Linda Castle - Temple's Prize

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

www.millsandboon.co.uk

is the pseudonym of Linda L. Crockett, a third-generation native New Mexican. Linda started writing in March of 1992, and Temple’s Prize is her fourth book from Harlequin Historicals.

When not penning novels, Linda divides her time between being a wife, mother and grandmother. She loves speaking to aspiring writers and teaching them what she has learned. Her best advice—write from the heart.

Linda believes one of the greatest benefits she has received from writing historical novels is the mail from the readers. She encourages and welcomes comments to be sent to: Linda Castle, #18, Road 5795, Farmington, NM 87401. Please include a SASE for a reply/bookmark.

Dedication:

I thank God for the miracle of each day and the love of my family. Especially Bill, for all the times you have cheerfully taken us out to dinner because I forgot to cook. For all the mornings you let me sleep in while you go to the salt mines. For all the hours you act like you are truly interested in hearing about people who live only in my mind and on the printed page, you still have my heart. Your tender love and care are the essence and soul of my writing. I am proud to be your wife.

And Brandon, for all the times you have sat in my office, patiently waiting for me to write one more line—one more paragraph—for forgiving me when my eyes glaze over and I start plotting in the middle of a conversation, thank you. Each day you gracefully step closer to manhood. If you continue as you have begun, you will make a real hero.

To Logan, for all the times you have come to give me a hug and a kiss when I was mentally lost in some other time and place. You instinctively provide what I need, you forgive me when I have been too busy to go to the park or to the movies, and I am so very grateful. You are a unique treasure, my darling. It is a privilege to live with you and watch you grow.

I am thankful I am Mom to you both. What would life be like if I had boring, uninteresting children who never gave me plotlines or graying hair?

Without you three I could not do this—and I doubt I would even want to. I adore you all more than words can say.

A special nod to Partie Steele-Perkins. I hope you know what a large contribution you make to this whole crazy process. Thanks.

“Confound it, Constance Honoria, I will not allow that scoundrel to steal Montague’s endowment from this university!”

“Now, Papa.” Constance tried to placate her agitated father. “Remember what your doctor said.”

“Confound him, too. I refuse to stay home while that bounder goes in search of the prize. I have survived jungle rains, snakebite and insect infestation.” He flung the newspaper he had been brandishing like a weapon across the crowded office. It narrowly missed several native clay pots Constance had been meticulously illustrating while she cataloged them into the university archives.

Professor Charles Herbert Cadwallender rose unsteadily to his feet. Even with the aid of his cane, it was obvious the heavy plaster cast on his leg was cumbersome to manage. When he glanced away Constance picked up the newspaper and looked at the photograph on the front page. She could see why her father was in such a state. The caption below Temple Parish’s handsome visage declared him on the way to becoming the most noted scientist and explorer of 1889. That alone would be enough to send her father into an apoplectic fit—without mention of Filbert Montague’s rich endowment.

“Papa, I’m sure Temple will earn—”

“Earn? Earn? Temple Parish has never earned anything in his life!” The aging professor leaned heavily on his cane beside a table strewed with odd rocks and bits of broken bones. His spare weather-hardened body vibrated with indignant fury. “Temple has charmed or cajoled or committed outright thievery to worm his way into the scientific community ever since I hired him as my assistant.”

Constance pushed the wire-rimmed spectacles up on the bridge of her nose, and as she did the past came into sharp focus. She remembered the day her father and Temple had parted company as if it were only yesterday. That was the day Temple Parish had pulled on her braids, winked at her, kissed her forehead and walked out of her life.

“Something must be done! Dandridge University is going to lose out on a one-hundred-thousand-dollar endowment unless I can find a way to go on that dig.”

“Papa, would it help if I went to see Temple—if I talked to him? Maybe we could reach some sort of understanding.”

“Constance Honoria Cadwallender, haven’t you been listening? I am talking about Temple Parish—the blackest-hearted pirate to walk God’s earth since Captain Kidd!”

Constance tilted her head and frowned at the idea. She had. thought of Temple in many different ways over the past ten years, but as hard as she tried to conjure up the image, she simply could not consider Temple something as outmoded as an ancient, unscrupulous pirate.

It was just silly. And even though people whispered his name in the hallways of the university, and just because her father refused to discuss him at all, there was really no cause to think that he would be unreasonable about this little problem.

Constance pushed up her glasses. There had to be a civilized and sensible way around this dilemma and she intended to find it.

“Mr. Parish?” The fledgling reporter was clearly in awe.

“Please, Thaddeus, call me Temple.” Temple smiled, hoping to set the eager young man at ease. Noise surrounded them as the elegant dining room started to fill with refined, well-dressed women and their evening escorts. Temple glanced down at his dusty clothes and worn high-topped boots and realized he was sorely out of place in New York’s finer dining establishments. The clothing he wore would have been out of place no matter the time of day. He unconsciously rubbed his finger across the raised scar on his cheekbone.

“Mr. Parish—Temple, I mean?”

“What? Oh, I’m sorry, Thaddeus, go ahead with your interview.” Temple leaned back in the comfortably padded dining chair.

“Do you have any comment on the criticism that Professor Cadwallender has been giving you in the Sentinel? Would you like to rebut his recent comments?”

Temple’s scalp prickled but he kept a broad smile pasted on his face and forced himself to remain calm. “I respect C.H. very much. I have nothing but respect and admiration for him. I only hope his advancing years do not prevent him from accepting this challenge. It would be a great boon to Dandridge University if he could at least make a good showing—for the sake of his reputation.”

While Thaddeus Ball scribbled in a small dog-eared pad, Temple allowed his gaze to skim over the women seated around him. Feminine whispers accompanied flushed cheeks. Several smiled and let their eyes linger a. moment longer than polite society dictated was proper. He smiled back, even though none of them caught his interest. The Sentinel had been running a series of articles about him and had managed to paint him to be a combination of Louis Lartet, the discoverer of Cro-Magnon man, and Casanova, the world’s greatest lover. In truth Temple was no more than a weary wanderer in desperate need of a bath, a bed and a woman who could understand multisyllable words—not necessarily in that order, of course. As he glanced around the room he realized he would be lucky to find even one of those three in his present environment.

“Well, Mr. Parish—I mean, Temple, is there anything else you would like to tell our readers?”