The Wedding Raffle - Softcover

Dawson, Geralyn

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1451666659 ISBN 13: 9781451666656

Publisher: Gallery Books, 2011

Synopsis

GERALYN DAWSON brings to glorious life the proud, passionate days of the Republic of Texas in a breathtakingly romantic tale of an independent widow and one hard, handsome Texan who tangle, tussle, and tumble into love. With her family in danger, Honor Duvall needs the bravest man in Texas to help her save them. True, the thrice-widowed beauty's elaborate plan to lure him to her remote ranch is a little unethical, but she'll make it up to him. Or so she thinks. Captain Luke Prescott, a renowned ex-Texas Ranger and bona fide hero, can't help but find his suspicions (among other things) aroused by the town's mysterious widow. But when he wins Honor's raffle for a valuable racehorse and arrives to collect, he soon discovers he wants a different kind of prize altogether. Honor doesn't want to sacrifice her heart, but Luke has the means to force her hand. After all, he holds the winning ticket.

About this title

About the Author

Geralyn Dawson is the critically acclaimed author of more than a dozen novels, including My Big Old Texas Heartache and My Long Tall Texas Heartthrob (both available from Pocket Star Books). A three-time RITA finalist, Geralyn has won numerous awards, including the National Readers' Choice Award and a Career Achievement Award from Romantic Times. She is an active volunteer for the Making Memories Foundation and lives in Forth Worth, Texas, with her family. Visit her website at www.GeralynDawson.com and watch for the first novel in her Bad Luck Brides series, Her Bodyguard.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter 1 From: The Wedding Raffle

Republic of Texas -- 1843

A lanky, bowlegged cowboy burst through the swinging doors of the Golden Slipper Saloon and hollered out for quiet. "Listen up, boys," he said, excitement shining in his eyes. "You're not gonna believe this. She's up at the hotel. Gonna draw the winning ticket early. Gonna draw it herself. The Widow Duvall has done come to town!"

The piano player reached for a high C and hit a B flat. A dealer mishandled his shuffle, spewing half a deck of cards into the air. A gambler dropped his dice, a dancer snapped her fan, and a drunk lifted his head from the bar and drawled, "Well, I'll be dipped."

Luke Prescott eyed the generous bosom of the whore leaning over the second-floor banister and decided to raise his bet on a pair of aces.

Glasses hit the bar as the patrons of the Golden Slipper made a rush for the doors. Two men in the game at Luke's table abruptly dropped their cards, pushed to their feet, and scurried from the saloon. Luke's friend, Rafe Malone, played out his hand, his concentration obviously suffering. When his attempt to draw to an inside straight failed, he folded his arms, settled back in his chair, and mused, "Honor Duvall here in Bastrop. Don't that beat all?"

His voice all but echoed in the nearly empty room.

Dust from the patrons' hasty exit floated in the air as Luke gathered up his winnings and deposited a thick stack of bills inside his wallet. The dumbfounded expression on Rafe's rugged face made him grin. "Sure seems like a lot of fuss for a raffle drawing. What's so special about Honor Duvall?"

Rafe brushed a smudge of dirt from the sleeve of his plaid gingham shirt. "Special? That's one way to say it, I guess. Notorious is the word that comes to my mind."

Luke arched a curious brow. "Notorious?"

"Haven't you heard about the Widow Duvall? And here I thought the Rangers kept close tabs on the suspicious characters who inhabit the Republic."

The words stung like whiskey on a raw wound. Luke hadn't been a Texas Ranger for six months, but Rafe didn't know how much that fact bothered him. Nobody knew. Luke had made sure of it. He hid his irritation behind a dry observation. "To do that, the Rangers would need a million-man army. Texas is overrun with suspicious characters, present company included."

Amusement gleamed in Rafe's green eyes. "Hey now, I'm a reformed man. You know that. Ignoring Luke's sport of disbelief, he added, "It's just that I'm surprised you're ignorant of the Widow Duvall."

"Ignorant? You'd best watch your language, Malone." In friendly retaliation, he offered up a fact certain to fire Rafe's curiosity. "Actually, I believe I may have had some contact with the woman," he said, scratching his eyebrow. "I was recently offered a job by a Mrs. Duvall who owns a place called Lost Pines."

Rafe's mouth dropped open and he leaned forward, a lock of dark auburn hair plopping down onto his brow. "That's her, all right. When did this happen? Why didn't you tell me about it? What did she want you to do? Did you meet her? Is she as beautiful as they say? What did you tell her?"

"Still curious as a calf in a new pasture, aren't you, Malone?" Luke smiled smugly as he slipped his wallet into his vest pocket. "She sent me a letter shortly after I arrived in Bastrop, before you talked me into moving from the hotel out to your place. That's been what, five or six weeks?"

"Something like that."

"Mrs. Duvall wanted to hire a gun for protection, someone willing to teach her and her family how to defend themselves. Seems that in the months since her husband died, all the men who worked for him have drifted on to other jobs."

"You mean it's just Honor Duvall, those two boys of hers, and their grandmother out at Lost Pines?" Rafe whistled softly. "Why, it's the most isolated homestead in this part of Texas. I hear it sits on a bluff above the Colorado River, smack dab in the middle of the pine forest. That was his business, you know, lumber. Duvall. Pinery furnished wood for danged near every building west of here. The man had money. Raised racehorses on the side. So, what did you tell her?"

Luke shrugged, eyeing the bartender, whose ear was cocked toward their table. "I'm no babysittin' bodyguard or schoolmarm. I sent her Rip Tulk's name. He'll do it. He hires out his services all the time."

"I wouldn't mind servicing that one," the eavesdropping bartender observed with a snicker. He removed his apron and tossed it onto the bar before hurrying past them toward the door. "Saw her at her husband's funeral. I tell you what, keeping an eye on the Widow Duvall would almost be worth the risk."

Risk? What risk? Just who was this woman? Luke gazed around the vacant saloon and shook his head in wonder. "What did he mean by that?"

Rafe's chair tipped on its two hind legs as he shoved it back and stood. "She's had three husbands die on her." He lowered his voice. "People speculate about the coincidence of it. This last husband turned up his toes not long ago. Drowned in his own bathtub."

Duvall. Luke recalled the printing on the raffle ticket he'd purchased from a redheaded youngster earlier that day: One chance to win Starlight, the prizewinning quarter-miler offered by the estate of Armand Duvall. "Armand Duvall," he murmured.

"You know about him? Did the Rangers investigate his death, too?" Rafe donned a straw palmetto hat.

"How the hell would I know?" Luke replied, his control slipping as he thrust himself awkwardly to his feet. Eight months ago he would have uncoiled from his seat, as graceful and dangerous as a rattler. Six months ago he'd been ambushed by some east Texas horse thieves. Shortly thereafter, at the ripe old age of thirty-two, he'd been officially and forcibly retired when a doctor examined his buffet wounds and expressed doubt he'd ever walk again. Luke had made it his goal to prove the sawbones wrong and for the most part he'd succeeded. The limp had yet to totally disappear.

Rafe didn't pursue the question. Instead, he tugged his hat low on his brow and led the way out of the saloon into the April sunshine. "Damn but I'm glad I talked you into coming into town this weekend. We'd have missed all the excitement if we'd stayed out at the farm."

"But we'd have gotten the doors hung and the windows put in on the new place. You'll be sorry if a family of 'coons moves in before you do." Luke was helping Rafe build a house on land he'd claimed as his headright west of town. After months of being laid up in bed, he both welcomed and enjoyed the physical labor, considering it therapy for both body and soul.

Rafe waved away Luke's comment. "Animals are preferable to some people I've shared a roof with over the years. Besides, I wouldn't miss this raffle drawing for nothin'. How about you? Have you purchased your tickets for the widow's raffle?"

Sucking in a breath of cedar-scented air and finding it pleasant after the smoky, stale odor of the Golden Slipper, Luke nodded. "A freckled-faced youngster browbeat me into buying one ticket. Actually, I wouldn't mind owning that horse. I saw her run in Austin last summer. She must be the fastest filly this side of Indian country."

"Yep. And I'm gonna win her, too." Rafe patted his vest pocket. "Me odds are all on my side. I bought me fifty chances. Sorry, friend, but you wasted your money just buying one ticket."

Rafe kept his pace to an amble as he led the way up Main toward the hotel. Luke knew he walked slowly to accommodate him, and it annoyed him like hell. Damned leg. But at least he still had his brains, which, under the circumstances, was more than he could say about his friend. "You spent a hundred dollars on raffle tickets?" Rafe nodded and Luke shook his head. "You could buy a right fine horse for that amount."

"Not Starlight."

He was right about that, but a hundred-dollar gamble on a raffle drawing? "You always did have more money than sense."

"I'm gonna win."

"Win the prize for the biggest fool, maybe. The odds are still against you."

"Whoa!" Rafe made an abrupt stop and brought his hand to his chest dramatically. "This can't be the Captain Luke Prescott of the Texas Rangers talking to me about odds. This from the man who made a career out of playing long ones?"

Luke reached into his pants pocket and fished for the small tin of lemon drops he habitually carried. Removing a candy, he tossed it to Rafe, saying, "Suck a lemon, Malone. It'll keep your mouth shut."

Rafe popped the sweet into his mouth and grinned. The two men continued their stroll toward the hotel.

As he walked, Luke thought about the upcoming drawing and the lone ticket tucked inside his wallet next to his card winnings. Maybe Malone had a point. Maybe he should splurge on another ticket or two. A man couldn't ask for a better foundation for a breeding operation than the horse Lost Pines offered up for raffle.

He stepped on a rock, jarring his leg, and the slash of pain reminded him he might as well save his money. Horse ranching wasn't in his future, despite what he told those who questioned his plans now that his Rangering was done. Luke had other business to attend to. He had honor to reclaim.

Honor, hell. Had he ever known the meaning of the word? The old, familiar shame clutched at his gut, overwhelming the lingering pain in his leg. Every day he lived with the fact of his cowardice. Each night, the ghosts of those whom he had failed haunted his dreams -- his wife, his children, the one-hundred-eighty-nine men who'd placed their trust in an unworthy man.

How did a man atone for such a sin?

Becoming a Texas Ranger had been an attempt. Serving the country for which his comrades had died had been a start, a small start, a penance. While others viewed his Ranger's star as a badge of courage, Luke knew the difference. He'd worn it as a daily reminder of his fear and foolishness, his cowardice and failure.

But now he no longer wore the star. His Rangering days were done, and he was forced to search for another way to earn his peace. It was all he'd thought about while lying up in bed. He'd considered and discarded a hundred different possibilities, but he knew in his heart that nothing short of extraordinary circumstances would do. He needed one great, monumental cause to fight for, one opportunity to make a genuine difference. For Texas -- the country he loved so much. He would fight for her people, the strong, scrappy folk determined to carve a future from land that so often fought back.

Luke needed one chance to save lives instead of taking them. He needed to redeem himself even if it killed him, and at times he prayed for that sweet relief.

He inhaled a deep breath into his lungs and lifted his face toward the warm sunshine. Some of the chill left his soul as determination filled him. He'd find his opportunity. He didn't know when or how, but it would happen. He'd make it happen.

Ten yards ahead of him, Rafe hailed an acquaintance and forced Luke's attention back to his surroundings. People crowded the town's wide, dusty street. Perhaps fifty curious faces were now collected in front of the Bastrop Hotel. The air hummed with talk of the imminent drawing.

Snippets of conversation swirled around him like ribbons on the breeze. Luke listened in, rather than dwelling any longer on regrets and remorse, his forfeited career, and the fact that he could no longer physically keep up with his childhood friend -- a friend he'd run to ground and arrested on three separate occasions.

A boy's voice sounded from behind him. "My pa says Mrs. Duvall buried her first husband in an abandoned silver mine up north of here."

"She killed her second husband stone cold dead," declared a feminine voice. "Put poison in his food."

"Same could happen to me if you don't quit fixin' those chicken gizzards," a sardonic voice replied.

"I cannot believe her name is Honor. How inappropriate!"

"I hear she's beautiful."

"Damn, I hope I win that horse."

"They call her the Black Widow."

"Those stepsons of hers talk nice about her. Her mother-in-law, too."

"Duvall's mother is still alive?" A grizzled older man blew a long whistle. "Hell, she must be seventy if she's a day."

"Luella Best is the second husband's mother."

"Surprised the Black Widow hasn't poisoned her off, too."

"If I win Starlight I'm gonna take her up to Nacogdoches and run her in the Summer Stakes."

The voices ebbed around them and Luke glanced at Rafe. "I'm beginning to understand why the lady has caused such a stir."

Batting a ladybug away from his face, Rafe nodded.

"They say you can count on one hand the number of times she left Lost Pines to come in to town since she and Duvall moved here from east Texas three years ago. Folks have always wondered about her, but they never paid too much note until Armand Duvall died."

"Because of this raffle?"

"That and the dress." Rafe pulled a Havana from his breast pocket, rolled it between his fingers, and sniffed it. "It was the dress that did it."

"The dress?"

"Folk here in Bastrop simply did not approve."

Luke questioned him with a look.

"It was yellow."

"Yellow?"

"Bright canary yellow silk, I'm told. Lots of ruffles. Cut down to here." He made a deep scoop across his chest with his finger. "A real party dress. She wore it to her husband's funeral. Don't that beat all?"

Luke burst out with the first honest laugh he'd had in months. "That must have gone over like a fly in the buttermilk."

As Rafe nodded sagely, Luke lifted his chin and gazed over the heads of the throng congregated in front of the Bastrop Hotel, not a difficult feat since he stood a good four inches taller than most men around him. Suddenly he was as anxious as everyone else in the central Texas town to spot the wicked widow.

He was intrigued. Beauty and daring. A dangerous lady. Honor Duvall sounded like the type of woman who played honey to a man's sweet tooth.

Rafe stuck the unlit cigar in his mouth and spoke around it while he checked his pockets for matches. "Don't know why she didn't just up and sell the horse. I know she received plenty of offers once she put out the news she intended to get rid of Starlight."

Luke thought about the ticket in his pocket and the fifty in Rafe's. Eyeing the crowd, he completed a rapid series of mental calculations. "Did she sell tickets anywhere other than Bastrop?"

"Yeah. I heard a fellow from Austin talking about his chances earlier at the shaving saloon. I'm pretty sure he said he bought his chances at home." Rafe yanked the smoke from his mouth and frowned. "Since she sold tickets that far away, I wonder how many were bought? My fifty might not be nearly enough."

Beautiful, daring, dangerous, and intelligent, Luke amended with a grin. He'd bet she netted five times the sale price by staging a raffle instead of a sale.

Luke ignored the ache in his leg and walked a little faster. For the first time since the horse thieves shot him full of holes, he was interested, truly interested, in the events taking place around him. He couldn't wait to get an eyeful of the notorious Widow Duvall.

He wondered what color dress she'd wear to a raffle.

Honor Duvall plucked nervously at the bodice of her printed muslin gown as she pushed back the curtain of the second-floor hotel window and peered outside. Main Street was filled with people, and the sight caused her stomach to take a dip. "Oh, Luella, they will hang me for sure."

Seated at the ...

About this edition

• Publisher: Gallery Books
• Publication date: 2011
• ISBN 10: 1451666659
• ISBN 13: 9781451666656
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 352