Catherine Palmer - The Maverick's Bride

“Emma, wait. Listen to me.” Adam caught her wrists and pulled her back toward him. He’d never been a man to think things through too carefully. He did what felt right.

“I want you to come with me,” he told her. “I need your help. Let’s go right now. Emma, I’ll take care of you.”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” she shot back. “God is watching over me.”

“Emma!” Both turned toward the open door where Emma’s sister stood, eyes wide.

“Emma, go with him!” Cissy crossed the room toward them. “Run away with him, Emma. It’s your chance to escape—to become a nurse, as you’ve always wanted. You’ll be safe at last, and you can have your dream.”

Emma turned back to Adam.

“Come on,” he urged her. “Let’s get moving.”

The bestselling author of more than fifty novels with over two million copies sold, Catherine Palmer is a Christy Award-winner for outstanding Christian romance fiction. Catherine’s numerous awards include Best Historical Romance, Best Contemporary Romance, Best of Romance from Southwest Writers Workshop and Most Exotic Historical Romance Novel from Romantic Times BOOKreviews. She is also a Romantic Times BOOKreviews Career Achievement Award winner.

Catherine grew up in Bangladesh and Kenya, and she now makes her home in Georgia. She and her husband of thirty years have two sons. A graduate of Southwest Baptist University, she also holds a master’s degree from Baylor University.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Delight thyself also in the Lord; and he shall give the desires of thine heart.

—Psalms 37:4

For Tim

With all my love

Always…

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

Questions for Discussion

1898, British Protectorate of East Africa

“Oh, Emma, what shall I do?” Priscilla Pickering lifted her tear-rimmed blue eyes. Sniffling, she raised her white lace handkerchief and dabbed at her cheek.

Emma sighed inwardly as she looked at her sister. “You will do as you’ve always done, Cissy. You will put on your brightest smile and bid him farewell as if he didn’t mean a thing in the world to you.” Stepping back from the open trunk, Emma tossed a pink ostrich-plumed hat onto the bed. “This will have to do, Cissy. We haven’t time to look for the white one. Father is already waiting on deck.”

“But, Emma, you don’t understand. Dirk is different. I do love him—truly.”

Emma buckled the trunk and picked up her own lavender hat. How many times had she helped her sister recover from a broken heart? She pursed her lips for a moment. “I know you love him. But, Cissy, honestly—you’ve loved them all. You insisted you loved that awful what’s-his-name who tried to take you off to Sussex. And you loved that banker chap who was going to carry you to France if Father hadn’t ordered him away and locked you in your room.”

“Emma, Dirk isn’t like those other men.” Cissy sniffled again and ran her delicate fingers through the ostrich plumes. “Dirk is good and kind. He loves me, Emma. We want to be married.”

Stifling another sigh, Emma crossed the floor of the steamship cabin and knelt before her sister. “Cissy, dear, you must try to accept the truth. Dirk Bauer is a soldier. He has no money at all. He’s leaving the ship in less than an hour for his post along the border. And Cissy—he’s not even English.”

At this Cissy burst into renewed sobbing. “Oh, Emma, I know it’s hopeless! We’ll leave this ship so Father can survey his silly railway—and I’ll never see Dirk again.”

Emma took her sister into her arms. “There, there. It’s not so bad.”

She reflected for a moment upon that morning—was it only three weeks ago?—when she and Cissy had been promenading on the deck. They had rounded a corner and come upon a cluster of young German soldiers. She smiled, remembering the awkward introductions, the men gazing in awe of Cissy, as men always did, and Cissy’s hat blowing, as if on cue, into the arms of the handsomest of them all.

Emma had gone off on her own then—preferring the ocean breeze and the rolling waves to flirtatious chatter. She recalled climbing to the top deck and standing alone beneath a brilliant azure sky. She had stared out across the endless ocean as if she might catch a glimpse of her future.

Subsequent meetings between Dirk and Cissy had been a great secret, although of course Emma had known. It was her responsibility to keep Cissy in hand. As the practical sister, Emma had attempted to dissuade her sibling from the fruitless course. But perhaps it had been the sea air, or the glorious sunshine. At any rate, Emma filled most of her hours with contemplation and study of the land to which God had led her.

The British Protectorate of East Africa.

Books, geographical society pamphlets, maps—as she devoured them, Emma shivered at the wonders in store. But the land held more than beauty. It was a place of hidden promises. God had laid out His plan for Emma’s life nearly two years before. While making her debut into society at St. James’s Court, she had heard someone coughing as she stepped down from the carriage. Wearing nothing but rags, a little girl huddled alone against the cold iron fence that surrounded the palace.

Despite longing to help the child, Emma had heeded her father’s command to stop dawdling. When she emerged several hours later, she saw two men lifting the girl’s lifeless body into a cart. That moment had propelled Emma on a journey that led her to Africa and the hope of finding a hospital where she could practice her hard-won skill as a nurse.

“It’s lovely for you, Emma!” Cissy pouted, breaking into her sister’s thoughts. “This is just your sort of thing—savages and wild animals. But where does it leave me? You’ll never get married—and Father won’t let me marry until you do.”

Emma wished for the thousandth time that her sister would follow the example she set and take hold of her emotions. At age twenty, Cissy should not be weeping and flailing about all the time. Common sense kept trouble at bay. Emma had learned that lesson the hard way.

“Cissy, you know Father dotes on you,” she said. “He’ll let you marry soon enough, I’m sure he will.”

“But I won’t have Dirk!”

“But you will have someone. Someone who will take care of you. You’ll have children and a happy home and everything you’ve dreamed of.”

“I want to marry Dirk.” Cissy wadded her handkerchief into a ball and set her jaw.

It was a look Emma knew well enough. With a grin, she gave her sister a hug and set the pink hat on Cissy’s head. “There now. Dry your eyes and put on your smile. We must leave the cabin soon. Father will be growing impatient.”

Rising, Emma shook out the folds of her lavender silk skirt and stepped to the mirror on the bulkhead beside the door. Cissy joined her, and together they adjusted and pinned their hats to the rolls of hair coiled on their heads. Emma watched Cissy dab at her soft blue eyes—twin sapphires set in the palest porcelain—and pinch her cheeks to bring out the roses. It was easy to see why men went mad for Cissy, Emma thought. Her sister’s hair shone like the sun and she had curves in all the right places.