Lynna Banning - Lady Lavender

Wash half turned to her. “You all right?”

She nodded, and he climbed down and began to unhook the rig. She thought a smile touched his mouth. He was pleased, then, with their day’s work? Or was he pleased that his precious railroad could now roll its iron tracks over her farm?

Jeanne was weary, but not so much that she couldn’t feel the inexplicable pull toward the man who was now lifting her sleeping daughter into his arms. He paused at the door to her room while she unlocked it. Light spilled from the doorway, illuminating where she and Manette slept.

He entered as if expecting to be ambushed, then gently deposited Manette on the big double bed. When he straightened Jeanne laid her hand on his muscled forearm. He flinched the tiniest bit, and somehow she guessed he was weighing his reticence about her against his masculine need. That pleased her.

“You have been very kind,” she said. “You are a good man, Monsieur Wash.”

The oddest expression crossed his face, and in his gray eyes she suddenly saw both wariness and raw desire.

Lady Lavender

Harlequin ®Historical #1027—February 2011

Templar Knight, Forbidden Bride

“Banning uses the exotic setting of Moorish Spain, troubadours, tournaments, politics and adventure in an engaging tale that will pique the interest of fans of the medieval era.”

—RT Book Reviews

Crusader’s Lady

“Marc and Soraya’s love story is touching, and the plot will make you wonder until the last page how they will get together.”

—RT Book Reviews

Loner’s Lady

“[A] poignant tale of a woman’s coming of age.”

—RT Book Reviews

The Ranger and the Redhead

“[A] fast-paced, adventure-filled story.”

—RT Book Reviews

The Wedding Cake War

“You’ll love Banning’s subtle magic with romance.”

—RT Book Reviews

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Western Rose #310

Wildwood #374

Lost Acres Bride #437

Plum Creek Bride #474

The Law and Miss Hardisson #537

The Courtship #613

The Angel of Devil’s Camp #649

The Scout #682

High Country Hero #706

One Starry Christmas #723

“Hark the Harried Angels”

The Wedding Cake War #730

The Ranger and the Redhead #773

Loner’s Lady #806

Crusader’s Lady #842

Templar Knight, Forbidden Bride #914

Lady Lavender #1027

Look for another romantic ride

into the West from

Lynna Banning

in

Happily Ever After in the West

Coming May 2011

For my dear friend Susan Renison.

With thanks to Tricia Adams, Suzanne Barrett,

Kathleen Dougherty, Karyn Witmer-Gow,

Shirley Marcus, Brenda Preston, and David Woolston

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

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Smoke River, Oregon 1867

When Wash Halliday came home from the war, Smoke River gave him a hero’s welcome. The tattered remains of the marching band gathered in the town square wearing their faded green uniforms and once-gold buttons and blared “Hail the Conquering Hero” only slightly off-key.

His ears rang with the noise, and he felt it all the way down to his feet. He glanced down at the leather boots in which, a year ago, he had marched from the Union prison at Richmond all the way to Fort Kearney. Now, he was back in Smoke River.

Midsummer sunlight glanced off the tuba and Wash stifled an urge to duck; the flash of light looked exactly like an exploding mortar.

Thad McAllister, the graying band leader, pumped his skinny arms rhythmically up and down, up and down, but now Wash could hear nothing. A roaring noise bloomed in his head, rolled and echoed like thunder, and then a high-pitched scream began. He pressed both hands over his ears.

Stop. Stop. Behind his closed eyes the red-gold explosions began again.

“Havin’ one of yer spells, are ya?” his grizzled companion queried softly.

“What? No…no. Just can’t stop remembering.”

The sun-blackened half-Comanche furrowed his salt-and-pepper eyebrows. “Let’s get away from this headache powwow and have a drink. Saloon’s just across the street.”

Rooney was usually thirsty for some Red Eye about this time of day. Wash usually wasn’t. But today it was the other way around.

He waved his thanks at the bandleader and the two men marched through the crowd across the main street of hard-packed dirt. The hot afternoon breeze rustled the leaves of maple and poplar trees, already turning gold even though it was only August.

The buildings were sparse but well-kept. Livery stable, sheriff’s office, mercantile and two saloons. “Damn small town for a railway station,” Rooney muttered.

“It’ll grow,” Wash said with conviction. “When the railroad comes through it’ll be the biggest town in Jefferson County.”

Rooney shot him a look and spat tobacco juice from one side of his mouth. “Railroad ain’t comin’ if you don’t get the surveyin’ done and get yer clearing crews out here.”

Wash didn’t answer. He had plenty of time. Grant Sykes of the Oregon Central Railroad wouldn’t expect a route plotted for another week; that gave him four days to inspect the area and get the survey crew started.

He resettled his Stetson and gestured at the rickety-looking two-story building with a fancy gold-lettered sign out front. “Golden Partridge. Jupiter! Oregon settlers sure have a knack for fancied-up names.”

“Name don’t mean nothin’,” Rooney said in a dry tone. “It’s the whiskey that counts.”

Wash gritted his teeth. “Names always mean something. Just look at George Washington Halliday here and tell me you don’t see the gold braid and spit-polished boots Pop thought went with the name.”

Rooney grunted. “Get over it, Wash. Your pa named you, but it was you went off to be a big hero in the War. You said your momma like to die when she seen you all bony and crippled up after Gettysburg. Anyway, that was back then, and the Golden Partridge is in the sweet here and now.”

Wash tramped up the board sidewalk, glanced at the horse he’d tied up at the hitching rail and pushed through the double doors of the saloon. Rooney puffed through the entrance behind him.

“Howdy, gents,” the grinning barkeep called. “Beer?”