?”
“That’s the idea, Charlie.”
“Charles,” he said. It was almost automatic now.
So was her answering smile. “Once we get you outfitted, I’m assuming you’ll need a horse.”
“You assume correctly.”
She shook her head. “I do enjoy that smooth accent, Charlie.” Now he knew she was teasing him with the nickname. He decided to let it pass. “I will provide a horse—but all of this is coming out of your pay.”
“Naturally.” He raised his eyebrow at her surprise. “I do not accept charity, Miss Maguire. I fully intend to work for what I have been given.”
If he could impress her with his skill as a horseman, perhaps she would change her opinion of him.
Myron returned with the requested items, and Charles went to the small, curtained dressing room to change. Kate had even included an undershirt he recognized, similar to the one Ben wore, and clean drawers, so he redressed himself from the skin out. The rough trousers were surprisingly comfortable, as was the plaid collarless shirt.
He shook his head as he looked down at it, then added the plain waistcoat; never in his life had he expected to wear something as pedestrian as plaid. But now was not the time to put on airs, or play the noble. He had a woman to woo, and a life to get back. It seemed that life was going to be on a wild frontier.
The boots looked second hand, and Charles shrugged off his distaste at wearing something that had belonged to someone else. Right now, he had no room for squeamish.
The square of blue and white patterned cloth was foreign to him, so he left it with his clothing, and pushed back the curtain.
Kate’s eyes widened when he stepped out of the dressing room. “You dress down nice, Charlie.” He refrained from correcting her, pleased at the look in her eyes. “I’ll have Myron wrap up the rest of your clothes, and then we’ll go pick you out a horse.”
After she handed the pile to Myron, they waited while he wrapped it in thick brown paper and tied a string around it, like a gift. She took the paper wrapped bundle, passing it to Charles. He started for the door—and halted when he saw the display of weapons.
“I will need one of those.” He pointed to a revolver.
“No, you won’t.” Kate took his arm.
He braced his legs, watched her tug at his arm. For a tiny thing, she was surprisingly strong.
“If I am to be a cowboy, I need a revolver.”
She rolled her eyes, and shoved her wild hair back over one shoulder.
“Those blasted penny dreadfuls. You don’t need a weapon, British. They’re dangerous in the wrong hand, and a stray shot will send the cattle into a stampede.”
“But I—”
“I said no.”
He wanted to demand that she purchase one for him—until he remembered that his station meant nothing here. Right now, he was beholden to this bit of a woman, so he let it go.
“Understood,” he said.
“That’s good—because you’re not getting one.”
She flashed him an infuriating smile and headed outside.
Good lord, he really did like her.
Charles followed her outside and she turned left, staying on the boardwalk. Ahead of them, at the end of the street, he spotted the huge, well-kept stable. He was anxious to see what her stock looked like, and more anxious to finally prove himself to her.
Kate led the way inside, and waved at the man shoveling out an empty stall.
“Hey, Tommy. My new hand is going to pick out a horse. I may be paying you if he doesn’t like the looks of mine.”
Tommy crossed his arms as he studied Charles. “You know anything about horses?”
“Quite a bit, actually.”
“Englishman, are we? A noble?” Charles nodded, doing his best to ignore the surprise on Kate’s face. “You do tend to know your horse flesh. Follow me.”
He led them through the stable and out to a paddock in the back. Charles moved past him, examining the horses that wandered inside the fence. He already knew which one he wanted.
“I would like to take a closer look,” he said.
Tommy nodded, and waved in the direction of the gate. After an answering nod, Charles let himself inside the paddock, touching and murmuring to each horse as he passed. He headed for his target, a huge bay that had obviously not been gelded yet. The stallion pawed at the ground as he approached, and he heard Tommy shout behind him.
“Not that one—he’ll stomp on you as look at you.”
Charles ignored him, focused on the stallion. “Hello, my beauty. You are a fine looking specimen. Shall we get acquainted?” He reached out his hand, and waited. After a long minute, the stallion finally approached him, and sniffed at his open hand. “No treat yet, boy. You will need to earn those.” He gently ran his hand up the front of the stallion’s muzzle, then slowly down the side of his neck, spreading his hand over the withers “You are a strong one, aren’t you?”
The stallion shivered under his hand, but stood still, as if waiting for his next move. Anticipating a kick from the closest hoof, Charles kept his guard up as he slowly examined each leg, the sway of the horse’s spine, and the state of his coat, ending at his tail. The hair was thick, as glossy as his coat, and he was obviously well cared for.
“You have a name, boy?”
Kate answered him, standing in the paddock now. “His name is Lightning, because he’s faster than lightning, and just as hard to catch.” He turned, found Kate leaning against the fence. “I acquired him not long ago. He’s yours, if you can ride him.” She smiled and Charles had a feeling it was not to encourage him. There was a fierceness to her smile, as if she were challenging him. “You’re the first one he’s ever let close enough to touch him. He is broke, before you ask, and he comes with a saddle. Just watch yourself, Charlie—he can change on you faster than a lightning storm.”
Charles nodded, his focus still on Lightning. “I believe we have an understanding. Don’t we, boy?” The stallion snapped at him, then butted Charles in the shoulder with his nose. “Yes, we do.”
While Kate watched, one eyebrow raised in obvious surprise, Charles led him inside to settle him. He found that he enjoyed surprising her. The mentioned saddle was Western style, which he expected. What he didn’t expect was a saddle of such quality.
By the time he had the blanket and saddle on Lightning, Kate had finished with Tommy. She walked over to him, keeping her distance from the stallion.
“You weren’t lying—you know your way around horses.”
“I do. I have raised my share over the years, and I have always been selective with the horses I chose for my own stable.” He ran his hand down Lightning’s neck. “He is worth three times whatever you paid for him. That is the amount I will reimburse you, once we settle my debt.”
“No need, Charlie. I took him from a man who was passing through, on his way to the gold rush. He practically paid me to be rid of Lightning.”
“I always pay my debts, Miss Maguire. To the pence.”
She nodded, studying him. “You’re not like most nobles I’ve met. They tend to be overbearing, pompous asses.”
“I prefer to think of myself as discerning.”
Kate laughed, and Charles felt himself enjoying the fact that he made her laugh. “You might find discerning a little hard after a long day, Charlie. I’ll give you a couple days to adjust, before I start calling you out. I’ll get Buster saddled, then take you back to the ranch.”
She was ready sooner than Charles expected, and threw around the heavy saddle as if it weighed nothing. After she swung up, she guided her mare out of the stable.
“She is a fine looking horse.”
Kate rubbed Buster between the ears. “Her former owner thought she was male, and refused to change her name when he learned different, much to his disappointment.”
“Do you make a habit of taking in strays?”
She tilted her head, and smiled at him. “Yeah. Looks like I do.”
Before Charles could respond, she slapped her reins and rode out of the yard, heading away from town. He followed her, giving Lightning his head. The stallion was skittish, but a firm hand kept him under control. He had already started to accept Charles’ authority. Now it would simply take time for them to get used to one another.
The sun had almost set when they reached their destination, a two hour ride outside of Starwood. Kate led him through an iron gate, with the name of the ranch across the top. The Willows. Charles knew there had to be a story behind the name; perhaps he could use that to draw her out.
He had a feeling that his usual techniques would not work with this woman.
They stopped in front of a huge, beautiful stable. Charles knew pride of ownership when he saw it. Every building they passed, once they rode onto her property, was proof; even the small outbuildings were impeccably maintained.
Kate dismounted, and gestured for Charles to follow her into the stable.
“There’s an empty stall down on the right.”
He found it, and slipped off the saddle and the blanket, taking the time to give Lightning a quick rub down before filling the box next to the door with feed.
“Have a good rest, boy.” He rubbed the bay’s forehead. “I’ve a feeling we have a hard day ahead of us.”
Kate waited for him outside the stable. “You can take Ben’s bunk. The other men will point it out to you.” She took a key out of her pocket and handed it to Charles. “Meet me in front of the stable, before dawn, and have Lightning saddled and ready to head out. Oh,” she paused halfway across the yard. “Make sure you wear one of those bandanas I got you. You’re going to need it.”
Charles watched her walk across the yard, and up the steps to the main house, the sway of her hips in those trousers giving him the urge to follow her—all the way to her room.
His first day was already gone. He had six left, but he also had hope. Kate Maguire may not be the type of woman he would choose to spend the rest of his life with, but she was obviously a good woman, and a proud one. He understood pride.
He had always had too much himself. That pride put him in Adriana’s path, and cursed him.
Perhaps it was time to let go of some of it.
With a sigh, he headed toward the building she had pointed out, exhausted. He would do whatever it took to win her over—even if it meant changing who he was.
This was his second chance. His last chance.
He would not allow himself to fail this time.
~ ~ ~
Only For Love (draft)
Serena knew the second Charles had found his way to love.
Warmth radiated from her pendant, along with a sense of happiness. She closed her hand around the silver filigree, and closed her eyes.
“Two down,” she whispered. When she opened her eyes, five anxious men stared at her. “He did it.”
Ben whooped, slapping Kit on the back. Serena leapt forward when Kit’s crutch slipped and he lost his balance, but Ben beat her there.
“Sorry about that.” He set Kit on his feet, adjusting his crutch. “If Charles can talk a woman around in seven days, damn, we all got a chance.”
Serena bit back a smile. “Are you ready for the next choice?”
They all backed away from the ledge that held five pendants identical to hers—all of them except Aiden. He crossed his arms, glaring at her.
“How are we to know that the pendants aren’t being controlled? Ye could be choosing, giving us the least chance of making our way out of this bloody curse.”
“Believe what you want, Aiden.” Serena felt like she’d been having this argument with him since she arrived in the godforsaken cave. “I came here to help you. If that fact can’t sink in through your thick Highlander skull, then I—”
Aiden’s furious roar cut her off.
He charged at her, trapping her against the wall before any of the other men could stop him.
“I believe ye came to tease us, witch. Offer salvation, then tear it away.” He closed his hand over her throat. “Just like her.”
“Let her go.” Ben grabbed Aiden’s wrist, his strong fingers digging in until Aiden released her. “Damn, but you’re a stubborn cuss.” He stepped between her and Aiden, his tall, lean body blocking her from the Scot’s palpable rage. “You okay, sweetheart?”
“I think so.” She twisted her hands into the cotton* of her maxi dress, refusing to give Aiden the satisfaction of seeing her touch her throat. “Thank you.”
Ben tipped his cowboy hat.* “Anytime, ma’am.”
She smiled at him. These were all good men, who made a mistake—and her aunt had decided to be judge and jury. Even Aiden deserved the chance to redeem himself, even if he was stubborn, proud, and the most arrogant man she’d ever met.
“Okay. Let’s get this going.” She walked over to the ledge, wrapped her fingers around her pendant, and spoke the charm.
“With these words, I beseech,
open to me, so I may reach.
North to South, East to West,
help me give these men their test.
Agreement is given, the time is at hand,
arise, and send each man to the chosen land.”
One of the pendants untangled itself, hovering above the ledge. Then it shot forward and slapped against Ben’s chest. He caught the chain as it fell; contact dropped him to his knees.
“Ben—”
“Okay,” he whispered. His hands shook as he took off his hat, draped the pendant over his head. “Didn’t like the challenge of trying to get past my hat.” He swallowed, meeting Serena’s eyes. “Thank you for the second chance, sweetheart.”
She reached for him as he cried out. He curled around the pendant, and disappeared.
Silence filled the cave, broken by Kit’s crutch scraping over the ground. He flinched, looking over at Serena.
“My leg is feeling the damp today.”
“Why don’t you sit for a while?” She helped him over to the other side of the cave, settling him on another ledge. The cold stone wasn’t ideal, but it was better than the rough, colder ground. “Better?”
“Yes, thank you.” He shifted his leg, the muscles in his jaw clenching.
“What happened?”
He looked up at her. “I was pulling my best friend back into the trench when I was sprayed with shrapnel.”
“Oh, God.”
Kit flashed her a grim smile. “He was not on the battlefield that day. Fortunately, a medic was, and I was transported to a field hospital early enough to save my leg.” He rubbed his thigh. “Bloody wounds ache like they are fresh. The nurse told me they would until they healed completely. I doubt I'm doing much of that here."
Serena wanted to tell him everything would work out, that he would be able to heal once he got out of here. Giving these men false hope was almost as cruel as the redemption her aunt* was offering.
She could distract him, though.
“Tell me about where you grew up.”
He smiled, staring past her. “A farm, in Sussex.” His smile faded. “I never knew what a sheltered life I lived until I went to war.”
She wanted to ease the shadows in his blue eyes.* “What kind of farm?”
“Sheep.” He looked at her, his smile back. “The sweetest, dumbest creatures you will ever come in contact with.”
~ ~ ~
Day 1
“Are you dead?”
The voice jerked Ben out of his stupor.
He opened his eyes, blinking until the face directly over his came into focus. Bright blue eyes studied him, blonde hair blowing around a dirty, freckled face. He couldn’t have been more than five. Not that Ben was a good judge of age—kids looked alike to him.
“Not dead.” He coughed, his throat raw. Being yanked out of the cave to wherever he was now hadn’t been pleasant. “Close, maybe. Where am I?”
“Mama’s field.”
Not helpful.
“And where is Mama’s field?”
“On our farm.”
Ben sighed. He was going to have to find an adult. If he could get up.
With a groan, he managed to sit. To his surprise, the boy grabbed his arm, his little hands stronger than Ben expected they would be.
“I can help,” he said. “Mama says I am the man of the house, and I need to help people weaker than me.”
Ben pushed hair off his forehead, and looked around for his Stetson. He felt naked without it. There, just out of reach, resting on top of the waving grass.
“You can start by fetching my hat.”
The boy let go, dancing through the tall grass. He stopped, then leaned over the Stetson. “What kind of hat is this?”
“The kind I wear.”
Shrugging, he picked it up, then plopped it on his head. Ben covered his mouth to hide a smile when the Stetson engulfed his small head. The boy headed* back to him, falling in his lap. Ben sighed and plucked the Stetson off his head.
“My name is Robin.” He held out one dirty hand. “Robin Waverly.”
“Ben Rowland. It’s a pleasure.” Now that he was sitting, he could see the house at the edge of the field. And beyond the house, what looked like—
Sheep. Hundreds of useless, mindless sheep.
“Mama is in the yard.” Robin jumped to his feet and tugged at Ben’s arm. “I need to tell her you are not a bad man, before she runs you off.”
“Does she do that a lot?”
Robin nodded. “She says that most of the men here are no good bastards. I am a bastard, too, just a different kind.”
Lord help him—what had he just landed in?
Adriana did have a nasty sense of humor. Dropping a cattle man on a sheep farm was about the lowest a person could get.
He stood, every muscle aching, and limped after Robin. The closer they got to the two-story house, the more he saw that needed fixing. One glance at the barn behind it added to his mental list. The farm was a bad storm away from falling down around Robin and his mama’s ears.
“Robin Waverly!” The woman in the front yard stalked toward the porch. “Get over here this instant.”
“Mama—”
“Now, young man.”
Ben ambled after the boy—and froze when she swung around, a rifle in her hands. Damn if she didn’t look like she knew how to fire it.
“Mama, no!” Robin ran to her and tugged on her left arm. “He is not like the others. His name is Ben, and he fell out of the sky.”
Good lord. The boy didn’t see him arrive, did he? Ben had no chance of explaining his way out of that.
“Did he, now?” The woman stopped at the edge of the yard, her rifle lined up to Ben’s chest. The straw hat she wore threw a shadow across her face, but her simple blue dress and stained white apron highlighted a trim, curvy body that Ben could appreciate. Even if she was aiming a weapon at him. “I need you to back away slowly, toward the road, and be on your way.”
“I mean you no harm, ma’am.” Ben kept his hands in full view.
She tightened her grip on the rifle. “Pardon me if I do not believe you. Start moving.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ben knew from the flare of heat in the pendant under his shirt that this was the woman he had to tie himself to. Right now, that wasn’t looking so good.
He moved slowly across the yard, the rifle tracking him. For a small woman, she had a steady grip, the stock pressed firmly into her shoulder.
“Tell your partners that I will not sell, no matter what they threaten.”
He frowned. “Ma’am, I don’t—”
“Hands over your head.” He obeyed, trying not to flinch when pain stabbed through his left shoulder. “Keep walking.”
Three steps later his head throbbed, and he stumbled.
“Mama—”
“I will not be taken in again, Robin. Stay behind me.”
Ben straightened, his left arm sagging. Every breath made the pain a little worse. He must have hit the ground hard, because every injury he’d gotten during his time as a ranch hand just came back to say howdy. At the worst possible time.
He felt the next assault coming, and tried to move faster. Halfway to the road, his body rebelled, dropping him to one knee.
A definitely unfeminine curse filtered through the pain. Ben braced himself, waiting for the rifle to fire. Instead, the woman appeared in front of him, the barrel pointed at the ground.
“If this is a ruse, sir, you will pay for it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered. Damn, it hurt to talk.
“Robin, fetch me a glass of water.”
“Right away, Mama!” He sprinted across the yard and disappeared inside, slamming the door.
“Someday, he is going to knock the door off its hinges. Sit there.” She used her rifle to point to a bench outside the barn. “Do not make yourself comfortable. Once you have some water, you will be leaving.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ma’am,” she muttered, stomping over to the bucket in the middle of the yard. She picked it up and dumped it in the grass. “When did I become a ma’am?”
Ben slowly pushed to his feet, then made his way to the bench once he was sure he wouldn’t keel over. Somehow, he’d insulted the woman with his normal response to females he didn’t know. As soon as he could clear his head, and walk without the threat of falling over, he’d be on his way.
At least he’d gotten the woman part out of the way. Since she was chasing him off, he’d use his days to enjoy the rare freedom, maybe find a way to get rid of the pendant—
Pain clawed his shoulder, and he caught the edge of the bench before his knees gave out. Adriana may be dead, but her curse was alive and still kicking him.
With a groan, he eased himself to the bench. He hurt pretty much everywhere—the life of a cattle man wasn’t for the weak—but the worst of the pain focused* in his left shoulder. The shoulder that had been dislocated after he got shoved against the fence by an angry bull.
Now it throbbed again, like it had when he’d been laid up healing. He carefully rolled his shoulder, stopping when muscle clenched in protest.
“Damn,” he muttered.
“You have yet to taste the water. I would expect a review after you spit it out, not before.”
“Sorry, ma—sorry.” He lifted his head, found the heavy glass in front of his face. “Thanks.” Using his right hand to take it, he downed the water in one go, ready for more. “Tasty.”
He thought he heard a muffled laugh, but when he looked at her, all he saw was the brim of her straw hat. “Would you like another glass?”
“That would be nice. Please,” he said, remembering that women liked to hear please.
She walked over to the porch and cradled the rifle in the crook of her arm before she picked up what looked like a fancy glass pitcher. Ben would have been happy with the pitcher, but he didn’t think she’d be happy with him guzzling water from such a fancy thing.
He nodded when she handed him the glass, and took his time with the water, letting it soothe his raw throat.
“Where exactly did you come from?”
He jerked at her suspicious tone, and carefully set the glass on the bench. Lord help him if he broke that.
“Texas.”
She tilted her head. “America?”
“That’s where it is, ma’am.”
She shook her head, but he saw the corner of her mouth twitch. “You use ma’am as a means of respect.”
“I do.”
“Robin claims you fell from the sky.” She untied the ribbon under her chin, and removed her hat. Ben stared at her, grateful he was sitting down. The woman in front of him was a looker, with creamy skin, the same clear blue eyes as her son, and thick brown hair laced with gold. She’d braided it, but he’d seen enough braids on women to know that when it was loose, it would caress that tiny waist—
Her voice jerked him out of his daydream. “Tell me, then, how did you come all the way from Texas, and end up on my little farm in Devon?” She sounded like she didn’t believe him. Ben couldn’t blame her.
“Well, that would be a long story, ma’am.” One he wouldn’t be able to tell her. Ever.
But she did confirm his suspicion—he’d landed in Charles’ time. England, not much later than his own time.
“If you cannot provide a satisfactory explanation, sir, then you will have to leave.”
“Mama!” Robin bolted around the corner of the house. “He can’t leave! You said we needed a man to help fix—”
“Hush, Robin.” She pulled the boy into her side, and looked at Ben. “You may claim you are not associated with the men who have been harassing me, but I refuse to take chances.”
“Understood, ma’am.” Ben stood, slowly, keeping his left arm pressed to his side. He tried to look as unthreatening as possible, and kept his distance from the woman and her son. When he reached the porch, he couldn’t help himself; he stopped and took a closer look at the steps. “You’ve got some rot here, ma’am. A person could break an ankle going through that wood.”
“Thank you for the assessment.” She sounded impatient now, so Ben kept moving.
Only Adriana would pick a woman almost as stubborn as him. He had no choice about leaving now—but he had seven days. Maybe he could come back, convince her that he wasn’t the villain she painted—
The pendant flared against his chest. Hot pain drove into his left shoulder and he hit the ground. His Stetson flew, rolling out of reach.
Worry about it later.
“Ben!” Robin grabbed his right arm, patting his cheek. “Please don’t die, Ben. Please don’t die.”
“Okay—bud.” He hissed when his left arm shifted—and he recognized the pain. Damn if the pendant didn’t just yank his shoulder right out of its socket. Adriana wanted him here, even if he didn’t stand a chance of winning this woman over. Especially if he didn’t. “Just an old injury—coming back to torture me.”
“Where?” She crouched on his left side, frowning. “Where are you hurt?”
“Left shoulder. Dislocated.”
She cursed under her breath before she stood and moved to his right side. “Help me get him to his feet, Robin. Take care with his left side, love.”
“Yes, Mama.”
With their help, Ben managed to stand. Damn him, his shoulder was on fire now. He stumbled, forcing what little strength he had to spare into his legs.
Right now, he had to get himself up those porch steps, and not humiliate himself by passing out.
~ ~ ~
