KATE BRIDGES

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1) LUKE'S RUNAWAY BRIDE

2) THE DOCTOR'S HOMECOMING

Excerpt from Luke's Runaway Bride

Harlequin Historicals, Sept 2002 ISBN 0-373-29226-0

Copyright @ 2002 Kate Bridges. All rights reserved.

*****

Taken from one of their first encounters:

Wyoming Territory, 1873

Still wearing his sheepskin jacket buttoned to the top, Jenny pushed herself from the straw. Was the train slowing down? It was rocking differently beneath her. While she stretched her arms to shake off her sleep, Luke sprang to his feet in the opposite corner of the boxcar. She started. With his cowboy boots pounding on the floor planks, his spurs jangling, he banged his fists on the wall to signal his man on the other side. A thud echoed in response.

Luke returned to his magnificent blood bay. Sunlight glistened off its red flanks. "Morning," Luke said as he saddled his mount. Was he talking to her or the stallion? She didn't answer.

Trying to ignore his masculine presence, she ran her fingers through her twisted hair, yanking on the knots. She got it into some degree of order, then flattened it on the top. Removing several of the hairpins, she did a makeshift job of tying it into a beaver tail. It would have to do.

From beneath her lashes, she couldn't resist stealing another glance at Luke. Still in his black denim pants, he'd changed his shirt and donned a knee-length leather coat. He looked almost respectable.

Watching him work, she noticed how skillful he was with animals. His movements emphasized his forceful shoulders, slim hips and muscular thighs. Any woman would think he and his mount were striking, standing side by side. She shouldn't feel guilty for thinking it herself, about the power and muscle in both man and beast.

The man was a beast, she decided. He should be shackled and chained. He would be once they caught him, she realized with satisfaction.

While he adjusted his saddlebags, she watched his long fingers at work. If what he told her last night about his father were true... What kind of family did he come from? No wonder he was all scarred up. It must come from breaking the law, just like his father.

"Are we getting off here?"

"Yeah." Dark stubble shadowed his jaw. He needed a shave. If he'd lend her a straight blade, she'd give him one he'd never forget.

"Is this the Cheyenne station?"

"No, it's the stop before."

She sat taller, her voice sharp. "I thought you said we're going to Cheyenne."

"We are. But the last thing I need is two women hollering murder in the middle of the station." He worked quickly to buckle straps. "We'll go the rest of the distance by horse."

Ride a horse? By herself? She didn't know how. She'd never tried. Her throat constricted. "Am I supposed to ride the other horse?"

Luke glanced at the sorrel. "That one's not mine. I'm not a horse thief."

She jumped to her feet and brushed straw off her dress. "How honorable," she said with a shake of her head. "You steal women but not horses." ....

*****

Taken from a passage much later in the book:

When Jenny rubbed her arms again from the chill, Luke removed his coat and pressed it around her shoulders. "Here, take this."

She tugged the corners close and he smiled at the baggy fit.

Their eyes met. "You always wind up alone," she said gently.

"That's how I like it."

"Oh," she said humbly, stepping back, "would you prefer I left--"

"No," he responded. He ached to reach out and touch her, but instead, slid his hands into his pockets.

When she leaned over the railing beside him, he inhaled her musky, womanly scent. How could he resist her?

"You do everything alone," she whispered. "Even with your little boy Adam, you're trying to tackle it by yourself."

He didn't answer.

Crickets chirped. The night became still. Then a breeze picked up and lifted strands of her hair. She mesmerized him. "Do you ever accept help from your friends, just because they'd like to give it?"

"I try not to."

"Why?"

"It's simpler that way."

"Is simpler always better?" Her voice caught. Her eyes glistened and her mouth beckoned.

"Not always." Unable to stop himself, he reached up with one hand and untangled her hair. He felt her tremble at his touch. His fingers grazed the soft spot at the back her neck, and at the contact, fire raced along his skin. His voice was raw and husky. "It would be simpler to walk away from you right now." ....

(...continued...)

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Excerpt from The Doctor's Homecoming

Harlequin Historicals, Feb 2002, ISBN 0-373-29197-3

Copyright @ 2002 Kate Bridges. All rights reserved.

*****

Taken from their first meeting:

Montana Territory, 1882

It took a moment for Wyatt to register what he was seeing. They were his Arabians, and he could make out Tommy. Wyatt squinted through the shimmering waves of heat, cupping a hand over his eyes. He tensed. Where was the doctor's head of white hair? And what was that? A skirt blowing in the wind? A woman?

Something about the rider seemed familiar. The angle of her head, the way she held her shoulders tight and leaned into the horse. As she turned the final border of trees, his breath caught.

"Emma."

His senses spun. Reeling back, his heart lurched and his gut slammed, as surely as if he'd been punched. Trying to right his balance, he rubbed his bristly cheek with his palm. Hell, he would have preferred a punch...a little blood, a few cuts, but at least he'd know in a day or two, he'd recover.

Emma. He hadn't talked to her in sixteen years. What the hell was she doing here? Coming to help his daughter, Melissa? Emma sure as hell wasn't coming for him, not after how he'd treated her. He pushed aside his guilt as anger overtook him.

Now what? Was he supposed to let her help? After what her brother did? Dammit, was Wyatt supposed to quietly step aside and let Cole's sister deal with Melissa? Was that supposed to somehow clear the goddamn slate?

He rubbed a hand over his mouth and swore. He watched her, hypnotized, as she galloped straight toward him. He'd heard rumors she was visiting and that she'd finally graduated from the Women's College, a brand-new doctor. He'd always believed she'd make a good one. Was she?

They thundered in. The mutts barked. He dashed out, reaching for the mare's reins before Emma could dismount.

"Pa," Tommy shouted, jumping off his horse.

Wyatt's gut wrenched as he gazed up into her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed and she was out of breath.

His heart hammered against his chest with concern for Melissa. "Where's Doc Brady?"

"In Levi Valley buying supplies. How's Melissa? Is she still bleeding?"

He softened, letting the reins slacken between his fingers. "She's sleeping. Her bleeding stopped forty-five minutes ago."

Her shoulders dipped with relief. Sliding off the saddle, she touched the ground on tiptoe, standing a head below his large frame. "Any more labor contractions?"

"No."

Her cheeks grew pinker. "And the baby? Can you see movement in Melissa's belly?"

"Yeah, I almost jumped out of my skin when I saw the baby wiggling, clean through the sheet."

Her whole face brightened. Her eyes sparkled. "That's reassuring. Those are good signs. The best thing for Melissa is to let her sleep. There's nothing better we can do."

Maybe the worst was over. His daughter might be fine.

Emma's confidence made the clamp around his heart loosen. His hopes soared to the endless blue sky.

Tommy took the horses and led them to the watering trough. Wyatt couldn't help but beam at Emma. A smile trembled over her mouth, the pretty sight catching him off guard, causing his stomach to roll. He didn't want to be caught off guard. He suddenly realized their proximity, not two feet between them. Close enough to notice the clean scent of her sweat, the tiny drops of dew glistening above her upper lip.

She seemed to be affected, too, either by him or the hard ride. Face flushed, she pulled in a deep breath, her chest heaving and her pink lips quivering. Looking like she'd just been made love to.

Watching her was torture. He took a step back, tried to regain his composure, then his eyes found hers again.

"How are you, Emma?"

"Fine." She thrust out her chin. So she was still mad at him. Yet she'd come to help. And those big, greenish-brown eyes... Did they still flash more green than brown when she was angry? Yes, they did. He swallowed hard. Staring at her felt like an aching wound....

(...continued...)