Loner's Lady. Lynna Banning
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“Dan will be coming home,” Ellen said in a suddenly quivery voice.
“Most likely.” Jess didn’t say anything else for a long while.
Ellen struggled to absorb the words. How quickly her life had turned upside down. An hour ago…
Her cheeks grew hot. An hour ago she hadn’t been thinking about Dan at all. She’d been thinking about Jess Flint.
“Ellen. There’s…” he closed his eyes momentarily “…there’s more.”
Incredulous, she stared at him. “More? What ‘more’?” She punched her balled-up fist into his chest.
He caught her hand, imprisoned it in his, and when she tried to jerk out of his grasp, he lifted his arms and pinned her against him. “Ellen. Ellen.”
She went perfectly still. “All right, tell me the rest, damn you. Get it over with.”
Praise for
Lynna Banning
“Do not read Lynna Banning expecting some trite, clichéd western romance. This author breathes fresh air into the West.”
—Romantic Reviews Today
The Scout
“Though a romance through and through, The Scout is also a story with powerful undertones of sacrifice and longing.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub
The Angel of Devil’s Camp
“This sweet charmer of an Americana romance has just the right amount of humor, poignancy and a cast of quirky characters.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub
The Ranger and the Redhead
“…fast-paced, adventure-filled story…”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub
Loner’s Lady
Lynna Banning
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
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Chapter One
S he saw him coming up Creek Road and for a moment her heart stopped beating. Clutching the pitted garden trowel in one hand, she tucked a wayward strand of hair back under her blue sunbonnet and squinted into the late afternoon sun until her vision blurred.
But it wasn’t Dan. She released the breath she’d been holding and studied the man. A worn-looking leather saddle weighed down one shoulder, and a dark hat slanted over his eyes. He walked with a slight hesitation in his gait, as if one knee was stiff. Just another saddle tramp looking for a meal.
Ellen watched for a minute, then bent to the row of leafy vegetables and pulled up an extra half-dozen carrots for supper. She couldn’t bear the thought of someone, even a saddle tramp, going hungry.
Drawing in a slow lungful of the hot, earth-scented summer air, she resumed weeding. Probably lost his horse in a poker game. She sniffed at the thought and yanked a clump of chickweed out of the ground. What was it about gambling that men found so irresistible?
Getting something for nothing, Dan had told her once with a cocky grin. Ellen knew better. Most often he started with Something and ended up with Nothing.
Pulling the kitchen knife from her apron pocket, she sliced off a dozen yellow squash and two shiny green peppers. At least her simple meal would be colorful.
She straightened again as the man turned in at her gate. It took him a long time to push open the rickety contraption she had cobbled together out of used nails and crooked sugar pine limbs. It sagged badly, the rusted hinge held in place by a single screw. Another of the thousand and one things she hadn’t had time to fix.
“Miz O’Brian?”
Ellen stepped out of the vegetable patch toward him. “Yes? I am Mrs. O’Brian.”
Jess dropped the saddle where he stood. “My name’s Jason Flint, ma’am.” From beneath the brim of his hat he studied her face for a flicker of recognition. Nothing. Under her own floppy gingham bonnet, the woman’s blue eyes drilled into him like two steel bolts.
“Most folks call me Jess.” Again he waited for a reaction, but her sun-reddened features betrayed not a hint of feeling. Damn and then some. How lucky could he get?
She stuck out a dirt-stained hand. “Mr. Flint.” She had a strong handshake for a small woman, but quicker than he could wink she tucked her hand back into her apron pocket.
“Guess you’d like to know what I’m doing out here on your farm?”
Those blue eyes widened slightly, but she kept her face impassive. She’d make a good poker player, Jess thought. Or maybe she was just a careful farm wife who’d seen a good number of strays in her time.
“Truth is…” he began.
“You’re hungry,” she stated.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her hands went to her hips. “And broke.”
Jess hesitated. “Well…” He’d sold his horse and most of his possessions three days ago so he could eat. Hell yes, he was broke.
“Out-of-work-down-on-your-luck-and-lost-your-horse,” she said. It wasn’t a question. She ran the words together as if she was reciting a poem.
“Yes, ma’am.” He expected her to frown or purse her lips and tsk-tsk at him, but she did neither. Instead, she gave him a long look and headed for the back porch of the farmhouse.
Jess let his gaze follow her, hoping she’d say something with the word supper in it. He noted the peeling white paint on the house and the lopsided angle of the screen door. A hole as big as his fist gaped in the mesh. He’d bet she had a kitchen full of fat black flies.
The back door wheezed open and slapped shut and her voice floated to him through the screen. “Supper’s in half an hour. Wash up at the pump.”
Jess swiped off his hat, bent over