Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Montana Territory, Bitterroot Mountain Range, Spring 1889
"I think we should find another way to kidnap him." Carrie Kerr grabbed onto the pommel to stop from bouncing out of the saddle and straight onto the barely used road as her horse lunged up the hill. She placed her free hand over her stomach to staunch the burning sensation deep within the pit of her belly. They had to do something about Simon, but Aunt June's plan resembled a patchwork quilt made of fine silk and threadbare burlap — enticing and solid in one square, but ready to tear apart with each hole-ridden piece in the middle. "Someone who lives this far up the mountain, and isn't a logger, can't be trusted."
"Oh bosh." Aunt June, Carrie's godmother, leaned forward in her saddle — a trick Carrie had used many times to help stay centered on the horse during a steep ascent. "Plenty of people choose to live away from the bustle of the city, and most of them aren't bad at heart. They're simply eccentric."
"I don't think an eccentric doctor is what we need right now. We need one we can trust. How long has it been since he practiced medicine? What if he kills Simon?"
"You and I will both be there. We can ensure that will not happen. In any case, we don't need a doctor who is trustworthy. We need one with no morals. It will be fine. Wait and see." Aunt June smiled in reassurance, but Carrie didn't feel the effects of the grin. Simon wasn't going to be happy once he woke up to find they'd tricked him onto a train. For his own good, of course. At least she hoped it would do him good. These days, there was no telling what might set Simon into a downward spiral of self-pity and irritating surliness. Some days he behaved as he always had — with a jaunty spring in his step — but most days he hid in a deep bottle of amber poison.
If she were going to fix Simon, he needed to get past his scars and trauma from the previous logging season. He needed to find a new passion in life, one that would keep him well for the remainder of his days.
A dilapidated cabin came into view surrounded by equally rough outbuildings. Chickens pecked the ground beside the house, and tucked behind them a mud-bogged pigpen barely held in its overfed occupants. Outside, a large man wearing a yellow-stained cotton shirt leaned into a wagon. Aside from the mud covering the wheel, the wagon was about the only thing on the homestead that looked to be in good shape. The man stood up tall, scrunched his reddened face, and blocked the sun with his hand as Carrie trotted her horse up next to Aunt June's and stopped before the man.
Aunt June dismounted. "Doctor Larry McGuinn?"
"'Pends on who's askin'."
"Are you the traveling doctor who does his business between here and Seattle?"
"'Pends on who's askin'," he said again, and spit on the ground. "Did I sell you my miracle serum?"
"Heavens no." Aunt June clutched the base of her throat. "Do I look like I need a miracle serum? No, sir. When God made me, he made perfection. We're here because we're in need of your medical services."
"Oh?" He spit again. This time the brown stream landed on the front of his shirt, right smack in the middle of the stain. He narrowed his eyes and smoothed his long, greasy hair back. "How'd you know where to find me?"
"Mary Lou sent me. She said your going rate is ten dollars a visit, but I'm willing to give you more. Ten for your services and twenty to keep your mouth shut." Aunt June curled her lip and stared hard at the disheveled doctor. Carrie mimicked her godmother's stare. If this half-cocked plan was going to work, they needed the doctor.
The man smacked his lips together, no doubt envisioning all of the tobacco and booze he could procure with the money. "What exactly is it you're needin'?"
Carrie slid another glance to gauge her godmother's reaction. Nothing about this situation felt right. In fact a hole formed in her stomach and led straight to the bottom of her feet. She probably wouldn't eat until after Simon's inevitable outburst once he got to the mountain. Aunt June's shoulders relaxed and the corners of her mouth twitched as if she held back a smile. "I heard there was a concoction we can get that makes a person go into a deep sleep. We need a bottle of that."
The doctor scratched his head. "Well, now, I don't know about a deep sleep, but my miracle serum could make one pass out, if you take enough."
"What I'm looking for is the potion given to Queen Victoria back in fifty-three. It's still in use today, I presume."
"Well, now, chloroform isn't something I got a lot of and it can be deadly if too much is given. It'll cost ya forty dollars for a dose."
"Thirty," Carrie said, and narrowed her eyes to match Aunt June's hard-bargaining glare.
He shook his head but took a few steps over to the side of his wagon and began to rifle through the contents. "Forty is my final offer."
"We'll give you forty, but you have to come with us to administer it, since it's deadly and all."
"Forty for the chloroform, ten for the visit, plus the fee to keep my mouth shut. I think that tallies up to one hundred and ten dollars." Good gracious! To Hades with eccentric, the man was a downright bunko artist. No way Aunt June would give in to such extortion. Carrie bit her tongue against the urge to respond, and waited for the sharp retort her godmother was sure to give.
Instead, and to Carrie's consternation, Aunt June simply crossed her arms over her chest. "Ninety."
"One hundred even." He spit. "I'll need to stay overnight in a hotel."
"Deal." Aunt June extended her hand and the doctor shook it. "Be at 106 Pine Street at nine o'clock tonight. I'll have your money waiting." Carrie followed as Aunt June wheeled her mount around to head down the mountain, but stopped. A part of her wanted to interject, face the dirty doctor and void the deal. The other wanted to see Simon happy once more. The latter won her internal battle, so she kept her mouth shut. Simon was special to Aunt June, but he was also her best friend's brother, and a dear friend to Carrie.
"Nine o'clock sharp," Aunt June said to the doctor. "With each minute you're late, I will take off five dollars." Aunt June ended her statement by kicking her horse to a trot.
Carrie snapped the reins and leaned forward in the saddle to urge her horse to follow.
When they were far enough down the trail to be out of sight from the uncouth man behind them, Aunt June slowed her horse to a walk next to Carrie's mount. "That man is definitely a bunko artist, but he is also the only doctor in the valley who will keep his mouth shut and do what we need, and he knows it."
Carrie's horse stumbled over a rock jutting from the ground, but she caught herself in the saddle without toppling over the top of her bay mare's head. "I don't trust that man. How do you know he is going to be sober by the time he comes to your house? What if he gets the dose wrong and kills Simon?"
"Don't you worry about the doctor. Simon will be fine once we get him to the lumber camp. Wall and Blue will be by my home at eight tonight, and Elizabeth and Garrett are standing by with the train to get us all to the camp by sunup. Only thing you need to worry about is what to cook for them hungry loggers tomorrow morning. I'll be dealing with Simon, who's sure to be as friendly as a skinny grizzly bear in late fall. At least we'll have a few of the Devil May Cares there to help us. Once we get Simon up the mountain, he'll be back to the flannel-mouthed scoundrel we all adore. He just needs to remember who he is."
Carrie nodded and turned her attention toward the steep decline of the mountain trail. If only Simon could find his way back to the man he'd once been, then all would be well. Before the accident, he'd stolen her heart. But she chalked her infatuation up to the days she'd spent nursing him back to health and the fact that he was her best friend's brother. She loved him as Beth did — at least that's what she told herself after he'd dipped into a shadow of self-pity and alcohol. Now she vowed to live as Aunt June — independent and fighting hard until her dying breath. But first, she had to remind Simon who he had been once upon a time. After all, it was her fault he'd become desolate and brash in the first place. If only she hadn't pushed for him to see his wounds. If he had had more time to come to grips with his accident, maybe he wouldn't have changed.
* * *
Simon paced before the fireplace. The cold, black ashes within were a representation of his soul — once alive with fire and light, but now cold and lifeless. He didn't want company. Hated the look people gave him whenever they saw the ugly scars. Pity. Shock. Terror. Like he was a monster. Mothers shuffled their children away at the sight of him, and men turned their backs when he approached. The women he'd once romanced now whispered behind their gloved fingers. Bully them. They could all burn with the devil for all he cared.
So why did Carrie continue to show up at his home to torture him with promises of balls and social events? A year ago, he'd wanted to take the presumptuous beauty in his arms and show her everything she could be, but not now. She deserved better than to lose her innocence to half a man. He slumped back into his large armchair. "Go away, Carrie. Leave me be."
"So you can wallow in self-pity and bourbon?" She plucked his almost empty bottle of liquor off the small table next to his chair, sniffed it, and then put it on the sideboard well out of his reach. "Fine. I'll have no part of your debauchery."
She turned to leave.
"No. Wait." He stood and reached out as if to grab her, but pulled his hand back to his side. The chair beneath him groaned when he plopped back down as he squeezed his eyes shut. He'd more than likely regret his next words. "You can stay."
He opened his eyes in time to see Carrie twirl around with a grin. One that made him want to shock her enough to put her in a daze of confusion. He wouldn't be opposed to playing games with her, but the one she no doubt planned was not what he had in mind. He picked up the decanter of liquor and held it out. "How about tonight, you partake with me?"
She crossed the room and stood before him. "Sorry, I can't do that. You are coming with me. My carriage is waiting outside."
He stood, bringing his body mere inches from hers.
"No." The answer came out more as a growl than a word, but he didn't care. Her flowery scent filled his senses, and he leaned closer. His eyes drifted shut as the fragrance brought him to a place of calm. Visions of the meadow at Mother Goose's Cottage, deep in the forest near the logging camp, filled his thoughts. In his mind Carrie ran from flower to flower, reveling in the earthly beauty with nothing on but what God gave her. She'd circle around back to him and press her body close for a kiss.
He opened his eyes, but his vision grew hazy as Carrie's chest rose with a deep breath, revealing the deep plunge of the valley between her flawless breasts. Flawless. Perfect. A reminder that she deserved better. God, it had been a while since he had had a woman beneath him.
He let his nostrils flare as his heart plummeted back into the pit of darkness from whence Carrie had lifted it with her breasts. With a growl, he plucked the bourbon off the table where she'd left it, and drew distance between them before he could give into the temptation to put her in her place with a well- placed kiss. Something he would have done in the past. Not now. With his face distorted and hideous, a kiss like that would do nothing more than make her vomit on his shoes. The blasted woman! Why couldn't she leave him be?
He tipped back the drink and let it burn down his throat. His cheek twitched near the scar. "If you won't leave me to my misery, then hike up your skirts and come over here. At least then you can be of some use."
To the damned woman's credit, she did no more than blink in surprise and quickly squared her shoulders. She stared hard and took the remaining distance between them. She pressed her hand to his chest and lifted her chin, bringing her face so close his breath mingled with hers. His heartbeat kicked up and he prayed the thick layers of fabric between her fingers and his heart were enough to hide his response. She pressed her body against him, heating his skin wherever they touched. What was she doing?
He couldn't keep his eyes off her mouth when she pinched the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth. Air dried out his tongue, and he swallowed as she stretched onto her tiptoes and brought her face close. A mere inch separated their lips. The sweet fragranced air from those damned flowers she always left was all that stood between him and the one thing he'd wanted since she nursed him to health — Carrie's mouth pressed against his, her chest panting with the need to have him inside her. At least that's what he hoped she wanted. Like any good thoroughbred, he fancied himself an expert in the art of seducing the opposite sex. Knowing how to take a woman's innermost thoughts and draw out her desires was the first step in seduction. But this was Carrie. She was different.
She lifted one soft finger and traced the sensitive scar on the side of his face, and he flinched. She smiled like a cruel temptress. "You're a fool to think you can scare me away with such inappropriate talk, Mr. Sanders." The long black lashes that had fluttered coyly many times before, tempting him, blinked rapidly as she took a step back. "Now, get your coat. There's a slight chill in the air."
All he could do was swallow to try and force moisture back into his mouth as he made sense of what had happened. Before he could process the moment, she pressed her fingers into his chest like his sister had done many times before and pointed toward the door. He moved despite the nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him to take control. What the hell happened to him whenever she drew close?
Blasted woman!
He neared the door and scooped up his jacket from where he'd deposited it last night. Relief spread through him at the weight of the flask he'd hidden in there yesterday when his sister and her new husband — his best friend — visited. If he was going to be bullied into leaving, at least he had the cheap bar liquor to tide him over.
He slid his coat over his double-breasted vest and yanked open the door, not waiting for Carrie as he took the stairs. The sight of her surrey brought him to a halt. The only women who'd driven him around were his grandmother when he was a lad and later his sister when he taught her how to drive. No way was he letting Carrie take the reins.
Carrie brushed past him, and he could focus on nothing but her small frame as she approached the large horses. "Yes, that's right," she said with a smug gleam in her eye. "I'm driving. That way you can't disappear on me like the night Beth and I attended the Governors Dance. Now. The least you could do is help me up the steps."
"If you would mind your own business, I wouldn't be forced to use such trickery. There's no way I'm going to be chauffeured about like some woman."
She mounted the surrey without help from him. Not that he offered any. Although he would have if she'd waited a fraction longer.
Carrie's narrowed eyes bored a hole straight through him. "Get in or I will put you in myself."
"I doubt you've ever lifted an ax let alone a grown man." There was no way she could force him inside the carriage, but he didn't want her touching him again. He settled into the seat, placed his hand over the flask beneath his jacket, and scooted toward the edge of the bench to put distance between them.
"I'll have you know, I gained a lot of cooking skills from Aunt June last summer. While I may have grown up not having to work, I no longer choose to live in such a way. I quite like Aunt June's lifestyle, and anyway my threat worked to get you in. Now settle down." She snapped the reins, and the buggy jerked into motion. The gentle clop of the horse's hooves over the dirt roads filled the silence between them. Why did he torture himself so much by allowing the little minx into his home on a daily basis? She did nothing but toss demands about and order him to better himself. Well, bully her. He had no intention of improving anything except his liquor supply.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Wild Passion"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Dawn Luedecke.
Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
