Riding West (16 page)

A hard hand clamped over her mouth. “Here you are,” a voice hissed in her ear. “You are one troublesome little bitch, Miss Evans. The good news is, while I still have you, I hold the upper hand.”

She didn‘t even think about it. Her elbow came back sharply, catching Rance Colter in the gut with as much force and pent-up desperation as she could summon. He grunted, and in the moment his grip loosened, she turned, shoved the gun into his chest and pulled the trigger at point-blank range.

“I‘ll race you.” The challenge was both breathless and laughing.

Parker shook his head, eyeing his wife‘s beautiful face. Her cheeks were flushed, and her blue eyes sparkled. “No. Sweetheart, you‘re pregnant. You promised to be careful.”

Her mouth formed a disappointed moue. “You are so damned cautious, Parker. I‘m not going to fall, don‘t worry.”

It was a gorgeous day, a warm touch of Indian summer amidst the chill of the approaching winter. The Rockies were golden with the changing aspens. Their horses ambled along a path by the river, and he, for one, was feeling a level of happiness he still wasn‘t sure was humanly possible.

“I do worry,” he said without apology. “Humor me.”

Celia gave him a look that sported defiance. “I‘m not incapacitated. I‘m just going to have a baby.”

“I know.” His smile was pure male pride.

“Don‘t look so smug.”

“I‘m not sure smug is the appropriate word.” It actually could be, though. He felt so pleased with life it frightened him. “I‘m…”

“What?”

“Happy,” he finally supplied. It was simple maybe, but right on the mark.

Celia‘s lovely face softened. “Me, too.”

He cocked a brow. “So, we‘re agreed? No race. A nice ride is just as good.”

Tossing back her golden hair, his wife gave him a meaningful sidelong look. “Well, that depends. A nice ride
can
be just as good. It‘s pretty private here.”

There wasn‘t any mistaking her sexual innuendo. In fact, since they had discovered her condition, she‘d been insatiable.

It wasn‘t like he was going to object. “There‘s a grassy spot up just ahead.”

Why wasn‘t he surprised she urged her horse to a gallop and pulled up before him. Even before he could slide from the saddle Celia had dismounted and started to undress. Her breasts, fuller now with the promise of the coming child, showed pale as she unfastened her bodice. “Oh Parker,” she breathed, “hurry. I need you.”

He obeyed, hearing the urgency in her request with an inner welling of desire that seemed to flood every nerve ending. His cock was erect in seconds, and when she lay down on her back and lifted her skirts, he felt as if he had suddenly been lit on fire.

Still booted, with nothing more unfastened than his trousers, he joined her and moved between her parted thighs, relishing the pleasure, the consummation and the communion of not just their bodies, but their souls.

He kissed her in the aftermath of orgasmic bliss, and thanked the stars, the moon and the God he had never been sure existed before now, for his good fortune. Their mouths melded tenderly, and he felt the unexpected sting of tears, hot and fierce.

“I love you,” he whispered, in her and over her. “You and our child. It‘s too…”

“…much?” she supplied, caressing his cheek. “I know.”

“I‘ll always feel this way.” He knew it to be true.

Her eyes gleamed. “I‘ll be fat soon.”

“So?”

“Extremely fat.”

“Beautifully fat.” He smiled. She would never allow him a minute of boredom in his entire life. Of that, there was no question.

“You‘ll still want to fuck me?” Her angelic expression belied her deliberately shocking words.

“Your language leaves something to be desired, Mrs. West.”

“Oh yeah? You think you can do something about it, Parker?”

He lowered his head and murmured against her mouth, “Nope, sweetheart, you win.”

Emma Wildes is the award-winning author of over twenty books. She is the 2007 Eppie winner for best historical erotic romance and a 2006 RWA Lories third place finalist for best novella. Emma lives in rural Indiana with her husband, three children, and various pets.

To learn more about Emma Wildes, please visit
http://www.emmawildes.com
. Send an email to Emma at
[email protected]
. She loves to hear comments from her readers.

Coming Soon

Lawless

The Face of the Maiden

When Noah Calhoun finds his place in the world,
he discovers a woman who makes him whole.

The Legacy

© 2007 Beth Williamson

Book Seven of the Malloy family series

Noah Calhoun always felt like an outsider in the Malloy family, even though he‘d been legally adopted at age fifteen by Nicky, the only sister in the pack. After an accident nearly kills his father, Tyler, Noah decides to leave and find his own place in the world. Using the skills his ex-bounty hunter father taught him, Noah finds a job as a small-town sheriff.

Rosalyn Benedict didn‘t need a fresh-faced do-gooder sheriff trying to help her. She‘d been surviving just fine on her own. Living on the streets since she was a child, Rosalyn was smarter, tougher and stronger than most people ever hope to be.

With her stubbornness and his pigheadedness, will Noah and Rosalyn find that one place where they both belong?

Warning, this title contains the following: explicit sex, graphic language, violence.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Legacy:

Noah clenched his shaking hands into fists so Rosalyn wouldn‘t see how much she affected him. He ran up the steps and dug around in his saddlebags for his second set of clothes. He shed the sodden ones, and they plopped to the floor. How had things gotten so out of control in a breath of a moment?

He only wanted to talk to her to find out who she was and why she lived on the streets of Chancetown. When she pushed him in that trough, Noah was overtaken, awash in emotions that he didn‘t know what to do with. He‘d been battered by deep anger, a thirst for revenge and raging passion, as if Rosalyn had reached in and pulled it all out of him. Suddenly there he was, dunking her in the water and throwing her in the jail cell. What had possessed him?

Growing up under the thumb of an evil man had taught Noah how to be small, to be unseen. Living with his adoptive parents for six years had brought him forward but not completely out of the four walls he‘d built around himself so long ago. With one twitch of her mouth and a laugh that would likely haunt his dreams for weeks, Rosalyn laid siege to those walls.

Noah had nothing to towel off with since he‘d given her the threadbare one he had. He used his clean shirt to blot the water. He‘d find the bathing house another time. He was sure Marina knew who he could pay to do his laundry and where to take a bath—two things he really needed to do. With Mayor Dickinson watching his every move and rumored sheep and cattle rancher problems, the job that had seemed like a dream, an easy solution to a tough problem, was going to be harder than he‘d ever anticipated.

When Noah left home three years ago, his mother asked him not to go. She didn‘t beg, or tell, she just looked at him with those green eyes and asked. Noah hadn‘t been able to stay. He was grateful to the Calhouns and Malloys for all the love and family they gave him. Something he‘d never had, even from his own mother who‘d died when he was twelve. Nicky had given him love and the confidence to be who he was. Tyler had given him the skills to survive. Together they had given an orphan a home and a new life.

Noah pulled on his dry clothes, wondering why, now, he was so melancholy about leaving home. It had been three years and he thought he‘d be over the sadness, the ache of wanting to see his family again. His little sisters and brother, the cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents. He shook his head to clear it. Getting maudlin while he had a woman locked up in his jail cell was not a good idea.

He dumped the water out of his boots the best he could and left the sodden pile of clothes for later. He grabbed his soap from the saddlebags as well as a chipped pitcher of water from the dresser in the room. As he walked downstairs, he braced himself for another confrontation with Rosalyn. She stood where he‘d left her, arms crossed, violet eyes flashing. Her tangled black hair fell in wild waves around her heart-shaped face. The shapeless brown rag that passed as a dress clung to every bit of her body.

Noah had been too angry to notice that Rosalyn was definitely not a young girl. She was a woman, all woman, with gentle curves and full breasts his hands twitched to trace. His confusion was kicked aside by the passion that again surged inside him. It seemed ridiculous to feel such intensity for a woman who lived on the streets, who‘d probably like nothing more than to never see him again.

His blood thrummed through his veins, and his balls grew heavy as tingles raced up and down his hardening staff. She must‘ve seen something in his eyes because her angry gaze turned wary and she stepped back, her arms in a protective pose.

“I ain‘t giving you nothing.”

Noah shook his head. “I‘m not asking you for anything.”

“You lie. I see it in your eyes, Sheriff.” She glanced at his trousers. “Oh, you definitely lie.”

Noah stepped closer. He could see her tremble as if forcing herself to stay put, to not be intimidated by him.

“I won‘t hurt you, Rosalyn. I promise.” He moved even closer. “You might want to dry off. It still gets pretty chilly at night.”

He hoped to do more than scare her and throw her in a jail cell, but unless she was willing to let him, he couldn‘t. The last thing he wanted was to force Rosalyn into letting him help her. She was a person and deserved more respect than that, but she also couldn‘t go around pushing the town sheriff into a trough on his first day.

Noah knew about appearances and what people thought. He‘d lose credibility if there were no consequences. What he was doing to her wasn‘t exactly punishment, he was helping her. He had to keep repeating that to himself, then perhaps he might believe it.

He reached through the bars and set the pitcher and soap on the floor next to the towel. “I‘m leaving to get supper and see about getting you some dry things.”

“Don‘t you dare.” Her anger ballooned into a threat.

“Dare what?”

“I don‘t need your charity, Sheriff.”

“Call me Noah.”

“I don‘t need your charity, Noah,” she repeated. “You let me out of this cell and I‘ll go get my own dry clothes.”

“Sorry, I can‘t do that. You broke the law. For that, you‘re going to spend the night in here.”

She bared her teeth in a snarl. Noah reacted like a dog scenting a bitch in heat. He stood straighter, trembling with the force of the blood rushing around in his veins. Their gazes locked.

“I hate you.” The venom in her voice was enough for three snakes.

Noah flinched. “I‘m sorry to hear that because I really only want to help you.”

Rosalyn strode forward and gripped the bars, narrowing her gaze. “You‘re a liar. If you wanted to help me you wouldn‘t keep me locked up in here. You think just because you‘re a man that you can do whatever you want. Just look out, Sheriff Noah. Soon as your back is turned, I‘ll be gone so fast you‘ll never catch me.”

Noah believed every word of it. She didn‘t want his help and from what she said, she didn‘t need his help. He was going to give it to her whether she objected or not.

Passion flares between a federal marshal and his enemy‘s wife.

Another Man‘s Wife

© 2007 Denysé Bridger

Outlaws descend on a stagecoach winding down its long journey between Missouri and Wind River, Wyoming. Federal Marshal Chris McQuade is one of the two occupants of the stage, and the ensuing battle leaves three dead men on the trail.

McQuade‘s unlikely partner in the deed is a woman he‘s been attracted to from the start of the trip. It isn‘t until they‘re forced to go on alone together that he realizes he‘s falling for the wife of the man he‘s been sent to bring to justice. Despite the ring on her finger and the role he plans to play in making her a widow, passion ignites and McQuade is surprised to discover that Elizabeth Davis is as helpless as he is to deny their need for each other.

But Elizabeth‘s husband has witnessed a much-too-intimate encounter between his enemy and his wife…and now he is out for revenge.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Another Man‘s Wife:

“Is this my horse?” she asked, inwardly shocked by the husky rasp of her voice. This was as close to Chris McQuade as she‘d ever been, and it was an overwhelming experience for her senses. Awareness of him filled her; the mixed scents of man and horse, the mesmerizing depth of his dark eyes, the wind-ruffled disarray of his hair, and the sheer masculine strength that emanated from him. She wanted to touch him, to taste him, to feel his hands on her. The very thoughts made her weak in the knees.

Chris lifted his hat off the pommel of the saddle and stepped back to give her room to mount the gelding. She swung into the saddle with natural ease, and the seconds her bottom swayed before his face were almost his undoing. The next few days were going to be painfully long, some inner voice warned as he tried to ignore the surge of lust that shot straight to his groin. He pulled his hat low and went to the second horse, settling on the saddle and turning west without another word. By the time she came alongside him, he was reasonably certain he could safely look at her.

Elizabeth‘s eyes drank in the beauty of the landscape around them. The Wind River Mountains loomed far in the distance and it was difficult to judge just how far away the town might be. “How long before we reach Wind River?”

“Likely be a few days,” Chris replied, peering intently ahead. “We‘re going to have to ride hard to get to the foothills, then head north. Town shouldn‘t be too hard to find from there.”