Angel Creek
Authors: Linda Howard
LOOK FOR THESE HEART-POUNDING
NOVELS OF ROMANTIC SUSPENSE
FROM BESTSELUNG AUTHOR
LINDA HOWARD
She's hunting for a mateâand there's
no more playing it safe.
OPEN SEASON
Handsome, rich, sexy,
deadly. . . .
MR. PERFECT
. . . and don't miss
A LADY OF THE WEST
ALL THE QUEEN'S MEN
KILL AND TELL
NOW YOU SEE HER
SON OF THE MORNING
SHADES OF TWILIGHT
AFTER THE NIGHT
DREAM MAN
HEART OF FIRE
THE TOUCH OF FIRE
All available from Pocket Books
“[ANGEL CREEK
IS] FILLED WITH COMPELLING
CHARACTERS, SENSUOUS ROMANCE, AND
LOADS OF ACTION.”
âAFFAIRE DE COEUR
PRAISE FOR THE SENSATIONAL NOVELS OF
NEW YORK TIMES
BESTSELLING AUTHOR
LINDA HOWARD
KILL AND TELL
“Linda Howard meshes hot sex, emotional impact, and gripping tension in this perfect example of what romantic suspense ought to be.”
âPublishers Weekly
(starred review)
OPEN SEASON
“A perfect mystery for a late summer weekend. It's part romance with a dollop of suspense.”
âThe Globe & Mail
(Toronto)
MR. PERFECT
“A frolicsome mystery . . . Jaine Bright lives up to her name: she's as brightâand explosiveâas a firecracker.”
âPeople
ALL THE QUEEN'S MEN
“A high-suspense romance. . . . Howard's trademark darkly sensual style and intense, layered plot will delight her fans.”
âBooklist
NOW YOU SEE HER
“Steamy romance morphs into murder mystery. . . .”
âPeople
“An eerie, passionate, and thrilling tale. . . .”
âRomantic Times
Books by Linda Howard
A Lady of the West
Angel Creek
The Touch of Fire
Heart of Fire
Dream Man
After the Night
Shades of Twilight
Son of the Morning
Kill and Tell
Now You See Her
All the Queen's Men
Mr. Perfect
Strangers in the Night
Open Season
Dream Man
Published by Pocket Books
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
An
Original
Publication of POCKET BOOKS
Â
 | A Pocket Star Book published by POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020 www.SimonandSchuster.com |
Copyright © 1991 by Linda Howington
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
ISBN 13: 978-0-671-01976-1
eISBN 13: 978-1-4391-3943-1
ISBN 10:Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â 0-671-01976-7
First Pocket Books printing November 1991
20Â Â Â 19
POCKET STAR BOOKS and colophon are registered
trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Cover design by Jae Song
Manufactured in the United States of America
A
NGEL
C
REEK
L
UCAS
C
OCHRAN HAD BEEN BACK IN TOWN FOR ALMOST
a month, but it still amazed him how much the little town of Prosper had lived up to its name. It would never be anything more than a small town, but it was neat and bustling. A man could tell a lot about a place just by looking at the people on the streets, and by that standard Prosper was quiet, steady, andâwellâprosperous. A boomtown might be more exciting than a town like Prosper, and people could make a lot of money in such places, but mining towns tended to die as soon as the ore played out.
Prosper, on the other hand, had started out as a single building serving triple duty as general store, bar, and livery for the few settlers around. Lucas could remember when the site Prosper now occupied had been nothing but bare ground and the only white men for miles had been on the Double C. The gold rush in 1858 had changed all that, bringing thousands of men
into the Colorado mountains in search of instant wealth; no gold had been found around Prosper, but a few people had seen the land and stayed, starting small ranches. More people had meant a larger demand for goods. The lone general store/bar/livery soon had another building standing beside it, and the tiny settlement that would one day become Prosper, Colorado, was born.
Lucas had seen a lot of boom towns, not just in Colorado, and they were all very similar in their frenzied pace, as muddy streets swarmed with miners and those looking to separate the miners from their gold: gamblers, saloon owners, whores, and claim-jumpers. He was glad that Prosper hadn't been blessedâor cursed, depending on your point of viewâby either gold or silver. Being what it was, it would still be there when most of the boomtowns were nothing but weathered skeletons.
It was a sturdy little town, a good place to raise a family, as evidenced by the three hundred and twenty-eight souls who lived there. All of the businesses were located on the long center street, around which nine streets of residences had arranged themselves. Most of the houses were small and simple, but some of the people, like banker Wilson Millican, had already possessed money before settling in Prosper. Their houses wouldn't have looked out of place in Denver or even in the larger cities back East.
Prosper had only one saloon and no whorehouses, though it was well known among the men in town (and the women, although the men didn't know it) that the two saloon girls would take care of any extra itches they happened to have, for a price. There was a
church on the north end of town, and a school for the youngsters. Prosper had a bank, two hotels, three restaurants (counting the two in the hotels), a general store, two livery stables, a dry goods store, a barber shop, a cobbler, a blacksmith, and even a hat shop for the ladies. The stage came through once a week.
The entire town was there only because the Cochran family had carved the big Double C spread out of nothing, fighting the Comanche and Arapaho, paying for the land with Cochran blood. Lucas had been the first Cochran born there, and now he was the only one left; he had buried his two brothers and his mother back during the Indian wars, and his father had died the month before. Other ranchers had moved in, but the Cochrans had been the first, and had bought the security the town now enjoyed with Cochran lives. Everyone who had been in town for long knew that Prosper's backbone wasn't the long center street, but the line of graves in the family burial plot on the Double C.
Lucas's bootheels thudded on the sidewalk as he walked toward the general store. A cold wind had sprung up that had the smell of snow on it, and he looked at the sky. Low gray clouds were building over the mountains, signaling yet another delay to spring. Warmer weather should arrive any day, but those low clouds said not quite yet. He passed a woman with her shawl pulled tight around her shoulders and tipped his hat to her. “Looks like more snow, Mrs. Padgett.”
Beatrice Padgett gave him a friendly smile. “It does that, Mr. Cochran.”
He entered the general store and nodded to Mr. Winches, the proprietor. Winches had done right well
in the ten years Lucas had been gone, enough to hire himself a clerk who took care of most of the stocking. “Hosea,” Lucas said by way of greeting.
“How do, Lucas? It's turning a mite cold out there, ain't it?”
“It'll snow by morning. The snowpacks can use it, but I'm ready for spring myself.”
“Ain't we all? You need anything in particular?”
“Just some gun oil.”
“Down the left, toward the back.”
“Thanks.”
Lucas went down the aisle Hosea had indicated, almost bumping into a farm woman who was fingering the harnesses. He muttered an absentminded apology and continued without more than a glance. Farming was hard on a woman, making her look old before her time. Besides, he had just spotted a familiar blond head over by the sacks of flour, and a sense of satisfaction filled him. Olivia Millican was just the type he would want when he got around to getting married: well-bred, with a pleasant disposition, and pretty enough for him to look forward to bedding her for the rest of his life. He had plans for the Double C, and the ruthless ambition to put those plans into effect.