Hell for Leather Read online

He pulled the gown completely down and then scooped her up in his arms, eager to make her his wife in truth. After he laid her on the white coverlet, she spread her legs, giving him a glimpse of the pink flesh glistening with her arousal.

  Cade yanked off his drawers and climbed onto the bed.

  She opened her arms, pulling him atop her. “Please don’t make me wait any longer.”

  “It might not be long, period,” he choked out. “I’ve never been so hard in my life.”

  Sabrina laughed. “Ah, but we have all night, my love.” She ran her hands down his back, leaving shivers behind.

  He settled above her, poised at her entrance, and looked into her beautiful blue eyes. In their depths, he saw everything he could ever wish for, dream of or want. She was everything.

  As he slid into her welcoming warmth, inch by inch, he reveled in the fact that she was his and he was hers. Once he was fully sheathed within her, he stopped to catch his breath, almost overwhelmed with the need to reach his peak already.

  She rocked against him, drawing him in a tiny bit further. “Oh God, Cade, please.”

  He couldn’t wait a second longer either. Sabrina pulled her knees back, opening herself up to him fully. Her heat surrounded him as he thrust in and out, basking in the white light of their love.

  “Cade, I am nearly there.” Her voice was husky with passion.

  “Now, Brina, now.” He rode the wave of ecstasy that washed over him, finally feeling complete in her arms.

  “Cade!” Sabrina cried his name into his ear, a whisper that resonated in his heart.

  “My wife.” Cade felt the truth of the words deep inside him—he’d finally found where he belonged.

  About the Author

  You can’t say cowboys without thinking of Beth Williamson. She likes ’em hard, tall and packing. Read her work and discover for yourself how hot and dangerous a cowboy can be.

  Beth lives in North Carolina, with her husband and two sons. Born and raised in New York, she holds a B.F.A. in writing from New York University. She spends her days as a technical writer, and her nights immersed in writing hot romances for her readers.

  To learn more about Beth Williamson, please visit www.bethwilliamson.com. Send an email to Beth at [email protected], join her Yahoo! Group, http://groups.yahoo.com/group/cowboylovers, or sign up for Beth’s monthly newsletter, Sexy Spurs, http://www.janusportal.com/lists/?p=subscribe&id=3.

  Look for these titles by Beth Williamson

  Now Available:

  The Bounty

  The Prize

  The Reward

  The Treasure

  The Gift

  The Tribute

  The Legacy

  Marielle’s Marshal

  Devils on Horseback: Nate

  Branded

  Devils on Horseback: Jake

  Hell for Leather

  Coming Soon:

  Devils on Horseback: Zeke

  Gold Rush dreams don’t come cheap—or without danger.

  Gold Dust

  © 2008 Gail Murphy

  Fleeing the cheerless prospect of marriage to a man she despises, Sarah Delany sails into the heady excitement of Gold Rush San Francisco. She has high hopes for a new life. Romance is the last thing on her mind. Especially with a rude ruffian of a gold miner who rescues her from being crushed by a wayward wagon.

  John Lawton arrives that very same day, brushing the grime of more than a year’s work in the mining camps off his rumpled clothes. He’s got a grim-willed resolve to turn a pocketful of gold into a fortune, and no “helpless female” is going to interfere with his plans. Not even when fate literally throws one into his path.

  After these shaky first impressions they go their separate ways, but chance throws them together again and again until they put their prickly beginning behind them and admit their attraction is more than a passing fancy.

  This vibrant young city is a stage set not only for romance, but for danger, which comes in the form of Sarah’s jilted, vengeful fiancé. She and John must sift through a mountain of lies, deceit, and a brush with death if they hope to find the ultimate treasure—in each other’s arms.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Gold Dust:

  She squared her shoulders and picked up her bags. The sooner they met with Ben McBride’s brother and his wife, the better. You’d think the man owned the town the way Ben had bragged about his brother’s store in San Francisco and the fortune he was making selling goods to the gold miners that passed through. All she wanted was to contact the man, get safely settled, then open a clothes shop with Anne, just like they’d planned.

  The owner of the cart straightened up and smoothed his crumpled jacket at the sight of the two women. He gave them a gallant bow and a jaunty hand up into the back of the wagon, and a few minutes later they were off at a jarring trot up Commercial Street, stirring up dust as they went.

  Sarah twisted and turned on the plank seat, trying to take in everything as their wagon rattled past a steady stream of men, horses and wagons vying for space on the narrow streets. And lining the streets was a remarkable array of buildings—everything from canvas tents and unpainted wooden structures to the peculiar sight of a landed ship that seemed to be serving as a hotel. These haphazard stretches were punctuated with rows of newer, more solidly constructed buildings, many made of brick and some as handsome as anything she had seen in New York. When asked, their driver stated that after every fire the town got rebuilt just a little bit better. She fell silent, wondering just how often things burned down in San Francisco.

  The driver stopped in front of a modest-looking building—the sign over the door identified it as the Pacific Hotel—and helped unload their bags onto the sidewalk. Even before the driver had pulled away, Ben had left the women with the luggage as he went inside to rent them rooms, only to come hurrying back out a few minutes later grumbling about high prices. A helpful passerby mentioned that there was a cheaper place across the street, and Ben was off again, as dogged as a bloodhound that had just picked up the scent. Sarah wouldn’t have been surprised to see him rear back his head and break out in a howl.

  She stared longingly at the hotel’s doorway, convinced she would have been happy to stay there. Judging by her glimpse of the lobby it looked reasonably clean, and it would be a luxury to sleep in a real bed tonight. She was tired and dusty and growing jumpy at the relentless attention she and Anne were attracting. San Francisco seemed to be populated by young, vigorous men who—judging by those she’d seen so far—didn’t have much time to bathe or change their clothes. And the mere sight of a woman seemed to addle their brains.

  Turning back to watch Ben disappear into the door of the questionable-looking hotel across the street, she reflected on the fact that Ben hadn’t even thought to ask where she wanted to stay. She gritted her teeth and vowed that from now on she was going to start doing exactly as she pleased, no matter what Ben McBride or anyone else had to say about it.

  But there was no time to dwell on that particular sore point. As usual, Anne was stepping to do her husband’s bidding, following him without hesitation and leaving Sarah to fend for herself. Muttering to herself, Sarah picked up her bags and fell in behind.

  With a brisk step she left the sidewalk, just as a horse and rider thundered out in front of her. Her bags went flying and she stumbled backwards—right into the path of a wagon rattling along in the opposite direction. She fell with a heavy thump onto the hard, dusty ground, but before the crush of wagon wheels could send her to her heavenly reward, strong arms scooped her up from behind. A silky masculine voice said “easy now” before she was gently deposited on the other side of the street. The stranger’s strong arms released her, and Sarah caught her breath as she stared up into an extraordinary face.

  A full, unkempt beard and mustache and shoulder-length, tangled brown hair flowed from beneath the misshapen brim of a stained leather hat. Her rescuer looked to be young, although his appearance made it hard to say exactly how
old he really was. He wore a faded red shirt and tattered pants held up by a grimy sash, and he looked as rough as the other men gawking at her right now. Except for his eyes.

  She was held by those clear gray eyes. They caught her up and held her tight until she was forced to look away. Out of that face they burned bright and lively, eyes that saw the distaste she felt and reflected back his own amusement. He didn’t seem to care in the least what she thought of him, Sarah realized with a start. And now he had the nerve to run his gaze over her as if examining a prize cow he was thinking of buying.

  Before she could utter one astonished word the stranger dashed back into the street, avoiding another wagon as he retrieved her two bags. She closed her mouth and swallowed hard when he plunked them down at her feet, trying to remember her manners. She’d thank him and give him a dollar for the help he’d rendered. He must need the money, anyway. But as she tried to fish a coin out of the small purse looped around her wrist, the young man tugged cordially at the brim of his hat, uttered the words “ma’am, it’s been a pleasure” with a bare hint of a smile and sauntered off down the uneven plank sidewalk.

  “But wait—thank you,” she called to the broad, retreating back, and a second later her rescuer had disappeared around a corner without so much as a glance her way.

  How rude just to dash off like that! Sarah took a deep breath to compose herself, then brushed the dirt off her dress and straightened her bonnet. She reached down and collected the baggage at her feet, but by this time the McBrides were nowhere in sight.

  “Excuse me, please,” she said as she shouldered her way through the pack of men who had gathered to watch. That, at least, was getting easier.

  When a man sets out to tame a strong-willed woman, he’d best hang on to his hat.

  Taming Eliza Jane

  © 2007 Shannon Stacey

  Will Martinson, the town doctor, already has a heap of troubles on his plate, what with a pregnant whore, an ailing friend and a sheriff with a bad habit of shooting people. The last thing he needs is a strong hankering for a woman who thinks it’s her duty to turn a man’s life upside-down.

  Eliza Jane Carter is a woman on a mission. She’s going to improve the lives of the women in Gardiner, Texas before moving on to the next town. But when her finances take a turn for the worse and her chaperone heads for the hills, Eliza Jane is stranded in a town full of riled up menfolk, a gun-happy sheriff and one handsome doctor who makes her question everything she ever believed about the love between a man and a woman.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Taming Eliza Jane:

  Women, in general, were more of a pain in the ass than a lumpy saddle. And whores, in particular, could drive a sober man to go looking for the bottom of a bottle.

  The one between whose thighs Will Martinson currently knelt—a particular favorite of his by the name of Sadie—giggled again, causing her ample breasts to shake. It was more of a distraction than any man could withstand. But Sadie liked baring them, even though he’d told her time and time again he had no need to see them.

  “It ain’t supposed to tickle, Sadie.”

  “I ain’t laughin’ at no tickle. Was laughin’ at your face—so serious and businesslike.”

  Will pushed to his feet and flipped Sadie’s skirt down over her splayed thighs. “When were your last courses?”

  The amusement drained from the pretty whore’s face. “Do I gotta baby in me, Doc?”

  Will sighed and closed up his bag. His monthly health checks at the Chicken Coop were usually uneventful. Miss Adele took good care of her girls, and taught them to care for themselves. But he was especially fond of Sadie—a dirt-poor Southern farm girl who’d probably never make it to California no matter how much time she spent on her back—and her expression damn near broke his heart.

  “I think you do, Sadie.” And not the first inkling of which of her numerous customers may have fathered it. Not that it mattered. A whore’s bastard was a child only the mother would love.

  “How long can I work?”

  His fingers tightened on the straps of his medical bag. “You should get on the next stage and go home, sweetheart. I’ll pay your passage if you don’t have enough money tucked away. Tell your folks you had a husband but he got killed.”

  A look of revulsion passed over her face. He saw that look a lot if he mentioned home during his visits to the Coop. What horrors these girls had been born into that made it preferable to spread their legs for an endless stream of strange men, he couldn’t even begin to guess.

  “I asked you,” Sadie insisted, some of the sweetness gone from her voice, “how long can I work?”

  Looking down into her pretty hazel eyes, framed by a mass of golden curls, he almost offered to marry her. She’d make a right sweet wife and she could be a proper mother to her baby. And if the people of Gardiner took issue with their doctor marrying a whore, why they could deliver their own babies and set their own goddamn broken bones.

  He took a deep breath and settled his hat on his head. But, hellfire, he couldn’t save them all.

  “I guess until the men ain’t willing to pay for you anymore,” he replied in a voice heavy with regret.

  Will walked out of the Chicken Coop with an aching heart and a gut churning with frustration. The last person he expected to see waiting for him was the sheriff, who usually gave the only whorehouse in town a wide berth.

  Adam Caldwell was damn near the best friend Will had ever had, but he could be as much a pain in the ass as the whores at times. He wasn’t sure he had the patience for him right now.

  The sheriff fell into step beside him on the plank sidewalk. Will knew they made a noticeable pair. Adam was dark and forbidding. Over six feet of sun-darkened muscle, black shirt and a black hat covering long black hair, with unforgiving eyes almost as dark. They all figured there was some Indian in him somewhere, but no man had yet had the balls to ask him outright.

  Will himself was as tall, but he was leaner, with an open, friendly air about him. White shirt with cuffs rolled to the elbows tucked into denim pants. His battered, brown Stetson covered sandy hair he kept trimmed off his ears and neck. And the ladies sure did tend to go on about his blue eyes.

  The only other things they had in common were the tin stars—Will liked to pin his on his doctoring kit—and the holsters low on their hips. Will Martinson had sworn to preserve life, but he was also the only man Adam trusted to back him up. The sheriff’s reputation went a long way toward keeping the peace, but when there was need for a deputy, Will just told himself there was more than one way to preserve a life.

  “Trouble?” Adam finally asked when Will didn’t talk just to fill the silence as he was wont to do.

  “Sadie’s with child.”

  Adam shrugged. “Can’t help those who don’t wanna be helped, Doc.”

  Hell, he knew that. But he wasn’t in the mood to hear it just yet. “Heard at the Coop some woman got off the stage and stayed off.”

  It was a rare event for a woman to stay in town, unless her intention was a room at the Chicken Coop. Word of her had spread through Gardiner like wildfire.

  “Yup. Ain’t good.”

  Will waited for his friend to go on with a growing sense of aggravation. Hellfire, he’d had easier conversations with mules. “Why ain’t it good? She somebody you’ve heard of?”

  “Yup. Eliza Jane Carter. Likes to ride into town, get the women all riled up about demanding their rights and shit, then she skedaddles.”

  “She stayin’ a while?”

  “Looks like.”

  Will knew his friend was mulling over the woman’s unwelcome presence in his town and her potential for troublemaking, but all he could think about was how the woman could maybe talk some sense into Sadie. Tell her there were better ways for her and her child to make it in the world.

  Adam sighed and pushed his hat back on his head. “If the women gettin’ riled up gets the men riled up, we could have us some trouble.”

  Damna
tion. He didn’t need spectacles to see where Adam was heading with this. “Dammit, Adam, I’m a doctor, not a nanny.”

  “Better job for you than me. I ain’t so good with diplomacy.”

  “Diplomacy? You? Shit, they say you shot a man for calling your horse ugly.”

  The sheriff shrugged. “He lived. And my horse ain’t ugly.”

  Fact was, Sheriff Caldwell’s gelding was the ugliest son of a bitch to ever stand on four legs. A sane man would have shot the creature just to save his own eyesight. But that horse had speed and stamina the likes of which Will had never seen, and he would run until his heart exploded for Adam. He was loyal in a way Will hadn’t come across even in a good dog, and certainly never in another person. Didn’t change the fact the beast was damn ugly, though. Folks had just gotten real quiet about it.

  “I ain’t asking you to marry the woman, Doc. Just keep an eye on her.” When Will hesitated, Adam shrugged again. Hell, he hated that—made Will want to shove the sheriff’s head so far down his neck he could never shrug his shoulders again. “I’d hate for her to cause trouble. Seems a mighty shame to shoot a woman.”

  Will laughed at the blatant attempt at blackmail, some of the tension easing from his body. “Even you wouldn’t shoot a woman, you ornery son of a bitch.”

  He looked up in time to see a damn fine looking woman step out of the hotel. She was tall and thin, but not so thin she didn’t have rounded breasts and hips that like to make a man’s mouth water. “Is that her?”

  “Must be.”

  Will smiled and pushed his own hat back a little further on his head. “It would be a damn shame to have to shoot her.”

  “Yup.”

  She liked to get women all riled up about their rights, did she? “Could be she starts causing too much trouble I’ll have to put her over my knee and spank some sense into her.”

  And damned if he didn’t get so riled up himself he had to walk down the sidewalk with his bag held in front of his crotch like a schoolboy.