Morrow Creek Marshal
Dylan Coyle is all man. Tall. Handsome. Not to be trusted…Dancing girl Marielle Miller makes sure no cowboy steps his spurred boots out of line. But then one night she tumbles from the stage into the arms of Dylan Coyle… Marielle doesn’t need a man in her life – especially not a wandering gunslinger unwilling to put down roots. Except as Morrow Creek’s new stand-in lawman Dylan will be around to vex her for a while yet. And when she becomes embroiled in his latest case Marielle starts to hope this particular drifter will stick around for good!
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Marielle gazed directly and teasingly into his eyes, reminding him of nothing so much as a woman who wanted kissing.
“Perhaps I’m wrong about you,” she said. “Perhaps—”
“You are wrong about me.”
Dylan wanted to say more. He wanted to say that he was a drifter by necessity, not by choice. He wanted to say that he already wanted to stay in Morrow Creek and she was the reason. He wanted to say that he would have given anything to believe things could be good and lasting between them. But that was unthinkable. That would only ensure, as it always did, that everything unraveled in the end. So instead he let his need for her say everything. He let his need for her—so long denied—move his hands to her face, cradle her jaw and pull her nearer.
“You’re wrong about everything about me,” Dylan said.
She was wrong—because he’d made damn sure she would be.
He’d made sure everyone would be. For so long now.
Marielle hauled in a breath—probably to argue. But by then his mouth was already meeting hers.
Thank you for joining me for another Morrow Creek story! I absolutely love sharing my little Arizona Territory town with you. I’m so thrilled to bring you Marielle and Dylan’s adventures, too! I hope you enjoy reading about them.
There’s more for you in the rest of my Morrow Creek series, too! It includes Notorious in the West,The Honour-Bound Gambler, The Bride Raffle, Mail-Order Groom, and several others—including some short stories and an eBook exclusive—all set in and around my favourite corner of the Old West. I hope you’ll give one (or all!) of them a try.
If you’d like a sneak peek first, you can find complete first-chapter excerpts from all my bestselling books at my website: lisaplumley.com. While you’re there you can also sign up for personal new book alerts, download an up-to-date book list, get the scoop on upcoming books, request reader freebies and more. I hope you’ll stop by today!
As always, I’d love to hear from you! You can follow me on Twitter @LisaPlumley, ‘like’ my Facebook page at facebook.com/lisaplumleybooks or just send an email to [email protected].
Best wishes, until next time.
USA TODAY bestselling author LISA PLUMLEY has delighted readers worldwide with more than three dozen popular novels. Her work has been translated into multiple languages and editions, and includes Western historical romances, contemporary romances, paranormal romances, and a variety of stories in romance anthologies. She loves to hear from readers! Visit Lisa on the web, ‘friend’ her on Facebook, or follow her on Twitter @LisaPlumley.
To John, with all my love.
Contents
April 1885, Morrow Creek,
Northern Arizona Territory
At Jack Murphy’s popular saloon, cowboys bellied up to the bar alongside newspaper editors, mercantile owners and railway workers. Miners and lumbermen tested their luck at the gambling tables, hoping to best gullible greenhorns or visiting card sharps—or simply to suss out which men fell into which of those two categories. Music plunked out at two cents per song—but only if those bits were tipped directly into the musician’s overturned bowler, which he customarily placed atop his upright corner piano. Overlying it all came the tang of whiskey, the rich haze of cigarillo smoke and the earnest hum of business being conducted, gossip being told and men being men.
Among those men, Marielle Miller felt both comfortable and celebrated. For the past twelve of her thirty years, she’d been spending her nights in places just like Murphy’s saloon, kicking up her skirts for profit and honing her skills at dancing—and managing the men who watched her dance. Being both applauded and respected by those men was a tricky business. It was one Marielle had mastered, too. Unique among her fellow dance hall girls, Marielle excelled at making sure no one man stepped his spurred boots or battered brogans out of line—or got wrongheaded ideas about the smiles she tossed out while performing, either.
Her smiles were for show, meant to charm and entice. As near as Marielle could tell, they rightly did both of those things. But her smiles were all performance, approximately as genuine as the horsehair padding cleverly sewn into her costume to augment the curve of her hips and the swell of her bustline.
It wasn’t that Marielle didn’t enjoy dancing. She did. Especially with her current close-knit troupe and especially for a generous boss like Jack Murphy. But she didn’t particularly enjoy the artifice involved. Or the wariness, either. More than most girls, Marielle knew she could not afford to invite the attention of a scoundrel. Or any man, really. She had too many responsibilities to see to. Until those responsibilities were properly sorted, there would be no offstage flirtation for her.
