By Any Means Read online

  Table of Contents

  Praise for Cindy Nord’s Cutteridge Series

  BY ANY MEANS

  Look for these other titles by Cindy Nord

  Dedications

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Praise for Cindy Nord’s

  Cutteridge Series

  “You’ll savor every ounce of passion, adventure, and transformation in Cindy Nord’s exquisite debut novel. I didn’t want it to end!”

  ~ Cynthia Wright, Romantic Times and Affaire de Coeur multiple award winner on No Greater Glory

  “No Greater Glory is a powerful, well-crafted Civil War era novel of complex emotions and beautifully drawn characters that explores the inherent risks of falling in love with one’s enemy.”

  ~ Laura Taylor, multiple Romantic Times Award winner

  “The love scenes are steamy yet tender. Recommended for anyone who enjoys historical romance, as well as those who would find appeal in a steamier Gone with the Wind.”

  ~ Library Journal on No Greater Glory

  “Maybe it is the historical aspect of this novel that made me enjoy it as much as I have or maybe it’s the fact that Nord knows how to pen a proper and adventurous western, either way this book is certainly one to read!”

  ~ Night Owl Reviews on With Open Arms

  “Nord’s With Open Arms…has lots of chemistry between Callie and Jackson no matter how much they try to fight it. […] I look forward to reading the rest of the series when the books come out.”

  ~ Romance Junkies

  BY ANY MEANS

  A binding contract…five determined nuns…and a runaway French beauty – riverboat gambler, Brennen Benedict has just been dealt a full house, and his queen of hearts holds all the cards.

  With the Mississippi River his playground, ex-Confederate Cavalry Captain now affluent gambler, BRENNEN BENEDICT lives life by his own rules – until a winning hand saddles him with the deed to a ramshackle Kentucky plantation. Refusing to be tied down, his quick sale is thwarted by Ursuline nuns who hold a lien on the property. To satisfy this obligation and rid himself of the burden, Brennen is forced to fulfill a contract made by the previous owner and provide the nuns with bricks for their new orphanage from a kiln on his property. Annoyed and unable to hornswoggle himself out of this mess, Brennen agrees to the sly Mother Superior’s terms, as well as allowing one of her ‘nun’s’ to oversee his brickmaking progress until the commitment is fulfilled.

  Charged with a murder she did not commit, French-born beauty ANNABELLE SWAN is forced to flee Philadelphia. Offered safeguard by the kind-hearted Ursulines of St. Joseph, she disguises herself in their black-and-white garb and travels with them to Kentucky. On a riverboat en route, she bumps into Brennen, a gambler as charming as he is generous. However enticed she may be, his devilish nature assures her he’s a man best kept at a distance. Once they reach their destination, Annabelle hires an attorney to prove her innocence while she assists with the nuns. Her plans to keep a low profile are shattered when the abbess assigns her to oversee the brickmaker’s progress. Frustrated by the turn of events, she struggles with her ever-growing fascination for the wicked rogue who represents everything she despises in life.

  From the first moment they met, Brennen is suspicious of Annabelle – for the captivating minx with soft, womanly curves and a worldly attitude is like no other nun he’s ever known. Regardless of his doubts, when her true identity is revealed, his attraction for her escalates, vexing him as much as do her dangerous secrets. He damns the draw, determined to return to the riverboat…Still, the needs both try to deny blaze ever hotter. They’re swept into a fiery passion…Until Annabelle’s greatest secret is unknowingly exposed. Can Brennen win the most-important game he’s ever played to save his little minx? Or will the gamble cost Annabelle her life?

  Look for these other titles by

  Cindy Nord

  Now Available:

  The Cutteridge Series

  No Greater Glory

  (Book One)

  Click here to purchase NO GREATER GLORY for your Kindle:

  With Open Arms

  (Book Two)

  Click here to purchase WITH OPEN ARMS for your Kindle:

  An Unlikely Hero

  (Book Three)

  Click here to purchase AN UNLIKELY HERO for your Kindle:

  By Any Means

  Cindy Nord

  I love to receive emails from readers who share their ‘book thoughts’ with me...let’s connect! [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  By Any Means

  Copyright © 2017 by DCT Associates

  Cover by Lyn Taylor

  Formatted by Jacob Hammer

  Published by DCT Associates

  Digital Edition ISBN: 978-0-9976573-8-8

  Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-9976573-9-5

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Dedications

  Tom – my eternal hero

  Mimi and Bopper – in every precious memory of my childhood

  Kathleen Rice Adams and Diana Cosby, authors extraordinaire - from the bottom of my heart I thank you

  And, oh yes, for Dannye – what a daytrip!

  Chapter One

  Louisville, Kentucky

  June 1870

  Sold!

  Brennen Benedict smiled as he stashed the bills inside his leather tri-fold. He had little need for the dilapidated ferry he’d won in a card game last fall. On the other hand, the drunkard’s family had been more than anxious to recoup their floundering business.

  A tidy profit tacked on for me, of course.

  With a chuckle, he slid the wallet into the breast pocket of his brown silk cutaway. His fingers bumped the deed to land he’d won from another unfortunate novice at the same table, reminding him of his next stop. Owning property in Kentucky, or anywhere else up north, held little appeal.

  When he reached Owensborough, he’d make arrangements with a lawyer to sell the acreage.

  Whistling, Brennen left the ferry’s shabby office and stepped into the sweltering dankness of a midwestern afternoon.

  Wagons and rail lines clogged the upper roads leading into the thriving metropolis. As he walked toward shore, he grimaced. The air reeked of fish, oil machinery, and scores of odorous dock workers.

  Unlike the luckless bastards who toiled for a living, his gamin
g rarely raised a sweat. In the five years since the damned war had stolen everything he’d owned, he’d gone to great lengths to ensure the hardships of life remained in his past.

  Brennen nodded at several workers as he sidestepped thick ropes coiled across the dock. He peered over the side of the walkway toward the massive posts sunk into the river’s muddy bank. Water splashed against thousands of freshwater mussels that clung to the dock’s supports.

  Tenacious…much like me.

  A rumbling drew his gaze to the stretch of rapids near the opposite bank. The treacherous currents in the two-mile “falls of the Ohio” drove river traffic to the Kentucky side, the natural design proving advantageous for an ever-growing community. Even during the war, when most southern ports had crumbled, the state’s neutrality paid great dividends as Louisville flourished.

  Loyalty-lacking bastards.

  Brennen squelched the thought, aware his animosity, however small, was comforting nonetheless. Nowadays, these Yankee sonsofbitches bled their purses dry at his card table, while whiskey held the remainder of his sorrow at bay.

  Gaming filled his mighty coffers. Again, Brennen smiled. His accounts were now stuffed to overflowing in a half-dozen private banks along the Mississippi River; money and women, both, easily acquired. For him, no more pain, no envy, no worry…indeed, the hard-won ABC’s of his life.

  He smirked, settling his gaze on the floating palace moored at the end of the dock. The Robert E. Lee, his home away from home, if his rarely visited apartment in New Orleans could even be called such. Built in Cincinnati several years ago, the irony of the paddle wheeler’s name had not been lost on him.

  Regardless, like the venerable general whose moniker the ship bore, the vessel still proved strong. A fact confirmed last month when the great riverboat displayed exceptional speed and agility against the newer Natchez during a race between the Crescent City businessmen and entrepreneurs in St. Louis. The old gent claimed victory as he puffed into the Missouri port six hours before the youngster, confirming once again that age does make for an all-around better ride. Having been aboard the esteemed riverboat during the now-famous run, Brennen could attest to that truth. Of course, the whore who’d ridden atop him for half that night also would agree.

  Still, the prospect of soon turning forty made him long for his youth in Richmond before the war had changed him into the heartless bastard he was now.

  The steamboat’s whistle jerked him from his musings. Dark clouds billowed upward from the two colossal smokestacks that centered the great ship.

  Brennen headed toward the footbridge where dozens of people boarded. Not a minute to spare.

  The vessel’s piercing whistle cleaved the air.

  Shit.

  He picked up his pace. Halfway down the dock, he caught sight of six Catholic nuns heading toward the steamboat. Swathed in black serge from head to toe, their loose-fitting garments, and face-framing get-ups reminded him of the Ursulines of New Orleans. Similar in nature and appearance, they approached with unfaltering footsteps, sunlight glinting off the metal crosses dangling down the front of their shoulder-covering white collars. On occasion, shimmers reflected from metal rosaries’ suspended from their waists.

  Ursuline…Latin for a little female bear.

  An apt portrayal of these half-dozen patrollers for God. He stifled a laugh, then stepped back as the procession led by an elderly abbess marched onto the gangplank. A gust lifted their heavy veils, revealing snow-white linen coifs that hugged their heads. As each nun passed, he tipped his wide-brimmed planter’s hat. Not one vestal responded…except for the petite she-bear at the rear of the pack.

  She raised her head and glanced his way.

  Stunned, he could only stare. In all his days he’d never seen a more beautiful face. Pale, polished skin. A straight nose. And dark brows that rode above lushly lashed green eyes.

  Hypnotic.

  A connoisseur of beautiful women, Brennen smiled.

  Rosebud-pink lips curved in glorious acknowledgment.

  What the hell?

  The hair on the back of his neck prickled. Heart hammering, Brennen swallowed. Then blinked. Shit! What the hell was he doing flirting with a bride of Christ?

  Humor touched her mouth, and she lowered her head, stepping up onto the walkway. He dropped his gaze in time to spot a black-and-white striped stocking that ended inside her side-buttoned leather boot. An oddly stylish and expensive selection for a nun, but what did he know?

  Maybe this particular order allowed for the secular side of life.

  Brennen moved into place behind her, towering almost a foot above the off-limits beauty. Entering the Robert E. Lee amidship, he withdrew his ticket. Move along ladies. Time’s a’wasting.

  He preferred sitting at the gaming table near the bar during his voyages and hoped his favorite chair against the wall remained available. When he played, he never let his guard down or sat with his back to a room. Cards did something to a man. A gentle soul, when losing a life’s fortune on a reckless bet, could just as easily crumble into tears as reach for a gun. Since the war’s end, he was a man who kept the odds in his favor.

  The nuns stopped, and he nearly plowed into the sister whose smile had bedazzled his soul. His shadow fell across the swells and folds of her draping black veil. As hard as he tried to refuse the thought, the image of her mesmerizing gaze haunted his mind.

  As green as a new spring day…eyes a man could drown in.

  Waves slapped the side of the steamboat as the patrons ahead boarded the vessel.

  With a nod, Brennen handed his ticket to the attendant. “Afternoon, Elias.”

  “Welcome back, Mista Benedict,” the elderly porter replied. “Get yo’ business settled in Louisville?”

  “That I did.”

  The worker gestured toward the stern. “Games will begin as soon as we leave the dock, sir. Enjoy your stay.”

  “I always do, my friend.” Brennen straightened his cuffs, then chanced a final glance at the breathtaking nun. A bright light in his otherwise river-of-darkness life. And another reminder of his hell-bound fate, no doubt.

  As if summoned, she glanced at him over her shoulder. The pretty smile returned.

  Brennen touched the brim of his hat in acknowledgment.

  A bright light, indeed.

  Black lashes lowering, the good sister turned right and followed the others toward the bow of the riverboat.

  He, on the other hand, turned left and headed toward the heathen crowd collecting in the devil’s lair near the stern. His stride wide, he slid a hand along the polished railing. The mountains he moved these days didn’t require much work.

  A mere turn of the cards and he raked in his winnings.

  One day at a time…and all planned my way.

  For him, belief in any kind of destiny had died on the bloody battlefields of Virginia.

  * * * *

  Annabelle Swan stifled the smile she’d tossed at the too-handsome-for-his-own-good scoundrel. The nerve of him flirting with the Sisters of St. Joseph in such a bold manner.

  Charming devil. From his dress, a gambler. From his stance, confident. A man who dealt with women or cards with lethal indifference.

  Regardless of his appeal, a man she would avoid at all cost.

  She glanced at Sister François Clare lumbering along in front of her. The delightful angel was as wide as she was short, and routinely quipped that the Lord loved her comme elle était.

  At least the canoness felt secure in her identity.

  With a sigh, Annabelle clasped her hands together beneath her scapular. Living a lie these past months had taken a toll, but ‘twas also a necessary risk. She’d escaped her pursuers, barely. And aided by the guise of a nun, she’d avoided capture. However much she disliked living this cloistered lifestyle, until she put distance between her and those pursuing her, this was a role she must keep.

  The cloying heat of a high summer day pressed around her, and perspiration dampened her brow
. She shifted, the stiffly starched white guimpe that entrapped her shoulders confining and itchy.

  She missed the coolness of a Paris afternoon spent strolling the Avenue des Champs-Élysées with her parents. As the late-life child of an American diplomat father and a young Parisian mother, her childhood had been filled with doting love…a carefree existence severed with the death of maman and papa in that terrible carriage accident. Grief stormed Annabelle, the unwanted trip to a place called Philadelphia to live with an ailing half-sister she’d never met offering little comfort.

  She knew the Greek words phileo, love, and adelphos, brother, composed the City of Brotherly Love’s name, but the busy port-side town was a far cry from her European existence, and had left her even more off balance. Nor was the realization that instead of finding a handsome prince of her own one day, she’d become a servant for a bed-ridden stranger. And though, in the fifteen years hence as her dreams of marriage faded, replaced with the truth of her spinsterhood, she’d also grown to adore her dearest half-sibling, Bernice. Caring for the only family she had left in this world, had given Annabelle a new purpose in life.

  Then, everything changed

  Again…

  The horror of that night blurred her mind: The blade buried in Bernice’s chest, how Annabelle fell down the stairs as she’d fled.

  Months had passed, and her ribs still hurt, paltry when compared to the heart-breaking image of her sister’s murder or the resulting false charges leveled on Annabelle. She damned her brother-in-law’s treachery, thankful to the good Monseigneur’s swiftly concocted plan that’d allowed her to escape into the backwoods of Kentucky…a trip now near completion.

  She tamped back a swell of tears. Alone again, and hiding in plain sight amidst the black-and-white world of the Ursulines.

  Surely, the lawyer in Owensborough could help her clear her name. Her fingers trembled as she laid her hand on the money belt tied around her waist. She hoped she carried enough to secure his service.

  Chapter Two

  Merchants, gamblers, former soldiers, sharecroppers, and men simply heading west all jammed into the ship’s smoky bastion for gentlemen gamblers. Playing every game from faro and poker to brag, three-card monte, and even dice, the gamers took advantage of the Robert E. Lee’s comforts where they could relax and socialize.