| Home | Bio | Books |
News & Reviews |
Articles | Links |
All Things Italian |
Contact Me |
An excerpt from
Rebel Heart
By Jannine Corti Petska
April 1873
The ride to the train station had been delayed by a loose carriage wheel, forcing Courtney Danning to search for a seat on the overcrowded train. She moved down the aisle, tightening her mouth as she entered another car and discovered it as full as the first two.
Tiny beads of perspiration trickled down the small of her back and between her breasts. Other women fanned themselves with whatever they had nearby, while men blotted the sweat from their brows with fancy handkerchiefs. Why hadn't she chosen a more appropriate dress for traveling? The blue silk poplin was much too heavy for this time of year. At least the heart-shaped neckline gave her skin breathing room.
At last Courtney spied an unoccupied seat in the crowded train. A ray of hope lifted her spirits until she noticed the man sitting on the aisle side of the bench seat. His arms were folded across his chest, his head bent, and his hat covered his face. Perhaps he was asleep.
Searching up and down the car at the sea of people pressed together, Courtney felt renewed despair. Apparently no one wanted to sit next to the savage.
Curious, she perused him. Ash blond hair came midway down his neck and he had an eerily untamed appeal about him. His buckskin pullover was unlaced down his chest where a fair amount of dark blond hair poked through the crisscrossed leather ties. The shirt fit him nicely, hiding nothing of his wide shoulders and brawny arms. She swallowed the dryness in her throat and dropped her gaze. She had never been this close to a man wearing dual guns. Certainly, she'd never in her life seen one wearing a knife strapped to his right calf. The gentlemen she'd known often carried a concealed derringer, but never a weapon in plain sight.
"You gonna stand there all day, lady?" the man grumbled.
Courtney bristled at his pestered tone. She narrowed her eyes. At her continued silence, he lifted his head. Not enough for her to clearly see his features, but she had the distinct feeling his eyes were roaming up her skirt to her waist and breasts. Suddenly she wished she'd worn a different dress. Only moments earlier she'd thought the dress had been too hot. Now she wished for a higher neckline, the heat be damned.
"I can't very well climb over your legs," she said, perturbed by his lack of manners.
At first he didn't move. Then, slowly he straightened and tucked his feet beneath the seat to give her just enough space to pass. Courtney slipped by, unaware her backside closely neared his face. As she lowered to the seat, she shivered. Drawn to the stranger, she peered at him. Though his eyes remained shadowed, she was able to see his square jaw and a faint scar on his right cheek. Her eyes darted to his hands, then back to his face. His dark skin looked bronzed from the sun.
Scooting over as far as she could, she left a proper amount of space between them. She gazed out the window, thankful to have scenery to occupy her journey. Deep down, she had the awful feeling it was going to be a long one. Oddly, the brute stirred her curiosity.
Every muscle in Beau's Hamilton's body pulled as tight as a gate spring. Since the train pulled out of the station, he'd remained tense. He hadn't expected to be sitting beside Courtney Danning throughout the entire trip. Was it only yesterday he'd stood in the study with her father? Sinking lower in his seat, he remembered the scene all too vividly.
"I have another job for you. My stubborn daughter thinks she's in love. I'll pay you twenty-five hundred dollars to follow her to Santa Fe. And another six-thousand to keep an eye on her for a year following her wedding to that no-good scoundrel who wants to marry her."
Beau had schooled his shock. It had been a damn generous offer and he would have been a fool to turn down easy money. How hard could it be to keep track of a spoiled, rich girl in Santa Fe? The job description seemed too simple, had made him grow leery. The simple things ended up costing him more than he bargained for.
Still, that amount of money was damn hard to resist. "I'll do it."
Now here that woman sat, stiff as a board next to him.
She smelled clean and wore a hint of flowery perfume. Honeysuckle or jasmine, he couldn't be sure. Mixed with the glistening perspiration beaded on her upper breasts, the scent was driving him to distraction.
He shifted slightly, cursing his body's swift reaction to the woman's nearness. From her expensively tailored dress--with folds of blue velvet on it, for God's sake--to her gloved hands, he couldn't stop his eyes from roaming. He glimpsed her profile, strong, yet refined. She had a small nose and high cheekbones. In them he saw the stubbornness her father had spoken of. When her lips pursed, he had the sudden urge to taste them, to appease his curiosity. Were they as soft as they looked?
Damn. He should have said no to this job. Should have walked away the instant he saw her from her father's study window and gone back to doing what he did best--tracking down men with insidious reputations. No matter what he'd told Danning, he was nobody's nursemaid. He had no business wasting his time on a spoiled woman who'd decided to go traipsing off to the West for love.
But that first image of her wouldn't leave his mind.
"Step over to the window, Mr. Hamilton," Leif Danning had said. "My daughter is all I have left; I need someone to protect her. Not that worthless Burgess. But she's too head-strong, needs a man who will tame her."
Beau crossed the room. When he glanced down at the woman talking to a stable boy from atop her horse, his breath jerked in unexpectedly. He narrowed his eyes, keenly studying her from head to toe. Her carriage bespoke money. No doubt about it, this filly was used to the finer things in life, to luxuries most women only dreamed of.
From that distance, he'd perused her waist-length hair, the silkiest and finest he'd ever seen. And the straightest, not a curl anywhere. It swirled about her upper body when she moved, glistening brightly beneath the afternoon sun. Her riding habit clung as though painted on her feminine curves. His breath had lumped in his throat, and a familiar stirring crept through his lower belly.
So now, fool that he was, he sat beside her on a train to Santa Fe.
Settling back into the seat, he tipped his hat forward to cover his face. With any luck, he'd sleep through the entire trip.
Santa Fe, New Mexico Territory
Courtney shielded her eyes from the late afternoon sun as she scanned the Plaza for Stanley. The profound heat was almost suffocating, yet the first thing she noticed was the clear blue sky. It was an artist's canvas compared to the debris-littered streets leading away from the Plaza.
She took a deep breath and regretted doing so. The smells of the town differed greatly from those in New York City. Most notable was the foul scent from hogs, goats and dogs roaming freely.
People dressed rather poorly. The whites wore plain prairie clothes, while Mexicans dressed in unusual colorful garments and Indians dressed similar to the savage she'd shared a seat with on the train. The pace seemed slower, too. Mosey, she'd heard several men say when they disembarked. Glancing around, she assumed the word meant to walk like the dead.
"Need a hotel?"
Courtney startled at the smooth, deep tone of the stranger's voice. She spun around and tilted her head back to glance under his hat brim. He held his head at just the right angle to shield his eyes from her view. After the long, silent journey by train, followed by the jostling, uncomfortable coach, this was the first time he'd spoken since he'd asked if she was going to stand all day on the train.
She swept him with an assessing look. From what she'd seen of the other men roaming the Plaza, his rustic clothes fit in perfectly in Santa Fe. "Thank you, but I'm certain my fiancé has taken care of my lodging."
Tossing his saddlebags over his shoulder, he touched his forefinger to the brim of his hat and ambled off without another word. Courtney might have taken offense at his rudeness if he hadn't given her the courtesy of bidding her goodbye. Watching him walk away, she indulged herself and let her eyes skim his wide shoulders and broad back. His gun belt hung low around his hips, the leather ties hugging the inside of his thighs. She found his panther-like walk intriguing. Courtney swallowed hard, perplexed by her attraction to the man. She didn't even know his name.
"Hello, Courtney."
She tore her eyes away from the physically appealing stranger to face Stanley. Fearful she was as red as the kerchief sticking out of Stanley's coat pocket, she pretended to dab her hot cheeks with her gloves. Guilt wrung her heart twofold. She'd been so enthralled by the stranger, she'd momentarily forgotten all about Stanley. Daring a quick peek over her shoulder, she saw the man enter the hotel across the Plaza.
"You're as beautiful as ever," Stanley complimented.
Courtney floundered for words.
"Don't you have anything to say to your soon-to-be husband?"
"I'm sorry, Stanley. It's been a long, tiring journey." She presented her gloved hand, and he placed a kiss on top of it. Courtney tried not to frown. Where was the giddy feeling that used to tickle her stomach when he'd kissed her in New York?
"Show me your bags and I'll have them taken to the house."
"The house? We're not--"
"Don't worry. You're staying at the Exchange Hotel until this evening. I'm glad you sent the telegram to let me know when you were arriving. Everything is arranged for the ceremony and the celebration. I think you'll be extremely pleased."
"I'm sure I will." A year had changed Stanley. It wasn't simply that his once neatly cropped brown hair had grown to his jaw. She could get used to that. Yet something seemed--different. "I'll take the floral bag with me to the hotel."
"Sure thing, honey."
After instructing a Mexican boy to load her bags and trunk onto a wagon, Stanley hefted the only piece of luggage she would need for the wedding and started off toward the Exchange.
Courtney balked.
"Is something wrong?"
She glanced at the same hotel the stranger had entered. "Is this the only hotel in town?"
"It may not be Fifth Avenue, but it's a nice place. Come on, now, let's get you settled."
Once she and Stanley entered the lobby, Courtney wondered if she might come face to face with the stranger. The mere thought jolted her into examining why she would even care if she saw him again. Just because they'd traveled together from New York to Santa Fe didn't mean they were acquaintances.
"Are you sure you're all right?" Stanley asked.
"Yes, I'm fine." She hoped her forced smile was convincing.
Stanley escorted her to a room that opened onto a courtyard landscaped with rocks and desert plants. She sighed, much preferring flowers and lawn.
Stanley set her bag on the plank walkway outside her door and gave her a quirky smile. "This is where I leave you. Wouldn't want anyone thinking I'm taking advantage of a lady." After a quick kiss on her cheek, he left.
Courtney observed his jaunty walk, as if he were a man without a care in the world. She expected him to be a little nervous on their wedding day; she certainly was. She eyed his gray suit and the way it fit his slender body. Charming, and handsome in a cultured way, Stanley wasn't a rugged man, by any means. The complete opposite of the savage.
She compressed her lips in self-castigation. Now why had she thought of him? No other man had the right to take up residence in her head. She was in love with Stanley.
The door next to hers opened and out stepped her unwanted distraction. He still wore that damned hat. Courtney snatched her bag and hurried into her room. She prayed the deliberate sound of the turning lock would keep the wolf at bay.