Wild Texas Rose Read online

  “The baby’s still going to be early, Sue Ellen,” Rose said.

  Sue Ellen gasped.

  Sonny examined the ceiling.

  A mixture of shock, embarrassment, and delight struggled for dominance in Sue Ellen. Being Sue Ellen, delight won. “Honey, I’m so glad.” She hugged Rose. “It’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it?”

  Rose beamed and nodded.

  Thorn lounged back against the settee and grinned.

  “I told you not to get comfortable.” Sue Ellen scolded Thorn as she tried to drag him to his feet. “The whole county will be talking if you move in before you’re married. It’s scandalous. Now, I can arrange a pretty nice wedding in two weeks—”

  “I’m not waiting any two weeks,” Thorn said.

  “That’s as fast as we can make the dress,” Sue Ellen insisted.

  He planted himself firmly on the settee. “One week, and you can stop digging your fingers into my arm, Sue Ellen. I’m not moving until you promise.”

  “But her dress!”

  “One week. And my hindquarters are putting down roots.”

  “I can tell,” Sue Ellen said tartly. “One week, then. It’ll take every woman for a hundred miles working all hours, but you’ll have your wedding in one week.”

  He looked sideways at Rose. “She looks good in that riding outfit. Couldn’t she be married in that?”

  Sonny hooted.

  Rose laughed and wiped at the mud that stained her skirt.

  Sue Ellen placed her fists squarely on her hips and glared. “Thorn, you stop grinning like a baked possum and get your fanny off that settee. You got your week. Now, we women want our wedding.”

  Thorn appealed to Sonny. “You understand. Can’t you call off your wife?”

  Sonny smirked. “I wouldn’t do it if I could. Seeing the almighty Thorn Maxwell with his tail in a wringer does my heart good. You’re paying for your reputation now. Face it, man — you’re going to be married in a week in one of the biggest fiestas this county’s ever seen, and until then, you’re going to be with … out.” He spaced the syllables so clearly, no one in the room was in any doubt what Thorn would be with … out.

  Especially not Thorn.

  His last appeal exhausted, Thorn unfolded himself from the settee. Taking Rose’s hand, he asked, “Walk me to the porch?”

  Shy as a bride, Rose went with him into the windy evening.

  As two self-appointed chaperones, Sonny and Sue Ellen followed, and Sonny broke off to unhitch the horses from the post by the front porch.

  Scanning the clouds, Thorn pronounced, “It’s clabbered up to rain. Look, it’s flashing in the north. Are you sure you’ll be all right by yourself?”

  “Just” — Rose glanced guiltily at Sue Ellen — “lonely.”

  “It’s not right to leave you alone.” Thorn kept his soulful gaze fixed on Rose.

  Sue Ellen answered. “She’s been alone before, and she knows how to use her guns.”

  “Well, that’s all, then.” Thorn lingered, letting his fingers trace the bones of Rose’s face. With a meaningful glare at Sue Ellen, he asked, “Do you think we could have one moment of privacy before I vamoose?”

  Sue Ellen jumped. “No need to get huffy, Thorn. I suppose you can.”

  Thorn didn’t wait to see her leave. Lifting Rose off her feet, he kissed her until he saw flashing lights behind his closed eyelids, until he heard the roar of cannon and felt the ground shake beneath his feet.

  Kissing Rose took all his concentration, all his strength, all his tenderness. This was what he wanted from life — to live forever in this woman’s arms.

  He would never have stopped, but something pushed him.

  Rose pushed him?

  He lifted his head.

  No, not Rose.

  The wind pushed them, shoved at them. The storm burst upon the world. Sheets of water came at them across the prairie. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed.

  “Come on, Maxwell,” Sonny roared. “We’re going to get wet.”

  In a daze, Thorn looked at him, then down at Rose. Her eyes were still shut tight. Bliss lit her face.

  “Magnificent,” he murmured, and he didn’t mean the storm. He waved acknowledgment to Sonny, and carefully set Rose on her feet. When he knew she had her balance, when reason had returned to her gaze, he grinned as wickedly as he knew how. In a voice meant for her ears only, he said, “Make sure you leave your window unlatched, darlin’.”

  She didn’t even seem to pause and think. “After a day like this, I’ll have to bathe.” Standing on tiptoe, she whispered in his ear, “It will be so … embarrassing … if you sneaked into my room and caught me all naked and wet and … soapy.” She drew out the sibilance of the last word, and slowly, slowly leaned back and smiled.

  His grin had been wicked.

  Her smile was innocent. Or rather … almost innocent.

  “Have I mentioned how much I love you, Miss Rose Laura Corey?” he asked fervently.

  “I don’t think you have, Mr. Thorndike Samuel Maxwell.”

  “Well, I do.”

  “I love you, too. I will love you forever … and beyond.”

  Transfixed by her vow, and the image he built in his mind of a naked, wet, soap-bubble-covered Rose, Thorn had to wet his lips before he could speak. “Sonny! Sue Ellen! Rose just now reminded me someone has to tend her horses and do her chores. You two go on without me.”

  “No, you don’t.” Sue Ellen started forward.

  Sonny caught her arm. “Forget it, Sue Ellen. Those two are making up for lost time, and nothing you can do will stop them.”

  “Oh, I suppose.” Sue Ellen strode toward her horse and mounted in a hurry. “So I’d better make up for lost time and start working up the pattern for that wedding gown tonight.”

  Sonny stopped right there in the yard, facing the wind and the lightning and the rain and his damned stubborn wife. In an injured tone, he said, “I thought you wanted me to dance for you?”

  “You bet, sugar.” Sue Ellen looked at the two figures on the porch, staring into each other’s eyes, then leaned over and patted Sonny’s cheek. “As soon as that wedding gown is sewn, you can dance for me all … night … long.”

  Sonny watched Sue Ellen ride into the rain.

  Then he turned and gazed in disgust at Rose and Thorn, wrapped in each other’s arms and oblivious to the blistering storm, the promise of scandal, and his own soggy discomfort. “I knew that damned Thorn Maxwell was going to cause me nothing but problems.” Hefting himself into the saddle, Sonny rode after his wife, muttering, “First thing in the morning, I’m going into town, and I will buy Sue Ellen one of those model fifteen Singer sewing machines, and by God, she’d better get that dress sewn in less than seven days so we can get those two married. In the meantime” — his eyes narrowed, for he was a man on a mission — “I gotta learn to dance.”

  THE END

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  I hope you enjoyed WILD TEXAS ROSE! I was first catapulted to fame by my bold, funny historical romances, and they remain eternal favorites. I love to tell the story of the prim, oppressed heroine who, when given the chance, blossoms and becomes a lioness.

  Miss Laura Haver is just such a woman, a spinster and a seamstress … and a woman bent on revenge. For her brother was killed while seeking the identity of a notorious French smuggler, and she suspects Jean’s true identity is none other than the wealthy and commanding Keefe Leighton, Earl of Hamilton.

  How to capture such a rogue?

  By arriving at his estate and claiming to be his bride, of course. But her plans go awry when Hamilton arrives and discovers her ruse … and does everything in his considerable power to make her bride in the truth!

  ~ Excerpt ~

  Kent, England, 1813

  Over and over, through the long, lonely nights since her brother’s d
eath, Laura had dreamed about Hamilton chasing her. She’d seen his face on every dark-haired man who walked the London streets, in the men who had traveled with her in the coach as she made her way to Kent — and justice.

  She didn’t like this obsession she had formed about the man, but something about Hamilton convinced her she should flee and never stop, because if she didn’t…

  Well. She couldn’t flee. She had her duty to her brother.

  And it wasn’t as if she didn’t know why she dreamed about Hamilton, or why when he watched her, she worried for her virtue. Not because she feared he would force himself on her. No, indeed. It was not that easy.

  She feared she would fling herself at him.

  And when she did, he would take her on a erotic journey from which she would return changed, no longer levelheaded Laura Haver, but a creature drowning in sensuality … no, not even sensuality. Call this emotion by its true name — lust.

  It hadn’t always been thus.

  When Ronald was alive, he had spoken of Hamilton in dazzling terms. As Hamilton’s personal secretary, Ronald proclaimed often that he had had learned much from his lordship about wealth, responsibility and personal honor.

  Yet Laura had never had occasion to meet Hamilton … until Ronald was killed.

  The grief. The anguish. The desperate days of mourning her only sibling and last living relative.

  At last she’d put those emotions aside and made an appointment to meet Hamilton, confident he would help her discover Ronald’s killer and give her a measure of consolation. Only to discover Ronald had failed to report, or possibly even to notice, that Hamilton was … physically spectacular.

  Gray blue eyes, the color of the sea on a calm day. A wide, firm, placid mouth. A deep voice, tranquil, thoughtful, measured.

  Yet when his eyes rested on her, they grew intensely, vibrantly blue, almost angry in their ferocity, and his mouth was no longer placid, but carnal, beckoning. When his voice spoke her name, his voice grew low, warm, seductive.

  As for his body … he was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed always in absolutely the proper clothing for a gentleman and lord of his station.

  Yet he seemed intent on using his body to bully her. When she sat, he stood over her. When she stood, he loomed. He seemed to have a propensity for looming, and she found it irritating in that the tactic seemed to work so well. While he was standing and looming and being imposing, she found herself wanting to do as he told her, and go home and remain like a genteel lady, and when the proper time arrived the smugglers would be brought to justice.

  Hamilton was patronizing her.

  And she might nothing but a poor, plain gentlewoman who earned her living as a seamstress, but she couldn’t bear to be patronized, especially not by Hamilton.

  So she clenched her teeth and faced up to him, ignoring the breadth of his shoulders, the sculptured perfection of his features, and her own untutored desire to hurl herself into his arms and let him care for her.

  From the very beginning some instinct told her that his placid exterior hid something deep, potent and deceptive. That was the key word about Hamilton … deceptive. She would do well to remember it in all future dealings with him.

  Christina Dodd here: WILD TEXAS ROSE first came out in 1993 to a very limited audience, and hasn’t been in print since. When I re-read it with an eye to presenting it to my modern readers, I found myself laughing out loud at the relationship between Rose and Thorn, and cheering for their chance at happiness. I hope you, too, enjoyed WILD TEXAS ROSE, and that you take this opportunity to explore all my worlds and join my FREE mailing list for news, contests and exclusive excerpts! http://christinadodd.com

  Now take a moment to browse a few of my twenty-seven full length historicals!

  Enjoy the Best of Christina Dodd’s Historicals

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  Read a bonus excerpt of another personal favorite, my historical novella, THE SMUGGLER’S CAPTIVE BRIDE. http://tinyurl.com/6mp7vsv

  England 1813

  Miss Laura Haver listened as the two men spoke in the taproom below. It was probably nothing, probably the first of the villagers arriving for an ale, but the events of the night had made her wary, and she slipped over to the door and laid her head against the boards while straining to hear.

  The knock made her jump backward, stumbling on the thin carpet that covered part of the floor.

  “M’lady?”

  Only the inn-keeper, called her by that title. Because … well, because she had told him she was married to his lord, Keefe Leighton, the earl of Hamilton. That was not quite true … or even slightly true. But he didn’t know that.

  “What?” she called, and her voice quavered.

  “‘Tis Ernest, m’lady, with a surprise for ye.”

  “What kind of surprise?” She feared suspicion colored her tone, but Ernest sounded as cheerful as ever.

  “Something to warm yer bones.” Metal rattled against metal. “Shall I unlock the door and pass it through to ye?”

  She stared in horror at the metal lock. She’d thought herself inviolate in the inn’s bedchamber, and now Ernest announced he had another key. Should she fling her weight against the door and block it? She looked down at herself and at another time, she would have laughed. “Bird-bones,” Ronald had called her, and “Shorty.”

  And why was she worried, really? As far as she could tell, Ernest had been trustworthy, keeping the secret she’d entrusted to him with perfect consideration. Only her recent trip to the cliffs, where she had seen smugglers — and they had seen her — had frightened her and made her suspicious of everyone in this small village.

  “I’ll open the door,” she called. She wanted to retain control of access to her room, and not have Ernest thinking he could enter any time. She produced the key and turned it in the lock, then opened the door a crack. Nothing more. Just a crack. She was smart enough to peek before she swung the door wide.

  Ernest stood beaming, a dusty bottle in one hand and a candle in the other.

  The earl of Hamilton loomed beside him.

  Shock held her frozen for the briefest of moments.

  Had her thoughts summoned him here?

  She rammed the door closed.

  Before the latch clicked, he gave a shove.

  She stumbled back, caught her heel on her hem, and fell backward.

  Before she hit the floor, he swept her into his arms. Lifting her, he smiled ferociously, looked into her eyes, and in a voice meant to carry, he boomed, “Darling!”

  And he pressed his lips against hers.

  Order THE SMUGGLER’S CAPTIVE BRIDE!

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  Want to know more about my paranormals? All the information you want is here! http://christinadodd.com/genre/paranormal/