Once A Gambler. Carrie HudsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
“Take off your clothes,” Jake ordered her
“I will not,” Ellie retorted.
He pulled his gun out of its holster and cocked the hammer. “You’re not leaving this room until I get back what you stole. Now, do it.”
Something shifted in her eyes. Something catlike and unsettling. “All right,” she agreed, unbuttoning her denim britches. “But first you have to tell me one thing. Where exactly are we and how do I get back to Deadwood?”
“That’s two things.”
She smiled slowly. “Fine. One piece of clothing for each answer, then.”
“We’re on the Natchez, a steamer, heading for St. Louis.”
She slid her pants down and kicked them out of the way. “That’s one.”
Jake didn’t react. He couldn’t. He was too busy staring at what she was—or rather wasn’t—wearing.
“What?” She shifted to give him a better view. “You’ve never seen a thong before?”
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Dear Reader,
Some books come kicking and screaming into the world; others are simply gifts. Once a Gambler, which I’m thrilled to say is my first Harlequin Blaze novel, was a gift. That’s because Jake and Ellie were so easy to love, and because my wonderful editor, Kathryn Lye, took a chance on a time-travel story from me, a time-travel virgin! Having written both contemporaries and historicals, though, I found merging these two worlds really fun.
A friend once told me of a weird experience he’d had on a boat one night at a local lake. For a few moments before they vanished, he saw an antique flatboat full of men, poling across the foggy lake with long sticks. They appeared to be from the 1800s and my friend believed he’d glimpsed another time.
You can guess that sent my writer’s imagination running hog wild. What if time travel was possible? And if you found true love in that other world, would destiny allow you to keep it? That’s exactly the dilemma in my novel.
If you’ve already read the prequel to this story, Once an Outlaw, by Debbi Rawlins, my friend and plotting partner, then you know you’re in for an adventure. So sit back and enjoy the ride!
Happy reading,
Carrie Hudson
Once a Gambler
CARRIE HUDSON
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Carrie Hudson lives in Southern California and worked in Hollywood as a successful commercial actress before giving it all up to follow her dream of becoming a writer. Creating stories that spin on an axis of love and happily-ever-after comes naturally for this incurable romantic. It’s not entirely her fault. She’s married to a fabulous guy, has two wonderful children and a pair of mismatched cats who spend much of the day licking one another, madly in love. Really, what chance did she have? To contact the author, please visit www.carriehudsonbooks.com.
To my dear friend Debbi Rawlins,
who shoved me back up on the horse when
I needed shoving and for loving the whole
Old West world as much as I do.
And as always, to my husband, David,
without whom I could never do this.
You’re the best.
Acknowledgment
In 1874 George Armstrong Custer’s announcement that gold had been discovered at French Creek triggered the Black Hills Gold Rush and the rise of Deadwood. The town sprang up quickly, reaching a population of over 5,000 in an alarming amount of time, and attracting a slew of businesses from saloons to brothels to dry goods stores. Buildings were hastily erected and sometimes even tents were used by vendors, as well as attorneys plying their trade, but for the purposes of this book, I’ve focused on a much more scaled-down version of the camp. Also you will note that during this period, some of the newer inventions enjoyed back East were not yet available to the citizens of Deadwood.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
1
Question: Is it always fundamental to know one’s destination? Or, can not knowing be the path to truly knowing?
(A little-known Confucius-ism)
Hollywood, California
March 2009
THE PHOTOGRAPH of Ellie and her sister swam just beneath the surface of the chemical bath, appearing slowly as if rising through a bank of fog. Like a puzzle it evolved: her own dark hair, their clutched hands, her sister Reese’s head thrown back in laughter—until finally the two of them appeared just as Ellie remembered they’d been that day before everything had changed.
That day, she remembered, was a Friday. She had worked for thirty minutes setting up that shot and kept getting it wrong. Either she would miss getting seated altogether before the autoshutter went off, or Reese would make a silly face and they would dissolve into laughter again. There was a decent posed shot—all terribly serious. Even she had to admit they both looked great, but she didn’t like it as much as this one. This accidental one. This shot captured the real Reese. Not the physician the world knew on TV news shows. Not the brilliant, accomplished one their parents adored.
But simply her big sister whom she had loved.
She transferred the photo into the stop bath, swirling it beneath the surface with the plastic tongs. She liked the contrast on this one. It was good and she knew it. But that wasn’t the point. It wasn’t for the show she was putting together. The point was—she’d realized sometime late this afternoon—she’d begun to forget that little dimple in Reese’s cheek and the way the lines around her eyes crinkled when she laughed hard. It had taken almost a year