Fortune's Folly – new excerpt

 From chapter 10

 

"Miss O'Rourke." He took off his hat, bowed, and showed her a charismatic smile. In his well-cut suit he was an aristocratic ideal, the prince of fairy tales, an idle hunter of foxes. And perhaps women?

She gave him a poised nod. A sudden burst of cool air swirled about her, and she shivered and rubbed her arms.

"Cold?" His smile thinned. "I'm not surprised, seeing you're only partially dressed."

She edged sideways. "I must go. People are waiting for me."

"You left items in the cove." He donned his hat and withdrew a bundle of white cambric from inside his coat. Heat surged across her face. "Such fine garments, Miss, a soft chemise and lace-trimmed drawers. The petticoat was too bulky to fit my pocket."

"Where did you get those?" She made a grab for them.

He held the bundle out of her reach. "We both know where. I'll return them if you show me a spot on the coast."

"I'll show you nothing. I can't be late today. My sister—"

"As you wish, Miss O'Rourke. I'll stop by your home later and return your undergarments. Perhaps your family will be interested in your escapade in the sea this morning."

The heat spread to her neck. Damnation. "What is it you want?"

He motioned the direction he had come. "We'll stroll above the cliffs and find a spot where a dory may come ashore. Then you can have your fine things back"

His face now seemed made of stone. Would he truly announce to her family she swam naked in the lagoon? She released an exasperated sigh and returned to the path, him following.

On the cliffs a sprightly breeze stirred the heat, and seabirds screamed as they soared into the sky. Eden pulled her braid forward. "You've been trespassing."

He lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. "Guilty, I admit."

"And spying, too." She came to a stop. "I'll not be taking another step until you tell me a few things. Why are you here? And why must you know where a boat can pull in?"

He gazed at the sparkling water, then met her eyes. "I saw you by accident when you swam out to meet the dory."

"I did not swim out to meet—"

"You spoke to the oarsman."

She shook her head. "I did not speak to—"

"He is a smuggler." His brittle smile vanished. "Keep walking, show me where he might have come ashore. Let's get on with it or I'll tell your father you swim naked to entice men. And don't say no one would believe it. Isn't it true you enticed a group of sailors into a tavern brawl?"

"Who told you such a thing?" The breeze lifted her hat. She clamped a hand on it.

"The men arrested for the brawl were from my crew. I read the police report and spoke to the men. Now, will you keep moving or do you wish to face your family's horror?"

"May I have my clothes?” Frustration sharpened her voice. “I feel ill at ease, and I don't want you thinking I’m trying to entice you as well."

"You'll get your things when you've completed my request.” A condescending glance.  “Don't worry. A young thing such as you doesn't entice me in any way, clothed, half clothed, or unclothed."  

Young thing. Did he see her as a child? She was nineteen, not nine. With a proud lift of her head, she marched on.

Of course she knew where a rowboat may pull onto a pebbled strand, the one place besides her cove accessible from the sea. She also knew where a skimpy track descended to the strand. However, he needed to work for the information.

"The beach you seek is so private there’s but one way to get there.” She gestured at a cliff jutting several hundred yards into the sea. “We must climb down and walk around the point. The beach is on the other side."

Alex stared down the precipice, a sheer drop of twenty feet with jumbled boulders at the bottom. Was that a sly smirk on her face or an angel's innocent smile? The ebbing tide had exposed a flat expanse of mud, oozing water, studded with sea grass. At the end of the point waves besieged sea-worn rocks. 

"We must hurry, Captain. Tide will soon turn."

He bowed. "After you, Miss O'Rourke."

She removed her sandals, tied them together, and slung them over her shoulder. Nimble and quick, she seemed to find toeholds in the face of the cliff and moved down as if descending a ladder. Soon she stood on a flat rock, gazing  up at him. Alex pulled off his hat and boots, shrugged out of his coat, and stowed all among a cluster of rocks.

 He rolled up his trouser legs and shirt sleeves, and descended the cliff with much less agility than Eden. When he reached the bottom, his damp shirt clung to his chest. At one time he had clambered among a tall ship’s rigging. When last did physical exertion of any kind make him sweat? Too damned long ago. 

Eden stepped onto the mud flat, her braid swaying, a circlet of wilted flowers holding it together. He shook off thoughts that she wore nothing beneath her frock, that the fabric rubbed and caressed those sweet curves. Moisture forming on his brow happened less from the heat than from his physical reactions to Eden O'Rourke.

 

--Cat

 

New excerpt

From chapter 23

She ran to the barn door. "I must go home."

Clem moved after her. "Stay here. The storm--"

"I'll be home before it's really bad. I have to go." She mounted Paladin and turned back to him, her voice ragged. "Don't you see? I told them I'd help and look what happened."

Paladin did an uneasy dance. Clem grabbed for the reins but she veered to the side and spurred the horse into a quick lope. Clem’s hoarse voice called her to stop, to wait, but she paid no heed. Then she heard nothing but the keening of the wind.

At first it came in uncertain gusts, and the large white flakes eddied and coiled, building low mounds on the road. Then it blew steadily, drawing the flakes into threadlike tassels, streaking the mounds into drifts. Finally the wind assumed full force and drove the snow hard in a slanting southeasterly direction.

Moving nearly broadside against it, Diana made slow progress. Icy pellets stung her cheeks. Billowing veils became thick sheets, concealing all landmarks, even the road. Paladin tried to turn his back to the wind whenever she relaxed her grip on the reins. She leaned over his neck and urged him through deepening drifts. A half buried fence line on the left vanished. Whenever she turned her head to search for the gates to Paradise Valley, her eyes and nostrils filled with snow.

"I must get home," she said aloud. But the screaming wind drowned out the sound of her voice.

Paladin, his coat crystallized with ice, whinnied and wheezed, gasped and shuddered. Despite the horse’s increasing unsteadiness, she didn't dare stop, even when she lost all sensation in her face and hands.

They plodded on, for miles it seemed, for hours that may have only been minutes. How long had she been out in the storm? Where was she? Nothing made sense any longer.

Paladin stumbled and fell onto his forelegs. She rolled off and struggled for footing. With a jerk on the reins, she pulled him up, then plowed on through knee-deep drifts. She couldn't see the horse an arm's length behind her. He careened and dropped onto his side.

She yanked on the bridle, shrieked, "Get up. Get up, damn beast. Oh, God. What have I done?" She fell on his neck, heard his exhausted gasps, a shuddering sigh, then--nothing. Horrendous pain seized her throat. "My beautiful Paladin." The wind snatched the words from her frozen lips. "I could have saved you. I could have saved James. It's my fault he's dead. My fault you're dead."

          She hauled herself up and staggered forth, whipped by the wind and haunting images: James 

staring vacantly at the sky; Stevy, his scarred face contorted. "The bullet I got for you," he taunted 

her. "The bullet for you--"


The Queen of Paradise Valley    available at Amazon

New excerpt from The Queen of Paradise Valley

From chapter 19

A lantern hung from the center post, shedding smoky light that didn’t reach the gloomy corners of the tent. Diana brushed snarls out of her hair and pulled down the wool sleeves of her underwear. Outside a rising wind stirred the pines, sawing branches together, scattering needles onto the canvas roof.

She shivered and hugged her arms. Her bedding, blankets arranged on a thin mattress, looked cold and uninviting. Why hadn't she asked one of the cowhands to bring some heated rocks from the campfire? Where was her brain? Still listening to Del as he chided her for skimming the surface of the ocean he called life?  

A chilly draft swept her back. She whirled. As if she had conjured him up, Del stood in shadows at the entrance, one hand holding his hat, the other clasping the neck of a bottle.

"Del--" Tremors in her voice betrayed her excited dread. "You have no right to be here."

Her dread increased as he let his hat fall and stepped forward, his face emerging in the light. There was something predatory in his half-closed eyes. Something hungry.   

"Why?" The soft-spoken word seemed fraught with danger. His gaze moved over her in a slow sweep and he swayed, groping for the center post to steady himself. The lantern swung and grotesque shadows careened across the canvas walls. He raised the bottle to his lips.

She shook her head. Drunk. Disgusting.

"See, the men got a wager. Some say you wear black to bed. Reckon they’re wrong. Man's clothes, man's red underwear. An' I was hoping to see the flawless design."  

No sense to his words. No reason for heat forming in her cheeks, spreading to her neck and down. She said, "You can make your report and leave me to myself."

“C’mon, Miz Russell, don't you want some of this good whiskey?" He lifted the bottle and shook his head. A grin twitched his mouth. "Sorry. None left to warm you--"

The bottle slid from his hand. He took several steps, stumbled, and half fell against her. She grabbed his shoulders, strained to stabilize him. At once locked in a ponderous embrace, she stared into glazed silver eyes mere inches from hers. He bunched her hair to one side and dragged his fingers down the center of her back, igniting all her senses.

And she was the one sliding, falling, and he was supporting her. He lowered his face to hers. She averted her head and his lips brushed her cheek. 

“I’ll warm you myself, China Doll." He squeezed her chin and turned her face to his.

She opened her mouth, whispered, "Don't--" but her protest was crushed by the stubborn press of his lips. He tasted like whiskey and she herself was intoxicated. She clutched at his jacket collar. It was fur, maybe wolf, thick and shaggy like his hair. 

 --Cat

New Excerpt

Excerpt 4 -  The Queen of Paradise Valley

From chapter 11

Diana’s face burned. She slid the letter back into the envelope. Instead of messing things up, she had played into her father’s interests and helped condemn Del to prison. She rubbed her cheeks and tried to wipe away a torrent of guilt. How could she ever face Del?

But Owen did this for her, a rationalizing voice piped up in her mind. He was thinking of her future. And oh–

She pushed herself away from the table and snatched up the envelope. Where had he gone? Where had that sneaky bastard gone?

In the stable, Del, having let his anger wash through him and dissolve, brushed bits of straw off Diablo’s back prior to saddling him. He glanced up at Diana’s rapid approach and said, “If you’re here to justify Owen’s actions, save your breath.”

Stiff in posture and voice, she said, “I don’t need to justify anything he did. He was protecting me.” At his scornful laugh, she shook the envelope at him. “How dare you read something addressed to me? Where did you get this?”

What a bitch she could be. She had no right to be offended when the letter proved he was the victim.

“Are you going to answer me?”

Bright color in her cheeks, righteous fury in those killer eyes. He said, “The inkwell was dry. I searched for more. Evidently no one's looked through the desk for four years. The letter was stuck in with papers in the bottom drawer. I did what you'd have done if it was addressed to me.” He threw the brush into a bucket of tools where it landed with a rattling clang. The mustang twitched his ears and stepped forward.

Del slipped a saddle blanket onto the horse, smoothed it, and turned to Diana. “Now you know for a fact that old bastard--I'll call him what I damn well want--is the one who should've rotted in prison. Not me.”

"You threatened him--"

Stubborn woman! "I threatened his possession of this ranch. My pa's lawful share. My lawful share." The earlier anger bubbled up again. "Do you have any idea what it's like to be in prison? Locked up, chained, treated like shit, hell, living in shit." As he spoke he moved closer to her, but rather than retreat she stood rigid, hands linked behind her, mouth a flat line, eyes daring.  He put out his hand, growled, "Give me the letter."

"It's addressed to me."

"Give it to me, dammit, so I can show it to the judge as proof I was innocent."

She stared at the envelope as if she wanted to rip it to pieces, then threw it at him, swung about and departed as rapidly as she had come, without one word of apology. What a surprise.

New excerpt from The Queen of Paradise Valley

The Queen of Paradise Valley   —   second excerpt:

She expected to be surprised. But she was astonished. No longer the dun colored settlement she remembered, Rennieville had tripled in size, was now a sprawling town teeming with noisy transport rigs of all sizes and types. People, young and old, rough and refined, bustled from one place of enterprise to another. As she maneuvered the buggy along South Street she passed many saloons and bordellos, their business already brisk in early afternoon.

Main Street used to be a pathway that began on an empty prairie, passed nine or ten buildings and thirty or less homes, and ended between wooded hills rising to the Sangre de Cristo range. Now it boasted plank walkways on both sides that served a multitude of storefronts, their colorful business signs protruding above their doors.

For her venture into town Diana wore a high-necked, long-sleeved black serge gown, and despite the heat maintained a glacial facade. She was glad her simple hat sported a net veil, for she sensed curious stares from everyone she passed. No doubt they knew who she was with the silver Double R, the ranch brand, emblazoned on the sides of the buggy.

The hotel was more than twice its former size and displayed a decorative frieze below the roof line. The word pompous lodged in her mind as she stepped onto the boardwalk, her eyes drawn to a sign that proclaimed in flourishing letters, Rennieville Grand Hotel. Pompous and arrogant. She turned, collided with a solid body. She tottered and dropped her reticule..

"Sorry, ma'am." The man reached for her arms to steady her.

She pulled away, stepped back. Like a ranch hand after a sweltering day of work, he stank of sweat and horse; prairie dirt layered his clothes and the saddlebags slung over his shoulder. He stooped to retrieve her reticule and she lifted her veil.

He tipped his hat. “Here ma'am--"

Their eyes met and his polite half smile vanished. Her heart plummeted with dizzying speed, her feet lost contact with an earth no longer there. Breath hissing through her teeth, she snatched her reticule, turned and fled into the hotel.

She leaned on the door and fought to compose herself, to cast off fear that descended like a suffocating blanket. It could not be him.  He had died two years ago. She remembered the day Clem told her. A prison break. He'd been hunted down and killed. And she had wrestled with alternating waves of shock, dismay, guilt, and relief.

Relief had won.

With slow, deliberate steps she crossed the lobby to the desk. Her voice taut, she requested a room and asked if her brother was in his suite.

"He's out.” The clerk peered at her through round spectacles. “Did you say Randolph Rennie is your brother? Then you are--"

“Yes, I am." She managed to sign the register with a steady hand.

"Miss Rennie, for you our best room." He snapped his fingers and a boy arrived to show her the way. She barely noticed climbing two flights of stairs and walking along a dim hallway. Inside the room her control began to crumble and her hand shook as she thrust a coin at the boy. The door closed behind him and she shot to the window.

The man was gone; a sturdy couple with a cavorting boy now stood on the spot. It must have been someone with a slight resemblance. Those eyes though, variegated slate and silver irises, inky pupils widening with--what? Suspicion? Curiosity? Not recognition. Not that!

But she remembered his eyes most of all, how he had looked at her with the smoky passion of a lover, then the crushing contempt of a criminal on his way to prison.

Deep breaths. Deep and steady. Panic ebbed; heartbeat steadied. She had important things to do today and couldn't afford to sit here revisiting her biggest mistake.

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— Cat