| Copyright © 2004, Janet
Mills Reviews For NOTHING LESS THAN LOVE by Janet Mills "Nothing Less Than Love is nothing short of wonderful! This reviewer knows that Janet Mills is a skilled storyteller, but in this book, her writing talent soars to a new height! She completely captures this time period with vivid descriptions and dialogue that rings with realism and country charm. Her attention to the small details in life rounds out this story and breathes life into the characters. The romantic angle is off the beaten track, as Catherine is not considered a young woman. Her maturity, combined with a determination to marry only for love, will touch readers with sincerity. In the late 1800¹s women often married for security, and it was a unique woman who was willing to wait. Luke Matthews was a cowboy, and the author helped to dispel the negative images associated with this line of work by having this character explain his role in a cattle drive. Luke was as surprising as Catherine was with his gentlemanly manners and willingness to talk and listen. Janet Mills has given readers nothing less than her best in this book!"- 4-1/2 Hearts from Joyce at Love Romances "Janet Mills has once again penned an unforgettable tale! Nothing Less Than Love is a poignant story of betrayal, secrets, heartbreak, forgiveness and love. You become so absorbed in the characters and their lives that you don¹t want to see the story end. At thirty-nine, Catherine tries to get over her insecurities of being an older unwed woman. Luke has a secret that he doesn¹t want to share for fear that Catherine and others will think he is insane. As if those issues aren¹t enough to deal with, both Catherine and Luke have to contend with Catherine¹s father, Sheriff Campbell, who thinks no man is good enough for his daughter. In Nothing Less Than Love, Ms. Mills shows us that love can be found in the most unexpected place, with the most unexpected person, no matter the age. This is another book by Janet Mills that this reviewer highly recommends!"- 5 Angels and a Recommended Read from Cindy at Fallen Angel Reviews I really enjoyed this story. Ms. Mills takes you back to late 1800’s Wyoming with her wonderful story telling skills. A fast moving plot that keeps you hanging on every word and a storyline that draws you in make this story a fascinating read. Ms. Mills characters and scenery are so authentic that you can almost hear the cattle, feel the cool breezes, and taste the fried chicken as you read this wonderful tale. This is certainly a keeper for anyone who loves a charming and romantic story with a historical western flair. Susan Biliter 4 1/2 stars Sample Chapter For
NOTHING LESS THAN LOVE by Janet Mills
July 1886, Wyoming Territory "They're a-comin' now!" A welcome breeze blew strands of hair into Catherine Campbell's face as she turned in the direction of the young boy's shout. She lifted one hand to the brim of her straw hat to help ward off the harsh glare of the sun and watched as the cloud of sandy-brown dust grew near. The trail boss led a long parade of bellowing Texas cattle into town, their hooves kicking up puffs of Wyoming dirt as they began the short trek down the main avenue. A child darted out into the street, and all of Catherine's senses snapped to attention. She was about to lift her skirts and vault over the railing along the boardwalk when a man on the other side of the street grabbed the little boy and yanked him back to safety. Just as Catherine let out her breath in relief, a furious bull, tossing its head in rage, exploded through the crowd. Women screamed. Men shouted. Everyone scrambled to get out of the creature's way. Catherine's frantic glance sought an escape route, but she was jostled from behind. In one hot instant, she faced the huge beast, its black eyes fear-glazed, its nostrils flared, flanks heaving. Powerful hooves marred the wooden planks of the boardwalk. Catherine opened her mouth to scream, but terror clutched her throat. She stared in horrified silence, her body still as a tombstone as the animal lowered its massive head. The sharp tips at the ends of the bull's long, curved horns gleamed in the sun. Catherine squeezed her eyes shut and mouthed a fervent prayer. Suddenly an arm encircled her ribs, lifted her in one fluid motion, and slammed her back against a rock-hard body, forcing the air from her lungs. She found herself breathless and astraddle a distinctly masculine thigh as her feet dangled off the side of a large black horse. The pandemonium faded as the animal jumped the railing and galloped away from the boardwalk. "Easy now...easy..." The voice sounded low and gentle in Catherine's ear. Whether the cowboy wanted to soothe the horse or the woman anchored against him, she felt a peculiar comfort from his words and tone. Her racing heart began to slow, and she mouthed a silent prayer of thanks. As Catherine twisted to offer her earthly savior her gratitude, the horseman's grip on her shifted. Words jammed in her throat as his thumb brushed against the underside of her breast. "Pardon me, miss, but you shouldn't be wigglin' around." Catherine wasn't aware whether she slid or fell, but suddenly she was in her father's arms. "My God, Catherine. Are you all right?" He lowered her to the ground, his weathered face lined with concern. "I tried to get to you, but I couldn't make it though the crowd in time." "I'm f-fine," she stammered, briskly smoothing down her skirts. Catherine turned back to the mounted cowboy. Deep blue eyes held her gaze for several ticks of the timepiece fastened to her blouse. They studied one another in silence. Regardless of the layer of trail dust covering him from head to toe, her rescuer had the brand of looks that would turn any woman's head. He sat tall in the saddle, gracefully muscular and golden brown. His black mustache lifted as he smiled at her. Removing his gray Stetson, he revealed a crop of thick dark hair plastered by sweat to his head. A dingy red bandana ringed his neck. "Thank you," she murmured, lowering her gaze. It wasn't right to stare at a man that way. "My pleasure, ma'am." She sighed inwardly. He'd called her 'miss' only a moment earlier. Before he'd gotten a good look at her face. "Catherine?" Her father's voice rang with irritation. She glanced at him. "This man-" she started. "I know. I saw what he did." Her father scowled at the cowboy. The curt nod he gave the younger man had to suffice as a thank you. He turned back to her. "Let's get you home." She took a quick breath and gathered her scattered wits about her like a cape. Catherine allowed her father to lead her away as the remaining cowboys riding drag and the wrangler-driven remuda passed by. The crowd began to disperse. "I'll be fine walking home on my own," she said as they neared the sheriff's office and town jail. He hesitated, concern evident in his hazel eyes. "You needn't worry, Father. I just got a little shook up." She knew he watched her as she moved slowly down the boardwalk. Once she was out of his range of vision, Catherine changed her pace, hurrying home to the small white clapboard house on a corner lot at the north end of town. She let the screen door shut with a bang behind her and headed straight for her bedroom. Laying her hat aside, she poured fresh water from a blue and white porcelain pitcher into a matching basin on her dressing table, dampened a cloth, and brought it to her face. "Oh, this unbearable heat!" she exclaimed aloud. And that man. She'd been struck almost mute by his dark and devilish good looks, while his touch- accidental, or not-had been shamefully thrilling. Catherine frowned at her counterpart in the dressing table mirror and shook the cowboy's image from her mind. Men like him came through Rocklin regularly. She'd do well to remember the danger of becoming too friendly. Her frown deepened, causing more lines around her eyes. How many spinster schoolmistress jokes had she spawned today? An unmarried woman nearly forty years old, being swept into a strange man's arms-and practically fondled in public! She was no doubt the laughing-stock of Rocklin after such a debacle. Coaxing dark hair tinted with gray back into a neat bun, Catherine scolded her reflection. She wished it didn't matter what others thought, but she knew she could lose her teaching certificate if she didn't live up to the school board's high code of moral conduct. Lifting her chin a prideful notch, Catherine straightened the prim collar of her white cotton blouse and smoothed her skirts, then marched to the kitchen to begin preparing the sheriff's evening meal. * * * * Luke Matthews took his turn at the bathhouse, relaxing in the tepid water. The dirt rolled off his skin and stained the liquid surrounding him a ruddy brown. It was sure to leave a dark ring around the tub. His clothes lay in a heap on the rough wooden floor, most of the items in desperate need of laundering: a pair of worn and faded copper-riveted denim trousers, a plaid flannel shirt, wool vest, leather batwing chaps with wrap-around leggings, red bandana, socks, shorts, and, at the top of the pile, his gray plainsman-style Stetson. A pair of custom-made brown leather boots with fancy stitching, begging for a good polishing, stood in tired attention nearby. His most prized possession, a Colt .45 six-shot revolver, lay within reaching distance. He trusted the young wrangler to take care of his saddle. Luke grunted, thinking how some people were touting this as the last cattle drive on the Goodnight-Loving Trail from Texas to Montana. If he had his way there'd be one more, where he would lead his very own herd right smack into the heart of Wyoming Territory and start his own ranch, as he'd wanted ever since he'd joined his first drive at the age of sixteen. He'd spent that many years again trailing other men's cattle and working other men's spreads. Taking a breath, he plunged his head into the water, coming back up with a shout. Damn, a real bath felt good! He'd even splurged and paid for fresh water this time. He grabbed a brick of soap and hummed a merry tune as he set to scrubbing his scalp and hair, working up a fine lather before lounging back against the edge of the tub to let his weary mind and body rest. After being dirty for nigh on two weeks there was no telling what foul creatures might have set up housekeeping in his hair. The strong-smelling soap would take care of them. If only he'd been clean when he'd held that little lady. Luke vividly recalled his sudden taste of fear and sense of responsibility when that bull charged hell-bent into the throng of spectators, though the pretty little thing he'd rescued had sure felt like heaven in his arms. She'd smelled like vanilla and fresh air. Though he hadn't meant to touch her the way he had, he'd been delighted to learn she wore no corset. No bustle either. The lady's round bottom had felt wonderfully soft on his leg. If he lived to be a hundred, he'd never forget the feel of her. The lazy grin that the woman's memory inspired turned to a frown as Luke recalled the man with the sheriff's badge who'd claimed her, calling her Catherine. The lawman's scowl attested to his utter contempt for Luke, even when he'd clearly saved the woman from deadly harm. He had a healthy respect for the law, although he didn't always see eye-to-eye with the men sworn to uphold it. Luke let out a gust of breath. He had wanted to say something-anything-to that pretty woman today, but her fetching pink blush coupled with her husband's dark glower had effectively tied Luke's tongue. Conversing with loose-skirted dance hall girls and rough, hard-drinking trail buddies came easy to him, but he was well out of practice with the more respectable sort. However, if he had the good fortune to cross paths with the lovely Catherine again, he'd try to make amends. Even if she belonged to the sheriff. He rinsed his head and body as best he could and stepped out of the tub to dry off on a coarse towel hanging on a hook above his war bag. The bag held all the items he valued. He pulled out a set of clean clothes and placed it aside. A quick inspection of the wooden box at the bottom of the bag produced a comb, a mouth organ, and a thin New Testament Bible he'd owned since boyhood. Tucked inside the book was a well-traveled picture of his family: his ma, pa, brothers, sisters, and himself as a much younger man. Underneath the Bible were a few more odds and ends such as a needle and some heavy thread, a couple of mismatched buttons, a pencil, and a few scraps of paper. Buried beneath all that, safely hidden under a false bottom in the box, was a pouch containing all the money Luke had managed to save from his earnings as ranch hand and cattle drover. It wouldn't seem like much to many men, but to Luke it was a fortune. With it, he could buy several hundred head of cattle and a fair piece of land to graze them on. He pulled on clean clothes. Tomorrow the little town of Rocklin would celebrate the Fourth of July, then the cattle drive would continue the long trek north into Montana. Tonight, he could live a little. He shoved the idea of pretty married ladies out of his head. His mother had taught him better than that. Besides, he knew he was more suited to the kind of woman who took a man's money. He'd all but forgotten how to court a respectable female when every cow town he visited had a bonanza of practiced ladies-of-the-line. All he really wanted, he assured himself, was a good hot meal, a shot of fine whiskey, and a warm and willing woman. Luke combed through his damp hair, repacked his war bag, then headed out into the gathering dusk. * * * * Catherine stepped out of the mercantile and onto the covered boardwalk, holding the prized book by Henry James she'd wanted for several years. She was pleased that the elderly couple who ran the store were finally ordering quality literature and not just the dime novels so popular with the younger women in town. The early evening air felt refreshingly cool, but now wasn't the time to dawdle on her walk home. She could hear bawdy music being played on barroom pianos, sultry female voices, men's boisterous laughter, inventive swearing. The clamor rose and fell as drunken men spilled out of the saloons and into the street. She narrowly missed a disgusting brown puddle of tobacco juice as she hurried around a corner. Catherine bounced back from a sudden collision with a hard chest. Her first thought was that the man smelled clean. Her second was for the paper-wrapped bundle that she'd dropped. She bent to retrieve it. "Allow me, ma'am." She recognized that low, smooth voice. Her heart pounded. He'd called her ma'am again. The man crouched, setting a large cloth bag down beside him. He rescued Catherine's parcel before she could touch it. Glancing up, their faces whisper-close, her gaze immediately locked with his. The color of his eyes, even in the fading light, reminded her of the Wyoming sky. The cowboy winked at her, and the skin around his eyes crinkled appealingly. Catherine felt her entire body respond in a highly disturbing and undignified manner. "It is 'ma'am,' isn't it?" He grinned boyishly. Deep dimples appeared at either end of his mustache. A gust of wind tossed glossy black hair away from the chiseled features of his face. Strands of it curled intriguingly around his ears. The man's tanned cheeks and square, firm jaw were shaved smooth. Sweet heaven, he cleaned up good. "Surely that's no concern of yours." Catherine's brusque retort made the cowboy's dark eyebrows arch in surprise. "Thank you," she added hastily, her manners returning as an afterthought. "Again." She stood on unaccountably weak legs. "Good day." Thunderation! Normally prolific in conversation, she was suddenly having difficulty putting more than two words together. He grabbed her arm. "Hold on there, little calico." Catherine's glare traveled from his hand to his face. "Let me go." He tilted his head. "I only wanted to apologize." "Pardon me?" "I'm sorry." He appeared sincerely contrite, though for what, Catherine was uncertain. He released her arm. "There's no need for your apology. I'm very grateful... Oh!" Catherine covered her mouth with her hand. They weren't talking about the same thing at all, and here she was, thanking him! "I didn't mean to, uh... What I mean is..." His gaze fastened on the bodice of Catherine's blouse as though he'd find the proper words inscribed there. She let out a squeal of indignation and instinctively crossed her arms over her chest. His rich baritone halted her before she could hurry off. "Don't forget, I've got somethin' of yours." He held her parcel out in front of her, but when she reached for it, he raised it high above her head. "Tell me what's inside and I'll give it back." She gave him what she hoped was a haughty stare. "It's a book." "A book?" She nodded. "What sort of book?" "A book to read." He seemed to take delight in her sarcasm. In return, he gifted her with another disarming grin. "What's the title?" Catherine swatted the air above her head in a vain attempt to knock her purchase from his grasp. He rewarded her with a low, rumbling laugh. "Hand me the book and let me by," she demanded with as much dignity as she could muster. "As soon as you tell me what it's called." The man shrugged impressively broad shoulders. "I might want to borrow it." Catherine almost snorted. Surely, the man was illiterate. Considering she'd need a stepladder to retrieve her book, however, she decided she'd play along. "You don't think I can read," he said quietly, reading her mind, or at least her expression. His gaze narrowed on her. He lowered the book and ripped the paper wrapper from it. Glaring at Catherine, he read the title. "The Portrait of a Lady." Her heartbeat sped up. She'd managed to offend him without saying a word. What would he do now? She glanced around, but they were the only people on the side street. "Will you read it to your husband?" She snatched the book from his hand and hurried away before he could see the reaction his words caused. Obviously, the man assumed she was married because she looked so old. He'd studied her face long enough to see the lines of age etched around her eyes. Catherine felt ashamed for being attracted to a man who was surely ten or more years her junior. She hoped she'd never see him again. * * * * Luke glanced down at the cards in his hand and suppressed another grin. He was going to clean up the table again this round. The pile of coins in front of him had grown at a healthy rate, and it was about time to quit. The feeling of being watched nagged him. He kept his head slightly bowed but allowed his gaze to dart around the smoky room. The sheriff stood at the polished wooden bar, his posture erect and menacing as he stared in Luke's direction. Had the lawman spoken to his pretty wife since Luke's encounter with her on the boardwalk? Night had fallen, and the woman was no doubt at home, secure in the knowledge that her husband guarded their little town from the rough men who'd invaded it earlier in the day. Did children surround her? Luke could picture the scene but couldn't visualize the sheriff's place in it. The man seemed too stern and forbidding-and too old-to have such a lovely and spirited young wife. The tension filling up the space between Luke and the bar grew like weeds on a neglected grave. The lawman fingered the butt of his holstered pistol in mute threat. A woman stepped into Luke's line of vision. She spoke to the sheriff, then turned and sauntered toward Luke's table. He smelled lavender water and sweat as she approached, a combination that normally had him thinking of squeaking bedsprings and earthy pleasures. The blonde's bold presence at Luke's elbow now just invoked distaste. He played out his hand, collected his earnings, and started to rise from his chair. The adventuress quickly landed in his lap and wriggled her bottom. The view of her plump bosom encased in a tight bodice at eye level enticed him, but the kohl-black of her painted eyelashes and brows along with the odor of other men ruined her appeal. Her bawdy proposition earned laughter from the card players nearest Luke. He produced a lopsided grin as he declined her offer. "Let me know if you change your mind later, sugar," she drawled before leaving his lap and moving on to her next potential customer. She had a taker in no time. Luke watched the couple head for the open stairway. He shook the image of entwined limbs and tangled sheets from his mind. If the prostitute had been auburn-haired and vanilla-scented, he might have been the one climbing the stairs with her. "You missed yer chance, Matt. She wasn't half bad lookin'. You been with worse." Luke turned to his trail buddy, Dexter. He'd just taken most of the man's money, but they both knew Luke would give him the opportunity to win it back at a later date. "She didn't appeal to me, I guess," Luke replied with a shrug. "Since when does that matter?" Dex gave a bark of laughter. "I wager she'll be back soon. Clark don't have enough money left to pay her for much of her time. 'Sides, she'll probably offer you a discount." "Most of 'em do," another drover added to grunts of agreement from around the table. Luke grinned good-naturedly and stood up. "A walk sounds better tonight." He glanced toward the bar, but the sheriff was gone. Taking the last swallow of his whiskey, Luke nodded to his friends. "You boys enjoy yourselves." |