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The River Rogues #2
Sandra Jones
Releasing Nov 17th, 2015
Samhain
It’ll take more than a badge to get
her to confess her secrets.
Kit Wainwright only meant to stop the thief making off with his beloved uncle’s ashes. He wants to hang up his gun, become a law-abiding citizen and leave his violent past behind. But the mayor takes notice of his sharpshooting skills, slaps a badge on his chest and puts him in charge of cleaning up this lawless town. Starting with tracking down the notorious Velvet Grace.
Bordello owner Cora Reilly never meant to become a crusader. But after shooting the last corrupt sheriff in self-defense, she’s spent the last few months turning her hastily donned disguise into a local legend to defend the girls in her town from riff-raff.
There’s no way Cora can trust the handsome new sheriff. Yet Kit’s kisses leave her wanting to open her arms—and her bedroom—to soothe his grief. Even if it brings him too close to the truth that could send her to the gallows.
Warning: Contains a reluctant sheriff with a keen eye for a moving target, and a take-no-crap madam who isn’t about to let him get close. Okay, maybe just a little bit closer. Just this once…
Kit Wainwright only meant to stop the thief making off with his beloved uncle’s ashes. He wants to hang up his gun, become a law-abiding citizen and leave his violent past behind. But the mayor takes notice of his sharpshooting skills, slaps a badge on his chest and puts him in charge of cleaning up this lawless town. Starting with tracking down the notorious Velvet Grace.
Bordello owner Cora Reilly never meant to become a crusader. But after shooting the last corrupt sheriff in self-defense, she’s spent the last few months turning her hastily donned disguise into a local legend to defend the girls in her town from riff-raff.
There’s no way Cora can trust the handsome new sheriff. Yet Kit’s kisses leave her wanting to open her arms—and her bedroom—to soothe his grief. Even if it brings him too close to the truth that could send her to the gallows.
Warning: Contains a reluctant sheriff with a keen eye for a moving target, and a take-no-crap madam who isn’t about to let him get close. Okay, maybe just a little bit closer. Just this once…
The gun, still warm from shooting the sheriff, fit just right
against Cora Lynn Reilly’s ribs, wedged beneath her breasts between her corset and her
blouse. Her heart thundered like a cannonball as she looked for a way to exit the room that
wouldn’t require going near the body on the floor, but unfortunately, there
wasn’t one. The sound of the blast would likely bring someone upstairs to check
on the man, and she couldn’t be caught alone with him.
Balancing on her toes to miss the blood spreading across the
boards, she stepped over the first booted leg, her skirt spanning Bill Sidlow’s
bloated thighs. She lifted her hem to avoid dragging her petticoat across the
man’s torso, now damp and crimson, and set her left foot down with care between
his side and his spread-eagle arm.
Don’t look, don’t look. But morbid curiosity got the better of her. She had to be
absolutely certain the bastard was dead, so she glanced down at Sidlow’s
face. His sightless eyes stared back at her, familiar enough to make a frisson
of terror run down her spine again after he’d cornered her against his
apartment wall with demands of sex.
“Shoulda known better,” she scolded beneath her breath. But
whether she’d directed her words at the sheriff or herself, she wasn’t sure.
He gave no response, his flaccid mouth and sagging jowls glistened
with spittle—no different than in life, she supposed. When he’d visited the club
earlier that night, he’d pulled her aside to invite her here to his place for a
private word, and even then his breath against her ear had been wet and
disgusting.
She’d assumed he wanted to talk about business away from the girls
and their customers, because if he’d wanted to make any advances of a sexual nature,
where better than the Willows, the popular social club she owned on the Row? But she’d
been wrong. The sheriff had wanted more than to talk. He’d wanted to take,
and that was something Cora wouldn’t allow.
Now, one mistake and a bullet later, she had to get out of his
apartment fast before anyone found her here.
Tearing her stare away from the sheriff ’s corpse, she set her
body in motion for the door, but the sudden tread of boots on the stairs outside stopped
her in her tracks.
“Sheriff? Was that your gun I heard?” Mrs. Murphy, wife of the
boarding house owner, called from a short distance below.
Cora’s pulse raced. She scanned the room again. There was a
window, but she didn’t recall seeing a way down. She was certain no one else had seen her
enter the building. She couldn’t let Mrs. Murphy find her now, for who would believe a
bordello madam who’d shot the sheriff with her pearl-handled pistol in his own
bedroom?
No way would she allow anyone to hang her for the likes of Bill
Sidlow. She’d never shot anyone else in her life and hadn’t even taken her gun out of its
case before tonight. The only reason she’d brought the weapon was in case she
was accosted by one of the drunks in the streets outside.
Besides, her girls needed her. Especially now that there would be
no one to keep the town’s worst ruffians from their doorstep, and God knew, Fort
McNamara had its share of those.
She swept another glance around the room for something she could
cloak herself in. The bed was stripped to the sheet, but a long blue velvet
drapery hung above the lone window. It would have to do.
A knock sounded at the door. “Sheriff? You all right?” Mrs. Murphy
asked again.
Cora vaulted over the body and yanked the heavy fabric from the rod.
Returning to the door, she swirled the drape around her head and shoulders
until she’d fully cocooned herself, then she waited for a chance to escape.
The door metal rattled. When Mrs. Murphy peeked in, Cora threw her
weight against the wood panel, knocking the woman outside off balance, and then
barreled past. She descended the stairs, running as fast as she could in the tight
wind of her drapery cloak.
As she reached the front door of the boarding house, she heard the
woman’s shriek of horror at discovering her boarder’s remains. “Murder! Help, the
sheriff ’s been murdered!”
Bursting outside into the darkened street, she kept to the
shadows, holding the fabric closed at her neck as she dodged drunken cowboys looking for good
times. She averted her face, praying no one would recognize her until she made
it back to the bordello.
One thing she knew for certain, after this night, she had better
get used to carrying her pistol.
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Sandra Jones is a multi-published author of historical romances. A
former bookseller and librarian, she's always had her nose in a book.
When not researching or writing her next novel, she enjoys being
with family, reading, cooking for her husband, and watching British TV. At home
in the South, her house overlooks a river and a farm, where most days you can
find her working to the sounds of wildlife and cattle.
Sandra loves to hear from her readers. Visit her website at www.SandraJonesRomance.com
Don't Miss the first in the River Rogues Series
HER WICKED CAPTAIN
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