The Marshal's Destiny

Book 1: Irish Western Series

by C.H. Admirand

Synopsis

Irish-born Margaret Mary Flaherty leaves New York City for Colorado carrying the signed proof her brother needs to keep greedy landowners from stealing his ranch. Joshua Turner, U.S. Marshal, is headed to Colorado to investigate charges of cattle rustling and land fraud.

Their paths cross in the middle of enemy territory, where Marshal Turner comes to the aid when Maggie's stagecoach is attacked by hostile Indians. One look at the handsome marshal, and Maggie swears her destiny's calling to her from the depths of his brilliant green eyes. One look at the fiery-haired woman with eyes the color of cornflowers and Joshua wonders if he's finally found the woman who will teach him how to love.

Other books in C.H. Admirand's Irish Western Series:
THE MARSHAL'S DESTINY (Bk 1)
THE RANCHER'S HEART (Bk 2)
PEARL'S REDEMPTION (Bk 3)
A GIFT FROM HOME (Bk 4)

Other series by C.H. Admirand:
The Secret Life of Cowboys/Sourcebooks, Inc.
TYLER (Bk 1)
DYLAN (Bk 2)
JESSE (Bk 3)

Contemporary Small Town/Sourcebooks, Inc.
A WEDDING IN APPLE GROVE (Bk 1)
ONE DAY IN APPLE GROVE (Bk 2)
WELCOME BACK TO APPLE GROVE (Bk 3)

Medieval Trilogy/DCL Publications
THE LORD OF MEREWOOD KEEP (Bk 1)
THE SAXON BRIDE (Bk 2)
A SCOT'S HONOR (Bk 3)

Release date: April 7, 2013

Print pages: 234

Sample

Chapter One

“Am I glad to see you, Marshal,” the driver answered. “One o’ the women’s hurt. I heard one of ‘em wailing ‘bout five miles back.”

The door to the coach burst open. A dark form filled the opening, blocking out most of the mid-afternoon sunlight. Maggie tried to focus on the figure, but the loss of blood was making her head swim.

“I’m not ashamed to admit it.”

The man grabbed the doorframe and pulled himself into the confines of the coach. His considerable weight rocked the coach, causing the team of horses to pull against their traces. “Ashamed of what?”

Tiny dots danced before her eyes, and a low-pitched buzzing sounded in her head. She gripped the edge of the seat to keep from crying out.

“Hold the team!”

The snorting and stamping miraculously stopped.  

“Easy, miss.”

The stranger’s voice called to her on an elemental level, forcing her to ignore everything but the sound of his voice. It pulled her back from the comforting darkness to the chaos and pain.

Maggie swallowed against the lump in her throat, nearly releasing the tears she fought to hold back. “I may have made a wee bit o’ noise when the arrow—”

The words dried up on her tongue when she looked up and locked gazes with the stranger sitting across from her. Had she died already then? Was this her guardian angel come to take her to heaven? The sunlight pouring in through the open door framed his head, gilding the edges of his tawny-blond hair, setting off his gorgeous eyes—brilliant deep-green eyes. She was awestruck by the rugged beauty of the man’s face.

She watched his eyes harden, as his gaze dipped down to the arrow and back up again. The intense color of his eyes, so like the rolling hills around her family’s small plot of land back home, enthralled her.

He used his thumb to push the hat farther back on his head, the movement releasing a lock of wavy sun-kissed hair. It fell into his eyes. He brushed it aside with a hand that was every inch as big as her brother Seamus’s. He’d need to be strong to remove the arrow, but she could barely handle the pain.

He inched closer and placed his hands on his knees, but before he could speak, Annie blurted out, “She’s pinned to the seat.”

He looked away from Maggie for the first time since entering the coach. She felt her control waver as she watched him nod to the other woman. He understood. The moment he looked back, his confidence washed over her. ‘Twill be all right then.

Watching his face for a clue as to how bad her injury really was, she saw his jaw clench and a muscle under his left eye leap twice before he ground his teeth together. The sound grated across her already frayed control. Not good—not good at all.

“I’m wonderin’ if it would be easier to remove the seat—”

“Hold still.”  Waves of heat poured off his body as he scooted closer.

She could use some of his warmth—she was so cold. Trying to calm her racing heart, she breathed deeply. His masculine scent enveloped her. Her head reeled as the potent combination of body-warmed leather, sandalwood soap, and a hint of horse washed over her.

Her gaze swept over the breadth of his broad chest and the star pinned to it. His shoulders were massive, and he definitely looked strong enough to pull the arrow free. Would he be gentle removing it from her swollen flesh?

She looked back up at his face and his grass-green eyes locked on hers.

“I have to get an idea of how deeply the arrow embedded itself in the cushion.” He paused.

Was he waiting for her to say something? “Should I try to lean forward?” Lord she hoped he wouldn’t ask her to.

“Can you do that?”

Maggie silently cursed her tongue for moving before her brain could think things through. Heaven help her. Was she daft altogether? If it hurt not to move, it was certain to be worse if she did.

“She’s lost a lot of blood,” Annie began, “I don’t think—”

She watched his gaze swing over to Annie’s. The look that passed between the two did not bode well at all. She shivered, then stiffened her resolve and screwed up her courage. She could handle anything—she was a Flaherty!

“What do ye want me to do?”

“Can you lean forward?” The low rumble of his voice soothed her. “Even an inch would help.” Like a healing balm the deep timber of his words spread across her aching muscles.

“I’ll give it me best,” she answered honestly, “but I won’t be promising I can.”

The grim visage before her softened as the man’s face relaxed into a lopsided grin. A dimple formed along one side of his mouth, drawing her eyes to that spot. She couldn’t help but notice his strong, whiskered jaw, or the dark blond mustache framing his beautifully sculpted lips.

The sudden urge to trace them with the tips of her fingers jarred her. She hadn’t been tempted to look at another man—much less touch one—since she’d held her darling Rory close as he breathed his last.

“She’s got a bucket of grit to spare.”

“Ye say that like it’s a bad thing, Annie.” As the words were leaving her lips, another wave of pain came out of nowhere, hitting her right between the eyes. She couldn’t hold back a low moan of agony.

All traces of his grin disappeared as the man clenched his jaw. Did he feel her pain? Were they linked somehow?

“Ready?”

She nodded and slowly eased her body toward him. As the arrow moved, her arm felt as if it were being ripped apart and set on fire. She began to doubt her body’s ability to absorb any more of the pain.  Fresh blood spilled from the wound, adding a bright crimson to the already bloody bandage.

He reached around behind her, deftly slipping his fingertips beneath her. His gaze locked with hers. “Trust me.”

It wasn’t his demand to trust him that decided her. Raw emotion poured from the very depths of the man’s soul as his loneliness and need called out to her, pleading with her to save him. Flahertys believed in fate—good or bad. Without a doubt, this man would play a part in her future. Though whether he would kill her, or save her, would depend on the man’s skill at removing arrows.

Closing her eyes, she gathered her courage. When she opened them, she had to steel herself to accept the bold challenge in his gaze. Did he know he was her destiny?

“Might I be knowin’ yer name, Marshal?”

In a flash the naked pain and longing in his eyes was gone, replaced by a grave look of concern.

“Joshua,” he said softly.

“Me name’s Maggie,” she whispered, “and I do.”

“Do?”

“Trust ye.”

She could feel the muscles in his arm go taut a second before she guessed his intention. Gritting her teeth, she silently prayed for strength.

Joshua’s gaze never left hers as he jerked the arrow from the cushion—the motion pulling her flush against the broad wall of heavily muscled chest. His heat seared right through to her backbone. She gasped as blinding pain brought tears to her eyes.

Finding her voice, she asked, “Can ye just leave the rest be till tomorrow then?” She was desperate not to let the tears fall—once they started, she wouldn’t be able to stop crying.

“Can’t take a chance that infection will set in.”

Woozy with blood loss, dizzy from the pain, she lifted her left hand to his face. He was so beautiful. She hesitated—his eyes widened then darkened to a deep forest green. Had he guessed her intention?

No matter. It might be the last thing she did here on Earth. She gave in to the overwhelming need to touch, sweeping the tips of her fingers along the fullness of his bottom lip.

He stared at her, but didn’t say anything. Embarrassed by her boldness, she asked, “Promise ye won’t cut off me hair?”

A deep chuckle rumbled within him. She leaned against him—he was her anchor in the sea of pain threatening to swallow her whole. The comfort of his heat, and the strength of the muscles rippling beneath the linen of his shirt and leather vest, seeped slowly into her bones, relaxing her.

It had been far too many years since she’d leaned against Rory, depending on his strength to carry her through. A sudden wave of cold surprised her. She shivered.

Joshua had pulled away from her and was looking down into her eyes. “Trust me,” he asked for the second time.

She tried for a smile, but knew she grimaced. ‘Twill have to do. She nodded. The comforting warmth of his big body deserted her as he pulled even farther back. He placed a hand on top of her wounded arm, his large callused palm and blunt-tipped fingers curling around the tender flesh. It was strange—her arm looked dainty beneath his large hand.

He braced himself, and she could not stop the involuntary reaction as her body tensed up in response.

Joshua bit out, “Relax.”

A glance up revealed thin streams of sweat trickling down from his temples. When he locked his jaw, she swallowed the comment poised on the tip of her tongue. It would do no good to harass the man now with her complaints. She needed his help, and he was willing. What more could she ask?

The startling green depths of his eyes hardened a split-second before his left hand squeezed her arm, while the other pushed the arrow. The gut-wrenching sob of anguish echoed all around her, but she was too lost in the pain to notice that she was the one who cried out. A large hand deftly swept her tangled mass of hair over her shoulder and cupped the back of her head, pulling it against his rock-hard shoulder. Her body quivered violently, reacting to the pain.

“The worst is done,” he rasped.

She wanted to scream, but held it in. “But not over?”

“Not quite.”

“If ye miss the arrowhead and tear a strip off me back, I’ll not be mindin’,” she choked out. “Me Da always said I’ve a few stone to spare. Losing a bit won’t matter too much.”

“I won’t miss,” he vowed.

A grunt of exertion, followed by a draft of air passing behind her, before the arrow shaft moved inside her arm as he lopped the head off it. Her lips were so dry, she touched her tongue to them to moisten them. When she did, a groan reverberated from deep within the man who still held her protectively to his chest.

“Are ye done then?” She desperately hoped so. Her vision grayed with the movement of the arrow.

“One more thing,” he promised.

“I’ll be thankin’ ye now.” Maggie was vaguely aware that the gray had darkened. Her area of vision seemed to be shrinking with each beat of her heart. She did not lack for courage, but she did not need to watch him pull the arrow out of her.

“You’ve a spine of steel, Maggie,” he praised her before pressing his warm lips to her clammy forehead.

“And a head of granite,” she whispered before closing her eyes.

She slipped into a dazed state of semi-awareness, then felt her body jerk forward, slamming into the wall of his chest. The movement forced the breath from her body as he pulled the shaft free. Numbness crept up from her toes, settling over her like a soft, warm blanket.

“Tell Seamus I tried,” she whispered. Then the darkness pulled her under.