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Watching him, Katlyn’s heart beat faster and harder
She didn’t know whether it was from nerves or from a growing sense of annoyance with the arrogance radiating from the man.
He made his way to her in a few long-legged strides, offering her a curt nod of his head and a cool handshake in welcome. “I’m Case Durham. I own the St. Martin. We’ve corresponded several times.”
Katlyn nodded in reply. This close to him, she could see he wasn’t as dark as the shadows had painted him, with the exception of his expression. His hair was more the color of polished oak, his eyes a deep, mesmerizing green, sharp and hard as gemstones.
As hard as Case Durham seemed to be.
Praise for author Nicole Foster’s first book JAKE’S ANGEL
“An endearing tale…the characters shine.”
—Rendezvous
“…a classic romance…any reader devoted to this genre will love this book.”
—Romance Communications
“Jake’s Angel will charm you from the first page and hold you until the last…you won’t be able to put it down.”
—The Road to Romance
CIMARRON ROSE
Harlequin Historical #560
#559 THE OVERLORD’S BRIDE
Margaret Moore
#561 THE NANNY
Judith Stacy
#562 TAMING THE DUKE
Jackie Manning
Cimarron Rose
Nicole Foster
MILLS & BOON
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Available from Harlequin Historicals and NICOLE FOSTER
Jake’s Angel #522
Cimarron Rose #560
To Nicole and Foster, kindred spirits like their mothers.
Contents
Chapter One
Cimarron, New Mexico territory, 1875
A gust of wind rattled the window of the small room, its cool draft sliding inside to brush against Katlyn McLain’s neck. She shivered, drawing her thin woolen shawl a little more tightly around her as she bent over the bed to look again at the woman lying there.
In the wavering lamplight, stripped of her glitter and paint, Penelope Rose seemed small and faded. Katlyn touched her mother’s face, then tucked the blanket more snugly around her. Even without the doctor’s grim news, she had known her mother was ill. Her pale thinness, the dullness of her penny-bright hair, the droop of her shoulders all betrayed Penelope’s sparkling facade.
Katlyn dropped back down onto the wooden chair she’d pulled close to the bed, feeling a little pale herself.
She hadn’t slept since she’d arrived hours ago in Cimarron, cold, wet, aching, and half carrying Penelope, with nothing between them but the clothes on their backs.
A tap at the door brought Katlyn to her feet again. Before she could move to answer it, the owner of the boardinghouse, Mrs. Donaldson, pushed open the door and came inside. She put the tray she carried on the dresser top and then looked sternly at Katlyn.
That expression made Katlyn want to laugh. A thin little sparrow of a woman, Elspeth Donaldson appeared meek—until she spoke and a rich Scottish burr rolled out. “Now, lass, I’ve brought you some tea, and a wee bit of that stew I had left from supper. You won’t be doin’ your ma any good by starvin’ yourself.”
“Thank you,” Katlyn said, smiling a little at Mrs. Donaldson’s fussing. “I am hungry. But I—”
“I won’t be hearin’ any more about you payin’ me,” Mrs. Donaldson said, giving Katlyn one of her daunting stares. “You just eat that. I know you’re hungry, walkin’ all that way after such a terrible experience. You’re a brave lass, and there’s no one can say different.”
Katlyn wanted to say she felt anything but brave.