Wolf Creek Widow
The Widow's Second ChanceMeg Thomerson needs assistance getting back on her feet–even if it comes from the man who made her a widow. Ace Allen didn't intend to kill her husband, he only wanted to protect the town from the man's rage. Now Ace is keeping Meg's business and farm running while she heals, both physically and emotionally. But is he helping her out of charity–or because of something more?Half Native American, Ace struggles to find his place in the world. He keeps himself isolated from the community, but sweet Meg begins to penetrate his defenses. At first, he simply wanted to make amends to her. Now, if she'll let him, he could become the loving husband she deserves…
Читать Wolf Creek Widow онлайн беплатно
The Widowâs Second Chance
Meg Thomerson needs assistance getting back on her feetâeven if it comes from the man who made her a widow. Ace Allen didnât intend to kill her husband, he only wanted to protect the town from the manâs rage. Now Ace is keeping Megâs business and farm running while she heals, both physically and emotionally. But is he helping her out of charityâor because of something more?
Half Native American, Ace struggles to find his place in the world. He keeps himself isolated from the community, but sweet Meg begins to penetrate his defenses. At first, he simply wanted to make amends to her. Now, if sheâll let him, he could become the loving husband she deserves...
âLook at me.â
As he spoke, he gave her arms a gentle tug.
Bit by bit, as if she were expecting it to be a trick, she did as he commanded while her mind recanted the litany that this man had killed her husband.
Common sense prevailed. If he hadnât shot Elton, Colt would be dead and youâd probably be dead yourself. He did it for you. To save you. To save Colt.
His crystalline eyes clouded with remorse. âIâm sorry. I didnât mean to frighten you. I was only going to get a twig out of your hair.â
Holding one palm up in a âstopâ gesture, he reached out with the other to pluck the harmless twig from her tangled hair. Without a word, he held it out to show her.
She felt like a fool for overreacting. âTh-thank you,â she whispered, daring to let her gaze make contact with the disturbing intensity of his.
He nodded. âI know you donât have many reasons to believe anything a man says, but I want you to know that I have never raised my hand against a woman, and I never will. You have no reason to be frightened of me. Ever.â
PENNY RICHARDS has been publishing since 1983, writing mostly contemporary romances. She now happily pens inspirational historical romance and loves spending her days in the âpastâ when things were simpler and times were more innocent. She enjoys research, yard sales, flea markets, revamping old stuff and working in her flower gardens. A mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, she tries to spend as much time as possible with her family.
In His favor is life: weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.
âPsalms 30:5
This book is for Ace Allen Richards, first great-grandchild and Adventurer Extraordinaire. I hope to have many more ââventuresâ with you, precious blue-eyed boy.
Thanks to Benjamin Neeley for telling me about âthin places.â Now I know what to call those special moments.
Contents
Wolf Creek, Arkansas, 1886
Thunk!
Thunk!
Thunk!
The dull, rhythmic sound penetrated the light layer of sleep shrouding Meg Thomersonâs consciousness. She lay on her side, her knees pulled up to her chest as far as her injured ribs and healing arm would allow. Her hands, palms pressed together as if she were praying, were tucked beneath her cheek. Even now, dull pain pulsed in her side with every slow beat of her heart, a persistent reminder of the last time sheâd been in this room.
Thunk!
Restless, she moved her head on the pillow, not ready to face the day just yet. Not ready to face what might be left of her life. The lonely night had been made worse without her children there to cheer her. Sheâd thought of going into their room, but knew it would only make their absence harder to bear. Besides, she was filled with the certainty that if she started sleeping in their room for comfort, she would never again find the courage to stay alone at night. Meg knew she might be many things, but she didnât think she was a coward.
It was almost dawn before sheâd fallen into a light sleep filled with echoes of Eltonâs mocking voice and vivid dreams of him hitting her.
Thunk!
Her eyelids flew upward against her will. She didnât want to wake up, didnât want to remember the last time she was here. Too late. Her gaze collided with the battered chest of drawers that sat next to her bed. Elton had hidden some cash and a gun there. The same gun heâd used to try to kill Sheriff Colt Garrett almost six weeks ago after escaping from prison, where heâd been sent earlier in the year for a series of robberies in the area and almost killing Gabe Gentry and Sarah VanSickle. The attempted murder had taken place on the same day Elton had been shot and killed.
It was that decision, one of the many bad choices he had made through the years, that led to his own death. Meg moved her head restlessly on the pillow. If she let herself remember, she would be filled with that wonderful, horrible, sinful feeling of relief that had swept through her when the sheriff broke the news that Elton was dead.
