candle in the room, banishing darkness and fear. They were safe. Edward was locked up in the root cellar, with a single blanket and no light and two men on guard. Given that he had tried to burn the house down, his plea for a candle had been dismissed. He would be taken to a magistrate in the morning.
Ash found a cloth, heated water over the fire and dabbed carefully at her cheek. She sat very still, trying not to wince as he searched for splinters in grim silence.
* * *
Ash could barely speak for remembering the sickening swoop of terror as Montfort’s pistol had swung towards Maddy. Knowing he couldn’t reach Montfort in time, believing she was going to die.
At last he spoke. ‘I’m not saying your plan wasn’t a good one,’ he said, each word feeling as though it had been ripped from him. ‘But you still shouldn’t have done it.’
If a junior officer had handled himself like that in action, coming up with a spur-of-the-moment diversion and counterattack to save a comrade, he’d be commending the young idiot.
But Maddy wasn’t a junior officer. She was his wife, and he’d thought she was about to die. He eased his fingertips over her cheek, searching. All the splinters seemed to be gone.
‘Can you feel anything?’ he asked.
What he could feel, tearing at his heart, was a damn sight worse than splinters. He’d have to get used to it because, no matter how painful, he couldn’t imagine not loving her.
She shook her head. ‘I think you got them all. And, for what it’s worth, you do matter. To me.’ She met his gaze. ‘You can be as cross as you like, but I’d do it again.’
He groaned, drew her into his arms. ‘I know you would. And it terrifies me. What the hell would you have done if you hadn’t had the dog with you?’ He shuddered, glancing at Ketch under the bed. A tail thumped. ‘No. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.’
Twelfth Night
Supper was over, the household had retired for the night and Ash stood, his arm about Maddy, watching the fire blazing in the hearth of the hall. The remnant of the Yule log had been removed and quenched. It was set safely aside to light next Christmas. Yet the fire still burned—and deep inside him, where it counted, there was still a light burning.
This Christmas, their first together, might be over, but he knew that the candle lit within him would always be there. Waiting, hopeful, even if he could never quite tell Maddy. They had made a bargain to save her home from Montfort. Despite everything, he was not entirely sure she would wish to alter that bargain, and her heart had not been part of it.
‘Ash?’
‘Yes, sweetheart?’
‘I was thinking that it hasn’t all been quite as convenient as we intended,’ she said.
He snorted. ‘I’ll admit I didn’t count on Montfort’s lunacy.’ His gut twisted. ‘Or yours, for that matter,’ he growled. ‘Losing you would have been damnably inconvenient!’
Fear still choked him every time he remembered Maddy facing Montfort’s pistol for him. If he hadn’t already known what it was he felt for her, that shattering instant would have done the trick.
‘Is love inconvenient, Ash?’
Everything stilled inside him except the hopeful candle that leaped and shouted in joy. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said at last, choosing his words carefully. ‘I’ve been finding it rather painful, not sure if it’s unrequited or not. But no, on the whole it’s not inconvenient.’
She turned in his arms, witch-green eyes staring up at him in shock. ‘You’re finding it painful?’ she demanded. ‘But I’m—’
To his absolute horror, the bright eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, Lord! Don’t cry, Maddy.’
‘I’m not crying.’ She sniffed. ‘I was telling you that I love you, and—’
‘I thought you were telling me love was inconvenient?’ he said.
‘It is,’ she muttered. ‘But every time you make love to me I keep nearly telling you, so—’ She broke off as he grabbed her wrist and towed her unceremoniously across the hall. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Bed,’ he told her. ‘I believe you have something to tell me?’
The smile on her face nearly undid him. ‘Oh, I do,’ she assured him. ‘Am I going to have lots of opportunities to say it?’
‘Plenty,’ he assured her.
* * * * *
Read on for an extract from THE WRONG COWBOY by Lauri Robinson.
Chapter One
August, 1884, Dakota Territory
Stafford Burleson prided himself on a few things—he wasn’t a quitter, his cooking wasn’t all bad, he was a mighty fine carpenter and he was quick on his feet. His wits were good, too. He was known for coming up with a plan at a dead run, yet right now he found himself dumbfounded. “What?”
“Mick’s mail-order bride is waiting for him at the hotel in Huron.” Walt Darter’s scratchy voice repeating exactly what he’d said a moment ago made about as much sense the second time around as it had the first.
This time Stafford added a few more words to his question. “What are you talking about?” He set his cup down and dug his fingers into hair that sorely needed a good cutting. His scalp had started to tingle and he scratched at it. Eerily. “Mick didn’t order a bride.”
“That’s not what she says.” Walt couldn’t have looked more stone-cold serious if he’d been standing before a judge and jury.
“Who?”
“Miss Marie Hall.” The old man’s face was sunburned from years of riding in the summer sun, and as he said her name a grin formed and his chest puffed with pride as if he’d just announced he’d found a goose that laid golden eggs.
The woman’s name was completely unknown and Stafford pondered that. No one from Huron had been out this way for several months. Not that it was expected. The little town of Merryville had sprung up around the people who chose to stay behind when the railroad camp packed up to follow the tracks westward. There weren’t too many businesses there yet, but he and Mick now bought their supplies in Merryville. It was only a few miles north of their land, and the railroad company had promised that, when the line was done, a depot would be built in the settlement, which meant cattle could be shipped and received there. It was what he and Mick had predicted would happen when they settled on their tracts of land and formed a partnership for the Dakota Cattle Company.
Their plan, to build one of the largest cattle operations in the north, was falling into place more smoothly than the railroad line. Although Stafford would be the first to admit—and he often did—they still had plenty of work
