The Ballad of Emma O'Toole. Elizabeth Lane
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In the cold, dark silence of the room Emma could hear the slow cadence of Logan’s breathing. She lay still, teeth chattering.
“It’s warmer over here.”
Logan’s voice was like dark honey flowing over warm buttered flapjacks.
“I don’t trust you.”
“Now, that stings, Mrs Devereaux. Have I been anything less than a perfect gentleman?”
“Will you stop that ‘Mrs Devereaux’ talk? I know why you married me, and you know why I married you. Let’s just call this what it is and try not to get on each other’s nerves.”
“Suits me,” he said with a yawn. “But it’s still warmer on my side of the bed.” He shifted to clear a place for her. “Come here. I won’t bite you.”
The bed was awfully cold. Still shivering, Emma edged closer, until he reached out and pulled her gently into the curve of his body.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “We’re as innocent as two lambs. Now, go to sleep, Emma.”
But something was different, and she knew at once what it was. A man could say anything with his mouth. But one part of his body would always tell the truth.
AUTHOR NOTE
This is a ‘Book of My Heart’. In the years that passed between its beginning and its publication the story never left me, and I never gave up on it. Seeing it in print at last, and being able to share it with you, is a very personal joy.
Park City, Utah, is an hour’s drive from where I live. Cradled by the beautiful Wasatch Mountains, its history is as spectacular as its setting. My own pioneer great-great-grandfather directed the first settlement of the high valley—then known as Parley’s Park. Its progression from farming community to silver mining boom town, from crumbling backwater to world-class ski resort and home of the Sundance Film Festival, is a true American saga.
THE BALLAD OF EMMA O’TOOLE is set amid the silver boom of the 1880s that brought wealth-seekers from all over the world. Young Emma O’Toole is determined to make a better life for herself, but her beauty is offset by every possible strike against her. She’s orphaned, impoverished, and pregnant by a nineteen-year-old boy as poor as she is. Fate and tragedy intervene to thrust her into the reluctant arms of gambler Logan Devereaux, a cynical man with a dangerous past. Can such an unlikely pair find happiness together? I hope you’ll be cheering them on, as I was, all the way to the end of their story.
I offer you this book with a piece of my heart. Enjoy.
About the Author
ELIZABETH LANE has lived and travelled in many parts of the world, including Europe, Latin America and the Far East, but her heart remains in the American West, where she was born and raised. Her idea of heaven is hiking a mountain trail on a clear autumn day. She also enjoys music, animals and dancing. You can learn more about Elizabeth by visiting her website at www.elizabethlaneauthor.com
Previous novels from this author:
In Mills & Boon® Historical Romance:
ANGELS IN THE SNOW(part of Stay for Christmas anthology)
HER DEAREST ENEMY
THE STRANGER
ON THE WINGS OF LOVE
HIS SUBSTITUTE BRIDE
THE BORROWED BRIDE
THE HAND-ME-DOWN BRIDE(part of Weddings Under a Western Sky anthology)
THE HOMECOMING(part of Cowboy Christmas anthology)
THE HORSEMAN’S BRIDE
THE LAWMAN’S VOW
And in Mills & Boon ® Desire ™ :
IN HIS BROTHER’S PLACE
Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
The Ballad of Emma O’Toole
Elizabeth Lane
For Barbara, the little red car, the bad back, the handsome chiropractor, and the birth of this story.
Prologue
Park City, Utah Territory, April 1886
“Emma, wake up! Billy John’s been shot!”
The pounding on the lean-to at the back of the boardinghouse jarred Emma O’Toole awake. She jerked upright in the darkness, her heart slamming.
“Open the door!” She recognized the voice now. It was Eddie McCoy, one of the miners who bunked upstairs and took his meals in the dining room where she worked. But what was that he was saying about Billy John? Fear for her sweetheart had her scrambling off her thin straw mattress. She lifted the latch with shaking fingers. A blast of wind swept into the tiny space, almost ripping the door from her hand.
“You got to come now. He’s hit bad, askin’ for you.”
Emma was already jamming her bare feet into boots and reaching for a shawl to fling over her flannel nightgown. This had to be some kind of awful mistake. How could anything bad happen to Billy John Carter, the only boy who’d ever loved her?
“Where is he?” she managed to ask.
“Crystal Queen Saloon. Some slick gambler done it. Bastard claimed Billy John was cheatin’ at cards. Hurry!”
She followed Eddie, bracing into the wind as she stumbled through ruts where the lumbering ore wagons had passed. From the sprawl of Chinese huts in the gulch below, the rising odors of cabbage, soy vinegar and incense mingled in a sour stench that touched off ripples of nausea in her stomach.
Just that morning, she’d told Billy John she was with child. Kissing her, he’d promised to marry her the next day and make a home for her and their baby. Pretty words, but she’d seen the flash of desperation in his pale eyes. Supporting a wife and child would take money. And apart from the small pouch of silver he’d scratched out of his mountainside claim, Billy John scarcely had a cent to his name.
That would explain the card game. But when it came to gambling, Billy John was no better than a lamb asking to be fleeced. What an innocent! When she found him, she was going to give him such a piece of her mind…
Emma stumbled to her knees as cold reality struck home. The father of her unborn child could be dying. By now, he could even be dead.
The miner helped her stand. Looking ahead, she saw that they’d reached the upper end of Main Street. Even at this late hour, the saloons were teeming. With the discovery of silver in the hills above Park City, gamblers and shysters had come flocking like buzzards to a dead mule. Night and day they plied their sleazy trade, robbing honest men of their hard-earned treasure. And now one of them had shot her darling Billy John.
The Crystal Queen—a dingy gambling den, far less grand than its name—was in the second block. People swarmed around the door, craning their necks to see inside. Someone spotted Emma. A shout went up. “It’s his girl, Emma O’Toole! Let her through!”
She stumbled forward as the crowd gave way. In the smoky lamplight, she could make out something—no, someone—sprawled on the floor beneath a rumpled blanket. Long, thin legs. Worn, mud-caked boots. It could only be Billy John.
He