Historical Western Romance: Reclaiming Redmond: Redmond's Gold, #3

By GRACE HEARTSONG

HISTORICAL WESTERN ROMANCE

Reclaiming Redmond - Book 3 In The Redmond's Gold Series

Safe and healing at home, Clint Redmond must now take his town back from the lethal Butcher of Last Chance. 

But when he leaves to reclaim a part of himself, he discovers that the Redmonds' nanny and maid, Jiang, already has something up her sleeve.
 

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WARNING:This ebook may be considered inappropriate for underage readers. Readers 18+ Only!!

• Language: English
• Publisher: BlissRockHub OU
• Release date: Feb 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386816461

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RECLAIMING REDMOND

REDMOND’S GOLD BOOK 3

HISTORICAL WESTERN ROMANCE

BY GRACE HEARTSONG

RECLAIMING REDMOND

Somewhere along her life’s path, Jiang had learned how to play the piano. The solemn melody now drifted up through the floorboards and through the quiet halls. It was a balm to Maggy’s senses, and for the first time since rescuing Clint, she felt safe and content.

When they had returned to World’s End, Jiang had tended Clint’s wounds, as well as the minimal cuts she and Maggy had sustained during their assault on Last Chance. Down the hall, Augie lay tucked up and clean. His skin had been warm and soft from his bath, his damp curls resting peacefully against the pillow. He was still so young; likely he would not remember his interment with his father. And better he did not. But Clint would remember.

It had been two days since they had arrived home. Now, Maggy knelt at the side of the tub, the soapy water like clouded milk around Clint’s slightly emaciated body. Carefully, she helped him remove the bandages around his torso. She cast the rust-stain linens to the side and held his hand when he submerged himself, wincing. He sucked the air through his teeth as he leaned back. He was still unshaven, his hair shaggy. Above his left eyebrow, Jiang had stitched a nasty cut. His lower lip was split and blotched purple; his cheekbone bruised muddy blues and violets. Her beautiful Clint was broken not just in body, but in spirit. Holding him was all she could do to keep from breaking herself. As long as she pretended she could be stronger, she would eventually be the strong one. Maybe she already was. It sure as hell didn’t feel like it.

Jesus, Maggy, I’m not dead yet. Clint said, waking her from her thoughts.

Maggy stared at him, unable to decide upon an appropriate response. She pursed her lips, picked up the sponge, then began to slide it over his bruised body.

Come on, Mags. He said. But she knew he was trying far too hard to be his old self: joking and jovial and lighthearted. His words were empty. It was his eyes that told her far more than she cared to know. What had happened in that cell, truly?

How are you feeling? She asked, after a time. Her voice sounded cooler than she had intended. Her heart gave a little tug and she then took her time gently untangling the snags in his golden hair before pouring water down his scalp.

Sore and stiff as a smoked pig. He tried to give a little laugh, but erupted into a fit of coughing instead. He bent over, hand to mouth. Maggy rubbed his back, ran her fingers over the knobs of his spine. He hadn’t been a prisoner for that long, but in the short period of time Harlan had had him - the damage had been done.

Finally, Clint grew quiet and settled back against the tub. His face was pale and gaunt as he watched her. Not very charming or handsome right now, am I? He forced a lopsided smile.

If you fell off the back of a horse you’d still be handsome. Now it was her time to try levity.

That brought a genuine smile to her husband’s face and her heart warmed. That would never happen.

She raised an eyebrow. You’re far too much an expert horseman, aren’t you?

Of course, he said, catching her gaze. He placed a wet hand on the back of her neck and pulled her forward. She leaned toward him and kissed him gently—as if she were handling a piece of precious glasswork. His lips tasted metallic against hers and although she could tell he wanted more of her, she pulled away.

Jiang will brew up another one of her teas. I’ll bring it up after you’re in bed.

Tucked in like Augie, hm? Clint said, leaning his head back and allowing her to run the sponge over his limbs. Will you read me a bedtime story too?

Maggy couldn’t help but smile again. She shook her head. I won’t, but maybe Jiang will. She’s filled with stories of her homeland. She grinned.

Clint’s smile seemed to fade as he watched her. We must give her something more in return for what she has done for us...for me.

She knows our gratitude, Clint. Maggy said, her heart suddenly pounding. She pulled her eyes from Clint lest he see within them the memory that had tugged at Maggy every once in a while since they had returned home. The memory of Maggy and Jiang by the fire, the night before they got Clint back. The night Maggy had closed her eyes and allowed the other woman to take the place of her husband to give her comfort. Did Jiang think of it too? Perhaps Jiang didn’t think of it at all. Perhaps Jiang had truly only done it to help Maggy. However things stood now, Jiang certainly didn’t act any different about anything. She had been thrilled with Augie’s return and had resumed her routine of care for him. She was an exemplary friend and caregiver, so much so that Maggy felt a pang of guilt.

What is it? Clint said, placing his hand on hers. She hadn’t noticed that she had stopped washing him altogether and had been gazing at a swirl of bubbles instead.

Maggy squeezed the sponge in her hands and frowned. You’re right...Jiang deserves something more...more than money.

Clint shifted his position, the air of businessman suddenly returning. Would she prefer to be among her people? Does she wish to return to China?

No, Maggy said. Of that I am sure.

San Francisco, then? It wouldn’t be a problem for me to set her up there with an apartment and little shop for her herbal remedies.

Maggy titled her head at Clint. Now there was an idea. That would be wonderful for her only...

You’d miss her...and Augie would too. Clint scratched his beard.

Well, yes, but...in truth I was thinking that she wouldn’t leave us.

Clint stared at her, eyes clear and bright.

She is loyal to the bone, Clint. Who else would do what she has done for us? She risked her life for us. All of us.

Clint reached for her again, and she did not resist. I know...