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  Summer Rose

  Bonnie K. Winn

  Copyright

  Diversion Books

  A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1008

  New York, NY 10016

  www.DiversionBooks.com

  Copyright © 1992 by Bonnie K. Winn

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information, email [email protected]

  First Diversion Books edition October 2014

  ISBN: 978-1-62681-428-8

  More from Bonnie K. Winn

  Summer Rose

  Reckless Wind

  Reckless Hearts

  Forbidden Fire

  Dedicated to my real-life heroes—

  my husband, Howard…

  and son, Brian.

  I love you.

  Acknowledgments

  With love and gratitude to the Yedlovskys: my father who spent hours with me in the nooks and crannies of the library, instilling in me the love of reading—along with the belief that I could do anything I dared try. My mother, whose cache of books, along with her love, shaped my destiny. To both of you and Gary—you always believed. You made me believe.

  A special thanks to my editor, Judith Stem, for your encouragement, guidance, and creative direction throughout the development of this novel. You unfolded the “rose.”

  With warm appreciation to my agent, Jane Jordan Browne, for your persistence, unwavering support, and wisdom. I couldn’t have done it without you.

  To Karen Rigley: without you there would be no “legacy.”

  Thanks, Marita, for always being there; Max and Eunice, for your unflagging support.

  To Caren McCurdy: your friendship has touched my soul, your humor has brightened my life, and your courage has surpassed our dreams.

  And to Donna Hobbs. For all you do.

  Chiluahuan Province

  The Chiluahuan province of Texas is a meeting place of the flora and fauna associated with the southwestern deserts, central plains, and eastern forests. This province includes all of the Trans Pecos and has a greater diversity of land features than any province in Texas. The highest peak in the Chiluahuan province is Mount Livermore in the Davis Mountains with an elevation of 8,000 feet. It encompasses mountain ranges, desert basins, arid plains, and river valleys which support more biological diversity than anywhere else in the continental United States.

  Prologue

  Boston, Spring 1879

  Cassandra Dalton’s hands trembled with barely suppressed fury as she reread the letter. The words I strongly advise you to sell the property at a fair price agreed upon by the solicitors of both parties leaped out at her. Her lips curled in contempt.

  Cassie knew all about the “fairness” of solicitors. She and her twelve-year-old half brother were now living in virtual poverty because of the “fairness” of a solicitor after their father’s death. She looked again at the ridiculous price quoted. Even the tenements surrounding her brought twice that amount.

  This Shane Lancer—a land baron, no doubt—expected her to sign away her legacy without even seeing the property. Cassie’s violet eyes hardened in determination. He was not dealing with a fool. She hadn’t quit her job and thrown away their security only to be cheated by yet another solicitor.

  Resolutely she squared her jaw, determined to claim the property that her Uncle Luke had willed to her. No dishonest robber baron was going to frighten her away. Especially not with a barely veiled threat that she would be better off staying in Boston.

  Cassie remembered the ridiculous explanation they had provided for her uncle’s death. A chill raced through her as she wondered what was being concealed.

  Raising her head, Cassie stared out the murky window at the tenements crowding about her. No, Mr. Lancer, I won’t be cowed by your threats. I’m fighting for what’s mine, no matter what it costs.

  1

  Texas, Summer 1879

  Shane Lancer cantered across the cactus-laden plain, the weariness of the week’s trail ride eating into his bones. Shifting in the creaking saddle, he glanced at the land that led to his home. As he ran a callused hand across the rough stubble on his face, all he could think of was a hot bath and a soft bed.

  He blinked his dry, dust-filled eyes, thinking he was seeing a mirage. No, it was a prairie schooner, all right. The distinctive white canvas covering stood out on the deserted plain as though it were a white flag waving surrender.

  Approaching cautiously, Shane wondered if the innocent-seeming vehicle was an ambush. Memories of Indian wars that had plagued the land assaulted him while his horse’s ears pricked forward, its flared nostrils twitching. The horse had definitely picked up a scent. Either another beast or a human. With each step forward, Shane expected an assault. But no shots rang out. Silently he slid from the dapple-gray horse, unsheathing the rifle from its scabbard and checking the low-slung holster strapped to his leg.

  It was hard to say who was more surprised when three scared-looking faces peered from around the side of the wagon. The raven-haired younger woman tried to shove a teen-age boy behind her, but he took a defensive stance in front of her. The red-haired woman smoothed capable hands over her calico skirt, but her face had paled considerably, causing her freckles to stand out in the hollows of her unlined face.

  The dark-haired woman stepped aside, refusing to hide behind the boy. Her hands shook, but nonetheless she faced Shane bravely, holding a snub-nosed derringer tightly in those same shaking fingers. The red-haired woman swung her gaze between her friend’s ridiculous weapon and Shane’s long rifle.

  Shane bit back a snort of contempt as the delicate woman still challenged him with that bit of useless metal. He looked her up and down, his eyes narrowing during the inspection. What was a beautiful creature like her doing out in the brush?

  “Where are your husbands?” he asked them. Both women were beyond marriageable age. If he had to guess, he’d say the dark-haired one was over twenty-five while the red-haired woman appeared to be at least in her early thirties. They certainly shouldn’t be out on the range alone with only a boy for protection.

  The younger woman seemed to draw her diminutive height up even further. “And what concern is that of yours?”

  “I want to know who the hell might be sneaking up on me,” he returned, moving even nearer to her. She was a bitty thing, he thought. Looking down at her, he could tell she was a good foot shorter than he was—putting her only a few inches over five feet tall. His well-muscled build seemed bulky next to her petite frame. Even closer proximity provided him a view that had him dry-mouthed in moments. She was a looker, all right.

  She held the pistol out a bit as though expecting him to back off. He advanced even closer.

  “If you have honorable intentions, sir, ambush would hardly be on your mind.” The woman’s voice shook only slightly, he noticed. Sure sounded like a priss, though.

  “The hell it wouldn’t. Only a fool would come out here by himself and not expect trouble.” He gazed around the wagon, seeing only their furniture and supplies scattered on the ground. No one was in sight. But that didn’t mean someone wasn’t hidden somewhere close by. Perhaps in the ungainly wagon. “You mean to tell me you three are out here alone?”

  The older of the two women answered. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Millicent!” The voice of the woman holding the gun filled with distress. Shane noticed her finger slipping toward the trigger of t
he pistol. While he didn’t think much of her sissy weapon, he didn’t want to test its merit on his hide.

  “Well, you tell me what we’re going to do out here without some help, Cassie. I believe this gentleman will rescue us.”

  Cassie emitted an unladylike snort of disbelief while she inched the derringer higher.

  “Unless you plan to shoot the top off that cactus, you’re way off aim, lady.”

  Cassie jerked the gun downward, ivory cheeks flaming as Shane continued to glare at her.

  “What the hell are you doing out here?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t stepping into the best-set trap he’d seen in years. Shane approached the wagon, and cautiously opened the flaps with the barrel of his rifle. Satisfied that no one was hiding inside, he turned back to them.

  “We left the wagon train a few days back and we’re heading southwest,” Millicent explained after a moment.

  Shane watched in amusement as Cassie sent the red-haired Millicent a look filled with warning. It was apparent she thought he was a ruthless bandito. He didn’t mind baiting them. Especially the one with the flashing violet eyes and midnight-colored hair. But he didn’t want to push her into actually taking a shot at him.

  “So, what’s the trouble, ladies?” He nodded at the dark-haired boy, who stared with guarded curiosity, his deep blue eyes resting on Shane’s low-slung holster. At closer inspection the boy appeared to be around twelve or thirteen years old. They sure as hell were an odd trio.

  Millicent pushed past Cassie and led Shane toward the rear of the wagon. “We believe the wheel’s broken.” Cassie kept the derringer trained on Shane as he moved along beside Millicent, who continued speaking. “I’m Millicent Groden. This is my friend Cassandra and her brother, Andrew Da—”

  Shane interrupted. “You know, I might be tempted to fix the wheel, but not if you keep that gun pointed at my back.” Shane turned around quickly, deftly taking the gun out of the surprised woman’s hands before she could react. Holding Cassie’s small hand a moment longer than necessary, he palmed the small gun.

  “Silly little thing,” he remarked. Glancing at Cassie’s scared face, he continued, “But it could go off and hurt somebody. And the way you had it pointed, that somebody would probably have been me.”

  Cassie jerked her hand from his grasp, glaring when he smiled easily. Shane leaned into the wagon and put the derringer up out of reach, noting her embarrassment at being so easily outmaneuvered. Silently she watched him turn back to the wheel.

  Pushing his hat up on his forehead, Shane squatted down to inspect the damage. “Wheel’s not all that’s broken. Your axle’s busted too.”

  He swung around as Cassie made a moue of disappointment. “You can fix it, can’t you?”

  Didn’t expect much, did she? He pulled off his Stetson and scratched his shaggy head of chestnut hair.

  “No, ma’am. I don’t generally carry an extra axle in my saddlebags.” She looked ready to puff up again. “But I can get my buckboard and take your stuff to town. We’re only a couple of hours from there.”

  She seemed to wrestle with an answer, and he wondered if it was that hard for her to come up with a simple thank you. ’Course he hadn’t done much to gain her confidence. Maybe he’d been on the trail too long—seemed his manners had deserted him. Hell, he hadn’t even introduced himself.

  “Where you headin’?” he asked, noting their wagon had been packed to overflowing before they’d unloaded it.

  “To my uncle’s ranch,” Cassie finally replied.

  Puzzled, he stared at her. He knew all the ranches around. If anyone was expecting an Easterner to show up, the news would have been all over the range by now.

  “Who’s your uncle?”

  “Luke Dalton.”

  The corner of his mouth, which had turned upward a fraction, tightened abruptly.

  “Dalton…?” he repeated almost inaudibly.

  “Yes,” Cassie replied. “You probably knew him. He died not too long ago. His place—”

  “I know the place. Are you here to sell the land?”

  “Why, no. We’re going to try ranching,” Cassie replied uncertainly. “Mister…?”

  “Lancer. Shane Lancer.”

  Cassie’s mouth opened in what seemed to be shock.

  At least she’d reacted to his name. So, this was Dalton’s niece who’d written back and told him to take his offer to the devil. He had an urge to leave her to that very fate. Would he never be free of the curse of the Daltons?

  Shane unhooked a canteen from his pack and tossed it to the boy. “I’ll send my buckboard. I expect you’ll be all right till then.” He had to leave before his temper blew. Mounting the horse, Shane dug his heels into the stallion and galloped away across the changing countryside.

  Shane wondered what had possessed the Dalton woman to refuse his offer to buy her out. Why would she travel thousands of miles with only another woman and a young boy as companions?

  Shane felt the knot in his craw grow. What was it about the Daltons that made them want to deny the natural order of things? This land had been settled and tamed by Lancers. But did that stop the Daltons from thinking they belonged here? Hell, no. They reminded him of a dog gnawing on a month-old bone, still hoping for a morsel.

  Shane couldn’t believe she was related to Luke Dalton. But a lifetime of hate would never be forgotten. Or forgiven. The deathbed promise he’d made to his father rang in Shane’s head with unending clarity. He would get the Dalton land back for his father no matter what he had to do. He’d been the head of his family for the better part of his thirty-four years, far too long to let the sight of a pretty woman sway him from protecting the interests of the Lazy H.

  Straightening in his saddle, Shane followed the line of the mesa that started sloping upward toward his own land. He planned to make sure no more Daltons desecrated his land, and certainly not at the whim of a mere woman, even if she did have eyes the color of ransomed jewels.

  Cassie kicked the broken wagon wheel for the second time. “Damn,” she swore under her breath. When her efforts produced only more choking dust, she wished for a more effective expletive. Watching Millicent’s concerned face, Cassie expected some censure for her language.

  “Where’s a good sailor’s curse when you need one?”

  Cassie lifted one side of her mouth in a half smile. Then she stared at the receding dust of Shane’s horse, her smile turning into a frown. “Of all the men in Texas to ride to our rescue, why did it have to be Shane Lancer?”

  “I don’t know, but as long as he gets us out of this heat, he can spit cactus spurs.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t offer us the use of his buckboard in exchange for the deed to our ranch,” Cassie muttered.

  “You need to have a little more faith in your fellowman,” Millicent cautioned, not for the first time in their ten-year friendship.

  “Do you think he’s coming back?” Cassie tasted the ever-present bite of dust that caked her lips and choked off her breath. She had a frightening thought. Maybe he’d decided to leave them there to die. Then he’d get her land without a fight.

  “He didn’t seem any too happy at having us here, but he didn’t look like the sort to abandon us.” Millicent mopped her perspiring neck with a crumpled hankie. “But, then, my training at Miss Harrington’s School for Young Ladies didn’t cover this situation.”

  Cassie smiled wryly, shooting a worried glance at her younger brother, Andrew, who was propped against the rear of the wagon. His raven-haired head was thrown back, eyelids screwed shut, while a deep flush of heat had settled over his features. His fair skin, much like hers, told of his battle against the elements.

  Cassie didn’t think any of them could make it very far in the crippling heat. But with precious little water left, the choices were few. If this Lancer man had been involved in her uncle’s death, she doubted he’d draw the line at leaving them to die. He certainly appeared the desperado she’d imagined him to be.

  �
��He did say we’re fairly close to town. Maybe we should try walking. Unless he was lying about that, too.”

  Millicent shot her a reproachful glance.

  The hours passed slowly. Millicent and Cassie watched the position of the sun, trying to discern how much time had passed.

  “I’m hungry,” Andrew announced.

  “There’s some jerky and hardtack…”

  Andrew accepted a piece of jerky, biting down and tearing off a chunk. “I’m never gonna eat any more of this as long as I live. When we get to town, I want steak. And apple pie. And milk.” The last was said with longing. “Do you think it’ll be much longer, Sis?” he asked Cassie.

  She shot Millicent a worried, questioning glance. What if Lancer had deserted them?

  “Look, Cassie!” Andrew whooped, pointing into the distance.

  Peering intently they could see a cloud of dust amidst the scrub brush that covered the low-rising foothills. Almost afraid to hope, the women watched in silence while Andrew chattered excitedly as the cloud approached and the shape of a wagon could be seen. It moved closer until it reached them.

  A white-haired man, almost hidden by the explosion of whiskers on his wrinkled face, pulled up in a curtain of dust. He hollered “Whoa” in a dry voice that seemed to protest its use. A much younger man sat beside him surveying them with uncontained curiosity.

  “Hello, sir. Mr. Lancer must have sent you,” Cassie began, uncertain of her reception.

  “Yes’m.” The older man doled out the single word as he dismounted, eyeing their crippled wagon. He bent to inspect the axle.

  “I’m afraid it’s broken,” Cassie offered hesitantly.

  “Yes’m.” Once again the bewhiskered fellow bit out the single word.

  “Well, I…” Cassie felt at a loss with the taciturn man.