When Emma St. John received her brother's letter
imploring her to escape her stepfather's vengeful scheme and to trust Dakota
Barringer with her life, she was willing to chance it. But the
handsome, brooding riverboat owner Emma found in Natchez a danger of another
kind. For Emma soon found herself surrendering to an unrelenting desire.
Moonless and frigid, the December night sent
chills down Emma's spine. Yet she didn't stop at the lighted inn nearby, nor
did she break stride when she stumbled over a rut in the muddy road. Instead,
she pulled her skirts higher. A carriage raced by, hell-bent in the same
direction, spitting mud as it flew past
A frantic look over her shoulder did nothing
to relieve the fear. He was closing on her, forcing her from her hiding place.
She stopped for a moment while she quickly shook the mud off her cape, then she
turned to the little girl.
"You all right, Clare?" Emma asked.
The little girl nodded but didn't say
anything, her face screwed tight with concentration, her breaths ragged and
hard.
The big Mississippi paddle wheeler, due to
leave in ten minutes, let out two loud, booming whistles. To Emma's frayed
nerves, the sound was heart-stopping.
The wind from the docks smelled of fish and
tar. When it shifted, she could make out the aroma of fresh baked scones coming
from the inn. Emma gripped the tiny hand she held in her own a little tighter,
and prayed that Clare could keep up the pace.
"It's only a wee bit farther. We can
make it," Emma told the little girl, her sister. Half sister, she reminded
herself.
Clare's father was not her own. His
demonically handsome face leering at her while he calmly explained what he
meant for Emma to do in the bordello was something she'd never forget.
Clare was a tiny and very fragile seven-year old.
She had loving green eyes and a long, slender nose coupled with delicate
cheekbones. Emma knew that someday Clare would grow into a classic beauty.
One long blond lock of hair slipped loose
from Clare's cap. The little girl pushed it away with her free hand, wrinkling
her nose disgustedly.
Frost coated the road, and each hurried step
caused the almost frozen mud to crunch beneath their feet. A horse and rider
passed them, the man tipping his hat as he and his mount thundered by. Church
bells rang out, the sound hollow and thin. It was almost six o'clock. She had
five minutes to reach the boat.
A gust of wind caught her broadside and
whisked the hood of her cape off the top of her head. She grabbed the soft fur
and pulled the fabric back where it belonged. Distracted by the wind and her
haste to reach the boat, Emma caught the toe of her shoe on a rock and balanced
precariously for an instant.
She swore softly under her breath.
Had only one month passed?
No, three weeks ago her mother had died and
two weeks ago she had learned the awful truth. Lawrence Stevens had
slowly poisoned her mother. He had given her a small dose of arsenic each day
until finally her mother took to her bed. Several days later Emma had held her mother's
hand while she breathed her last.
Emma would never have known about the murder
if she hadn't overheard Stevens speaking in harsh whispers with a friend of
his. There were other things said and promised, things Emma had not wanted to
acknowledge.
Disbelief and denial had caused her to waste
precious time. Seven days had come and gone since she'd had her last horrible
encounter with her stepfather. It was an encounter that had left her with no
doubts that everything she'd heard was the god-awful truth. Stevens had meant
to sell her to a whorehouse. Still, she'd had a difficult time believing the
extent of Lawrence Stevens's depravity. But when he'd installed her in Madame leBon's
bordello, she realized too late that her life was in grave jeopardy.
And Clare, sweet, sweet Clare, had understood
all she'd told her and perhaps more. With the eyes of a child, Clare had
somehow sensed the evil that surrounded her father long before anyone else did.
Five long days and nights they'd spent on the
run. Clare had not complained. No matter how exhausted or hungry she was, the
little girl had pressed on, understanding the imminent danger that faced Emma.
Clare had somehow known that Emma had to get as far away from Lawrence as
possible.
This incredible romance is one I positively fell in love with and
is good enough to read again and again.
I can’t remember the last time I was so engrossed in a
book: Dakota’s
Bride took over my weekend, and even now, am wishing to go peruse
it one more time…
Buy at: Amazon
BLURB
Maska O'keefe has loved the
beautiful shapeshifter for years. Unable to save her life years ago, he vows to
watch over her as he is given a second chance to convince her that even though
he is a witch and not a shifter, they are indeed soul mates. Kimi's divided
loyalties between her family and the cause she is now a part of will determine
their relationship. Only the part she plays as the messiah can bring this to a
conclusion in the final battle.
