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“Don’t go playin’ with fire, Miss…It’s mighty unpredictable.”

She opened her eyes and beheld, for the first time, the face of Jackson McCall.  Ruggedly handsome and her noble rescuer, she knew in that moment, he would forever hold captive her heart, as he then held her life in his protective arms.

            Yet, she was a nameless beauty, haunted by wisps of visions form the past.  How could she ever hope he would return the passionate, devotional love she secreted for him…when her very existence was a riddle? 

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As her family abandoned the excitement of the city for the uneventful lifestyle of a small, western town, Brynn Clarkston’s worst fears were realized.  Stripped of her heart’s hopes and dreams, Brynn knew true loneliness.   

Until an ordinary day revealed a heavenly oasis in the desert…Michael McCall. Handsome and irresistibly charming, Michael McCall (the son of legendary horse breeder Jackson McCall) seemed to offer wild distraction and sincere friendship to Brynn.  But could Brynn be content with mere friendship when her dreams of Michael involved so much more?  

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An Old-Fashioned Romance

As she sat studying and appreciating her good friends, Breck was too preoccupied to perceive the hush that fell over the patrons at Marcelli’s in that moment.  In fact, it wasn’t until she noticed her friends all looking at her, smiles stretching from ear to ear, that she realized something was afoot.

            “What?” she asked, glancing down at her beautiful pumpkin sweater.  Had she spilled sauce on it, she wondered.

            Suddenly, she gasped as a black-gloved hand covered her mouth from behind.  Next a man’s voice, his breath hot on her neck, whispered in her ear, “Be still. The Highwayman of Tanglewood owns you now.”

Breck recognized the phrase as one of her favorites from the book she so adored. However, she did not recognize the voice.  The man’s hand still covered her mouth tightly, but Breck could see the delight blazing across her friends’ faces.  ‘So this was what they were up to all week,’ she thought.  They had hired someone to be her Highwayman of Tanglewood.

            Breck tried to push the man’s hand from her mouth so she could turn and see him.  But he tightened his grip, coaxing her to rise from her seat as he whispered, “Do not struggle.  I’ll not harm you.  I simply intend to have you.”  Whoever was playing the Highwayman was delivering his lines straight from the book and with perfection.  As she stood, Breck began to giggle for the expressions on her friends’ faces were worth a lifetime of other expressions from other people.  They were nothing short of entirely delighted with themselves!

            Once she was standing, Breck felt the Highwayman’s free arm encircle her waist from behind, pulling her back against his body. He bent, resting his chin on her shoulder for a moment before nuzzling into her neck playfully.

            “Come away with me, sweet Breck,” the Highwayman whispered.  By this time, every patron in Marcelli’s large group dining area was staring at the scene.  “What say you?” he added, removing his hand from her mouth and letting it rest at her throat.

            Breck tried not to giggle, but it was all entirely too wonderful!  It was a little more public than she would’ve perhaps preferred, but wonderful all the same.

            “I say, who are you Highwayman?” she said, quoting the book. 

            “Ah!  But that you should know, sweet Breck,” the man whispered…

Slowly, Breck began to turn in the man’s arms in order to better view the secreted  Highwayman of Tanglewood.  But suddenly, the lighting in the room burned even more dimly, someone having turned them down.  Still, enraptured by the entire event, Breck smiled as she saw she was standing in the arms of a man dressed head to toe in black.  A large, draping cowl hung down over his already masked eyes and nose, a flowing cape drooped from his shoulders reaching nearly to the floor.  Breck looked down to see that he was indeed wearing black ‘breeches’ and black boots that cuffed just below his knee.  Reaching out she took the silky fabric of his shirt in her hand, unable to believe the perfect detail of his costume.  She could hear the repeat of Sherryl’s camera shutter clicking away at a mad pace as she tried to imagine who would be willing to involve himself in such an outlandish scheme!  The light was too dim and Breck was held too closely in the Highwayman’s arms to get a good look at him.  Still, his mouth was easily seen and she tried to recognize the grin he wore.  But his mustache and goatee hid even the shape of his lips well.

            Sherryl was on her feet now, her camera shutter wearing itself out with her maniacal snapping.  Breck reached out, running her hands, caressively the breadth of the Highwayman’s shoulders.  Two could play at this game, and her friends deserved a good show for all their trouble.

Life went along simply, if not rather monotonously, for Breck McCall.  Her job was satisfying, she had true friends.  Bur she felt empty…as if party of her soul was detached and lost to her.  She longed for something…something which seemed to be missing.

Yet, there were moments when Breck felt she might almost touch something wonderful.  And most of those moments came while in the presence of her handsome, yet seemingly haunted boss…Reese Thatcher.

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“Who knows?”  Sighing, Aunt Myra waved her hand, gesturing ignorance as to the answer.  “I’ve no idea even how old he is.  Could be twenty…could be a hundred.  Like I said, I don’t think anyone’s ever seen him clean shaven...”

But Vaden smiled.  A mystery!  Only one hour into arriving for their adventurous year and already a mystery at hand!  Something inside her leapt with anticipation.  Her mind began to burn, visualizing potential circumstances.  A criminal, perhaps?  Hiding out in this small, western town?  The possibilities were endless in Vaden’s imagination.”  

Youthful beauty, naïve innocence, a romantic imagination thirsting for adventure…an apt description of Vaden Valmont, who would soon find the adventure and mystery she had always longed to experience…in the form of a man.

A somber recluse, Ransom Lake descended from his solitary concealment in the mountains, wholly disinterested in people and their trivial affairs.  And somehow, young Vaden managed to be ever in his way…either by accident or because of her own unique ability to stumble into a quandary.

Yet the enigmatic Ransom Lake would involuntarily become Vaden’s unwitting tutor.  Through him, she would experience joy and passion the like even Vaden had never imagined.  Yes, Vaden Valmont stepped innocently, yet irrevocably, into love with the secretive, seemingly callous man.

But there were other life’s lessons Ransom Lake would inadvertently bring to her as well.  The darker side of life…despair, guilt, heartache.  Would Ransom Lake be the means of Vaden’s dreams come true?  Or the cause of her complete desolation?


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“…The stranger gasped, released her hand and demanded angrily, “Who are you?  What kind of trick is this?”

“Sir I assure you I’m only here to help.  My name is Lauryn Kensington.  I’m bound for my home in Franklin and I only…” she stammered.

“Kensington?  Franklin ?” he mumbled seeming confused.  Then much to her dismay, he began tugging at the lighter patch protecting one eye.

“Sir, please!  I meant you no harm!  I only, wanted…” Lauryn began, tears unexpectedly filling her eyes and threatening to spill.

He took her chin firmly in one hand, his thumb traveling caressively and rather intimately over her soft lips as he whispered, “Who am I?”  She felt the moist tenderness of the soldier’s lips caress her own in the softest, rather saddest of kisses.  The sensation of his lips meeting her, however brief, was almost unendurable in its perfection.

Then he pressed his unshaven cheek to her own soft one and whispered quietly into her ear, “The only person alive who understands exactly what you’re looking for.”

            Love, the miraculous, eternal bond which binds two souls together.  Lauryn Kensington knew the depth of it.  Since the day of her eighth birthday, she had lived the power of true love; witnessed it with her own heart.  She had talked with it, learning not even time or death can vanquish it.  The Captain taught her these truths.  And she loved him all the more for it.

            But now, a grown woman, Lauryn’s dear Captain’s torment became her own.  After ten years, Lauryn had not been able to help him find peace—the peace his lonely spirit needed so desperately; peace he’d sought every moment since his death over fifty years before.

            Now, what of her own peace?  The time had come and Lauryn’s heart longed to do the unthinkable—selfishly abandon her Captain for another—a mortal man who had stolen her heart, becoming her only desire.

            Would Lauryn be able to put tormented spirits to rest and still be true to her own soul?  Or, would she have to make a choice—a choice forcing her to sacrifice one true love for another?

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“…Dusty’s heart panged a twinge with she saw the bullwhip strapped to the saddle of one of the horses tied to the corral fence.  “Why today?” she wondered.  Why was her memory tarrying on a young cowhand from five years ago?

…Well…now,” a deep, masculine voice said from behind her, “if it ain’t Miss Dusty Britches!”

Dusty felt the color drain from her face…felt the blood seem to drain from the rest of her body and puddle in her feet.  She was dizzy and nauseated all at once.

…There was only one person on the whole of the earth who ever called her Dusty Britches, and that was the cowboy who gave her the nickname in the first place.  ...Dusty slowly turned around to see standing before her a man whose eyes were those belonging to a boy she’d once known—a boy who had grown into a man.”

            Angelina Hunter was seriously minded, and it was a good thing.  Her father’s ranch needed a woman who could endure the strenuous work of ranch life.  Since her mother’s death, Angelina had been that woman.  She had no time for frivolity; no time for a less severe side of life.  Not when there was so much to be done—hired hands to feed, a widower father to care for and an often ridiculously lighted-hearted younger sister to worry about.  No.  Angelina Hunter had no time for the things most young women her age enjoyed.

            And yet, Angelina had not always been so hardened.  There had been a time when she boasted a fun, flirtatious nature even more delightful than her sister Becca’s—a time when her imagination soared with adventurous, romantic dreams.  But that all ended years before at the hand of one man.  Her heart turned to stone…safely becoming void of any emotion save impatience and indifference.

            Until the day her dreams returned, the day the very maker of her broken heart rode back into her life.  As the dust settled from the cattle drive which brought him back, would Angelina’s heart be softened?  Would she learn to hope again?  Would her long-lost dreams become a blessed reality?

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