Devastated on her wedding day by a shattering revelation, Melissa Corbin turned to a stranger with a brazen bargain: she would take his name in exchange for the power of the Corbin empire.

Quinn Rafferty was shockingly handsome and used to command. His bold, generous heart was quickly roused to laughter, to anger...and to white-hot desire for the head strong, sable-maned beauty.

Quinn's caresses kindled blazing starlight in Melissa's pounding blood...and soon there was no turning back. But above their happiness loomed a bitter man's vengeance that could destroy all that Quinn most cherished. Now Melissa and Quinn would risk their very lives for the glorious heights of ecstasy....

About the Author

The daughter of a town marshal, Linda Lael Miller is the author of more than 100 historical and contemporary novels. Now living in Spokane, Washington, the “First Lady of the West” hit a career high when all three of her 2011 Creed Cowboy books debuted at #1 on the New York Times list. In 2007, the Romance Writers of America presented her their Lifetime Achievement Award. She personally funds her Linda Lael Miller Scholarships for Women. Visit her at www.lindalaelmiller.com.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter One

Port Hastings, Washington

March 7, 1891

She appeared out of a driving rain, a spirit of the storm, clutching the skirts of her billowing white wedding dress in her hands and running for all she was worth. A circlet of bedraggled flowers graced her dark hair, which hung in sodden ropes to her waist. Her gown was most definitely ruined, and her dainty slippers were muddy and wet. Quinn Rafferty stood fascinated on the platform of his private railroad car, heedless of the rain and the keening of the train whistle that signaled imminent departure. The nymph had gained the tracks now and was charging toward him.

Quite a lot of her trim but womanly bosom was visible from Quinn's vantage point, and he was charmed. When the train lurched into motion and began to clatter and clank he saw the bride set her beautiful jaw and burst into even greater speed.

"Damn you, h-help me!" she gasped, holding up one hand.

Quinn was stunned to realize that she'd actually caught up to the train. Like a man moving in a dream he reached down, gained a hold on her, and hauled her aboard.

Her small, nubile body slammed against Quinn's, and although the impact was slight, for a moment he was as breathless as though he'd been buried alive in a high-country snowslide.

The sprite was spitting mad and panting from her flight and her fury. Her azure eyes snapped. Quinn recovered himself enough to grin and tip the brim of his hat with insolent good manners. He allowed his gaze to slide down over her, and again he had that sensation of being crushed beneath some invisible, elemental substance.

"This is so sudden," he quipped, to hide his distress at being so violently affected by this little snippet of a girl in a muddy wedding dress and a crown of drooping petunias.

She was looking back on the town of Port Hastings now, a certain dismay in her round eyes. A flock of disgruntled wedding guests had gathered at the tracks, peering after her through the drizzle, shouting and waving their arms.

"Forgive me," she whispered. And then she lifted delicate, gloved fingers to her lips and blew a kiss to the throng.

Three men towered in the forefront of the crowd. The one wearing a clerical collar lifted his hand in farewell and smiled sadly, but the other two looked as though they could uproot railroad spikes with their teeth and chew them like peppermint sticks.

Quinn wondered which one was the spurned groom. While he'd never been afraid of any man -- save his own father -- he was glad he didn't have to give an accounting of this episode to either of those two. And that very relief nettled his pride.

"Shall we?" he asked with biting politeness, extending an arm.

The lady took the offered arm, full of disdainful dignity, and allowed Quinn to escort her into the car.

She looked around her, clearly unimpressed with the luxury Quinn had worked all his life to acquire, and plopped her sodden bustle down on a velvet-upholstered bench. She was peeling off her spoiled slippers while Quinn went to the liquor cabinet and poured healthy doses of brandy for himself and the runaway bride.

"What's your name?" he demanded, fairly shoving a crystal snifter into her hand.

She accepted it without the maidenly reluctance Quinn had anticipated, her incredible azure eyes fixed for the fraction of a moment on something above and beyond his right shoulder. "Pullman," she said, after that brief and patently disturbing hesitation. "Melissa Pullman."

He took a long draught of his own brandy before sitting down in a nearby chair and ran one hand through his light brown hair. "Well?" he prompted when, after several long sips from her glass, Miss Pullman had not volunteered her story.

"Well, what?" she countered testily.

Quinn sighed, turning his snifter between his palms. "I'd like an explanation," he responded tautly. "I think you owe me that."

She sighed, and her straight little shoulders stooped just a bit as she pondered the amber depths of her brandy. "I suppose I do," she conceded, and Quinn found himself feeling sorry for her.

The sentiment was of short duration.

"I'm not sure I'm going to tell you anything, though," she added. She eyed him in an appraising fashion. "You are a man, after all."

"Thank you very much."

"Not at all," came the immediate retort. "It wasn't a compliment. And your name, sir?"

"Rafferty," her host allowed, annoyed. "Quinn Rafferty." Even though he was indisputably the best poker player in four counties, Quinn found that he couldn't keep a straight face. What he was feeling was more than mere idle curiosity; it was a driving, vital need to know. "Which one of those three giants was supposed to be your husband?"

A smile curved her lips, and Quinn was struck with a piercing awareness of her loveliness. God in heaven, even in that dirty, water-spotted wedding dress, with her hair dripping and her face wet with rain and, Quinn suspected, tears, she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. "None. They were my brothers."

Quinn searched his memory for a trio of Pullman brothers based in Port Hastings and came up dry. "And the groom?"

"I doubt that Ajax would stoop to running after me." She made the admission with a small sigh. "He's practically royalty, you know. His family goes back to the time of William the Conqueror."

Quinn shrugged, irritated by that kind of pretension. "We all go back to Adam and Eve, don't we?"

To his surprise, she smiled. "You're right, Mr. Rafferty. You're absolutely right." She shoved the snifter at him. "Might I have more brandy, please?"

Quinn was about to refuse -- it was powerful stuff, that brew -- when he knew a certain stab of sympathy. The poor little sprite had run out of a church, through a pounding rainstorm, and been wrenched aboard a railroad car by a complete stranger. Despite the cocky act she was putting on, Quinn was convinced that Melissa Pullman was nervous and afraid.

He rose and refilled her snifter, and when he handed it back she took a great gulp. After a few more such swallows she seemed more receptive to sensible conversation.

"Why did you leave Ajax at the altar?" Quinn asked kindly.

Melissa smoothed her skirts, ignoring their hopeless condition, and avoided Quinn's eyes. She bit down hard on her lower lip for a moment, then tossed back the last of her brandy. "I didn't love him," she stated shakily, and in a hoarse voice, after a very long time.

Quinn had his doubts as to her sincerity. "Wouldn't it have been simpler to say so?" he prompted in a gentle tone.

"I couldn't have faced him," she said.

"Then why didn't you just tell your brothers how you felt? Surely they would have understood."

Melissa hiccuped and set her snifter aside on a table that, like all the other furniture in the car, was bolted to the floor.

She shook her head. "As far as they're concerned, I'm a spinster," she confided. "I'm sure they thought Ajax was my last chance."

Moments before Quinn had been glad not to have to deal with the Pullman brothers. Now he longed to confront them. "Bull-balderdash!" he muttered. "How could you be an old maid? You're on the sunny side of twenty or I'm a donkey's first cousin!"

She gave a pealing, slightly drunken giggle and gingerly removed her halo of flowers. "I'm twenty-two, and your family heritage would explain your stubbornness, wouldn't it?"

Quinn knew that he s...

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