steak

In this game, a person will list a two-word item.  The next person takes the last word, makes it their first word, and adds a second word, creating a new word.  Confused?  Here's an example: 

First person:  Cotton candy

Second person: Candy apple

Easy, huh?  Okay.  I'll let candy apple stand.  Who's next?

The sleigh bells jingled as he bridled the horse.  “There isn’t time to remove the strap.  Grab that cloth over there and wrap them.  We can at least muffle the noise.  With the information destroyed, there’s no proof that you know anything.  Promise me, you will keep your mouth closed.”

She didn’t know if she should be insulted or proud.  “Nicholas, why do you want me to leave now?”

He continued without a proper answer.  “Even if you get to the General in time, which you won’t, it will be too late.”

“Nicholas, answer me.” 

He stopped and looked across the horse’s back.  “Surely you realize that a soldier will never give accurate information in front of a civilian, even when ordered to do so by his superior.  The information the sergeant gave in the barn was incorrect.” 

“Are you certain?”   

“Quite.”  He bent over to tighten the girth.  “When he returned, the paper he gave me had the correct information.” 

Holly’s stomach dropped to her knees and her hands shook.  “Nicholas, what did you write in response?”

He refused to acknowledge her and strapped an extra blanket to the back of her saddle.

“Nicholas!”

He didn’t need words.  His expression spoke for him.  Holly held a fist to her stomach and backed away.  Her throat closed preventing her from swallowing.  She had to sit soon or fall over.

He rushed to her side but she held up her hand, staying him.  “Why?”  The word, barely audible, was all she could manage. 

Consciousness thudded against Victoria's brain and forced her to face reality. The effort it took to open her eyelids has rewarded with stabbing spears of light striking the backs of her vision. A fuzzy shadow walked toward her. Her tongue flicked at the wadded linen in her mouth, surprised that nothing was there. His arm tormented her shoulders as he lifted her and pressed something cold to her lips.

“Drink,” he said.

The words reverberated around her head like a kite bouncing in a windstorm. Her jaw screeched open and he poured the liquid in. She sputtered and gasped, but he continued until the glass was drained. “Are you trying to poison me?” she asked.

“You did enough of that on your own,” Harrison said.

“I never want another glass of wine.”

“Wine?”

She positioned her fingertips around her face for support. “Wasn't I drinking wine?”

“Bourbon.”

“Bourbon? I don't even like bourbon.”

“You mentioned that.”

She scrapped her tongue against her teeth, flinching at the riveting noise then looked at him through bleary-eyes. “What else did I say?”

“Nothing I'll hold against you.” He opened the window but mercifully left the curtains drawn.

“Why not? I'm sure I gave you ample ammunition.”

He sat next to her and she grabbed the side of the bed to offset the pitch. Please don't bounce. Gently, gently.

“Because as much as I have fought against it, and I truly hate to admit it, I still love you Victoria Greyson.”

“I'm gonna be sick. Move.” She shoved against him and stumbled to the chamber pot, dragging a sheet tangled around her ankle. It started with dry heaves, and she prayed she'd make it in time. She pushed the pounding in her head to the side and clutched the cold metal to her cheek. It was soothing, but temporary. Belching loudly, she reinforced her dislike of bourbon. In between waves of burning bitterness, she begged God to kill her. Now and fast would be glorious, anything to end her agony.

Relatively certain she would no longer need the pot, she staggered toward the bed with a cloth pressed to her mouth. Her bed had been straightened and turned down, her pillows fluffed. Harrison stood at the side of it.

“Oh. No,” she said. “Are you still here?

He laughed and held the blankets back for her.

She crawled in and hugged her pillow. “Don't think this will undo what you said.” She shivered and closed her eyes. “But I will need it repeated when I'm better.”

“Endlessly. Now, rest.”

It took more than a bullet wound to stop Holly Masters from completing her intelligence mission. Generals, patrols, and experienced scouts had been her sport, until she met Dr. Nicholas Clayton. Severely injured and now his patient, in order to complete her assignment, she must decide if she can kill the man who saved her life.

Nicholas has healed wounded men for both the Patriots and the Crown, but he never expected to find a wounded woman, dressed in a British military uniform, on the edge of his property. Tucked into her coat sleeve, she holds many secrets that will change the course of the war. As an officer, he has a duty to prevent her from leaving his custody. As a doctor, he has the means to prevent her from revealing what she knows. Trained for every action, nothing has prepared him for what he knows he must do.

Harrison Jackson must defend his family against British spies, Colonial advocates, and himself. Secret meetings are destroying his good name, and nightmares from a life he thought buried threaten more than his reputation.

Victoria Greyson steps onto Boston streets and back into Harrison's life without warning. She wouldn't blame him for hating her, but his rage will have to wait. Her sister is dead and Victoria intends to extract revenge on the man responsible.

While Harrison fights to keep his past a secret, Victoria and Colonial Independence demand more than he wants to give--and neither of them will be denied.