Laurie Grant - The Ranger's Bride

But she’d seen his smile, and apparently taken it for condescension. “You think it’s funny, don’t you?” she fumed. “That I would want to do something besides sit and sew all day! Ohhh! Men like you make me so angry—!” She whirled away from him. “Well, good night to you, Rede Smith. I shall leave you to your insufferable dreams of male glory!”

Addy turned on her heel and began to stalk out of the barn, but he didn’t want her to go away angry at him, so he reached out and caught her by her wrist.

“Now, Addy, there’s no need to get your feathers all ruffled—”

“I’m sure you don’t think so,” she snapped, trying to wrench her wrist loose, but he held it fast. “Let me loose, you arrogant sidewinder!”

But he couldn’t…!

Dear Reader,

Harlequin Historicals is putting on a fresh face! We hope you enjoyed our special inside front cover art from recent months. We plan to bring this “extra” to you every month! You may also have noticed our new look—a maroon stripe that runs along the right side of the front cover and an “HH” logo in the upper right corner. Hopefully, this will help you find our books more easily in the crowded marketplace. And thanks again to those of you who participated in our reader survey. Your feedback enables us to bring you more of the stories and authors that you like!

We have four incredible books for you this month. The talented Shari Anton returns with a new medieval novel. Knave of Hearts is a secret-child story about a knight who, in the midst of seeking the hand of a wealthy widow, is unexpectedly reunited with his first—and not forgotten—love. Cheryl St.John’s new Western, Sweet Annie, is full of her signature-style emotion and tenderness. Here, a hardworking horseman falls in love with a crippled young woman whose family refuses to see her as the capable beauty she is.

Ice Maiden, by award-winning author Debra Lee Brown, will grab you and not let go. When a Scottish clan laird washes ashore on a remote island, the price of his passage home is temporary marriage to a Viking hellion whose icy facade belies a burning passion….And don’t miss The Ranger’s Bride, a terrific tale by Laurie Grant. Wounded on the trail of an infamous gang, a Texas Ranger with a past seeks solace in the arms of a beautiful “widow,” who has her own secrets to reveal….

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

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell, Senior Editor

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Beloved Deceiver #170

The Raven and the Swan #205

Lord Liar #257

Devil’s Dare #300

My Lady Midnight #340

Lawman #367

The Duchess and the Desperado #421

Maggie and the Maverick #461

My Lady Reluctant #497

The Ranger’s Bride #550

To Christoval, Texas, home of my grandparents,

the late John Lee and Sally Hill. When I’m writing about

a small town in Texas, I’m thinking of the time I spent

there as a child. And always to my own hero, Michael.

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

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Texas, 1874

He looked like an outlaw on the run, she thought, with his lean, sun-bronzed, beard-shadowed cheeks that hadn’t seen a razor in at least two days, his wide-brimmed hat pulled down low enough so he could see, but no one could really see him. She couldn’t determine whether his eyes were brown or as black as his soul inevitably was.

Or maybe he wasn’t an outlaw, but a gunslinger, a man who made his name by the speed of his draw. There was no gun belt around his waist, but the battered saddlebags he kept on his lap looked heavy and lumpy enough to conceal a pair of Colts. His long legs intruded into space in the crowded stagecoach that was rightly hers, causing her to sit slightly sideways so their knees didn’t bump. Sitting sideways, however, forced her either too close to the big sweaty man who kept giving her avid sidelong glances, or the weary-looking old woman who hadn’t said a word all the way from Austin. It was too hot on this early June midday to sit too close to anyone.

What would either an outlaw or a gunslinger be doing on the stage that ran between Austin and Connor’s Crossing? Wouldn’t such a man have his own horse and keep to himself, except when he was robbing or gunslinging or whatever such men did?

Perhaps, though, she was wrong about the man slouched opposite her on the swaying seat. God knew she had been wrong about men before—especially about her husband, Charles Parker. Ex-husband, she reminded herself. After the divorce she’d had her surname legally changed back to her maiden name, so it was time she remembered to think of herself only and always as Adelaide Kelly. It was imperative that no one in Connor’s Crossing ever discover that she was—gasp—a divorced woman. If they did, the respect that had been automatically extended to her as the widowed niece of the late Maud and Thomas Connor would automatically vanish.

Charles—her gambler ex-husband took himself way too seriously to refer to himself as Charley—was nothing like the man seated across from her. A head shorter than the enigmatic stranger and fanatically neat, Charles would never have appeared in public without the benefit of a shave. He would smell of bay rum, and his watch chain, a wedding present from Adelaide, would gleam across his brocade waistcoat—or it would have, if he hadn’t lost it in a game of monte. He’d get it back, he had assured Addy. By that time, though, she no longer believed his promises.

Addy knew now Charles had sniffed out the information that her family had money before he’d ever asked for that introduction three and a half years ago. But at the time, her head had been so turned by his fervent courtship that she had been deaf to her father’s skepticism and blind to Charles’s faults. It was only after she was Mrs. Charles Parker that she’d discovered that her husband had no assets of his own to speak of and that he’d only married her to get ahold of hers. The honeymoon had barely begun when he’d started going through her bank account at such an alarming pace that Addy’s father had counselled Addy to leave him. “It’s the only sensible thing to do, Adelaide, dear,” her father had said.

However, Charles was always promising he’d make it up to her if she just continued to have faith in him. Addy would see—he’d settle down and become a diligent employee at her father’s shipping firm and an excellent husband. But there was always another game, and he’d need to borrow her diamond and ruby earbobs as a stake. Oh, not that she’d need to fear their loss, for he would win this time.

She’d have saved time and heartache if she had left him early on, but pride prevented her from admitting her mistake. So she’d stayed with him for three years even after her inheritance was gone and they’d lost the house her parents had given them for a wedding present. There followed a succession of rented rooms, each one dingier than the last.