“This does not make sense, Mr. Wilder.
“It is to your advantage that I fail in this venture. Why in the world would you offer help?” asked Jane.
Rydell took a single step toward her and reached out. “Been askin’ myself that question all morning.”
“And what is your answer to that question?” Jane’s voice had steadied, but it dropped to a whisper.
“Damn—darned if I know,” he admitted. And before he knew what he was doing, he closed his fingers around her upper arm. She didn’t move, just looked at him. Unable to help himself, he pulled her toward him. And his mouth found hers.
Her lips were warm. He’d never known such excruciating sweetness. Instinctively he broke free. He didn’t think he could stop if he didn’t call a halt now.
“You’re right, this doesn’t make sense,” he breathed against her temple. “No sense at all.”
The Courtship
Harlequin Historical #613
Praise for Lynna Banning’s previous titles
The Law and Miss Hardisson
“…fresh and charming…a sweet and funny yet poignant story.”
—Romantic Times
Plum Creek Bride
“…pathos and humor blend in a plot that glows with perception and dignity.”
—Affaire de Coeur
Wildwood
“5
—Heartland Critiques
Western Rose
“…warm, wonderful and witty—a winning combination from a bright new talent.”
—Award-winning author Theresa Michaels
#611 MY LADY’S PLEASURE
Julia Justiss
#612 THE DARK KNIGHT
Tori Phillips
#614 THE PERFECT WIFE
Mary Burton
The Courtship
Lynna Banning
Available from Harlequin Historicals and
Lynna Banning
Western Rose #310
Wildwood #374
Lost Acres Bride #437
Plum Creek Bride #474
The Law and Miss Hardisson #537
The Courtship #613
Dedication
For my mother, Mary Elizabeth Banning Yarnes
Acknowledgments
With grateful appreciation to Jean Louise Banning, Suzanne Barrett, David Woolston and my agent, Pattie Steele-Perkins
Contents
Chapter One
Dixon Falls, Oregon
1874
“Jane Charlotte, don’t you dare step one foot out that door without straightenin’ your hat! Why, it looks just like a puffball that’s been knocked plumb off center.”
With a sigh, Jane poked one finger against the stiff straw creation she’d clapped on top of her dark hair and felt it shift an inch to the right.
“Now, pull your waist down and tuck it in nice, honey. Y’all can’t go traipsing into town looking like you’ve got no maid to tend you.”
Jane faced her mother, who was reclining on the worn green damask settee, an open copy of Tennyson clutched in her thin fingers. “We have no maid, remember, Mama? We left Odelia at Montclair with Aunt Carrie, and Juno ran off with that sharecropper in Dillon County after the War. We’re on our own out here.”
Her mother’s unblemished ivory forehead wrinkled. “Truth to tell, Ah don’t like to remember, but never you mind. Tuck in your waist, now, honey. And tell your father where you’re goin’ in such a fizz.”
Jane’s