Carolyn Davidson - A Marriage By Chance

The minister’s gaze swept the onlookers, then focused on Chloe and J.T., a small smile curving his lips. “We are gathered together to join this man and this woman in the state of holy matrimony.”

“Who giveth this woman…” the minister began, and before the words could be fully spoken, Chloe’s brother muttered the appropriate response and pressed her hand into J.T.’s palm. And then she was caught up in the beauty of words and phrases that promised to change her life forever.

She spoke her responses in a voice that barely trembled, heard J.T.’s own vows offered in dark, husky tones and felt the cool circle of gold surround her ring finger as he placed it there. His kiss was circumspect, brief, but warm against her mouth. His lips touched her cheek and then whispered words against her ear.

“You won’t be sorry. I promise….”

Maggie’s Beau

“A story of depth and understanding that will touch your heart.”

—Rendezvous

The Bachelor Tax

“From desperate situation to upbeat ending, Carolyn Davidson reminds us why we read romance.”

—Romantic Times

The Tender Stranger

“Davidson wonderfully captures gentleness in the midst of heart-wrenching challenges, portraying the extraordinary possibilities that exist within ordinary marital love.”

—Publishers Weekly

#599 THE LOVE MATCH

Deborah Simmons/Deborah Hale/Nicola Cornick

#601 MARRYING MISCHIEF

Lyn Stone

#602 SHADES OF GRAY

Wendy Douglas

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Gerrity’s Bride #298

Loving Katherine #325

The Forever Man #385

Runaway #416

The Wedding Promise #431

The Tender Stranger #456

The Midwife #475

*The Bachelor Tax #496

*Tanner Stakes His Claim #513

*One Christmas Wish #531

“Wish upon a Star”

Maggie’s Beau #543

The Seduction of Shay Devereaux #556

A Convenient Wife #585

A Marriage by Chance #600

Too often we take for granted those people we live with, the people who make out lives full and rich with their presence. This writer cannot write without an atmosphere conducive to her emotional well-being. I am fortunate to share a home with the mother of three of my grandchildren. So, to Merry, my friend for many years, and to Erin and Kelly Jon, who keep me young, I dedicate this book.

But most of all to the man who makes my life complete: to Mr. Ed, who loves me.

Prologue

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

Epilogue

Silver City, Nevada

March, 1894

Three queens and a pair of deuces appeared before him, and Peter Biddleton all but licked his lips as his eyes flickered to the mound of cash in the middle of the table. It was a cinch, he decided. He had bet first on the three ladies, tossing in his other two cards, and watching as the dealer slid two more in his direction. Now he felt the thundering of his heart as the pair dealt him nestled beside the aloof trio of royal blood.

“Reckon I can bet,” he drawled, pushing in his last gold piece, watching as it rested against several more just like it, there where bits and pieces of cash lured him.

The dark-featured man across the table watched from beneath hooded eyelids, silent as he considered the cards he held. And then he placed them facedown on the table and nudged three gold coins toward the pot. “Got something you’re proud of, sonny?” he asked mildly. “It’ll cost you to stay in.”

Peter aimed a futile glare at the man who spoke. Tall, dressed in the well-worn garb of a cowhand, the stranger had walked with an arrogant stride across the floor of Molly’s Saloon only two hours before. He’d watched for long moments, then joined in the game already in progress. Now his dark, flat gaze focused on his lone opponent, the rest of the men surrounding the table watching with eager eyes the silent battle between the two men.

“That’s the last of my money,” Peter said reluctantly, glancing down again at the full house he was certain was a winner. It felt right. The cards were warm in his hand, the queens looking triumphant, the deuces paired beside them.

“Are you out?” the stranger asked, unmoving except for the lifting of his eyelids as he bent his attention on Peter’s face.

“I’ve got a half interest in a ranch in Wyoming,” Peter blurted. “Worth more than the whole pile,” he muttered, his free hand gesturing at the seductive kitty in the middle of the table.

“Call me or fold.” Lazily spoken, the words were a challenge, one Peter could not ignore.

“I’ll bet the ranch,” he said, making up his mind quickly, before the image of Chloe could force him away from the table and out the saloon door.

“Let’s see your deed.”

“I don’t have it,” Peter admitted. “But I’ll handwrite a letter of ownership.”

“Is there a lawyer in Silver City?” The dark eyes lifted to sort through the gathering crowd.

“I’m a lawyer.” Stout and well dressed, a middle-aged man stepped forward, then directed his attention to Peter. “You sure you want to do this, son?”

Peter nodded, his jaw set, his hands sweating.

“Where’s the ranch?” the lawyer asked, drawing a small notebook from his pocket. His pencil moved quickly across the page as Peter spoke, describing the location and size of the Double B Ranch, his father’s legacy, and then he placed notebook and pencil on the table. “Sign here,” he said, watching as Peter’s trembling fingers grasped the pencil.

Torn from the notebook, the single page fluttered in the air, settling with a whisper of sound atop the pile.

A long index finger nudged the brim of his black hat as the man across the table leaned forward, fanning four jacks across the battered tabletop.

“Let’s see what you’ve got, boy.”

Ripsaw Creek, Wyoming

April, 1894

“Of all the stupid idiots in the world, why did my brother have to be at the top of the list?” Chloe Biddleton’s hand clutched a single sheet of paper, the scrawled letters a tangible threat to everything she held dear. “Damn you, Peter,” she snarled, glaring up at the shimmering sky as though her brother might be visible there among the clouds. And then she repeated the words, softly, in a barely heard whisper, as hot tears filled her eyes.

“Let me see it.” Calm and patient, Hogan held out his hand. “Let me have the letter, Chloe.” Reins in hand, her ranch foreman stood before her, and Chloe placed the missive she’d all but clenched into a wrinkled ball in his palm. Hogan spread it carefully, reading the blotted words and phrases slowly, and his face took on a deadly cast.