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After losing her father and husband in a mine disaster, Priscilla Heartsel faces poverty and eviction from her home by a heartless mine owner. Tricked into a bank robbery gone wrong, Braxton Gamble finds himself shot and unconscious in Priscilla's bed. Can they survive long enough to find a love more precious than gold?
Read an Excerpt
"Is this the one then?" Braxton asked, drawing her back to the present.
She blinked at him. "The one?"
"The house you want to move into."
"Oh, I don't know. What do you think?" Priscilla joined him at the window.
He turned to her. "Well, the ground floor looks acceptable. Let's explore the upper level."
They climbed the stairs to find three good-sized bedrooms and a bathing room with a porcelain tub and sink.
"It's marvelous. Look, how lovely," Priscilla enthused running her hands over the porcelain.
Braxton smiled. Her pleasure lit up her face like a candle from within, rendering her more beautiful than ever. He hadn't thought that possible until now. "Yes," he said. "Gorgeous."
She laughed. "You're not even looking at the tub."
"No." He stepped close and cupped her face with his hands. "I'm gazing at you. You're gorgeous." He expected her to laugh, shove him away or maybe hit him. Instead, she simply gazed back at him, smiling. So, he kissed her.
When she didn't object, he did it again.
After he broke off the kiss, she grinned. "Don't look at me like that, Braxton. Even if I were willing, which I'm not, there's no bed here."
He faked a mournful sigh. "A pure shame isn't it?"
"It's getting close to time for me to start supper. We'd better go."
"Am I invited to eat with you?"
She started down the stairs. "All right. I suppose after giving me so much time this afternoon to look at houses, I owe you that much."
"If I'd known it was going to be that easy, I'd have tried for more," he muttered, following.
Priscilla reached the bottom step and froze.
"What's the matter?" Braxton asked, behind her. "Something wrong?"
"I'd say something's very, very right."
That familiar voice brought Braxton's head up with a jerk. Irish O'Malley leaned indolently against the fireplace. Logan Cash stood on the opposite side of the room. Both had six-guns aimed at him and Priscilla.
About the Author: Charlene Raddon’s first serious attempt at writing fiction came in 1980 when a vivid dream drove her to drag out a typewriter and begin writing. Because of her love of romance novels and the Wild West, her primary genre is historical romance. Kensington Books originally published five of her novels. These were later released as eBooks by Tirgearr Publishing. Currently, Charlene is an Indie author with . She also designs book covers, specializing in western historical.
Website: https://charleneraddon.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/craddon
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