Gambling on the Outlaw Read online

  “It pains me to say so, Beth, but this debt needs to be resolved.”

  “I’m off the circuit, and without Frank I don’t see that kind of money anymore.”

  “You could come back and play for me. Work off your debt.”

  Working for Silas I’d be no better than an indentured servant. Not only was it rare for women to play outright, but even if I did, I had no doubt no matter how hard I worked, I’d never quite manage to pay off the debt. He’d find ways to keep me in his servitude. He was, after all, a consummate con man. I had no desire to work for him. That life was behind me.

  “I like my life the way it is. I have a home and family.”

  His pinched face told me just how much he cared about my life. “I can’t say I understand your choice, especially considering how good you were. But it doesn’t change the situation.”

  “I’ll never have that kind of money, Silas.”

  “Perhaps you could enter the tournament and play for the money.”

  “I doubt they’d allow me to play, and besides I’m trying to put that life behind me and build a different reputation here. Not to mention that if I played, we’d be in competition. Do you really want me taking more money from your pocket?”

  He laughed. “If you think you can do it.”

  I smiled, lightening the moment. “I haven’t played in so long, I’m out of practice. My chances of beating you are slim at best.”

  He nodded, acknowledging my point. “You own a homestead, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” The supper I’d just eaten roiled in my stomach at his unspoken suggestion.

  “I’m sure a judge would be happy to consider that as payment of the debt.”

  “You can’t be serious. The homestead is worth far more than what I owe you.”

  He shrugged. “Well, if you don’t want to lose your land, I suggest you make a concerted effort to find the money elsewhere,” he said, rising from his chair and bumping into Clay, who had returned from the lobby.

  “Is there a problem here?” Clay asked. “It sounded almost as if you were threatening the lady.”

  I should have been relieved to have Clay jump to my defense, but it only left me feeling vaguely embarrassed and incensed, as if I couldn’t take care of myself.

  “We were discussing a personal matter,” I offered.

  “An issue between Frank and me that remains unresolved,” Silas said. He took my hand and kissed the back of it, sending a chill up my arm. “I’ll look you up again while I’m in town and we can continue our discussion. I appreciate the meal Mr. Dearborn,” he said, then turned and left the room, leaving Clay glaring at me.

  “What?” I asked, collecting my things and heading out to the street. I was suddenly in a hurry to get to Boreas and get home.

  Clay followed me to the street and handed me the reins once I was in the saddle.

  “Would it be more appealing to marry me if I offered to pay off your debt as part of the arrangement?”

  So he’d heard more of the conversation than I thought. As his wife most of my debts would transfer to him anyway—he’d pay off my accounts at the mercantile, the blacksmith, and the like. I’d figured Frank had left a lot of debt that wouldn’t be recorded on any official ledgers and eventually it would catch up to me, but this gambling debt with Silas was something new, and big.

  “I can’t ask you to do that,” I said.

  “You didn’t ask. I offered.”

  As a midwife I didn’t make much money. More often than not, my patients bartered for my services. I could never hope to come up with the money to pay Silas, which left me few options, and the last thing I wanted was to lose my home. If Clay agreed to pay Frank’s debts, too, it certainly would sweeten the deal. My land would transfer to Clay instead of Silas, which wasn’t ideal, but at least I’d presumably still have use of it. Perhaps it would be the lesser of two evils.

  I met his gaze, trying to gauge his sincerity. His blue eyes held mine without wavering, and his lips turned up into a smile under his perfectly trimmed mustache. He really was a handsome man, in a commanding sort of way, with his dark hair in a neat, short cut, his clothes tidy and of the best quality, and his skin the typical warm bronze of a man who’s spent his life in a saddle on the range. He carried himself like he was used to being obeyed, which was, of course, the case as the head of such a large cattle empire. But was he someone I could tolerate living with for the rest of my life? Despite his good looks, I felt nothing but cold emptiness when I looked at him. Certainly nothing like the heat that used to swirl in my belly when I caught a glimpse of Frank.

  “It does indeed make the offer more attractive. But once you’ve got my land, what about ‘those bothersome misfits’ who live with me? Would you let them stay on the property?”

  Clay sighed, his smile faltering just a bit.

  “That’s a conversation we can save for another time. Suffice it to say that I’ll do everything I can to accommodate them.”

  Despite his attempt at civility, he’d already made it clear how he really felt about my family—the women I’d taken in since Frank’s death. I wasn’t sure how far he’d go to accommodate them. It was one of the many reasons I’d refused to accept his proposal thus far.

  “That’s very kind of you, Clay, and as always, I’m flattered by your attention and your offer of marriage. Paying off my debt would be a mighty big relief, to be certain, but I could not, in good conscience, leave my friends without a home.”

  Whatever his thoughts, he kept his own counsel, but the thinning of his lips into a firm line only reinforced my belief that he wanted my land at any cost, even if it meant finding new homes for women he despised.

  “I said I’d accommodate them.”

  That was likely the most concession I’d get out of him, but accommodating my friends, in his mind, was probably a far cry from what it was in my mind.

  “You’ve certainly given me more to think about tonight. But I’m very tired and need to rest.”

  “Just a word of advice, Beth,” he said, scraping a match on the hitching rail to light one of his long, thin cigars. While he cupped the match and sucked the first few puffs off the cigar, he watched me, making me wait for his precious advice, which he finally offered after blowing out the match and flinging it into the dirt street. “My patience won’t last forever. I want an answer soon.”

  I nodded, knowing that the day fast approached when I could no longer put him off. Even though I had no desire to face making the decision, I’d have to do it soon unless I could manufacture some miracle.

  Digging my heels into Boreas’s sides, I gave Clay my sweetest smile and headed out of town, leaving him standing in the middle of the street behind me.

  Chapter Two

  ~Beth~

  When Boreas and I cantered into the lane outside the homestead, light flickered in the downstairs windows and I saw the shadows of my friends inside, probably cleaning up from supper. Clay was right about one thing—they were definitely misfits. There was no room in a world that saw things in black and white for Nellie, a Paiute woman raped by a white man and left pregnant or Daisy our resident retired prostitute or Lydia the town’s school teacher abandoned by her family and left homeless at the altar. As the widow of a shameless gambler, I was just as much a misfit as they were. It was only natural that we’d find comfort and strength in each others’ company.

  Smiling, I headed for the barn to settle Boreas in for the night. Knowing my friends, they’d made sure to save a plate for me, and even though I’d eaten in town, I wondered what Lydia had prepared. She did magic with food and thrived on the simple pleasure of cooking for our little family. My mouth watered and my stomach rumbled, reminding me that I’d been too distracted to eat much of my supper, instead pushing the food around my plate.

  But Boreas came first.

  Inside the barn the chickens roosted in their corner, their feathers fluffed so that it looked as if their necks were buried inside their bodies, and the cow
s lowed softly as they drifted off to sleep. The mares nickered greetings to Boreas who, as the only stallion we owned amongst us, did his best impression of indifference, even though he tossed his mane and lifted his steps just a little higher as he passed them by. I couldn’t help but chuckle at him preening in front of the ladies, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d have sworn the mares had put their heads together to admire his best qualities.

  I slid from the saddle and tied the reins to a post, then reached for the pitchfork. Boreas stamped and snorted, impatient to be fed.

  “Calm down, you greedy boy. You won’t starve before I fill the trough.”

  Once his snout was happily buried in a pile of fresh hay, I stroked his ebony coat.

  “Typical male,” I said. “All about appetites.”

  I unhitched his saddle and hefted it from his back, hauling it onto the crossbeam where I set it every time I put him in for the night. As I turned away to brush Boreas, I caught a glimpse of movement in the next stall.

  My heart skittered. Whatever had moved wasn’t an animal. I took a step back to within reach of the pitchfork, wrapping my hands around the handle and getting a firm grip on it, before creeping to the opening of the stall.

  When I peeked around the post, staring back at me from haunted brown eyes, was a man I’d never seen before. From his tan skin, the corded muscles of his forearms, the several days’ growth of dark beard, and his well-worn clothes and boots, it was a safe bet he was a cowboy.

  I pointed the business end of the pitchfork at him, hoping to instill some fear, but when I opened my mouth to ask who he was, he must have thought I was inhaling in preparation to scream.

  He put an index finger to his lips.

  “Shhhh,” he said, and in a deep, husky voice added, “I’m not going to hurt you. I just need shelter for the night.”

  He had a hint of a Southern drawl, as if he’d worked hard to hide it, but couldn’t quite rid himself of the last of it. It was rough and gravelly, and had the seductive warmth of sinking into strong arms in front of a cozy fire. To my surprise, a spark of that long-dead heat stirred in my belly. This wasn’t the sort of response a woman should have to finding a strange man in her barn.

  “Who are you?”

  “That’s a beautiful animal you’ve got there.”

  “You’re avoiding my question.”

  The rebellious, Frank-loving part of me wondered what demons hounded this man. What circumstance left him without a horse, all alone, and seeking shelter in a stranger’s barn? What was he running from?

  I wasn’t fool enough to be blind to the fact that certain women were drawn to broken men who needed mending, or to men who broke all the rules.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be gone in the morning.”

  I knew myself well enough to know that I was one of those women, so it was a good thing this particularly tempting, broken, rule-breaker would be gone at first light.

  “Good.”

  He winked, and his eyes sparkled with a wicked twinkle that didn’t quite push away the trouble I’d seen there, but was enough to stoke the same heat in my blood that I hadn’t felt since Frank. Wild, shameless, incorrigible Frank. I recognized the danger in this man as if it were a raging wildfire, and like an insatiable moth, I was drawn to the flames.

  He closed his eyes and slid his beat-up, sweat-stained hat low over his face, covering most of it. Crossing his arms over his chest he dismissed me as if this were his barn and I’d interrupted his peaceful sleep.

  Common sense demanded that I walk away. He was a stranger, and from the looks of him, strong and a lot bigger than me. I should have been afraid for myself and my friends. I should have fetched a gun and chased him away, or at the very least run inside and locked the door behind me. I’d worked hard to build a new, orderly, calm life. But I’d always had a hard time just leaving well enough alone.

  “What are you doing in my barn?”

  “Trying to sleep,” he drawled.

  At this point his lips were the only part of his face left visible, and, clearly amused with himself, his mouth quirked up into a wry smile. I’d hoped I’d put my craving for scoundrels behind me when Frank died, especially because no man since him had even sparked an ember in my heart. But this man, with his velvet voice and shaggy, hard-work muss, left me breathless in ways I only barely remembered.

  Whoever he was, he’d be gone in the morning, no doubt saving me all kinds of trouble. Better to just leave it at that before I did or said something I’d regret.

  I backed away, keeping the pitchfork between us. It seemed prudent to get back to the house before he decided a house full of women would be more comfortable than a barn full of animals. But he didn’t move a muscle. He just laid there, breathing evenly, apparently sleeping. I didn’t want to admit that a tiny part of me was disappointed.

  I hesitated with my hand on the barn door, indecisive. I tried to force myself to go, but couldn’t.

  “Are you hungry?”

  At first, silence was my only answer, aside from the occasional sleepy cluck of the hens. I shrugged, assuming he’d fallen asleep. I was halfway out the door before he finally spoke.

  “I’d be much obliged.”

  Smiling in the dark, I left the pitchfork just inside the barn door.

  “Typical male.”

  ~Isaac~

  I wiped the last of the gravy from the plate Mrs. Beth Caldwell left for me not a half hour ago, using the heel of the bread she’d included. A slab of beef, potato and gravy, bread—I couldn’t say I’d eaten that well in quite some time, but I’d be lying if it didn’t feel like a last meal, especially given my plans.

  When she brought supper, I pretended to be asleep, but from under the rim of my hat, I watched her go. The last I saw of her was the glimmer of moonlight on her pale hair, and it was all I could do not to give in to temptation and introduce myself.

  All I had to do to stop that urge, though, was remember my situation. I could imagine her reaction if I’d actually told her who I was when she’d asked.

  Who are you?

  Isaac Collins, ma’am. Nice to meet you.

  You’re that man everyone’s looking for. The stagecoach murderer?

  Things could only go downhill from there, so it had been better to avoid the question.

  I hadn’t wanted to frighten Mrs. Caldwell, but as Dearborn’s nearest neighbor, her barn was the perfect place to bide a few hours. I smiled at the memory of her with a pitchfork. If I’d been of a mind to threaten her, a pitchfork would’ve made no difference. But I had no problems with her, so I’d done my best to lay her fears to rest. Since I’d be gone in the morning, and likely wouldn’t survive the night, she’d probably forget I’d even been there. As long as I killed Clay Dearborn before he killed me, though, I didn’t care.

  Placing the clean plate on a table near the door, I stretched and went to check on Beth’s horse.

  “Hey, Big Black,” I said, stroking his muzzle. I didn’t know his real name, but in my mind Big Black fit him perfectly. “You want to take a ride?”

  I was no horse thief, but the trip to the Lazy D was a mite long for a late-night walk. Mayhap I’d just borrow him for the trip over. He’d find his way back home, especially with all these females waiting for him. Big Black tossed his head and blew, and the mares whinnied in reply, all three of them glancing his way.

  “Females, eh boy? You got it pretty good here.”

  I retired to the stall I’d been in earlier. The straw was clean and with all the animals bedded down, I turned in, not really expecting to sleep.

  Hours later, after seeing to the rest of the animals, I saddled Beth’s horse and lit out of the barn, making tracks for the Lazy D ranch. I pushed Big Black to a gallop. The cool air cleared my head and helped me focus on the job at hand. I couldn’t help but wonder how my life had come to this—sneaking through the dark on the way to kill a man.

  The rhythm of the horse’s pounding hooves roused my anger at Dearborn,
and brought my blood to a boil. I preferred my fights to be up front and man-to-man, but Dearborn had made that impossible. I didn’t do the things he and Dawson blamed me for, but they’d already spread the rumors, and rumors had a way of becoming truth when told enough, so I was already doomed despite my innocence. I was guilty of enough other business, but I couldn’t cotton to being blamed for the stagecoach murders, since I hadn’t done it. In my thirty-two years I’d killed my share of men, on the battlefield and later as a hired gun, but that was behind me. I hadn’t killed a man since I’d put my life right. I’d make an exception for Dearborn, though.

  I was a long way from being a boy in Georgia. So much had passed between then and now, I doubted even my brothers would recognize me. I wondered what had become of them—Wyatt, the oldest, obsessed with honor and duty; Miles, next youngest after me and my complete opposite in every way; and Samuel, the youngest and the dreamer. Leastways, I hoped they were happy. Ma and Pa, too. One of my biggest regrets was letting my temper rule me. Maybe I’d have been welcome at home longer if I’d learned to control it sooner, and not had to leave so there’d be peace in the house without me.

  Dearborn’s ranch house came into view, and I thought of Ma. She always said I couldn’t let a sleeping dog lie, and I reckoned she was right. I couldn’t just take off and let this be.

  Dearborn had to pay for what he’d done, even if it meant I paid, too.

  I took cover in a stand of Ponderosas behind the house, and slid off Big Black’s back.

  “Thanks for the ride, Friend. Now go on home,” I whispered, then slapped him on the rump and he trotted off into the night, heading home to his females.

  I wished I was heading home to a female of my own. Instead I turned my attention to Dearborn’s spread. At this time of night, the whole place, including the house, was dark. After having lived and worked there for months, I knew it like it was my own, so I stole closer to the house, then edged around the side to the corner of the wraparound porch, where I hid in the shadows and listened. Aside from horses nickering in the barn, and wind whispering in the pines, it was dead quiet—all the hands asleep or passed out in the bunkhouse.