A widow running a stage waystation falls passionately in love with a lawman and the outlaw he is chasing. Can they find a future together?
Martha, a lonely widow, scrapes a living running a remote waystation in the arid high country of New Mexico. Her day-to-day existence is brightened by the arrival of Frank, a young deputy. In their brief time together, they discover they share an unhappiness with their lives and, more importantly, a passionate desire for each other. Before Frank leaves, he tells her that she needn’t be alone again, that he’ll return to her. It is more than Martha dared dream for. She finally sees some spark of hope and life in the barren land she lives in.
A storm brings an outlaw to her door—the very same outlaw Frank has been trying to catch. The wanted poster never mentioned Brent’s charm—or his confidence. What he offers Martha is a love quite different from any she has ever known before. What Brent sees in Martha is a future, a refuge from a life spent on the run. Reality dictates otherwise and when Frank returns, Martha faces a seemingly impossible choice.
Will she live a quiet life with Frank, forever wondering if she made the right decision or will Brent offer a way that all three of them can enjoy a future together?
Reader Advisory: This book contains scenes of anal sex and voyeurism.
General Release Date: 5th September 2014
Martha spotted the dust cloud rising from behind the low hills to the east long before she heard the stagecoach coming. She had expected it, and spotting it early gave her time to get ready. She glanced at her loaded rifle sitting by the door and put a kettle on for coffee. Once the fire was licking the kettle, she walked out to the corral to check the horses grazing in the inner pasture.
It was another hot, dry day in what seemed like an endless stream of them. But as parched as the land was, as hungry as it was for moisture, Martha had a more powerful hunger for company. Talking to herself and chickens and horses didn’t cut it. It would be nice to hear human voices again. With luck there’d be passengers on the stage. Passengers meant more work, but they were company, even for a brief time. They also could mean a little extra money if they wanted a meal. She just managed to squeak by on the money she got for running the waystation. That meant that a chance to earn enough to hire a hand to make repairs now and then, or have cloth sent from town to make new clothes was always welcome. But that meant less to her now than having company—someone to talk to.
It had been different when Dan had been alive, but then everything had been different. Dan’s love for the place had been the only attraction this desolate spot had ever held for her. His death had left her nothing but the empty promise held out by the distant mountains. She often thought about what might be on the other side of them, far to the west. She had heard stories…
Disgusted with her self-pitying thoughts, she shook off her loneliness long enough to concentrate on being ready for guests.
As the stage approached, she held a hand up to her forehead, shading her eyes from the sun. Two men rode on top—Jake, the regular driver, sat beside a young man she hadn’t seen before who rode shotgun. She sighed, disappointed at not seeing anyone inside the coach. Jake might want coffee and sometimes would ask for bacon and eggs, but he wasn’t much of a talker. The young man was her only hope, but cowboys weren’t often chatty. She wanted to hear news but she’d settle for voices making human sounds.
As the stage pulled to a stop, her old brown dog managed to get up enough enthusiasm to stand up and bark an alarm from his dusty vantage point near the barn.
“A little late,” she called to the dog.
“Right on schedule, far as I see, Miss Martha,” Jake shouted as he set the brake and jumped down. “Near enough, anyways.”
She laughed. “I was talking to that old brown lazybones by the barn who is supposed to warn me when tramps like you show up, Jake.”
He nodded and as the young man climbed down, Jake pointed a thumb toward him. “This is Frank,” he said, grinning. “He’s a wet-behind-the-ears deputy from Hurling who got hisself assigned to protecting me.” He turned toward the corral. “Them horses for me?”
“No. I was saving them for someone else. Course them’s the ones.”
“Just making sure,” he said, and began unhitching his team.
She examined the young man more closely—he was probably only four or five years younger than her, which made him in his early twenties—not that young at all. Unfortunately for him, out here a youthful appearance often meant being called ‘kid’ until his hair turned grey—assuming he lived that long.
He was nice to look at and she took her time sizing him up. He was thin but with sinewy muscles, not skinny. His wavy hair and lack of beard just made him seem young, she decided. That he wasn’t aware he was handsome made him more attractive.
Blair Erotica writes about passion and passionate people because they are the ones worth writing about. A lifelong traveller and prolific writer, Blair combines the allure of erotic stories with that of exotic places and admits to a particular and sensual affection for warm, tropical locales.
You can find Blair on Goodreads and Twitter.
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