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Beloved Outcast
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
Dear Reader
Title Page
About The Author
Dedication
Acknowledgments
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
Copyright
“You are no gentleman!
“For, If you were, you would know emphatically I am not the kind of female to invite or enjoy a man’s.”
Victoria’s words dwindled. It really was rather tricky to phrase her thoughts and not be.crude.
“A man’s…” Logan prompted, raising one dark eyebrow.
She met his speculative gaze and detected an abundance of silent laughter. She wanted to hurl the heavy book she cradled at him, but there was the matter of the ax.
“A man’s physical attentions,” she said through gritted teeth. “I may be the first one you’ve ever met, but let me assure you I am a lady.”
“Well, then.”
“Well, then, what?” she fairly snarled at him.
“Who would have guessed ladies could be so hotblooded?”
She flinched. “If my blood is hot, it’s because you have the capacity to make me angrier than anyone I’ve ever met…!”
Dear Reader,
Beloved Outcast by Pat Tracy is a dramatic Western about an Eastern spinster who is hired by a man with a notorious reputation to tutor his adopted daughter. And those of you who have read Pat Tracy would probably agree with Affaire de Coeur when they recently labeled Pat as “one author definitely worth watching.” This talented author just keeps getting better and better.
Whether writing atmospheric Medievals or sexy Regencies, Deborah Simmons continues to delight readers with her romantic stories. In this month’s Maiden Bride, the sequel to The Devil’s Lady, Nicholas de Laci transfers his blood lust to his enemy’s niece, Gillian, his future wife by royal decree. Don’t miss this wonderful tale.
Fans of Romantic Times Career Achievement Award winner Veronica Sattler will be thrilled to see this month’s reissue of her Worldwide Library release, Jesse’s Lady.
We hope you’ll enjoy this exciting story of a young heiress and her handsome guardian. And our fourth book this month is The Wager by Sally Cheney, the story of a young Englishwoman who reluctantly falls in love with a man who won her in a game of cards. We hope you’ll keep a lookout for all four titles wherever Harlequin Historicals are sold.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Harlequin Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P O. Box 1325. Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Beloved Outcast
Pat Tracy
PAT TRACY
lives in a farming community outside of Idaho Falls. Pat’s love of historical romance began when she was thirteen and read Gone with the Wind. After reading Rhett and Scarlett’s story, Pat immediately penned a hasty sequel wherein the couple lived happily ever after. According to Pat, there is a magic to be found in historical romances that can be found nowhere else, and she enjoys reading the many popular and talented writers who share that magic with their readers. You can write to the author at the following address:
P.O. Box 17
Ucon, Idaho 83454
This book is dedicated to Sheriann Tracy, my youngest
daughter, who is funny, smart, brave, strong-willed,
independent, athletic, artistic and beautiful.
Sweetheart, you’re definitely heroine material.
Mother’s Note: A couple of months after this
dedication was written, Sheriann was killed in an
automobile accident. She was fourteen. Darling, you
have my heart—always. Love, Mom
* * * * * *
Acknowledgments:
I would like to thank Sherry Roseberry, Vicki Scaggs and Martha Tew, gifted writers and true friends. Without your generous editing efforts, I would look sooo foolish. (I’m thinking particularly of my hero being “within” instead of “without.”) And thank you, Patti McAllister, for your last-minute read of the final version. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Chapter One
Idaho Territory, 1868
“Sit down, Youngblood.”
Logan Youngblood stared at the army-issue revolver pointed at his chest. “Somehow this isn’t quite the welcome I expected, Colonel Windham.”
The mustached cavalry officer gestured with the Remington’s barrel toward the chair that faced his desk. “By your own account, you rode for two days and a night to warn us about the fort being attacked. Surely you could do with a rest.”
The only outward evidence of the colonel’s displeasure, other than the drawn weapon, was reflected in his cold blue eyes.
Logan glanced at the other three uniformed men present. They were young lieutenants, dressed in pristine dark blue uniforms trimmed with enough newly minted gold braid to make a dead man stand up and salute. From their uneasy expressions, though, he could tell they were baffled by their commanding officer’s behavior.
Logan moved toward the waiting chair. Until he found out what was going on, he would accept Windham’s not-sogracious hospitality. Unexpectedly, Logan’s thoughts turned to Madison, and what would happen to her, should the gun barrel he was staring down serve its intended purpose.
But then, Madison’s tumultuous arrival in his life seemed to herald the beginning of a series of complications, not the least of which was the necessity of securing a qualified woman to educate the twelve-year-old girl.
“Wait a minute,” the colonel ordered tersely. “Take his gun, Lawson.”
“Sir?” the young soldier queried, as if he weren’t sure he understood the order.
“You heard me.”
Logan stood perfectly still as the Colt.44 he’d taken to wearing since coming west was extracted from his holster. He didn’t know what Windham was up to, but he was fairly certain the officer wouldn’t shoot him in front of three witnesses.
Logan claimed the proffered chair.
“Tie him up,” came the next tight-lipped command.
Logan shot to his feet. “Enough is enough, Windham. I came here to warn you that several tribes are planning to attack. Now that I’ve done that, I’m going to ride out of here and—”
The ominous click of a service revolver being cocked interrupted Logan. His attention again focused on the drawn gun.
“I don’t like Indian-lovers, Youngblood. As far as I’m concerned I’d be doing the entire territory a favor by killing you where you stand. Unfortunately, because I am civilized, I have to obey the law. So, by the letter of that law, I’m placing you under military arrest for abetting murderous redskins. Now sit the hell down!”
The revolver’s nine-inch barrel remained steady. With four armed soldiers against one unarmed civilian, the odds weren’t exactly in his favor. Still, having survived countless Civil War battles and his first few hazardous months in the Idaho Territory, Logan felt reasonably calm. He couldn’t see his life ending in this room. He was grateful, however, as he eased onto the chair, that he hadn’t put off seeing to Madison’s future. Thank God his good friend and associate Martin Pritchert had already made arrangements to bring a tutor from the East to instruct the uneducated girl. Since she was now legally Logan’s ward, she would be cared for no matter what happened to him. For the time being, Martin’s wife was watching over Madison.
It took all the self-discipline Logan possessed for him to submit to having his hands tied behind the back of the chair while another length of rope was secured around his ankles.
“Your time has run out, Youngblood.” Windham pushed his face an inch from Logan’s. “I want to know where those murdering savages are camped, and I want to know now.”
Logan stared into Windham’s unyielding features. Somehow, even though he suspected the military man was beyond reasoning with, Logan had to convince him that not all Indians were “murdering savages.”
“Night Wolf’s people are at peace,” he pointed out flatly. “They had nothing to do with attacking the families on that wagon train, and they won’t have any part of assaulting the fort.”
Windham turned his back to Logan and, with careful deliberateness, laid his gleaming revolver upon the desk. Then, without warning, the officer spun around and plowed his fist into Logan’s jaw.
The chair he’d been tied to scraped stridently against the wood-planked floor. Logan’s head shot back, but the pain was tolerable. Windham didn’t pack much of a punch, which was true of most small men wrapped in gold-spangled uniforms.
“That was the wrong answer, Youngblood.”
Through a dull haze of pain, Logan noticed a loop of spittle hanging from the colonel’s curled upper lip. The frozen image of a mad dog Logan had seen once as a boy in Scotland danced briefly in his thoughts. Yet Windham’s manner remained eerily calm.
“It’s the only answer I’ve got.” Logan’s gaze went to the three other men in Windham’s office. Each soldier wore a look of distaste. Logan didn’t know whether their grim expressions were a result of their commanding officer’s violent behavior or Logan’s refusal to provide them with directions to Night Wolf’s camp.
“Leave me alone with the prisoner,” Windham ordered abruptly. Open contempt radiated from his pale blue eyes.
“Sir, do you think that’s a good idea?” one of the young lieutenants questioned, his voice notched with uncertainty.
“He’s tied up, Lawson,” Windham answered with heavy sarcasm. “There’s no danger of him getting free and doing me any harm.”
“Uh, sir—he did bring the warning about the Blackfeet and other tribes going on the warpath.”
“He won’t tell us where to find them,” Windham snarled. “I want to wipe out every heathen man, woman and child infesting the Idaho Territory.”
“But this is Mr. Youngblood here,” Lawson pointed out, his tone placating. “He’s the president of the Territorial Bank.”
“Are you questioning a direct order, soldier?”
Lawson’s cherub cheeks reddened as he snapped to attention. “No, Sir!”
The two other cavalrymen present were already filing from the room. It didn’t take the young lieutenant long to rethink his tenuous position with his commanding officer and follow them.
When the door shut behind the departing soldiers, an oppressive silence filled the commandant’s office.
“Well, Youngblood, it’s just you and me now.”
“Under the circumstances,” Logan drawled, his gaze lowering to his bound arms, “I’m sure you’ll excuse me for not shaking your hand.”
“Always the clever retort.” Windham retrieved his gun from his desk. “You cut quite the figure with the ladies, don’t you?”
“What?” Obviously he hadn’t heard the officer correctly.
“’Passion’s Pirate,’ that’s what they call you,” Windham continued, his neatly trimmed mustache tilting to one side as he made the sneering observation.
“What?” Logan repeated. This time he knew he couldn’t have heard the cavalryman correctly. Passion’s Pirate? What the hell was the man babbling about? Logan had never been to sea, and-”You didn’t know?” Windham’s tone was skeptical. “That’s what the few good women of Trinity Falls call you when they’re gossiping about your bedroom exploits with the town’s bad women.”
Logan knew his mouth was hanging open. He felt as if he’d stepped from the orderly, rational world of his daily existence into a bizarre nightmare. What interest could this pompous, Indian-hating cavalry officer have in his love life?
“Athena is one of them.”
A sense of doom gripped Logan. “Athena?”
“My wife,” Windham responded softly. “My beautiful, faithless wife. You remember her. After all, it’s hardly been a week since you bedded her.”
The accusation brought sudden clarity to the strange episode. Unfortunately, it also brought the unsettling memory of the woman.groping him when her husband’s back was turned.
“That’s what this is all about,” Logan said warily. “You think I’ve been with your wife.”
“Don’t deny it. Your guilty expression says it all. I saw how you looked at her. Every man looks at her that way. Every man wants her, but until you came along, she was loyal to me.”
“You’ve lost your senses. I haven’t touched your wife. Damnation, I’ve only seen her three times. You were with her on every occasion.”
That much was true. Except for the minor detail of Mrs. Windham damn near giving him a heart attack when she bumped against him and her fingertips rested momentarily against the front closure of his trousers. Logan had been so stunned by the unexpected contact he almost yelped.
Another memory knifed through Logan. He shifted against the ropes binding him. Six years ago, the protestations of the older brother he loved and admired had rung in Logan’s ears. Burke had denied seducing Logan’s fiancee. The difference between then and now was that Burke had lied, and Logan spoke the truth.
The officer laughed bitterly. “Am I supposed to believe the denials of ‘Passion’s Pirate’?”
“I can’t be held accountable for the gossip frustrated women spin.”
“Athena isn’t frustrated!”
“I don’t give a tinker’s damn about the details of your married life, Colonel. I came to the fort to warn you that an Indian attack is imminent. Night Wolf’s band has been beaten down to a few old men and some women and children. They are not a threat to you, but you’d better start making plans about how you’re going to fight off the Shoshones and the Blackfeet tribes who are on the warpath.”
Windham’s head snapped back as if he’d been struck. “Don’t presume to give me orders, Youngblood.”
“Think of them as suggestions,” Logan answered grimly. “Are you ready to untie me?”
“Untie you?” The man’s mouth curved mockingly. “You must be insane to think I’d do that now.”
Logan knew one of them was insane. Unfortunately for him, it was the man with the Remington.
Chapter Two
Victoria Amory wrapped her fingers around the wide leather reins and tugged with all her might. The oxen pulling her covered wagon came to a belligerent stop. She craned her head, looking in all directions, but saw no evidence of human habitation in the lush wilderness known as the Idaho Territory. Nor was there any sign of the fort she’d been told was nearby. After four days alone on the trail, she calculated that she was still sixty miles or so from the town of Trinity Falls, where her new employer and her new life awaited her.
Victoria rose to better survey her primitive surroundings.
There was no way she could have been more alone—if she didn’t count the birds trilling to each other and periodically bursting skyward in clusters of raucous mayhem. The entire forest was in a state of continuous animation as squirrels and other small animals scurried through the fertile underbrush.
“Can anybody hear me?” she called.
In response, there was only the endless shifting of pungent pine boughs and fluttering of the coin-size green leaves that graced the narrow, white-trunked aspen trees dotting meadows of mountain grass. It was foolish to expect a reply, yet she was still disappointed. She’d had such high hopes when she accepted Martin Pritchert’s letter offering her employment as a live-in tutor for his employer’s ward.
A new beginning had sounded so appealing. Her purpose in leaving Boston outweighed the little pricks of doubt that occasionally pierced her resolve. With her reputation in shreds, her continued presence at home had become an embarrassment she refused to inflict upon her family.
Not wishing to dwell on that sad truth, Victoria consoled herself with the hope that, since she was now out of the picture, her sister, Annalee, would be free to accept one of the numerous marriage proposals she’d received. No amount of arguing from Victoria had managed to convince her parents that their younger daughter should be allowed to wed before their elder one.
Victoria sighed. She was twenty-four years old and she had yet to meet a man she wanted to call husband. Still, because of her parents’ old-fashioned beliefs, the second item of business she needed to accomplish in Trinity Falls was to find herself a spouse. It seemed the least she could do for Annalee, who was the kindest, most loving sister anyone could wish for.
The wheels of Victoria’s mind turned with the same steady rhythm as those of the lumbering wagon. Perhaps she really didn’t need to marry before Annalee. Maybe it would satisfy her parents’ archaic code of propriety if she was engaged to be wed. Now that she was almost a thousand miles from home, she would be free to do a little…creative letter-writing. Naturally, an outright falsehood was beyond her, but she could exaggerate—
The right front wheel struck a deep rut, and the wagon lurched violently as Victoria was bucked upward, then slammed against the wooden seat. Just that quickly, her thoughts jerked back to her immediate circumstances.
Her great Western adventure was falling far short of her expectations. Who would have supposed that the wagon train would continue without her because she was unable to keep up? It had shocked her that the wagon master couldn’t comprehend that, even if she was slowing down the group, she simply couldn’t abandon her precious cargo along the trail.
Victoria harbored no ill feelings toward the man. He and the others didn’t understand that her treasured volumes, some of them first editions of Jane Austen and James Fenimore Cooper, were impossible for her to part with.
Initially, she hadn’t been all that alarmed at being left behind. The overland trail was wide, and clearly marked by the hundreds of wagons that had preceded her west. She had plenty of food, and the obliging nearness of the Ruby River provided all the fresh drinking water she and her team needed. Also, the wagon master had assured her that a fort was nearby. Once she reached the fort she’d arrange for a party of soldiers to escort her to Trinity Falls.
But the loneliness had begun to wear upon her nerves, and there was the matter of the fearsome Indian warriors she’d heard so much about. It would have been somewhat reassuring to have a firearm for protection. Unfortunately, she’d had a slight mishap with her rifle the fifth day on the trail, and the wagon master had confiscated the weapon from her on the grounds that she was a menace to both herself and the rest of them with a loaded gun in her possession.
Victoria frowned. Goodness, she could hardly be faulted for shooting Mr. Hyrum Dodson in the foot. The man had been prowling around her wagon in the wee hours of the morning. And he very well could have been the bear she’d mistaken him for. As far as she was concerned, it was an understandable error on her part.
Neither the wagon master nor Mr. Dodson, however, had been inclined to be understanding.
Which brought Victoria to her third reason for going west. It seemed that people in general were disinclined to be tolerant of life’s little mishaps. For instance, take the innocent incident when one of her sister’s suitors had been caught with his pants at half-mast in Victoria’s bedchamber. Had anyone been interested in hearing that the hapless man had scaled the outside trellis and was delivering a rose to Annalee?
Not that she wouldn’t be the first to admit that his romantic gesture was the stuff of foolishness. But, foolish though it might have been, the cavalier act had been conceived and executed in innocence. It had been the merest accident that he chose the wrong bedchamber.
Unfortunately, at the instant of his arrival, Victoria had been changing and had been in her chemise and drawers. She wasn’t sure which of them had been more startled when they laid shocked gazes upon each other. Before he could depart her chamber, however, a crazed bumblebee had emerged from the bedraggled rose, circled Mr. Threadgill twice and then flown up the inside of his pant leg.
Victoria had acted without forethought, tugging down the man’s britches and landing several energetic whacks upon the trapped but clearly homicidal bee with her hairbrush.
If only Threadgill hadn’t screamed.
Her mother’s afternoon guests, the Reverend Golly’s wife among them, had heard Horace’s distressed cries and come charging upstairs. It had been the most mortifying occasion of Victoria’s life to be caught in a state of undress on her knees in front of the hysterical, half-clad man.
No one had been interested in explanations that day. The scandalized women had departed from her parents’ home and spread the most outrageous gossip about the entirely innocent episode. In a single afternoon, Victoria’s reputation had been hopelessly tarnished. Poor Mr. Threadgill had vacated his Boston abode. The last she’d heard, he’d decided to visit the Continent.
No doubt he’d been afraid that he would be obligated to redeem her reputation with a proposal of marriage. Clearly, the man had no intention of making such a drastic act of restitution on the basis of one demented bee and her honor.
She still couldn’t get over the fact that an entire lifetime of prudent and circumspect behavior could be overturned by one unfortunate occurrence. The very idea that anyone could think she would try to divest a man of his britches, against his will, and assert her runaway passions upon him was ludicrous.
She shook the reins.
“Ha!”
The oxen stayed put. Perhaps they were as weary as she was and needed a good rest. She would have loved to accommodate them, but she knew they had to keep moving. Determinedly she reached for the unwieldy bullwhip and cracked it over their broad backs.
“I said, Ha!” This time they moved toward the horizon where high-peaked mountains towered. Victoria laid aside the whip and used her sleeve to wipe the perspiration from her face.
The twisting river caused the flattened thoroughfare that ran alongside it to wind around yet another bend. When she rounded the curve, a large edifice several hundred yards away greeted Victoria. She blinked several times, lest it somehow disappear into nothingness. The building remained.
She’d finally made it to human habitation. Victoria strained to discern what the distant structure might be. Then she laughed at herself. Even if it wasn’t the fort, it didn’t matter. In her present mood, even a saloon would be welcome.
People lived there.
That was the only thing that mattered.
As she drew closer, the large building miraculously revealed itself to indeed be a military outpost. Relief swept through her. She was safe. For as long as she remained at.
