Texas Lucky (44 page)

“Yes, come in,” she called, thinking it was one of the servants.

Instead, Curt entered, so very handsome in a new black suit with white ruffled shirt and a black string tie. His dark hair was freshly trimmed, touching his broad shoulders.

“What are you doing here?” she cried, noting how his eyes were twinkling. “Everyone will think you’re awful, sneaking up to my bedroom like this.”

Despite the scolding, she could not help smiling.

“Oh, they won’t think any worse of me being up here than you exchanging your mourning clothes for a wedding gown so soon.”

Tess was not really concerned with what people might think. Besides, the only ones invited to the wedding were the hired hands, who couldn’t care less about decorum. They were too pleased their bosses were marrying each other to think of anything else.

As for Perry, he was going to give her away and was so crazy about Curt already that he wasn’t worried about anything else.

With hands on her hips, she feigned a menacing glare as she said, “Well, at least you’re making an honest woman of me.”

“After you roped me in.”

“What?”

“That’s right.” He shook his head in mock wonder. “I’ve heard of desperate women in my time, but you beat all I’ve ever seen.”

She knew he was teasing and played along. “What are you talking about?”

“You know dang well what I’m talking about. You nearly got me killed, and then when I was out of my head, you took everything I said seriously and twisted it around into making me marry you.”

“That’s right,” she said firmly, turning back to the mirror to pin on the cap of her veil. “Because if you think I’m going to sneak off in the bushes or some horse stall with you the rest of my life, you’re crazy.

“Besides,” she could not resist goading, “you probably got shot because you didn’t know which end of the gun you were holding.”

“Oh, yeah?” he fired back. “And another thing—not only are you making me marry you, but you’re giving me a ready-made family to boot. Perry acts like I’m his daddy, already.”

“And you love it.”

“Yes.” He was instantly serious. “I do.”

“So what are you complaining about?”

He pretended indignity once more. “Well, for one thing, I’m sore all over.” He sat down in a chair next to the dresser. “I’ve still got bruises from you dragging me so roughly across those rocks.”

“You’d have been bruised a whole lot worse if the Indians had found us. And you should also be ashamed for acting like such a big baby about it.” She could see him in the mirror and wrinkled her nose at him. “I sure hope you aren’t going to be a sickly husband. Heaven knows, a woman needs a strong man in these parts.”

He was having a hard time keeping from bursting out loud with laughter. “I guess you consider yourself a strong woman because you dragged me into hiding and then let a snake crawl over you without screaming like you once would have? Well, maybe so, but I still say you’re a desperate female.

“You even tried to make me jealous with another man,” he said, as he continued to imitate affront. “You let me think you were carrying on with your foreman.”

She matched his facade with finger pointed. “You deserved that at the time, and you know it.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “But I still say when a man can’t think he’s dying and spill his guts to a woman without her taking it for a proposal—”

She bantered right back, “Well, you said it yourself, Curt.”

“Said what?”

“That a person has to do whatever it takes to survive in the West.”

“And what has survival got to do with your lassoing me like a calf on branding day?”

Suddenly she turned from the mirror to drop to her knees before him and take his hands in hers. Pressing them to her lips, she whispered fervently, “Because I can’t live without you now that I know you love me, Curt…as I love you. I can’t survive without you.”

With a soft moan, he gathered her to him and rained kisses over her radiant face. “Oh, God, Tess, I’ve loved you so damn long, only I didn’t know how to tell you, wasn’t sure you wanted me to. But that’s behind us now. We’ve got the rest of our lives together, and I’m going to treasure each and every moment.”

He stood and drew her up with him. “I’ll always love you, Tess. I swear it.”

Her laugh was as soft as china bells in a summer breeze as she drew away from him, still holding his hands. “I’m the happiest woman in the world.”

“And I’m the happiest man.”

“Then come marry me,” she said, “before I have to find me a lasso.”

With a chuckle, he gave her bottom a sound pat on the way out the door. “By the way, it’s nice you could fit into your mother’s wedding dress, because I think I’ve found the kind of woman I’ve always wanted.”

“Forever.” She beamed up at him. “Forever and always, I’m your woman, Curt.”

About the Author

Maggie James aka Patricia Hagan might be the New York Times bestselling author of 38 novels and 2500 short stories, but she can also lay claim to being among the vanguard of women writers covering NASCAR stock-car racing. The first woman granted garage passes to major speedways, she has awards in TV commentary, newspaper and magazine articles, and for several years wrote and produced a twice-weekly racing program heard on 42 radio stations in the south.

Patricia’s books have been translated into many languages, and she has made promotional trips to Europe, including England, France, Italy, Norway, Greece, Turkey, Croatia, Spain and Ireland.

Hagan’s exciting eight-book Coltrane saga, which spans from the Civil War to the Russian Revolution, has appeared on every major bestseller list and is one of the most popular series published in France, never having been out-of-print in that country in nearly 30 years.

Born in Atlanta, Georgia, Patricia grew up all across the United States due to her father’s position as a federal attorney, finally settling in Alabama where she graduated from the University of Alabama with a major in English. She now resides with her husband in south Florida where she volunteers as a Court-appointed Guardian Ad Litem for abused children.

But of all her accolades and accomplishments, Patricia most of all loves to boast of being the proud mom of a Navy SEAL.

Look for these titles by Patricia Hagan

Now Available:

Writing as Patricia Hagan:

Souls Aflame

Passion’s Fury

This Savage Heart

Love’s Wine

Midnight Rose

Heaven in a Wildflower

The Coltrane Saga

Love and War

The Raging Hearts

Love and Glory

Love and Fury

Love and Splendor

Love and Dreams

Love and Honor

Love and Triumph

Coming Soon:

Ryan’s Bride

My Irish Love

Arizona Gold

Amongst the fires of war, Anjele discovers that love is truly blind.

Heaven in a Wildflower

© 2013 Patricia Hagan

Brett Cody was Anjele Sinclair’s first love. Under the hot Louisiana sun, they discovered each other, body and soul. Torn from his arms and sent to a boarding school in England, it is four long years before she returns to her beloved home. But when she discovers that Brett is fighting for the hated Yankees, Anjele believes their love can never be.

Then the unthinkable happens. Her father is murdered, and an injury from his attackers leaves Anjele blind. Struggling to save her beloved home and heritage, Anjele relies on the help and support of a stranger—a man she grows to love. But when she discovers that man is none other than Brett, Anjele must decide if she can accept the love of an enemy.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Heaven in a Wildflower:

New Orleans, Louisiana

Summer, 1858

A warm breeze wafted through the open French doors leading to the porch. Wearing a thin chemise and pantalets, Anjele stood just inside her room. She was supposed to be taking a nap, or at least lying down, because it was the season of the ague, or yellow fever. People believed resting in the hottest part of the day helped prevent the disease, but going to bed was the last thing she felt like doing in such miserable heat.

The shade of the spreading oaks, dripping with shadowy moss, looked cool and inviting along the avenue leading to the sleepy river beyond. She longed for a swim, but not in the thick, brown waters of the serpentine Mississippi. It was her secret place she yearned for, the hidden freshwater pool she and Simona and Emalee had discovered a few years ago. Hidden in the fringes of Bayou Perot, it was fed by an underground spring that kept the water from becoming stagnant. Best of all, they had never seen a snake or an alligator there.

Sadly, as she stood there enjoying the view, she was struck once more with awareness of how time was running out to enjoy the things she loved on the plantation. Since her sixteenth birthday the month before, when the formal announcement of her engagement to Raymond Duval was made, a feeling of desperation had descended. All her life, she’d been well aware of the pact between their parents, but it wasn’t till it became official and a wedding date set for Christmas that the actuality had soaked in. Now, thinking about moving into New Orleans, leaving this beloved place to return only for visits, made her stomach knot with dread.

She had grown up loving to spend as much time as possible traipsing after her father, whom she adored. He had taught her to ride a horse and shoot a gun as well as any man—unknown to her mother, of course, who didn’t approve of her learning masculine skills. So it had become a cherished secret between her father and her, only now she had to fit in those times around her music.

Ida Duval, Raymond’s mother, insisted Anjele start learning to play the piano, something Anjele had resisted in the past. Miss Ida felt it was a nice touch for a hostess to be able to entertain her guests after dinner and, since Anjele’s mother was much too busy to give Anjele lessons, Mrs. Melora Rabine was sent twice a week to teach.

Anjele smiled to think how surprised everyone was to discover she had a natural talent. In no time at all, she was able to play anything by ear, after hearing the melody only once or twice. But Claudia, her adopted sister, had been studying for years and accused her of having been practicing secretly, declaring it was not possible to master the piano so fast. Anjele neither denied nor confirmed.

Long ago, she’d learned there was no getting along with Claudia.

Ida also sent someone to instruct in needlework, and Twyla turned a deaf ear to Anjele’s protests. Anjele suspected the real reason her mother was going along with everything Ida wanted was to keep her busy so she wouldn’t have time to slip away and be with Simona and Emalee. Acadian girls. Her mother didn’t approve of them but wasn’t as vocal as Claudia, who warned that Ida Duval would have a fit if she knew Anjele socialized with the lower classes.

Anjele was well aware that lots of other people looked down their noses at the Acadians due to the mixed heritage of some, but it didn’t matter one bit to her. She felt sorry for the way their ancestors, French Canadians, had been driven from their colony of Acadia by the British, forcing them to find new homes in unfamiliar territories. Many, like the families of Emalee and Simona, had chosen to settle in the fertile bayou lands of southern Louisiana. They lived in small, compact, self-contained communities deep in the swamps. When they sought work, it was in the cane or cotton fields. But, unlike the Negro slaves, the Cajuns were paid wages and free to leave at quitting time to return to their bayou homes.

Anjele envied them their happy, carefree lives as she listened to Emalee and Simona and the other girls describe the merriment that went on in their compounds as they cooked their supper. Cauldrons of turtle soup or crawfish gumbo bubbled deliciously while fiddlers played rousing Cajun tunes in an effort to ease their weary spirits after a hard day. They would sing, and sometimes, on the banks of the shadow-silent waters of the mysterious bayou, and even though she wasn’t allowed, Anjele longed to be a part of it all.

Two years ago, Simona had married, when she was only fourteen. But that hadn’t stopped her from spending time with Anjele whenever possible. Anjele would slip down to the edge of the cane fields and wait till the overseer wasn’t looking, so both Simona and Emalee could dart away. The trio would then disappear into the moss-shrouded forest for a few stolen hours at their secret pool, treasured memories that now filled Anjele with longing on the hot and humid afternoon.

Suddenly she was torn from reverie by the sound of the door from the outside hall opening. She watched as Claudia crept stealthily into the room. Seeing Anjele’s empty bed, she glanced about wildly, spotting her at the open French doors. “You’re supposed to rest until two o’clock, and it’s only half past one,” she said sharply.

“So are you,” Anjele reminded her. Dear Lord, she couldn’t remember a time in her life when they weren’t sparring. She honestly felt she had tried through the years to get along, but it was a hopeless situation. Claudia despised her and always would.