by Sarah Winn

Excerpt

As she got out of her car, his door opened and he stood silhouetted against the light. Tight jeans and a fitted polo shirt showed his physique off to great advantage. Her pulse rate went up. Whoa! She better slow down. At least wait until they were inside before jumping him.

  "Hello," his deep voice called out. "I see you didn't have any trouble finding the place."

The thought of being sexually aggressive caused her to smile a little more broadly than she had intended. "No. I used to come down Monroe Street all the time to go shopping."

He stepped aside so she could enter. "Back in the old days when there were stores downtown," he said.  

"Ah, well, Harperville's gone to the suburbs like everywhere else."

"And thank heaven it has. I make a living off all those suburbanites."

She paused and glanced around the room, surprised by a wall honey-combed with a built-in plasma TV, stereo equipment, and shelves filled with tapes and disks. "That's some home-entertainment center."

"After working all day, I like to come home and relax." He gestured toward the overstuffed, leather-covered sofa that faced the TV and nearly filled the room. "Sit down. I'll get you a drink."

She accepted his invitation to sit and the crinkling as she sank into the cushions told her the covering was vinyl not real leather. Bookshelves against the wall and a low table in front of the couch were the only other pieces of furniture in the room.

"I've got beer and white wine. What can I get you?" Wade asked.

"The wine, thanks."

He smiled as though pleased by her choice and headed for an open archway on the far side of the room. She settled back on the couch, glad she'd worn slacks so her legs wouldn’t stick to the vinyl. He returned, carrying a stemmed glass in one hand and a beer can in the other. After handing her the glass, he popped the top on the can.

She felt ill at ease, not knowing how to start the conversation. She took a sip of the wine and nodded at him. "This chardonnay is good."

He sat on the far end of the couch and took a long swallow of his beer. Then he held the can up and said, "So's this."

"Since you obviously prefer beer, I hope you didn’t buy wine just for me."

"Some women don't like beer, so I keep wine on hand."

Before taking another sip of her wine, she said, "Oh, yes, I've heard you know a lot about what women like."

He looked puzzled. "You've heard — about me?"

She chuckled. "Someone told me just today that you're quite the — ah - womanizer."

He shrugged. "That shows you how little the people here have to talk about." Turning more fully toward her, he leaned against the arm of the sofa and waited, as if for the next jab of their sparring match.

Linda didn't know exactly why she was here, but it certainly wasn't to fight. "I'm just kidding around, Wade. Don't get your nose out of joint."

He continued to frown at her. "Is that why you came here tonight, to kid around?"

"Well — like you said, to talk over old times. We used to be good friends, and we haven't seen each other in a long time."

"Friends? Is that all we were?"

She sat her wine glass on the coffee table with a sharp clink. "We became lovers, but we were friends first."

He grinned lopsidedly. "Well, I guess that old saying is true. Love ruins friendship.”

He almost sounded like he regretted their breakup. “Can’t we still be friends?”

“Can we? You’re on your way to becoming a big-time lawyer and I’m just the lawn guy.”

“We still have a lot in common. We both grew up in Harperville and went to the same high school. Of course, in school you were the star running back on the football team, and I was so shy that I barely spoke to you.”

"Shy? I thought you were stuck-up." His teasing grin softened his meaning. "But that was the first summer I worked for your dad. As I recall, you were a lot friendlier the second."

She reached for her wine glass and took another sip to cover the jolt of excitement his reference to their summer of love caused her. "I had to be after all my friends found out you were working at our place and started showing up every week. They said they wanted to use the pool, but they really wanted to flirt with you."

Wade hung his head in an unsuccessful attempt to look modest. "Those girls embarrassed me."

"Huh! You loved it, never missed a chance to pull your shirt off to make them drool even more."

"That was hot work and also dangerous. It was hard to keep my mind on mowing grass while the best looking girls in town jiggled around the pool in bikinis. I'm lucky I didn't cut my foot off that summer."

They both laughed. Then Linda grew serious and asked, "With all those girls to choose from, why did you only date me?"

"You were the classiest chick in the flock."

Was that just another line or did he mean it? "You liked my class?"

"That too, but remember I was a teenager. You held your own in the bikini department."

He was flirting with her. But he was good at it, and she wanted the game to go on. "Thanks for not saying you picked me because I was so eager."

"Were you? I couldn't tell. Asking you out was one of the scariest things I ever did."

His remark surprised her. "Why? Wasn't it obvious that we girls were all crazy about you?"

"I always felt the girls from your side of town liked to look, but didn't want me to look back."

"Such thinking cut you out of a lot of action that summer."

"I had all the action I wanted," he said, as he stared into her eyes like he really meant it.

She stared back, trying to gauge his honesty. His expression and his manner seemed open and up front, but she reminded herself he’d fooled her with phony sincerity when he was a lot younger and less experienced than he was now. She needed to take everything he said with a grain of salt. "We had some wild times. I can't believe the chances we took."

"I'll say!" He shook his head as if in disbelief. "I'm lucky as hell your old man never figured out what was going on between us."

She drained her wine glass. "One of the advantages of having a captain of industry for a father. He was hardly ever at home."

"That damn housekeeper was. A couple of times I got splinters shimmying down the tree next to your bedroom window."

They both laughed, and then Wade sprang to his feet. "Let me get you more wine."

Before she could decline, he was back bearing the wine bottle and a bag of chips. "I forgot about these," he said as he sat the bag in front of her. "As you can see, I'm a host who spares no expense."  He sat beside her, near enough to refill her wine glass and make her aware of the muscular arm he casually draped over the back of the sofa. "Now where were we?"

"Talking about what wild and crazy kids we were."

He stared into her eyes. "I figured you’d have forgotten those days."

She chuckled as she shook her head. "How could I? Every time I hear John Cougar sing 'Jack and Diane' I think of us.

"For me it’s Bob Segar's 'Night Moves'."

"You're kidding."

His hand lightly fell on her shoulder. "Why do women think they're the only ones who have sentimental memories?"

He was trying to sound like what had happened between them had been important to him. She couldn’t let him get away with that. "You were my first. That made you a lot more memorable to me."

He leaned so close that his breath caressed her ear. "You were my first love."

She couldn’t think of quip to throw back at him. Had he really loved her even for a little while? What difference did it make now? She shrugged. “We were just teenagers experimenting.”

His hand began to massage the back of her neck. “Those were some pretty hot experiments.” Moving gently but relentlessly, his hand sent warm surges into her body.

Nobody ever turned her on this quickly. Was it his technique or her memories? He slipped an arm around her and pulled her shoulder against his hard chest. The spicy scent of his after-shave distracted her attempts to think rationally.

She did manage to turn her face away from his as she said, "That happened a long time ago."

"How about a stroll down memory lane?" His tongue lightly toyed with her ear lobe.

A shiver ran down Linda's spine. The sensible side of her brain whispered warnings, but the sensual side held a ticker tape parade. This was Wade, the boy who had made her a woman, the boy she'd never forgotten. Down through the years, she'd told herself her memories of him were exaggerated. He hadn't been so much better than the men who came after him. Their youthful exuberance had just made it seem so. Well, here was a chance to settle the question once and for all.

She turned her face toward his. He placed his hand against her cheek and stared into her eyes, just stared, until Linda couldn't stand the suspense any longer and gave him a light kiss of invitation. When he didn't respond, she whispered, "Remember when we used to drive up to Ridge Road and park?" She kissed him with more force and then traced his lips with her tongue.

His arms went around her and pulled her chest against his. His voice dropped to a near whisper as he said, "Remember the night a car pulled up behind us when we were both naked?"

She started laughing so hard that she had to rest her head against his chest. Finally she managed to say, "I can still see your bare butt in the headlights as you dived back into the front seat."

Their bodies rubbed together as they both laughed. "You didn't think it was funny then," he said. "You were screaming, 'Get us out of here. Get us out of here.'"

"I was afraid it was some killer coming after us."

"I was afraid it was you old man."

As the laughter between them dwindled, Linda realized Wade had leaned back into a vertical position on the couch and she was on top of him. He had one foot resting on the floor and his legs widely apart. She could feel a familiar bulge pressing against her thigh. If she were going to stop, she had to do it now. But the exhilarating combination of familiarity and excitement coursing though her body convinced her she didn't want to stop.

She pulled herself up until she could look down on him. "We're consenting adults now we don't have to be afraid of anyone."

"Are you consenting?"

"Yes."

His hand cupped the back of her head and he pulled her into a kiss that quickly developed into a battle of their tongues. His other hand moved to her butt, pulling her more tightly against him. She deliberately squirmed against his arousal and he growled, his sound waves vibrating in her mouth.

She didn't know what happened then, maybe Wade tried to get on top, but they slid on the vinyl and off the couch, bumping into the coffee table so hard that her nearly full glass of wine tipped over and splashed them. Linda squealed and Wade shouted an expletive.

She started laughing again, trapping him under her in the narrow space between the couch and the coffee table. When she finally crawled back onto the couch, making it possible for him to get up, he said. "I do have a bedroom."

Between giggles, she replied, "Thank goodness." 

by Sarah Winn

Excerpt

Isabel stopped before the closed door of a strange man’s bedroom. This was the moment she’d been preparing for since her marriage. It was time to do her duty to her husband and the baronetcy. She could hear her frantic heart beat and feared she might faint or perhaps hoped she would. What she was about to do seemed wrong to her, even though Kendrick said it wasn’t. But he was her lord and master and the welfare of her family depended on his good will. She could not go against him.

Kendrick, who was standing just behind her, lightly touched her back, and whispered, “Pretend he’s a prince sleeping under the spell of a wicked witch, and only you can awaken him. Use you imagination, my dear, and you might enjoy yourself.”

She looked back at him, astonished that he would even suggest such a thing. He smiled, as he did when treating her like a stupid child, and gave her a slight push. After taking a deep breath, she reached for the iron lever that would open the door. She heard her husband clumsily moving back so he couldn’t be seen. Did he fear Sir Daniel might be awake?

The door slowly opened. The hinges had apparently been greased for there was no squeak. Isabel held the door so it wouldn’t open too widely, and peered around the edge of it. A fire had been lit against the nighttime chill that came with the harvest season, and she could see the outline of the large bed against a far wall. The curtains had been left open and she saw the silhouette of a man’s body. He was lying on his back and the rumbling of deep breathing sounded like that of a sleeping man.

She looked back at Kendrick who impatiently waved her onward, so she stepped into the room and softly closed the door. She moved toward the bed, waiting after each step to see if the man stirred. As she drew closer, she studied his profile. A broad forehead, a straight nose, a strong chin with no wrinkled skin under it. A cover had been drawn halfway up his chest, but his shoulders were bare. Even in repose he looked powerful. One arm had been thrown up beside his head and muscle bulged in his forearm. Suppose she startled him awake and he swung that thick arm at her?

Still several feet from the bed, she whispered, “Sir Daniel.”

He didn’t move.

She stepped closer and spoke more loudly, but his heavy breathing continued without interruption. For a moment she was relieved he didn’t awaken, then she realized she had no further excuses. She had to do it. But how to proceed? What had Esmeralda done?

Isabel peeled the covers away from his body and stared in awe at the width of his chest, the slimness of his waist and hips. Even his legs were muscular. His male member looked large despite its limpness; the problem she must overcome. Pulling the sides of her cloak out of her way, she gingerly crawled onto the bed. 

Daniel dreamed someone far away called his name. Then the bed moved. That wasn’t right. He was alone, wasn’t he? Why couldn’t he open his eyes? He’d drunk too much. Much too much. But he’d been the honored guest.

Cool air bathed his naked body. The covers had been cast aside. What was happening? He managed to crack one eye open. A black shape hovered over him like a large bird with its wings partially furled. Dim flickers of firelight bounced off glossy feathers. No it was hair. Was the figure a woman? The dark robe opened and firm breasts jutted out.

Had his uncle sent a castle wench to warm his bed? Was he too drunk to use her? How embarrassing. Why didn’t she speak? Why couldn’t he speak to her? This must be a dream. A drunken revelry.

Ice cold fingers touched and then spread out on his chest. The shock caused the breath to shoosh from his lungs. No dream could do that. No human woman could be so cold. Had a demon come to his bed, a succubus? He’d never believed the tales of female demons coming in the night to steal a man’s seed. Had he been wrong?

The icy fingers rubbed through the hair on his chest. The fingers grew warmer and his skin colder. Was she draining the heat from his body? Had she come to steal his soul—his life? She wasn’t a large demon, if he could just move his arm he could bat her away, but his limbs were leaden. She had cast a spell over him.

Why was this happening to him? He wasn’t a bad man. He’d always tried to do his duty to God and his liege lord.

Her fingertips found and rubbed his nipples. Some of the coldness left his chest. Perhaps she didn’t mean to kill him. But if she sought to arouse him, she was doomed to failure. Her spell had left him with too little feeling. Her hands continued to move in languid circles from his chest, across his stomach, coming ever closer to the center of his manhood. She touched him there. Her fingers were now warm and soft, very soft.

She held his flaccid cock in one hand and massaged his ballocks with the other. The heat she had collected in her fingers moved into his balls and on to his cock. Amazingly, it grew firmer. As her hand closed around the new firmness and moved the skin back and forth, it seemed as if all the feeling from his deadened limbs collected there.

Stop, stop, he silently yelled at his traitorous body. He didn’t want to impregnate some hag from hell.

Silken hair brushed his upper thighs. She’d lowered her head. The stroke of her tongue sent fire though his cock. She lapped across the tip and around the sides. Then her lips closed around him and her tongue began a sensuous massage. Her suction pulled his cock to ever greater size and stiffness.

The pressure stopped and he opened both eyes. Pushing the sides of her robe further back, the demon straddled him. Shadows hid her face, but he clearly saw her ivory thighs on either side of his hips. He realized she about to impale herself on his cock. She did intend to steal his seed. He sought to evade her, but his body remained leaden. She began rubbing the tip of his cock against the warm, sticky skin between her legs and his battle was lost.

Slowly she inched down over him, tightly encasing him in hot slickness. He could think of nothing but the pleasure he felt. Her thighs began to contract and relax as she moved up and down on him. How was it possible for a man to lie in near paralysis and yet feel such intense pleasure? She increased the speed of her movements and a beast-like grunt came from his throat. It was the only sound he could make.

Then she sank down to fully cover his shaft and began to rock her hips back and forth so vigorously that he feared she meant to do him physical damage, but he could not fight or protest. He could only lie helplessly as the tempest built within him. He felt a spurt of relief and she stopped moving and clamped around his cock with rhythmic contractions that were surely intended to milk every drop of his manhood. And he could only groan from the pleasure of it.

When his cock shriveled, she sighed and dropped to the bed beside him. He felt her now warm body nestled against his. The covers were pulled over their nakedness, sealing out the cool air. He quickly fell into a deep sleep.

Isabel had remembered Wanda the Witch telling her it was best to lay down for a while so the man’s seed wouldn’t fall out, so she laid beside Daniel’s warm body and felt surprisingly content. Kendrick was always telling her how stupid and inept she was. She hoped this would finally silence him. And it hadn’t been as difficult as she’d imagined.

After Daniel’s member had grown to it’s full size, she’d really feared she couldn’t do it. But touching his firm skin, rubbing her fingers through the thick hair on his chest, and perhaps even his musky scent had caused something strange to happened. It had made her want to feel him inside her, and then she’d become wet and slick so she could slip down over him. He had stretched her and filled her as she’d never been filled before, and she’d liked it so much that she’d almost lost control of her own body, only at the last minute remembering the way Esmeralda had told her to pump his seed from him.

            It wouldn’t be difficult to do this every night for a fortnight. She only hoped the potions Kendrick was slipping into Sir Daniel’s brandy wouldn’t do the young man harm.

by Sarah Winn

Excerpt

Jocelyn awoke with a start. The bed was moving. Then she saw the pale glow of firelight through a crack in the curtains. A large shadow moved into the light. With a squeal of alarm she rolled toward the far side of the bed, only to bump into the wall the bed stood against.

            "Don't be frightened, Jocelyn. 'Tis Alard." He moved onto the bed, carefully closing the bed curtain behind him so they were cocooned in complete darkness.

            She pressed against the headboard, clutching the covers to her chest. "Is this how you honor your word to my father?"

            "How have I broken faith with your father?"

            "He said the final choice would be mine."

            "And so it shall."

            "What choice will I have after you have defiled me?"

            "I'm here to talk, Jocelyn, only talk. Simon told me you were upset because I did not greet you today."

            "I wasn't upset, only surprised. 'Tis common courtesy to greet guests on their arrival, or at least, to give some reason why you do not."

            "I simply wish us to spend time together without the pressure of others watching our every move. Your brother is a stout fellow, but his jests can be cutting."

            "You fear Simon's humor?"

            "He witnessed your last refusal of my suit. Surely, you can understand why I hesitated to approach you under his watchful eyes."

            Guilt pricked at her. She supposed she had been a bit harsh to a man who had suffered as Alard had. "I rejected marriage, not you."

            "The look on your face as you gazed at me said otherwise."

            He sounded truly wounded. "Later, I realized you were suffering from the effects of your long imprisonment. I'm sure you look much differently now."

            "Some scars never heal," he said in a forlorn voice.

            "Oh!" Was he permanently disfigured? The poor man. What should she say to him now?

            He covered her embarrassment by continuing. "During the long night we spent in the dungeon, I felt a special harmony between us. Perhaps, if we have more time isolated and in the dark, something truly wonderful will develop between us."

            "Lud! Are you going to put me in the dungeon again?"

            "No, no," he hastily reassured her, "but we might make a more comfortable dungeon here. With the bed-hangings drawn, we are in darkness, and the castle's stone walls will block our voices from other's ears."

            He spoke as if proposing a walk in the gardens, but Jocelyn knew his was a seriously flawed proposition. "This is a bed. It's most improper for us to be here. In fact, we should not be together at all without chaperones."

            "We were un-chaperoned in the dungeon."

            "There was a wall between us."

            "Then we'll make a wall here. Give me your bolsters."

            "What?"

            "The pillows. We'll pile them between us to form a wall."

            "A wall that can be easily breached is no wall at all."

            "Milady," his tone was stern, "if I swear not to breach it, the wall will be as strong as if built of stone."

            "And will you so swear?"

            "I swear on my honor as a crusader."

            Jocelyn still had misgivings but she hesitated to question the oath of a crusader. Besides, he had to know a scream would bring others to her rescue. Hesitantly, she dragged the pillow from behind her and pushed it and others toward the middle of the bed. They were pulled from her control, and she sat in hunched indecision as the bed lurched and Alard pounded on pillows.

            Soon he said, "There it is, our mighty wall. Now we can lay back in comfort and talk at leisure.

            Before she stretched out, Jocelyn lightly felt in front of her to be sure the pillow barrier was in place. After a moment of silence, she said, "What shall we talk about?"

            "Perhaps we can pick up where we left off in the dungeon?"

            "As I recall we were discussing your imminent death."

            "Fortunately that's no longer pending."

            "Unless I tell my brother you came into my room and forced yourself on me."

            He gave an evil-sounding chuckle before saying, "You do and Simon will congratulate me for following his advice and summon the priest. You see, dear lady, everyone seems to think we should marry."

            "Everyone except me."

by Sarah Winn

RACHEL STARED AT the shadowy ceiling. She had left the lamp burning as low as possible because she couldn’t stand the thought of being in total darkness, but now the flickering light kept her awake. Stretching her arm out, she touched the cold sheet beside her. Where was Chester?

       A soft tapping sounded at the door. That must be him. Rachel threw the covers back, leapt from the bed, and ran to the door. She fumbled with the leather strap that looped around the wooden peg and served as the door’s only lock. Then she remembered going to Chester’s funeral and leaned against the door as her heart raced.

       The tapping sounded again. A familiar voice softly called her name.

       “Sean?”

       “Open the door, Rachel.”

       She pulled the strap away and swung the door open. “Chester’s dead, Sean.”

       “I know.” He stepped inside, closed the door, and protectively slipped his arms around her. “I’m sorry, so sorry.”

       The warmth of his body reassured her. “Somebody killed him. We don’t know who.”

       “Listen, Rachel, there’s some ugly talk going around. People are getting all worked up.”

       She stepped away from him. “I know. People are mad at me for running away from Chester. I can’t blame them. It was a foolish thing for me to do.”

       “It’s more than that. People are beginning to say you had something to do with his murder.”

       “What?” She gave her head a little shake. “Surely nobody thinks I could ... do they?”

       “People get all worked up about things like this. They have to blame it on somebody. Uncle Mitch and I have decided the best thing you can do right now is get out of town.”

       Rachel stepped farther away from him. “It’ll take a while to pack our things and make arrangements to ship them. Perhaps I can leave town in a week or so.”

       He followed her into the center of the room. “No, you have to leave tonight, right now. Just pack a small bag. You’re in danger here, Rachel.”

       She pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. What was he talking about?

       His large hand touched the middle of her back. “You have to get dressed,” he said.

       My goodness, she was standing in front of Sean with nothing on but her nightgown. What would Chester say?

       Sean’s hand guided her toward the clothespress. “What do you want to wear?”

       “I have to wear the black dress,” she said. “I’m a widow.”

       “All right. Here.” He thrust the dress into her arms. Then he started pulling drawers open. “What else do you need?”

       “Stop that. You mustn’t look in there. My personals are in there.”

       He stopped and looked at her with an impatient frown. She hoped she hadn’t hurt his feelings, but she couldn’t allow his improper behavior.

       She pointed to a chair on the far side of the room. “You sit over there and I’ll get dressed, but first I have to turn the lamp up.”

       “No. Leave it as is.”

       Of course, the lamp should be low as long as she was in her nightgown. She should have known Sean wouldn’t do anything to compromise her modesty. She gathered up the other clothing she needed and stepped behind the screen. As she dressed, she heard Sean moving about. He seemed to be in the kitchen area. The poor man must be hungry.

       When properly dressed, she felt more like herself and stepped from behind the screen. “What are you doing?” she asked when she saw Sean putting a slab of bacon into one of her pillowcases.

       “Gathering up food. We’ll need something to eat while we’re on the trail.”

       “Sean, I appreciate your desire to help, but I think you’re making too much of this. Of course, people are upset about Chester’s death, and they may be angry with me, but I’m sure no one believes I killed him.”

       “If you could have heard the talk in the Occidental’s bar tonight, you wouldn’t be sure.”

       Rachel shrugged. “That was just saloon talk.”

       “Much of what happens in this town is decided in its saloons.”

       “If there is a problem, running away will not resolve it. Chester taught me that,” she said with a firm nod of her head.

       He pointed toward the front door. “Chester faced a problem the other night and is dead now.”

       Her hand flew up to her throat. “What a hateful thing to say.”

       He glanced down at the floor, then back at her. “Yes, it was, and I’m sorry I said it, but I’m truly worried about your safety. Let me take you away from here now. Later, when everyone’s calmed down, you can face their accusations.”

       “Perhaps in the morning I can decide what to do, but this is the middle of the night.”

       He put the pillowcase on the table, walked to the clothespress, and picked up a battered carpetbag. “If you don’t want me seeing your personals, you better starting packing ‘em yourself, or I will.”

       “You are being unreasonable.”

       “Ra-chel, ooh, Raaa-chel.” An eerie voice sounded from outside.

       “Come out, bitch,” another voice added.

       “We’ve got something for you, whore.”

       She stared at the door, frozen in horror as the men continued to shout obscenities. Sean grabbed her arm and pulled her into the shadows. He pulled a small handgun out from under his coat.

       “What do they want?” she asked in a quaking voice.

       “Hush.” He pushed her against the wall and stepped in front of her. “Don’t make a sound,” he whispered.

       Strange, hollow noises echoed from outside. They sounded like an axe chopping into a hollow log. Rachel feared the men were breaking into the house, but the front door remained intact. Then a series of loud squawks split the air. Only one thing could make that particular sound.

       “My pump organ. They’re chopping up my organ!” She pushed Sean aside and headed for the door, but he grabbed her, wrapped both arms around her and pulled her back into the shadows.

       “You can’t go out there. That’s what they want you to do. Be quiet, Rachel.”

       She stopped struggling and listened to the final dwindling squawks. The chopping noises went on for a while, but she knew the insides of her organ were too mutilated to hold air and make any more sounds. The men shouted and laughed, but their voices faded away until silence filled the night again. Sean continued to hold her tightly as Rachel pressed the side of her face into his shoulder and took long, trembling breaths, fighting against the sobs that ached in her chest.

       Finally, Sean loosened his hold of her. “Will you come with me now?”

            Unable to speak, she nodded. He had told her the truth. People believed she had killed Chester. Now they wanted to punish, perhaps even kill, her. She had to depend on Sean. Again he was the only one she could turn to.

by Sarah Winn

Excerpt

A "NO VISITORS" sign hung on the door of room 306.  Jeff went to the nurses' station.  "Excuse me," he said to a good-looking brunette behind the desk.  "I'm Detective Palmer, I've been assigned to investigate the stabbing victim in room 306.  Is she able to talk?"

            "I'll have to ask Dr. James," she said.

            "Is the woman conscious?" he asked more insistently.

            "She's--ah--being keep sedated.  The surgeon called in another specialist.  We're waiting for him."

            Jeff glanced at his watch.  He hadn't planned to spend the whole afternoon here.  "Could you ask the doc--"

            "Here they come now."

            Looking up, he saw two men walking toward him.  The black guy wore green scrubs and a stethoscope, the white one a sports jacket and slacks.  It wasn't hard to guess which one was the surgeon.  Jeff stepped in front of them and displayed his shield to the guy in green.  When he asked if he could speak to the patient, the doctor gave the other man a what-do-you-think look.

            "I don't want to do anything to endanger the woman's health," Jeff said, "but a crime has been committed here, and the sooner I talk to the victim the better chance I'll have of catching the assailant."

            "The thing is," the surgeon said, "when the patient regained consciousness, she was irrational.  I've asked Doctor Ferris to examine her to see if this is a reaction to trauma or medication or a pre-existing condition.  Until he can make a determination, it's important not to upset her."

            "Say, Bob," the doctor named Ferris said, "why not let the detective ask his questions while I observe?  If the patient becomes upset, I'll end the interview."

            The two doctors debated back and forth, ignoring Jeff.  He jammed a hand into his pocket and rattled his keys impatiently. Finally, the doctors agreed to let him speak with the victim. 

            "Anything I should or shouldn't do?" Jeff asked.

            "Just ask your questions as you normally would, but don't put any pressure on her, and don't challenge any of her answers," Ferris said.

            "Has she given her name yet?"

            The surgeon gestured toward the nurse behind the desk, and she handed him a patient chart.  "Eliza Scoggins," he read from the chart.

Jeff wrote that in his notebook, and then followed the doctors into 306.  The room was so dimly lit that he could barely make out the victim.  Dr. James pressed a button on the console over the bed and light flooded a pool of silvery blonde hair surrounding a face so pale that it seemed otherworldly.  Blue eyes flicked open and looked up at him apprehensively.   He felt a strong need to reassure and protect.  What kind of scumbag would hurt a woman like this?

"Miss Scoggins," Dr. James gestured toward the other doctor, "this is Dr. Ferris.  He's going to be consulting on your case."

The nearly bald shrink smiled and nodded at her in a friendly manner.

Dr. James continued. "And this is Detective Palmer.  He's investigating your attack.  Can you answer some questions for him?"

Holding his pen and notebook ready, Jeff stepped up to the bedside.  “I’ll try to keep this short, Miss Scoggins.  Can you tell me who stabbed you?”

"I wasn't stabbed.  I was shot with arrows."

Her voice was smooth and soft.  It flowed over Jeff like honey—until the meaning of her words dawned on him.  He glanced over at Dr. James who gave his head a slight shake.  Jeff didn’t know what to do except continue.  "Do you know who shot you?"

            "They were Comanches, but I didn't actually see which one shot me."

            "I see."  He toyed with his pen.  It had been more than a hundred years since Comanches had raided in Texas.  He tried to keep his expression blank.  "How many Indians took part in the attack?"

            "Three, but I shot one of them with a pistol.  The others shot me while I was trying to reload." 

            "You shot one?"  He watched her carefully.  She certainly seemed to believe what she was saying.  Could she be confused from all the anesthesia and trauma?  He had to make sure grains of truth weren’t embedded in her story. 

            "Yes, I wanted to give the children time to get to the woods."

            "Children?" 

            "The children in my school.  I sent them out the trapdoor in the floor, but I stayed behind to keep the Indians from looking for them."  She paused and took a deep breath.  "I'm really very worried about them.  Is there some way I can find out what happened?"

            "What's the name of the school?" he asked.

            "Western Young County Day School."

            This might be a real lead. He jotted it down in his book.  "What grade do you teach?"

            "All of them."

            He stopped writing and stared at her for a moment, she was either nutty as a fruitcake or pulling his chain.  "Someone brought you to the hospital.  Do you have any idea who that might have been?"

            "No--unless it was my father."

            The detective looked at Dr. James who shrugged.  "Wouldn't your father have stayed here with you?" Jeff asked.

            "Yes, I suppose he would."  Her forehead wrinkled and she seemed lost in thought.

            "Was your father with you when the--ah--Indians attacked?"

            "No, he was at home.  I wonder if he knows where I am?  He'll be terribly upset if he doesn't."  Tears suddenly rimmed her eyes.

            Hoping to get more information before the doctors chased him out, Jeff quickly said. "I can contact him for you.  What's his name?"

            "Rufus Scoggins.  We live on the Circle S Ranch in Young County.  Please try to get word to him."  Tears began to seep from her soulful blue eyes and Dr. Ferris made a cutting motion with his hand.

            Jeff closed his notebook.  "Don't worry, ma'am, I'll get in touch with your father.  You rest now.  I'll come back to see you soon."   As he left the room, he hoped he could find Rufus Scoggins, and the man could explain what had happened to his daughter.   It would be a shame if such a beautiful young woman were a mental case!  Maybe she was still confused from the anesthesia like his father had been after his surgery.  Jeff decided to check on her again tomorrow.  Hopefully she’d be thinking straight by then. 

by Sarah Winn

by Sarah Winn

Excerpt

Martin burst out of the forest and into a small clearing on the top of a hill. Below him lay the road he sought, in the distance the cursed convent, and in between his quarry. With a shout of triumph, he jabbed his spurs into his destrier's sides, urging the huge horse down the hillside with abandon. He reached the road.

The fading sounds of hoof beats told him his two companions had fallen far behind, but he knew he would need no help subduing the two women and one un-armored man in the party ahead. Lady Gwyneth was indeed foolish to travel so unprotected with an iron bound treasure chest strapped to a packhorse for all to see.

She glanced over her shoulder, and spurred her palfrey in a desperate attempt to reach the convent gates. More foolish yet, to think she could escape him. With a roar of indignation he sped past her servants, pulled even with her horse, and reached for its bridle. Yanking on the leather strap with one hand and his own reins with the other, he brought the two animals to skittering stops as he shouted, "Hold Madam. Your bridegroom cometh."

The hood of her cloak had fallen back, revealing golden hair and dainty features. Martin breathed a sigh of relief. At least his heiress wasn't a hag. After the sorry state in which he'd found Blackstone Castle and the small village huddled around it, he'd fully expected the woman to be a gray haired crone with a wart on her nose. Then he noticed her narrowed eyes, compressed lips, and flared nostrils. Was she frightened or angry?

"Fear not, Lady Gwyneth. I am Martin le Werre. You received the king's decree concerning our marriage, did you not?"

"I am only recently widowed," she said in a voice that seemed more angry than afraid. "I choose to enter a convent, not remarry."

"The choice is not yours to make. You are the king's ward, and he wants your lands under the control of a man he trusts."

"Have the lands and the title, I want nothing but to enter the church." She yanked on her reins, trying to break his grip on her bridle.

Martin ruthlessly pulled the hapless palfrey's head closer, so he could lean over the rider and glare into her eyes. Aware of the gawking servants and his own guards, who had just arrived, he lowered his voice into a feral growl. "And what of the gold and jewels from Baron Rupert's treasury? Am I welcome to that?"

Her eyes widened. "I was married to the old baron for seven years. Surely I deserve something for my--my service."

"You do not deserve to beggar the barony or flaunt the king's decree."

She turned her head and looked toward the convent with such evident longing, that he knew she had not yet surrendered her intentions. "Do you really think the abbess would bring the king's wrath down on her order by sheltering you?" he asked.

Her head and shoulders drooped. She looked so forlorn that he felt a twinge of pity, but he quickly brushed that aside. If he must marry an unwilling woman to finally secure land he had so long coveted, so be it. Gentling his hold on the palfrey, he slowly turned both horses away from the convent.

The lady did not resist.

"Let us return to the castle. I brought both wedding party and priest with me."

She blinked several times, and he thought her about to cry. Then her chin and her back stiffened. He released her bridle, and with her hand and foot, she signaled her horse to move forward. Her lips remained pinched but her head high as she rode in the direction from which she had come more like a queen than a backcountry baron's widow.

After making sure the attendants and pack animals were trailing after him, Martin sighed wearily and relaxed into his saddle. Would his life never become easy? After years on battlefields where he fought not only to survive but also to win the notice that would carry him above the status of an ordinary knight, he'd been promoted to the king's personal guard. At court he had mastered the sly, knife-in-the-back fighting of courtiers, finally receiving his reward, land, a title, and a wife of his own.

He had thought success was his; that he could live out his life in ease. Then, after spending half of his life's savings so he could arrive at his holding in a style commiserate with his new station, he discovered a rundown castle and a runaway bride.

The news that his bride-to-be was a widow had pleased him, thinking he'd not have to waste time playing the silly games some untried girl would demand. Hearing that her husband had been much older, he'd expected the woman to be grateful to receive a man still in his prime. Looking at Lady Gwyneth's stiff back it was plain to see she was anything but pleased.

What had the steward at Blackstone Castle said after telling Martin of her flight? "The lady is willful." An obvious understatement. With her youth and beauty, she'd undoubtedly led her elderly husband around by the nose. Well, she wouldn't be married to a sickly old man this time. Martin would quickly teach her who was master in his castle.

***

It took all of Gwyneth's self-control to suppress a groan when Blackstone Castle came into view. The late afternoon sun outlined the castle's silhouette, blotting out all detail. The crenulated walls looked like a giant's teeth and the castle a black mouth waiting to swallow any who came too near. The first time she approached Blackstone it had been this same time of day, but she hadn't realized how fitting the ominous appearance was. Would this man be as cruel as the last?

The new baron was more frightening than Lord Rupert, for he was hale and hearty and angry with her even before the marriage began. Fleeing to the convent had been a great mistake, ruining any chance she might have had to win some sort of accommodation from her new master. Why had she thought God would shelter her? Hadn't He ignored all her past prayers for mercy?

She glanced at the scowling man riding beside her. The shadows cast on his face by his helm were heightened by a day's growth of dark beard. He had come for her wearing armor. Had he been wearing it when he arrived and learned she was missing, or had he donned it afterward, determined to win back the boron's wealth, even if he must slaughter innocents to do so? A shiver ran down her spine. How fitting that a black knight had come to be the lord of Blackstone Castle.

Could she bear such a harsh master? With him there would be no hope of an early release through his death, at least, not from the effects of old age. She stared at the tower rising above the walls of the castle, and once again thought of flinging herself from it. But doing that would condemn her to eternal torment.

She closed her eyes to block the threatening tears. Whatever she did, she must not let him see her fear. Men fed on fear. As the horses' hooves clip-clopped on the cobble stones of the entry bridge, Gwyneth opened her eyes, squared her shoulders, and took the deep breaths that always calmed her.

by Sarah Winn

Excerpt

When she heard Francine’s voice in the parlor, Sally took her place in the little chair beside the bed. She waited with her heart pounding until she heard Francine say, “I’ve brought your father.”

Sally leaped up with a cry she hoped sounded both joyous and tragic. After embracing her father, she stepped back and really looked at him. While he looked better than he had the last time she saw him, he still looked too frail to be traveling around the countryside by himself.

He glanced at the still figure in the bed and back at Sally with a look of pain on his face.

“Oh, papa, I’m afraid you’ll won’t get to meet my beloved Bob. The doctor says he’ll never wake up.”

Her father patted her arm. “This is a terrible thing, daughter. Terrible. Can’t tell you how sorry I am.” He shook his head mournfully. “Your sister tried to talk me out of this trip, but I insisted. Thank goodness I did, for you truly need family to lean on at a time like this.”

With her hand still resting on his back, Sally felt his bony shoulder blades and doubted he could offer anyone much support. The changes that had occurred in him during the eleven years of their first separation still shocked her. During that time, he had turned from a vigorous young man into a sickly old one. She couldn’t help but think her disappearance had caused much of his decline.

She kissed his cheek. “Thank you, papa. Thank you for coming.” Holding his hand, she pulled him to the side of the bed. “This is my husband.”

The agony on her father’s face caused her tears to flow freely.

“Can’t the doctor do anything for him?” he asked.

Sally shook her head.

“What happened to the man who hit him?”

“Ah--he left town.”

“What? Is the law after him?” he asked indignantly.

“Actually, the law let him go. He’s a wealthy cattleman. Since the economy of Dodge depends so heavily on them, nobody wanted to prosecute him.”

Her father huffed in disgust. “Ain’t that something? You don’t even get the comfort of seeing the low-down skunk punished. I wish I was more of a man, daughter. I’d go after him myself.”

Sally managed a small smile. “Oh, Papa, you always were my hero.”

“Oh, my God!” Francine exclaimed loudly.

Sally had forgotten she was still in the room and looked over to shush her. Francine stared down at the bed with a horrified look on her face. Sally turned to see what had alarmed her.

Bob looked up at her with dark blue eyes. “Who are you people?” he asked weakly.

“Oh!” Sally’s breath and her wits deserted her.

“Praise the Lord!” her father said. “He’s awake.”

Intent on keeping Bob from blurting out the truth, Sally threw herself across his chest, blocking her father’s view. “I’m your wife, Sally. Don’t you know me, Bob?”

“Is my name Bob?” he asked with a frown.

“Maybe that hit on his head has messed up his memory,” her father suggested.

“Is that what’s happened, Bob? Can’t you remember anything?” Sally grabbed both sides of his face and leaned down close to it. Perhaps she could whisper an offer of money if he’d go along with the story.

 “No, I... can’t,” he said in a baffled voice.

Sally moved back and stared down at him. “Really?”

He started shaking his head, then grimaced in pain, raised his hand, and gingerly felt the bandages. “What hit me anyway?”

“There was a fight,” Sally said, “in our hotel. Someone hit you with a chair.”

“Hotel?”

For a moment, Sally wondered if the cowboy was trying to make a fool out of her, but he did look truly confused. “Yes, we own a hotel.”

“I believe he’s going to be all right,” her father said.

Bob fixed his gaze on her father and squinted as though trying to see him better.

“We’ve never met, son. I’m James Honeywell, your father-in-law. I just arrived for my first visit. Thought I was gonna see a tragedy, but I’m seeing a miracle instead.”

Bob looked back at Sally with a confused expression.

“The doctor said you weren’t going to wake up. We’ve been expecting the worst,” Sally said softly.

“Water?” Bob asked.

“I’ll get it.” Francine rushed over to the pitcher and poured water into a glass. She brought it back to the bed with a trembling hand.

“I better take that,” Sally said, although she didn’t feel too steady herself. When she held the glass up to his mouth, Bob tried to raise his head, but it fell back against the pillow. Sally slipped her arm under his neck and held his head up so he could reach the glass.

He grimaced as if in pain, but still opened his mouth eagerly.

“Not so fast,” Sally said when he began to gulp the water.

Her position put her cleavage right at his eye level, and as he drank, he stared directly at it. Sally didn’t know what to think. Was he putting on an act? If he was, she didn’t have any choice but to go along with it as long as her father stood nearby.

He drained the contents of the glass, and Sally lowered his head. He blinked his eyes and squinted as though he couldn’t focus. “Who are all these other women?” he finally asked.

Sally looked around and saw that Stella and Betsy had crowded into the room and the rest of her girls were peering in from the office with shocked expressions. “I’ll introduce you later,” she said and waved them away.

“You’re right, daughter,” her father said and lightly touched her shoulder. “You and your man deserve a little time alone. Ladies,” he gestured toward the staring women, “could one of you show me to my room?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Honeywell.” Francine was the first to snap out of her surprised trance. “Just follow me. One of you employees get his bag,” she added in a highfalutin tone.

They filed out of the room and pulled the door shut.

Sally stared down at her husband! Dear Lord, what was she going to do with him?

His hand felt along the bed until it covered hers. “What did you say your name is?”

“Sally Sweets.”

“And mine’s Bob Sweets?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t remember it.”

“What do you remember?”

He frowned as though in pain. “Nothing really. My head hurts so bad, I can’t think.”

“You close your eyes and try to rest. I’ve gotta go out for a minute.”

His hand closed around hers. “Don’t leave me.”

She used her other hand to free herself, then patted the back of his hand reassuringly. “I’ll be right back. You rest.”

She found Josie and Betsy in her office. “Francine, told us to stay here in case you needed something,” Josie said.

“Send for Doc Fraiser,” Sally said. “I’ve gotta know what’s going on here.”

Back in the room, she found Jake grunting as he squirmed in the bed. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

“Did I get hit somewhere besides my head?”

“Nothing serious.”

“Why is there a bandage around my bottom?”

“That’s not a--well--that’s in case you have to go.”

A horrified expression came over his face. “A diaper! I ain’t using no diaper. Get the thing off me.” He threw the covers back and struggled to pull his nightshirt out to the way.

Sally grabbed his hands. “Stop that. As long as you can’t get out of bed, you have to wear it.”

“I can get out of bed.”

She let go of him and took a step back. “Okay, do it.”

He looked surprised for just a second. Then his lips pinched together with determination. He rolled on his side and pushed his elbow against the bed in an effort to raise himself. His head actually came a couple of inches away from the pillow before his eyes squeezed together, and he dropped back with a groan.

He looked so miserable Sally couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. She lightly rubbed his upper arm. “You just rest until the doctor gets here. If you have to go, just go.”

“I gotta go,” he muttered through clenched teeth, “but my eyeballs can swim before I do it in a damn rag.”

Sally swallowed her temptation to laugh. She’d catered to male pride for too long to make that mistake. “Just hold it for another minute,” she said as she went to the washstand and retrieved the enameled chamber pot. She whipped up his nightshirt, hurriedly pulled apart the knot that held the folded sheet in place, and held the chamber pot in an appropriate position. “Okay, let go.”

He sighed in relief as liquid gushed into the pot.

When he finished, she put the lid on the pot and set it under the bed. Then she pointed to the pad still rumpled around his hips. “You want me to remove that?”

“Please,” he replied.

While she pulled the material away and smoothed the nightshirt down over his muscular thighs, he stared at her intently. Finally he said, “It’s hard to believe you’re my wife, but seeing how free you are with my body, I guess you must be.”

Sally smiled sweetly, lightly rubbed his cheek, and asked herself how in the hell would she get out of this?

* * *