About Margarita and The Hired Gun
Pampered Margarita McIntosh is not used to being forced to do things she doesn’t want to do—but when her father, Jock, sends her away for her own safety, she has no choice. The long journey from Flagstaff to Durango tests her personal strength of will as never before, and the secret she carries in her saddlebag could be the death of her.
A rough Irish gunman, known to her only as “Rafferty”, is entrusted with getting her to her destination “safe and intact”—something he fully intends to do to claim the reward he’s been promised by Jock McIntosh. With a price on his head, the promised money is Rafferty’s ticket to a new life, and he’s not going to jeopardize that for anything—not even love.
But there are steamy nights and dangers all along the arduous trail for MARGARITA AND THE HIRED GUN, with deadly secrets between them that passion cannot erase. With her father’s enemies after her and the secret she conceals, will Rafferty’s protection be enough to save their lives? And will the heat of their passionate love be enough to seal their future together—if they do survive?
Excerpt:
“Rafferty,” said Homer, nodding his
head in the direction of the man, who was now moving toward the stairs, eyes
still on Margarita.
He walked slowly, swinging one long
leg after another, a slight swagger in his shoulders. Unable to bear up under
his direct gaze any longer, Margarita looked down at her coffee. Her ears were
burning, and her throat was constricted in anticipation, but still, he moved
down the stairs and across the room at an unnervingly slow pace.
When he arrived on the scene, the women at the
table stopped talking and looked expectantly at him. He didn’t register their
presence as he walked past them—to their apparent disappointment. The men
playing poker watched him with wary eyes. One of them touched the gun in his
holster, nervously. The cowboys stopped talking and drew closer together.
Without a word or invitation, the
tall man pulled out the chair across from Margarita. The gun sticking out of
his waistband put a lump of fear in her stomach.
He jerked his head in
her direction, looking at Homer.
“Why is she here?” he asked in a deep voice,
speaking in the same slow pace as he walked. He had an Irish accent, she noted.
Homer poured out a cup of the thick, dark liquid for him.
“Rafferty. This is Margarita McIntosh, Jock’s
daughter.”
“And she’s here for what reason?”
he asked again, in a brusque tone.
Margarita looked up, her face burning with
indignation. She was met with quite a sight. The man across from her had a few
days’ growth of black whiskers covering the lower part of his face. Jet-black
hair stood in loose curls around his head in an uncombed mass. His hair was in
need of a wash, strands clumping together with something she didn’t want to
dwell on. It was hard to guess his age. Older than she, certainly, but she
couldn’t discern much beyond that.
He was without a jacket or shirt,
and his long john’s undershirt was pushed up at the elbows, showing long,
muscular forearms. Worse, the top buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned,
exposing the patch of black hair on his chest. The tight, sweat-stained garment
showed every bulge and indent in his lean torso, including his nipples. He was
as good as naked.
Margarita tried to hide her shock
at this unseemly display. She’d never seen so much of a man’s body before, up
close. His eyes bored into her. They were steely eyes the color of indigo set
in bloodshot orbs. Her discomfort seemed to amuse him. He narrowed his eyes at
her, and a smirk twisted his lips as he observed her watching him. Other than
his lips and eyes, he was as still as if he’d been carved in stone. Very
economical in his movements, Margarita thought.
“Well, here’s the thing. She’s the
job. Jock wants his daughter delivered to his sister in Durango. He wants you
to make sure she gets there. Safe—and intact,” Homer said, in a way which made
her redden.
The man called Rafferty grinned
rakishly, displaying surprisingly even, white teeth. “If it’s safety he after,
there’s better ways to transport his precious cargo, I would think.”
“He wants her movements to go
undetected.”
Rafferty leaned over the table. She
could smell him now. He smelled like sour sweat, whiskey—and cheap perfume.
There was some other odor Margarita couldn’t identify, but it was a smell,
which repelled her.
Repelled her, yes, but she felt an
odd measure of arousal at the same time. She raised her handkerchief to her
nose to breathe through its lavender-scented folds. Catching her gesture, the
dark man glowered at her briefly before the smirk returned to his lips.
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6 comments:
Thank you for letting Margarita and "Rafferty" rest here for a spell. They've been on the trail for weeks. As always, it is a pleasure to work with you, Keta!
sounds like a great book!!
Thanks, Kathleen! I think you'd like the hero. He experiences many of the things an Irish immigrant could face at the time before heading out west. Rafferty shares his stories every night to Magarita over the campfire--once they stop hating each other.
I enjoyed reading about the book. It sounds great.
Thanks, Debby!
Kathleen is the winner!
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