***spoilers***
When a train robber and the injured hero who shot him are hauled off a train for medical care in Stuart’s Junction in 1879 Colorado, the local Doc patches them up but is too busy to provide the round-the-clock care they need and asks for a volunteer to do it. Abigail steps forward because she needs the money the railroad will pay.
I hated Abigail. She was the most priggish, prim and proper, judgmental, uptight, emotionally repressed spinster who ever breathed rarefied air.
I hated the so-called hero, David Melcher, who had his big toe shot off in the exchange of gunfire on the train. He was a mealy-mouthed male version of Abigail. No wonder they hit it off right away. But he recovered from his injury quickly, and left town after a few days, much to Abigail’s sad dismay.
But there’s a special place in hell for the “train robber,” Jesse, badly injured and expected to die from his wounds. Abigail refused to let him die. She went to extraordinary lengths to save his life, and from the minute he recovered enough to open his mouth, he heaped abuse on her. He grumbled, he moaned, he shouted, he insulted, he accused. Of all the arseholes I’ve run across in romance novels, he’s the arseholiest. After the Doc returned his gun to him (unloaded but Abigail didn’t know that), he even pulled the gun on her to force her to kiss him. That was only one of the 2017 times this book made me gasp in outrage. This typically combative scene happened shortly after that:
He glared at her venomously and roared, “I smell pork chops, Abbie! Don’t tell me I don’t! Now do I get some or do I walk uptown in my sheet and tell them that the hussy Abigail McKenzie refuses to feed me as she’s being paid to?”
She was in a fine fury, little fists clenched into tight balls, eyes bright with vindication as she stamped her foot.
“It is my turn to teach you a lesson, sir! I have pork chops, potatoes, gravy, vegetables, everything to sate your fool appetite and get you strong and out of here. All I want from you in return is some decent treatment. You give me that filthy gun!”
“Bring me my pork chops!” he shouted, glowering at her.
“Give me the gun!”
“Like hell I will!”
“Then you shan’t have pork chops!” But the gun appeared so quickly she’d have sworn it was there in his hand all the time. It shut her up like a sprung trap.
“Give…me…my…pork…chops,” he growled.
She stammered, “Keep th…that filthy thing out of m…my sight!”
“I’ll put it away when you bring me the pork chops you’re being paid to give me!”
“Please!” she bellowed now.
“PLEASE!” he bellowed back.
She had never felt so alive. He crashed through every wall she had erected around herself, upended every belief she held sacred. He saw her entirely, refusing to let her hide behind her propriety and moral certitudes. He took and took and took from her, then bought David Melcher for her and left her at the 66% point of this book. Of all the arsehole things he did, that one was paramount.
And the reason why I deducted a star from my rating. It’s a gutsy move for an author to exit her MMC 2/3rds into her book, leaving the reader hanging with nothing but a heartbroken but hard-headed heroine to convince herself she wants a future with a man whose constant throat-clearing leaves her irritated, whose timidity leaves her unmoved, and whose kisses leave her cold. Even as she yearns for more, she settles for less: community acceptance and a shoe store. The chapters without Jesse felt as dry and barren as a desert. I missed Arsehole Jesse almost as much as Abigail did.
And then, at 85% and two days before her wedding to David, Jesse reappears and Abigail ain’t having it. She tells him adamantly that she’s marrying David and he needs to LEAVE.HER.ALONE.
Ha! As if.
LaVyrle Spencer wrote the hell out of this, every page surprised me, and I loved it, except for the 19% of the book where she substituted David for Jesse. That part made me wish I had Jesse’s unloaded gun to threaten her with.