HIS
HIGH-STAKES BRIDE
Texan
Brides #3
by
Martha Hix
Genre: Historical Romance
Pub
Date: 8/29/2017
Win,
lose—or fall in love . . .
After
losing her mama and all she has, vagabond Patience “Patty” Sweet
dreams of reuniting with her father in the New Mexico territory. So
she teams up with a no-good gambler whose winnings enable her to get
her closer to her destination. Patty hates hanging around saloons and
poker parlors, pulling dishonest deeds. But when a game of five-card
draw goes wrong in Lubbock, Texas, Patty gets offered up as
collateral—to a handsome stranger who’s about to turn the tables
. . .
Lawyer
Grant Kincaid has no intention of claiming his prize—a nearly
nineteen-year-old petite beauty with sweet eyes—who has a hold on
him he can’t deny. But as he tries to help Patty untangle herself
from her shady partner, he discovers she’s not as innocent as she
seems. For starters, she’s already stolen his hardened heart . . .
Lubbock, Texas, 1910
Under a full moon
It is a sad day in a woman’s life when she comes to grips with weakness
of character. Today might have been that way for Patience Eileen Sweet,
but she couldn’t dwell on something like that. Not this day, which had
turned into a warm autumn night in 1910. Not when she intended to escape
the mess of her own making. Her papa would have told her, “Patty Cake,
proceed with caution.” He always claimed full moons bring babies, lunatics,
and any number of disasters, particularly mine cave-ins.
Tonight would bring change; that she knew beforehand. This night
unfolded for Patty in a saloon. By the midnight hour the floozies had
served their last drinks and were nowhere to be seen, most of the customers
having cleared out. The bartender did nothing to cover his yawns. Cigar
smoke still curled toward the tin ceiling. Gaming chips still pinged. Three
gamblers refused to give in or give up.
Still and all, it would be over soon.
Looking up from her mending, she meant to steal a glance at her
“stepbrother,” but she locked gazes with one of the gamblers instead, and
not for the first time this evening. The three were close enough that she
could get a good look—he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. As
he had the other times, he nodded once. There was a puzzled, curious look
to his fine features, certainly not the nasty-old-pervert leer that Dorinda
had warned her to look out for.
She did like this man’s black-haired, blue-eyed looks. He wore the
garb of a West Texan—a yoked shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons and
denim britches that hugged him just right. His boots were the same kind
that cowboys wore, only this ’poke’s weren’t scuffed or worn out. His
clothes looked too clean, his hair and chin too smooth for a man of the
land. He looked rich.
Patty moved her line of sight to her partner-in-crime, Chet Merkel. It
was his turn to deal, and she could tell he was losing at five-card stud.
They couldn’t afford for him to lose, not even for one evening, yet she
prayed for his bad luck.
She knew what his next move would be. He’d barter her virginity. For
the third time.
Twice before to two different men in two different towns.
Tonight it was Scarlet Garter Jenny’s Saloon. The “winner” would
be a short, dark sheriff wearing a big, thick wedding ring. Or else the
winner might be that curious fellow—the smooth-shaven pretty boy that
the drunkards, gamblers, and preening waitresses called “counselor” and
“mouthpiece,” with “Grant” or “Kincaid” thrown in from time to time.
Well, the painted ladies usually said “Sugar.”
Neither of these men looked as gullible as the previous winners of her
so-called prize.
Anyway, Patty knew how to get out of being the night’s reward. Did
she even want to? Just looking at Grant Kincaid had her in a tizzy. One
way or another, things would be different tonight. She was cutting all ties
to her double-dealing snake of a “stepbrother,” Chet Merkel.
Definitely, she wouldn’t be rendezvousing with Chet later.
Martha Hix
grew up in Texas and didn’t mind listening to stories about how her
ancestors had been in the place for a long, long time. Well, in Texas
that just meant more than a hundred years. This weird kid soaked up
the stories and became an ardent student of family and general
history, which came in handy when she took to writing both fiction
and non-fiction. Eventually, her romance novels were translated into
many foreign languages, some of them very foreign, like Japanese,
Greek, and Turkish. On the home front, she lives in the fabulous
Texas Hill Country with her husband and their spoiled four-legged
kids. Visit her on the web at marthahix.com.
How did I come up with Grant Kincaid, the lawyer-hero in HIS HIGH-STAKES BRIDE?
Grant, an Alabama-born attorney, was a character in the first two long novellas in the series. He’d come to Lubbock early in the 1900s and by 1910, he was bored with horsing around with cheap women and cheaper whiskey, but he had no interest in piano recitals or the nice, ice-cream social type of girls who were coming up in small-town Texas. The trouble was, he was a true Southern gentleman, despite living on the High Plains. He required a lady on his arm who would turn into a tigress in the bedroom. When he won a way too-youthful Patience Sweet in a poker game, he had all the makings of his ideal woman.
Did I say he was a Southern gentleman? No gentleman would bed a child, and she lies and claims to be 17. (She has her reasons.) He takes the honorable way out. He decides to marry her. After a decent courtship, of course.
So. Back to the initial question. Where did I get him?
I may be a Texan with deep roots in the Lone Star State, but I hail from families who lived on LaGrange Mountain in Alabama, and I’ve spent almost four years of my life in the state of Mississippi. I’ve studied my courtly cousins in Alabama. I quickly learned not to say I liked or wanted anything, or else they’d move heaven and earth to get it for me. And my first decent job was with a wonderful Mississippi lawyer. I’d bluffed my way into his office. Sure, I’d studied business in college, but he was looking for a legal secretary. Already the employment office had warned him that I’d flunked the shorthand test. I just knew this lawyer fellow was gonna show me the door, once he knew my stenography skills were as bad as predicted. So he calls me into his office to “take a letter.” My head bobbling, I plunked down in a chair, my hand shaking. His fingers templed beneath his chin, he squinted up at the ceiling. “Deeeeaaaaarrrrrr Mistttttttterrrrrr Jonnnnnesss…..In…..response…to…your…claim…”
My head shot up to look at Thomas J. Wiltz, Attorney at Law. He smiled and winked. I smiled back. The rest of the letter went just fine. I could have worked for him all the days of my life.
Grant Kincaid had a lot of the Thomas J. Wiltz in him. He was first and foremost a HERO. My hero. He would look out for the damsel in distress. And PatienTce Eileen “Patty” Sweet was a damsel very much in need of help.
When it came to hot, well, I didn’t look to Mr. Wiltz for the hot part. Grant got that on his own, thank you very much!
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