Verwandte Artikel zu Into the Sunset

Into the Sunset - Softcover

Thacker, Shelly

 
9780440225188: Into the Sunset
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0440225183 ISBN 13: 9780440225188
Verlag: Dell Pub Co, 1999

Inhaltsangabe

She ran from the law and into his arms....

The moment she saw him she ran, desperate to escape. But he found her. U.S. Marshal Lucas McKenna made it clear his interest in Annie Sutton was very personal: He'd come to arrest her for the murder of his brother. Annie was at his mercy, trapped in a snowbound Colorado town, imprisoned in a makeshift jail until he could take her back to justice. She never expected to find love in the arms of a lawman determined to see her hang....

Lucas McKenna, the most feared lawman in the West, finally captured his brother's killer--only to feel trapped himself, tormented by her nearness, the feel of her in his arms, the scent of her hair. She said the killing was an accident. He couldn't afford to believe her. Yet as the winter passed, she slowly got under his skin, made him know her, set his heart afire. Until he had to decide: to lose his reputation and let her escape, or bring her to justice and risk losing her for good...

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Shelly Thacker says that a lifelong love of writing, history, and happily-ever-afters naturally led her to a career as a romance author. Shelly's nine historical romances have earned her a place on national bestseller lists, praise from the Detroit Free Press and Publishers Weekly, several Romantic Times Certificates of Excellence, and a National Readers' Choice Award. In 1995 the readers of Affaire de Coeur magazine voted her one of America's Top Ten Favorite Romance Authors. She lives in Michigan with her husband and cat, and invites readers to write to her c/o Dell Publishing, 1540 Broadway, New York, NY 10036, or visit her on the Internet at www.shellythacker.com.

Aus dem Klappentext

the law and into his arms.... <br><br>The moment she saw him she ran, desperate to escape. But he found her. U.S. Marshal Lucas McKenna made it clear his interest in Annie Sutton was very personal: He'd come to arrest her for the murder of his brother. Annie was at his mercy, trapped in a snowbound Colorado town, imprisoned in a makeshift jail until he could take her back to justice. She never expected to find love in the arms of a lawman determined to see her hang.... <br><br>Lucas McKenna, the most feared lawman in the West, finally captured his brother's killer--only to feel trapped himself, tormented by her nearness, the feel of her in his arms, the scent of her hair. She said the killing was an accident. He couldn't afford to believe her. Yet as the winter passed, she slowly got under his skin, made him know her, set his heart afire. Until he had to decide: to lose his reputation and let her escape, or bring her to justice and risk losing her for good...

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Colorado, 1878

How many men were hunting her by now?

Antoinette Sutton pressed her cheek against the coach's musty upholstery, keeping her eyes shut as the Wells Fargo stage to Leadville rattled up the mountain trail. She struggled to breathe evenly, couldn't seem to get enough of the thin air into her lungs. Sweat trickled down her face and stained the dress she wore, a stylish French sateen in solid black. Widow's black.

Her stomach lurched with every nauseating sway of the coach. And her fever was getting worse. Annie sank her teeth into her lower lip to hold back a moan.

She felt sick enough to throw up on the nice, shiny kid boots of the lady squeezed in beside her. And not just because of the smothering crush of nine passengers. Or the stale smells of horse sweat and miners who didn't bathe often enough and the macassar oil the men used on their hair. Or the annoying buzz of conversation as her fellow travelers chatted oh-so-pleasantly about crop prices and how nice the August weather had been and the latest silver strike up in Central City.

Annie remained silent, tenderly, protectively resting one hand over the gentle swell of her belly, hidden by her full skirts. Questions circled and preyed on her mind like merciless vultures.

How many men were on her trail? A handful? A dozen? Or every sheriff and marshal in five states?

How long would they keep tracking her?

And how far?

Trying to swallow the cold lump of fear in her throat, she opened her eyes and lifted the flapping leather curtain on her left. Glaring sunlight blinded her for a second. She blinked, dizzy and half afraid she'd see a rider chasing the stage with badge flashing and gun drawn, like in the dime novels her brother used to love.

Instead she saw only air: empty, heaven-blue sky above and below. The stage had climbed high into the Rockies since leaving Trout Creek this afternoon. A ledge fell away sharply beneath the wheels, revealing the jagged green tops of pine trees trailing down the mountainside into a gulch so deep she couldn't glimpse the bottom.

Annie shuddered and let the curtain fall. After a week of jostling along old Indian trails and back roads day and night, she hated the West. Hated every hot, dirty, wild, godforsaken mile of it. Only once before had she been west of the Missouri River, on a visit to Abilene when she was six, with Mama, to look for Papa.

She knew she was the very picture of what folks out here called a "tenderfoot." But she needed to disappear--and this was the best place to do it. She had to keep going, changing stage lines, changing directions, covering her trail. Had to put plenty more miles between her and the law back in Missouri. She couldn't stop to rest, to wait until she felt better.

Or to grieve.

James. Annie shut her eyes again, curling up in her corner of the darkened coach while the other passengers kept chatting and laughing.

James, oh God, I'm so sorry.

Even now, she longed for his company and his comfort. Even now. Droplets of sweat mixed with the trail dust on her cheeks, and felt like tears. But they weren't tears. They weren't. Her mama had raised her not to be any man's fool.

If only she had listened.

One of the wheels struck a rock and the stage bucked like a wild horse. Annie clung to the padded seat, trembling. The uncomfortable feeling in her stomach was getting worse--and it was different from the queasiness she had gotten used to the past weeks.

She tried to tell herself it was only this awful case of the ague. Or the meager food that had been available when they stopped for lunch in Trout Creek: fried cornbread with slices of fat pork and gritty coffee that had tasted like it was three days old.

But she was beginning to fear it was something else. Something far worse.

Annie's heart seized up like it would stop beating. Like it would break. She had never been the sort to pray much, but she began to pray now, silently, desperately.

For forgiveness.

For the precious new life growing inside her.

"You feelin' any better, Mrs. Smith?"

Annie lifted her lashes and regarded the young soldier seated across from her, his blue uniform so new it all but gleamed. He was on his way to Fort Collins, he had told them all proudly, had just turned twenty and been promoted to corporal.

Twenty. He seemed merely a boy. How could he be the same age as her?

"Yes, Corporal Easton." Annie shrugged, managing a smile and yet another lie. "I'm feeling a bit better, thanks."

She had told none of them about her delicate condition; her fellow passengers were only worried about her ague--mostly about catching it.

As she started to turn away and close her eyes again, the boy offered her his canteen and a smile. "You thirsty, ma'am?"

Annie hesitated, her natural wariness sharper than usual. She wasn't used to people showing her kindness. But then, these folks didn't know who she was.

Or what she had done.

With a grateful nod, she accepted the canteen and drank, spilling some when the coach rocked over a deep rut in the road.

A gentleman with gray sideburns down to his chin and a southern drawl offered her his handkerchief. "How far did you say you were going, Mrs. Smith?"

Annie tentatively took the offered square of snowy linen and lowered her gaze, dabbing at her ruffled bodice, worried by the way everyone's attention turned to her.

She hadn't said where she was going. Had barely spoken ten words to anyone. Dared hope the black dress and wedding ring would be enough to explain her silence and why she was traveling alone. She didn't want to make any kind of impression; she wanted to be as forgettable as the fake name she had chosen.

Besides, she was no good at polite conversation, hadn't spent much time with people like these.

Nice people. Respectable people.

"Montana Territory," she said at last. "I have family there." More lies. If any lawmen managed to track her this far and ask her destination, she wanted them galloping off in the wrong direction.

"I'm surprised they didn't come east to meet you," the whiskered man commented. "The northern territories are a might unsettled yet. There's still trouble with the Indians, sometimes even here in Colorado. A lady traveling alone must have a care."

"Indeed," the skinny matron next to Annie said with a disapproving cluck of her tongue, hooking her arm through her husband's. "Why, it's dangerous venturing into these mountains even with a well-armed escort. Colorado is fairly teeming with gamblers, claim-jumpers, speculators, and unsavory types of every ilk these days."

Annie barely listened as everyone launched into a discussion of the need for better law enforcement, now that the latest silver rush was attracting so many new arrivals to the Rockies. She splashed some water from the borrowed canteen onto the borrowed handkerchief and used it to cool her brow, feeling too light-headed and sick to pretend interest while they tried to persuade her that this was no place for a woman alone.

Don't you think I know that? she wanted to shout. She hadn't planned to come here. There hadn't been time to think, back in St. Charles, on that horrible afternoon when she had run through the rain.

Had run in a blind panic beneath thundering clouds and lightning that stabbed the red Missouri earth. She had stumbled into a clothing shop and pointed out the mourning dress and paid cash and left quickly--before the proprietor could wonder why she kept her blue silk cape clutched so tightly at her throat.

Then she rushed around the corner and changed in an alley out back, leaving the cape and her bloodstained clothes and her entire life behind in the mud.

Somehow she made it to the train depot--only to realize her mistake. James owned half the railroads in Missouri. The conductors and porters all knew her from the trips she'd taken with him--to New Orleans and Philadelphia and a luxurious suite at the Biltmore Hotel in New York City. She couldn't escape by train.

Soaked to the bone, sobbing, she'd hurried to one of the livery stables instead. And ten minutes later, had a six-dollar seat on the first stage out of town, headed west.

"And the winters," one of her traveling companions was saying with a shudder. "The territories really ain't a place for any lady who--"

"Thank you." Annie interrupted the chorus of advice being directed at her. She handed the soldier his canteen, keeping the wet handkerchief pressed to her hot skin. "Thank you, but I'm sure I'll find Montana to my liking."

The skinny matron next to her pursed her lips and raised a disapproving eyebrow. "I assure you, you would be much happier elsewhere, Mrs. Smith."

Shaking her head wearily, Annie closed her eyes and sank back against the upholstery. Happy. She would never be happy again. Had lost all right to be happy.

But she would give her child a good life, she vowed. A safe, healthy, good life. There was enough money in the leather satchel under her seat to make sure of that. They would live in San Francisco, or maybe Virginia City. In a real house, just like regular folks. And they would be decent and respectable. And they would be together, like a mama and her child should be.

That thought almost made her smile, in spite of everything. Just for a moment.

Then the image shattered in a burst of hot pain that knifed through her. She gasped and slumped forward, her jaw going slack.

"Oh, God." It twisted through her again and she doubled over. "Oh, God, no."

*  *  *

He would find her, by God.

That thought had burned in his gut and robbed him of sleep for days now. Five da...

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Verlag
Dell Pub Co
Erscheinungsdatum
1999
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0440225183
ISBN 13 
9780440225188
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
400
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Dell GmbH
6997927350
DE.CustomerSupport@dell.com

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