The Unlikely Groom. Wendy Douglas
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“I knew you’d come,” she said with soft satisfaction.
“Were you waiting for me?” His voice cracked with a husky edge.
“No. But I knew you’d come.”
“Why?”
“You couldn’t resist the music.”
That haunting melody. “It…called to me.”
“I called to you.”
It remained dark all around them, but Lucas could see her eyes sparkle in the darkness. How was it that he could see her as clearly as though every chandelier in the room was lit, and yet shadow shrouded everything else?
Ashlynne—no, Ashe—smiled again, a sultry, knowing expression, and she scooted around to face him. “Why did you come down here, Lucas?” she asked, and he blinked. She looked—and sounded—so…patient.
“I heard you playing.”
“And that’s all?”
“No.” He reached for her, drew her upward. “Because of this.”
He hauled her tight against him and caught her mouth with his….
Praise for Wendy Douglas’s debut
Shades of Gray
“A heartwarming voice and a story
about the power of love.”
—New York Times bestselling author Jennifer Greene
“Secrets, lies and revenge rule the day in this graphic
western drama. Danger mounts, passion flares, and lies
unfold as this stirring historical plays out
and characters evolve.”
—Affaire de Coeur
The Unlikely Groom
Wendy Douglas
MILLS & BOON
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With much love for my mom, Lenore Romey, who never
told me I should be outside playing instead of reading
a book, and in memory of my father, Wendell Romey,
the most patient man I’ve ever known.
And, as always, for Doug, who loves me despite
all the trouble I cause, who makes everything work—
somehow—and who has been known to offer that
special endearment only a writer can appreciate:
“Aren’t you supposed to be writing?” I couldn’t do it without you, darlin’.
I love you all.
Acknowledgments
Special thanks must go to Willie and Candy Seltenrich
for their willing participation in this book. Legs all
the way to heaven, Candy, and not one broken bone!
Also to Heather Mase for filling in as the
Paperwork Queen so I could finish this book and
to Kathy Hafer for last-minute proofreading.
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
Epilogue
Chapter One
Skagway, Alaska, February 1898
L ife was hell. It had been for longer than Lucas Templeton could remember, and there was no changing it. He’d gambled everything to learn that lesson—and he’d lost as completely as any man could. But that was old news and not particularly interesting any longer. Not to him, at least, and it was nobody else’s business.
It was part of the past and that’s exactly where he meant to see that it stayed.
Lucas lifted his shot glass and eyed the fine, clear whiskey with some appreciation. The glass was cool and smooth against his fingers and the alcohol shimmered with the taunt of a familiar amber color. The memory of its smooth, distinctive bite offered the lure of forgetfulness…if only he would give in to it.
He didn’t doubt the whiskey’s ability to make good on its promise; tonight he drank the expensive stuff, available to any man who could pay the price…and he could. He, in fact, owned the whole damned shebang—or at least this shebang. He sipped the whiskey with an appreciation for which few men in Alaska seemed to have the patience and turned to survey his domain.
The Star of the North. Lucas smiled and nodded, satisfied by what he saw. It wasn’t much, not by most standards anywhere else in the world. For him, it was everything.
One of the first saloons in Skagway, he had built it at precisely the right time. He’d had little competition at first and had unwittingly built the Star’s reputation by dealing fairly with his customers and offering a reasonable comfort not often found on the frontier. Now, less than a year later, he continued to enjoy a particular success that few of the others had matched.
He’d often thought that those who’d come later hadn’t wanted the triumph—or needed it—nearly as badly as he had. He’d even accepted that explanation for at least part of the difference.
But what about the rest of it?
He didn’t know for certain, nor had he ever wasted much time trying to figure it out. That kind of thinking could only lead him back to the reasons that this saloon mattered so very much in the first place, and all that was better left in the past. He needed no reminder of the life he’d once led.
It was enough that this life compared in no way to the one he’d left behind.
No.