First Love Wild Love

by Janelle Taylor

Genres: Action & Adventure Romance; Historical Romance

Synopsis

Reared in the civilized society of far-off England, Calinda Braxton was unschooled in the ways of passion until she arrived in the exotic wilds of the untamed western frontier and a rugged, gunsliging stranger stole into her hotel room--and her bed! Roused from slumber by his breathless kisses, the beguiling innocent surrendered to her bold seducer's virile charms. . .never dreaming that he was a Texas ranger on a dangerous secret mission. . .or that his searing caress would awaken her heart to the soul-stealing ecstasy of a magnificent, once-in-a-lifetime love!

Release date: October 24, 2011

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 612

Sample

A BEGUILING INTRIGUE

(4441, $3.99)

by Olivia Sumner

Pretty as a picture Justine Riggs cared nothing for propriety. She dressed as a boy, sat on her horse like a jockey, and pondered the stars like a scientist. But when she tried to best the handsome Quenton Fletcher, Marquess of Devon, by proving that she was the better equestrian, he would try to prove Justine’s antics were pure folly. The game he had in mind was seduction—never imagining that he might lose his heart in the process!

AN INCONVENIENT ENGAGEMENT

(4442, $3.99)

by Joy Reed

Rebecca Wentworth was furious when she saw her betrothed waltzing with another. So she decides to make him jealous by flirting with the handsomest man at the ball, John Collinwood, Earl of Stanford. The “wicked” nobleman knew exactly what the enticing miss was up to—and he was only too happy to play along. But as Rebecca gazed into his magnificent eyes, her errant fiancé was soon utterly forgotten!

SCANDAL’S LADY by Mary Kingsley

(4472, $3.99)

Cassandra was shocked to learn that the new Earl of Lynton was her childhood friend, Nicholas St. John. After years at sea and mixed feelings Nicholas had come home to take the family title. And although Cassandra knew her place as a governess, she could not help the thrill that went through her each time he was near. Nicholas was pleased to find that his old friend Cassandra was his new next door neighbor, but after being near her, he wondered if mere friendship would be enough…

HIS LORDSHIP’S REWARD by Carola Dunn

(4473, $3.99)

As the daughter of a seasoned soldier, Fanny Ingram was accustomed to the vagaries of military life and cared not a whit about matters of rank and social standing. So she certainly never foresaw her tendre for handsome Viscount Roworth of Kent with whom she was forced to share lodgings, while he carried out his clandestine activities on behalf of the British Army. And though good sense told Roworth to keep his distance, he couldn’t stop from taking Fanny in his arms for a kiss that made all hearts equal!

Available wherever paperbacks are sold, or order direct from the Publisher. Send cover price plus 50¢ per copy for mailing and handling to Penguin USA, P.O. Box 999, c/o Dept. 17109, Bergenfield, NJ 07621. Residents of New York and Tennessee must include sales tax. DO NOT SEND CASH.

May, 1878

Unusually warm and humid weather assailed the four people confined inside the jolting stagecoach for Fort Worth. The steady pounding of hooves mingled with the creaking of wood and the grinding of metal to noisily assault the passengers’ ears. Deep ruts in the well-travelled road prevented all comfort, even if the hard wooden benches would allow any. The narrow, oblong windows refused to allow any refreshing breezes that might have soothed irritable minds and cooled damp bodies. Although the distance between Dallas and Fort Worth was only twenty miles, the bumpy journey seemed lengthy and monotonous. By now, muscles were stiff, bodies were bruised, and restless minds sought any source of distraction.

Hoping to improve her comfort, Calinda Braxton shifted against the torturous seat as she courteously pretended to listen to the droning voice of Cyrus Peabody as the boastful man spun his enlarged yarns of the West, Texas in particular. Seemingly endowed with endless vitality, the gregarious newspaperman embellished his accounts of many violent episodes in the area’s past and present. Although Cyrus sounded as if he had personally staged and reported those deadly events, Calinda thought he was full of hot air. Without a doubt, at the first sign of trouble or peril, a bold yellow stripe would shine brightly down the back of the talkative owner of the Austin Examiner.

As Cyrus droned on and on, Calinda assumed a pleasant and attentive look as her mind wandered hundreds of miles from the bleak reality and loneliness before her. As much as she wished she could prevent their intrusion, the haunting memories came calling once more. Resigned to their relentless invasion, Calinda allowed her mind to retrace her puzzling and painful past.

Calinda vainly attempted to recall life with her father, Elliott Braxton, whom she hadn’t seen since 1863 when he had demanded his wife and four-year-old child sail to relatives in England to avoid the war that was spreading viciously and rapidly toward their Georgia home. The following fifteen years had passed slowly, as she grew from a skinny and awkward child with carrot-colored braids to a graceful and bright young lady with golden red curls.

She wondered if her vague recollections of her father were a result of a poor memory or a defensive effort to protect herself from anguish. Without her locket, could she even envision his image? She touched the golden object beneath her dress. How cruel for a father to be only a face in a locket.

After the Civil War, her father had written to say he was heading for Texas to buy land and build a new home; he would send for them when all was ready and safe. As the years passed, his letters grew more and more infrequent, until finally none came at all. Calinda’s uncle had written to her father to reveal her mother’s sudden death in 1870. Elliott’s last response had been, “Since Calinda is only eleven and this area is too rough for a child, please keep her in school there until I am firmly established here and can come for her.”

Calinda had borne her loneliness, disappointments, and grief and completed her schooling. But Elliott had not kept his promise; he had never come for her or sent for her. Now, Calinda was almost nineteen and school had been over since last summer. It was time to discover the reason for her father’s five years of silence. Rankin Cardone was the only clue to her father. She had nothing to lose in England. To begin a new life, she must settle her old one. The first step along her daring journey was to seek out Rankin.

Whether or not Elliott Braxton admitted it or desired it, she was his responsibility, one ignored too long. How did she feel about this stranger who was her father? What if he didn’t love her or want her? No, that was unthinkable, unacceptable.

When her uncle, verging on financial destitution, had sailed for America in April to settle some pressing business, he sought to relieve himself of one financial burden which he said he had covered long enough and brought Calinda along so she could join her father. Calinda had been only too happy to begin a search for her errant father and to be free of her relatives’ guardianship. She was grateful to be away from the Simpsons’ control and selfish demands. Her aunt and uncle would have been only too glad to keep her around if she had agreed to wed one of the wealthy suitors who came courting, one who might be persuaded to divest the Simpsons of their careless money problems in exchange for Calinda’s coveted hand in marriage.

The Simpson family had never approved of Elliott Braxton. To make matters worse, Miranda Braxton and her four-year-old child had been “dumped” on them during a terrible period of history, then practically “ignored and abandoned by that selfish, worthless rake.” As long as Miranda was able to protect Calinda and Elliott sent money for their support, their existence in England had been tolerable. But after Miranda died and Elliott halted his support and letters, matters had slowly deteriorated.

After arranging Calinda’s train passage to Dallas, Thomas Simpson had placed Calinda in charge of her own safety and fate. In Dallas, she purchased a stagecoach ticket to Fort Worth; from there she would send word to the Cardone Ranch. In her father’s last letter, he had written that Rankin Cardone was his “closest friend and eventual partner in a cattle spread west of Fort Worth.” In that letter he had promised Calinda that she would come to live on the Cardone Ranch in Texas just as soon as the partnership was finalized and she had completed her schooling in England. Why had her father ignored her since then? Soon she would have answers.

Despite her eagerness and suspense, the trip west had been uncomfortable and intimidating. Along the way, Calinda had purchased books and newspapers to acquaint herself with her imminent new surroundings. The gentle and impressionable girl had been alarmed and dismayed to read of a rugged, lawless land. The paper novels had recounted tales of infamous outlaws, vengeful Indian raids, greedy cattle-rustling, lynchings and riots, brazen gunfights on town streets, and bloody battles with Mexicans. But there were also stories of heroic men who fought against immense odds and under terrible conditions for “law and order.”

Calinda halted her mental roamings to listen to Cyrus’ versions of recent train-robberies conducted by a gang of unknown desperadoes. There had been four daring attacks around Dallas since February. Cyrus almost sounded disappointed that their train hadn’t been attacked. Calinda smiled to herself. She had a feeling Cyrus would have fainted from fear if one of those bandits had stuck a gun to his hawkish nose and demanded his money or his life.

Calinda was delighted her stay in Dallas, the self-appointed headquarters for large groups of heavilyarmed detectives and bounty hunters, had been brief. The town was bursting with Pinkerton detectives, railroad detectives, bounty hunters, a U.S. marshal with countless deputies, special agents from the express companies, and secret agents from the U.S. government. Strangely, she hadn’t seen even one Texas Ranger.

To distract Cyrus from his monotonous narration, Calinda asked him about the Texas Rangers. Cyrus was only too willing to expose his opinions and knowledge, especially to a beautiful woman. He recognized fine breeding and intelligence when he met them. But never had he faced them in such a charming and beautiful package. He had furtively admired the arresting contrasts of Calinda’s stunning appeal many times along this route. Her eyes were large and expressive, colored like velvety green leaves. The softness and shading of her unmarred complexion enchanted him. She possessed a body destined to be envied by women and desired by men. Her tumbling curls were light auburn with highlights of brassy gold; when the sun danced over them, they glowed as if containing an inner fire. Surely it was a punishable crime to look like Calinda Braxton, a sinful temptation! He leaned forward as he spoke, anxious to impress her.

“The Rangers started back in ’35; they were dissolved during the War. But when the military pulled out and things got real bad, the Rangers were reactivated in’74. They’re a special unit of men, around four or five hundred for the entire state.” He grinned.

“How large is Texas?” Calinda asked.

“Bigger than the country of France,” Cyrus boasted.

“If you have marshals and sheriffs, why do you need special Rangers? Are things that awful here?” she inquired worriedly.

“This territory’s big and wild. Sheriffs have to remain near their own towns. Marshals usually work the big towns or deal with the problems that affect the American government, like the theft of U.S. mail and money. Rangers can go anywhere. Rangers don’t bow to anybody or anything. They’re feared and hated by outlaws throughout the state. Whenever there’s trouble, a Ranger isn’t far behind,” he said proudly.

“I haven’t seen one yet,” Calinda remarked.

“Probably wouldn’t know if you did. They don’t wear uniforms, just lots of weapons. Some say they make their own law, but they do their duty. Braver, more cunning men were never born.”

“They sound like powerful and proud men,” she commented, pleased to have gotten Cyrus talking about something so interesting.

“The ones I’ve met are surprisingly modest and reserved. They are very intelligent, and most are well-educated men from the best families. A Ranger can stare death in the face and never bat an eye.”

“You make them sound infallible,” she pressed curiously.

“They’re cool-headed and wary. Most of them work alone or in small groups. One Ranger can bluff or capture five to ten desperadoes just on his reputation as a Ranger. Sometimes they don’t even have to fight or shoot; a Texas Ranger turns even a smug and desperate outlaw into a coward. They never give up on any mission, even into hell. I’ve printed true stories about one or more Rangers riding into a riotous mob or large band of marauding Indians or Mexican bandits and winning the fight. I’ve heard they would die before yielding to any threat. We westerners are known for our courage and daring,” he bragged.

Calinda was about to ask Cyrus about Rankin Cardone when shots rang out behind the stagecoach. The driver whipped the team of horses into a swift run, his shouts encouraging the animals to move faster. The two male passengers were nearly tossed into the laps of the two females as the stage thundered precariously down the road. The guard and outlaws exchanged ominous gunfire as the bandits closed in on their target. The combined din of metal, wood, gunfire, and hooves nearly drowned out the driver’s commands to the six-horse team. The landscape flashed by so rapidly that it became a blur of abundant ecru and scanty green.

As Calinda turned to glance out the window, Cyrus grabbed her shoulder and shouted to keep her hands off the windows or she might lose a finger or two. Calinda’s dark emerald eyes widened. “They’re shooting at us?” she asked incredulously.

“Keep your head down; don’t give them an easy target!” Bill Farns, a Fort Worth merchant, yelled at her as he slumped in the wooden seat, silently praying the baggage bound to the rear would prevent a lethal bullet from entering his back.

As if this were a common occurrence, the two men began looking for hiding places for their money and valuables. Neither man drew his weapon. Apparently, they had no desire to fight. Everything seemed predestined: the exchange of gunfire, the futile and mandatory flight of the stagecoach, and the inevitable surrender.

The other female passenger didn’t panic—she had nothing worth stealing. Calinda had even given her money for food at their last stop. Twenty-year-old Callie O’Hara was heading for her new job at the Red Satin Saloon in Fort Worth. Calinda had tried to converse with the remote and haughty Irish lass several times during their trip, but Callie was decidedly cold. Now she just stared straight ahead, seemingly unfazed by the danger they all faced.

Several bullets smashed into the fleeing stagecoach. The mingled noises of horses’ hooves and gunfire drew closer. Above the clamor, the guard shouted, “I’m hit!,” then his Winchester was silent.

But the stubborn driver continued his hasty fight toward town. As the perilous drama raged on, Calinda stared at the two men inside the coach. “Why aren’t you shooting at them?” she demanded.

“Won’t do any good,” Bill vowed fearfully. He had stuffed his money into his boot and covered it with his pants leg. Pale and shaky, he was clinging to the seat for dear life.

Calinda tried once more. “They’re shooting at us; we could get killed! Why won’t you defend us? You heard the guard—he’s wounded. This stage can’t outrun their horses. We’ll be robbed!”

“Robbed is better than murdered,” Cyrus informed the naive Calinda. “If we fire at them, they’ll make us pay when we’re stopped. It’s best to give in and let them take what they want.”

“Give me your gun. I’m not afraid to defend myself. I’m not a coward. They won’t rob me without a fight,” she bravely shouted.

“You gonna kill ’em?” Bill Farns sneered. “That’s the only way to stop ’em. All you have to do is wound one of them and they’ll fight like crazed cocks. You ain’t gonna get us killed playing heroine.”

Before Calinda could voice her outrage, the stage slowed to a halt. The exhausted team was lathered and wheezing; it was time to surrender. The stage was instantly surrounded by a masked gang of eight men. Each bandit had two pistols pointing at the driver and his anxious charges. When one outlaw demanded that their guns be tossed to the ground, all four men complied.

Next, the stage occupants were ordered to step outside. The driver and wounded guard remained on their lofty perch. The two male passengers descended to the dusty ground, then helped the two women out. One outlaw, probably their leader, prodded his horse forward to within a few feet of the small group. Above his black bandanna, his eyes showed cold amusement as they viewed the terror of the two men, mild indifference as they drifted over Callie, and visible pleasure as they slowly raked over the auburn-haired treasure.

Calinda trembled, but her face appeared impassive and her poise unruffled. She didn’t like the way the bandit leader was staring at her. For an instant, she was relieved she hadn’t shot at them and drawn their anger. Then she decided that armed resistance might have driven them away.

Two outlaws remained on their horses as guards while the others dismounted to carry out their plans. The driver was ordered to hand down the U.S. mail and a strongbox with money. The male passengers were searched and relieved of their money and watches. Callie convinced the bandit before her that she was penniless and jewel-free. The self-assured leader then approached Calinda, holding out his hand for her drawstring purse and jewelry.

There was still a glow in his eyes which Calinda noticed and dreaded. Still, she moved her purse behind her slender back and obstinately shook her head, tawny red curls shimmering over her shoulders with her defiant movement. The leader’s eyes registered surprise, then humor.

“The money, Ma’am,” he demanded as he holstered his weapon, placed his hands on his hips and assumed a confident stance.

“No,” Calinda refused. “It’s mine.”

“You’ll have your life if you obey before my patience wears out,” he retorted mirthfully.

He was playing with her. She was sure he was grinning beneath that triangular mask and her chin jutted out in continued rebellion. “I’ve never heard of outlaws murdering innocent women over a small amount of money,” she boldly bluffed.

“Give it to him, Miss Braxton,” Cyrus anxiously en@@@couraged.

“No,” Calinda recklessly stood her shaky ground. Violence was an unknown force to her, one she failed to recognize or wisely respect.

“Need some help with that little filly?” another bandit offered, laughing. A chorus of chuckles filled the stuffy air, altering the mood of the leader.

“I’m in a hurry, Miss B. I don’t normally go around roughing up beautiful women, but I can if you force me. The jewelry and money,” he demanded imperiously, his voice and gaze now chilly.

Calinda took a few steps backward and shook her head. If she were going to be robbed, it wouldn’t be with her cooperation! Besides, she needed what little money there was in the purse. She would be in a terrible state if her father had left this area. She tried to reason with him. “Please, it’s all I have until I can locate my father. I don’t have any friends or relatives here. If you take the money, how will I survive? Surely my meager cash cannot be that vital to you?”

A curious look filled the insolent stranger’s eyes. He almost appeared tempted not to rob her. “Sorry, Miss B,” he finally said, then reached for the purse she clutched tightly behind her.

Calinda struggled for possession of the purse. Within moments, she found herself breathless, her dress torn, and her purse in the hands of the leader. One man held her securely while the leader removed a sapphire ring and an inexpensive cameo brooch.

Finally realizing she was helpless, Calinda ceased her resistance. But her torn dress had revealed a hidden treasure, more precious to Calinda than the money or other jewelry—a locket with her parents’ picture. The bandit snatched it, leaving a gradually reddening streak on her ivory neck. Calinda fought with renewed determination and strength.

“Take the money and jewels, but not the locket. Please…”

The outlaw eyed the gold locket in his sweaty palm, then the beseeching look on the girl’s face. He flipped it open, and saw the reason for her battle. “Your folks dead?” he unexpectedly asked.

Hoping her answer would convince him to return the prized locket, she nodded, her entrancing eyes misty. “Please don’t steal it,” she pleaded softly.

“If you hadn’t cost me so much time and trouble, I wouldn’t.” After checking her purse, he glanced at her and asked, “This all the money you have? Any hidden? Maybe I should search you.”

His words sent shivers of alarm over Calinda. She went rigid and silent, wondering if he would carry out his petrifying threat. “No,” he said then. “You wouldn’t have fought for this measly bit of money if you had more.” He chuckled when she exhaled loudly in relief. “Let ’er go.”

As she was released, Calinda surged forward to snatch the locket. When the outlaw instinctively reacted to her unexpected attack, she was shoved backwards and landed with a loud thud against the stage. This harsh treatment instantly spurred the injured guard into action; he reached for a concealed rifle. One of the outlaws shot him before he could take aim.

Calinda screamed and ran to kneel over the fallen man. The locket hadn’t been worth a man’s life. She looked up at the masked leader in disbelief, her face white and her expression frozen. For a moment, no one spoke or moved as Calinda Braxton stared at the notorious Sam Bass. What shocked her most was the outlaw’s total lack of remorse or concern, which he flaunted with a cocky stance and laughing eyes. Clearly and belatedly, she knew this man was lethal and ruthless.

Driven beyond all caution and wisdom, Calinda stood up and squared her shoulders proudly. Glaring coldly at the bandit, she held our her hand. “Give me the locket; he paid for it with his life.”

“You’re a stupid girl, Miss B. I’ve killed more men than you have fingers and toes. Don’t tempt me to add a female notch to my gun,” he warned.

“You murder men, then boast about it? You’re an animal,” she sneered.

Sam’s eyes appraised this girl who was as stubborn and brave as any of his men. He respected courage, except when it was a hindrance. To end this crazy stand-off, he shoved Calinda aside. She fell backward and struck her head against the stage wheel, then slid unconscious to the ground. Sam resisted the urge to check her injury and ordered his gang to search the baggage.

More money and valuables were added to the gang’s pile as they looted the men’s luggage. When they opened Calinda’s, the thieves were delighted with the expensive gowns and frilly lingerie and took Calinda’s baggage as gifts for their women.

When Calinda awoke, all she had was the dirty, torn dress she wore. Unable to stem her anger, she berated the two men for their cowardice, but was told she had only herself to blame for her injuries and losses. Callie O’Hara remained silent and watchful. She was glad to see the gently-reared beauty defeated, but didn’t dare show her viciousness before the men who might be her customers. The driver carried the guard’s body on the stage, shaking his head at the rash loss of life; still he felt a begrudging respect for Calinda’s courage. Bill, however felt no such admiration.

“If you hadn’t fought them, they probably wouldn’t have searched our baggage. Or stolen yours for spite. If that guard hadn’t tried to help you, he wouldn’t be dead,” Bill angrily heaped his charges on Calinda to ease his own humiliation. It galled any man to play a coward, even if he was one.

“If you two had helped the guard shoot at them, we might have scared them off!” she shouted back at him. “Those outlaws wouldn’t be so bold if they weren’t allowed to rob people like us so easily!”

“You fought ’em, and what did it get you?” Bill scoffed.

“One person couldn’t battle eight, but four could have. Besides, at least I have some pride.”

“That’s all you have left, girly,” the driver added sullenly.

“Stop this bickering. We’ve got to get to town and tell the sheriff,” Cyrus interrupted their quarrel. “Maybe the posse can help us.”

Calinda sat in the corner as they made their pensive trip into Fort Worth. At least she could get that much closer to her father and the Cardone Ranch. She would contact the sheriff and have him send word to Rankin Cordone of her arrival, if her letters hadn’t already reached him. But what would she do until help reached her? She felt vulnerable, doubtful, and afraid. She certainly couldn’t ask Bill or Cyrus for assistance, not after her brazen tirades and insults. Perhaps they had been wiser after all. Perhaps it was best to swallow pride and allow the bandits their way until the law could pursue them. It was clear her resistance had been futile and costly.

After their late arrival in Fort Worth, Calinda’s problems mounted by the hour. The town was rough and the men rowdy, just like the descriptions in the paper novels. She didn’t know anyone, except the passengers, who had all disappeared. Even the stage office was closed by the time she discovered that the sheriff and his deputies had been out pursuing bank robbers since that morning. Most of the stores were closed.

Dusk was gradually enveloping the town, and the streets were slowly filling with noisy men and horses. She could hear music, but it was coming from rundown saloons. Calinda had approached two boarding houses and one hotel, to learn none of them would accept her presence with only the promise of repayment when her father arrived. To her further alarm, Calinda discovered that her father’s name was unknown in town. And when she mentioned Rankin Cordone, she was met with skepticism. It was apparent her father was not that powerful man’s partner. Her claims only inspired mistrust and her apprehensions and doubts increased with the shadows.

Calinda stood on the wooden walkway pondering her next move. Angry and frightened, she had no place to go. Several men paused to offer crude solutions to her predicament. What kind of place was this? Would no one help a young woman in terrible straits, a woman robbed near their town, a woman without family or money? Did they feel no concern or responsibility toward her? Soon, any hope for assistance vanished as family people went home for their evening meal. Only saloon girls and cowpokes were on the street. Calinda honestly didn’t know what to do or where to turn. She berated herself for her dwindling courage, independence, and resourcefulness.

“You be Miss Braxton?” a gruff voice inquired from behind.

Calinda turned and nodded, tears misting her eyes. A hefty woman with faded blonde hair and a painted face stepped forward. Her scarlet dress was snug-fitting over her round body. Yet there was a gentleness in her expression as she smiled at Calinda.

“I be Nelle O’Hara, Callie’s cousin. Callie told me ’bout yore troubles on the stage and the money you give her. Women like us don’t git such kindness from ladies like you. I owns the Red Satin Saloon down the street. You be welcomed ta stay there till you kin locate yore kinfolk. The place’s noisy, but she’s clean and safe. Won’t nobody harm you whilst you’re under my roof.” Nelle kept it to herself that the ungrateful and cold-hearted Callie had laughed at Calinda’s predicament.

“I…” Calinda started to refuse her generous invitation, but fell silent. How could she stay in such a place. How could she not? It was the only help she had been offered. She couldn’t stand here all night in this dangerous cowtown. “I don’t have any money to pay you.” Calinda was beginning to understand the full extent of the danger she was in today. Still, she had to stay until she could locate Rankin.

“Don’t you be worryin’ yore pretty head none. You kin stay with us till the sheriff gits back, then he kin help you. I knows it ain’t the kind of place you’re used to, but you’ll be safe. I seed you standin’ here alone and scared; folks ‘round these parts don’t take ta strangers, not without some price I doubts you’d be wantin’ ta pay. Decent folks, me big toe. Can’t even help a lady in trouble,” Nelle muttered. As she awaited the girl’s answer, Nelle shifted uneasily. Maybe this girl reminded her too much of her own daughter who was back East in school, away from the crude life in a saloon.

“But how can I repay your kindness?” Calinda fretted anxiously.

“No need. Jus’ come along. We’ll git you a hot bath and some warm victuals. I’ll have Maggie stitch yore dress fur you. By mornin’ you’ll be feelin’ sunny,” she said confidently, taking Calinda in tow.

Nelle and Calinda made their way to the Red Satin Saloon and went inside. They walked through the noisy crowd of working girls, appropriately attired in red satin dresses trimmed in black lace, and roughlooking men. Calinda’s face flamed as men approached them to check on Darlin’ Nelle’s newest girl. Nelle quickly and cheerfully corrected the bewitched cowboys and fancy gamblers. Embarrassed and vexed, Calinda cautiously held her tongue and temper, not daring to offend her only source of help.

Calinda tightly gripped her torn dress as the two women wove through tables and chairs in the cluttered room, then climbed the stairs and walked down a long hallway. Nelle halted before a door and unlocked it. She went inside and motioned for Calinda to follow her. Nelle lit two lanterns and turned to smile genially at the exhausted girl. Calinda was glancing around, pleased and surprised to find the room was nicely furnished and exceptionally clean.

“See, tain’t so bad,” the older woman encouraged.

Calinda smiled at her and nodded.

“You makes yoreself at home, Miss Braxton,” Nelle said. “I’ll fetch you some hot food and a bath. Jus’ rest and calm yourself. You’ve had a rough day.”

As Nelle was leaving, Calinda said, “Thank you, Nelle, and please thank Callie for me.”

Nelle chuckled and smiled again. After she’d gone, Calinda dropped into a plush chair and stared into space, trying to relax her tense mind and body. She hadn’t moved when Nelle and a black man appeared with her food and a wooden tub. Nelle chatted freely while Calinda ate and the man hauled in hot water for the tub. Nelle actually blushed when she handed Calinda a red satin dancehall dress like ones they’d seen below and a fiery-colored flimsy nightgown edged with what looked like wicked ebony lace.

“I’m sorry, Miss Braxton, but that’s all the clothes I has ta offer here at the saloon. I’ll have yours repaired and washed and I’ll return ‘em in the mornin’.” They talked a while longer and Calinda told her about the robbery and her motives for coming West alone, touching the tender-hearted Nelle with her plight and courage.

Calinda thanked her again before Nelle left her. After the bath, Calinda slipped into the seductive dress that exposed the upper portion of her creamy bosom, unable to put on the revealing nightgown. Soon, a knock sounded at her door. Apprehensive, she asked who was there. It was a drunken customer at the wrong room. For a time, he was determined to come inside and he rattled the doorknob and bumped the door with his shoulder. As he spouted curses at the delay, the besieged girl cringed against the wall, trying to shut out his vulgar words. For a horrifying moment, she feared he was going to break down the door and assault her, but Nelle came along and pointed him in the right direction, then entered to calm Calinda’s distraught nerves.

After the tub and water were removed by the lanky black man, Nelle stayed with Calinda, who was suddenly overcome by all that had happened. She began to shake and cry softly, and her distress tugged at Nelle’s heart. Although she could be a tough businesswoman, and was stern with her working girls, Nelle was also a gentle and caring person. She just couldn’t afford to show it most of the time.

“You poor child,” Nelle softly encouraged. “That noise’ll go on far into the nite. I brung some medicine to calm yore nerves and help you sleep. I knows you must be bone-tired and scared stiff.”

At Nelle’s order, Calinda managed to force down a teaspoon of laudanum. “Now, you git ready fur bed. This here’s a private room; my friend won’t mind you using it while he’s away. Don’t you fret none; you’ll be fine when the sun shows its face. I’ll take you ta see the sheriff. Afore you kin think, you’ll be home safe agin.”

Nelle left Calinda alone. As she lumbered down the hallway, she worried over the fact that she had placed Calinda in the privately rented room of a special customer, an irresistibly handsome loner who wasn’t supposed to show up for weeks. But it was the only room fit for such a charming lady. And the mysterious cowboy would never know.

Nelle sighed as she thought about him. That golden stallion was a complex and private man, one who thrived on his freedom and daring adventures. Although she had known him for years, she really didn’t know him at all. He was a natural-born charmer when the mood struck him, but was very selective with his female companions. Nelle doubted there was a woman alive who wouldn’t give her soul to corral that untamed creature. If she were younger and prettier …She chided her foolishness; that Texan would never wed a tainted woman, if he ever wed. Not that he was arrogant or cynical, he just appeared unsusceptible to love, a man content to feed his passions when they demanded appeasement. He was a perfect specimen of a man. His appeal to women was a vivid fact, a fact he nonchalantly accepted. He was quick to reveal he made no promises to any female, nor did he take kindly to those who tried to force their attentions on him.

It was known the cunning and clear-headed rebel feared nothing and no one. He was an expert horseman and crack shot. Few men challenged him or his ivory-handed Colts. But he was wary and mysterious, and kept to himself a great deal. Alert and agile, he had never lost a fist or gun fight. He was feared, respected, or envied by most men and desired by all women whose eyes feasted on him. He was a self-assured and easy-going devil, but the cowboy could be tough and cold when a situation demanded it. He had the money and power to come and go as he pleased. He could be a coveted friend or a deadly enemy.

Nelle fretted over facts she wished she didn’t know, but a woman in her position often learned closely guarded secrets. Miss Braxton was here to seek her father through Rankin Cardone. What would Calinda do and say when she discovered the last man who would aid her was Rankin Cardone? Rankin was a wealthy and powerful man, a man who dealt fairly with friends and ruthlessly with enemies.

It was obvious from Calinda’s earlier confession that there were many things the girl didn’t know. She was so naive about the perils before her. Nelle wondered if she should enlighten Calinda. She quickly decided no, since Rankin wasn’t a man she’d like to have as an enemy. If that girl knew what was hovering over her lovely head, she would run like the wind!

Nelle also had Callie O’Hara to worry her. Callie was refusing to work! That hateful cousin of hers had a temper to match her fiery hair. But tonight, Nelle had an even more pressing matter on her mind. Her beloved trail-boss had arrived and was waiting in her room. Giggling with joy, Nelle dismissed both girls from her mind.

The loud music and raucous laughter from downstairs drifted into Calinda’s borrowed room. Her head was spinning from the potent drug and she was tormented by thoughts of her harrowing episode. She reluctantly changed into the flimsy nightgown, tossing the red satin gown over a chair. She stumbled to the bed and slipped between the clean sheets. Crying softly, Calinda soon fell asleep.

Downstairs, a man attired in jet black entered the saloon and casually tossed down two whiskies. He had removed his dark hat to run lean, deft fingers through a tousled mane of amber hair which blazed like ripened wheat beneath the sun. He exuded an undeniable contempt for danger and a matchless confidence. He was over six feet tall and his body rippled with welltoned, flexible muscles. His flesh had been lovingly and deeply kissed by the sun. A tangible air of brute strength and keen alertness clung to him. His violent and demanding lifestyle had honed his stalwart body and sharp mind to an impressive degree—his sole goals were success and survival. His physical prowess and intelligence made him a formidable opponent. Not even a minuscule glimmer of self-doubt could be sighted in that tawny gaze; his eyes were as perceptive and intimidating as a crafty lion’s. And to the women present, it seemed that beneath that black outfit was the form of a bronzed god.

Several saloon girls rushed over, eagerly vying for his attention; but the distracted man wasn’t in such a mood tonight. Flashing them a beguiling and falsely rueful grin, he pleasantly refused their company. After a few words with the bartender, he took a bottle and headed to his room. As he agilely mounted the steps, he admitted he was growing weary of this secret work with the Texas Rangers with its countless sacrifices and demands. He had had enough of battling renegade Indians, Mexican bandits, and an abundance of outlaws and cutthroats. He was bored with foiling fence-cutters and rustlers, tracking train and stage robbers, dogging wanted men, living among disgusting outlaws to learn their plans and identities. If he couldn’t openly and proudly be a Ranger, why keep endangering his life? He didn’t like the reputation he was attaining as a superior gunslinger and arrogant rebel. Since he couldn’t deny his deed or give the reasons behind them, he was rapidly becoming an unsavory legend. And glory-hungry, gun-toting fools loved nothing more than unseating legends.

After roaming around for two years, he had gone into secret service for the railroad and U.S. government at the age of twenty. When his job began to send him across the West in ’76, he had joined up with the Rangers. He usually liked being on the move, but here in Texas certain personal matters controlled his thoughts and needs, even after so many years. He had craved the excitement and distractions which his work had offered; he had needed them, still needed them. But something was going crazy inside his head these days. He was becoming dissatisfied, moody, and tense. What was this loneliness or emptiness that plagued him? What was this wild and urgent desire to find the missing element in his life? He possessed so much, had the means and talents to obtain anything he desired; what was left to win or to gain? Yet, how could even a clever and fearless man vanquish an intangible desire?

Maybe it was time to end this work and settle down at home to face other responsibilities. Just as soon as he solved the Sam Bass question, perhaps he would. But so far every attempt to hook up with the Bass gang had failed, and he couldn’t accept that. It was clear Bass was working these parts, but the outlaw was sly and deadly. With Major John Jones arriving nearby, perhaps together they could end Bass’s career quickly and efficiently. For now, he would rest himself and his horse, then head for Dallas at first light.

He grinned as he climbed the last few steps. Only two men were aware of his identity, but many criminals knew of a daring and unknown Ranger who left his mark of victory on their saddles or holsters: a tiny star that symbolized law and revealed a deadly warning. But this man wanted what other Rangers possessed, respect. The mere mention of a Ranger’s name could inspire fear and reluctance in foes. Since he kept his identity concealed, he always had to battle to prove himself or to survive.

The lithe cowboy unlocked his door and walked inside. Noting the softened glow of a burning lantern, he was instantly on alert, his left hand lightly grazing the butt of his pistol. Soundlessly laying his saddlebag and hat in a chair, he headed for the bed and stared down at the enchanting bundle asleep there. His gaze flickered from the discarded red satin dress to the beautiful creature clad in a revealing nightgown; the sheet had been shoved aside in the stuffy room and all of the vixen’s treasures were revealed to his surprised eyes.

With fluid movements, he headed to the window and opened it to invite fresh air inside. He unfastened his hand-tooled double-holstered leather belt and hung it over the chair. He bent down to remove his spurs, and added them to his pile of discarded possessions. The girl hadn’t moved yet. Going over to the bed, he sat down, the mattress sinking under his weight. Still, no response to his arrival.

He stared at the unfamiliar girl for a time. His loins instinctively and vexingly tightened, but he restrained his physical urge. He was too fatigued to play games with an audacious saloon girl—one as beautiful as this must have had numberless men in her life. All he wanted was her absence and a good night’s sleep. He reached over and shook her, but she didn’t respond. She was stupid and brazen to invade his privacy, but her lesson could be taught later when he was revived.

“Up, pretty lady, I’m too tired tonight,” he said in a mellow voice, thinking it easier to use fatigue as an excuse for his lack of interest.

Deeply entrapped by drugged slumber, Calinda didn’t react to his presence or his voice. His gaze eased over her fiery chestnut curls and breath-taking form. Her flesh was smooth and creamy. She was slim, but shapely. Her transparent gown left nothing to his imagination. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. As he pondered how many men had caused her exhaustion tonight, he was irrationally provoked by how she was affecting him. She was a whore, probably a very busy one! He shook her, roughly and firmly. “Get your eyes open and your feet moving, Ma’am.” He desired her, but would never stand in a lengthy line for the attentions that paid for her crude survival.

Calinda stirred and fluttered her green eyes, hazily taking in this image of irresistible manhood.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Ca…” she dreamily attempted to answer, but couldn’t force her name past her dry tongue. She tried to focus on the arresting illusion clad in devilish ebony hovering over her.

“Callie?” he assisted here, recalling the bartender’s words about a lovely newcomer with that name. Fuzzily hearing the name her mother had called her as a child, she nodded. “What are you doing in here, Callie? This is a private room.”

“No other place to go,” she murmured hazily.

“Why did you come to my room?” he persisted, intrigued.

“Only safe place…Had to get away…”

“Did Nelle send you here?” he continued in a lazy drawl.

“Yes. Said stay here until I work out these…”

“Where did you live?” he asked. “Safe…Get away…” his keen mind echoed. Probably from customers and their abundant demands!

“No home…Mama dead…Papa…Lost everything…Must stay…” The unfinished, hazy words tumbled out to form mistaken conclusions in his befuddled mind and inflamed body.

“Ever work in a saloon before?” he demanded casually, sensing something different and haunting about this delicate girl.

“Never,” she mumbled in answer to the strange question.

“I see,” he thoughtfully murmured. His investigative mind went to spinning with questions and doubts. Had she completed her first day in this kind of job? Or would she begin tomorrow? Was she here of her own free will? Had that mischievous Nelle sent her for his enjoyment? For certain, this would be his only chance to enjoy this unselfish gift, before she was tarnished from months of visits to countless beds of any male who could afford her price. Common whores didn’t appeal to him, but there was nothing common about his girl. From her looks, she would be in popular demand. How could any female condemn herself to such an existence? Surely one such as Callie could have her choice of husbands. Was she a penniless widow? A runaway from a terrible home? Why would she choose such a degrading life over a respectable one? Despite the temptation this proud Ranger was reluctant to take advantage of this enticing set-up.

“I’m thirsty,” Calinda managed to say, feeling the room spin around her.

All he had was a bottle of superior whiskey. He poured her a glass and helped her sit up to drink it, supporting her lax body against his strong one. The biting liquid was strong, but wet. Calinda automatically thanked him, before her senses went rushing around again.

He placed the empty glass on the table, then eased Calinda down on the bed. He grinned in amusement; she clearly wasn’t used to potent drinks and she possessed good manners. When she smiled up at him, he lazily stretched out beside her, hesitating to end this pleasing contact. He reclined on his left side, his jaw cupped in his hand. He absently shoved a straying vibrant curl from her ivory face. His finger made a compelling trek over her forehead, down her cheek, across her pert nose, past her dainty chin, and to her inviting lips. At the tickling sensations, she smiled and shifted, those verdant green eyes pulling his gaze to hers.

“Do you want to be here with me, Callie?” he inquired tensely, despite the thunderous warning inside his head that screamed of the danger she presented, a warning he helplessly denied.

“Yes,” the spoken word escaped her lips softly, as she tried to clear her somnolent wits, too late…

This special Ranger was adept at handling emergencies or hazards; he usually knew how to prepare for them and master them with unerring accuracy, speed, and courage. But this situation was uncommon. Even his many skills couldn’t tell him what to do with this particular crisis. He suspected this new saloon girl had heard of his daring exploits and good looks, and perhaps found him desirable on reputation alone. Was she lurking here to guilefully cast her spell over him? As he eyed her compelling beauty, he grew inexplicably angry. Maybe it was because she looked so innocent and vulnerable. Unlike like the other saloon girls she was unpainted and presented a soft seductiveness which was overwhelming. She looked as if she belonged in elegant silk gowns rather than in the garish red satin one, and he was struck by the dangerous appeal of the sheer nightgown in bright crimson which made a startling contrast to her creamy flesh. Callie was as bewitching and dev. . .