Through the ages, where there has been society there have always been norms and, conversely, scandals when love gets in the way of propriety, and love prevails over social mores of the times.
From the ancient Celts to medieval Cornwall, from Regency and Victorian England to the American west after the War Between the States, eight stories by multi-published, bestselling authors explore the triumphs of love between a man and a woman—even scandalous love—over what’s considered “proper” in their time. " "Through the ages, where there has been society there have always been norms and, conversely, scandals when love gets in the way of propriety, and love prevails over social mores of the times.
EXCERPT
Chapter One
Early October 1866, Central Missouri
Rachel Conroy’s hand trembled as she shoved the gunnysack across the bank counter. She jerked a quick glance at the big clock on the wall. The Diamond Bluff bank closed in one minute. Nightfall had finally approached. Thank goodness the cobblestone streets of the German settlement were quiet now—the reason she’d chosen this time of day to execute her plan.
Still, she was literally risking her blasted neck. But sakes alive, what other choice had there been?
She gripped the cold gun, peered over the cloth stretched across her nose and cheeks, and drew in a shaky breath. “Everything in the drawer, mister. Coins, gold, silver, paper. Whatever you’ve got. And do it pronto or you’ll be seein’ your maker before you can holler howdy.”
She held her gaze steady and studied the teller. He stiffened behind the counter, his head lowered beneath a wide-brimmed felt hat. Honey-toned hair fell in a thick, straight mass to his brawny shoulders. By golly, she had to admit they were nice shoulders. The kind a woman could hang on to in the throes of passion, the kind that would bunch beneath her fingers when he thrust into her center. Her palms started to itch. She suddenly imagined reaching through the iron bars and tipping up his chin so she could see his face. She wanted to look into his eyes and have him tell her everything was going to be all right, that he would—
She shook her head to rid her mind of the stupid thoughts.
Hellfire and damnation, Rachel. Have you lost your cotton-pickin’ mind?
Well, she was robbing a bank. That certainly qualified her as barmy. But dang it all to hell, she couldn’t afford to slip into the coddling arms of her wild imagination, not in the middle of a cussed hold-up of all things.
He continued to keep his head downcast—or maybe if he was smart he stood motionless with fear, aware a burglary ensued. Her attention moved to the book he had his nose buried in. She took one step closer. A quick glance at the fancy script across the top of the page read, “Winemaking.”
Winemaking? Now that’s one convoluted banker to be reading about grapes of all things, and while piles of loot surrounded him.
She gave a mental shrug and blinked. Pay attention, you idiot. Rachel wagged the gun back and forth, nearly clanking it against the bars. “Did you hear me, pal? I said everything. Now.”
The clock ticked mockingly.
Gaddurn it, she wished he’d raise his head.
She waited for what seemed like danged eons, longing to glimpse the eyes and peer into the soul of her victim, to see that he paid for his association with the bank owner, that bastard Heinrich Finster.
When he continued to disregard her, she cleared her throat. “You keep ignorin’ me, you swine, that book’ll be blown to smithereens right along with your skull.”
At last his gaze rose slowly. Ah, here we go. She swallowed a lump and planted her feet apart, steadying the weapon for the action to come.
With an arrogant jerk of his head, he swung the longer strands of hair behind his broad shoulders. A familiar straight nose and strong, square jaw became visible. Rachel sucked in a faint breath, making the kerchief quiver over her mouth. Drat. It was the newcomer in town. She didn’t know his name, but she was certain it was him due to his usual conceit—he’d never seemed to notice her, moving in that swagger of his from the livery to the general store to the locksmith as if he owned this entire hellhole excuse for a town. As if everyone, and most especially Rachel, were beneath him.
Or didn’t exist at all.
Hmph. Yeah that was probably what he’d thoughtuntil now, until her weapon looked as real to him as a rattler staring him right in that handsome face of his.
She released a breath of relief. It was really a good thing. Since he’d never laid eyes on her before now, he wouldn’t recognize her. Feeling secure behind her disguise for the first time since donning it fifteen minutes ago, she allowed her gaze to scan his face, noting how it fit with his burly body. Lordy, but she’d never seen him this close up before. Her stomach did a flip as she studied the well-put-together features and big presence that made her feel dwarfed. No, make that womanly. Her face warmed at that surprising thought, but she didn’t have time to examine her silly-girl reactions. The visual path of his gaze traveled up the length of the gun, then along her arm and briefly settled on her chest. She stiffened, shivered. Though she’d bound her breasts flat, her nipples tingled at that quick brush, and she became starkly aware of her femininity beneath the lad’s garb.
