Полная версия
Outlaw Love
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
Dear Reader
Title Page
About The Author
Dedication
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
Copyright
“Of all the rotten, underhandedtricks I’ve ever heard!”
Kelsey drew back her elbow and jabbed Clay in the belly. “Get off of me!”
A little woof slipped through his lips as he grabbed his stomach. “Quiet, Kelsey, the sheriff will be here—”
She pushed him away with both hands and sat up. “You must think I’m a fool, believing this trumped-up story of yours. Sheriff coming to arrest me. Stolen jewelry—my foot! Of all the men I’ve known, Clay Chandler, you are the lowest, filthiest, rottenest skunk I’ve ever met!”
He sat up and braced his arm against thepillow. “Look, Kelsey, you’ve got it all wrong—”
Kelsey scooted sideways in the bed and reared back against the wall “Get out!” She kicked him with both feet.
Clay tumbled backward onto the floor. Springing to his feet, he glared down at her.
Kelsey’s cheeks flamed. He was naked…!
Dear Reader,
Outlaw Love is the first Harlequin Historical novel by Judith Stacy, who writes for other houses under her real name, Dorothy Howell We are delighted to bring you this heartwarming Western about a U.S. Marshal who comes to town to put an end to a series of payroll robberies, and inadvertently falls in love with the woman who is the leader of the gang responsible for the thefts.
Our titles for the month also include Knights Divided by Suzanne Barclay. In this medieval tale from one of our most popular authors, a young woman finds herself embroiled in a maelstrom of passion and deceit when she kidnaps the rogue whom she believes murdered her sister.
In Bogus Bride, by Australian author Emily French, a spirited young woman must convince her new husband that although he had intended to marry her sister, she is his true soul mate. And in Nina Beaumont’s new book, Surrender the Heart, a gambler and a nobleman’s daughter, haunted by their pasts, turn to each other for protection against falling in love.
Whatever your taste in reading, we hope you’ll find a story written just for you between the covers of a Harlequin Historical book. Keep a lookout for all four titles wherever Harlequin Historicals are sold.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell,
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Hartequin Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325. Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609. Fort Erie, Ont L2A 5X3
Outlaw Love
Judith Stacy
JUDITH STACY
Judith Stacy began writing as a personal challenge and found it a perfect outlet for all those thoughts and ideas bouncing around in her head. She chose romance because of the emotional involvement with the characters, and historicals because of her love of bygone days.
Judith has been married to her high school sweetheart for over two decades and has two daughters. When not writing, she haunts museums, historical homes and antique stores, gathering ideas for new adventures in the past.
To David, Judy and Stacy, as always,
for your inspiration, patience and love
Chapter One
Missouri, 1876
Hanging was a hell of a way to die.
Clay Chandler pulled against the ropes binding his hands behind him and swallowed hard. He’d gotten himself into a devil of a mess this time. He might even get himself killed.
“You boys better call this off before it goes too far.” Clay dipped his chin toward the silver badge pinned to his vest “You hang me, and every lawman in the state will be all over these parts.”
Beneath the oak a few yards away, the two outlaws looked back at him. The tallest one gave him a wide grin.
“Well, they’re gonna have to find you first, Marshal.” He laughed and elbowed his partner. “Get the rope, Deuce.”
Deuce glanced nervously at Clay. “I don’t know, Luther. Maybe he’s right. Maybe we ought to wait for Scully—”
“Just shut your face, Deuce, just shut it Scully ain’t here now and I am, and what I say goes. Now do like I tol’ you and git that dang rope.”
Clay’s gaze swept the area. Their campsite lay in a meadow beneath two big oaks, the intertwined boughs forming a leafy canopy that blocked out the bright afternoon sun. To the north and east stood more trees, and to the south a rugged, rocky hillside. Good cover, Clay thought, if he could make it that far. He doubted Luther was above shooting him in the back if he made a break for it His gaze fell on his horse, tethered on the far side of the oak these two intended to hang him from—a long run, under the circumstances.
Clay shifted on the ground where Deuce and Luther had shoved him over an hour ago and stretched out his long legs. The ropes dug into his wrists. He glanced at the empty holster strapped to his thigh and mumbled a curse at the two outlaws, then one at himself.
Luther turned his way again. He was tall and lean, and his face looked like dry, cracked leather. “Yessi-ree, Mister Federal Marshal, we’re gonna show everybody what happens when some no-count lawman comes poking around these parts looking for the Dade gang.” He rubbed his hands together and looked at Deuce. “String him up, boy.”
Sweat trickled down Clay’s temple. He’d tracked the Dade gang for three days, hoping to find their hideout and bring Scully Dade in. But the gang had split up yesterday, and on a hunch he’d followed these two. Scully Dade, wanted in three states, had gotten away, and Clay had stumbled into an-ambush.
He dug the heels of his boots into the soft, damp ground. He’d made a greenhorn’s mistake. Now it looked as though he’d pay for it with his life.
Deuce advanced on him, the length of rope coiled in one hand, the noose dangling from the other. Young—maybe sixteen, Clay guessed—dressed in clothes that were most likely hand-me-downs. He seemed unsure of himself.
Clay looked up at him, his gaze steady. “Do you know what the penalty is for murdering a federal marshal, son?”
He stopped and turned back to Luther. “Maybe—”
“Git on with it,” Luther yelled. “I ain’t got all gol-darn day to stand around here.”
Deuce glanced at Clay once more. “But—”
Luther stomped over to them. “Are you tetched in the head, or just plain stupid?”
He gestured at Clay with the rope. “But he says we could get in big trouble—”
Luther yanked off his hat and slapped Deuce over the head with it “Would you just think for one gol-darn minute! You’re fixing to hang him—what do you ‘spect he’s gonna say?”
Deuce cowered, then straightened when Luther put his hat on again. “Oh.”
He nodded and walked away. “I’ll git his horse.”
Deuce looked at Clay, wary now, and grabbed his arm. “Get on your feet.”
With Luther’s back to him, and time and options running out, Clay took the only chance open to him. He surged upward and drove his shoulder into Deuce’s belly, lifting the boy off his feet. He stepped back, and Deuce fell to the ground, gasping for air. Clay dropped to his knees, groping with his bound hands, and pulled the pistol from Deuce’s holster.
A shot rang out, and a bullet whistled past Clay’s ear. Luther, arm extended, ready to squeeze off another shot, stood only yards away. In a split second, Clay calculated the odds of getting off an accurate shot from behind his back and ducking for cover before Luther could fire. It didn’t look good.
Luther pulled back the hammer. “Don’t make me have to kill you before I get to hang you.”
Clay rose to his full height, towering over both the outlaws. His broad chest and the star pinned to it made an easy target. Clay uttered a bitter oath and threw the gun aside.
“That’s more like it.” Luther walked closer, keeping a steady eye on Clay, and nudged Deuce with his boot. “Git up, boy. You are an embarrassment to outlaws everywhere. I am downright ashamed to be in the same gang with you.”
Coughing, Deuce struggled to his feet. “We’re not really in the gang, Luther. Scully just lets us ride along with him sometimes ‘cause—”
“Shut up!” Luther waved the gun again. “Do like I tol’ you to do.”
Deuce’s shoulders sagged. “Why don’t we just let him go, Luther?”
“We can’t let no lawman get away with hunting down Scully.”
“Then can’t we just shoot him in the leg, or something?”
“No! I’ve been wanting to hang me a lawman, and that’s what I’m gonna do.” Luther’s eyes were bulging. “If I shoot anybody around here, it’s gonna be you! Now shut up and get that dang rope!”
Deuce picked up his gun and straightened the rope. He slipped the noose over Clay’s head, while Luther kept the gun trained on him.
Cold-beads of perspiration broke out on Clay’s forehead. His muscles tense, he looked for any opportunity to get the jump on Luther. He gave him no chance, just held the gun steadily upon him while Clay climbed into the saddle of the horse Deuce led over.
“You go through with this and the whole place will be crawling with marshals,” Clay warned. “There won’t be a rock anywhere Scully Dade can hide under.”
“Scully’s got hisself a new hideout so good nobody’s never gonna find it And you ain’t nothing but some lowly marshal who don’t amount to a wad of spit Nobody’s even gonna know you’re gone.” Luther waved the gun at Deuce. “String him up.”
Deuce threw the rope over the oak’s lowest limb and tied it off. “Ready.”
A slow smile spread over Luther’s face. “Any last words, Marshal?”
Clay’s heart pounded in his chest Thoughts of his thirty-two years spent on this earth raced through his head, but nothing he wanted to share with these two.
He looked down at Luther. “I’ll see you in hell.”
“You can—”
Gunshots sounded, and two riders broke from the trees to the east. Horses at a dead run, they charged the campsite, bullets flying.
Deuce’s eyes widened. “What the—”
Clay’s spirit soared. He turned in the saddle. He’d tracked the Dade gang alone. No one knew where he’d gone. No one expected him to return. No one would come to his rescue, or so he’d thought Was this a last minute reprieve? Or was he caught in the cross fire of someone out for revenge against part of Scully Dade’s gang?
The riders drew nearer, their faces hidden behind red bandannas tied over their noses and mouths, and over-size hats pulled low on their foreheads.
“Gol-darn it!” Luther swore. “It’s the Schoolyard Boys!”
“Huh?” Deuce looked dumbly at Luther.
“Bunch of snot-nose kids trying to make a name for themselves! I’d like to tan their hides. Take cover!”
Luther ran to the oak, with Deuce stumbling along behind. They crouched behind its huge trunk, leaving Clay on his horse, hands bound behind him, noose around his neck.
“Whoa, fella, take it easy.” The saddle creaked beneath him as the horse pawed the ground. Clay kept his voice calm, trying to soothe the stallion as he frantically worked the ropes that bound his wrists. The riders kept coming. Luther returned fire, and punched Deuce in the shoulder until he did the same.
From the corner of his eye, Clay caught sight of another horse emerging from the pines to the north. It galloped toward the campsite, unnoticed by Deuce and Luther. The boy riding it wore the same shapeless clothing, red bandanna and oversize hat as the other two barreling in from the east.
Clay gritted his teeth. He was a sitting duck. If he didn’t get hit by one of the flying bullets, and his horse didn’t run out from under him, this outlaw would surely blow him to kingdom come with one easy shot. He held his breath, cursing himself, Deuce and Luther, and now these Schoolyard Boys.
The rider bore down on him. The horse beneath Clay stepped sideways, stretching the rope tighter around his neck.
“Whoa, fella, whoa.”
The boy pulled alongside, his horse tossing its head in protest. In a swift motion, he pulled a bowie knife from his trousers and swung it at Clay, cutting through the rope and sending tree bark flying.
Clay’s horse lunged sideways. He squeezed his knees tighter to keep his seat His head spun. Were the Schoolyard Boys trying to kill him, or rescue him?
Clay turned in the saddle for a glance at the boy who had cut him free, half expecting him to be gone, half expecting a bullet to explode in his face. The boy was beside him, knife in hand. Their gazes met for a split second. Amid the chaos of flying bullets and thundering hooves, that second lasted an eternity.
The boy nudged his horse closer, brandishing the knife. Clay felt the blade slide past his wrists and the ropes give way. Without giving Clay another look, he wheeled his horse around and crouched low as he raced back toward the pines.
“Gol-darn it!”
Luther let out a yelp and grabbed his shoulder as he dropped to his knees. “I’ve been hit! I’ve been hit by one of them dang fool boys!”
Deuce shrank back against the tree, watching blood spew from Luther’s shoulder. “Oh, God…” He turned away and threw up.
Clay pulled the noose from around his neck and swung down from his horse. He picked up Luther’s gun and disarmed Deuce, shoving the weapon into the waistband of his trousers.
The Schoolyard Boys stopped firing and turned north, toward the pines. The last rider’s horse went down. The boy flew through the air and landed hard on his belly. The other rider, not seeing what had happened, disappeared into the trees.
“Good! Serves you right!” Luther called to the fallen rider.
Clay took a length of rope and tied Luther’s wrists. Deuce sat up, his arms folded across his stomach, his face colorless. Clay thought he might cry.
He pointed his finger at him. “You stay put.” Deuce nodded quickly and shrank back against the tree trunk.
Clay mounted and rode out to the fallen boy. The horse was up and walking, seemingly uninjured by the fall. The rider hadn’t moved.
Clay slid from the saddle and knelt beside him as he lay facedown in the grass. The hat still covered his head, but the red bandanna had fallen below his chin exposing a gently curving jaw and the soft lines of a face that had never seen a razor. And never would.
Light footsteps brushed the grass behind him. Clay tensed and reached for his gun, then froze as cold metal pressed against his cheek.
“Eat dirt, lawman.”
The raspy, croaking voice sent a chill down Clay’s spine. He glanced up to find the barrel of a Winchester inches from his face. His gaze traveled upward and met with the large eyes of the rider who had cut him free, barely visible between the brim of the battered hat and the red bandanna. He’d looked bigger than life, charging into camp, wielding the bowie knife. Now Clay saw that he wasn’t much more than five feet tall; he could only guess at the slender build hidden beneath the clothing. But at the moment the Winchester added significantly to the boy’s stature.
Clay raised his hands. The third member of the Schoolyard Boys rode up, leading the horse that had gone down. The Winchester waved a silent instruction, and Clay turned his back and stretched out on the ground, facedown.
No one spoke, but he heard groans and whispers and finally horses galloping away. He turned in time to see the Schoolyard Boys disappear into the trees.
He mounted again and rode back to the campsite. Deuce was still sitting where he’d left him, while Luther moaned and cursed everything in sight.
“Gol-darn it, I can’t believe I got shot by one of them scrawny Schoolyard Boys. They’re not even dry behind the ears yet. I won’t be able to show my face in these parts again.”
“Don’t lose any sleep over it” Clay climbed down from his horse. “You won’t be showing your face anywhere but in a jail cell for a long time.”
“Dang it” Luther moaned as he sat back against the tree trunk. “I hate them boys.”
“I wonder where they’re from.” Deuce gazed off at the pines.
Luther kicked him. “Shut up, will you? They’re just kids. That’s how come they got the name Schoolyard Boys. Everybody’s asking that same question. Don’t nobody know nothing about them boys except how they’ve been making a nuisance of themselves robbing the stage.”
Clay turned toward the pines. There was no sign of the riders or their horses. But he’d learned something about the Schoolyard Boys that apparently no one else knew.
One of the Schoolyard Boys was a girl.
Kelsey Rodgers pulled back on the reins, and the horse pranced nervously in the soft earth. Her gaze swept the tall trees and the shallow stream running through the narrow valley. “This looks like a good spot. We’ll rest here for a while.”
“We should have let him swing.”
Kelsey slid from the saddle and gave her friend a scathing look. “I told you, Mallory, we had no choice. He was a lawman, for pity’s sake. Do you know what happens when one of them gets killed?”
Mallory dismounted and dropped her reins, allowing her horse to drink from the stream. “Yeah, I know.”
“Then you should know, too, that he could cause problems for us.”
Mallory tossed her head indifferently and sat down on the grassy bank.
Kelsey pulled off her hat. The long braid of her light brown hair uncoiled and fell down her back. “The last thing we need is a bunch of federal marshals swarming the countryside, which is what would have happened when word got out that a lawman had been hanged. Besides, with what we’ve got planned today, we’d most likely be the ones blamed for it.”
Mallory shrugged indifferently. “I still say we should have kept out of it and let the bastard hang.”
A chill swept up Kelsey’s spine. At times, Mallory’s recklessness alarmed her.
“Make her stop talking that way, Kelsey.”
Kelsey put her arm around Holly as she climbed down from her horse. “Are you feeling better? You took a hard fall.”
“I’m all right.” Holly patted the big bay mare and bit down on her bottom lip. “But what about her? What if she’s hurt bad? What if somebody finds out we took her—”
“Nobody is going to find out.” Kelsey glanced at the horse’s front leg. “Looks like she’ll need another shoe. I’ll take care of it when we get back to town.”
“You don’t think the marshal recognized me, do you?” Holly twisted her fingers together. “My bandanna came down. What if he knows who I am? What if he finds out? If I go to jail, I’ll never get to see—”
“He only got a glimpse of your face, not enough to accuse you of anything.” Kelsey patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”
Holly nodded. “All right. If you say so.”
Kelsey sat down beside Mallory on the bank of the stream. The ground felt cool and damp beneath her. They’d ridden several miles into the hills, a safe distance from the campsite. She allowed herself to relax.
“Lucky for that marshal we happened by and saw what Luther and Deuce were up to.” Holly shrugged out of her jacket and tugged at the waistband of the trousers that covered her plump figure. She plopped down on the bank.
Mallory rolled her eyes. “Yeah, real lucky.”
Holly untied the bandanna from her neck and dipped it into the stream. “It was nice of him to come and see about me when I fell.”
“But if it hadn’t been for Kelsey and her Winchester, God knows what he might have done.” Mallory scooped water into her hands and rubbed it onto her face.
Holly blushed. “My word, what are you suggesting?”
“If anybody knows what I’m suggesting, Holly Duncan, it surely is you.”
“How dare you!” Holly’s cheeks reddened, and tears pooled in her eyes. “That’s a filthy thing to say, Mallory Morgan—even for you!”
Mallory’s blue eyes flashed. “I don’t know why you act so innocent Everybody in the whole blessed town knows that when you supposedly went to visit your aunt last year, you were really—”
“All right, you two, stop it!” Kelsey got to her feet and stepped between them. “We’ve got enough problems without you two fighting all the time.”
Mallory shrugged and turned away. Holly sniffled behind her bandanna.
A long moment passed before Kelsey sat down between the other girls again. “How do you suppose. Deuce got hooked up with the likes of Luther and the Dade gang? He doesn’t seem the type.”
“One thing’s for sure,” Mallory said. “His pa is going to whip him good if he ever finds out.”
Kelsey nodded, suddenly feeling much older than her twenty-two years. Mallory, the same age as she, and Holly,’ who was four years younger, seemed to have aged immeasurably in these past months, as well.
“Do you think Luther will be all right?” Holly’s brown eyes looked hopeful. “I didn’t mean to really shoot him.”
“Luther is too ornery to die.” Mallory scooped water from the stream again and trickled it down the front of her shirt
“I’ve never shot anybody before—you know I haven’t” Holly wrung her fingers together.
Kelsey patted her shoulder. “Just be more careful next time.”
“Damn, it’s hot” Mallory stood and stretched her long legs. She was the tallest of the three, and her limbs were lithe and supple.
“How do men stand wearing these heavy trousers and big hats and thick shirts?” Holly tied the bandanna around her neck. “Can we be girls next time?”
“I’ll work on it.” Kelsey pulled a pocket watch from inside her jacket. “We’ve got to go. Holly, do you feel up to this?”
She glanced at Mallory, then nodded. “Sure.”
The three climbed onto their horses.
“Do you think the stage will be on schedule?” Holly shifted in the saddle.
“That old sissy Otis Bean would pop a stay if the stage didn’t get out of town on time.” Mallory fastened the buttons on her jacket. “It’ll be on schedule.”
“And you’re sure of what’s on board?”
Mallory smiled knowingly. “I have it on the best authority.”
“Let’s go.” Kelsey led the way into the woods.
A devilish grin crept over Mallory’s face as she eased her horse up beside Holly’s. “Maybe when we’re done we should double back and make sure Kelsey’s lawman didn’t get into trouble again.”
“Mallory, you’re awful. Just awful.” Holly pursed her lips. “He’s probably very capable.”
A slow grin spread over Mallory’s face. “Probably very capable, indeed. A man his size has got at least one thing in his favor.”
“Mallory!” Holly blushed. “The things you say—Why, you leave me breathless.”
“I’ll bet the good marshal could too.” Mallory laughed a low, husky laugh. “What about it, Kelsey? You saw him up close. What did he look like?”
Eyes slate gray, like a spring thunderhead. A day’s dark stubble covering a strong chin and square jaw. Even, white teeth set behind a full, expressive mouth. Broad, sturdy shoulders.
