Charlene’s awards include: RWA Golden Heart Finalist, Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award Nomination, Affair de Coeur Magazine Reader/Writer Poll for Best Historical of the Year. Her books have won or place in several contests.
ABOUT THE BOOK
Deserted by her father at the tender age of seven, Jenna Leigh-Whittington had taught herself to ride, shoot, brawl…and steer clear of the opposite sex. But now, in a lonely Utah canyon, the Pinkerton agent has drawn her gun on a rugged stranger—only to discover that, far from the dangerous outlaw she’d been tracking, he is Branch McCauley, hired gun…and the most irresistible rascal ever to tempt and torment a woman!
THE RIGHT WOMAN
If there’s one thing McCauley trusts less than a female, it’s a female who packs a six-gun. But what a woman! Vowing to bring the sensuous hellcat to heel, McCauley has no inkling that their passionate battle of wills has just begun. Taming Jenna will be the most seductive—and satisfying—job he’s ever taken on.
No sooner had they broken into the open than a volley of shots whizzed past their ears. They hugged their mounts' necks tighter and spurred them on. Jenna took out her gun and fired an occasional wild shot, knowing Branch was doing the same, though she could barely hear the blasts above the pounding hooves and her own thundering heartbeat. Once she thought she heard Mendoza shout in Spanish, a curse or a prayer. Perhaps both.
A bullet whizzed overhead, snapping a twig from a tree in her path.
"Come on, Gent," she urged the sorrel. "Get me out of here alive, and I'll give you a whole bucketful of oats." Hot fire bit into her side, like a hitch from too much running. Jenna kept riding. She risked a glance over her shoulder and saw that both men were still in their saddles, though Branch was farther behind than she liked. The realization that he was trying to protect her wrenched her heart. Damn fool. If he gets himself killed, I'll...
Bits of lather off of Gent's neck peppered Jenna's face. She could feel the sorrel's powerful muscles quiver beneath her and knew he was tiring. She kept up her words of encouragement and prayed they'd be able to stop before the horse faltered. She hated having to mistreat her animal.
Minutes passed like hours, yards like miles. It seemed as if they had splashed through the stream a hundred times. Branches lashed her face and arms and snagged her clothes. Her hat was gone. Her thick braid slapped against her back like a whip. Tendrils tom loose by the wind stung her eyes. Gradually the firing lessened. Finally Branch was beside her, signaling her to ease up.
"No sign of being followed," he shouted when they'd slowed to a lope. "Stick close to the stream; it'll give us more cover in case we need it."
Jenna nodded. The day had become horribly hot all of a sudden. Sweat dripped in her eyes and pooled between her breasts. She sat hunched against the painful hitch that refused to leave her side. To fight off the nausea, she dragged in great gulps of air.
Branch frowned as he studied her. "Are you all right? You're as white as a Christmas Sunday."
"I'm fine, just winded."
"Are you sure? I don't like the way you look."
"I'm not fond of your looks either, McCauley. You wanna stop for a picnic or are we gonna ride?"
She kicked her sorrel and once more took the lead. Branch's brows drew down over his troubled eyes as he watched her go. He'd seen pain in her eyes. Even her words were slurred. When Mendoza came alongside, clinging to his saddle horn with his bound hands, Branch told him to keep a close eye on her and yell out if there were a problem. Then Branch dropped behind again.
Where had the day gone? Jenna wondered. It couldn't be evening already. Yet the light was growing dim. They had turned into a shallow gorge that led southeastward out of the main canyon. The ascent slowed the horses to a fast walk. Then they were running again. Jenna didn't notice.
All she felt now was pain. White hot agony centered in her side. She struggled not to give in to it, but the nausea and the dizziness were becoming worse.
For a moment she thought she heard someone call her name as night descended with amazing speed. Then she heard nothing more; no hooves thudding over the uneven ground, no wind whistling past her ear, not even her own heartbeat or Gent's weary wheeze.
She sensed something was wrong as the reins slid from her hands. Too tired to care, she let them go.
Then she was sliding…drifting…sailing into the darkness…deeper, deeper into the pain.
Charlene will be awarding an e-copy of one of her books from her backlist at each stop to a randomly drawn commenter, and a Grand Prize of a $30 gift card will be awarded to a randomly drawn commenter at the end of the tour.Follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here: