Lonely loggers. One genteel lady. A dangerous combination, Tom Randall thought. He was trying to run a business, not a tea party! And if obstinate Meggy Hampton didn’t hightail her moonlight and magnolias back south, the sweet sparks she was igniting would make the camp—and his passion—explode like the Fourth of July!
Tom leaned in and inhaled the fragrance of her hair.
“You have any idea what that does to a man?”
“I should think it means they are perfectly starved for civilized conversation.”
Tom snorted. “They’re starved, all right, but it’s not for conversation. They’re starved for something soft. Something that’s sweet scented and…” His thumbs began to caress her shoulders. “And warm. And alive.”
He stepped in closer, bent his head to sniff the scent emanating from her skin. “It can make a man crazy, being alone,” he said in a rough whisper. “I can’t let a man near you without risking his life.”
The Angel of Devil’s Camp
Harlequin Historical #649
Praise for LYNNA BANNING’s previous books
The Courtship
“The Courtship is a beautifully written tale with a heartwarming plot.”
—Romantic Reviews Today (www.romrevtoday.com)
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
#647 TEMPTING A TEXAN
Carolyn Davidson
#648 THE SILVER LORD
Miranda Jarrett
#650 BRIDE OF THE TOWER
Sharon Schulze
The Angel of Devil’s Camp
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
The Angel of Devil’s Camp #649
For my agent, Pattie Steele-Perkins
With special thanks to David and Yvonne Woolston. And to fellow writers Suzanne Barrett, Tricia Adams, Brenda Preston, Ida Hills and Norma Pulle.
Contents
Chapter One
Seton Falls, South Carolina
March 1872
Mary Margaret pulled the parsonage door shut with a satisfying thunk and for the very last time twisted the key in the lock. She’d married off five sisters in the past three years, the last one just the day before yesterday. Now it is my turn.
She marched down the walkway and out the front gate, lugging her satchel. For half a heartbeat, she wavered. The yellow rose rambling along the fence needed pruning, but with all the preparations for Charlotte’s wedding, Meggy had had no time for gardening. She forced her gaze away. It no longer mattered.
She smoothed her black traveling dress, slipping her hand into the left pocket. The letter she’d carefully folded crackled under her fingers. Dear God in heaven, let this be the right thing to do.
She heaved the tapestry bag into the buggy and climbed up onto the sagging seat. I will not look back. I will look to the road ahead and be joyful.
At last! She was free. No more meals to eke out from the squash and dried beans donated by the congregation. No more wedding dresses for Charity or Charlotte, cobbled together out of old tablecloths and scraps of lace. She had remade most of her old ball gowns into dresses for her sisters, and sold the rest for food. A barrel of flour cost 150 federal dollars, a basket of eggs $25. The war had made such a struggle of life!
She closed her eyes and pressed her knuckles against her lips. The war took everything, even our hearts and our souls. She and her sisters had survived, but the scars would always remain.
Leaning