The Drifter

“Wiggs has a knack for creating engaging characters, and her energetic prose shines through the pages.”

—Publishers Weekly on Enchanted Afternoon

Enchanted Afternoon is “a bold, humorous and poignant romance that fulfills every woman’s dreams.”

—New York Times bestselling author Christina Dodd

“With its lively prose, well-developed conflict and passionate characters, this enjoyable, poignant tale is certain to enchant.”

—Publishers Weekly on Halfway to Heaven (starred review)

“Wiggs’ writing shimmers…. Her flair for crafting intelligent characters and the sheer joy of the verbal sparring between them makes for a delightful story you’ll want to devour at once.”

—BookPage on Halfway to Heaven

“With this final installment of Wiggs’s Chicago Fire trilogy, she has created a quiet page-turner that will hold readers spellbound….”

—Publishers Weekly on The Firebrand

“Once more, Ms. Wiggs demonstrates her ability to bring readers a story to savor that has them impatiently awaiting each new novel.”

—Romantic Times on The Hostage

“In poetic prose, Wiggs evocatively captures the Old South and creates an intense, believable relationship between the lovers.”

—Publishers Weekly on The Horsemaster’s Daughter

“The Charm School draws readers in with delightful characters, engaging dialogue, humor, emotion and sizzling sensuality.”

—Costa Mesa Sunday Times

To the crew of the Sea Fox/La Tache armada:

Jay, Elizabeth, Jamie, Tucker, Ben and Kristin.

Special thanks to Tom McEvoy and his Jet Ski—the Neptune of mobile marine mechanics. Also to Alistair Cross for advice on the proper way to sabotage a schooner.

Heartfelt thanks to landlubbers: Joyce Bell, Christina Dodd, Betty Gyenes, Debbie Macomber and Barbara Dawson Smith.

Thanks to Laura Shin, whose superb editorial skills brought out the very best in the manuscript.

And finally a big thank-you to Carol and Don Audleman for the most convivial tavolo comune.

“Wherever you are

it is your own friends who make your world.”

—William James, American psychologist

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Whidbey Island, Washington

1894

“Don’t scream, or I’ll shoot,” warned a low-pitched voice.

Leah Mundy jerked awake and found herself looking down the barrel of a gun.

Sheer panic jolted her to full alert.

“I’m not going to scream,” she said, dry-mouthed. In her line of work she had learned to control fear. Lightning flickered, glancing off the dull blue finish of a Colt barrel. “Please don’t hurt me.” Her voice broke but didn’t waver.

“Lady, that’s up to you. Just do as you’re told, and nobody’ll get hurt.”

Do as you’re told. Leah Mundy certainly had practice at that. “Who are you,” she asked, “and what do you want?”

“Who I am is the man holding this gun. What I want is Dr. Mundy. Sign outside says he lives here.”

Thunder pulsed in the distance, echoing the thud of her heart. She forced herself to keep the waves of terror at bay as she blurted, “Dr. Mundy does live here.”

“Well, go get him.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

She swallowed, trying to collect her wits, failing miserably. “He’s dead. He died three months ago.”

“Sign says Dr. Mundy lives here.” Fury roughened the insistent voice.

“The sign’s right.” Rain lashed the windowpanes. She squinted into the gloom. Beyond the gun, she couldn’t make out anything but the intruder’s dark shape. A loud snore drifted down the hall, and she glanced toward the noise. Think, think, think. Maybe she could alert one of the boarders.

The gun barrel jabbed at her shoulder. “For chrissakes, woman, I don’t have time for guessing games—”

“I’m Dr. Mundy.”

“What?”

“Dr. Leah Mundy. My father was also a doctor. We were in practice together. But now there’s just me.”

“Just you.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re a doctor.”

“I am.”

The large shape shifted impatiently. She caught the scents of rain and brine on him. Rain and brine from the sea and something else…desperation.

“You’ll have to do, then. Get your things, woman. You’re coming with me.”

She jerked the covers up under her chin. “I beg your pardon.”

“You’ll be begging for your sorry life if you don’t get a move on.”

The threat in his voice struck like a whip. She didn’t argue. Spending three years with her father back in Deadwood, South Dakota, had taught her to respect a threat issued by a man holding a gun.

But she’d never learned to respect the man himself.

“Turn your back while I get dressed,” she said.

“That’s pretty lame, even for a lady doctor,” he muttered. “I’m not fool enough to turn my back.”

“Any man who bullies unarmed people is a fool,” she snapped.