A Secret Yearning

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BARNES & NOBLE
ALIBRIS

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A stolen kiss. . .

A stolen moment. . .

A Secret Yearning

She was running for her life when she felt his arms around her, a stranger in a dark alley whose searing kiss branded her soul. He was stunned to realize that the woman who'd left his lips burning was a nun! Regina Harrison couldn't afford to be unmasked, couldn't afford the passions he stirred. If her secret was unveiled, her life -- and those of others -- would be at stake. But when the counterfeit nun and the rugged stranger met again in the dark and terrifying night, he was the only one who could help, this outsider who held her life -- and her heart -- in his hands....

When their lives crossed in the darkness, Cole Wellington was still simmering with memories of a devastating betrayal -- by his wife and his best friend. He sought vengeance, not the emerald eyes and ivory skin of a nun he was forbidden to possess. But when fate brought them together a second time, he knew he would lay down his life to save her, the ravishing beauty with secrets to burn, secrets he vowed to uncover. . .

Reviews

"A SECRET YEARNING is an exciting and moving western romance starring two superb lead characters. . . No secret, fans will yearn for more novels from the talented pen of Debra Cowan."
--Affaire de Coeur

"Debra Cowan wraps her words around your heart and doesn't let go! This is what romance is all about!"
-- The Literary Times

"A SECRET YEARNING is a well written romance with an intriguing cast of characters."
-- Evelyn Feiner, Romantic Times

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Excerpt

She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the gentle breeze scented with wildflowers and loamy earth. Nights were her favorite. She needed those sacred moments after the children went to bed, when she could stand outside, remove her headpiece, and merge with the darkness that judged no man or motivation.

With her hair loose and flowing around her shoulders, she could pretend she was Regina Suzanne Harrison, a young woman who wanted nothing more than land and a place of her own. A woman who wanted to experience the touch of a man, the thrill of dressing for a dance, of sharing whispers with other women just like her.

But until Wendell Cross was brought to justice, she was Sister Regina, a nun who must control her every urge, guard every word and action and forget she was half in love with the man who had ministered so gently to her last night.

"So, you're up and about." The words were quiet, etched with a predatory tone.

Her eyes flew open and she gripped the door frame for support. Cole had moved silently in front of her. Potent power emanated from his rangy body. His ruthless black gaze scoured her face, tracked down her robe. A grin tugged at his mouth as if he knew she was naked beneath.

Her legs trembled, whether from fatigue or reaction she couldn't tell. She clutched her good arm around her waist and smiled. "Yes. I'm feeling much better."

"How's the shoulder?" He slid the mouth harp into his back pocket and leaned over to pluck up the neckline of her robe and peek at her bandages.

Stunned at his boldness, she pressed the scratchy robe to her breasts. Moist hot breath kissed the slope of her neck and a shiver ran up her spine. She was flooded with a sudden desire to lean into him and beg him to kiss her again. She imagined the shock on his face and bit back a smile. He thought she was a nun. It was better that way.

Remembering why she had come down, she pulled away slightly. "How are the children? Did you see them?"

"They're fine. I delivered your note." His eyes slitted as he considered her. "Seems you have a champion."

"Reverend Holly?" Puzzled, she tilted her head. Her legs still wobbled and she tightened her grip on the door.

Cole leaned against the opposite door jamb, his gaze scraping over her. "No, the boy. Elliot."

"You saw him? Thank goodness."

Cole's gaze sharpened on her. "He's with Holly."

She bit her lip, wondering if she should ask about James Cross.

"Didn't see your friend with the knife." Cole's voice was lazy, his eyes feral.

She tried a different tack. "Thank you for . . . saving my life and checking on the children."

"Uh huh." Tension scored his words, making her doubt the softness she'd seen earlier in him.

She raised one eyebrow though the movement seemed to take a lot of energy. "It's customary to say you're welcome."

"I want to know how grateful you are."

"I'm no fool." Her words came slowly as she prepared herself for what she knew was coming. "I know that man almost killed me and could've killed you."

"I'm glad you see it that way, Sister." His midnight dark voice caressed the words, reminding her again of his hot breath against her skin, his lips on hers. "I figure you won't mind telling me now about that bastard with the knife."

He wasted no time. Disappointment and anger flashed, but Regina reined in her temper, reminding herself that she had seen a softer side of him. He would listen to reason. "Cole, please understand. I have no answers for you."

"You mean you won't tell me. You're hidin' somethin' and I want to know what."

"I can't tell you. Can't you just leave it at that?"

"Like I should've left you to that bastard in town?"

"No." His words stung and again she fought back an angry reply, striving to appeal to the man she had glimpsed earlier. "I do thank you for helping me."

He edged closer, pushing her back from the door until his heat merged with hers and she could feel the brush of powerful thighs through her robe. "I want to know who that guy is and why he tried to kill you--us."

"I'm not asking why you sneak in and out of your family's life like a hunted man. Why can't you give me the same regard?"

"'Cause what I do didn't nearly get you killed." He leaned full into her then, trapping her against the wall with his body. The dusky odor of warmed skin and a trace of lye soap floated to her.

Above her head, he braced one arm. He raised his other hand to her face and stroked her cheek. His gaze dropped to her lips; slowly he ran his tongue over his own. "You are incredibly beautiful. Do you know that about yourself, Sister?"

"I-I am a nun," she choked out. Panic fluttered in her chest as his heat shimmered against her face. The dark scent of the man assaulted her. Rather than push him away, she kept her arms locked at her sides, hands curled into fists. If she touched him, she wouldn't want to stop. "Don't you have any respect? If not for me, then for the Church?"

"All I care about is the way you melted into me last summer. I haven't forgotten that and I don't think you have either." His finger traced lightly over her cheek, around to her ear. He leaned closer, until she breathed from him. "I think you want me as much as I want you."

"Stop it!" Finally, she allowed the dam on her anger to break. Fear of her reaction to him merged with the fury. Desperate, she used the only means she knew as she stood her ground, staring him down. "I am a woman of the cloth, not some saloon girl you can handle and paw every time you get around. You may not respect my religion, but at least respect the fact that I am not like other women."

"Oh, don't I know that?" Instead of moving as she had hoped, or even getting angry, he stared into her eyes. A hungry, relentless smile spread across his face.

That smile traveled down Regina's body, unraveling in her stomach, and pooling in a flame at the center of her thighs. Her body's reaction spooked her like his words hadn't.

Trying to throw him off, she bucked against his chest. Pain shot through her shoulder, but she drew herself up to run. Cole's powerful body blocked her way, never moving. Instead, his left arm closed around her waist and his right hand cupped her head.

Even through the headpiece his heat seared her scalp. Just as he lowered his head, he whispered against her lips. "Come on, Sister. Give me what I want." The words were low and hypnotic, deliberately seductive.

Warm lips slanted across hers, molding, caressing, tempting. Regina pressed her lips together, squeezed her eyes shut, and allowed her anger to swallow every benevolent thought she'd had about him.

There was no softness in him, no vulnerability, no hidden gentleness. She felt like a fool for believing so earlier and allowed that anger to come, too.

He nibbled at her lips, sending shivers across her shoulders. She focused on the rage and let it heat her body, control her mind. Her lips stayed clamped tight and she felt small satisfaction in it. Instead a small finger of sadness worked into her heart.

His tongue traced the seam of her lips, dipped into the corner. The wet silky play of his flesh against hers shot tingles under her skin. Her legs grew as weak as sun-warmed honey. Fighting for more than dignity, she focused her flagging energy on keeping her lips sealed against his coaxing invasion. Angry and wild with panic, she railed inside. A tear seeped out of her eye.

Dropping his hands from her, Cole pulled away. The abrupt loss of support caused her to take a balancing step back. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her, dark eyes glowing with anger and reluctant admiration. His nostrils flared; his chest rose and fell in rapid succession.

Her breath tore out in lung-stretching gulps. Exhaustion and the aftermath of anger set in, stripping her stamina and composure. The uncontrollable reaction to him beat against her will like hail on tin, punching holes in carefully erected armor. Regina didn't know if she could find the strength to walk, but she couldn't stay down here with him any longer.

She turned and stumbled for the stairs, only to be stopped by his voice. Raw, labored words hissed out. "I thought that would work for sure, but since it didn't, maybe this will."

She froze. He had planned to seduce answers out of her? Where was the man who had offered to check on her children, the man who had tenderly stitched her wound? She tried to ignore the pain that ripped through her, the inexplicable sense of betrayal. "Cole, I can't be any clearer. I have nothing to tell you."

"I think you do." His boots scraped the floor then he held something around in front of her.

Turning so the light from the stairway fell on his hand, she looked closer. A photograph wavered in front of her. A photograph of her family.

Shock and pure rage exploded in her veins. Tears burned her eyes. That photograph was the only thing left to her of them, their old life. She snatched it out of his hand and whirled, ignoring the arrow of pain through her shoulder.

"How dare you! You went through my things!"

"Damn straight." Tension coiled in his body. His arms and shoulders bulged tight against his black shirt; buttons strained with his heaving breath.

Her earlier image of him crumbled like charred wood. "That's the only reason you went there," she choked out, struggling against the tears burning her eyes. "The only reason you volunteered to check on the children. Did you even do that?"

"Of course," he said flatly. "I just took the time to look around when I finished."

"Took the time?" Her voice rose until she was yelling at full tilt. "Of course you would present it as a favor. Here I thought you were decent, caring, misunderstood. You're ruthless, a sneaking, conniving, lying son of a--"

"Uh uh." He moved with the deadly speed and grace of a springing mountain cat, pressing in on her and thumping the picture in her hand. "Tell me about this."

She wanted to tell him to go to hell, but she had spent too many months biting her tongue. She launched for the stairs. "I will not."

Undiluted rage poured through her, fueling her steps. How could she ever have thought he might care about anyone but himself?

Cole followed, his boots crashing against the wooden steps behind her. "Perhaps you'd like to know what else I found?"

"I'm not interested."

"I think you will be, although nuns don't have much, do they?"

At the silky smugness in his voice, she curled her fingers into her palm, squeezing until her knuckles ached. The anger was taking its toll on her weak body. Her shoulder throbbed. Each step came slower, burning the muscles in her thighs, along her calves.

"There were a pair of pantalets."

"Of course you would find those," she muttered darkly.

He kept step behind her. "The photograph, of course. An extra habit."

"Perhaps that will remind you of who and what I am." She reached the landing and started for the bedroom.

He followed close on her heels, too close, and his breath brushed her ear when he spoke again. "A medal of St. Augustine. Do all nuns carry those?"

"If they're of the order of St. Augustine," she snapped, walking into the room. How could she get rid of him? Would he hound her until she fell asleep from exhaustion? She stopped at the foot of the bed, wondering for the first time if she should tell him the name of James Cross so he would leave her alone.

Cole plastered himself against her, his chest cradling her back, his thighs hard and hot against hers. A whiskered cheek scraped her neck and his breath tickled her ear. "I also found a dead man in your lean-to."

His words were as gentle as a spring rain and jolted her heart to a painful stop.

Sweet Mary, Mother of God! He'd found Lance. Why, oh why hadn't she guessed when he thrust that photograph at her? Of course he would find Lance. Cole Wellington had gone there for the sole purpose of finding something.

Fear, anger, sadness, and welcome fury raced through her. The urge swelled in her to lash out at him, hurt him as much as he had hurt her.

She knew she was in over her head with him. She knew she should be careful. She knew she should control her anger.

Gaining a burst of strength from her fury, she turned and sidestepped him, looking for her sandals.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm leaving."

"Not until I get answers. Why is there a dead man in your lean-to?"

"If I tell you anything, it will only jeopardize my life. I'm sure you don't care about that, but I do."

"Why will it put you in danger? What have you got on the man who tried to kill you last night?"

"Get out of my way." He blocked her as she tried to look under the bed. She straightened, the room spinning around her, and glared at him.

He glared back, his eyes hard, unforgiving. She swallowed, not sure how to handle any of this, and stepped around him to where her guimpe lay in the floor beside the bed. "I can't give you any answers. Surely you, of all people, can respect that."

"Can't give me any because you don't know, because you're protecting someone, or because you're one of them?"

Regina froze in her search of the room, her stomach dropping. Dread hammered at her, but she couldn't stop the words. "One of who?"

He crowded against her back and grated, "That dead man is a field agent for Abe Grand."

How had Cole Wellington learned that about Lance? And what else had he learned? The confusion in her voice wasn't faked. "A field agent?"

"An undercover detective," he stated baldly. "Is that what you are?"

"No! No, I'm not. Lance wasn't--"

"He was wearing identification."

"You . . . went through his clothes?" First, he'd ransacked her room, then a dead man? She whirled, her fingers curling into a fist to strike his jaw.

He halted her easily, reaching out with a smooth implacable motion to grip her wrist. "Now, now. Is that any way for a nun to act? What about 'turn the other cheek'? What would the Church think?"

"In this case, the Church would grant dispensation." The hot words blistered the air between them, but the pause served to right Regina's reeling temper.

Cole's amused taunt reminded her of who she was supposed to be, but the core of anger burned deep, tempting her to release emotions she shouldn't. Her fingers flexed, her wrist still captured by his bruising hold.

"Sheathe those pious claws, Sister, and tell me what I want to know."

She was tempted, so tempted to confide in just one person. Curse his arrogant hide! It was almost as if he knew the truth about her and dared her to tell him all of it. But no, he couldn't know she wasn't truly a nun.

They stood toe to toe, his brute power pressing in on her, her chest heaving with anger and exertion.

Green eyes speared deep black ones. Every handsome line in his face was tight, drawn into carved stone. The laugh lines around his hard mouth were creased with anger and impatience. His lean rangy body was as taut as a drawn bow. He wouldn't rest until he had answers.

"W-What did you do with Lance?"

"Me? Nothing. Marshal Sanders has him now."

"Marshal Sanders?" Her eyes widened; her heart skipped to a triple beat. Cole had turned in the body to the marshal. Had he also told him where he found the body and what had happened to Regina last night? She stood staring at him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing he had rattled her, but needing to know if she should expect a visit from Ted Sanders.

"Don't worry. I didn't turn in the body. I believe the boy, Elliot, led Ted to the lean-to."

"So you didn't . . ."

"Tell him about you? Not yet. Which doesn't mean I won't. And I wouldn't expect Ted to be as patient as I've been."

He had been as patient as a vulture swooping down on a fresh carcass, but Regina didn't feel now was the time to point that out. How much could she risk? With frustrating certainty, she knew she had to tell him something. Part of the truth, but not all. It was better to give Cole some information than risk drawing in yet another uninvolved party and possibly threatening her safety.

Meeting his flinty gaze, she relaxed her rigid arm and opened her fist, palm up, showing him she would withdraw. Long seconds ticked between them as he contemplated her face. Seemingly satisfied, he released her and she rubbed her aching wrist. She backed toward the bed and sat down, as much from fatigue as to hide her shaking. The ache in her shoulder had flamed to fire again, burning with icy heat.

"I-I knew Lance, Lance Spradling, was an undercover detective. He was a friend of mine."

"How did you know him?"

She sorted through the truth, searching for answers to satisfy him until she left--she'd already decided. "I met him in St. Louis a couple of years ago."

"Was he a detective then?" Cole stepped up to the bed until his knee brushed the mattress. Heat surged from his body to hers. Anger still ribbed his voice; he sounded harsh and winded.

Regina stared at the tip of his black boots, lost in the memory of the night she had met Lance at Abe's house. The night of her father's murder. The memories took her mind briefly from the pain in her shoulder. She answered with a sad smile, speaking of Lance but thinking of her father. "He's always been a detective."

"What was he doing in your lean-to?"

She had no intention of telling him the lean-to was a safe place for the detectives, but could she satisfy him with sketchy details? "He came to give me some information."

"What?"

"I won't tell you that. I will say--"

"Damn it!" He shifted, his anger swallowing the space in the room.

"I must get to St. Louis by the first part of September." Her gaze sparred with his. Had she meant to tell him that? Her body hurt; her mind felt downy and thick, but she had told him nothing that would endanger her business with Cross.

Cole shifted closer, threatening in a more subtle way than he had before, but threatening just the same. She thrust out her chin.

His chest and shoulders swelled and she knew he was struggling to control his anger. He cocked an eyebrow at her. "And if you don't get there?"

She glanced at her shoulder. "Haven't you figured that out?"

"What part does he play?" They both knew he referred to the man with the knife.

Regina hesitated, unsure about how much she should reveal. Cole stood unyielding and dangerous in front of her, barely leashed power coiled in his body, capable of exploding at any moment. Her shoulder throbbed; fatigue seeped through her bones, sucking her energy, draining her will. What could it matter to tell him now? He would not know how James Cross was related to her business in St. Louis.

She unconsciously placed a hand on her injured shoulder, trying to soothe the fresh flare of pain. Her bandage felt sticky, matted against her skin. Was she bleeding again? "His name is James Cross."

"Cross!"

The word exploded from Cole's lips with such force and familiarity that Regina immediately regretted naming the man.

"You know him?"

"I've heard of him. Who hasn't?" Cole pivoted on one heel and paced the length of the bed. "He and his brothers are about as well known as Jesse and Frank."

"You're on a first name basis with the James brothers?" Dread hooked into her, pulling tight in her stomach. She shouldn't have told him.

He ignored her question and strode over to stand in front of her. "How do you know him?"

"I don't really."

He shot her an impatient look. "Try again, Sister. I assume you do know he's a murderer."

"Well, I'd guessed that," she said drily.

"How in the hell did you come to be involved with someone like that?"

She pressed her lips together and stared up at him, trying to keep her gaze locked with his. Fatigue swirled through her, dissolving the small strength she had. Her lids felt heavy, as if she were drugged. He would get nothing further from her.

"Oh, we're back to that, are we?"

"I'll leave tomorrow."

"And go where?" He looked angry and amused at the same time.

"St. Louis, I guess."

"You goin' by horseback, stage, what?"

"I-I hadn't thought about it. Yet."

"Probably should. I don't think you've seen the last of James Cross."

"I could wait at the orphanage." She had no intention of doing so. She had only spoken to hide her panic.

"Endanger the children." The words were calm, matter-of-fact. He eased down in the ladder-backed chair and shucked off his boots. "And you're too weak to even put on your clothes."

She glared at him, torn between anger and shock at his obvious intent to stay in the room with her. Before, she had been unconscious and it hadn't seemed important. But now . . ..

She hated his logic, hated his smugness, most of all hated that she had to stay here at least one more night. There was no mistaking the wet heat spreading on her shoulder.

He was right, of course, even if he didn't know she was bleeding again. Her strength had ebbed right out of her, like yolk from a broken egg. She wouldn't make it far.

He stretched out in the chair and pulled his hat low over his eyes. "Holy hell, James Cross. What do they teach you at those convents?"

She blew out the lamp and eased down on the bed, aching for the day she could send Wendell Cross to prison and tell Cole Wellington to go to hell.

The wool of the robe suffocated her, made it hard to breathe. Huddled under the sheet, she peeled off the robe and dropped it on the floor. After considerable groping, she came up with her chemise and managed to pull it on. The effort left her breathless with fatigue, her shoulder throbbing. She pulled the sheet up to her chin, shielding herself from Cole.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could just make out Cole's hat still covering his face. Better for him than Marshal Sanders to know about James Cross, but Regina still chafed that she had been forced to tell. She couldn't risk disclosing any more information. Tomorrow she would have to leave.

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