The Art of

Pretending

Spin-off of

Backwards to Oregon

By

JAE

The Art of Pretending

Spin-off of Backwards to Oregon

Copyright © 2008 By Jae

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-1-934889-08-4 S

First Edition

eBook Format

May 2008

This electronic book is ePublished by

L-Book ePublisher

La Quinta, Ca. USA

Email: info@ L-Book.com

Web Site: http://L-Book.com

Cover Design by Sheri

graphicartist2020@hotmail.com

* * *

This work is copyrighted and is licensed only for use by

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of International copyright law and subjects the violator to

severe fines or imprisonment. Please purchase only

authorized electronic editions.

* * *

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and

incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons,

living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Independence, Missouri

September 12th, 1856

WHAT A PITY. Frankie Callaghan glanced at the cards in her hand again. Ten of hearts, jack of hearts, queen of hearts, king of hearts – and the chance at a royal flush if I draw the ace. I haven't had a hand that good in... well, forever. She suppressed a sigh and threw her cards down. "I fold," she announced to the men playing poker with her.

The gray-bearded man to her right clapped her on the

shoulder. "Maybe you'd have better luck at the Faro table, young man," he suggested with a good-natured grin.

Luck is not the problem, Frankie thought, but nodded.

She wasn't here to win. Winning the pot with a royal flush

would only draw attention, and that was the last thing she

needed. At least folding gave her a chance to lean back and

look around while the poker game kept the men around her

busy.

She glanced toward the mahogany bar and the man

sitting there. Jeffrey Abrams – the man who was responsible

for Frankie's visit in Independence – was talking animatedly to the golden-haired beauty who owned the establishment. It

hadn't been hard to find out that she was Tess Swenson, the

brothel's Madam. Not only was she older than all the other

women in the room, but there was also a quiet confidence in

her gaze that told Frankie she was a woman used to being in a position of responsibility.

Tess Swenson stood and adjusted the low-cut bodice that

revealed a still firm body. She gave Jeff Abrams a nod and

pointed at the stairs.

To anyone watching, it looked like a prostitute inviting a

customer up to her room.

5

Frankie wasn't just anyone, though. Her trained eye

immediately noticed that Tess' gestures were neither

seductive nor submissive. The slender finger pointed at the

stairs with the resoluteness of a commanding officer. Tess

Swenson was practically ordering Abrams up to her room.

He's not just a customer to her, Frankie realized. They know each other in more than the biblical sense.

Tess Swenson trailed after the man. When she reached

the bottom of the stairs, she turned back around. Her vigilant gaze swept the room again, making sure everything was all

right with her girls.

Frankie quickly looked away, not wanting to be noticed.

She chugged down her lukewarm beer, hiding behind the

glass until Tess had turned back around.

The old man next to her grinned at Frankie. "You had

your eye on her, huh? No luck on that front either, young

man."

Frankie knew she would be keeping an eye on Tess

Swenson, but not for the reason the old man was thinking.

* * *

"Vanish?" Tess repeated. She stared at her business

partner through narrowed eyes. "How can five thousand

dollar just vanish... for the second time this month?"

Jeff Abrams shrugged. "Every cent of the money was

there when we sealed the box, but when the stagecoach

arrived in Salt Lake City, the money was gone."

Tess had understood that the first time Abrams had said

it, but she bit her tongue and curbed her impatience. She

knew she couldn't afford to antagonize Abrams. Except for

the brothel, his name was on each and every one of the

businesses Tess owned.

He didn't provide nearly half the money or the business

acumen in their partnership, but Tess hadn't chosen him for

that. She had enough money and was a clever enough

6

businesswoman on her own. The only thing for which she

needed him was his name. Tess knew no one in town would

do business with a woman, much less the madam of a brothel,

so to the world, Jeffrey Abrams was the sole owner of a

stable, a boarding house, the best restaurant, and the biggest saloon in Independence.

"Any idea what happened to the money?" Tess asked, fighting to stay calm.

"A lot can happen in twenty days. Between Independence

and Salt Lake City, there are a lot of things that could have gone wrong," Abrams said.

Tess knew sending the money by stagecoach wasn't

exactly safe. Sometimes boxes got lost, but twice in a row

was more than just a coincidence. "Did you send an armed guard to accompany the stagecoach like I told you to?"

"I even sent two, but it was of no use. By the time the stagecoach reached Salt Lake City, the money was gone,"

Abrams said for the third time. He seemed at a loss.

"What about the stage driver and the people running the stage stations along the way? Do you trust them?" Tess

wanted to know.

Abrams ran his hand through his thinning hair. "I don't know them well enough to trust or distrust them."

Tess stared down at her hands. What now? Abrams was clearly waiting for a decision from her. Tess silently

considered her options. Turning to the sheriff for help was not one of them. The brothel was a thorn in the sheriff's side

already, and Tess couldn't risk having him discover that

Abrams was not the sole owner of the other businesses. "I'll think of something," she promised. "Until further notice, don't send off any more money or goods."

Abrams nodded. He slipped out of his coat and started to

undo the buttons of his pants.

"No." Tess picked up the coat and handed it back to Abrams. "Not today, Jeffrey." She had shared her bed with Abrams before – not because she found him desirable in any

7

way, but simply as a means to ensure his loyalty. Today, she just didn't have the time or the patience to humor him.

Abrams clenched his jaw and jerked his coat back on.

"It's better if you aren't seen spending too much time with me anyway," Tess said, trying to placate him. "We wouldn't want the sheriff – or your wife – to find out about our

association."

"Right," Abrams reluctantly agreed.

Tess stepped closer and straightened the collar of his coat

for him, letting her hand trail over his chest for a moment.

"We'll have our own little celebration as soon as we find the money," she promised. Nothing like giving him a bit of an incentive, she thought, hiding a grin.

Abrams licked his lips and finally retreated from the

room.

8

Independence, Missouri

September 13th, 1856

" T HAT'S A LOVELY color, Frances," Sara Abrams commented, leaning over the table to take a closer look at the work in Frankie's embroidery hoop.

Frankie finished the center of one tiny flower with a

French knot and paused with the needle resting securely

between her index finger and thumb. "My late husband

brought back the embroidery silk from his last business trip.

He loved to surprise me with little gifts," Frankie said with a grave expression. Frankie had never been married and had

never been interested in receiving gifts from men, but the

three women in Mrs. Abrams' parlor didn't know that.

Mrs. Abrams laid down her knitting needles to pat

Frankie's hand.

"I wish my husband were more like that," one of Mrs.

Abrams friends murmured. "He never brings me back

anything when he's away on business."

The other two women nodded in agreement.

"Never?" Frankie repeated. She looked from woman to woman, finally resting her gaze on Mrs. Abrams. She wasn't

really interested in the answers of the other two women.

"Well, Jeffrey brought back a new apron from Salt Lake

City once," Mrs. Abrams answered.

Now it's getting interesting! Frankie thought. She daintily sipped her tea, hiding her acute interest. "Does your husband have to travel to Salt Lake City a lot?" she asked Mrs.

Abrams.

"No." Mrs. Abrams shook her head. "He hardly had to travel at all in the last few years."

9

Frankie looked up from the tiny, olive green leaf she was

stitching. "I hope that doesn't mean his business is not going well?" she asked, feigning friendly concern.

"Oh, no, not at all." Mrs. Abrams proudly lifted her head.

"As far as I can tell, business is going just fine."

As far as I can tell, Frankie mentally repeated. She realized that befriending Sara Abrams had been a waste of

time. As long as there's enough money for her to spend, she doesn't care where it comes from. I bet she has never asked her husband about the details of his job. She stared down at the embroidered linen without really seeing it. So if Abrams'

wife is clueless, maybe I should take a closer look at his mistress... The question is just how...

For once, being a woman had her at a disadvantage. With

other assignments, it had mostly worked in her favor, giving her options her male colleagues didn't have. And if her female charms reached their limits, she could always become Frank

Callaghan. She knew she was as convincing in the role of the young man as she was playing the rich widow. But slipping

into male disguise wouldn't be enough this time. Getting close to a prostitute to find out more about her would inevitably

mean sharing her bed. And as pleasurable as that would be, it would surely blow your cover, Frankie, she told herself and stared down at the needle in her hand, trying to come up with a plan.

10

Independence, Missouri

September 14th, 1856

T ESS WRAPPED her shawl tighter around her

shoulders and held her head high, ignoring the glances of the townspeople who were on their way home from church. She

knew that the men who were now ignoring her and who had

eagerly nodded to every single word of the priest's sermon

against sin and sinners would just as eagerly try to share her bed tonight.

Over the years, Tess had grown used to it and had

learned not to react, but deep down, being constantly slighted hurt nonetheless. She quickly walked on, rounding the corner on her way to the stage driver's home. By tomorrow, the stage driver would be on his way to Salt Lake City again, and Tess had a few questions that brooked no delay.

Only her quick reflexes prevented her from colliding

head-on with Sara Abrams and three of her friends.

Mrs. Abrams grazed her with a contemptuous gaze and

mumbled something Tess didn't even want to understand.

Two of the younger women in Mrs. Abrams' entourage put

their heads together and started to whisper, no doubt sharing the latest gossip about Tess. Then, like all the other "proper"

townswomen, they quickly crossed to the other side of the

road.

Tess' gaze followed them for a few seconds. She looked

at Mrs. Abrams, one of her fiercest enemies in town. I wonder how you would react if you knew how familiar I am with your husband... or maybe you already know and that's why you

hate me so much.

Just as Tess wanted to continue on her way, Mrs.

Abrams' newest friend, a brown-haired, slender, and

11

altogether ordinary woman, turned around and threw one last

glance back at Tess.

Tess straightened her shoulders, preparing for another

hostile glance, but instead, dark eyes looked at her with

compassion, respect, and just the hint of a smile.

Tess blinked. When she looked at the woman again, she

had turned back around and had hastily caught up with her

friends.

For a second, Tess was almost convinced it had never

happened, but she could still feel the dark-eyed gaze resting on her, short as it had been. No one had looked at her like that in a long time. Five years, her precise mind supplied, and a mental picture of Luke formed in her mind's eye, along with

Nora's kind green eyes. Hope you're well, my friends. She was glad that Nora had been able to leave the brothel and start a new life with Luke, but Tess hadn't built such close

friendships since Luke and Nora had left for Oregon and

sometimes, she missed it.

But Tess wasn't one to dwell on the past and on things

she couldn't have, so she forced her thoughts back to the

present and to Mrs. Abrams' new friend. She's new in town, Tess told herself. She obviously didn't know who – and what –

you are. Next time you'll meet her, she won't look at you the same way – if she'll look at you at all. Mrs. Abrams will waste no time informing her about your depravity.

Jolting herself out of her dark thoughts, Tess knocked on

the stage driver's door.

* * *

Tess slowly made her way down the hallway, stopping in

front of every door to listen for a few seconds. Grunts and

moans came from behind Molly's door, and someone was

snoring in Rose's room. Satisfied that none of her girls was in any danger, Tess continued on her way to her office.

12

It had been a quiet evening, so Tess had retreated much

earlier than usual. Feeling restless, she had decided to head upstairs and write a letter to Nora and Luke, something she

often did when she needed to talk to someone she could really trust.

She opened the door to her office and waited until her

eyes had adjusted to the darkness before she crossed the room to light the kerosene lamp on her desk. Groping around for a few seconds, she found the matches and lifted the glass

chimney.

A sudden sound stopped her from lighting the match.

Tess paused and listened into the darkness.

There it was again. A scraping sound came from just

below the office's window.

Tess had lived a dangerous life, and she had learned to be

cautious and distrustful. A prostitute didn't reach the ripe old age of thirty-six by being careless.

Quickly, Tess let go of the chimney and ducked down

behind her desk.

Everything was quiet, only the sound of her own

breathing echoed loudly in Tess' ears. After a few moments,

Tess started to believe that she had been mistaken, but then the scraping sound came again.

Tess held her breath.

Metal scratched over wood.

Slowly, the office's small window was forced open.

Tess pressed herself against the desk. Her hand shot

down and reached for the small revolver hidden in one of her garters. From her hiding place behind the desk, she could hear the muted thumping of boots as an intruder slipped through

the window and landed just a yard away from her.

Tess didn't give him time to orientate himself. She knew

she had to take advantage of the few seconds his eyes needed to adjust to the darkness in the small room. She jumped out

from behind the desk right next to him.

13

A loud click interrupted the silence as Tess cocked the

hammer of her revolver. "I don't know who you are, but if you move a muscle, you'll be dead, thief," Tess said. Her voice was as hard and unyielding as the barrel she pressed

against the intruder's side.

The intruder stood stock-still. Slowly, his hands lifted,

showing Tess that he was unarmed. He didn't speak, and his

back prevented the moonlight from falling into the small

room, so Tess had no idea who he was.

Holding the revolver with one hand, Tess moved back to

the desk, quickly lit the kerosene lamp, and turned up the

wick.

She didn't know the stranger the flickering light revealed.

Or maybe I have seen him before, and I just don't remember him. There was nothing memorable about the man.

Everything about him was average: his height, his built, his clothes, and even the brown hair that was sticking out from

under his unremarkable hat. "Who are you?" Tess asked and encouraged an answer by waving the revolver at him.

"I'm not a thief," the intruder answered. Even his voice was average, neither deep nor high-pitched.

"Oh, really? You could have fooled me." For some

reason, Tess didn't feel threatened by the intruder, but she kept on her guard nonetheless. "For someone who is not a thief, you are awfully good at scaling balconies and breaking into houses."

The intruder gave a nod as if Tess had just paid him a

compliment. "Thank you," he said, humor coloring his voice.

"This is the first time I ever got caught. You're awfully good, too."

"That's what all the visitors who come up here say," Tess answered. "Most of them have the decency to come through the door, though." She lifted the revolver a little, now aiming right between his eyes. "Who are you, and what do you

want?"

14

The stranger didn't answer, unimpressed by the gun being

pointed at him. He seemed to know that she would neither

shoot him nor call the sheriff to have him arrested.

Getting impatient, Tess took a quick step forward and

knocked the hat from his head with her free hand, revealing

more of his face. I know this face! Never forgetting a face was part of what had ensured Tess' survival all these years.

She tried to remember where she had seen him before. Wasn't he one of the men playing poker with the doc earlier this week?

Tess wasn't sure. For a moment, she stepped closer,

careful not to give him any chance to take the revolver from her. She shoved the muzzle under his chin, forcing him to lift his head and look at her.

Tess gasped and took a step back. "It's you!" The brown eyes might have been unremarkable when it came to their

color, but there was something in the stranger's gaze that was everything but average. Tess identified it immediately, even when her logical mind reminded her it was impossible. This is the woman who was out for a walk with Mrs. Abrams!

The mysterious stranger shifted from foot to foot. Tess'

exclamation and her wide-eyed gaze had managed what the

revolver couldn't: making him – or her – nervous. "What do you mean?" he stammered.

"I saw you!" Tess said.

The stranger shrugged. "All right. Yes, I've visited your establishment before. I played poker with a few –"

"No," Tess interrupted. "I saw you with Sara Abrams.

You were wearing a dress."

"Oh, you mean Frances, my twin sister." The stranger laughed, but to Tess' trained ear, it sounded fake and nervous.

Tess hesitated. It's the most logical explanation, she told herself. Still, it didn't feel right. A twin sister might have the same height, the same hair, and the same brown eyes, but she wouldn't look at me with the exact same expression. No. She resolutely shook her head. These were the eyes that had

15

looked at her with respect while Sara Abrams had thrown

contemptuous gazes her way. "You can't fool me," she told the stranger. "I've met others like you."

"Others like me?" the stranger asked. Now his – or her –

confusion was real.

"Women who prefer living their lives in male disguise,"

Tess explained.

The stranger stared at her. "I don't know what you're

talking about," he or she claimed. "I'm not a woman. That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" Tess stepped a little closer, careful to keep the revolver trained on the stranger.

"Yeah, it's completely –"

Tess didn't listen. Her free hand shot up and pressed

against the stranger's chest.

With a sound of surprise, the stranger tried to jump back,

to escape Tess' hand, but Tess was too fast.

Tess' dexterous fingers slipped beneath the jacket. "Well, this is definitely the finest breast I've ever felt on a man," she commented a little out of breath from their struggle. Her

fingers gently squeezed the bound breast she could feel under the men's shirt.

The stranger froze, her chest heaving under Tess' hand.

"Tess?" Molly's voice came from the hallway. Her steps came closer. "That bastard Billy refuses to pay and –"

Tess half-turned and shouted, "Stay back!" She didn't want one of her girls to get involved into a potentially

dangerous situation. "I'll be there in a –"

Strong hands shoved Tess back.

Tess' hip collided with the edge of the desk, because she

refused to let go of the gun and couldn't break her fall with the hand closest to the desk. Gritting her teeth, Tess turned back around, gun at the ready to face another attack.

It never came.

The place where the stranger had stood was empty.

16

"Damit!" Tess rushed to the still open window.

A drunk customer was staggering down the street, but the

mysterious stranger was nowhere to be seen.

"Tess?" Molly called again. "Everythin' all right?"

Tess sighed. No. Nothing in my life seems to be all right anymore. She resolutely closed the window and stepped into the hallway. "Everything is fine, Mol."

17

Abrams' Boarding House

Independence, Missouri

September 15th, 1856

T ESS PEERED through the partially open door of the

stable. She had kept a close eye on the boarding house across the street for the past hour, even though it was still early for Tess' standards and she was tired after being up most of the night, settling disputes between her girls and the customers.

The door of the boarding house across the street had

opened a few times and lodgers stepped out, but it was never the woman who had broken into Tess' office last night.

Tess knew the boarding house was where she was

staying, though. It wasn't hard to find out when you were the boarding house's owner and had access to the establishment's books. A week ago, a young gentleman had signed in as

"Frank Callaghan". The porter had told Tess that the young man was traveling with his sister, a wealthy widow.

"Wealthy widow," Tess murmured. "I bet her wealth and her late husband are as fake as everything else about her!"

The boarding house's door opened once more, and her

mysterious burglar stepped out, taking a second to adjust her hat. To the world, she was the perfect gentleman.

She's good, Tess had to admit. There was nothing

feminine about the way the stranger moved. Her stride and

her gestures were confident, as if she had spent a lot of time in male apparel and was entirely comfortable in her disguise.

Tess waited until the woman who called herself Frank

Callaghan had disappeared down the street, then she quickly

made her way over to the boarding house. A few words to the

porter, who was one of very few people who knew where his

18

wages really came from, and she had the key to Frank

Callaghan's room.

Hastily, Tess slipped into the room. She closed the door

behind her and looked around.

The bed was already made, and the room was kept tidy

and clean. There were no personal belongings, nothing that

gave away whether it was a man or a woman who had rented

this room.

Tess looked under the bed and rummaged through

drawers. Two dresses hung in the closet, side by side with a man's suit. Tess let her hand trail along the jacket,

recognizing it as the one her intruder had worn the night

before. She furrowed her brow when she felt the contours of

something in the jacket. "What's this?" she murmured and slipped her fingers into the jacket's inside pocket.

It was a small notebook. Its owner had apparently

forgotten to transfer it to the jacket she was wearing now.

Tess quickly opened the notebook. On the very first

page, she found detailed information about the stage line that transported money and goods between Salt Lake City and

Independence. All the departure times, the stations along the way, and the names of the stage drivers were written down in clear, bold letters.

"I knew it!" Tess waved the little book in the air. She had known it couldn't be just a coincidence – the strange woman

had befriended Sara Abrams, was renting a room in Abrams'

boarding house, and had broken into Tess' office. She's the one who is stealing my money! Now the question is, is she working alone... and what is she planning next?

Tess turned the page. The information on the next page

made it obvious that the stranger had watched Jeff Abrams

for quite some time. She had written down details on his

house, his wife, on where he preferred to eat, when he left the house each morning, and how he spent his lunch break.

Tess flipped through the pages – and suddenly stopped.

Right there, in the middle of the little book, were the intimate 19

details of her life. There was a list of the men she had led upstairs to her room in the past week; the time when she

retreated each night was meticulously noted, and "Frank"

Callaghan had even noticed that, while Tess plied her

customers with drinks at the bar, her own glass held only cold tea that just looked like whiskey.

There was even a pencil drawing of her face and

underneath a detailed description that sounded like a

"wanted" poster – except for one word that was written right at the bottom of the page, as if it had only been added

reluctantly: beautiful.

Frowning, not sure what to think of all this, Tess slipped

the notebook back into the jacket pocket and continued to

look around. In the back of the closet, a bag was hidden.

When Tess opened it, she found half a dozen hairpieces in

different colors, rouge, a pair of glasses, a fake mustache, and a number of scarves, hats, and other accessories. It looked

like the bag of a play-actor – or a con man.

The sudden sound of a key turning in the lock interrupted

Tess.

Tess quickly closed the closet door and looked around

for some place to hide, but it was already too late.

The door swung open, revealing the woman who called

herself Frank Callaghan. "So we meet again," she said after standing frozen in the doorway for just a moment. The

woman drew her gun and pointed it at Tess almost casually.

She took off her hat and gave a little bow, but the gun in her hand never wavered. "You are certainly persistent and

resourceful; I have to give you that." She kicked the door closed, took a step closer, and looked down at Tess from a

height advantage of just a few inches. Despite the gun in her hand, the gaze that rested on Tess was not threatening, just curious.

She might have a few things in common with Luke, but

don't let that delude you into thinking you can trust her, Tess silently warned herself.

20

"Now it's my turn to ask: What are you doing here?" the stranger demanded to know.

Tess defiantly raised her chin. "Believe it or not, but I was taught how to be a lady once upon a time. My mother

told me that a lady always has to pay a return visit to her

visitors."

The woman laughed. "You're amusing, if not honest.

How did you get in here?" she asked with more vigor.

A knock at the door interrupted whatever answer Tess

might have given. "Mister Callaghan?" Sara Abrams' voice came through the door.

"Damn," Frank Callaghan muttered.

Tess looked back and forth between the woman and the

window. Should she take the opportunity and escape through

the window, like Callaghan had the night before? But she

wasn't sure if she could safely make it down to the street, and if anybody saw her climbing down and called the sheriff,

Tess knew he would arrest her with pleasure.

Sara Abrams knocked on the door again. "Mister

Callaghan, are you there? I couldn't find your sister, so I

thought I would come over and tell you the good news

myself," she called through the door. "My husband agreed to give you the job."

Looks like all her secret observations finally paid off, Tess thought. She tricked the Abramses into trusting her, but now that she knows it won't work with me, she'll try to get rid of me! Tess realized she had to act quickly. She started to run and threw open the door before the surprised woman could

stop her. She knew the woman couldn't very well shoot her

right in front of Mrs. Abrams. Calmly, she greeted Mrs.

Abrams, who stood frozen right in front of the door and

stared at her in horror.

"You... you... you had that... that woman in your room?"

Sara Abrams stammered. Tess could hear the indignation in

her voice as she quickly strode past her.

21

"What? No! It's not what you think!" the surprised woman defended herself.

Tess snickered. Oh, yeah, that excuse worked so well for every man who got caught with a lady of the evening! she thought while she hurried down the stairs.

The last thing Tess heard was Mrs. Abrams' appalled

"Oh, what your poor sister is going to say when she hears about this!"

22

Independence, Missouri

September 15th, 1856

F RANKIE TIED down the last piece of baggage on top

of the stagecoach. Climbing down, she threw a furtive glance at the treasure box the stage driver was just stowing under his seat. Judging from the way he had struggled with the box's

weight, it had to contain a lot of money, gold, and other

objects of value.

"So, you're the new shotgun messenger, huh? Can you

handle these?" the stage driver asked when Frankie took her seat next to him. He pointed at the gun at Frankie's hip and the rifle she held in the bend of her arm.

Frankie flashed a confident grin. She had grown up with

five brothers and could handle a weapon better than any one

of them. "Can you handle these?" she gave back the question, nodding down at the lines that rested in the driver's callused hands.

The driver looked affronted for a moment, but then

laughed. "Just wait until all the passengers have climbed in, then I'll show you how I handle the lines!"

Frankie nodded and watched as an overweight

businessman, an old woman and her son, and finally one of

Mrs. Abrams' friends with her baby arrived and took their

seats inside the stagecoach.

Still, the stage driver held the four horses back. "We're still one passenger short," he explained at Frankie's

questioning gaze.

A woman hurried toward them, her long skirt clutched in

one hand, pulling it up just a bit so she wouldn't stumble.

Only when she stopped next to the driver's seat and reached

up to hand her ticket to the driver did Frankie realize who she 23

was. Tess Swenson! With the long skirt, chaste bodice, and the gold-blond hair pinned up under her bonnet, Frankie

almost hadn't recognized her.

Tess stared at her, obviously dismayed to find her on the

stagecoach.

Am I thwarting your plans? Frankie silently wondered.

She climbed back down to help Tess Swenson into the

stagecoach.

"What are you planning?" Tess whispered as she let herself be led to the stagecoach.

Frankie touched her chest in a gesture of innocence.

"Me? What are you planning?" she gave back the question and opened the stagecoach's door for Tess.

"Oh, no!" the lady already inside cried out. "I'm not traveling with the likes of her!"

"I bought a ticket just like everyone else," Tess answered calmly.

Frankie could see Tess straighten, and she had to admire

her for holding her head high even under the other woman's

contemptuous gazes.

"I'm not sharing a seat with a... .a whore!" Mrs. Abrams'

friend insisted.

"Make up your minds, ladies," the driver demanded. "I'll leave on time, with or without you."

Frankie made a quick decision. "You can have my seat,"

she told Tess, pointing at the seat right next to the driver. She knew it was the best seat on the stagecoach anyway. The

upholstered seats inside might look more comfortable, but the driver's seat was subjected to fewer bumps and jars than any other seat. "I'll make myself comfortable on the roof."

Tess stared at her with a stunned expression. It was easy

to see that she wasn't used to selfless friendliness toward her.

Her piercing gaze was searching for an ulterior motive.

What the hell are you doing? Frankie silently asked herself. You should have taken the opportunity to make sure she's left behind in Independence! "The view is much better 24

from up there anyway. Will make it easier to keep an eye on

stagecoach robbers," she explained to herself and to Tess, looking right at the stunned woman.

Frankie extended her hand and politely helped Tess to

climb up on the seat next to the driver. She held a pleasant smile on her lips, even as Tess and she were staring daggers at each other.

During the next few hours, Frankie had ample

opportunity to observe Tess Swenson as the stagecoach

rattled along the dusty road. She knew Tess could feel her

gazes, but she never turned around; she just sat with her head held high, never once complaining about the dust, the

constant jostling, or the uncomfortable seat. What a strange woman, Frankie thought, intrigued against her will. Never had anyone discovered her true identity, and Frankie still

didn't know how Tess had seen through her disguise so easily.

What was it that gave me away? she wondered.

She still didn't have an answer when they reached the

station where they would stay the night.

Mrs. Abrams' friend complained loudly about the crude

adobe structures and the simple food, consisting of beans,

bread, and salt pork, but once again, Tess Swenson never said a word.

The station keeper came over to the table to refill their tin cups with bad coffee. "I don't have enough rooms for all of you," he said apologetically. "The ladies will have to share a room."

"What?" Mrs. Abrams' friend jumped up from the table.

"How dare you suggest I share a room with that... with that woman?" She glared at the station keeper, then at Tess.

Once again, Frankie found herself coming to Tess' rescue

before she could stop herself. "You can have my room," she offered Tess. "I'll sleep in the stable and keep an eye on the freight." She told herself it was a clever plan to stay close to the treasure box and its valuable contents, but she had made her decision before she had even thought about that. She

25

knew Tess was a manipulative, cunning, and possibly

dishonest madam of a brothel, but she didn't like to see her treated like this anyway.

"That's not necessary. I will sleep in the stable," Tess decided.

Frankie snorted internally. Like I'd leave you alone with the treasure box for just a moment! "No," she objected. "Take the room. I'm used to sleeping in the stable."

Tess opened her mouth, no doubt about to object again.

"Let the young man be a gentleman," the station keeper interrupted. "He's getting paid for this, after all."

Tess didn't look pleased, but she finally nodded. "Thank you," she said politely, but the cool gaze she directed at Frankie said something else.

Frankie had to hide a grin. "You're welcome."

26

Stage Station

September 16th, 1856

F RANKIE CROSSED her arms behind her head and

starred into the darkness.

The straw to her left rustled, and Frankie rolled out from

under her blanket, drawing her revolver.

Then a low snort and the scraping of hooves over the

ground told her it had just been one of the horses in the stable searching for a midnight snack.

Instead of slipping under her blanket again, Frankie made

her way over to the back of the stable, where the treasure box and some of the other pieces of luggage were stored. She

knelt down next to the wooden box and trailed her hand over

its surface, testing the sturdiness of the lock.

The rustling of straw right next to her warned her at the

very last moment.

Frankie whirled around.

The butt of a revolver that had been aimed at her head

only hit her in the shoulder, paralyzing her arm for a moment and making her lose her grip on her own weapon.

Frankie desperately gripped her attacker's arm and felt

her attacker grab her in return. With both hands out of

commission, Frankie swept at her attacker's legs with a

powerful kick.

Both of them landed in the straw, tussling for the

weapon.

Frankie couldn't see her attacker's face in the darkness,

but at this close range, with their bodies pressed against each other as they wrestled to get a grip on the revolver, she knew exactly with whom she was fighting. "Give up, Tess!" she growled breathlessly.

27

"And let you have the money? Never!" Tess panted.

The pain in her shoulder finally lessened, and Frankie

managed to get a hold of Tess' wrists. She pressed them over Tess' head and into the straw, shackling them to the ground

with her own hands. "Give up!" she said again, holding Tess down with her weight.

Tess bucked and writhed under her, trying to get free.

"You're only wasting your time," Frankie told her. She held Tess' wrists in a secure grip and knew Tess had no

chance at getting free. Growing up with five wild brothers

had taught Frankie all the tricks.

Tess didn't give up, though. She threw her body weight

against Frankie in an attempt to throw her off. Her breasts

pressed into Frankie's, and a tendril of blond hair got free and sensually tickled Frankie's cheek.

Then Tess' lips were on her own, and Frankie lost her

grip on Tess' wrists as she got lost in the warmth of those lips.

Stop! Frankie told herself after several intoxicating moments. Stop it! This is not professional! Slowly, reluctantly, she broke the kiss – but it was already too late.

Something was pressing against her side, and the

resounding click of a hammer being pulled back told her it

was not just Tess' finger.

Frankie clenched her hands to helpless fists. Dumb,

dumb, dumb! she cursed herself. Your brothers never taught you that little trick, huh? You should have seen this coming; you've observed her long enough to know how she operates!

She's working in a brothel, for heaven's sake, so you couldn't seriously think that kiss was anything but an attempt to distract you!

"Get off me!" Tess ordered coldly.

Gritting her teeth, Frankie rolled to the side.

Tess quickly got to her feet. With the revolver still

pointing right at Frankie, she slowly made her way over to the treasure box.

28

Knowing she had to stop her quickly, Frankie searched

around in the straw for her own revolver, which she had

dropped earlier, but came up empty.

Tess knelt down next to the wooden box, one eye and the

revolver's barrel still on Frankie.

This is where it gets difficult, Frankie thought

triumphantly. The box is too heavy for her to just carry it off on her own, and if she shoots at the lock, she'll wake up everyone in the house. Her pulse quickened when she saw Tess reach into her dress, her fingers trailing down her

breasts. What is she doing?

Tess' hand reappeared slowly. The pale moonlight

filtering into the stable glinted on something in Tess' hand.

As the lid of the wooden box swung open, Frankie

realized that Tess had somehow gotten her hands on one of

the keys, which should have been safe somewhere in

Independence and Salt Lake City. Jesus! Frankie could only stare at the woman. She's even more resourceful than I

thought!

Then Tess suddenly whirled around. She grabbed the

collar of Frankie's shirt with one hand and shoved the

revolver up under her chin with the other. From the distance of just two inches, she glared at Frankie. "Where is it?" she hissed.

Frankie could only stare into the blue eyes that seemed

gray in the almost-darkness of the stable. "W-what?"

"Where –" Tess drawled and pressed the revolver's

muzzle tighter against Frankie's skin.

"is –"

The pressure increased.

"my –"

The cold steel forced Frankie to sink back down into the

straw again.

"money?" Tess glared down at Frankie, kneeling over her like an avenging angel.

29

Frankie swallowed, not sure whether it was the pressure

of the revolver against her throat or the fire in Tess' eyes that was making her breathless. "Your money?" she repeated.

"Don't play dumb!" Tess angrily leaned over her, her knee pressing roughly against Frankie's crotch. "How did you get your hands on the money without damaging the lock?"

Frankie squirmed uncomfortably against the pressure of

Tess' knee. She was struggling to gather her thoughts and

make sense of what was happening. "Wait! Wait a moment,"

she gasped. "I don't have the money. I thought you –"

"Does this look like I have it?" Tess finally moved away just enough for Frankie to get a glance at the overturned

treasure box.

It was empty.

"Where is my money?" Tess asked again.

Frankie shook her head. "Do you think I would still be

here if I had stolen the money? I would have taken one of the horses and would be miles away by now."

"Looks like your nice little plan didn't work, huh?" Tess commented.

"Looks like yours didn't work either," Frankie tossed back. "All that work to somehow get your hands on the key has been for nothing. Seems like a cleverer thief was faster than you."

Tess stared down at her. "Cleverer thief?" she echoed.

"Are you implying that I'm a thief, too?"

Frankie smiled grimly. "Why else would you be here in

the middle of the night? As nice as that kiss was, you

certainly didn't come over to kiss me goodnight."

"I came to make sure you didn't ride off with my

money!" Tess answered heatedly.

"Your money?" Tess had said it a few times now. "The box was full to overflowing. How can all of it be your

money?" Frankie knew the brothel was lucrative, but it

certainly didn't make enough money to fill the treasure box.

The girls in Tess' establishment were better fed and clothed 30

than in most other brothels Frankie had seen, so not all the money went into Tess' pocket.

"It's the money I earned with my stable, the restaurant, the brothel, and the saloon – and thank you very much for

your contribution which you gave for staying in my boarding

house," Tess answered with a smirk.

Frankie stayed unimpressed. "You're lying," she accused, not even blinking when the revolver's muzzle was pointed at

her head again. "I've seen the records in the land office.

Jeffrey Abrams is the sole owner of the boarding house, the

restaurant, and everything else. The money is his."

"Not everything written on paper is true," Tess told her.

"Abrams owns everything on paper only. The only thing he contributed to our business relationship is his name and his reputation as an honest businessman."

Frankie let her head sink back into the straw and stared

up into the darkness for a moment. She had been taught to be skeptical and distrustful, but for some reason, she believed Tess. One thing suddenly became clear: "Looks like he's not so honest after all!"

"What?" Tess frowned down at her.

"Jeffrey Abrams," Frankie explained. "Looks like he's not such an honest businessman after all."

Tess tilted her head and skeptically looked down at

Frankie. "Oh, now you're accusing him?"

"Well, whoever has stolen the money, he or she must

have a key to the treasure box, and he or she must have made good use of it before we even left Independence," Frankie said. "One person comes to mind..."

"Yes," Tess growled, "you! You are the person who comes to mind! You spied on Abrams and me for weeks; you

broke into my office; you manipulated Abrams into giving

you a job as a shotgun messenger; you cleverly disguised

yourself, and all because –"

"–all because," Frankie interrupted, "I'm a Pinkerton detective, hired by the stage line to find the thief."

31

For a few moments, they stared at each other in silence,

then Tess started to laugh.

"Oh, yes, of course!" she said sarcastically. "Female Pinkerton detectives! There are hundreds of them!"

"Not hundreds, but there are a few," Frankie insisted.

"Just like there are a few women who own saloons,

restaurants, boarding houses, and stables."

Tess slowly lowered her revolver, but still kept it

pointing in Frankie's general direction. "I've never heard of a female Pinkerton detective," she said skeptically.

"Neither has Jeffrey Abrams – and that's my advantage,"

Frankie explained. "Men like him don't see me as a threat, so they're not very careful about what they reveal in my

presence."

"So what did Jeff Abrams reveal?" Tess asked. Frankie could see that she was still not fully convinced that Frankie was telling the truth.

Frankie shrugged, a little embarrassed. "Not much," she admitted. "I should have pursued that lead more insistently, but I got distracted."

"Distracted?" Tess repeated.

"I thought you were the one who had stolen the money,"

Frankie said.

Tess snorted bitterly. "Oh, yeah, I'm a whore, so of

course I have to be a thief, too!"

"It has nothing to do with you being... with what you do for a living," Frankie told her, meaning it. She got up on her knees and looked Tess right in the eyes. "It was just the most plausible explanation. You're... friends with Jeff Abrams, so I thought he had maybe told you about the money in a... weak

moment; you asked around for details about the stage line,

and instead of calling the sheriff on me after I broke into your office, you broke into my room. Now tell me you wouldn't

find that suspicious."

Tess was silent for a moment. "I guess it could seem a

little suspicious," she finally admitted. She studied Frankie 32

closely. "What proof do I have that you're really a Pinkerton, and not just out to trick me and get your hands on my

money?"

Frankie began to fish in the inside pocket of her vest.

"Hey!" Tess' revolver swung up, pointing at Frankie again.

"Calm down!" Frankie said quickly. She held out her other hand in a placatory gesture. "I just want to show you my credentials." Slowly, she pulled the brass badge out of her pocket and held it out for Tess to see.

Still pointing the revolver in Frankie's direction, Tess

stepped closer and took the badge from Frankie. Her fingers

traced the engraved letters, which formed the words

"Pinkerton National Detective Agency". Finally, she looked up at Frankie. "So you really are a lady detective?"

Frankie grinned. "Well, I'm a detective – the lady part is debatable."

Tess stared at her, stunned for a moment, then started to

laugh. "I've never met anyone like you before," she said with a shake of her head.

"No?" Frankie quirked an eyebrow. "I thought you said you'd met others like me?"

"I was wrong about that," Tess murmured.

Frankie wondered if that was a good or a bad thing. She

swallowed when she saw Tess sliding up her dress to hide the small revolver in her garter again.

"So," Tess said when she let the dress' hem fall to her ankles again, "what do we do now?"

Frankie thought about it for a while. "Make Abrams an

offer," she finally suggested. "Tell him you want to sell him your businesses."

"No!" Tess said vehemently. "I won't sell, least of all to him!"

"You don't have to," Frankie reassured her, "Abrams just has to believe that you do. Set a price that is low enough that 33

he can't resist, but high enough that he has to gather all his money to buy you out."

Tess smiled when she finally understood. "He'll have to use the money that he stole from me to come up with the full price. And when he goes to get the money..."

"... I'll follow him to its hiding place," Frankie finished the sentence. "So, what do you say? Will you work with me?"

"On one condition," Tess answered.

Frankie studied her cautiously. "And that would be...?"

"Tell me your name," Tess ordered. "Your real name."

Frankie had to laugh. "Frances Callaghan." Grinning, she held out her hand for Tess to shake. The soft fingers firmly gripped her hand. "But you can call me Frankie."

34

Independence, Missouri

September 18th, 1856

" Y OU WANT TO sell everything?" Jeff Abrams stared at her with vague distrust. "I offered to buy you out a hundred times before, but you always refused. Why now?"

Tess knew she had to think of a plausible explanation –

and quickly, before he became suspicious. "I met someone,"

she said, letting a small, dreamy smile play around her lips. "I want to begin a new, respectable life, and I can't do that in Independence."

"You met someone? Someone who wants to marry you?"

Abrams repeated mockingly. "Where did you meet him?"

Tess smiled again. "Well, actually... we met up here."

She gestured, indicating the upstairs rooms of the brothel. Her mind flashed back to the night Frankie Callaghan had broken

into her office.

Abrams shook his head, but didn't comment.

"So?" Tess prompted. "Are you interested, or do you want me to look for other buyers?"

"Of course I'm interested, but it'll take me some time to come up with all that money," Abrams said.

Tess knew she had to pressure him into acting fast. She

couldn't give him the time to think and make clever plans. "I need it by tomorrow," she said.

"Tomorrow?" Abrams echoed.

"I'll leave town the day after tomorrow. My love wants to sweep me away on a honeymoon!" Tess explained, clutching her hands to her chest.

Abrams rolled his eyes, but finally nodded. "I'll see what I can come up with on such short notice."

35

When Abrams left, Tess went to her window and waved

down the street.

Frankie Callaghan stepped away from the two ladies to

whom she had been talking. She was wearing a dress this

time, and she seemed as at ease in it as she had been in male apparel. She's not like Luke, Tess thought as she watched Frankie follow Abrams down the street. She's not like anyone I've ever met.

Frankie and Abrams disappeared around a corner.

Now she had to sit back and wait.

Tess sighed. Sitting around and waiting had never been

her strong suit. She had argued about that with Frankie for

most of the way back to Independence. Tess had finally

agreed to stay behind and let Frankie handle Abrams,

knowing if he noticed her following him, their plan would be in vain.

Still, Tess didn't like it. All her life, she had made her

own decisions and had taken action on her own. She had

never depended on anyone for anything. Trusting others

never came easily for Tess, but something about Frankie

Callaghan made her decide to take the risk.

She didn't doubt Frankie's honesty or her competence.

She had seen first-hand that Frankie could handle herself in a fight as well as her male colleagues could. Still, she couldn't help but worry. What if Abrams became suspicious and shot

Frankie? What if Frankie was lying somewhere, hurt and

bleeding, with no one to help her, while Abrams escaped with the money?

Tess shook her head. Stop it! Stop thinking about the

what ifs! Frankie can handle this. With another sigh, Tess settled down to wait.

36

Independence, Missouri

September 18th, 1856

" H EY, HEY, HEY, Mister!" Molly's sharp voice came from the hallway. "You can't just come up here and – hey!

Listen, Tess doesn't receive visitors in the middle of the day!"

Tess quickly got up and opened the door to her office to

find out what the commotion was all about.

Frankie Callaghan, back in male disguise, was striding

toward her, ignoring Molly who was trying to hold her back.

"It's all right, Molly," Tess said and opened her door wider. "He's... a friend of mine."

Molly stopped chasing after Frankie. "Ah!" She wiggled her eyebrows.

Tess didn't react. She was too impatient to learn what had

happened. "How did it go?" she asked as soon as she had closed the door behind them.

Frankie set down a bag on Tess' desk and opened it to

give Tess a glance at the money inside. She grinned widely

despite a cut at the corner of her mouth.

Without thinking, Tess reached out. She stopped herself

before her fingers could touch Frankie's lip. Touching

someone had been strictly business, an emotionless thing for a lot of years, and the sudden urge to touch Frankie, even in this small way, was throwing Tess off balance. She cleared

her voice and asked, "What happened?"

"Abrams tried to get away when he realized he was

caught," Frankie said.

Tess took a deep breath. "Did he?"

"No." Frankie smiled grimly. "He's enjoying the sheriff's hospitality as we speak."

37

Tess sighed. "Seems I have to find myself a new business partner."

"Why? You seem capable enough to manage on your

own," Frankie complimented. Her brown eyes held nothing but honesty and respect.

"If word gets out that a whore owns half of

Independence's best honorable establishments, business will

suffer," Tess explained. "And the sheriff would make sure to check on every single delivery for one of my businesses,

taking great pleasure in delaying them every time." She shook her head. "Having a male partner with an honorable name makes things so much easier."

"Only if you can trust him," Frankie reminded.

Tess sighed. "Yeah."

Frankie was silent for a few moments. "Do you think

Frank Callaghan would be trustworthy?" she asked, gesturing down her shirt-and-pants-clad body.

Tess stared at her. "You mean... you want to be my

business partner?"

"Why not?" Frankie shrugged. "I think I proved that I'm not after your money; you know I would never disrespect you

just because you're a woman, and you wouldn't even have to

share your money or your bed with me to ensure my loyalty."

So she knows exactly what my business relationship with

Abrams entailed, Tess realized. She eyed Frankie warily.

"Sounds like a good deal for me, but what's in it for you?" she wanted to know.

"Being a Pinkerton detective can be a dangerous and

strange job. It would be good to have a place where I could

just be myself and have a friend who knew all my secrets,"

Frankie said, looking at Tess with an open gaze.

Tess swallowed. To have that kind of trust put in her was

almost scary. "Why me?" she asked.

"Because I think you understand me better than anyone

else ever did," Frankie said. "We have a lot in common."

38

Tess arched a skeptical eyebrow. "I'm a brothel madam

and you're a Pinkerton detective, how much in common could

we possibly have?"

"We both play roles and pretend to be someone else for a living," Frankie said with simple honesty.

Tess had to look away. The understanding in the brown

eyes was almost overwhelming. When she looked back up,

Frankie was still gazing at her. "All right," Tess said slowly.

"I'll draft a contract that says Mr. Frank Callaghan is the new owner of all the businesses for the price of..." She winked at Frankie. "How much are you willing to pay?"

Frankie grinned and turned her pockets inside out. Only

her Pinkerton badge fell out.

Tess picked it up and held the piece of metal, warm from

Frankie's body heat, in her hand for a moment before handing it back. "Well, I wanted to give you a reward for bringing back my money anyway," she said and reached into the bag for a bundle of money.

Frankie's fingers around hers quickly stopped her. "No,"

Frankie said. "No reward necessary. I get paid to do my job."

"But –"

"No," Frankie repeated. "We Pinkerton detectives are not allowed to accept tips or rewards for our services. It's

company philosophy, and it keeps us honest."

Tess turned her hand around and softly stroked the

fingers that were still wrapped around her own. "No rewards, huh?"

Frankie slowly shook her head, not taking her eyes off

Tess'. "No rewards."

Not breaking eye contact, Tess stepped closer until her

body was almost touching Frankie's. "So I shouldn't do

this...?" she asked, lifting her lips up.

39

"Well," Frankie murmured, her breath hot on Tess' lips,

"I guess it would be all right if you kissed your new business partner and not the Pinkerton detective."

Tess slid her fingers up Frankie's neck and buried them

in short hair, pulling her unresisting business partner down.

"Deal," she whispered before her lips were otherwise occupied.

The End.

You can purchase the complete L-Book or eBook

from L-Book.com.

40

About The Author

I GREW UP amidst the vineyards and gently sloping

hills of southern Germany. I spent most of my childhood with my nose buried in a book, earning me the nickname

"professor" before I even finished elementary school. The writing bug bit me at the age of eleven. The very first piece of fiction I ever wrote was a 30-page western story that I still have somewhere (well-hidden because it alternately makes

me cringe and laugh when I read it today). I wrote two dozen mostly novel-length stories (westerns, adventure stories,

historical fiction, fantasy, science fiction - you name it, I've probably written it) in my "baby years" as a writer, but no one but my poor twin sister ever got to read them.

That changed when I discovered the Internet and the

wondrous world of FanFiction and online-stories. My parents

belatedly got their wish - I took my nose out of my books and started to spend my time glued to the computer screen

instead. Soon after, I wrote my first FanFiction, a Star Trek: Voyager story. Don't bother to search for it on the web; even if there was still a copy in circulation somewhere, it's in

German. Back then, I would have taken a thousand oaths that

I would never, ever be able to write more than a grocery list in English. Then I took an intensive, free online language

course - almost eight years of constant fanfic reading. Let's just say that I learned some words I later had trouble

explaining to my friends why I would know such expressions.

So in the beginning of 2006, I finally put my newly

acquired knowledge of the English language to good use and

wrote a series of three Law & Order: SVU fanfics in English.

As my confidence grew, I wrote a longer FanFiction and then

my first English historical fiction. In some way, I've come full circle, because "Backwards to Oregon" takes place on the Western Frontier. Other than the setting I promise that it

41

doesn't have much in common with my first childish attempt

at writing.

I still live in Germany, where I work as a psychologist.

When I'm not working or writing, I like to spend my time

reading, cooking for a bunch of friends, spending time with

my nephew and niece, and watching way too many crime

shows. I also enjoy learning new languages (Russian is my

latest project. I haven't found any lesbian online stories using the Cyrillic alphabet to help me learn though).

42

Other Titles By This Author

Backwards To Oregon – Lesbian: Historical Fiction,

Romance

Summary

" L UKE" HAMILTON has always been sure that she’d never marry. She accepted that she would spend her life alone when she chose to live her life disguised as a man.

After working in a brothel for three years, Nora

Macauley has lost all illusions about love. She no longer

hopes for a man who will sweep her off her feet and take her away to begin a new, respectable life.

But now they find themselves married and on the way to

Oregon in a covered wagon, with two thousand miles ahead

of them.

* * *

Conflict of Interest – Book I – Lesbian: Romance, Crime

Summary

W ORKAHOLIC detective Aiden Carlisle isn't looking

for love... and certainly not at the law enforcement seminar she reluctantly agreed to attend. But their first lecturer is not at all what she expected.

Psychologist Dawn Kinsley has just found her place in

life. After a failed relationship with a police officer, she has sworn to herself never to get involved with another cop again, but she feels a connection to Aiden from the very first

moment.

Can Aiden keep from crossing the line when a brutal

crime threatens to keep them apart – before they've even

gotten together?

43

* * *

Next of Kin – Book II – Lesbian: Romance, Crime

Summary

S EX CRIMES Detective Aiden Carlisle is slowly getting used to being in a committed relationship with Dawn Kinsley

— a relationship that isn't always easy since Dawn is not only a psychologist but also a former victim in one of Aiden's

cases. Aiden’s private and professional lives collide when

Dawn's newest patient gets in trouble with the law. Will she be able to stay objective enough to solve the case without

pushing Dawn away?

The same case also throws Deputy District Attorney

Kade Matheson's well-ordered life into chaos. In the last few years, Kade has taken case files and law books, not lovers, to bed. She has been focused only on her career and fought hard to win cases like Dawn's, but now the case forces her to

finally face her attraction to women. She suddenly finds

herself with two secret admirers — but which one is more

dangerous, the threat to her life or her heart?

* * *

Second Nature – Lesbian: Shape-Shifter Romance

Summary

N OVELIST JORIE Price doesn't believe in the

existence of shape-shifting creatures or true love. She leads a solitary life, and the paranormal romances she writes are pure fiction for her.

Griffin Westmore knows better — at least about one of

these two things. She doesn't believe in love either, but she's one of the not-so-fictional shape-shifters. She's also a Saru —

an elite soldier, investigator, and if need be an assassin with 44

the mission to protect the shape-shifters' secret existence at any cost.

When Jorie gets too close to the truth in her latest shape-

shifter romance, Griffin is sent to investigate — and if

necessary to destroy the manuscript before it's published and to kill the writer.

* * *

Thank You for Reading this short story by Jae.

45

Document Outline

September 12th, 1856

September 13th, 1856

September 14th, 1856

Abrams' Boarding House

September 15th, 1856

Stage Station September 16th, 1856

September 18th, 1856

September 18th, 1856

About The Author

Other Titles By This Author

Table of Contents

September 12th, 1856

September 13th, 1856

September 14th, 1856

Abrams' Boarding House

September 15th, 1856

Stage Station September 16th, 1856

September 18th, 1856

About The Author

Other Titles By This Author

Table of Contents

September 12th, 1856

September 13th, 1856

September 14th, 1856

Abrams' Boarding House

September 15th, 1856

Stage Station September 16th, 1856

September 18th, 1856

About The Author

Other Titles By This Author