Thursday, January 19, 2012
Linda LaRoque's Amazing Author Event
A Marshal of Her Own is the second story in this series set in Prairie, Texas. It is available at The Wild Rose Press and Amazon.com.
Marshal Cole Jeffers doesn’t believe Miss Wade is a time traveler. He admits she’s innocent of being an outlaw, but thinks she knows more about the gang than she’s telling. When she’s kidnapped by Zeke Faraday, Cole is determined to rescue her. He’s longed for a woman of his own, and Dessa Wade just might be the one—if she’ll commit to the past.
Dessa resisted the urge to scream again. She bit her bottom lip as a reminder to stay silent and not draw attention to herself. Her heart thundered in her chest, threatening to jump from her body. This couldn’t be happening. God, please tell me I’m dreaming. Wake me up. Please...please... Just in case God wasn’t listening, she was getting out of Dodge.
On her hands and knees she crawled toward the safety of the trees and the shadows. Afraid to look up, she continued forward as fast as her limbs would take her. Rocks and debris scratched her hands and gouged into her kneecaps, but she didn’t care.
She bumped into something and shifted to the left but whatever was in her way moved with her. Uh, oh. Dread inched up her spine. She stiffened. She might be caught, but she darn well wouldn’t go peacefully. After all, she was a victim here. Tilting her head up slightly, she eyed a pair of well-worn boots. As her eyes moved upward she noted faded denims, sculpted muscled thighs and...oh my...just below his gun belt. She blushed and pushed herself up to sit on her haunches, putting a little distance between them.
From that angle, she got a full view of the man. His wool coat bore a silver star. She gave a sigh of relief, then a gasp. He was a lawman, a darn good-looking one, at that. Focus Dessa. She’d been saved. “Thank goodness. I’m so glad you’re here.”
Her smile vanished at the expression on his face. Steel blue eyes assessed her beneath the black felt hat. Rugged planes displayed a scowl that didn’t bode well for her, nor did the shotgun held loosely in his right hand.