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His Most Wanted
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…
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Don't Miss the first in the River Rogues Series
HER WICKED CAPTAIN
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.
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
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