Romancing the West Read Online Free
deliver Athens’s proposal and escort Emily to Arizona Territory. If he was going to tame the west, he could sure as hell save one tarnished angel.
CHAPTER 3
Napa Valley, California - Two weeks later
“D amnation!” Emily McBride covered her mouth, shocked she’d blurted the curse aloud. In the library of all places. Thankfully, no one was within earshot. Well, except God. He heard everything. He also saw everything, knew everything, and she couldn’t help wondering if this was part of her punishment.
She envisioned her father shaking a condemning finger, imagined his slurred voice. “This is what you get for being deceitful!”
“Drat!” She paced between the non-fiction stacks, told herself to get a grip. Being asked to read an I. M. Wilde dime novel aloud at the Lemonade and Storytelling Social Club wasn’t divine punishment, just bad luck. “Snap out of it, you ninny. You’re paranoid.” She bumped up her spectacles and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re also talking to yourself. You really need to stop doing that.”
Townfolk whispered words like dotty and moody whenever they spoke of the late Preacher McBride’s daughter. They used to call her shy. Only she’d never really been shy, just content to dwell in the background, nose in a book, head in the clouds. She’d spent countless hours committing her own stories to paper, although she’d learned early on to keep the tales to herself. Her imagination cooked up scenarios unbecoming of a preacher’s daughter. Or so many said, including her father. Her mother, an avid reader herself, had cut her most deeply. “Listen keenly to my words and remember this always, daughter. Emily McBride must channel her talents in a more respectable direction.”
That night her heart had cracked, and never since healed.
“No one understands me,” she’d cried into her pillow. No one except Paris, a fellow artistic soul. The day the townfolk shunned the only female in the Garrett clan, they shunned the only child of the McBrides as well. “Artists have to stick together,” Emily had said, comforting her friend with a hug. Used to being around four older brothers, Paris suggested they shake on a lifetime friendship like men. So, they’d spit into their palms and clasped hands.
Paris became a recluse and Emily with her. She’d been the subject of hurtful gossip ever since. The other day she overheard someone call her crazy. Just because she’d swapped her conventional gowns for men’s shirts and split-riding skirts and started practicing sharp shooting. Just because she’d turned her father’s rural home into a boardinghouse and taken in Mrs. Dunlap, a forgetful widow with a knitting obsession. She had good reasons for these actions, not that she felt compelled to share them. For the first time in her life, her business was her own. At least it had been.
An anonymous busybody was currently making her life a living . . . Hades.
I know your secret.
Those four little words, typewritten on ordinary writing paper, delivered a mighty blow to her brave new spirit. The taunt filled her with guilt and dread. Now she wasn’t the old Emily, or the new Emily, just a confused Emily stuck in between. These days, she didn’t know whether to amend her Grand Design or ditch it. Her nerves were threadbare and things were about to get worse. Thanks to Paris, she was supposed to welcome a poet into her home. A man.
Her friend’s missive had arrived two weeks ago, give or take a few days. Mrs. Dunlap had misplaced the mail. By the time Emily read the letter, it was too late to relay her objections. The man was on his way. Though Emily appreciated what Paris was trying to do, she simply couldn’t accept the gesture. Or, rather, Mr. Pinkerton. She’d have to send the gentleman packing and that’s all there was to it. No matter how badly she needed his money. No matter how tempted she was to pick the intuitive detective’s mind as Paris
CHAPTER 3
Napa Valley, California - Two weeks later
“D amnation!” Emily McBride covered her mouth, shocked she’d blurted the curse aloud. In the library of all places. Thankfully, no one was within earshot. Well, except God. He heard everything. He also saw everything, knew everything, and she couldn’t help wondering if this was part of her punishment.
She envisioned her father shaking a condemning finger, imagined his slurred voice. “This is what you get for being deceitful!”
“Drat!” She paced between the non-fiction stacks, told herself to get a grip. Being asked to read an I. M. Wilde dime novel aloud at the Lemonade and Storytelling Social Club wasn’t divine punishment, just bad luck. “Snap out of it, you ninny. You’re paranoid.” She bumped up her spectacles and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re also talking to yourself. You really need to stop doing that.”
Townfolk whispered words like dotty and moody whenever they spoke of the late Preacher McBride’s daughter. They used to call her shy. Only she’d never really been shy, just content to dwell in the background, nose in a book, head in the clouds. She’d spent countless hours committing her own stories to paper, although she’d learned early on to keep the tales to herself. Her imagination cooked up scenarios unbecoming of a preacher’s daughter. Or so many said, including her father. Her mother, an avid reader herself, had cut her most deeply. “Listen keenly to my words and remember this always, daughter. Emily McBride must channel her talents in a more respectable direction.”
That night her heart had cracked, and never since healed.
“No one understands me,” she’d cried into her pillow. No one except Paris, a fellow artistic soul. The day the townfolk shunned the only female in the Garrett clan, they shunned the only child of the McBrides as well. “Artists have to stick together,” Emily had said, comforting her friend with a hug. Used to being around four older brothers, Paris suggested they shake on a lifetime friendship like men. So, they’d spit into their palms and clasped hands.
Paris became a recluse and Emily with her. She’d been the subject of hurtful gossip ever since. The other day she overheard someone call her crazy. Just because she’d swapped her conventional gowns for men’s shirts and split-riding skirts and started practicing sharp shooting. Just because she’d turned her father’s rural home into a boardinghouse and taken in Mrs. Dunlap, a forgetful widow with a knitting obsession. She had good reasons for these actions, not that she felt compelled to share them. For the first time in her life, her business was her own. At least it had been.
An anonymous busybody was currently making her life a living . . . Hades.
I know your secret.
Those four little words, typewritten on ordinary writing paper, delivered a mighty blow to her brave new spirit. The taunt filled her with guilt and dread. Now she wasn’t the old Emily, or the new Emily, just a confused Emily stuck in between. These days, she didn’t know whether to amend her Grand Design or ditch it. Her nerves were threadbare and things were about to get worse. Thanks to Paris, she was supposed to welcome a poet into her home. A man.
Her friend’s missive had arrived two weeks ago, give or take a few days. Mrs. Dunlap had misplaced the mail. By the time Emily read the letter, it was too late to relay her objections. The man was on his way. Though Emily appreciated what Paris was trying to do, she simply couldn’t accept the gesture. Or, rather, Mr. Pinkerton. She’d have to send the gentleman packing and that’s all there was to it. No matter how badly she needed his money. No matter how tempted she was to pick the intuitive detective’s mind as Paris
Readers choose
Jane Mccafferty
Sophia Byron
Melissa de La Cruz
Sarah Mian
Various
Ilene Beckerman
Stuart Woods
Janice Baker
M.L. Gardner