On the Bookshelf... |
||||
|
Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine
“Look there, Viv!” Billy he cried.
“Looks like two more boys are comin’ home to
Vivianna turned—her heart leaping in her
bosom. It was true that her
heart had grown weary of leaping—only to find disappointment and renewed
aching. Over the past few
weeks—each time a lone soldier, or a group of soldiers traveling together,
meandered past the Turner place on their way to Still, hope had already enveloped the two boys. As Nate began to whistle When Johnny Comes Marching Home, Billy ran off down the road toward the two approaching men. “Billy!” Vivianna called. “Come here! You come back right this minute! We don’t know who…” Nate’s whistling died—Vivianna held her breath. As Billy ran toward the two men, one of them spread his arms wide—dropped to his knees and embraced the boy… “It can’t be,” Vivianna breathed, shaking her head—still afraid to hope. Yet, as she watched Mrs. Turner collapse into the welcoming embrace of one of the men—she knew… Civil War.
No one could flee from the pain and misery of it—from the nightmare
of battle and the countless lives it had devoured.
Everyone had sacrificed—everyone had suffered profound misery and
unimaginable loss. Vivianna
Bartholomew was no exception. The
war had torn her from her home, orphaned her—and finally—the war had
taken the man she loved. Yet, what was to be
done, but to go on—to exist? And
exist she did. Though
heartbroken and weary, Vivianna yet knew gratitude and indebtedness—for
Savannah Turner had taken her in—loved her like a daughter.
Thus, the fighting
began to wane as Vivianna remained with Savannah Turner and her
sons—laboring hard—and keeping close the letters written to her by her
lover—her lost lover—Savannah Turner’s son—the son who had not
returned from battle. Vivianna’s
heart would never heal from the loss of her love—she knew it would not.
How could it? How could a
woman’s heart forget such loving and tender words penned only to
her—such beautiful promises—promises made that would now never be kept? Still, it is often
in the world that miracles occur—and one balmy |
|||
|
Saphyre Snow The fire burned hot and red in the pit, and Saphyre's eyes again began to long for the sweet respite of slumber. Still, she dared not close them for a moment in the presence of these strangers, and so it was she continued to study the men—wonder of their lives before the keep—and their secrets. It was certain they owned secrets—for did not she? All human beings owned secrets—some more than others perhaps—but all owned them. Thus, she sat in contemplation. What secrets would drive men to such solitude? |
|||
|
A Crimson Frost
Monet held her breath—allowed her hands to fist where they lay in her lap. The sound of the horses charging—of powerful hooves beating upon the ground—of leather straining and armor braced for battle echoed—thundered as a violent storm. The Crimson Knight’s lance struck—splintered into a thousand pieces just above its base. As Sir Ostler fell back—tumbled from his charger and to the ground—Monet closed her eyes—offered a thankful prayer for Sir Broderick’s victory, and thus his safety.
Thus, when the charge was given to preserve the Heart of Karvana—Monet endeavored to serve her kingdom and forget her secret love. Yet, love is not so easily forgotten… |
|||
|
The Time of Aspen
Falls
…Gina nodded and tossed a juicy apple core to the grassy orchard ground below. “How can we expect to be successful in love when there aren’t any real men left in the world?” |
|||
|
The Visions of Ransom Lake
"Now there’s an intriguing-looking character,” she mused aloud... Vaden still stared at the corner around which the stranger had disappeared. “Has he been that way his entire life, Auntie? Or does he have some deep, painful tragedy of recent which keeps him in hiding?” “Who
knows?” Sighing, Aunt Myra
waved her hand, gesturing ignorance as to the answer.
“I’ve no idea even how old he is.
Could be twenty…could be a hundred.
Like I said, I don’t think anyone’s ever seen him clean
shaven...” But
Vaden smiled. A mystery!
Only one hour into arriving for their adventurous year and already
a mystery at hand! Something
inside her leapt with anticipation. Her
mind began to burn, visualizing potential circumstances.
A criminal, perhaps? Hiding
out in this small, western town? The
possibilities were endless in Vaden’s imagination.” Youthful beauty, naïve innocence, a romantic imagination thirsting for adventure…an apt description of Vaden Valmont, who would soon find the adventure and mystery she had always longed to experience…in the form of a man. A
somber recluse, Yet
the enigmatic But
there were other life’s lessons |
||||
|
The Whispered Kiss
“Yes,
father,” Coquette said, returning his embrace.
She would leave him on the ‘morrow.
She hugged him, never wanting to release him, inhaling deeply the scent
of him… Coquette
watched him go…allowing herself to release more tears, to sob.
Dropping to her knees, she buried her face in her hands as fear and
anxiety overwhelmed her. To
travel to an unfamiliar township—to marry a stranger—how could it all be so?
After several long moments, she raised her head from her hands, her gaze
falling to the lavender rose which now lay abandoned on the floor. “I
am lost,” she whispered. “And
all for the want of a rose.” With
the sea at its side, the beautiful Antoine
de Bellamont returned from his travels by way of Roanan bearing a tale of such
great adventure to hardly be believed. Further,
at the center of Antoine’s story loomed a man—the dark Lord of Roanan.
Known for his cruel nature, heartlessness, and tendency to violence, the
Lord of Roanan had accused Antoine de Bellamont of wrong doing and demanded
recompense. Antoine had promised
recompense would be paid—with the hand of his youngest daughter in marriage. Thus, Coquette found herself lost—thrust onto a dark journey of her own. This journey would find her carried away to Roanan Manor—delivered into the hands of the dark and mysterious Lord of Roanan who dominated it. |
|||
Shackles of Honor Cassidy Shea’s life was nothing if
not serene. Loving parents and a doting brother provided happiness and
innocent hope in dreaming as life’s experience. Yes, life was blissful
at her beloved home of Terrill. |
||||
|
Dusty
Britches
“…Dusty’s
heart panged a twinge with she saw the bullwhip strapped to the saddle of
one of the horses tied to the corral fence.
“Why today?” she wondered.
Why was her memory tarrying on a young cowhand from five years ago? …Well…now,”
a deep, masculine voice said from behind her, “if it ain’t Miss Dusty
Britches!” Dusty
felt the color drain from her face…felt the blood seem to drain from the
rest of her body and puddle in her feet.
She was dizzy and nauseated all at once. …There
was only one person on the whole of the earth who ever called her Dusty
Britches, and that was the cowboy who gave her the nickname in the first
place. ...Dusty slowly turned
around to see standing before her a man whose eyes were those belonging to
a boy she’d once known—a boy who had grown into a man.” Angelina Hunter was seriously minded, and it was a good thing. Her father’s ranch needed a woman who could endure the strenuous work of ranch life. Since her mother’s death, Angelina had been that woman. She had no time for frivolity; no time for a less severe side of life. Not when there was so much to be done—hired hands to feed, a widower father to care for and an often ridiculously lighted-hearted younger sister to worry about. No. Angelina Hunter had no time for the things most young women her age enjoyed. And yet, Angelina had not always been so hardened. There had been a time when she boasted a fun, flirtatious nature even more delightful than her sister Becca’s—a time when her imagination soared with adventurous, romantic dreams. But that all ended years before at the hand of one man. Her heart turned to stone…safely becoming void of any emotion save impatience and indifference. Until the day her dreams returned, the day the very maker of her broken heart rode back into her life. As the dust settled from the cattle drive which brought him back, would Angelina’s heart be softened? Would she learn to hope again? Would her long-lost dreams become a blessed reality? |
|||
|
Love Me
SHE HAD ALWAYS LOVED HIM…FOREVER IT SEEMED SHE HAD LOVED HIM. YET, WHEN SO MANY OTHERS LOVED HIM, TOO—WHAT HOPE DID SHE HAVE OF OWNING HIS LOVE IN RETURN? |
|||
|
The Heavenly Surrender
“Dear Mr. McLean,
I feel, as you do, that this arrangement will be beneficial and satisfactory for both of us. I agree that we, having committed to follow through with the
previously corresponded terms, will legally marry upon my arrival next
week. I expect nothing from
you, save a place of residence, the required necessities of living, hard
work to keep my mind and physical being occupied, and respect.
I in turn will assist you in whatever is required to sustain and
maintain your land and crops, while providing meals, doing mending and
fulfilling other non-intimate duties commonly performed by a man’s legal
wife.
I will arrive in Genieva Bankmans had willfully agreed to the arrangement. She had given her word and she would not dishonor it. But when she saw, for the first time, the man whose advertisement she had answered…she was desperately intimidated. The handsome and commanding Brevan McLean was not what she had expected. He was not the sort of man she had reconciled herself to marrying. This man, this stranger whose name Genieva now bore, was strong-willed, quick-tempered and expectant of much from his new wife. Brevan McLean did not deny he had married her for very practical reasons only. He merely wanted any woman whose hard work would provide him assistance with the brutal demands of farm life. But Genieva would learn there were far darker things, grave secrets held unspoken by Brevan McLean concerning his family and his land. Genieva Bankmans McLean was to find herself in the midst of treachery, violence and villainy with her estranged husband deeply entangled in it. |
|||
|
The Fragrance of Her
Name
“…The
stranger gasped, released her hand and demanded angrily, “Who are you?
What kind of trick is this?” “Sir
I assure you I’m only here to help.
My name is Lauryn Kensington. I’m
bound for my home in Franklin and I only…” she stammered. “Kensington?
“Sir,
please! I meant you no harm!
I only, wanted…” Lauryn began, tears unexpectedly filling her
eyes and threatening to spill. He
took her chin firmly in one hand, his thumb traveling caressively and
rather intimately over her soft lips as he whispered, “Who am I?”
She felt the moist tenderness of the soldier’s lips caress her
own in the softest, rather saddest of kisses.
The sensation of his lips meeting her, however brief, was almost
unendurable in its perfection. Then
he pressed his unshaven cheek to her own soft one and whispered quietly
into her ear, “The only person alive who understands exactly what
you’re looking for.” Love, the miraculous, eternal bond which binds two souls together. Lauryn Kensington knew the depth of it. Since the day of her eighth birthday, she had lived the power of true love; witnessed it with her own heart. She had talked with it, learning not even time or death can vanquish it. The Captain taught her these truths. And she loved him all the more for it. But now, a grown woman, Lauryn’s dear Captain’s torment became her own. After ten years, Lauryn had not been able to help him find peace—the peace his lonely spirit needed so desperately; peace he’d sought every moment since his death over fifty years before. Now, what of her own peace? The time had come and Lauryn’s heart longed to do the unthinkable—selfishly abandon her Captain for another—a mortal man who had stolen her heart, becoming her only desire. Would Lauryn be able to put tormented spirits to rest and still be true to her own soul? Or, would she have to make a choice—a choice forcing her to sacrifice one true love for another? |
|||
|
The
Prairie Prince
It
was the whispering which began to wake Katie; the quiet giggles and soft
whispers of little girls involved in mischief, which first interrupted her
beautiful dreams. “Put
it on her head now, Bunny,” a young voice whispered.
“No!”
another quietly argued. “It
should go ‘round her neck—like a necklace.” “Hush!
Both of ya!” yet another young voice scolded.
“I made it, and I’ll decide where it goes.” Katie
opened her eyes slowly, for the clouds had left the sky and the brightness
of the sun was nearly blinding. Raising
a hand to shade her eyes from the brilliant light of midday, Katie looked
up to see three identical faces smiling down at her. “You’re
trespassin’, lady,” one of the girls said.
“But don’t ya worry—we purttied ya up a bit so’s Stover
won’t be so mad.” …
“I’m…I’m Katie Matthews,” Katie stammered, uncertain as to what
else she could say in response. “Oh!
Then you must be the daughter of that Matthews feller Stover bought
this here land from,” Bonnie said. “Pleased
to meet ya, Katie Matthews,” the girl added, smiling. “Pleased
to meet you, too,” Katie said. …“What
in tarnation are y’all up to?” At the sound of the angry masculine
voice, Katie froze. Realization
was quickly seeping into her mind. Realization
she’d been caught trespassing by Stover Steele’s three triplet
half-sisters, and by the sound of the deep voice hollering at them now, by
Stover Steele himself. “Why,
nothin’ at all, Stove,” Berty said, shrugging her shoulders.
“We just found this here flower princess asleep under a tree and
thought ya might…” “What’re
ya goin’ on about, Berty?” the angry voice asked.
“Just
this here flower princess, Stove,” Bunny said, pointing to Katie. Katie
quickly sat up, her mouth gaping open in astonishment as she saw the
purple columbine blossoms that had been placed between each of her toes.
Her skirt was simply covered with a blanket of daisy blooms and she
reached up to find her hair had been loosened—a dandelion chain adorning
her head. PRAIRIE
LIFE BROUGHT LITTLE EXCITEMENT AND EVEN LESS HOPE OF FINDING TRUE
LOVE…UNTIL THE DAY HE ARRIVED... For
Katie Matthews life held no promise of true happiness.
Life on the prairie was filled with hard labor, a brutal father,
and the knowledge she would need to marry a man incapable of truly loving
a woman. Men didn’t have
time to dote on women—so Katie’s father told her.
To Katie, it seemed life would forever remain mundane and
disappointing—until the day Stover Steele bought her father’s south
acreage. Handsome,
rugged and fiercely protective of four orphaned sisters, Stover Steele
seemed to have stepped from the pages of some romantic novel.
Yet, his heroic character and alluring charm only served to remind
Katie of what she would never have—true love and happiness the likes
found only in fairytales. Furthermore,
evil seemed to lurk in the shadows, threatening Katie’s brightness,
hope, and even her life! Would
Katie Matthews fall prey to disappointment, heartache and harm?
Or could she win the attentions of the handsome Stover Steele long
enough to be rescued? |
|||
|
Sudden
Storms
“Wake
up!” he growled. The thickly lashed eyes fluttered open and a small hand
gripped his own, trying to pry it from the lovely face it held. “What’re
you about, girl?” he demanded. He was astonished then to feel a sharp
object pushing against his stomach. “Let
go! Don’t you dare to touch me!” the girl cried fiercely. Suddenly
realizing what she must think his intentions were, Paxton chuckled and
assured her, “Don’t flatter yerself, honey. I just don’t go in for
liars sleepin’ in my barn.” He gripped her wrist, squeezing it as hard
as he could. “Ouch!”
she cried out, dropping the knife. “Now,
you stand up here,” he ordered, pulling her to her feet. The physically
dominant man doubled over in the next instant, however, when the girl’s
knee met his belly with immense force, causing him to lose his hold on
her. She darted for the barn door, but Paxton turned, catching her ankle
and sending them both tumbling to the barn floor. As she kicked and
thrashed, he pulled her toward him until she was fully beneath his heavy,
overpowering body. “You
little devil!” he growled as he sat on her legs, catching both of her
hands and holding them pinned to the ground above her own head. “Let
me go!” she cried out. Paxton
reached over to where a length of rope lay nearby and pulled it to him,
first tying her hands together and then her knees. “There
now. If you’re gonna act like an ornery little heifer—I’m gonna
treat ya like one,” he said. Pulling
her to her feet, he swiftly lifted her and flung her over one broad and
very capable shoulder. He walked back to the straw pile and retrieved his
lantern. “We’ll just see what Jolee has to say about all this now,”
he muttered as he carried the girl back to the house. RUNNING FROM
NOWHERE TO NOTHING…SHE HAD NO ONE.
HE HAD EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE…BUT WOULD HE HAVE HER? Rivers Brighton
was a wanderer—having nothing and belonging to no one.
Still, by chance, Rivers found herself harboring for a time beneath
the roof of the kind-hearted Jolee Gray, and her remarkably attractive,
yet ever grumbling brother, Paxton. Jolee,
had taken Rivers in, and Rivers had stayed. Helplessly drawn
to Paxton’s alluring presence and unable to escape his astonishing hold
over her, however, Rivers knew she was in danger of enduring great
heartbreak and pain. Paxton
appeared to find Rivers no more interesting than a brief cloudburst. Yet,
the man’s spirit seemed to tether some great and devastating storm—a
powerful tempest bridled within, waiting for the moment when it could rage
full and free, perhaps destroying everything and everyone in its wake—particularly
Rivers. Could Rivers
capture Paxton’s attention long enough to make his heart her own?
Or would the storm brewing within him destroy her hopes and dreams
of belonging to the only man she had ever loved? |
|||
|
Born for
Thorton's Sake
HE WAS THE ONLY MAN SHE HAD EVER DREAMED OF BELONGING TO… THE ONLY MAN SHE HAD EVER WANTED. Maria Castillo Holt…the only daughter of a valiant Lord and his Spanish beauty. Following the tragic deaths of her parents, Maria would find herself spirited away by conniving kindred in an endurance of neglect and misery. However, rescued at the age of thirteen by Brockton Thorton, the son of her father's devoted friend, Lord Richard Thorton, Maria would at last find blessed reprieve. Further, the heir to Lord Thorton's title, Brockton Thorton became from that day forth, ever the absolute center of Maria's very existence. And as the blessed day of her sixteenth birthday dawned, Maria's dreams of owning her heart's desire, seemed to become a blissful reality. Yet a fiendish plotting intruded, and Maria's hopes of realizing her dreams come true were locked away within dark, impenetrable walls. Would Maria's dreams of life with the handsome and coveted Brockton Thorton die at the hands of a demon strength? |
|||
|
The Highwayman of Tanglewood
Faris
gasped as a gloved hand of a sudden covered her mouth from behind… “Be
still. The Highwayman of Tanglewood owns ya now.” Faris’
smiled…as he whispered, “Do not struggle. I’ll not harm ya, lass...Come
away with me, sweet Faris,” the highwayman whispered. “What say ye?” …“I
say, who are you, highwayman?” Faris breathed…All romantic thoughts of
knights riding to win the fair lady were driven from her mind.
A rogue’s manner was vastly more delightful! “Aye!
But that ye should know, sweet Faris,” the highwayman whispered. …“I
know you not, sir,” Faris said in a whisper. “Surely I would remember such a
shape of a man.”
…“Indeed, would ya, lass?” he asked.
“I would, sir,” she answered…
“’Tis well ya know who I am, fair Faris,” he whispered, kissing her
neck again. “I am the Highwayman of Tanglewood…” A
chambermaid in the house of Tremeshton, Faris Shayhan well knew torment, despair
and trepidation. To Faris it seemed
the future stretched long and desolate before her—bleak and as dark as a
lonesome midnight path. Still, the
moon oft casts hopeful luminosity to light one’s way.
So it was that Lady Maranda Rockrimmon cast hope upon Faris—set Faris
upon a different path—a path of happiness, serenity and love. Thus,
Faris abandoned the tainted air of Tremeshton in favor of the amethyst sunsets
of Dressed
in black and astride his mighty steed, the brave, heroic and dashing rogue
Highwayman of Tanglewood stole Faris’ heart as easily as he stole her kiss.
Yet, the Highwayman of Tanglewood was encircled in mystery—mystery as
thick and as secretive as time itself. Could
Faris truly own the heart of a man so entirely enveloped in twilight shadows and
dangerous secrets? |
|||
|
To Echo the Past As her family abandoned the excitement of the city for the uneventful lifestyle of a small, western town, Brynn Clarkston's worst fears were realized. Stripped of her heart's hopes and dreams, Brynn knew true loneliness. Until an ordinary day revealed a heavenly oasis in the desert . . . Michael McCall. Handsome and irresistibly charming, Michael McCall (the son of legendary horse breeder Jackson McCall) seemed to offer wild distraction and sincere friendship to Brynn. But could Brynn be content with mere friendship when her dreams of Michael involved so much more?
|
|||
|
|
Desert Fire
“Don’t
go playin’ with fire, Miss…It’s mighty unpredictable.” She
opened her eyes and beheld, for the first time, the face of Jackson McCall.
Ruggedly handsome and her noble rescuer, she knew in that moment, he
would forever hold captive her heart, as he then held her life in his protective
arms.
Yet, she was a nameless beauty, haunted
by wisps of visions form the past. How
could she ever hope he would return the passionate, devotional love she secreted
for him…when her very existence was a riddle? |
|||
|
Divine Deception
"Fallon Ashby had been intrigued by Trader Donavon since the moment she saw him… heard the rumors about him. The wealthy land-owner, Trader Donavon, was horribly misshapen, or so everyone whispered. Her uncle spoke of him as a mean tyrant. So why had Fallon always felt drawn to this legendary, hooded man? Maybe she simply saw something others did not. Inwardly, Fallon admitted she had dreamed of this mysterious man for months. Could she be in love with the monstrous Trader Donavon? Was it his dark image that drew her to him? …Fallon made a choice. "I choose to marry you, Mr. Donavon." What would the consequences of her daring decision be? Purchase Divine Deception |
|||
|
DayDreams “She imagined for a moment that he’d awakened, pulling her into his arms and kissing her…She thought of his mesmerizing blue eyes, his soft brown hair…He was simply a living dream!” Sayler Christy knew chances were slim to none that any of her silly little daydreams would ever actually come true—especially any daydreams involving Mr. Booker, the new patient—the handsome, older patient convalescing in her grandfather’s rehabilitation center. Yet, working as a candy striper at Rawlings Rehab, Sayler couldn’t help but dream of belonging to Mr. Booker—and Mr. Booker stole her heart—perhaps unintentionally—but with very little effort. Gorgeous, older, and entirely unobtainable—Sayler knew Mr. Booker would unknowingly enslave her heart for many years to come—for daydreams were nothing more than a cruel joke inflicted by life. All dreams—daydreams or otherwise—never came true. Did they?
|
|||
|
The Touch of Sage
Sage’s
hands trembled as she held her cards. One
card. That’s all she needed. Just
one more three to finish her set and she would win!
Reb had won the first hand they’d played, Sage the second.
Now Sage sat holding everything she needed to beat him, save one silly
three. ...Sage
sat, mouth gaping open in astonishment. She
had lost! She had actually lost!
Reb
looked at her…“Well, Sage,” he began, …“…I’ll drop in Saturday and
collect my winnin’s.” “Now…now,
Reb,” Sage stammered, a nervous smile, a pleading expression washing over her
face. “Why…why don’t I just
fix you up a nice supper on Saturday…some of my special sage gravy….” “Oh,
I like the flavor of sage, all right,” Reb interrupted, smiling at her as he
smoothed his mustache with the side of an index finger….“Yes, ma’am!
I do love to savor the taste of sage!
And I plan on gettin’ my fill of it Saturday night…but supper won’t
be necessary...Sage.” Sage
felt her cheeks run vermillion as the other ladies in the room giggled.
After
the death of her parents, Sage Willows had lovingly nurtured her younger sisters
through childhood, seeing each one married and never resenting not finding
herself a good man to settle down with. Yet,
regret is different than resentment.
Still, Sage found as much joy as a lonely young woman could find, as
proprietress of Willows’ Boardinghouse—finding some fulfillment in the
companionship of the four beloved widow-women boarding with her.
But when the devilishly handsome Rebel Lee Mitchell appeared on the
boardinghouse step, Sage’s contentment was lost forever.
Dark,
mysterious and secretly wounded, Reb Mitchell instantly captured Sage’s lonely
heart. But the attractive cowboy,
admired and coveted by every young, unmarried female in his path, seemed
unobtainable to Sage Willows. How
could a weathered, boardinghouse-proprietress resigned to spinsterhood ever hope
to capture the attention of such a man? And
without him, would Sage Willows simply sink deeper into bleak
loneliness—tormented by the knowledge that the man of every woman’s dreams
could never be hers? |
|||
|
|
An Old-Fashioned Romance As
she sat studying and appreciating her good friends, Breck was too preoccupied to
perceive the hush that fell over the patrons at Marcelli’s in that moment.
In fact, it wasn’t until she noticed her friends all looking at her,
smiles stretching from ear to ear, that she realized something was afoot.
…Suddenly, she gasped as a black-gloved hand covered her mouth from
behind. Next a man’s voice, his
breath hot on her neck, whispered in her ear, “Be still. The Highwayman of
Tanglewood owns you now.”
…Breck tried to push the man’s hand from her mouth so she could turn
and see him. But he tightened his
grip, coaxing her to rise from her seat as he whispered, “Do not struggle.
I’ll not harm you. I simply
intend to have you.” Whoever was
playing the Highwayman was delivering his lines straight from the book and with
perfection.
…Once she was standing, Breck felt the Highwayman’s free arm encircle
her waist from behind, pulling her back against his body. He bent, resting his
chin on her shoulder for a moment before nuzzling he neck playfully.
“Come away with me, sweet Breck,” the Highwayman whispered.
By this time, every patron in Marcelli’s large group dining area was
staring at the scene. “What say
you?” he added, removing his hand from her mouth and letting it rest at her
throat.
Slowly, Breck began to turn in the man’s arms in order to better view
the secreted Highwayman of
Tanglewood. But suddenly, the
lighting in the room burned even more dimly, someone having turned them down.
Still, enraptured by the entire event, Breck smiled as she saw she was
standing in the arms of a man dressed head to toe in black.
A large, draping cowl hung down over his already masked eyes and nose, a
flowing cape drooped from his shoulders reaching nearly to the floor.
Breck looked down to see that he was indeed wearing black ‘breeches’
and black boots that cuffed just below his knee.
Reaching out she took the silky fabric of his shirt in her hand, unable
to believe the perfect detail of his costume…his mouth was easily seen and she
tried to recognize the grin he wore. But
his mustache and goatee hid even the shape of his lips well.
…Breck reached out, running her hands, caressively the breadth of the
Highwayman’s shoulders. Two could
play at this game, and her friends deserved a good show for all their trouble. Life
went along simply, if not rather monotonously, for Breck McCall. Her job
was satisfying, she had true friends. Bur she felt empty…as if party of
her soul was detached and lost to her. She longed for
something…something which seemed to be missing Yet, there were moments when Breck felt she might almost touch something wonderful. And most of those moments came while in the presence of her handsome, yet seemingly haunted… Temporarily Out of Print |
|||
| Distractions Ink Copyright
200 |
||||