| Copyright © 2009,
Sarita
Leone Reviews For LAST CHANCE by Sarita Leone A Night Owl Review Top Pick! “The
wilderness was supposed to be the start of her new life with her
husband, Caleb. Yet fate and the wilderness have changed Laura Perkins.
Now she is alone and must survive the land. Laura knows she can’t
be selfish and just think of herself for she has her sister as well.
All she wanted was a family, children and love. She never expected
though to end her mourning in being attracted to a newcomer like
Chance. This is the first title I’ve read by Sarita Leone and
won’t be the last. Here is an author who brings the storyline
to life with characters that capture your attention. Laura is just
like any widow but she misses the things only a man can bring to
a woman. Now Chance is definitely a man who knows what he wants yet
when it comes to Laura he is all tongue-tied. These two were great
yet funny in their denials and attraction coming together. Last Chance
is a story that will capture every reader’s attention and have
them rooting for Chance to get his woman. I loved it.” 4 Stars! “Laura Perkins lives alone Granite City Nebraska. She and her husband moved west to Nebraska. When he died Laura had a choice, move back to Boston or stay in Nebraska. She decided to stay in Nebraska. It has been a year since Caleb’s death. Jed Taylor would like to get to know Laura better. Jed owns Tays Sundries. The town gossips know it is just a matter of time before he asks Laura out. Last Chance is a fast read. I found myself eagerly turning pages to see what would happen next. Romance, suspense and history mix to give readers an enjoyable afternoon read.” Readers Favorite, http://readersfavorite.com/cat-71.htm?review=2432 “Last Chance by Sarita Leone is a very good book that I’d recommend. The characters were likeable and the plot interesting. I read a lot of historical fiction, and this one didn’t disappoint me. This is a story filled with romance and suspense, not the nail-biting kind, but it will keep you interested all the same. The story overall is not riveting, but it’s heart-warming and very enjoyable. It will keep you guessing, and you’re likely to be charmed by the secondary characters and their story as well. I’d suggest this book to those who like historical romantic stories that will leave you with a smile on your face. Sarita Leone wrote a good one here.” Lavender, Long And Short Reviews Sample Chapter For LAST CHANCE
by Sarita Leone
Granite Creek, Nebraska, 1870 Wrinkling her nose and lifting the hem of her navy blue skirt, Laura Perkins avoided horse droppings like someone long accustomed to doing so. She made her way across the rutted, muddy track that served as the main street without messing her hem or shoes, an admirable feat on the dry, dusty days of summer but even more so on sloppy spring mornings like this. When Laura reached the other side, she smiled as the heels of her sensible button-top shoes clacked along the wide wooden boardwalk. Satisfaction at having crossed the street unsullied mixed with relief from the glaring sun. There was shade here, and Laura slowed her pace beneath the awnings of the three biggest public buildings in Granite Creek. The Granite Creek First National Bank, the Granite Creek telegraph office, which also served as the Granite Creek Stagecoach Stop, and Tay’s Sundries were all fairly quiet at this time of day. Laura stopped in front of Tay’s and took a deep breath. When the scent of manure filled her head she instantly regretted her action. She placed two gloved fingertips over the bridge of her nose and pinched her nostrils shut with a small shudder. All this trouble and she was sure the sundry store wouldn’t have what she was looking for anyhow. It should have been Taylor’s Sundries, but when Jed Taylor found out that the sign painter charged by the size of the board he’d need to use to paint the sign, Jed had shortened it to ‘Tay’s.’ By now, no one questioned the name; although, on Saturday nights there was usually a joke or two told at Jed’s expense in Slappy’s Saloon. Generally, Jed was one of those who made the jokes and laughed the loudest, his capacity for holding his whiskey being what it was. Laura pushed open the screen door, letting herself and a small army of blow-flies into the general store. It seemed that once the weather warmed, the flies were their constant companions, until the first hard snap in the fall. Swatting at a particularly fat black fly before it had a chance to land on her shoulder, Laura sighed. There were so many things about this frontier that no one told her before her arrival. Had she known she would be living by the seasons instead of the calendar, like civilized people do, Laura may have stayed at home. She might not have been as eager as she had been to ride clear across the wilderness with Caleb. Who knew? Maybe she would have stayed right in Boston had she only known about these filthy flies. Who do I think I’m kidding? I would have ridden to the bowels of hell and back with Caleb. It’s only now that he’s gone somewhere that I can’t follow—and I’d gladly go, too, if it meant that I could be with my darling again—that I mind anything about living here. If he was still with me, the blow-flies would…well, they’d still bother me, but perhaps not so much as they do now. “Good morning, Laura. Looks like we’ve got a warm day ahead of us, don’t you think? Maybe spring really is going to come this year, after all.” Jed’s voice boomed across the space. He’d been pushing a barrel of corn meal across the floor when she’d entered and he gave it one final shove into position before he headed toward the long wooden counter. “What can I do for you today?” Letting her gaze roam freely over the neatly stocked shelves, bins and racks of household, farm and mining equipment, she wondered if her search was a futile one. She suspected it was, but a stubborn streak was something her mother had always said she possessed so she scanned the area thoroughly. Maybe if she looked hard enough, it would appear. Maybe. When it was clear she wouldn’t find what she looked for on her own, she turned and faced Jed. He’d been watching her, his hands stuck into the pockets of his trousers and his head tilted to one side. His had been one of the first stores built and he’d seen a lot of things come into town. He’d seen even more things leave town. But he’d never before seen anything like this young woman. Even though she had been here a good length of time, she was still a mystery—a mystery that Jed made no bones about. She intrigued him, and everyone in town knew it. His open appraisal spoke loudly, yet silently, when she turned to face him. “Are you looking for something special?” “I am.” “And what would that be?” Laura knew he wouldn’t have it. She just knew it. But she asked the question anyway. “Cribbage. I’m looking for cribbage.” Jed raised one brow so high it disappeared beneath the fringe of chestnut hair that hung above steel gray eyes. The expression in his eyes said it all. They wrinkled at the edges as he pursed his lips. A smile crossed his face, albeit briefly, before he spoke. “Cabbage? But Laura, you know as well as I do that it’s much too early in the season for cabbage. Now, if you’ve a mind for some early peas, the kind I’ve heard they serve in those fancy restaurants you folks from the East put such stock in…well, those I can give you. And gladly, too. I got a big bushel of them just over there, beside the heap of radishes. Would you like some of those, too? I can fix you up real well if you’ve got a hankerin’ for radishes.” Had she been less perceptive Laura may have bought into the man’s charade. But she’d been the object of his good-natured teasing too often, especially with regard to her “city-fied” requests, as Jed called them, to fall into the trap. They both knew she wasn’t talking vegetables. “Crib-bage. Not cabbage—and you know it, too.” She shook her head, feeling hotter and stickier with each passing moment. Beneath her lightweight bonnet a rivulet of perspiration made its way down the back of her neck and into the collar of her dress. It drizzled slowly down her back and she resisted the urge to press up against the display counter behind her to wipe it on the inside fabric of her clothing. “Do you have any cribbage boards, Jed? You know, the ones with the little pegs and tiny holes? Are they hiding somewhere—lost behind the spittoons and rows of baling wire, maybe?” He grinned. “You’re telling me you’re not interested in my peas, then?” His tone made the implication clear and she flushed slightly. Annoyed with being so easily maneuvered, Laura snapped, “No, I’m not interested in your peas.” “All right, then. Take it easy. No one’s forcing you to take the…um, peas if you don’t want them,” Jed said soothingly. Smiling even more broadly, he asked, “So may I call on you this evening? It looks like a fine evening for—” “Cribbage. It would be a wonderful evening for a game or two of cribbage, something people play all the time back East.” Laura turned on her heel and headed for the door, calling over her shoulder as she walked, “But apparently it’s just another thing that hasn’t made its way out here just yet. Just another piece of civilization that you find so amusing.” She paused, her hand on the screen door. Looking him squarely in the face, she said, “And no, you may not call on me this evening. I have other plans.” She did, too. There was no need to say those plans were with a glass of sweet tea and a book. “I see,” he said, the smile disappearing in a heartbeat. Jed’s face, handsome in an ordinary sort of way, telegraphed a whole range of emotions. She saw a spark in his gray eyes as he lifted his brow again. “If I were to get a cribbage board, on one of the next stagecoaches maybe, would you allow me to call on you some evening? Perhaps we could play a round or two of this not-a-vegetable game?” Laura bit her lips, warding off the laughter that threatened to bubble over. “With pegs?” A quick nod sent a lock of Jed’s hair down across his brow. “With pegs.” It would cause talk, she knew, if she and Jed were to keep company—even if it was only for one evening. He’d chased her so hard and for so long that everyone wondered when she would relent and allow his attentions to find purchase. Playing cribbage, however innocent the game, would provide enough fodder for the whole town to have a good, long tongue-wag at her expense. But she didn’t care. There were certain things she sorely missed and parlor games were one of them. The others she tried not to think about. But cribbage? That was respectable enough, and her period of mourning was, officially at least, over. In her heart, Laura didn’t think it would ever end, but to the outside world she was free to do as she pleased. “Fine,” she said, giving him a tiny smile. “Get me a cribbage board and some pegs and you’re welcome to visit with me—for one evening, mind. And only for playing cribbage, nothing more. I mean it, Jed. If I hear one word about you saying you’re courting me instead of merely delivering a civilized parlor game, why I’ll…I’ll…” Holding up one hand, he closed his eyes and hunched his shoulders, as if fending off a pack of wild Indians instead of one petite woman. “Now, now, Laura…no need for that. I won’t make mention of my visit and you won’t need to wave your fists and threaten me. I’ll send a telegraph first thing, and we’ll see if I can’t find this game for you.” Laura sauntered back to her house at a leisurely pace. There was no need to rush. After all, the only thing waiting for her would be a new bundle of smelly, mud-crusted laundry on her back porch and that hardly seemed to be something worth hurrying home to. Laura’s thoughts strayed as she walked. She barely noticed her surroundings, concentrating instead on memories that were never far from her mind. Her heart hitched when she realized, yet again, that the life she was living was far removed from the dream she and Caleb had shared. Who could have known things would take such a drastic turn? The plan had been to explore the uncharted Western Territory together, to find a spot that suited them best. Then to settle, raise a family, begin a new life. Together. Not alone. Not Laura, by herself. With a deep sigh, she looked up. The sky was periwinkle blue, the color of robins’ eggs or larkspur. It was the color of Caleb’s eyes—something she could never forget, no matter how long it had been since those eyes had last stared into her own. I am lonely. Laura was realistic. She knew that eventually she would have to move on and find someone else to share her life. But it seemed more probable that a cold breeze would chase all the blow-flies from the territory before she could ever find a man who made her feel as special as Caleb had. I am lonely and sad, but I can’t possibly settle for someone who doesn’t make my heart sing the way Caleb did. “Singing hearts, how ridiculous,” she muttered. When Laura realized she had spoken aloud she glanced around, hoping that no one had heard her. No one had, save the early chickadees in the branches of the cottonwood tree she had just passed. It would serve no purpose to have people talking about her—any more than they did, that is. A widow who didn’t appear to be on the prowl for a replacement husband, one who kept her home and thoughts to herself, was enough of an anomaly in the frontier town. She generated a good deal of gossip already, a fact generally known, and didn’t feel a need to add additional material for speculation. It wouldn’t do to be both a widow and someone who talked to herself. Addle-brained. That’s what they’ll say if anyone sees me talking to myself. I’ll be the crazy widow…then I’ll really find out how it feels to be lonely. Laura paused before she reached down and lifted the gate latch. Caleb had constructed the white picket fence soon after they finished building the house. It was one of the extras meant to bring a touch of the familiar here to the wilderness and it reminded her of the fence that still stood around her childhood home. That fence was probably not peeling the way this one was. And its hinges were silent rather than squeaky. But it hadn’t been built as lovingly as this one, nor had she ever loved it as much as she did the one Caleb built. Maybe a bit of lard wiped onto the hinges will quiet it some, Laura mused. When she pushed the gate open, the squeal was loud enough to raise the hackles on a dead cat. She knew she had to try something to fix it, even if it was just a temporary measure. Lost in thought, Laura didn’t see Callie Jo sitting on the porch, watching her approach. “Pray tell, what are your thoughts?” Callie Jo’s high, sweet voice carried through the air so pleasantly it wiped all images of the squeaky gate hinge from Laura’s mind. Her sister stood, put the yellow earthenware bowl she had been snapping beans into onto a table beside the chair, and walked to the edge of the porch. From her position five steps up, Callie Jo placed her hands on the hips of her pink-patterned cotton frock and smiled. “You look a million miles away. Whatever were you thinking of? Something good, I hope. Something devilishly delicious, perhaps?” Devilishly delicious, one of Callie Jo’s favorite expressions. Nineteen, with all kinds of prospects before her, she seemed so young that Laura often felt guilty about allowing her sister to live out here with her. Callie Jo had come to keep her company and help her grieve after Caleb’s death. Callie Jo had also attempted to convince her older sister to move back to Boston, but that hadn’t happened. No amount of coaxing could convince Laura to give up the dream she’d shared with her husband, and in the end her sister had stayed on with her. She’d livened life considerably, but Laura felt that the still-teenage, unmarried sister deserved more than she could offer. She deserved devilishly delicious, something in short demand in Granite Creek. “Yoo hoo…Laura? Are you listening to me?” Callie Jo waved a hand in the air before her face, scowling at the fly buzzing before her nose. “Damnation, sometimes I think I’ve got more chance of swallowing one of these dratted flies than I have of holding a conversation with you when you’re daydreaming. Laura? Do you hear me?” “I do.” Laura met Callie Jo’s gaze with a frown. “And don’t swear. It’s not ladylike.” Callie Jo gave a snort that would have been scandalous back in Boston but was hardly noticeable on the dusty steps. “Ladylike? There’s no one here to know whether I’m waving a lace-trimmed fan or a horse patty in front of my face, dear sister. No one to hear me. Not even you, it seems. No one to see whether or not I’ve even got my bloomers on.” Callie Jo stepped aside as Laura climbed onto the wide wooden porch. Laura settled into the recently vacated chair while Callie Jo perched on the porch railing. As she untied the bonnet ribbons beneath her chin, Laura crossed one leg over the other and swung her foot briskly to keep the flies at bay. She pulled her sweat-stained bonnet onto her lap and surveyed her sister’s angelic expression. With long, straight blonde hair that shimmered like a wheat field in the sunshine, wide sapphire-blue eyes, a heart-shaped face, and full, pouty pink lips, Callie Jo McAllister was a vision. Every man’s dream woman and every woman’s dreaded rival, at least in theory. The truth of it was that the young woman, while aware of her beauty, neither wanted every man nor wished to be anyone’s rival. She’d seen the toll love and marriage had taken on her beloved sister, and she had made it abundantly clear that she wanted no part of the institution. But at this moment Callie Jo wore an expression in her eyes that Laura recognized from childhood. Mischievous. Smug. Definitely not an I’ve-been-snapping-beans-all-afternoon look. No, it was something else. Something…new. Different. Something mature. Whatever it was, Callie Jo was amused; that much was obvious. Before Laura could question her, the gate hinge screeched. Clutching a tightly wrapped bundle of dirty clothing to his blue chambray shirt, a long, lean cowboy aptly named Slim Browning sauntered up the front walk. He laid the bundle on the bottom step and removed his Stetson. “Afternoon, Miz Perkins. Miz McAllister.” His voice trembled on the last, and he visibly colored, his suntanned face going a deeper bronze. Slim’s glance flitted across Callie Jo before settling on Laura’s face. “I brung—er, brought my washing. I hope it’s not too dirty for you this week. Had a helluv—’scuse me, ma’am—we had a terrible time a few days back. One of the boys got hisself stuck in a…a…a, er, sticky sort of spot, I guess you’d say. We had to get him out an’ by the end of it all, we was all muddied up, ever’ one of us. So I hope my things ain’t too messy.” The “sticky sort of spot” was rolling in a muddy drainage ditch, and the “boy” in question was one of the locals, a man named Butch Bledsoe whose fondness for whiskey went beyond what most would consider prudent. And since she’d already struggled with Butch’s weekly washing, Laura knew what the tightly bundled package held in store for her. She suspected that every man who’d “helped” Butch out of the ditch that night had had a whopper of a headache the following morning, at least as uncomfortable as his soiled clothes. “I’m sure they will be fine,” Laura said. She forced a smile. Even if she lost skin on her knuckles over Slim’s pants knees, she would never complain about it. The washing she did filled a gap in her current finances. Although Caleb hadn’t left her with many debts, he hadn’t left her with a great many assets, either. Every little bit of extra money she made helped meet her obligations, as well as feed her and Callie Jo. “Your washing is always a pleasure, Mr. Browning. A true pleasure and I appreciate your bringing it to me.” “Aw, shucks, ma’am. Now that’s right kind of you to say so.” Slim dragged the toe of his scuffed boot through the dirt beside the bottom step, creating a furrow in the flower bed. “Nobody gets my drawers cleaner than you do, Miz Perkins. Nobody.” Callie Jo placed a hand over her mouth and swallowed a snicker, but not before Laura heard the first amused snort. Laura watched her sister’s attempt at control and concealment while trying not to embarrass the cowboy. The younger woman’s shoulders shook hard as she struggled to contain her giggles. Fortunately, the smiling man standing just a few feet away seemed not to notice. “Well, that’s a fine compliment. Thank you for saying so, Mr. Browning. As usual, I’ll have your things ready tomorrow afternoon. As long as it doesn’t rain, that is.” Laura looked up, shading her eyes beneath one flattened hand. “And it doesn’t look like we’re going to get any rain, does it?” “No, ma’am. It surely doesn’t.” The cowboy’s face turned from the sky to Callie Jo’s slim back, his gaze lingering briefly on her before connecting once again with Laura’s. “Nary a rain cloud in sight.” Laura sympathized with the man. She knew how it felt to want someone so badly it twisted your gut, so completely that there was room for little else in your heart. That was how she still felt for Caleb, when she allowed herself free rein to think of him. Lately it had become obvious Slim was smitten with Callie Jo. If Laura’s suspicions were correct, the man could barely think of anything but her sister. It was a shame, really, for both Callie Jo and Slim. Unless the young woman relented on her position about marriage, all the gangly cowhand could hope for was endless hours of wanting and waiting. “So, your clothes will be ready tomorrow, I’m sure of it.” Laura tried to keep her voice brisk and professional, but softness crept into it as she went on. “Can I interest you in a glass of lemonade, Mr. Browning? I’m sure my sister made a pitcher this morning. Didn’t you, Callie Jo?” Laura raised an eyebrow pointedly when her sister met her gaze. Taking the not-so-covert hint, Callie Jo shifted on the railing, turning to face Slim. She was oblivious to the way her behind rounded as she moved, or the swell of her bosom as she inhaled deeply before she spoke. But they were things that neither Laura nor the cowboy missed seeing and while one wanted to throttle Callie Jo, the other twisted his hat in his hands, lowering said hat from waist to hip level. “I surely did, Laura. Could I give you something to quench your thirst, Mr. Browning? Make you less heated, perhaps?” Callie Jo’s words made the man’s eyes grow large. “I-I…er, I don’t t-think s-so, Miz M-McAllister. I’d b-best b-b-be going now. Thank you mightily and I-I’ll see you tomorrow!” Turning quickly, Slim took several long strides down the front path, pulled open the gate, and shot through it in less time than it took to saddle a mule. They watched as he headed back the way he’d come. When he was several paces down the street Callie Jo began to giggle. Laura didn’t bother to try to hide her amusement. She shook her head as a small laugh escaped her lips. “Goodness gracious, did you see him run? Oh, Callie Jo, you’ve got to stop doing that to men. You’re going to hurt one of them one of these days!” Laura wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “Oh, no! You’re not going to blame me if one of those silly men hurts himself running away.” A blush stole across her creamy complexion and she looked like one of the early blooming roses from their mother’s rose garden back home. “If someone gets hurt, it’ll be because he didn’t open the gate soon enough and bashed himself on the slats, not because of me.” “Callie Jo—behave yourself! It’s not fitting for a young lady to be speaking so freely about such matters. Oh, I should send you back home to Mother, that’s what I should do. Only, she would be so shocked to find you knew about such things. She’d swear I taught them to you,” Laura said, attempting to fix a stern expression on her face. She failed miserably, giving in to the grin her sister flashed at her. “Incorrigible, that’s what you are! Daring to speak of delicate matters outside the walls of the house. What if someone hears?” Callie Jo pointedly looked over her shoulder. The street beyond the fence was deserted. Even Slim had long since vanished. “No one will hear, I promise you. Did you see the way he held his hat? Right there, over his, well, you know?” Callie Jo reached her hands beneath the loosely pinned locks at the back of her neck. A few had escaped their confinement and hung against her delicate skin. Laura watched as she twisted the strands back into place. “And his face—so red! He can be…” Laura allowed a few moments to pass before she prodded gently. “He can be what, sis? What?” Wrapping her arms around herself and rubbing her hands briskly along her upper arms, Callie Jo said, “Cute. He can be cute, don’t you think?” Cute. It was the first time Laura had heard her sister describe any man she’d met here in a positive light. Granted, “cute” wasn’t the biggest compliment available, but it was better than none. “Yes, I think he can be cute. Are you interested in him, dear? Even a little bit?” Callie Jo shook her head, loosening the newly placed strands again. This time, though, she seemed not to notice. “No, I’m not interested,” she answered slowly. Her gaze met Laura’s, and she shook her head again. Harder this time, as if trying to force the memory of Slim and any feeling he stirred from her mind. “No. Not at all interested. I told you, I’m not going to get married. Not me—no matter how cute a man is.” “Oh, Callie Jo—” Her sister held up a hand between them. “Don’t lecture me. Please don’t. My mind is made up on this point. And really, before you lecture anyone about romance, you should look to your own heart, maybe try and fix whatever’s going on in there.” Laura pulled her eyebrows into a nearly solid line on her forehead. “Nothing’s going on in there,” she huffed. Imagine, her younger sister presuming to give her lessons in life and love. The unmitigated gall of it all nearly sent her blood boiling. The idea that— “Exactly.” Callie Jo stood
and pressed her skirt down into place with a slow palm. Laura swallowed around the lump in her throat and nodded. No words would come but none seemed necessary. Her sister patted her arm twice before she reached down and retrieved the bean-filled bowl from the table. Callie Jo put a hand on the door latch, her skirt brushing against Laura’s with a soft rustling noise. It was the noise that reminded Laura of the question she had meant to ask since before Slim’s laundry delivery. “Callie Jo—you are wearing your bloomers, aren’t you?” Laura’s voice was a scandalized whisper. Callie Jo giggled as she went inside, allowing the screen door to slap closed behind her. “Callie Jo? You aren’t, are you? Goodness, what will people think?” “They won’t think a thing. Not unless they look beneath my skirts! If they do—well, then they’ll definitely have something to think about!” Laura stood and followed her sister into the house, her own laughter mixing freely with the younger woman’s girlish giggles. Some moments, like now, it seemed easier to simply accept the circumstances of her life and take pleasure in the sillier aspects—like missing bloomers—of it. Laura knew there would be plenty of time later to deal with the more serious issues. |