EVALINE'S GRIT

Something hammered at the back of his head. He groaned and rose, but a gentle touch pressed his shoulder.

“Don’t try to move too fast.”

Alarm flashed up his spine, and his eyes shot open. His breath caught when he found an angel hovering over him. Evaline Cameron.

“How do you feel?” the vision asked, her face drawn in lines of concern and care. “What hurts?”

With her leaning over him? Nothing. And everything. As his head pounded, so did his pulse. He had to send her away. Now. “Could you…scoot back please?”

Apology shone in her wary brown eyes, and she did as he asked.

Slowly, he pushed to sit, then lifted his hand and touched the spot that burned at the back of his head. He pulled his fingers away, and some blood coated his skin.

She gasped. “Here. Press it gently to the spot.”

He glanced at her, then down at the wet handkerchief she held out to him. He hesitated. But he needed something to stop the bleeding, so with his eyes averted from her, he took the linen. He gingerly placed it on the wound, wishing the hammering would stop.

Of course, it didn’t help that the woman who tempted him to rejoin life knelt near him. She had as much to do with the battering going on in his body as his injury.

“What happened?” she asked.

He couldn’t have a conversation with her. He had to get her to leave. “Doesn’t matter. I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” she argued gently. “You were unconscious.”

He moved to stand. “That’s passed. I appreciate your kindness.”

She’d also risen, her face filled with concern and alarm.

But he ignored what he saw and tried to give her handkerchief back. However, the blood staining the linen gave him pause. “I apologize. I’ll wash it and leave it with the bottles when your father delivers supplies next week.” He lowered his arm.

“Mr. Walsh, I think I ought to make sure you’re all right and fetch the doctor. Knocks on the head can be dangerous.” She smoothed a palm over her stomach, then linked her fingers together and rested her hands against her skirt.

He’d experienced worse. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for your care.”

With a look of uncertainty, she bit her lip. “No gratitude is necessary. I was glad to be here, even though seeing you lying on the ground like that frightened me.”

He grimaced. “I’m sorry about that.” If he’d been paying better attention, he wouldn’t have smashed his skull against the bottom of the upper half of the outside cupboard he used to store supplies.

She shook her head. “No need to apologize. Really.”

He needed to ask her to go. Now. He drew in a breath, but she interjected with, “You’re so alone out here that I worry for you. What if you get hurt worse than this? No one would be around to help you.”

Which suited him. He didn’t deserve to live after killing a husband, father and friend. A good man. “I’m capable of caring for myself.”

“Yes, but—”

​Despite the throbbing in his head, he lifted a hand and said firmly, “Miss Cameron, I’m fine. Please, return to town.”

"Ms. O'Neal's books are always entertaining. This one headed in a different direction and was fun to read. The ending was a surprise. I had the story figured differently but, as usual, I was surprised by the true "culprit". Couldn't put it down until I knew!"

-- Amazon Reviewer

"I think this is my favorite story in the series, and I loved them all. This was a true story about overcoming something tragic. Love conquers all."

​-- Amazon Reviewer

THE ROSE OF SHARON

​He loved her.

He had to stop lying to himself, stop pretending.

He loved her.

Libby Truman.

Libby Mae Truman.

At the thought of her name, his heart swelled to almost bursting.

He allowed her angelic form to materialize in his mind’s eye, and his pulse began to race.

Letting out a slow breath, he rose from the chair behind his desk. He drifted closer to the second-story windows of his office and looked out at the sunset.

The red was blending into orange. West Texas had its beauty, and it never failed to amaze him. The rawness of the land, the untamed nature, had appealed to his soul, and despite what his wife had wanted, he’d settled here to build his legacy.

And that’s when it had all gone bad.

Penelope hadn’t wanted to live in Brownwood. She’d wanted Austin. Or Houston.

He’d put his foot down.

That had been his mistake, but he’d tried to make up for it. He’d worked his fingers to the bone, had created three companies, had amassed enough wealth to give her whatever she wanted.

Whatever she wanted, though, was never enough.

He hadn’t known that the strawberry-blonde curls, the sparkling hazel eyes, the sweet smile had hidden a selfish, manipulative viper.

After ten years of trying, he’d given up. He’d fallen out of love, which made having a marriage impossible. Not that Penelope had cared or noticed. She’d thrown all her efforts, time, love, and care into their son, Anson.

Who was now in prison. For murder.

As it always did, the memory of his child being arrested, tried, sentenced, and taken away made his heart crack. It was a wonder the organ still worked.

He thought about his life, catalogued his mistakes and regrets. Hanging his head, he slipped his hands into his pockets, pushing his gray suitcoat back.

There was only one bright spot in his world.

Libby Truman.

Blonde-headed, blue-eyed, petite.

Generous. Hard-working. Highly intelligent.

Fiercely independent.

They’d operated side-by-side over the years, both helping with various social functions. He’d sat on the Town Council multiple times, and she’d been the leader of many events that had needed the council’s approval. They also attended the same church, where she was very active, and had consistently inspired him to be the best he could be.

She was the epitome of womanhood.

And yet, she’d never married. He didn’t even know if she’d ever been courted.

The man who might turn her head would be the best of men.

And he was not.

Yes, he was a good businessman, and he had reasons to believe he was a good boss and a good Christian. But he’d failed as a husband and father, the two most important roles.

He lifted his head and gazed once again at the setting sun.

And thought of her.

Libby.

He loved her.

Brannon Welch loved Libby Truman.

He would hold the truth inside, though. He would never act on his feelings.

He had a wife. She’d deserted him, had moved back to Dallas, but he had one.

And Libby had principles. She never went back on them.

He smiled softly.

​My God, how I love her.

"Set against the dusty charm of Brownwood, Texas in 1883, this western romance delivers a tender, mature love story wrapped in danger, longing, and second chances. Libby Truman, a woman who has rebuilt her life with dignity and restraint, becomes an unexpectedly compelling heroine as mysterious Rose of Sharon blossoms begin to stir feelings she thought she’d buried forever.

Brannon Welch is equally captivating—a respected businessman whose quiet devotion to Libby feels both forbidden and deeply human. His emotional journey, especially after his wife’s abandonment, gives the story a grounded, heartfelt tension. Their connection grows with a slow-burn sweetness that feels earned, not rushed.

Just when romance begins to bloom, the novel pivots into high-stakes suspense. The threat that rises against Libby injects urgency and grit into the narrative, pushing Brannon into the role of protector in a way that feels both classic and emotionally resonant. The blend of romance and frontier danger keeps the pages turning.

Overall, this story shines because it centers on characters who have lived, lost, and learned—and who dare to reach for love anyway. It’s a warm, mature western romance with just enough peril to keep your heart thumping."

-- Amazon Reviewer
​

HIS FEISTY FIREWHEEL

​“What did you mean giving me this?” Laura declared, holding up the firewheel he’d tucked behind her ear earlier.

Owen’s heart was racing. His blood was pumping. The only way out of this was to fight with her. “I meant it as encouragement,” he ground out as desire burned through him.

She set her jaw in that stubborn way of hers and lowered her arm. “Encouragement?”

He nodded sharply.

Her cheeks reddened as if she wanted to rail at him.

Please, God, let her take my head off.

She shifted from foot to foot as the silence thickened. She stared him down. “I don’t believe you,” she finally said.

He gave as nonchalant a shrug as he could manage. “It’s the truth.”

She took a challenging step forward.

He curled his hands into fists. Don’t touch her. Don’t touch her. Don’t touch her.

“It can’t be,” she argued, fire smoldering in her sapphire eyes. “This is a gesture of affection. Of caring.”

Of love, she wanted to say. He could hear it.

He shrugged again. “Of course, I care for you. You’re like a sister to me.”

The fire in her gaze leapt and turned into an inferno. She flung the flower to the carpet. “Sister! I’m a sister? That’s all?”

He clamped his mouth shut as her pain began to whip his flesh. He was hurting her. He’d never wanted to hurt her.

“That can’t be all. After all these years. After everything we’ve been to each other.”

Tears were spilling over her cheeks, making his heart rip open and bleed. His breath came harder and faster.

“You’ve been my champion, and I’ve been your helper! You defended me repeatedly, with your fists even, and I sat constant at your bedside when you were sick and no one could cure you! And you say I’m nothing more than a sister to you?” She was shaking from the force of her pain. “How dare you! How can you be so cold? How can you torment me this way? You truly wanted me to marry someone else? You would’ve walked me down the aisle to another man? Handed me over? Let him—”

​In one great leap, he was in front of her, yanking her into his arms, destroyed by the picture she was creating.
He slammed his mouth onto hers, taking what he knew in his bones belonged to him.

"Me. O'Neal's books are always fun. She is committed to story telling and doesn't get bogged down by adding controversial topics and inappropriate language. In a world where such things are in our faces every day, it's great to escape into one of her stories."

​-- Amazon Reviewer

SUNFLOWERS FOR HER

​As Millie gathered her thoughts and tried to manage the hard pound of her heart, she studied John. He didn’t appear as if he’d also been tormented by their kiss throughout the day.

But it didn’t matter. She had to know, or she was going to lose her mind like she’d already lost her heart. “I have some questions,” she stated succinctly.

“All right.”

“Actually, I have two questions.”

“Two?”

“Yes.” She took in a deep breath, then said, “There was a painting of a field of sunflowers in the auction.”

He stilled and an arrested expression came over his face.

Hope surged within her. He had painted it! “Are you the artist?”

He didn’t immediately answer and swallowed hard.

She didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, but she had to know.

“Yes,” he said gruffly. “How’d you figure that out?”

Her cheeks flamed with heat, and she nibbled on her bottom lip. Her heart was pounding so hard. Why do I keep doing all of these scary things?

Before she could lose her nerve, she closed her eyes and said in a rush, “I was curious about your other desk and saw your drawings on it the night you tried to give back the bandages and medicine.”

After her confession, there was silence.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and found him rubbing his jaw.

“I’m sorry,” she said hastily.

He waved her off. “It’s all right.”

“I invaded your privacy.”

“Millie, it’s all right.” He lowered his arm. “What’s your other question?”

Oh, dear. Knots were forming in her stomach. What was she doing? She was being too forward. She was not herself. She was--

Enough!

All of her anxiety and agonizing had to end.

She lifted her chin. “You titled the painting “For Her”. Am I ‘her’?”

​The lines of his face went instantly unreadable, and he blinked at her. “No.”

PRICKLY POPPY

​With his drink in hand, Kit turned to face her.

Hazel twitched her lips, irritated, embarrassed, and apprehensive with depending on him.

He assessed her with his gaze while the silence stretched.

She refrained from fidgeting and didn’t dare fall into the trap of asking him what he thought of her now. Certainly, he didn’t judge her.

But she really had no idea what he was thinking. He was a ridiculous mystery she didn’t care to solve.

He quirked his lips at her. “I find it hard to believe that any man could pull one over on you, so I don’t think you ever really loved this bastard.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line, remembering things she didn’t want to. He was wrong. She had loved him.

Kit cleared his throat, seeming to accept what was ahead for them. “You don’t want me to take you, and I understand that. But I’m what you’re gonna get. I might be a…” he furrowed his brow as if trying to recall something. “What did you call me that first time we spoke? A conceited hell-trap?”

She flushed but still kept silent. It was true anyway. She had not been wrong.

“Yeah, that was it.” He chuckled then took a sip of his drink, watching her over the rim. He let out a satisfied breath, then glanced at the amber liquid. “Good stuff.”

Annoyance began to simmer inside her, and her cheeks heated with the control it took to bite back the reprimand burning her tongue.

“I can see you’re gettin’ het up again, so let me finish.” He leaned forward slightly. “I’m taking you. I’ll protect you once we’re there, and I’ll sure as hell relish the chance to make this ass pay for hurtin’ you like that. No one’s gonna put a hand on you or your cousin. If I have to kill this Anson Welch, I won’t bat an eye. He deserves to be horsewhipped for lying to you and treating you like that. Nothin’s gonna happen to you.”

If he’d told her he was going to be a priest, she would’ve been less stunned. For the first time since knowing him, he actually seemed responsible. He’d spoken with such conviction and determination that she couldn’t doubt a single one of his promises. His words had mollified her somewhat, and she relaxed slightly.

“No one’s gonna hear about your secret from me, either.”

Well…

He had effectively assuaged most of her concerns. They still weren’t going to get along, but they were both adults. Surely, they wouldn’t argue for the entire duration of the trip. Her uncle trusted him. For some reason.

So…she was going to let it go. It remained to be seen if he was the best person to take her, but her uncle was wise and usually a good judge of character.

She twitched her lips, realizing she needed to say something, especially since she’d protested quite vehemently. After taking a deep breath and letting it out, she said with acquiescence in her tone, “Thank you. I appreciate your help and your discretion.”

“You’re welcome.” He rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “You’re probably not gonna like this, but I hope I at least get to knock your former fiancé around some. I can’t imagine anyone runnin’ around on you. You’re a pretty little thing.”

His words stunned her. She didn’t know what to say to his compliment, especially since it was coming from him.

“I still think you’re prickly, though.”

And her surprise shot into irritation. She gritted her teeth.

​He took a final swallow of his drink, winked at her, then left.

THE RAIN LILY

“I’m…glad your heart isn’t broken over him,” Keaton said. “He never deserved you, Adeline.”

His words, and the low timbre of Keaton’s voice, caused her pulse to race. She lowered her lashes. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“I’m not being kind,” he insisted. “You bring joy wherever you go. As I said, your personality is refreshing and shouldn’t have been wasted on someone like Harris.”

Her throat went dry, and her chest tightened. She couldn’t look at him.

The silence grew heavy, and she felt him recognizing her sorrow and guilt.

“I miss that woman,” he said firmly.

Her gaze shot to his.

A determined, confident expression lined his face. “I miss the woman who enjoyed life, who laughed with abandon, who spoke to everyone, and included everyone in her fun.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I miss the woman who knew her worth, who understood that she had so much to give, who could send a room full of people to new heights just by entering it.”

Her throat went raw with emotion, and it was taking all her control not to cry. “That woman destroyed a marriage.”

“Dudley and Daphne are still married,” Keaton argued. “You did no such thing.”

“I shamed my family.” A tear slipped over her cheek. “They disowned me.”

“A knee-jerk reaction that will change as time goes by.” He waved a dismissive hand. “They miss you, I know it. They’re grieving and not sure how to forgive you, but they will.”

She shook her head and dashed away the few tears sliding over cheeks. “You didn’t see the faces of my parents. You weren’t subject to their righteous anger.” Her shoulders began to shake with the strength it was taking to hold back her sobs.

“Adeline—”

“No!” She jumped up. “What I did was wrong! I don’t deserve happiness! I don’t deserve—”

He shot to his feet and gripped her upper arms. “Stop! That’s not true.” He gave her a gentle shake. “You can’t think like that. I understand that you feel guilty, but that doesn’t mean you should relegate yourself to the shadows, that you condemn yourself to a life in a prison of your own making.”

Her insides hurt. He was asking her to, no, demanding, that she forgive herself. She couldn’t do it. “I…I c-can’t.”
Earnest, he stepped closer to her and cupped her cheek with one hand. “Adeline, please. Don’t hate yourself. You don’t deserve that. You deserve goodness and happiness. You deserve a life.”

More tears escaped and she shook with the effort it took to keep from breaking down.

Gently, he brushed his knuckles down her jaw. “I could give that to you,” he said softly, intently. “I want to make you happy. I want to protect you and shelter you. I want—” He let out a quaking breath. “Adeline,” he whispered, a benediction.

​He took her mouth hotly, desperately.

"Our Review: First, and perhaps most important, the characters in this story—indeed the entire Texas Wildflowers series—are so well drawn they should be used as a blueprint for a workshop in creating memorable characters. On another topic, this same story is an excellent teaching for establishing goals, motivation and conflict in the first five pages, then reinforcing then throughout the story. The Rain Lily is masterfully crafted and carried through to the very end. Do Not Miss this one. It’s a winner on every level. Based on a scale of 1-5, The Rain Lily merits an 8."

-- Kat Henry Doran, Wild Women Reviews

​

MISS GREEN EYES

​She turned toward the gate, took one step then halted in her tracks.

Ewan was bracing his forearms on the fence, watching her.

How long had he been there? If the past twenty minutes hadn’t been private, she was going to tell him exactly what she thought of that.

Setting her jaw, she started briskly toward him.

He straightened as she got closer. When she reached him, he quirked his lips at her. “I know that look. I’m in for it, aren’t I?”

His dry tone irked her, but she refrained from being baited into scolding him over it. “How long have you been here?”

He shrugged. “Just a few minutes. I stayed behind to talk with Jacobs.” He glanced over her shoulder toward the graves. “Came here to pay my respects before heading home.”

Could she believe him? She never knew if he was telling the truth when it came to their…banter. He always seemed to be teasing her through veiled comments and slightly mocking looks. When he’d called her Knobs all those years ago, she’d declared war, and he’d been very willing to charge headlong into battle. Neither had surrendered.

“That’s kind of you,” she replied, though her tone carried a trace of doubt. Not about him wanting to pay his respects, but about how long he’d been there.

He made no comment about her suspicion and silence fell between them.

A breeze came through, pulling at some locks of her hair. She pushed her handkerchief into her skirt pocket and let out a sigh. She looked toward the road, thinking about what her father had charged them with. “So…we’re traveling companions.”

“Seems like it.”

She twitched her lips. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’d rather not go.” She forced herself to meet his always confident gaze. “There’s nothing in it for you.”

“That’s not true. Apparently there’s some sort of surprise at the end.” He gave a slight grin, then made a dismissive gesture with a hand. “But that doesn’t matter. Your papa asked me to escort you, and I’m gonna do that. You’ll be safe with me, Annalee.”

That she knew. The tales she’d heard about his bravery and strength should be written in one of those dime novels. “I appreciate it. I’d rather not have Peter questioning my decisions for six months, and I’m sure he’ll be uncomfortable doing so.”

“He said as much when I spoke to him.” Ewan removed his hat, and the sun shone off his raven hair. He checked something on the brim of his white Stetson, and continued, “I’m sure this journey isn’t gonna be difficult. Probably the hardest thing will be sleeping on the ground.”

And being in close proximity to him, but she kept the comment tightly reined. “I’ve always wanted to ride the trail. Papa told me it wasn’t necessary, especially since we don’t have to drive cattle as far now that trains reach farther.”

Ewan put his hat back on. “He’s granting you a wish. Hopefully, you’ll enjoy yourself.”

As long as he didn’t bait her, she would. Their interactions the last several days had been more subdued. He hadn’t teased her once. But, then, her father had passed away. It would be disrespectful to irritate her on purpose. Besides, she knew he was grieving, as well. “I’m going to look at this journey as something to treasure. I’m sure you’re right and the tasks will be simple.”

“I’ve been thinking about the seven letters Jacobs had to send,” Ewan said. “There are seven stops along the trail that are in Texas, and after the seventh you’re in Oklahoma. I’m bettin’ our trip stops at Fort Worth.”

She perked up at that. “That’s where Papa and Mama were married.”

Ewan lifted his brow. “Oh, yeah?”

She nodded, excitement filtering through her. “Do you think there would be time for me to visit the church?”

A gentle light entered his eyes. “If not, we’ll make the time.”

Confused by the softness of his expression, she didn’t immediately respond. After a beat, she cleared her throat and said, “Thank you. I wouldn’t want to go all the way up there and not see where they were married.”

“Never know when you’ll be back,” he added.

She nodded, then quickly covered any possible awkward silence with, “I’ll head on home now and start packing.”

He moved to the side so she could push through the gate. “You’ll be all right?” he asked her.

“Of course.” She gave a quick nod of her head in goodbye, then turned away. As she walked to Epona, the animal heard her approach and lifted her head from eating the soft grass near the fence. Once mounted, Annalee spared a look at Ewan who still stood in the same spot.

That gentle expression on his face was gone and had been replaced with the teasing one she knew so well.

“Don’t fall off,” he warned her.

Irritation spiked within her, but she refused to answer back. She lifted her chin, tugged on Epona’s reins then kicked her into a gallop.

Fall off!

When had she ever?

​He was impossible!

"From the first page of this short, intense western romance author O’Neal shows her gift for describing emotion in succinct detail, keeping the pages turning. Annalee’s profound grief is immediately compounded by shock, followed by—for a few short moments—helplessness and dismay and maybe a touch of fear. Then she spies Ewan at the edge of the cemetery and steel straightens her spine. A phrase, common to modern times, fits quite well: Bring It On. Miss Green Eyes portends a terrific Wildflowers of Texas series and we cannot wait for the next edition. Based on a scale of 1-5, Miss Green Eyes merits a 7."

-- Kat Henry Doran, Wild Women Reviews

EVERLEIGH'S GAME

“You’re late.”

She yelped and jumped, covering her mouth as she turned toward the strong, firm reprimand.

A man stood in the open doorway of the parlor, his hands in the pockets of his gray trousers. She took in his short, blond hair, granite jaw, full lips, and piercing blue eyes, but it was his glower she fixed on.

“I-I beg your pardon?” she stammered, unable to gather her wits at his surprising entrance.

He pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. As he considered the time, he asked, “You’re Miss Everleigh Camden, the secretary?”

Foreboding slipped up her spine as her brain began to work and she realized who was speaking to her. “I am.”

“And your day starts at nine?” He closed his watch and returned it to his vest pocket before looking at her again.

“Yes.” She pressed her lips into a thin line. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to point out that Mr. Abbott hadn’t yet arrived either, especially since she had no idea how late she was. Perhaps fifteen minutes. Maybe.

As he regarded her, she refused to fidget and held her arms loose at her sides.

His glower did not ease, but he said, “In the future, you’ll be more respectful of our working hours.”

Her ire spiked, and she had to swallow a retort. “I assume you’re Mr. Wade Bennett?”

He nodded once. “I am.”

“You’re early.”

“By a whole week, yes, I know.” His mouth tipped up at the corners. “It’s much better than being late.”

She lifted her brow, noticing the nice masculine curve of his lips. She shook off the unwanted observation. “An opinion, Mr. Bennett. Who knows what I might have avoided by getting a later start this morning.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly and was quiet while assessing her once more. After a few moments, he said, “I’ve not had a female secretary before, but Abbott informed me you’re helpful.”

She smoothed her hands over the front of her form-fitting, linen, navy jacket and skirt. “I enjoy the work here and have been employed with Mr. Abbott for the last four years.” Ever since she’d gained control over her trust fund and had explained to her parents that she wanted a job before a marriage, she’d run the office of Paul Abbott. Her mother was still shedding tears she’d chosen a job over marriage.

Finally, Mr. Bennett moved from where he stood, strolling toward the seating area just in front of her desk. He stopped behind one of the leather, wingback chairs. “He explained you even help in court.”

She hadn’t expected Mr. Abbott to say so much. “Sometimes.”

“And that you’re discreet.”

“Always.”

Mr. Bennett’s expression finally eased, going from irritation to slight interest. “I’m looking forward to working here then. But tell me…are you usually late?”

Again, she had to bite back a retort, but she refused to shy away from answering correctly. “I have no idea.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

​She gave a nonchalant shrug. “Mr. Abbott isn’t so strict, so I’m not sure if I’m at my desk at nine sharp each day.”

Mr. Bennett’s blue eyes stormed with irritation. “Let’s be more mindful of it, shall we?”

How she wanted to argue, but he was as much her boss as Mr. Abbott. “Of course.”

He nodded then moved toward the railing with its swinging door. “If we could get started, I would appreciate it. I have a secondary reason for moving to Houston, and I plan on succeeding quickly and efficiently.”

She turned, finally noticing that the second desk that had been moved in last week held a blotter, pen and ink set, paperweight, and several stacked newspapers. Very ordered. Very…minimal.

Oh, dear.

She wasn’t going to like Mr. Bennett, despite his handsomeness and tall, capable frame. “And what is it that we will be doing?”

​He spread one of the newspapers out on his desk, and without looking up replied, “We’re going to catch the Shooter Creek Bandits.”

JOETTA'S LEGACY

​He grinned. “So, you like dancing now?”

Only if he was her partner. “I believe so. I feel I could hold my own with another fellow.”

Caleb’s brow lifted as their drinks were set before them. “You thinkin’ of leavin’ me for someone more to your liking?”

Her heart leapt into her throat, and she grew instantly fearful that another gentleman might ask. “No,” she replied emphatically.

A beat of silence met her emphatic response, then he remarked, “Only I will do, then?”

Oh! How had he done that? Her cheeks flamed, and she reached for her glass of water. She gulped while he chuckled.

“Don’t you worry, sweetheart. I’m not lookin’ for a different partner, either.”

She set down her glass and met his gaze. The heated promises shining in his eyes ensnared her. My goodness…

What was going on? The opposite sex had never been so attuned to her, yet Caleb Murry, a gunslinger and devil-may-care gambler, acted as if she were feminine perfection. Which she knew she was not.

And not only had his attention been so focused on her, he’d told her he found her interesting. That he liked her.
It couldn’t be true.

He let out a resigned breath. “You’re thinkin’ again. I can see uncertainty in your eyes.”

Heavens! Somehow, he could read her mind, which sent her pulse racing to an almost erratic beat. Anxiety slipped up her spine and made her throat go even dryer. “Why are you bothering with me?” she demanded. “We’re quite different from each other.”

When he opened his mouth to respond, she held up her hand to stop him. “You’ve told me you find me interesting, but I’m not sure I believe you.” Someone jostled her chair from behind, but she paid no mind to the non-threatening interruption. “How can someone like you, like someone like me?”

“Because I do,” he stated firmly.

She shook her head. “That’s not good enough. Do you honestly expect me to believe that I can hold your attention? What do you want? Are you trying to embarrass me? Do you have some sort of bet with a shared acquaintance?”

His eyes darkened with anger, but she continued, determined to get to the heart of his actions. “You’re a gambler and perhaps you’ve found something worth wagering over. What is it, then?” She lifted her chin, refusing to let him escape telling the truth. “My work? Do you want to know what I’m doing so you can use it against me? Or maybe you hoped I would make a fool of myself on the dance floor this evening? Perhaps—”

He stepped closer to her, swiveling her seat so he could press his thighs to her knees. He grabbed her chin between his index finger and thumb, effectively cutting her off.

As silent tension strained between them, the revelry continued, but the noise was unable to drown out the hammering beat of her heart in her ears.

“I’m here,” Caleb ground out, his tone hard and firm, “because I like you.”

She tried to shake her head, but he held fast and continued, “I’m with you and spending time with you because you’re interesting, different, and beautiful.”

It couldn’t be true. He was lying to her for some reason. “I don’t believe you.”

He emitted a frustrated growl, then abruptly pulled her from her seat.

Her feet hit the floor, and she barely had time to get her balance before he threaded her fingers with his in a tight grip and was tugging her away from the bar. She had no idea where he was leading her, but no one was paying them any mind. He took her past the bar, then a collection of billiard tables before kicking open a door and heading outside.

Oh! What had she done? He was angry, and she’d caused it. He was the Raven Devil, and she’d irritated him. What was wrong with her?

The night air surrounded them, and the sweet sounds of singing crickets and chirping frogs did nothing to temper his determined strides or loosen his grip on her.

She tugged, but he held fast. “Let go!”

“No,” he growled.

She dug her feet into the packed dirt path, her heart racing, her thoughts of what was about to happen sending her into a blind panic.

He whipped around and roughly grabbed her to him. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I would never physically harm you.”

As she shoved against his chest, trying to push out of his hold, she choked out, “Why should I believe you? No man has ever—”

“Stop comparing me to the sons-a-bitches who ignored you,” he demanded. “They’re stupid, ignorant bastards who couldn’t see your value.” He cupped her cheek, his shadowed face only inches from hers. “I like you, Joetta. I swear it.”

Tears of buried pain and doubts burned her eyes, but she blinked them away. “You can’t.”

“I do.”

She shook her head. “You’re the Raven Devil and—”

“To hell with that name!” he interjected. “I hate my reputation, and the life I’ve had to lead for over a decade. Can’t you just see me as Caleb Murray? Why do I have to be my profession to you? It’s only getting in the way of our friendship.” He tightened his grip around her waist. “I think you’re amazing. I’ve never known a woman like you.”

His words hurt her, because they couldn’t possibly be true, but how she wanted them to be. “Caleb, I…” She swallowed the lump of pain at the base of her throat. “I just can’t believe you like me.”

He let out a breath. “I do, damn it. I swear it.”

“It’s imposs—”

He took her mouth with his, plundering her lips, holding her to him in a strong embrace.

"Characters who break the mold have always intrigued me, and this book features two strong individuals who defy stereotypes. Joetta’s academic prowess renders her a social pariah in the late 1880s. Caleb’s sensitivity doesn’t align with his tough, gun-toting exterior or his gambling lifestyle. Although Caleb is known as The Raven Devil, his intentions are not malicious. Caleb respects women and goes out of his way to protect folks in distress. He’s not the scary villain his image and persona might suggest.

When fate— and a healthy dose of curiosity— brings these two unconventional souls together, sparks fly faster than the draw of Caleb’s infamous six-gun. But several issues complicate their relationship. Joetta is unwittingly entangled in Caleb’s searing revenge plot. Meanwhile, Caleb doesn’t fully understand Joetta’s clandestine research project. Love promises to be a bumpy ride for this brazen couple, yet their connection is too strong to ignore.

Joetta’s Legacy is a tale of unlikely love in the Post-Reconstruction Era. It’s also a reminder that vengeance is no match for the power of attraction. In this novel, Caleb grapples with guilt and remorse. He must come to terms with a long-standing grudge. Conversely, Joetta struggles to find her place in an openly hostile (and confusing) environment. She walks on eggshells, concerned she doesn’t fit in and plagued by self-doubt. Although these characters face separate battles, their hearts are united by a genuine desire for a brighter world. And their synergy is off the charts.

This tale transported me to a Western town with rowdy gamblers and pious churchgoers. I got serious Westworld vibes during Joetta’s first visit to a saloon, then swooned over Caleb’s delicate manner when he brought Joetta home. Joetta’s Legacy is sure to dazzle and delight. Perhaps most importantly, it will leave readers feeling deeply satisfied. Because even amid drunken chaos and warring cowboys, love reigns supreme."

-- Amazon Reviewer

​"You'll enjoy this ride back to 1870's Texas, heart of the west. What a treat to get to know each of these characters, Joetta and Caleb, from within their own point of view. The author gave me the opportunity to discover the heart of each, and how their personalities were shaped by their circumstances and the challenges life threw in the way. What do you do when the person you've planned for so long to use as a tool for exacting revenge, is so compelling? What do you do when you are a misfit within society? These two characters seem so very different at the start, yet somehow they are drawn to each other. They don't want to give in to their mutual attraction. The more they fight it, the more poignant the story."

​-- Amazon Reviewer

O​LIVIA'S TREASURE

​"We will all be safe.”

He lifted his brow, and a mocking light shone in his eyes. “How? You think Calvi’s just gonna forgive the debt? That’s foolish, Livvy. He won’t hesitate to hurt you to get what he wants, and he’s got all the leverage he needs to take you to court over it.”

She knew that. Her anger mounted as did her fear. She poked Kane in the chest. “I’m not stupid, and you can back away from me, Kane Tucker. You’re not in charge of me or what I choose to do. I asked you to—”

He circled her wrist with a tight grip. His breath came harder. His gaze snapped with fire. “And you can’t order me around, either. I’m here. I’m not going away. If anything happened to you…” He clamped his mouth shut, and he looked at her. Hard.

She didn’t want to know this. She didn’t want to hear that he cared, that she mattered. Because even if she did matter to him, he was not the type of man who settled. Who would care for her. Oh, he might desire her, but that didn’t mean he’d want her and only her.

She tossed her head, done with him. She was going to get him out of her life so she could get herself back. “I’m going to be fine. Mr. Calvi will get his money.”

Kane’s expression turned to one of concerned disbelief. “How, Livvy? Huh? You don’t make anything. You spend hours—”

She let out a noise of frustration and tried to yank her hand from his grasp. He only tightened his fingers around her. Her heart lurched that he didn’t want to let go, but it was not a gesture of love. It wouldn’t be. Not from him.

She stomped her foot, then announced, “I’m going to get married.”

If she weren’t so scared, so destroyed by the turn her life had taken, she would’ve broken into peals of laughter at his dumbfounded expression. All she could do instead was let her declaration hang.

​And she realized he wasn’t breathing.

“Kane?” she prodded gently.

​Suddenly, his gaze flashed fire. “No,” came his hard response.

"A romantic and well-written historical romance. I loved the gambler aspect, so unique and interesting. And the characters were fabulous. The heroine was strong and admirable and the hero was swoon-worthy. I enjoyed the plot twists and the villains were wicked and fun. And who doesn't love a treasure hunt? Fast paced, enjoyable read."

-- Amazon Reviewer

​"Kara O'Neal once again gives us a believable story of love, Romance & redemption with characters who touch your heart and make you smile as you root them on to happy ever after!"

-- Amazon Reviewer