Each Time We Love Read Free

Mexico City about what to do with him.
And when word did finally arrive, Jeremy's heart sank—he was to be
taken to Mexico City to be tried for the murder of Bias Davalos.
    In Mexico City, his plight did not improve dramatically even
though he was found innocent of killing the Spaniard. He was still a
gringo and viewed with great suspicion by the Spanish, To his horror,
he found himself sentenced to ten years in prison simply for having
been in the country without permission and, of course, for stealing
Davalos's horse and saddle.
    Nearly a year later from the day he had first laid eyes on
Davalos, as Jeremy stared morosely out of the barred window of his tiny
cell, a cell that would be his home for ten long years, he viciously
cursed a fate that had shown him the way to great riches and then had
cruelly prevented him from seeking it.
    But time will pass, he told himself grimly as he began to mark
off with a pebble the days of his confinement on the walls of his
prison. Time will pass and when it does… A crafty smile curved his
mouth. When it does, I'll be paying a visit to Savanna O'Rourke___
     

----
     

    Part
One

    Fortune's
Daughter

    Spring,
1815

    Come,
send round the wine, and leave

    points
of belief To simpleton sages, and reasoning
fools.

    Irish Melodies
Thomas
Moore

----
Chapter One

     
    "Savanna,
put the damn rifle down! You know you're not going
to shoot me!" The voice was huskily masculine and decidedly
exasperated; the gleam in the dark eyes, however, was exceedingly warm.
But then the sight of Savanna O'Rourke often brought a warm gleam to
the eyes of most men, and Bodene Sullivan was no different—even if he
was her cousin.
    Standing merely an inch under six feet, endowed with the face
and form of some ancient goddess, Savanna O'Rourke was undeniably a
pulse-stirring sight as she stood there tall and proud in the late
afternoon light of the Louisiana sun, the fading rays turning her
glorious mane of waist-length, wavy red-gold hair into a halo of fire
that danced around her bewitchingly lovely features. Even the plain
gown of brown homespun couldn't disguise the exquisitely formed body it
clothed, her temptingly full breasts straining above the modest bodice,
her narrow waist and womanly hips clearly defined under the coarse
material. She was barefoot, her slender feet balancing easily on the
old log on which she stood, strands of ghostly gray-green Spanish moss,
hanging from a swamp cypress behind her, framing her head and
shoulders. Few men remained uninterested in her presence, but this
morning, despite her sensual appeal, it was the long black rifle held
so menacingly in her slim hands that was the object of Bodene's rapt
attention.
    When Savanna remained unmoved by his words, Bodene held out
his arms placatingly and in his most coaxing tone, one that seldom
failed him, said,
"I
promise, I haven't come to
play any more tricks on you."
    "That's
what you said the last time!"
Savanna O'Rourke snapped, the rifle holding steady. Not the least bit
intimidated when confronted by a charming, powerfully built rascal who
stood five inches over six feet, she threatened darkly, "I warned you,
Bodene, that if you dared show your face around here again, I'd shoot
you on sight!"
    Bodene's handsome mouth quirked into a grin. "But you know you
didn't mean it, sweetheart—you wouldn't shoot your only cousin, now
would you!"
    Savanna tried hard to resist that devilishly attractive grin
and the wheedling note in his voice, but despite her avowed
determination not to let Sullivan inveigle his way into her life again,
she could feel herself weakening. Her aquamarine eyes narrowed.
Sullivan was
not
going to slip under her guard
this time! "Go away! Go back to New Orleans and your gaming house and
fancy women! There is nothing here for you!"
    "You're here," he growled unhappily, his glance taking in the
dismal surroundings. His tall, broad-shouldered body garbed in
form-fitting buckskin breeches, an elegantly cut dark