The Ashtons: Cole, Abigail and Megan: Entangled / A Rare Sensation / Society-Page Seduction

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Society-Page Seduction (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)

Prologue (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Preview (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Entangled

By

Eileen Wilks

Eileen Wilks is a fifth-generation Texan. Her great-great-grandmother came to Texas in a covered wagon shortly after the end of the Civil War – excuse us, the War between the States. But she’s not a full-blooded Texan. Right after another war, her Texan father fell for a Yankee woman. This obviously mismatched pair proceeded to travel to nine cities in three countries in the first twenty years of their marriage. For the next twenty years they stayed put, back home in Texas again – and still together.

Eileen figures her professional career matches her nomadic upbringing, since she’s tried everything – raising two children and any number of cats and dogs along the way. Not until she started writing did she “stay put,” because that’s when she knew she’d come home. Readers can write to her at PO Box 4612, Midland, TX 79704-4612, USA.

This book is dedicated to my fellow Desire

authors – those on the loop and especially those who participated in this continuity series.

You’ve been a delight to work with. Desire authors are a great bunch, giving and supportive and maybe a little crazy. I’m glad to be one of you.

Prologue

Nobody expected the church to be full. At eleventhirty on a rainy Wednesday morning in Crawley, Nebraska, most folks were at work. But the postmistress was there, and the druggist and his wife, and the banker with his wife sat in their usual pew. Many of the county’s farming families were represented, for the families of the bride and the groom were farmers.

And, of course, the Mortimer twins sat in their usual spots—sixth from the front on the center aisle. Flora and Dora hadn’t missed a wedding in this church for fifty-five years. A little rain couldn’t dampen their enthusiasm.

“Doesn’t young Spencer look handsome,” Flora whispered.

Her sister snorted. “Handsome is as handsome does. You can’t tell me that hellion would be up there waiting for his bride if—”

The postmistress turned around and gave them an admonishing look.

“Don’t you look at me that way, Emmaline Bradley,” Dora said. “Francis is still on ‘Rock of Ages.’ No reason we can’t talk when she’s still on ‘Rock of Ages.’”

Flora tugged on her arm. “Look. They’re seating Spencer’s father,” she whispered. “He doesn’t look very happy about the wedding, does he?”

Dora sniffed. “Frederick Ashton hasn’t been happy since he was weaned. Got two moods, that man—mad and madder. What Pastor Brown was thinking of to make him a deacon…well, that’s beside the point.”

Lucy Johnson, on the other side of Flora, leaned closer. “At least Frederick made sure his son did right by poor Sally.”

Flora bobbed her head in agreement like a chicken pecking at the dirt. “Poor Sally. I can see why she fell into temptation. That Ashton boy is so…so…”

“Handsome,” Dora finished dryly. “I’m not so sure Frederick did Sally any favors.”

“Oh, Spencer’s just young,” Lucy said. “A touch on the wild side, maybe, but so was my Charlie before we married. And we’ve been together forty-two years now.”

Emmaline Bradley turned around again. “Shh!”

Flora flushed, Lucy’s lips thinned and Dora didn’t notice. She was frowning at the back of Frederick Ashton’s head three rows up. There had been rumors that the man used a heavy hand with his sons. He was big, burly and domineering—the kind who liked to say, “Spare the rod, spoil the child.” Dora was sure neither Spencer nor his brother, David, had been in danger of being spoiled.

Francis struck the opening chord of Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus.” Here comes the bride…

At the back of the church, Sally Barnett pressed a hand to her unhappy stomach. The satin wedding gown felt cold and slippery.

“Butterflies, sweetheart?” her father said.

More like nausea. But Daddy looked so anxious…surely Mama was right. Spencer would settle down once the babies came. She summoned a smile. “I’m nervous,” she whispered.

He patted her hand. “You’re supposed to be. This is our cue, honey.”