Eileen Sewell sparks plenty of gossip by spiteful matrons and their horse-faced daughters that she’d find herself alone due to her picky ways. Of course, she didn’t believe them. Then again, she also didn’t expect to be a mail order bride either. It wasn’t easy snagging a husband who hadn’t heard about her willful nature. Eileen finally gave up hope of finding love, and decided to settle for whatever she’d find out west. If that wasn’t lowering enough, she’d just witnessed the first train robbery. Unfortunately, the outlaws saw her too. Enter Marshal Colt Sheppard, who excels at extracting information from reticent witnesses. His crooked smile and broad shoulders won’t charm her. She’d played this game before, only she never had a worthy adversary. Talk about bad timing.
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From Rebel Bride
“What has your pretty little brow all furrowed up like that?” he asked with a touch of laughter in his voice.
“Well-I-well…” This was her favorite type of man, one who would flatter her with words of her beauty. Without thinking, she fell into her normal flirtatious attitude, batting her eyes coquettishly. This should be easy.
“Maybe you’re deciding which lies will work on me best. Is that it?” He put one hand on a seat and leaned forward, closing the distance separating them.
He called her a liar. “How dare you!” She hissed the words, pulled her back ramrod straight, and narrowed her eyes. She learned how to project indignant from the best, her mother. Never mind the fact she’d been contemplating which lie to use on him.
His laughter unnerved her, but not as much as his hand touching her cheek. She looked up into his suddenly somber eyes. What was he thinking? He looked so serious. She blinked twice. Her eyes must be playing tricks on her because his face seemed closer, closer still, until he grew unfocussed. She closed her eyes briefly, hoping to clear up her vision.
Lips landed on hers, warm and firm. Her eyes popped open. Sure enough, his slightly out of focused nose and a hunk of blond hair filled her vision. Once she conquered her shock, she decided to let him kiss her. It wasn’t as if she could stop him. Unlike her previous beaus who made awkward attempts she naturally foiled, this was nice. Her skin felt warm despite the wind seeping around the window. Her heart kicked up in an odd flutter, and her toes curled. Could this be what her sister talked about when she described kissing Gray? To think she scolded her sister, calling her no better than a light skirt. Did that make her a light skirt too? She couldn’t afford to be one. She pulled away from the kiss.
“Unhand me sir!”
His eyes crinkled in suppressed laughter. “Look at where my hands are.”
She looked at one large hand still rested on the back of the seat, the other hung lax against his side. Hard to argue with him on that, but still he kissed her. He shouldn’t have done that. “You shouldn’t have kissed me. It was unpardonable of you to take advantage of a war widow.”
Colt crossed his arms and shook his head slowly back and forth. “War widow, my foot. I doubt that very much. Don’t know why you’re parading around in weeds, but I am interested in finding out.”
“What makes you think I am not a widow?” Eileen was miffed over her costume not deceiving him. It could be widows did not go around kissing strange men or at least recent ones didn’t. She’d heard there were some friendly widows in town, but their deceased husbands served only as a name, making her wonder if they ever existed.
He eyed her up and down, smiled, and then let loose a bark of laughter. “Ah, if you were ever married, then your husband should be horse-whipped for his failure to kiss you properly. You do not kiss like a woman with experience. You are more like a love-starved virgin than a widow.”
Eileen stiffened her spine. His words were true, but she resented them just as the same. “Sir, I beg you not to speak poorly of my husband.”
“Ma’am, I can’t speak for a man who doesn’t exist. If you were my wife, you would be well kissed, well handled, and well pleasured.” He said the last word in a suggestive growl.
Author Morgan K. Wyatt
Morgan as a child had to suffer through movies with clueless heroines rescued by smart men. Her mother dutifully read her stories where princesses waited for princes to jumpstart their lives. There were no proactive female role models in the media at that time, with the exception of Wonder Woman. It is for this reason, and that it is fun, Morgan writes about strong women going after what they want.
Learn more about Morgan at: http://www.morgankwyatt.com.
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