Praise for Cheryl St John
THE LAWMAN’S BRIDE
‘As always, St John portrays the West realistically and romantically.’
—RT Book Reviews
HIS SECONDHAND WIFE
‘A beautifully crafted and involving story about the transforming power of love.’
—RT Book Reviews
PRAIRIE WIFE
‘This is a very special book, courageously executed by the author and her publisher.
St John explores the catastrophic loss of a toddler in intimate, painfully beautiful detail. Her considerable skill brings the common theme of the romance novel—love conquers all—to the level of genuine catharsis.’
—RT Book Reviews
SWEET ANNIE
‘A tale brimming with love…Ms St John delivers another wonderful Western historical romance…’
—Romance Reviews Today
THE DOCTOR’S WIFE
‘Cheryl St John gives testimony to the blessings of family and to the healing powers of love.’
—RT Book Reviews
Sophie wanted to change.
But how could she change now? How could she tell him the truth regarding anything without condemning herself to prison? She couldn’t. Not yet.
An uncharacteristic sense of hopelessness swept over her. She blinked back the sting of tears.
But he’d seen. “Sophie? What is it? What makes you so sad?”
She shook her head.
Clay remained seated, but took her hand and raised it to his lips. His warm breath and a soft kiss sent a tingle up her arm, and her breasts tightened unexpectedly.
A good man. An honest, straightforward man. He was as different from her as the moon was from the sun. And thinking of the two of them together was hopeless.
But she was weaker than she’d ever imagined.
Kiss me, she cried silently. Kiss me and let me feel the beauty just for this one night.
The Lawman’s Bride
Cheryl St John
A peacemaker, a romantic, an idealist and a discouraged perfectionist are the words that CHERYL ST JOHN uses to describe herself. The award-winning author of both historical and contemporary novels says she’s been told that she is painfully honest.
Cheryl admits to being an avid collector, displaying everything from dolls to Depression glass, as well as white ironstone, teapots, cups and saucers, old photographs and—most especially—books. When not doing a home improvement project, she and her husband love to browse antiques shops. In her spare time she’s an amateur photographer and a pretty good baker.
She says that knowing her stories bring hope and pleasure to readers is one of the best parts of being a writer. The other wonderful part is being able to set her own schedule and have time to work around her growing family.
Cheryl loves to hear from readers! E-mail her at: [email protected]
Recent novels by the same author:
SWEET ANNIE
JOE’S WIFE
THE DOCTOR’S WIFE
SAINT OR SINNER
THE MISTAKEN WIDOW
THE TENDERFOOT BRIDE
ALMOST A BRIDE (in Wed Under Western Skies)
PRAIRIE WIFE
CHRISTMAS DAY FAMILY (in A Western Winter Wonderland)
HIS SECONDHAND WIFE
A BABY BLUE CHRISTMAS (in The Magic of Christmas)
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This book is dedicated to my readers.
Your letters and emails brighten my days and encourage me. Your pictures are posted around my workspace to remind me why I do what I do. When you tell me you’ve read every one of my books, I’m honoured. When you say they’re on your keeper shelves, I’m delighted. When you share how a story touched you or helped you heal, I’m humbled. Whether we’ve met in person, blogged together, or live on different continents and will never exchange a word, consider yourself deeply appreciated.
You are special to me.
Prologue
Morgantown, West Virginia, 1878
Dense clouds parted to reveal a slice of silver moon in the narrow gap of sky above the dark alley where the fourteen-year-old girl crouched beside a stack of crates. She wasn’t afraid. No, there were plenty of things more terrifying than night. Darkness was a friend tonight, cloaking her in its haven of invisibility.
Adjusting her grip on the handle of her traveling bag, she glanced around and listened intently, making certain no one followed.
In the distance a train whistle blew, and her heart swelled at the promising sound. If she could make it to the station, she’d buy a ticket and be gone. It didn’t matter where the train was heading. Freedom was an elusive place she could only imagine.
A pattering erupted as fat drops of rain struck the rooftops of the buildings on either side of the alley, pinging against every piece of metal and wood. Enough sound to muffle her steps, she thought with a surge of hope.
She straightened and took a step. A yelp startled her and she brought her free hand to her mouth to stifle a cry. The dog she’d surprised sniffed her feet then moved on. She took a deep breath, relaxed her muscles, and her racing heart calmed.
Determined, she grasped her bag and strode to the front corner of the building. Across the street in the yellow circle from a street lamp, she made out the word LUNCHEON painted in gold letters on an expanse of window glass and knew exactly how many buildings she needed to pass to move into the opposite alley. From there she could make her way to the edge of town. She stepped forward.
“Awfully late for a stroll, isn’t it?”
Her heart dropped to her toes at the familiar voice. The black-shadowed figure of a man loomed