Jake Walker's Wife Read Online Free
Author: Loree Lough
it.
Jake rolled onto his side and decided that here at Foggy Bottom, he'd earn his keep, just as he'd done on every ranch and farm between Lubbock and Freeland these ten, lonely years. He'd exchange idle talk with his bunkmates, with Matt and Mark Beckley. He'd show Micah the respect and courtesy due him as owner of the spread.
Exchanging niceties with lovely little Bess would be the easiest part of his job. May as well enjoy your stay for as long as it lasts, he told himself, grinning slightly.
He had very little to call his own. Family and home were mere words to him. Why, he'd wasn't even free to use his given name ! But Jake had his life, and he had his freedom—such as it was since the U.S. Marshalls tacked pictures of him on every lamp post, fence rail, and wall throughout the southwest. "WANTED," the posters said, "DEAD OR ALIVE: W. C. ATWOOD."
He'd traveled about as far from Lubbock, Texas in ten years as a man could go. And when things started looking too cozy in Freeland, Maryland, he'd head still farther east. Right out to the Atlantic Ocean , then north, all the way up into Canada!
The Rangers' authority stopped at the Texas border, but U.S. Marshalls could chase a wanted man from Maine to California if they had a mind to. And oh, they'd had a mind to! Jake deliberately let his trail lead them southwest, from Old Horse Road beside that battered, overturned jail wagon, into Mexico, praying he’d get lucky, and the marshals would believe he'd holed up in Tijuana with a pretty senorita.
He had not been lucky.
Two years ago in Kansas, the relentless marshals almost caught him. If not for the outlaw gang that hid him in their shack on the outskirts of town....
Jake shut his eyes tight, hoping to block the horrible memories of running for his life, and when he did, Bess's beautiful face came into view. Her easy, honest smile. That lilting, lyrical voice. Those sad, doe-eyes.... She was everything he'd ever learned about angels, and then some.
His 'too good to be true' rule gonged in his mind.
W.C. Atwood—alias Jake Walker—sighed deeply. He'd have to be careful here at Foggy Bottom. Very careful. He'd had women. Plenty of them. But he'd kept them at an emotional arm's length, because gut instinct told him that the surest way to jeopardize his freedom was to go and fall in love.
Chapter Two
Moonlight, slanting down from the heavens, reflected bright white from the corral fence. The black loam of the well-trod earth contrasted with the silvery coats of six horses, motionless, save the vapors of their soft, puffing breaths.
Bess didn't know how long she'd been sitting there, staring at them through her latched window. She only knew that this perch high above Foggy Bottom was one of the few places on earth where she felt truly happy. On nights like this, when sleep eluded her, this window drew her near. Of all the well-appointed rooms in the manor house, she liked this one best, because everything in it reminded her of her mother.
Her mama had sewn the ruffled white curtains that hung at the many-paned windows. She'd crocheted the lovely fringe that trimmed the canopy above Bess's bed, and embroidered flower baskets from colorful satiny threads on the fluffy white pillows plumped against the window seat. Even the paintings, hung by wide pink satin ribbons from ornate black hooks near the ceiling, bore her mother's signature. And in the chiffonnier hung now-too-small dresses and skirts, jackets and shirts of every style and rainbow hue that Mary had designed and sewn for her little girl. The lovely frocks might be handed down to her own daughter one day...if Bess ever changed her mind about marrying.
If she married—and what chance was there of that!—Bess would do things differently from other brides, right down to the sort of reception she'd organize. No pomp and circumstance for Bess Beckley! Her informally-garbed guests would gather in the shady back yard to watch and listen as the bride and groom
Jake rolled onto his side and decided that here at Foggy Bottom, he'd earn his keep, just as he'd done on every ranch and farm between Lubbock and Freeland these ten, lonely years. He'd exchange idle talk with his bunkmates, with Matt and Mark Beckley. He'd show Micah the respect and courtesy due him as owner of the spread.
Exchanging niceties with lovely little Bess would be the easiest part of his job. May as well enjoy your stay for as long as it lasts, he told himself, grinning slightly.
He had very little to call his own. Family and home were mere words to him. Why, he'd wasn't even free to use his given name ! But Jake had his life, and he had his freedom—such as it was since the U.S. Marshalls tacked pictures of him on every lamp post, fence rail, and wall throughout the southwest. "WANTED," the posters said, "DEAD OR ALIVE: W. C. ATWOOD."
He'd traveled about as far from Lubbock, Texas in ten years as a man could go. And when things started looking too cozy in Freeland, Maryland, he'd head still farther east. Right out to the Atlantic Ocean , then north, all the way up into Canada!
The Rangers' authority stopped at the Texas border, but U.S. Marshalls could chase a wanted man from Maine to California if they had a mind to. And oh, they'd had a mind to! Jake deliberately let his trail lead them southwest, from Old Horse Road beside that battered, overturned jail wagon, into Mexico, praying he’d get lucky, and the marshals would believe he'd holed up in Tijuana with a pretty senorita.
He had not been lucky.
Two years ago in Kansas, the relentless marshals almost caught him. If not for the outlaw gang that hid him in their shack on the outskirts of town....
Jake shut his eyes tight, hoping to block the horrible memories of running for his life, and when he did, Bess's beautiful face came into view. Her easy, honest smile. That lilting, lyrical voice. Those sad, doe-eyes.... She was everything he'd ever learned about angels, and then some.
His 'too good to be true' rule gonged in his mind.
W.C. Atwood—alias Jake Walker—sighed deeply. He'd have to be careful here at Foggy Bottom. Very careful. He'd had women. Plenty of them. But he'd kept them at an emotional arm's length, because gut instinct told him that the surest way to jeopardize his freedom was to go and fall in love.
Chapter Two
Moonlight, slanting down from the heavens, reflected bright white from the corral fence. The black loam of the well-trod earth contrasted with the silvery coats of six horses, motionless, save the vapors of their soft, puffing breaths.
Bess didn't know how long she'd been sitting there, staring at them through her latched window. She only knew that this perch high above Foggy Bottom was one of the few places on earth where she felt truly happy. On nights like this, when sleep eluded her, this window drew her near. Of all the well-appointed rooms in the manor house, she liked this one best, because everything in it reminded her of her mother.
Her mama had sewn the ruffled white curtains that hung at the many-paned windows. She'd crocheted the lovely fringe that trimmed the canopy above Bess's bed, and embroidered flower baskets from colorful satiny threads on the fluffy white pillows plumped against the window seat. Even the paintings, hung by wide pink satin ribbons from ornate black hooks near the ceiling, bore her mother's signature. And in the chiffonnier hung now-too-small dresses and skirts, jackets and shirts of every style and rainbow hue that Mary had designed and sewn for her little girl. The lovely frocks might be handed down to her own daughter one day...if Bess ever changed her mind about marrying.
If she married—and what chance was there of that!—Bess would do things differently from other brides, right down to the sort of reception she'd organize. No pomp and circumstance for Bess Beckley! Her informally-garbed guests would gather in the shady back yard to watch and listen as the bride and groom
Readers choose
Scott Nicholson
Jackie Barbosa
Nina Coombs Pykare
Melissa Bitter
Donna Joy Usher
Eden Maguire
Tawny Weber
Sandra Brown
Tamar Cohen