The Comanchero’s Bride by Kaye Spencer – Excerpt 2 of 3 (G) #westernromance #prairierosepubs @kayespencer
Beautiful heiress Elizabeth Bradford White is exiled to Texas with family friends until she “comes to her senses” and agrees to marry the prominent politico her parents have chosen for her. Grayson Beal is certainly not the man of her dreams—she finds him so revolting she welcomes her exile and makes a new life for herself in south Texas.
When she is approached at a fiesta by dark-eyed, handsome Mingo Valderas, she knows her heart will never be her own again. But Mingo has a checkered past—a reputation as a Comanchero, and a man who is as fast with his knives as he is with his gun. An ex-outlaw with many secrets, Elizabeth gives her trust to him, and their whirlwind courtship begins.
But Grayson Beal will stop at nothing to claim Elizabeth and her inheritance, along with the political influence her parents have. In a deadly cross-country race for her freedom, only one man stands between her and the monster who follows her. Fueled by their love and dreams of a future together, Elizabeth and Mingo stay one step ahead of Beal…but will that be enough?
EXCERPT 2 (G) [Mingo and Isabel (aka Elizabeth) spend the night in a dugout during a blizzard.]
They had to duck through a low overhang then go down several steps to the door, but once inside, there was enough ceiling height for them to stand straight. The familiar aroma of musty stale dust and the cold, rank smell of weeks’ old wood smoke hit Mingo’s nose.
Surrounded by absolute darkness, relief washed over him as he absorbed the sudden remarkable calm. It was an eerie stillness after enduring hours of relentless wind and battering snow. His skin prickled and his scalp tingled with the abrupt temperature change.
“We need light.” He spoke aloud for Elizabeth’s benefit. He released her, and though she wavered on unsteady feet, she stood of her own accord while he groped beside the door until locating the tin can with matches and candles right where he expected to find them. Striking a match, he put the flame to the wick.
Dingy but adequate candlelight bathed the twelve-foot-square area. With a sweeping glance, he saw the old buffalo robe hanging over the plank bunk, a stack of firewood by the wood stove, a blackened coffee pot hanging on a nail, and a menagerie of canned goods on a shelf. Although the scuffed dirt floor showed some recent use, the dugout was unchanged since last he’d stayed just two years ago.
The dugout looks something like this one that is located south of Lamar, Colorado on US Hwy 287 and straight east of the old Augustine Stage/Freight stop across the highway. It’s also about 30 miles from where I live.
Until next time,
Writing through history one romance upon a time