The Widow and the Wildcatter: A Loveswept Classic Romance (17 page)

It seemed to take as much effort on his part to release her as it did on hers to let him go.

Morning sunshine streamed in through the multipaned windows, and the kitchen seemed laden with the sounds and the smells of home. The cuckoo clock ticked the minutes off. Fresh coffee perked on the range. Sooner whimpered where he lay curled in the corner, probably chasing rabbits in his sleep.

Chance took a couple of steps backward, realized he was dragging his feet, and spun on his heel.

Joni followed him to the screen door, her greedy eyes drinking in black hair and bronzed skin, her sealed lips damming a flood of frantic entreaties.

The clock in the entryway chimed eight times.

She trailed him out onto the porch. The old oak swing creaked in the wind and her aching heart cried,
Please don’t go!

At the top of the steps he turned to her and said, “Wait there. I’ll be right back.” Chance bounded down the steps and across the driveway, where the Fiesta Red Thunderbird convertible waited to whisk him away.

Her spirits dipped to a new low when he cut around to the driver’s side. But instead of opening the door and getting in, as she’d feared, he reached over it and grabbed something off the seat.

The tears she’d promised herself she wouldn’t shed trickled heedlessly down her cheeks when he came to the bottom of the porch steps and tossed his grandfather’s hat up to her.

She caught that ribbonless old relic and hugged it to her heart.

“I’ll be back in a month,” he said. “Six weeks at the most.”

Her forget-me-not eyes shone expectantly. “I’ll be waiting.”

She heard it before she saw it barreling round the bend, the roar of its engine riding the country air like an eagle aboard a thermal. It was rare that any vehicle appeared on this remote stretch of highway. Rarer still that that vehicle would be a restored ’56 Thunderbird.

Top down and chrome flashing almost painfully in the hot August sun, the classic Fiesta Red convertible rocketed by pastures and cows and trees as though the devil were tailgating it.

“You’re the Reason God Made Oklahoma” blasted at full volume from the radio, adding to the already fervent pitch of wind and speed.

The driver had his right hand on the steering wheel, his left arm crooked on the convertible’s door, and his mind on a woman with million-dollar legs.

Joni stripped off her work gloves when she realized
who it was and went tearing down the driveway to meet him. Gravel flew from beneath her feet and her red hair streamed behind her like a banner in the wind. She had so much to tell him, was so eager to get her hands on him, she couldn’t wait for him to come to her.

She’d made good use of her six weeks alone.

The food broker in Oklahoma City has been so impressed by the quantity and the quality of her tomato crop that he’d signed her up on the spot to plant some broccoli for a fall harvest. She was growing it organically, of course—no insecticides unless absolutely necessary. Better yet, the extra cash meant she could afford to have the house painted before her wedding day.

She’d decided she wanted to get married at home. Dr. Rayburn had agreed to give her away, and while rearranging things in the attic, she’d run across her grandmother’s wedding dress. A romantic delicacy of silk embroidered chiffon, it hadn’t needed a single alteration. Now she was thinking in terms of turning her old room into a nursery.

Chance had some news himself.

He’d promoted Tex to supervisor and hired another geologist to take the core samples and analyze them. He’d still be putting the deals together and making the final decision on whether or not to drill. But he could do more of his work from home now and less from the site.

Not only that, but he’d bought Joni’s wedding gift while he was gone. It was a rocking chair made of bird’s-eye maple, the perfect finishing
touch for the bedroom he planned to share with her for the rest of his life. The antiques dealer had sworn on a stack of Bibles that he’d ship it to Redemption in time for their wedding day.

Chance slowed the Thunderbird and turned into the entrance to the farm. Then he stopped and reached across the seat to open the door. “Going my way, pretty lady?”

“Always and forever.” Joni didn’t have to be asked twice. She jumped into the car and slid over to sit hip to hip beside him, then gave him a kiss that put his pulse in fast forward.

With the wind at their backs then, the widow and the wildcatter went home.

Welcome to Loveswept!

The holidays are approaching and I’ve so many things to do, don’t you? So why is it
all
I want to do is cuddle up on the couch with a good book? I’ll tell you why, there are so many amazing
Loveswept
stories on sale this month that all you’ll want to do is read too!! For starters,
LOVING THE EARL
(11/11) by Sharon Cullen features our hero’s sister from
THE NOTORIOUS LADY ANNE
(2/11), and OMG ladies, this book is for you! Sharon writes with wit and steam a combination that keeps me reading all night long. Double your historical delight with Samantha Kane’s finale in
The Saint’s Devils
,
DEVIL IN MY ARMS
(11/26) – its Hil’s story and what a match he’s made. Then,
Loveswept
debut, Serena Bell releases,
YOURS TO KEEP
(11/11), a captivating story of a woman living on the edge—and the man who’s destined to love her (
sigh
).

And there’s more!

Ruthie Knox releases a series of short stories,
Roman Holiday
. Over the next weeks look for each installment:
CHAINED
(11/12) - book one launches the series; followed by,
HITCHED
(11/19); then,
BLINDSIDED
(11/26), plus books four and five are right around the corner, ten books in all!!

And, you can’t miss these classics:

Fran Baker’s,
THE WIDOW AND THE WILDCATTER
, the captivating story of a woman haunted by the ghosts of the past, and a daredevil who promises a future filled with love; Sandra Chastain’s,
REBEL IN SILK
, about an unconventional beauty who refuses to back down from a challenge—or a handsome loner with a taste for trouble; and Sandra’s classics continue with,
TOO HOT TO HANDLE
, and,
THE SILVER BULLET AFFAIR
. Look for favorite
Loveswept
author Iris Johansen and her re-release of,
STAR-SPANGLED BRIDE
. Readers have continued to adore Ruth Owen’s
Loveswepts
including,
SORCERER
, a sexy tale of an emotionally guarded computer whiz and the princess who makes virtual reality come to vivid life. And, to wrap up the month Jean Stone’s,
BIRTHDAY GIRL
, and Connie Brockway’s,
AS YOU DESIRE
, will keep you toasty on those cold winter nights.

Holiday lovers won’t want to skip these contemporary reissues,
ROOM AT THE INN
by Ruthie Knox, and Molly O’Keefe’s,
ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS
, guaranteed to put you in the holiday spirit.

New this winter is,
HEATING UP THE HOLIDAY’S
, a fabulous anthology that takes you through the seasons:
New York Times
bestselling author, Lisa Renee Jones, leads the lineup with,
PLAY WITH ME
, a Thanksgiving romance;
SNOWFALL
, by Mary Ann Rivers, will warm you up for Christmas; and knock off your New Years with,
MIDIGHT AFFAIR
, by Serena Bell – love could not be any more special!

Be swept away with
Loveswept
, ’tis the season!

Happy Holidays –

Gina Wachtel

Associate Publisher

“I see someone,” Jennifer Appleton whispered. Her half-shut eyes fell on the elderly woman seated across the table from her. “It is a woman. Has your mother passed over as well as your father?”

“Why, yes!” Beatrice Osborne appeared surprised as she gazed at the lovely young woman before her. “He died in the war, while she …”

“Her heart.” Jennifer nodded as the woman gasped in acknowledgment. “I have a strange feeling right here.” She pressed her hand over her left breast and appeared to shudder. “I feel she really left us due to a broken heart.”

“She was never the same after seeing my father’s name on those papers.” Beatrice’s eyes filled. “And though they said she had a weakness due to the fever, I believe as you do.”

“The war took many widows as well as husbands,” Jennifer said. “Did she wear a cameo?”

“All the time!” The old woman pulled a chain from beneath her collar and displayed a beautifully carved pearl silhouette on a black stone. “This was hers. I can still smell her perfume!”

“She knows that you wear it and think of her. I can see your father now. They are together on the other side. Know that they are happy and at peace. They will be there for you one day.”

As if on cue, a harpsichord wailed somewhere in the old house, and a ghostly sound emanated from the walls. The chandelier trembled overhead, throwing dancing prisms of light about the room
.

“Your father wants you to know that he loves you, too …” Jennifer intoned
.

The music faded away, and Beatrice rose and hugged her as Penelope and Winifred entered with refreshments. “It was my parents!” She turned to the beautiful Appleton sisters, beaming with pleasure. “They were here, and I’ve missed them so badly! How can I ever thank you!” She pressed a sealed envelope discreetly into Jennifer’s hands
.

“I am glad,” Jennifer said, as Winifred and Penelope bestowed benevolent smiles
on the wealthy widow. “We know what it’s like to miss your loved ones. I am very pleased we brought you a measure of comfort.”

Beatrice disappeared through the door and the three sisters hugged each other in congratulations. “You were wonderful, Winifred!” Jennifer cried. “I swear I can still hear the music! And Penelope, when you jiggled the chandelier, I thought I was seeing ghosts! But how did you know about the cameo?”

“I saw it beneath her blouse,” Penelope explained with a shrug. “It wasn’t hard to guess the rest …”

Winifred gave her a shrewd look, but Jennifer merely laughed and collapsed in exhaustion. “It worked beautifully. By the time we’re done, I will have enough to pay for Winnie’s law books, and a gown for your debut …” Since Winifred couldn’t be a practicing attorney, she worked with Charles Howe and assisted him in his cases
.

* * *

Penelope slowly opened her eyes and saw the bright gaslights of the dressing room. It was only a memory, a vision of what had happened just a few years ago when she and her sisters were practicing spiritualism for wealthy widows in New York.

It was clever Jennifer who’d come up with the scheme when they were orphaned at a young age. Their aunt, Eve Appleton, had taken them in when their parents died. Although she was generous, she was far from rich, and Jennifer realized they would have to find a way to earn some much-needed money. Thankfully, spiritualism was all the rage, and the three pretty young sisters soon attracted a moneyed following.

The ironic part of their notorious past was that she, Penelope Appleton, had a secret: ever since she was a child, she could truly see the future.

She had never told anyone, and had gone along with the charade when Jennifer pretended to summon ghosts from the grave. If on occasion she imparted a suggestion to her sister, it was simply considered a lucky guess. Clever Jennifer and brilliant Winnie had always thought of her as the pretty one, a girl who used her looks to enchant men and women alike, and who hadn’t another thought in her head except what she would wear tomorrow or how to use the curling tongs on her bangs to create a charming fringe. Yet if she concentrated deeply, got rid of the chatter inside her head, and really focused, she could close her eyes and see what was to come.

When she’d met Mary Forester, she intuited that her son was Jennifer’s future husband. And she saw the same thing with Charles Howe in regard to her other sister,
long before he and Winifred were even friends. Although neither courtship was without difficulty, Penelope was always sure deep down that these men were destined for her sisters, and that they would be supremely happy.

Now that her sisters were wed, they had given up séances, and Penelope had kept her secret to herself. But now it was her turn. On Saturday night at the Vanderbilts’ Christmas ball, she would meet her one true love.

She had already seen it.

“Stop fussing, my dear, and please turn around so I can fasten your bustle.”

Penelope broke out of her thoughts and managed a smile for the seamstress. Martha Winspear, New York’s most fashionable dressmaker, gathered up the satin and began draping the fabric, meticulously inserting one pin after another into the folds. Finished, she sat back on her heels and nodded with satisfaction.