Forbidden Moon

by Jane Bonander

Overview

A girl's crush grows into a woman's passion.

When Buck Randall met Molly Lindquist, he knew she was the only person he would ever love. Only a girl when they met, the proud and arrogant Buck promised to wait for her, until she was old enough to become his. As an adult, Molly is looking for her ticket out of a life that she hates. Engaged to a powerful Texas rancher and determined to put her unhappy life behind her, she's all but forgotten the pact she made as a child. But when Buck returns to her life, a romance is rekindled that burns too brightly to ignore, and a promise must be kept—at all costs... 

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781626811874
Publisher:	Diversion Books
Publication date:	02/06/2019
Series:	The Moon Trilogy , #3
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	324
Sales rank:	451,031
File size:	6 MB

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

Mrs. Paul's School for Young Ladies, San Francisco

February 1886

The strained melodies of Vivaldi floated valiantly through the reception area. The musicians, all girls ages fourteen and fifteen, often looked up from their music, longing stamped on their sweet faces as their more fortunate classmates mingled with their families.

Molly Lindquist caught the violinist's eye, smiled and winked. The girl grinned back, but there was pleading in the response.

"And just who is the recipient of that beautiful smile?"

Molly's smile widened. "Why, Charles Campion, would you believe you are?" She looked up at her handsome fiancé. Fiancé. How long she'd waited to hear that word, and how ecstatic she'd been when he'd proposed.

Charles took her arm and steered her toward the back of the room. "I'd believe that if you'd let me announce to the world that we're engaged."

She squeezed his arm, feeling a tiny bite of apprehension. "Oh, Charles, I ... I just want to wait a little while. I don't want anything to go wrong."

Snorting softly, he answered, "What could possibly go wrong?"

"Just humor me for a while, please?" She looked up at him, letting her gaze slide over his tanned face. He had little crinkles in the corners of his brilliant blue eyes from squinting into the harsh Texas sun.

Putting his arm around her waist, he edged toward the punch bowl. "How long will you make me wait before I shout it to the world?"

"Perhaps after I've been to visit you and Nicolette in Texas. Perhaps then." He had a tense look about him, and she knew he was trying hard to keep the conversation light. Brushing her gloved fingers over the shoulder of his dove gray dress coat, she said, "Have I told you how handsome you look tonight?"

He relaxed, gave her a wicked smile and handed her a cup of deep red punch. "Don't think flattery will always work on me, Margaret."

"But it did this time, didn't it?" She accepted the drink, smiling at him over the rim of the cup.

His smile changed as he glanced around the room. "The staff will miss you when you leave."

" 'When you leave.' That sounds so final."

"It is final. You will marry me." It sounded like an order, but a soft smile played over his sensual lips.

"Yes, master," she teased. "But I won't be missed for long. There are many excellent music teachers in San Francisco. They'll have no trouble finding a replacement."

"You won't miss it?" He stared down at her intently.

Miss it? No, she didn't think so. She'd worked too long and too hard to find a man like Charles. A young, rich, handsome man who owned more land in Texas than she could even imagine. He adored her beyond measure. His sister, Nicolette, her pupil, had already told her she wanted her as a sister-in-law. He was everything she'd ever dreamed of having. And much, much more: He was white.

"You will, won't you?"

"What?" she asked, startled out of her reverie.

He waved an arm around the splendid surroundings. "Miss this."

The room was indeed splendid, enhanced by the glittering candlelit chandelier. Mirrors surrounded them, maximizing the size of the room. Jewels flashed on most of the women as they laughed and moved about, their arms linked with their husbands. It seemed a room without worries or regrets. Or grief. Or shame. Or need. This was how life should be. She'd worked so very hard to become part of it.

"Perhaps I'll miss San Francisco a little," she answered. But only because it had been her home for nearly the past seven years. And it had been here that she'd decided never to go back to that other life again.

He took the punch cup from her and put it on the table. "Come on," he urged. "Let's find Nicolette, say our good nights and get out of here."

"Really, Charles, we've hardly been here fifteen minutes," she scolded softly.

His heated gaze swept over her silvery gray and light green crepe gown. "We will have magnificent children, you know."

Her heart leaped, but not with yearning. "Charles, that's hardly proper," she said on a shaky breath. She knew he desired her; it had been blatant the moment they'd been introduced over a year ago. She hadn't felt the same burning urgency, but she knew why.

Long ago, when she'd been in the bloom of youth, her urges had nearly gotten her into trouble. So she'd carefully and methodically killed them. Buried them. They belonged with her past. They belonged with ... with the man she would forever try to forget. But try as she might, now and then thoughts of him snaked into her finely tuned routine, stirring up old memories that brought her nothing but feelings of shame. And regret. And desire. Feelings that couldn't be trusted.

Charles squeezed her fingers. "But it's true," he whispered close to her ear.

Pulling her hands from his, she frantically searched the room for Nicolette. She found her by the door. The girl waved, and weaved through the crowd toward them.

"There you two are!" She kissed her brother's cheek, then hugged Molly tightly. "So, are you coming to visit us?"

Molly looked at the blond teenager, who was as beautiful as her brother was handsome. They both adored her. She wondered if she deserved such happiness. After a brief inner struggle, she decided she did. It hadn't just fallen into her lap. She'd worked for it. "How can I say no?"

Cedarville, Texas

April

Six years. His miseries had started six years ago, but it had only been three years since he'd had a drink. Three years since he'd had the shakes so bad, he couldn't pull on his own boots. Three years since he'd awakened, his head lying in a puddle of his own vomit. And three years since he'd used whiskey to dull the pain of his wife's death. ... Three damned, long years, and temptation had eaten at him every one of those one thousand ninety-odd days.

Buck Randall sat in a Cedarville whorehouse and stared at the whiskey. It caught the light, beckoning him like diamonds to a jewel thief. He circled the short, thick glass with his forefinger, then brought the glass to his nose. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. His mouth watered. Chilly bumps of anticipation raced over his skin. Hell, he still wanted the stuff; he knew he always would.

Uttering a ragged sigh, he set the glass down.

Tessa Black, the owner of the brothel, sashayed up to him from behind the bar. The neckline of her emerald green silk gown plunged low, revealing the shimmering tops of her large breasts. "Hey, Buck."

He shoved the full shot of whiskey toward her. "Hey, Tessa. How're you doing?"

She took the drink and dumped it back into the bottle. "I can still get it wet," she answered, giving him a brazen once-over.

Buck shook his head and grinned. "I'll bet you can, Tessa girl, I'll just bet you can."

Continuing to smile at him, she folded her arms in front of her and leaned against the bar, exposing more of her generous, white bosom. "Some day I'm gonna get you just a little bit drunk, Buck Randall. I bet you're one hell of a stud in bed."

Buck chuckled and ran one finger over her bare fleshy arm. Goose bumps erupted on her skin. "Now, how would you know that unless Nita told you?"

Tessa snorted and pulled her arm away. "I got eyes. That bulge in your jeans tells me somethin', and I've seen a lot of bulges in my time," she added with a smirk. "Nita may have been one of my best girls, but, sweetie," she added, pressing her breasts dangerously close to his hand, "I've always wanted to give you a try. You wouldn't be disappointed."

He glanced at her ample charms, then up at her face. Her eyes were thick with paint and mascara and her cheeks circles of rouge. Her hair, a brassy shade of gold, hung in lacquered curls to her shoulders. A woman ten years younger wouldn't dress the way Tessa did.

He gave her a slow, lusty smile. "Now, you know I could never satisfy you, Tess."

She answered his smile, her gaze peering over the bar at his crotch. "I'd sure as hell like to waste an afternoon tryin'." She walked away, the shelf of her wide hips swaying seductively.

Buck shook his head, turning as a gleeful whoop cut through the already noisy bar. Two men waited to be taken upstairs, passing the time playing an animated game of ringtoss. The object was to toss the ring over one of the enormous breasts of a painted wooden sculpture, a woman who looked suspiciously like Tessa.

"Hey, Bucko, mi amigo!"

Buck watched Che Ruiz and Hector Alejandro stroll toward him. The three of them were in town to escort their boss and his sister's houseguest back to the ranch. "Stage is in, Che?"

The shifty-eyed Mexican leered at him, flashing a smile that displayed gaping holes and ragged, rotting teeth. He jabbed his thumb toward the door. "Si, and the boss, he's comin' down the street with the little piece of ass now."

Buck tossed a coin on the bar and followed the other two toward the door. Their boss had ridden them hard to finish that damned front porch before his houseguest came for a visit. The last coat of paint had been slapped on early yesterday morning.

As Buck stepped outside, wind, warm and dry, picked up the dust from the street, filling the air with swirling whorls.

Grinning, Che nudged him with his elbow. "See? Here they come." He pointed toward the approaching buggy. "Brrrr," he said, shivering dramatically as he looked at their boss's companion. "Some icy berg, si?"

Buck had to agree. Her nose was so high in the air, she'd drown in a rainstorm. He squinted at the twosome. His boss was a handsome White — according to the girls at Tessa's. Buck knew for certain that he enjoyed a good life and didn't like to get his hands dirty ... at least not physically. His moral character was another matter.

Buck turned his attention to the young woman at his side. She wore a handsome rust walking suit and carried one of those parasol things, holding it away from her like a royal scepter. She sat ramrod straight on the seat beside him, like a preening duchess surveying the peasants.

Buck noticed her hat and almost laughed. Rust to match her suit, it sat perched on the side of her head. It was loaded with frilly geegaws and sported a gray ostrich plume. And damned if there wasn't a small gray bird at the front that appeared to attempt takeoff every time the buggy hit a bump in the road. Buck decided it would serve the woman right if the bird crapped on her. The picture made him smile.

Their boss nodded toward them, then leaned down to say something to the woman. She turned, just long enough for Buck to see her face. Blood pounded in his ears and his jaw fell slack. He swore under his breath, unable to take his eyes off her, even though she'd quickly turned her face away.

What in the hell was she doing here? And it was her, no doubt about that. He'd never forget those defiant hazel eyes or those lush pouty lips. And the hair ... A vision of the tawny mass blowing wildly in the wind had stamped itself into his brain years ago. She might have it tamed now, but there was no mistaking who it belonged to.

His gaze followed the buggy as it rolled and rocked down the rut filled street. He tried to remember if Campion had ever mentioned the woman by name. Yeah, he'd said something to his sister, something about Margaret's room. Hell, yes, it was Margaret all right, but no one had ever called her that, not when he'd known her. Growing up on the Gaspard ranch, the little hellion had been nicknamed Molly, for there hadn't been a hair on her head that could have belonged to anyone sedately named Margaret.

What in bloody hell was she doing here? He swore again. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve this. Now, along with everything else he had to worry about, he had to watch out for Molly.

The three mounted their horses and followed a respectable distance behind the buggy. Buck couldn't wait to get to the ranch to find out how she was going to explain this one.

Molly Lindquist furtively glanced behind her. Oh, damn! It was him. What in the name of heaven was Buck Randall doing here, anyway? It was a big country; he could have chosen anywhere else but Texas. Of all the people on the face of the earth, he was undoubtedly the last one Molly wanted to see. Ever, ever again. And then to discover he was one of Charles's ranch hands. Talk about bad luck. All of her life Buck had been her nemesis. Now, seeing him here was like eating a sweet peach pastry, enjoying it immensely, then biting into an annoying, disgusting pit. Buck Randall was that pit.

She tried to concentrate on something else, like the fact that Nicolette hadn't come with Charles to meet her. It wasn't quite proper for them to be seen alone together.

She gave Charles a sidelong glance. "And you said Nicolette will be home in a few days?"

Charles pressed her hand. "Perhaps even tomorrow. Chelsea, her best friend, has a mare that's about to foal. She didn't want to miss it. But as I said, she was torn. She didn't want to miss a moment of your visit, either."

A terrible odor suddenly contaminated the breeze. Molly brought her gloved hand to her nose, trying to filter out the smell. "What is that smell, Charles?"

He laughed on a cough and wiped his eyes. "It's from the holding pens for the cattle. We're downwind of it today, aren't we?"

"Will we smell it all the way to the ranch?" She was desperate to keep her mind on something else, even though she still felt Buck's glowering black eyes boring into her back.

"No, of course not. As soon as we head down into the valley, the air will be fresh and clean." He squeezed her shoulders. "Just the way I ordered it."

She glanced briefly at Charles's hand, which possessively stroked her arm. Oddly enough, she suddenly felt uncomfortable. Still sensing, almost feeling Buck's eyes on her, she said, "Those ranch hands of yours ..."

Charles squeezed her arm again. "Don't be frightened, Margaret. They're just Mexicans. And one is a breed. You won't have to talk to them, I promise. They keep to their kind, we keep to ours. That's a little rule of mine. To keep it enforced, I have an overseer. Hiram Poteet. He'll make sure they don't bother you when I'm not around. And they're really quite harmless when they understand their place."

She forced herself to answer his reassuring smile, although the disparaging way he spoke bothered her a little. However, knowing he had many men to keep in line, she excused him. One couldn't become familiar with the hands. He'd explained that to her. Familiarity allowed the help to expect favors. She already knew Charles wasn't a man to grant many. He was a hard taskmaster, but that's what had drawn her to him. He allowed nothing to stand in his way, and it appeared he always got what he wanted. She rather thought they were alike in that respect.

But harmless wasn't a term she'd have used to describe the three men who followed them. They all looked like renegades. But while the other two were simply unshaven and dirty, Buck was lean, hard-edged and dangerous. In spite of the danger — or maybe because of it — she'd always been drawn to him.

She paused, waiting to feel some revulsion. It didn't come, and that realization frightened her just a little.

Charles might think the men were harmless, but she knew better. Buck Randall was about as harmless as a startled rattlesnake, and twice as sneaky.

She'd have to get away and find him as soon as she could. If he so much as hinted to Charles that he knew her, everything she'd worked so hard for would disappear like so much smoke up a chimney.

Trying to forget that Buck was behind her as they rode into the country, she stared at the landscape. It didn't hold her interest for very long. She kept feeling Buck's eyes boring into her back.

They had been descending into a valley since they left Cedarville. "How far to the ranch, Charles?"

He removed his Stetson, revealing his shock of wavy blond hair before he settled his hat back on his head. "Far enough so that we'll have to stop and have a picnic. There's a beautiful place not far from here."

Again, Buck's face loomed before her. She squirmed on the seat beside Charles.

"Anything wrong, Margaret?"

She couldn't begin to tell him. Giving him a weak smile, she shook her head. A vision of the Buck she'd had such a crush on billowed before her like an oversized balloon. Tall, lean, wild and raunchy. He'd exuded a sexual vitality that she, even at fourteen, had found compelling. Feeling herself blush, she realized that she'd tried to get him to notice her often enough. What a silly, reckless girl she'd been. And how lucky she was that she'd been sent away to school before she'd found a way to lure him into — She flushed again. Well, she would have stopped at nothing to get Buck's full attention had she been allowed to stay home.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "Forbidden Moon"
by .
Copyright © 1993 Jane Bonander.
Excerpted by permission of Diversion Publishing Corp..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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