The Lawman of Silver Creek:
“If you want an emotional romantic adventure to nineteenth century frontier America this is for you.” Jane Hunt ReviewsFor fans of Diana Palmer and Linda Lael Miller comes a new novella in The Men of Fir Mountain series.As sheriff of Silver Creek, Matthew Marson’s job is to look after his town. But when he fails to protect the most important person in his life, Claire, from an attack, Matt feels as though he will never be able to forgive himself.Her husband-to-be’s newly found overprotectiveness drives the headstrong Claire from his arms. She can’t see a future with a man who won’t allow her to follow her dreams.In a small town where everybody knows your name and your business, it’s impossible for the pair to stay apart, especially as Claire finds that she can’t completely turn her back on the lawman that she loves.
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The Lawman of Silver Creek
The Men of Fir Mountain
Lori Connelly
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
Contents
HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2013
Copyright © Lori Connelly
Cover Images © Shutterstock.com
Lori Connelly asserts the moral right
to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © November 2013
ISBN: 9780007544509
Version 2014-10-03
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For my Bear, always.
Fall 1891 Fir Mountain, Oregon
Energy crackled in the air. Wind howled and thunder roared, loud and intense. Clouds obscured the sky, darkening the midday hour, as rain streamed from the heavens.
âYou shouldnât be here.â
Claire McConkey smiled in response to his gruff, inhospitable greeting and moved closer. âWhy?â
Lightening streaked across the dull grayness above, illuminating her finely boned, heart shaped face. Dark brown hair blackened by water clung in tangles. The sight tugged at his deep need to protect her, but he fought it off with cold, hard reason. Another man might think the petite woman who stood only chest high before him, slender to the point that a stiff wind might blow her away, needed coddling. Her delicate appearance misled many. Sheriff Matthew Marston knew better.
Matt stepped out on the covered porch of his familyâs log cabin. She didnât yield ground. Their bodies brushed, and awareness flared. He closed the door behind him to keep her out of his refuge, sidestepping to put some space between them.
âGo home,â he ordered bluntly, his tone firm.
As always, eyes the same rich color as her hair mesmerized him. Claire never veiled emotion. When laughter sparkled in the depths of her eyes, her delight was infectious. If angered, one look would scorch whoever had earned her ill humor. Heâd never had to guess what she was feeling, until now. His weight shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. Her gaze shone with an intensity that unsettled him.
âBut Iâm soaked and frozen through. Wonât you ask me in?â
âNo.â He was certain she was up to something, playing with him. Her soft request only hardened his resolve.
An eyebrow arched at his swift denial. âYouâd let me catch my death walking in the storm?â
His eyes narrowed. Matt studied Claire for a long moment, jaw clenched, suspicion high. Mere weeks had passed since the woman whoâd held his heart from the time sheâd worn ponytails and he chased frogs had rejected him. Sheâd inflicted a wound that festered, refusing to heal. The memory haunted his quiet moments. He couldnât understand how she could kiss him with soul searing passion one minute and then with her next breath calmly tell him that their wedding was off.
Nothing makes sense anymore. Matt sighed, and then opened the door. With a sweep of his arm, he waved her in.
âAs soon as the weather clears, Iâll escort you home.â
âHmm.â Her fingers brushed his sleeve. Claire stepped forward then paused in the doorway. Her voice was low-pitched, husky. âCould you help me? Iâm afraid I feel faint.â
Matt snorted. The wilting violet routine wasnât going to work. Her family had moved in next to his when they were both children. Heâd known this strong willed woman for the majority of his life. Her supposed weakness was frankly unbelievable. Yet as twin pools of melted chocolate held his gaze, a soft plea reflected in her large eyes, his resistance softened. He shook his head even though he acted as a gentleman, and offered her his arm.
Inside, the cozy living area offered warmth, with orange flames snapping in the fireplace. Two roughly hewn chairs angled in front of it, turned from the table, created a sense of welcome. Only moments before, heâd been sitting in one, legs up, well-worn boots on the seat of the other; the most relaxed heâd been in a long while. Her arrival had shattered his peace.
