The Proposition

This book is dedicated with everlasting thanks and

deepest respect to my agent, mentor and friend, Charles Schlessiger. Thank you, Charles, for taking a chance and believing in an unknown writer. It’s a pleasure working with you.

I’d also like to thank my friend and fellow writer

Janine Whalley for her generous contribution of time and advice on the matter of horses. Thanks, Janine, for patiently answering every question I had regarding stallions, broodmares, foals and training. Any mistakes I may have made in the story are my own.

Contents

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

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue

Alberta, July 1892

Unaware of it, the man astride the horse dominated her attention. For three days running, Jessica Haven had watched Sergeant Major Travis Reid exercising the stallion on the oval track inside the fort, desperately trying to have a word with him, and for three days running the officer had ignored her. Today she’d force him to listen.

Sitting in the bleachers beside her, awash in early-morning sunlight, a small group had gathered to watch. The men concentrated on the dangerous bucking of the unbroken mustang, but Jessica knew the women focused on Travis.

“It’s a pity he’s leavin’ his horses,” said the banker.

“Sad shame what happened to his wife,” whispered the commander’s sister.

The officer twisted in the saddle. Leaning forward in concentration, his dark head tilted and body flexed, he melded with the sculpted lines of the horse. Dressed in the work clothes of the North-West Mounted Police—loose white shirt tucked into tight black breeches—he ran a large hand over the stallion’s neck and whispered something into its mane.

His hard muscles coaxed the animal into submission.

Jessica fanned her heated face and rearranged her flowing cotton skirts around her ankles, uncomfortable that it was obvious the man stirred her. Her absence of two years hadn’t changed his ability to dominate her senses.

Roughrider, his men had nicknamed him, a man skilled at riding untamed horses.

The name suited him, she thought, watching him dismount. He was rough. Travis was a master horseman, the Mounties’ best. Jessica had heard he also excelled at tracking outlaws, that he’d been promoted four times in three years. He’d risen from corporal to sergeant major faster than prairie lightning.

“Sergeant Major!” she shouted, jumping out of her seat and racing into the stables behind the intimidating man and beast.

Rows and rows of horses filled the stalls. Warm gashes of sunlight filtered through plank walls; the soothing scent of fresh straw and oats drifted around her.

“The girth wasn’t tight enough. I had to fix it.” Swinging one long leg off the saddle, Officer Reid spoke to a stable boy. “The stallion has a tricky habit of holding his breath when you saddle him, keeping his chest expanded. Next time walk him a few paces till he exhales, Shamus, then tighten the girth again.”

“Yes, sir.”

“May I help you, Miss Haven?” Another Mountie, carrying a pitchfork, stepped into her path. “You’re looking exceptionally fine. Welcome home. Is anyone escorting you to the pub social this eve—”

“No, thank you.” Panting, Jessica dodged through the workmen. “Officer Reid!”

Travis eyed her, then turned sharply on his black leather boot, broad shoulders twisting, ready to leave.

The insult burned deep. The man still had a way of brushing her aside. “Travis! I’d like a word with you! Please!”

She dashed out and nearly stumbled over a cluster of barn cats. Four small kittens froze in her path, the smallest one, a tawny fur ball, hunched its shoulders and peered up at her.

Laughter bubbled in her throat. She lifted him, tucking his entire body into one palm. Pressing her face into the downy neck, she enjoyed the tickle on her skin and its barnyard scent. “You’re so soft. A child would adore you.”

Travis turned around. The rippling shadows beneath his white shirt tightened in wary response. He said nothing, simply stared down at her as she drew closer. Her bonnet, sliding off her head but tied at her throat, bobbed along her spine. Her blond hair, braided neatly at the side, brushed along her shoulders.

Don’t be nervous, she told herself. Remain cheerful and simply ask the man.

Stroking the kitten, Jessica swallowed in a stew of emotions. Travis had the same solid jaw and firm cheeks she remembered. She looked lower. And there was something compelling about the physique of an active man, the straining and stretching of ropy muscles knotted from hard work and perseverance.

“Hello, Travis.”

His lips tugged into a cool line. “Back from charm school, are you?”

Her face heated, even as she nodded in agreement. Charm school. It was what her father had told everyone to cover his shame, but so far from the truth it was laughable. And her own shame made her go along with the story.