Nicole Foster - Jake's Angel

She reached out and took his hand. Cradling it in hers, she rubbed her fingertips over his palm in a light circular motion, looking into his eyes with unflinching directness. “This is healing. It’s the giving of strength and hope and—love.”

Her last word came on a soft rush of breath, and Jake caught it with his own. They stood poised in twilight’s embrace, his hand in hers, her touch kindling a slow heat. One motion, one word from her, and it would become wildfire in his blood.

She was taking him apart, making him burn inside.

Isabel gradually became aware of how near she stood to him. The realization came like a gentle change—the warm pressure of his hand in hers, the scent of him, the awareness of his size and strength. She tried to breathe easily, to achieve some measure of calm.

But the way he looked at her, his eyes darkening like storm clouds, quickened her heart and coursed a restless ache of longing through her veins.

Dear Reader,

The perfect complement to a hot summer day is a cool drink, some time off your feet and a good romance novel. And we have four terrific stories this month for you to choose from!

We are thrilled to welcome Nicole Foster to Harlequin Historical with her touching Western, Jake’s Angel. Nicole Foster is actually the pen name for the writing team of Annette Chartier-Warren and Danette Fertig-Thompson. This duo has previously published several romances under various pseudonyms. Jake’s Angel is the tender tale of an embittered—and wounded—Texas Ranger on the trail of a notorious outlaw; he winds up in a small New Mexican town and is healed, emotionally and physically, by a beautiful widow.

Jillian Hart brings us a wonderful Medieval, Malcolm’s Honor, in which a ruthless knight discovers a lasting passion for the feisty noblewoman he is forced to marry for convenience. In Lady of Lyonsbridge, a superb story by Ana Seymour, a marriage-shy heiress uncharacteristically falls for the honorable knight who stays at her estate en route to pay a kidnapped king’s ransom.

And don’t miss Judith Stacy’s darling new Western, The Blushing Bride, in which a young lady travels to a male-dominated logging camp to play matchmaker for a bevy of potential brides—only to find herself unexpectedly drawn to a certain mountain man of her own!

Enjoy! And come back again next month for four more choices of the best in historical romance.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell

Senior Editor

Jake’s Angel

Nicole Foster

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Jake’s Angel #522

For Jeff, always my hero.

For Ken, thanks for the memories of Paris, Rome,

Amsterdam, London, Oxford, Copenhagen…

but most of all Alassio.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Whispering Creek, New Mexico, 1874

Jake Coulter limped up to the doors of the Silver Rose leaving a trail of blood and dust behind him. After two days of hard riding with a hole in his leg, no sleep, and nothing but a bottle of bad whiskey for solace, he felt mean enough to shoot the next man who crossed him.

He hadn’t planned on dragging into Whispering Creek looking and feeling like something the vultures left behind; he hadn’t planned on coming to Whispering Creek at all. But Jerico Grey had decided to run home to the New Mexico territory, and Jake hadn’t spent nearly six months tracking him just to let him steal his freedom by crossing the border.

Jake tried to remember how much whiskey he’d drunk when he agreed to take on a job no one else wanted, deciding it was just what he needed to change his luck. His delusion lasted until he’d met up with three bandidos near Santa Fe. The encounter left him with a piece of lead in his thigh and a temper to rival the desert heat.

Pushing his way inside, Jake gave a quick, hard look around the saloon, almost sorry there wasn’t anyone who invited trouble to take out his frustration on.

But with morning just turning to midday, the Silver Rose was nearly empty. Three old men, as brown and worn as old leather, sat hunched over a corner table dealing cards, and a stringy cowboy leaned backward against the bar, watching one of the saloon girls tempt with a swish of bright-yellow satin and a flash of dark eyes. Even the air felt lazy, baked hot and dry by the late morning sun and tasting of dust.

Jake limped up to the bar, tossed down a handful of coins, and from the shadow of his slouched hat glared at the man behind the long length of scarred and pitted wood. The cowboy glanced once at his face and the Colts riding low on his hips, then edged nearer to the end of the bar. A saloon girl sidled a step closer.

The bartender, polishing glasses with a rag as gray as his grizzled hair, took one look at Jake and grinned, showing a crooked row of yellowed teeth.

“Well, it looks like the devil comes a callin’ and it ain’t even my birthday.” Without asking, he shoved a whiskey bottle and a smudged glass toward Jake. “You don’t seem to have done too well fer yerself, friend. You’re ugly enough to give a brave man a fright. But never let it be said that Elish Dodd turned away a payin’ customer, no matter how ugly they get.”

“Thanks for the welcome. I hope everyone in this town is as friendly as you.”

“Depends on what day it is and why you’re here.”

Jake took a long pull from the bottle, ignoring the glass. “I need—help.”

“I can see that. You’re bleedin’ all over my floor,” Elish observed, leaning over the bar to glance at the pooling blood. “It ain’t real good for business.”

“Then I’ll take my business upstairs. I need a room and someone who can cut out a bullet without taking off my leg in the process.”

“And I need a bag full of gold and a good woman. This ain’t a mission of mercy. Most of the girls couldn’t patch up a skinned elbow without losin’ their breakfast on your boots.”

“I’m sure one of your girls is good enough to get me a doctor.”

“Doctor! Too long in the sun’s turned you loco, amigo. There ain’t no doctor here. And the ones that have come through here pretendin’ to be, why I’d as soon spit at a rattlesnake than let them get near enough to see the color of my hair.”

Jake pulled himself upright, wincing as his weight settled on his bad leg, and, grabbing up the half-empty whiskey bottle, turned to the stairs leading to the second-floor rooms. “Just send up one of the girls. I’ll figure out something.”

“You please yourself. Take the room at the end of the hall, though I can only promise it to you if business is slow. This ain’t a hotel.”