Take a ride back in time and enjoy this excerpt from Violet's Voice, a historical western by Annee Jones. Let her know what you think in the comments! Download your own copy and then follow the tour for more. Best of luck in the giveaway!
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Take a ride back in time and enjoy this excerpt from Violet's Voice, a historical western by Annee Jones. Let her know what you think in the comments! Download your own copy and then follow the tour for more. Best of luck in the giveaway!
Her words should deflate him. They should puncture him with disappointment. Instead, they fueled the burning flame inside of him. She knew who she was and what she wanted. He admired her strength and her honesty. A pursuit that should sink him in defeat brought on a surge of victory. He’d found the right woman to share the rest of his life with. He’d wait for her and he would win her. Love would melt her aversions. Her heart was on his side.
Matthew stood and assisted Margaret to her feet. As soon as she’d gained solid footing, he eased her into his embrace. “I’ll wait.” He whispered the words while searching the depths of her eyes.
Margaret’s arm slid over his shoulder and around his neck as if it followed its own pleasures without any effort from her at all. She returned the serious gaze while an unseen bond drew them together.
Her lips didn’t resist when his own rested on them. The sweet contact lasted for just a few brief moments, but it was long enough to convince him that only a woman willing to consider marrying him would share a kiss like that one.
She pulled away first and stared at him with large startled eyes. Questions and fear lurked on her face. If she was afraid of him or of her own readiness to yield to him, her silence didn’t say. Matthew smiled at her with a large, satisfied grin that stretched across his whole face, the first one of its kind in a very long time.
Grace peered into the mirror over the table in her cousin’s entry foyer, nervously straightening her travel hat. Of all people in the world, why did it have to be Charley Arrington coming to escort her back to Angel Creek?
She knew the logical answer to that question, of course. He’d come to Charleston to fetch his parents for the holidays. However, it felt monumentally unfair that the man she loved would be the one delivering her into the arms of the man she would marry— one she’d never met. One who wasn’t Charley.
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The music began to play and dance partners claimed the women around Ed. Realizing he better seize his opportunity to dance with Julia as quickly as possible, he asked, “Would you care to dance with me?”
She nodded, extending her hand to him as he pulled her onto the floor. He gathered her into his arms and placed her in his hold. They swayed to the music, following the steps of the waltz.
Ed loved holding Julia, the smell of her honey and vanilla perfume causing him to want to draw her closer. She looked up into his eyes, and for a moment he almost forgot where they were; the urge to kiss her was so great he could barely contain it.
“I can’t believe how much I’ve grown to care for you,” he whispered against her cheek. “I never thought I could care for anyone the way I do for you, but you’ve shown me otherwise.”
“And I never thought I could care for another man after Timothy, but I was wrong. You’ve found a way into my heart, despite my best attempts to keep you out.”
“I’m glad,” he said with a smile. “I want it to stay that way forever.”
“Very clever, Mr. ah…Gregory.”
He grinned his approval, instantly adoring the way his name sounded in her melodic alto. Like music.
“I was under the impression you were an investor,” she continued in her lilting tone. “I see now you are much more than that.”
Oh? His senses went on high alert. Had he made a verbal misstep? Sent her a wrong cue and thereby given something away about his true identity?
“Yes, indeed. I see it now, sir. You are a wizard.” She nodded in satisfaction and took another sip from her glass, allowing her eyes to twinkle over the rim at him.
He was utterly entranced and suddenly found himself wishing they were indeed two strangers who had met on a train. One lovely southern belle and one hardened northern officer, in a world where that fact wouldn’t make one of them a traitor.
“Anna,” Clarice calls to me. “Come and join us.” She has gathered near the buffet with a group of six other young women my age to nibble on refreshments. She looks stunning, as always, with her auburn hair piled high, and she’s wearing the very latest fashion accessories—a pleated frill on the front of her gown and a pleated belt and bow around her narrow waist. “How is your search going with the Pinkerton detectives?” she asks without preamble. Since they have been on my mind all morning, it’s as if she has been reading my thoughts. I have forgotten that I foolishly confided in Clarice. But why would she speak about such a private matter in front of all the others? She promised to keep my search confidential.
I am speechless as the women await my reply, so Clarice fills the silence. “The last time Anna and I spoke,” she tells the others, “the detectives had just found a record of her real parents’ marriage. Have you learned anything more about your real family since then?”
“Um . . . I believe the detectives have reached a dead end,” I mumble.
“I didn’t know you were adopted!” someone says. “How interesting!” The ladies move closer as if expecting me to divulge secrets. My cheeks feel warm, betraying my embarrassment as I fumble for something to say. Why, oh why didn’t I heed Jane’s warning not to trust Clarice? I feel foolish and naïve.
“I heard that you’ve recently recalled some memories of your real mother,” one of the women says.
My heart races. I am stunned that my private life is common knowledge. “Only a few,” I reply. “I was very young when she died.”
“But now you’ve met your real grandmother—an immigrant!” Clarice says. “What was she like?”
“Um . . . She’s a lovely woman.” How do they know all of this? And how do I make them stop questioning me? I don’t have the nerve to tell them to mind their own business and then walk away. Besides, that will make it seem as though I’m hiding something.
“What about your father?” Clarice asks, pretending to whisper. “Do they think he might still be alive?”
“I-I don’t know. I suppose it’s possible, but I—”
“If he is, maybe the detectives will able to locate him. Then you would have two fathers.”
Two of the other women begin to giggle. They couldn’t possible know about Jack, could they?
I clear the knot from my throat and hope they don’t detect a tremor in my voice. “As far as I’m concerned, I have only one father—the one you all know, Arthur Nicholson.”
“Is it true that he rescued you from a shipwreck?” one of them asks.
“Well, yes . . .”
“Tell us what that was like!”
“It . . . it was horrifying, as I’m sure you can imagine. It’s not something I care to relive by talking about it.”