Sarah McCarty - Tracker's Sin

award-winning HELL’S EIGHTseries

Romance Reviews Today Best Erotic Historical Romance

“Sarah McCarty’s new series is an exciting blend of raw masculinity,

spunky, feisty heroines and the wild living in the old west…

Ms. McCarty gave us small peeks into each member of the Hell’s Eight

and I’m looking forward to reading the other men’s stories.”

— Erotica Romance Writers (9/10)

“Intense, edgy and passionate, this is old-school historical romance

at its finest.”

— RT Book Reviews (4.5 stars)

“McCarty continues her Hell’s Eight series with this solidly

plotted tale. There’s wonderful chemistry between Sam and Bella,

and the witty banter between them makes the story come alive.”

— RT Book Reviews (4 stars)

“Readers who enjoy erotic romance but haven’t found an author

who can combine it with an historical setting may discover

a new auto-buy author…I have.”

— All About Romance

RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice for Best Erotic Historical

“What really sets McCarty’s stories apart from simple erotica

is the complexity of her characters and conflicts. The third installment

of her Hells Eight series is historically accurate…and definitely spicy,

but it’s a great love story too.”

— RT Book Reviews (4.5 stars), TOP PICK!

“If you like your historicals packed with emotion, excitement and heat,

you can never go wrong with a book by Sarah McCarty.”

— Romance Junkies

www.spice-books.co.uk

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To Vann—the man who makes me laugh no matter how dark the day. May your life be filled with love, sunshine and laughter for all the rest of your days.

April 5, 1858

Dear Ari,

I don’t know how to start this letter, except to say thank God you’re alive.

So much has happened in the last year. Not all of it good, but some of it so special, there aren’t words to describe it. I’m married. Happily so, to a man of whom Papa would never have approved. He doesn’t have money, doesn’t have social position, and doesn’t care a fig about mine, but he is everything I never dreamed big enough to desire when we used to sit under the apple tree imagining the perfect husband. A heart that knows no limits, a sense of honor that can’t be compromised, and a love for me so rich, I’ll never be poor. He’s Hell’s Eight, and if you’re still living in the Texas territory when this letter finds you, you know what that means. If not, you’re in for a treat. The men of Hell’s Eight are a breed apart. A standard on which to build legends, for all they’ll scoff at you if you tell them so.

My husband’s name is Caine Allen, and he’s the one insisting I write this letter. He believes in family and in my intuition, and though everyone says you’re dead, he says my gut feeling is good enough for him, and he’s promised finding you will be Hell’s Eight’s number one priority. He can be high-handed at times, but in the best ways.

I’m sorry I can’t introduce you to the man handing you this letter, but you see, I’ve made seven copies and entrusted them to seven different men: Tucker, Sam, Tracker, Shadow, Luke, Caden and Ace. Like my husband, they’re Hell’s Eight and I’m asking you to put yourself in their care because each one of them has made a promise to me, one they’ve sworn to uphold.

They’ve promised to bring you home, Ari. Home to Hell’s Eight, where there’s no past, no recriminations, no judgment, just peace and a place where you can breathe easily. After what we’ve been through, I know it sounds like a preacher’s description of heaven, illusive and unreal. But I promise you there is a way out of hell and if you haven’t already found it, I’ll help you.

Trust no one but them, Ari, because Father’s solicitor, Harold Amboy, is the one who arranged for us to be ambushed initially, and he has men hunting for you, too. He intends to control Father’s money through one of us. But you can trust any of these men. Absolutely and completely, with everything you hold dear.

I’m crying as I write this. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. I can’t forget how we parted. My nightmares, which must have been your reality. The sense of helplessness as I stare at the night sky, wondering if you can see the same stars, wondering if you’re healthy, happy, and most of all safe.

Do you remember the game we used to play as children when things didn’t go our way? How we’d find a patch of daisies dappled in sunlight, link our hands in our special way and then just spin until we didn’t care about anything else? I so want to see you again, Ari, find a patch of daisies, grab hands and spin until laughter takes over and all the bad falls away. Though it’s irrational, because I have no idea how long it will take the men to find you—days, months, years—I have to say this.

Hurry home, Ari. I’ve planted a patch of daisies and it’s waiting.

“So you’re going after her?”

Tracker nodded in response to his twin brother’s question, then yanked the square knot tight on the rawhide, securing his bedroll to the back of the saddle. Desi’s letter to Ari rustled in his pocket, a subtle prod.

Tin rattled against tin as Shadow stuffed his plate and cup into his saddlebags. “We’ve got a better lead,” he said, pointing out the obvious for the second time since they’d set up camp the night before. “The Saransens down Cavato way actually have a blond woman confirmed, living in town.”

Tracker looked at Shadow. It was like gazing in the mirror. His twin had the same height, same broad shoulders, the same sharp planes to his face that lent a cruel edge to his expression. The latter came from their father. The only softness in his face was that full mouth, a gift from their Mexican mother. The same deep brown eyes with the cynical edge that came from knowing everything had a price.

Tracker and Shadow had learned young how to blend into the world around them so they’d be invisible to the “marks” their father wanted them to rob. A pity they’d never been able to hide from him. Tracker jerked the knot again, remembering the spew of bile that had rained down in insults and beatings if their father’s standards weren’t met.

As the older brother by twenty minutes, he’d tried his whole life to protect Shadow from the harshness of their world. He hadn’t been successful. Shadow had suffered at the hands of their father. He’d suffered at the hands of the Mexican army that had wiped out their town when they were just boys. He’d suffered in the days after the massacre as he and the seven other orphaned boys had almost starved to death, searching for a place to belong. In the end, they’d made their home together, found acceptance in each other. And in the years since, those eight boys had grown into the most feared men of the Texas plains. Tracker and Shadow had family in Hell’s Eight, but any respect they garnered outside the confines of Hell’s Eight land they’d earned with their blood. In this country, the only respect a man held was that which he took. And he and Shadow had taken more than their fair share.