Primrose Valley Compilation: Primrose Valley, #4

By Amber Aames

Primrose Valley is a wholesome small town with their share of troubles.

Gunslinger Clint Driscoll is just passing through Primrose Valley when he crosses paths with Sarah Mullins. She needs help protecting herself against an overzealous suitor, and he soon realizes the entire town needs assistance. Caught in the grasp of a robber baron and his men, the people are suffering. They need someone to stand up and challenge Oliver Jameson and his men, but is Clint the man for the job? He's spent the years since the war doing what he's paid to do, but does Primrose Valley offer a chance for a gunslinger's redemption, and will Sarah open his closed heart?

 

Shane Dodgson is in love with Ellie Winters, but their families are fueding over water rights. His family ranch can't survive without water, and neither can the Winters' farm. Their love is forbidden and futile, but they can't resist each other. When the situation escalates, and violence erupts, it risks everything on both sides. Blood is thicker than water, but is love strong enough to overcome the tensions between them?

 

Breanna McCullough lives a life of self-imposed isolation due to the scars on her face. She's used to being alone, but that doesn't mean she isn't lonely. When she finds a man in her barn, shot through the head, she nurses him back to health with Dr. Luke's help. She soon forms an attachment, but she's convinced a man like Grady Pellegrin could never look past her deep scars to see the kind soul inside. She's underestimating him, and Grady intends to prove that to her. Unfortunately, the gang of outlaws who shot him aren't done with him yet, and when they put his woman's life in danger, Grady will protect her at any cost.

• Language: English
• Publisher: PCG
• Release date: Nov 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223695776

Book preview

Blurb

Primrose Valley is a wholesome small town with their share of troubles.

GUNSLINGER Clint Driscoll is just passing through Primrose Valley when he crosses paths with Sarah Mullins. She needs help protecting herself against an overzealous suitor, and he soon realizes the entire town needs assistance. Caught in the grasp of a robber baron and his men, the people are suffering. They need someone to stand up and challenge Oliver Jameson and his men, but is Clint the man for the job? He's spent the years since the war doing what he's paid to do, but does Primrose Valley offer a chance for a gunslinger's redemption, and will Sarah open his closed heart?

Shane Dodgson is in love with Ellie Winters, but their families are fueding over water rights. His family ranch can't survive without water, and neither can the Winters' farm. Their love is forbidden and futile, but they can't resist each other. When the situation escalates, and violence erupts, it risks everything on both sides. Blood is thicker than water, but is love strong enough to overcome the tensions between them?

Breanna McCullough lives a life of self-imposed isolation due to the scars on her face. She's used to being alone, but that doesn't mean she isn't lonely. When she finds a man in her barn, shot through the head, she nurses him back to health with Dr. Luke's help. She soon forms an attachment, but she's convinced a man like Grady Pellegrin could never look past her deep scars to see the kind soul inside. She's underestimating him, and Grady intends to prove that to her. Unfortunately, the gang of outlaws who shot him aren't done with him yet, and when they put his woman's life in danger, Grady will protect her at any cost.

Gunslinger’s Redemption

Chapter One

EASY THERE, GHOST, said Clint as he patted the neck of his horse. The stallion was antsy as they rode into the town of Primrose Valley. They’d spent most of the last two weeks out on the range, trailing a bounty he’d finally caught and dropped in Boise, and the horse probably didn’t like all the people that came with a return to civilization, such as it was. Clint couldn’t blame him, preferring his solitude as well, but he and the horse both needed supplies, and he could do with a couple shots of whiskey and a real bed before he moved on.

The town was neatly arranged, all the buildings whitewashed with splashes of color here and there. Hand-lettered signs hung on several buildings, and the small town appeared to be bustling.

As he rode past a neat yellow building with white trim, he saw a sign indicating it was a boarding house, but he could tell in a single glance they wouldn’t rent to him. There were three young ladies seated on the porch, doing various projects involving sewing or yarn, and they were the epitome of respectable.

He could imagine the reception he’d get if he stopped there to request a room. They’d take one look at his dusty leather coat, six-shooter, and grizzled visage and turn him away. He rode on past without bothering to stop, not reining in Ghost until he saw a familiar sign labeled Saloon.

They were likely to have rooms as well, so he took the horse in that direction, stopping by the hitching post. He wound the reins around the wood while Ghost dipped his head to drink out of the trough. He’d have to board the horse, but he needed to secure a room first.

He entered the saloon, and it was a familiar sight, like any other he’d frequented since coming west. The clientele were mostly men, though there were a couple of saloon girls circulating. One was serving drinks, and the other was seated on the lap of a man who looked like he’d had a few too many meals. Perhaps a few too many meals belonging to a few too many people.

He strained the seams of the shirt he wore, the pearl buttons looking like they might pop at any moment. Clint felt a wave of sympathy wash over him for the poor saloon girl having to feign enthusiasm for her perch on his lap. The man was no doubt someone important in town, judging by the stack of chips he had in front of him, and the disgruntled looks of those surrounding him at his table as they played poker.

He bypassed that table and all the others, going straight to the bar. Whiskey please.

The young man behind it didn’t hesitate to grab a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass, placing both before Clint. We only got one type.

He waved a hand, accepting the house whiskey. He didn’t much care what it tasted like as long as it warmed his gut. He tossed it back, feeling the familiar burn of fire, though it was certainly rougher than some brands. He couldn’t afford to be too choosy, so he laid down a coin and gestured to the bottle. The young man swept back his brown hair before passing it over and nodding to Clint. He moved down the bar to the next patron, and Clint watched the young man serve the others as he had a second shot.

You ain’t from around here, said a nasally voice behind him.

Clint stiffened, warily spinning around on the stool to face whoever had addressed him. He saw the shiny silver badge pinned to the man’s waistcoat right away, along with his long-barreled revolver. If a man was a good shot, he didn’t need a fancy gun like that, but Clint didn’t share the observation. He tipped his head and touched the brim of his hat. No, sir.

What brings you to Primrose Valley?

Clint turned back to retrieve his whiskey, pouring another shot before he spun back to face the sheriff. Just passing through.

The scrawny man frowned at him. You might want to pass quickly. We don’t take kindly to strangers ‘round here.

Clint arched a brow but didn’t reply. He simply sipped his whiskey and stared down the other man.

It didn’t take much for the sheriff’s weak chin to wobble, and he looked like he might pee himself for a moment before he cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and nodded at Clint. Stay out of trouble while you’re in my town.

Clint touched the brim of his hat again and nodded before turning back to the bottle of whiskey. It had lost its appeal, mainly because his stomach was feeling empty, and he didn’t want to drink to the point of intoxication. He lifted a gloved hand to summon the bartender again.

Can I get you another?

He shook his head. You got rooms for rent?

Yes, sir. Two bits for the night. Three bits if you want a bath.

He fished in his pocket, removing three quarters. Sounds like a deal.

The young man reached under the counter, pulling out a key a moment later. You’ll be in room number three, mister. My name’s Wayne Warren, and my ma owns the place. If you need anything, just holler. His gaze cut to the saloon girl who was picking up drinks at the bar. We have various forms of entertainment available for guests.

Clint hid his grimace, not in the mood for anonymous, paid company. I don’t think I’ll be needing that service, but thank you, Wayne. I’m Clint. He didn’t bother giving his last name. It wouldn’t mean anything to anyone anyway.

If you want to go on up to the room, I can have a bath delivered in the next hour or so.

Clint nodded. I’d appreciate you waiting a couple hours though. I need to get some food first. Where do you recommend eating around here?

Hattie Jessup has a nice little restaurant just across the street. Otherwise, you could get something at the mercantile. We don’t got a lot of options around here.

Clint nodded, unsurprised. Though a sizable town for the area, he was actually surprised they had a restaurant of any sort. They weren’t always common, and he didn’t want to take himself to the boarding house to see if they offered meals. He was sure they’d send them on his way even if they had a table laden with food. He had that look about him, one that told the world he was a gunslinger. He was, and he wore it well and faithfully. He was what he was, and not all folks could live with that.

He wasn’t inclined to care if people approved of him or not, and he rose from the bar with whiskey in hand to head upstairs. He was in his room a few minutes later, finding it modest, but surprisingly clean. The bedding smelled like it had recently been washed, and the rocking chair, nightstand, and dresser were all in decent shape. From his window, he could see the row of outhouses out back, and they looked to be in good repair too, currently blooming with lavender all around them, though it was starting to wilt in the heat.

After washing his face and freshening up, he left the whiskey on his dresser and took the key, slipping it into the pocket of his buckskins before locking the door behind him and heading down again. He was intent on finding food and a place to board Ghost for a day or two, so the last thing he wanted was to be bothered as he walked past the cardplayers.

Hey, stranger, called the fat man with the saloon girl still trapped on his lap.

This close, Clint could see her clear reluctance, though she wore a bright smile. It didn’t reach her eyes, and he felt more