She arched a delicately shaped brow.

“I am the woman who has a signed certificate of marriage. I’m also addressed as Mrs. Walker. I am the woman who has shared the loft with you, whose bosom you have slept upon.” She curled up her fists and pressed them against his chest. “That makes you my husband.”

“Not the one you deserve. I’m—”

“Mine.”

“No.”

But he was hers. Whether he ought to be or not didn’t change the reality.

Oh, hell. He cupped her cheeks in his hands then came down upon her lips, kissing them hard.

Author Note

Do you love stories of redemption? They are among my favourites.

To see our heroes and heroines face their demons and come out the better for it is deeply satisfying. To see them turn from an ugly past to walk in the light of love is at the heart and soul of courage.

In Wed to the Texas Outlaw Boone Walker must fight ruthless criminals. But none of them is more difficult to conquer than the guilt he harbours over his own past. His road to redemption might be a darkly troubled one were it not for Melinda Winston, walking beside him, lighting his path with her unshakeable trust. I hope you enjoy this story of darkness to light, of desperation to joy and new beginnings.

May the spirited Melinda Winston charm you. May the outlaw Boone Walker steal your heart.

Wed to the Texas Outlaw

Carol Arens

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CAROL ARENS delights in tossing fictional characters into hot water, watching them steam, and then giving them a happily-ever-after. When she’s not writing she enjoys spending time with her family, beach-camping or lounging about a mountain cabin. At home, she enjoys playing with her grandchildren and gardening. During rare spare moments you will find her snuggled up with a good book.

Carol enjoys hearing from readers at carolarens@yahoo.com or on Facebook.

In loving memory of Jim Reed, who never left home without his pocket full of dog treats. Brother, we will always remember you as a best friend to man’s best friend.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Author Note

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

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Buffalo Bend, Texas, October, 1883

In the courthouse of the Honorable Harlan J. Mathers, located at the rear of the Golden Buffalo Saloon

“Mr. Walker, do I have at least your partial attention?”

The edge of impatience in the judge’s voice snapped Boone Walker back to the here and now. He shifted his gaze from the woman seated beside his lawyer to the matter at hand.

“Beg pardon, Your Honor.” From his seat on the elevated defendant’s chair, Boone tried to direct his full attention to the proceedings but it wasn’t easy with the piano player on the other side of the thin wall practicing the tunes he, no doubt, intended to perform this evening.

To Boone’s mind it sounded jarring and cheap. Even though he’d lived a tawdry life on the run from the law, he didn’t care for the irritating sound.

“Keep in mind that we are determining your future,” the judge declared, glaring at him from under bushy gray brows. “The decisions made here might grant you your freedom.”

He doubted that. Even if Judge Mathers personally handed him the keys to his prison cell, he couldn’t imagine that he would ever really be free.

Public opinion had branded him an outlaw and that stigma would follow him forever; a dirty shadow that the brightest day would not diminish.

A gust of October wind blew a hail of yellow and red leaves past the courthouse window. Public opinion or not, he wouldn’t mind having these cuffs off his wrists so that he could gather a pile of autumn’s glory, toss it up and watch the leaves fly where they might and land where they pleased.

In spite of the judge’s admonition, his attention returned to the woman. The public at large had not been admitted to this hearing. Other than a few curious faces peeking through the dust-smeared window, there was only him, an armed guard, his tenderfoot lawyer and the lady.

And she was clearly a lady, as pretty as they came. She leaned forward in her chair, watching intently while Stanley Smythe paced and presented his case. Her eyes crinkled in concentration, a fine line creased her forehead nearly to her hairline. But it was the slight parting of her lips that intrigued him and kept his attention returning to her when it should be on the outcome of these proceedings.

Why was she here? He was certain he didn’t know her. The women he had been acquainted with his whole life had not been ladies—beginning with the wife of the man he had shot all those years ago.

“Let me present to you a boy, Your Honor.” His lawyer, Stanley Smythe, swept his arm dramatically toward Boone. The little man stood as proudly as his five-foot-and-about-three-inch frame would allow. “Imagine, if you will, the boy Boone Lantree used to be before he crossed paths with a certain kind of woman. What chance did he have against that cunning taker of innocence? A scarlet woman to the core? And she, along with a vagrant known to be intoxicated at the time, the only witnesses to the presumed crime, other than the defendant’s brother.”

“I’ve read your letter, Mr. Smythe, and might I point out that Mr. Walker is no longer a defendant but a convicted murderer?”

“Wrongly convicted, as you will see once I have presented the facts.”

The woman bobbed her head vigorously in agreement. A dislodged curl at her temple bounced with her nodding. Apparently the pretty stranger was aware of Smythe’s facts. He couldn’t imagine why she would be, though.

Couldn’t imagine why the young lawyer had taken a shine to his case, either.

He’d never even met the man until yesterday. But five months ago, the one-year anniversary of his conviction, he’d received a letter from Smythe asking to represent him in having his verdict overturned.

Since then they had corresponded by mail and he’d learned that the fellow wanted to make a name for himself.

Didn’t explain who the woman was, though. The lawyer’s wife maybe, but trying to picture them together...well, it didn’t seem likely.

“Let’s get on with it, then.” Judge Mathers waived his hand to the empty room. “I’ve got a jury trial coming up at one o’clock and I could use my noon meal before I get into it.”

“Yes, indeed,” Smythe agreed with curt a nod. “Picture, then, our young innocent, his pockets full of earnings from his first payday working as a janitor for the general store. A meager amount to be sure, but the boy’s own for the spending. Now imagine a grown woman with her rouged cheeks and swaying hips seeing the boy and figuring him for an easy mark. She flirts with him, his eager young heart takes a tumble.”

As he recalled the event, it wasn’t his heart that reacted so much as his—but after a few moments of Martha Mantry’s flirting, it was true that he had fallen under her spell. And it had to be said that he had not known Martha was married.

“Our boy believes the woman has taken a shine to him just as he has to her. So he follows her to her room, full of eager innocence—a lamb to the slaughter, if you will—unaware that Elliot Mantry, the deceiver’s husband and partner in crime is hiding in the closet, waiting to steal every cent the boy worked so hard to earn.”

The lawyer did put a nice spin on things. Boone’s money had been hard-earned—it was just that he’d meant to give it to Martha after she had relieved him of his virginity. He wouldn’t have minded his empty pocket in that event, but having the money stolen rankled even after all these years.

Harlan Mathers yawned while glancing at the clock. This was not a good sign. Boone would feel more encouraged had the judge appeared to be interested in his case.

“Put yourself in young Boone’s place, Your Honor. We have all been that age at one time.”

This line of argument seemed to intrigue the woman. Her lips parted another half inch while her blue eyes blinked wide. She glanced back and forth between Smythe and Mathers.

“Let’s get to the hammer and nails of the subject, shall we?” Mathers drummed his fingers on his desk. “My noon meal won’t stay warm forever.”

Lunch didn’t seem a half-bad idea to Boone, either.

“I’m merely setting the scene.” Stanley Smythe smoothed his tweed vest with trim, slender fingers and squared his shoulders. “So the events that followed will be in perspective.”

“It’s clear enough, Mr. Smythe. A boy who had no business bringing his money to town lost it to a pair of con artists, got drunk and challenged one of them to a gun fight. Elliot Mantry, who was also drunk, may or may not have been reaching for his gun. His widow, watching from the window, says that he was not. The facts were confirmed by a fellow who could barely stand or speak.”

“That is the story that convicted my client. But as you know, the woman did not testify to this in court because she was serving time for continuing her treachery against other children. Boys who ought to have grown to be the pillars of society, the rocks upon which law and order depend. But instead, because of Mrs. Mantry, they were led down the path of depravity. Like young Boone, here, they have been forced into a life they would not have chosen.”

Being caught up in Smythe’s story, some of it true and some far-fetched, he nearly forgot the woman with Smythe until she sniffled and dashed a tear from her eye.

“May I speak, Your Honor?” she asked.

All of a sudden the judge didn’t look so bored. His face lit up and he was all smiles, and she, pretty dimples flashing, smiled back.

With a rustle of feminine-sounding cloth, she stood then folded her dainty gloved hands demurely in front of her.

He’d like to see the man who didn’t swallow every word the enticing creature had to say.

Boone would decide later if he believed her or not. Years ago he had believed everything Martha Mantry had told him and look where that had gotten him. Over time he had discovered that women could be skilled at getting what they wanted by flashing a comely smile or a swishing a pair of rounded hips.

Just what was it that this one wanted?

“I would simply like to ask that you look at your own past, Your Honor, or at your own grandchildren, if you are blessed.” Miss Every Man’s Dream wrung her fingers. “Even little girls are born with a spoonful of mischief. The only difference between Mr. Walker and myself is a bit of good luck.”

That and the fact that she had not likely ever put her lips to a bottle of whiskey or carried a gun on her hip thinking the world was as easily conquered as the dust under her boots.

“And here is something to consider...did you realize that Boone Walker has a twin brother?” She arched a pair of prettily shaped brows. “At first, this might not seem to relate to Mr. Walker’s situation, but upon reflection you will see that it does. The boys’ parents named them the same name. Boone Lantree and Lantree Boone. I ask you, sir, what kind of parents name their children the same name? Lazy ones, I say, and uncaring—the boys were doomed from the start by the very people who were supposed to nurture them.”

She sure as shooting wasn’t describing his folks. They were not lazy or uncaring. Ma and Pa had named them for their grandfathers. By giving him and his brother both of the names, no one got offended.

Since he didn’t know what the woman was up to, and she seemed to be on his side, he didn’t correct her. Probably should, though. It wasn’t right to let Ma and Pa’s memory be sullied. Every day it ate at him; how he’d caused them grief over the years. They had gone to their rewards many years back from fevers, he’d come to find out. He always wondered if they died believing the things said about him.

“A twin, you say?” The judge leaned forward on his elbows. “If the parents were so neglectful, what became of Lantree Boone Walker? What has he done with his life?”

The woman sighed, looking sorrowful.

Did she know Lantree? His brother had always been a square shooter, always the responsible one.

He ought to have asked his lawyer about Lantree, but never had. Too much of a coward, he guessed, to come face-to-face with what his running must have cost his twin. Even given their opposite personalities, he and his brother had been close growing up. Right up until the day Boone had run, leaving Lantree cradling the body of a dead man.

Smythe did mention that it was Lantree who was paying his fees. He did know that little bit.

“He’s a hardscrabble cowboy, branding, roping, cussing.” She shook her head in what he saw as exaggerated sorrow but the judge seemed too smitten with her pretty pout to notice the insincerity.

She was truthful about the cussing, though. His brother did cuss. “Hell and damn” as he remembered it. The phrase was his brother’s one claim to wildness.

He doubted that Lantree had changed that much over the years. Must be that the woman was trying to show that because of Ma and Pa, neither of them had had a chance at growing up respectable.

Hell, being a cowpoke wasn’t so unrespectable, not like being an outlaw was.

“Lantree Walker was the only other reliable witness to the shooting,” Smythe declared. “His testimony at the time was that it was a fair fight, maybe even favored Mantry since he was a man coming against a boy, but the widow’s words held sway. Young Boone, fearful to his bones, had run away, as children will do.

“I could not help but be appalled that, at my client’s trial, Lantree Walker’s original testimony was not presented. All we heard were the written lies of a convicted thief and child exploiter along with the deranged memory of an inebriate. Clearly, Lady Justice wept on the day that Boone Walker was convicted.”

“Just so,” the woman added with a quick glance in his direction.

Boone didn’t know who this “innocent child” was they kept talking about. It sure hadn’t been him. He’d been born wild and only become more unruly over the years. On that long-ago day that he’d taken his money to town, Lantree had taken his, too. But his brother had put his in the bank.

While they’d been born twins, identical to look at, they had never been peas in a pod.

“I’ll need some time to sleep on what’s fact and what’s not.” The judge stood, stretching his back. “We’ll meet tomorrow, ten o’clock sharp.”

The woman took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She gazed at Boone as though his fate was of some importance to her.

She nodded and then turned with a swish of that fancy womanly fabric. The scent of roses followed her. That was pleasant, given that he hadn’t smelled a rose in some time.

He watched her bustle twitch to and fro while she walked toward the big set of doors that led to the street behind the saloon. When she pulled the door open, a flurry of leaves blew inside.

Who in tarnation was she?

* * *

Stanley Smythe waived his fork as he spoke to Melinda Winston across the table in the dining room of the Inn of the Golden Buffalo. She could not truthfully say that she knew what the lawyer was going on about...in fact, she could not even say that she actually saw him.

While she did a fair job at stabbing her lunch with her fork, even chewing a bite now and again, she was fairly consumed by her first impression of the black sheep of the family.

No matter how she tried, she could not get Boone off her mind. How could she when she had spent the better part of the two-week journey to Buffalo Bend wondering what he would be like?

Would a condemned man seem different than any other? Would evil intent glint from his eyes? Or would he have the same demeanor as an innocent man?

And, having listened to Lantree’s recollections of what had happened that long-ago night, and having been spellbound by the lawyer’s presentation of an innocent boy wronged, she did believe that he ought not to have been convicted. While there was no denying that he had killed a man, it was clear as raindrops that it had not been in cold blood.

Still, it wasn’t the first murder that had folks shivering in their beds at night. There were reports of many other heartless crimes, each one more wicked than the next.

This morning in the courthouse, she had studied Boone long and hard. During that time, she did not feel evil lurking behind his eyes.

Melinda, having a well-favored face and figure, had, of necessity, developed a keen sense of male integrity. She had come to read men as easily as she read books. She’d had to. If she succumbed to every sweet talker who presented his suit, she would be in sorry shape.

Yes, within Boone she did see a troubled soul, one who carried a great deal of guilt. But she had to agree with Lantree, and with Stanley, when they insisted that Boone was not who the tabloids portrayed him to be.

Seeing Boone earlier, cuffed at the wrists and chained at the ankle, had been disconcerting.

Boone looked like her cousin by marriage...identical in every way. She’d had to blink several times to remind herself that it was not Lantree sitting on the defendant’s chair.

After all the years the brothers had spent separated, one would expect some differences but as hard as she had stared, she hadn’t been able to spot them.

One would think that the brother who spent his life as a healer and a protector would look vastly different from the one who spent his life, if the stories were to be believed, in crime and debauchery.

They did not, and this confused her.

Both men wore their blond hair long, just grazing the shoulder. Identically, they peered out at the world from under slightly lowered brows.

Upon deeper inspection, though, she had been able to see the difference in the souls of the men looking out of those lake-blue eyes.

Until recently Lantree’s expression had seemed slightly haunted by an unkind past. Not anymore, though, since he had married her cousin, Rebecca.

Boone’s expression did not seem haunted so much as jaded, as would be expected having lived his life among the seedy and corrupt.

“You are my responsibility, after all.”

“I b-beg your pardon?” Melinda stuttered, ashamed that her attention had wandered so completely from what Stanley Smythe was saying.

“I promised your cousin that I would take care of you. While you’ve done a fair job of pushing your food about your plate, you’ve eaten only four bites.”

“Have I?” He’d counted them and knew there were four? She didn’t even know that. It was hard to decide whether that was a comfort or an intrusion of her privacy. Not that dining in a public restaurant was private, but still, what she did or did not eat was her own business.

“You have. And before you decide that it is none of my concern, may I remind you that I argued against you coming to Buffalo Bend?”

“You did, Mr. Smythe. Quite vehemently.” She took a bite to appease him and, because now that she was paying attention, the food was quite good. “I was nearly forbidden to come.”

The wide, fancy doors of the dining room swung open and Judge Mathers charged through them. His expression looked stormy. Perhaps he was one of those men who turned grumpy if their meal was delayed. She and Smythe had left the courthouse after the judge and were now nearly halfway through their meal.

“After acting as your guardian these past weeks,” Smythe declared, returning her attention to him once again. “I’ve got to say that forbidden is not a word that you hold in high esteem.”

It was true. As a word forbidden was akin to a bull’s red flag. Once the bright temptation was waived, all one could do is charge after it.

It had been this way ever since Mama had changed. A mischievous adventure now and then helped Melinda forget for a moment that it used to be Mama who laughed at unreasonable rules, Mama who led her girls in lifting their skirts and dancing a playful, half-scandalous jig.

Sometimes, a half-scandalous jig made Melinda forget that it had been Papa who’d stolen Mama’s joy and left her bitter.

He had always claimed that Mama was the prettiest wife of them all...that Melinda was the prettiest little girl. Clearly, that had not been enough to guarantee his love.

Watching Stanley stab an innocent piece of steak repeatedly with his fork, she could only smile and do her best to appreciate the lawyer’s efforts on behalf of her family. He really was a dedicated fledgling lawyer.

“Well, someone needed to represent the family.” She paused to thoroughly chew two bites so that Smythe need not fear that she would starve. “With baby Caroline only five months old, Rebecca would not consider taking her on a long trip...and Lantree would never consider leaving them without medical care...so here I am.”

“Indeed.” He sighed, his slim shoulders sagging in his finely tailored suit. “But I’d like to say again that I am perfectly capable of presenting Mr. Walker’s case on my own. That it would be an easier task if you had remained safely at home.”

“None of us doubt your ability, Mr. Smythe, or your dedication to our Boone.”

“‘Our Boone’? You only just set eyes on him a couple of hours ago.”

“As true as that may be, family is family and that is precisely why I’m here.”

And it was. Grandfather Moreland had taken her to his heart as though she was one of his own. And she was Rebecca’s own, who was Lantree’s own. This made Boone Melinda’s own as much as anyone else’s. For all that he was a stranger, family stood by family.

“A quest for adventure is the more likely reason,” Smythe pointed out, “but here you are. I ask that you not make it difficult for me to return you safely to the waiting arms of your kin.”

While she considered a way to rebut that statement, which was difficult because it was partly true, a young woman crossed the dining room then sat in a chair across the table from the judge.

She looked as thunderous as he did.

“I’m quite family oriented,” Melinda said to the lawyer, but she couldn’t help casting a sidelong gaze toward the judge and the woman. “My cousin’s husband’s brother’s future is far too important to leave to strangers.”

“You are more of a stranger to him than the woman who cleans his chamber pot. It was evident that Boone spent the better part of our hearing wondering who you were.”

“I’d like to meet him, put his mind at rest, let him know his family cares.”

“Pregnant! How could you make such a blunder?” the judge snapped a little too loudly. Several heads swiveled toward the table where the pair glared at each other.

“Is she his wife, do you think?” Melinda whispered to Smythe.

Smythe shrugged. “He looks like he blames her for it. If she was his wife, he’d be taking some of the responsibility. Judging by her age, I’d guess she’s his daughter, poor girl.”

Melinda did not openly gawk, as many were doing, but from the corner of her eye, she noticed the judge glare at his cooling meal.

For all that she resisted staring, her ears were not so discriminating. They heard what they heard, and that was the judge saying something about counting both her and her husband out and wanting the advance money back.

“That’s good news,” Smythe murmured. “At least the girl is married, so whatever the trouble, it can be dealt with.”

They ate in silence for a moment, as did the rest of the diners.

“I want to meet my cousin.” She reminded Stanley Smythe, setting her fork down on her plate.

Her guardian’s expression hardened. He slid his glasses up his nose. If he’d had more hair, she guessed it would be standing on end.

“I’ll tell him who you are but I will not have you associating with criminals.”

“Once you’ve worked your magic, he’ll no longer be a criminal.”

“As your temporary guardian, I forbid it.”

She clenched her fingers around her fork.

“I understand,” she said with the most distracting smile she knew how to give. “I leave that to your judgment.”

“You do?”

“Of course.”

His gaze at her was less than believing and she couldn’t blame him for that. She did, indeed, have every intention of meeting Boone Walker.

She owed it to Rebecca to discover everything she could about their relative.

* * *

Boone reclined on a cot in a cell at the Buffalo Bend sheriff’s office, his head cradled in his arms and his elbows jutting out. The space, dimly illuminated by a lamp that shone under the crack of the deputy’s office door, was a sight better than his prison cell back in Omaha.

He watched a dusting of stars through the barred transom set high on the wall that faced the alley. Damned if they weren’t prettier than the finest jewels.

Wind whistled through the slats with a chilly moan. The cold that rushed in wasn’t comfortable but that was a small sacrifice for a breath of fresh air.

Because he’d spent much of his life living in the open and on the run, the thing he had missed the most over the past year of incarceration was fresh air.

Locked up, there had been days when the scent of a hundred prisoners’s sweat and stale pee permeated the prison walls like smoke trapped in a flue. Made a man want to puke.

If, somehow, his dandy little lawyer managed to get his sentence overturned, he’d never again so much as bend a rule that might jeopardize his freedom.

He placed one hand on his chest, over his heart.

“I vow it on my—” he nearly said “honor” but remembered he was short on that virtue. “Hell, I just vow it.”

He’d endeavor to be as reformed as any man could be. As righteous as Lantree had been on his best day. As good as Ma used to pray he would be.

Thoughts of his brother had haunted him over the years. One time he’d even snuck back to the home farm. From the look of things he’d been about five years too late. All that was left of the place was half of the barn and the outhouse minus its roof.

He would have visited the cemetery but it was near sunup and the protection of darkness had begun to fade. And in all truth, he hadn’t wanted to know if Ma and Pa were there. Hadn’t reckoned he could face the dawn if he saw his brother’s grave.

That would have meant that it was too late to beg his forgiveness, if there was any to be had. But now he knew that Lantree was not in that cemetery.

That meant he had lived years hearing the ugly stories about Boone Walker. Did he believe them?

Hell’s curses, even if he didn’t, how would he ever face Lantree given all he had done to break his brother’s heart? Maybe one day he would write, try to make amends, then again, maybe it would be better not to. It might be for the best if he just continued to be a memory, one that probably faded with each passing year.

Something hit the wall near the window. A mischievous kid tossing a rock, he reckoned. Getting a thrill out of riling a killer is something he, himself, might have done as a know-nothing youth.

Damn if that character flaw hadn’t helped get him where he was today.

Hell, he’d been drunk when he’d shot Mantry. And full of himself. He’d been sure as moonrise that he’d get his money back; have the fellow groveling at his feet in apology.

He’d learned a thing or two since then, not that it made him any less of an outlaw.

Over the years he’d done some things just to get by. Most of them he was ashamed of, but he’d never killed again. At least he didn’t have that sin on his conscience.

A pebble sailed between the bars of his cell window and landed on the floor with a thud. Best to ignore it until the kid got bored and went home. No doubt, tomorrow he would be bragging about how he riled the beast and gotten away with it.

With Halloween only a couple of weeks away, maybe Boone ought to leap up, holler and rattle the bars, give the kid a real story to tell his friends.

While he thought about it, the pelting quit, so he resumed his admiration of the stars.

A few moments later he heard scraping outside then a pause and then more scraping. It sounded as though something was being dragged across the dirt toward his window.

Quietly he scooted from his cot and crouched beside the wall below the transom. He’d heard stories of vigilantes delivering warped justice through unguarded windows.

“Mr. Walker?” a feminine voice whispered. “Mr. Walker, are you in there?”

Startled, he looked up. A pair of beautiful eyes blinked in the dim light. Even from down here he could see that they were as blue as daybreak.

He stood, slowly meeting her gaze.

“Oh, there you are.” Strands of wind whipped hair crossed her mouth. She puckered her lips to blow it away. “Why were you on the floor?”

He took a big step back. Had to. Because, stranger or not, the urge to reach his hands through the bars, cup her face and kiss that puckering mouth was strong.

It had been some time, a good long year, since he had lain with a woman, which might explain the feelings she stirred up, even with only her face in view.

“Who are you?”

Clearly she was the woman from the courthouse...the lady. But who was her guardian? What kind of man let a sweet-looking thing like her just slip out into the night?

“Who let you out?”

“Let me out?” Her brow wrinkled, looking puzzled.

“Who is supposed to be making sure you don’t run afoul of some low life in the dark?”

“Oh...well, that would be Mr. Smythe, your lawyer.”

“He gave you permission to go out unaccompanied?”

“Naturally not. The man is dedicated to my safety. But just now he’s asleep. It’s a wonder anyone else is, though. His snoring is rattling the walls. Who would have guessed such a small person could create such a ruckus?”

“Who would have guessed that a lady would not have the sense to stay inside after dark?”

“Really, Boone, I’ve lived the past several months in the wilds of Montana. I can’t imagine that crossing the street from the hotel to here can hold any more danger than that.”

Who was this woman who felt she could call him by his given name when they had not even been introduced? Was she someone from his past that he’d forgotten?

Not the hell likely.

“You’re standing half a block from two saloons. Men of low morals stagger down this alley all night long.”

“I doubt that. I’ve been out here for nearly half an hour trying to get your attention. I’ve yet to see a single low-moraled staggerer.”

“You’re looking at one, miss. I suggest you get back to the hotel and let Smythe think he’s doing his job.” He sure hoped that his lawyer was better at presenting his case than he was at watching over pretty little misses. “Who are you, anyway?”

“That’s what I came to tell you. And since Mr. Smythe has forbidden me to speak with you, I had no choice but to come over after dark.” She curled her fingers around the transom bars. Her fair hands were velvety-looking now that he saw them without gloves. “In Stanley’s opinion, ladies should not engage with criminals.”

“I can’t help but agree.”

“Naturally, I pointed out that after he pleads your case, you will, in fact, no longer be a criminal.”

“May I ask why you so all-fired care?”

“Because that is what family does. They care.”

Family? He reckoned that in spite of the woman’s beautiful face, she must be deranged.

He and Lantree had been the only children of only children. Couldn’t recollect that there had ever been anyone but Ma and Pa and the two of them.

“You wouldn’t know me, of course, but I’m your cousin...of sorts. Melinda Winston.”

“Miss Winston, I don’t have any cousins. Go on back to Smythe. I’ll watch until you get safely inside the hotel. I can see the front door from here.”

A great gust of wind tilted Miss Winston sideways but she caught her balance.

“This stack of crates isn’t as sturdy as one would hope,” she said with a laugh. “You didn’t used to have cousins, but now you have me.”

He didn’t know what to say about that so he remained silent, listening to the wind knock something against the side of a building and the drunken laugher of a couple of fellows leaving the Golden Buffalo Saloon.

It was more than a little alarming to hear them coming in this direction.

“I see that this is confusing for you, Boone, but would I be calling you by your given name if I was not related to you?”

“I get the feeling that you are a lady who does as she pleases when she pleases.”

“Well, yes, that is true.” Her smile indicated that she reckoned it to be a virtue rather than plain willfulness. “And that’s why I’ve come to tell you about Caroline.”

“Caroline?” He didn’t recall a Caroline in his past. He didn’t like to think that he’d forgotten but...

“Your beautiful baby niece.”

His heart constricted. He felt gut-punched.

“Lantree’s got a daughter?”

“And a wife—my cousin, Rebecca Lane Walker. That makes me your cousin and I’m here because they can’t travel with the baby being so young.”

The men’s laughter grew louder. There was an edge of nastiness to it that made Boone’s skin prickle.

“We’ll talk, but later.” The drunks had noticed her. There was but one conclusion they would come to about a woman standing on crates in the dark speaking to a convict.

“Hey, lady! I’ve got a quarter.” They’d reached the conclusion even quicker than he thought they would.

“Better run. I’ll see that you get across the street safely.”

She stepped off the crates, took four steps then spun around, her brows arched in question and the wind whipping her skirt.

“I don’t see how you can when—”

“Get!”

The men picked up their pace. He watched her run for the safety of the hotel but not quickly enough. Her pursuers were only steps behind.

Boone stooped, snatched up the pebble that she had tossed through his window. He fired it at man in front and hit him square in the back of the head.

The fool dropped cold. The other drunk tripped over him. They both rolled around in the dirt.

Hell, who would have guessed that all the practicing at skipping stones that he and Lantree had done as children would turn out to be so useful?

Melinda Winston, her skirts flapping, reached the safety of the hotel door. With her hand on the knob, she turned, flashed him a smile then, oh damn, she winked.

Heaven help Stanley Smythe was all he could think.

Chapter Two

Melinda closed the door to her hotel room and leaned against it, her breath coming fast and hard. Those men had nearly latched onto her skirt.

What a lucky thing that the fellow in front tripped and brought his friend down with him. There was more than her safety at stake.

The last thing she wanted was for Boone Walker to think, as every other man did, that simply because she was a female she was not able to look out for herself.

Still, she could only admit that even Rebecca, her comrade in adventure, would agree that this pursuit had been a close call.

She would feel guilty forever if something happened to make Stanley Smythe feel that he had failed as her guardian.

Had it not been for him finally agreeing to let her come along, she might be at the ranch right now, counting cows. As much as she loved Moreland Ranch and everyone living there, it was isolated.

How would she ever meet the one man destined to be hers? In the time she had lived there she had entertained three possible suitors. One looking for his third wife, the next a good friend and contemporary of Grandfather Moreland’s and the last...well, to be frank, he was not at all interesting.

Someday she would like to return to the mountains, live near Rebecca and Lantree. She could not imagine raising her children any place but near her cousin.

But, if there were to be children, there needed to be a husband and she was not likely to find him milling around with the cattle.

With her breathing restored, she crossed the room to peer out the window. The men who had chased her were just now getting to their feet. The swifter of the two rubbed the back of his head. His drunken companion glanced around as if confused.

Well, all was well that ended well. And a close call was only that. Close. As it turned out, she had been quicker and luckier.

And the risk had been well worth it since she had been able to make the acquaintance of her new cousin, to let him know that he was an uncle and he had his family’s support.

Standing beside the window and protected by the darkness, she unbuttoned her dress and stepped out of it.

The men below shuffled back to the saloon and went inside.

Dry, gusty wind blew up clouds of dust. The streetlamp below her window illuminated the grains as they whirled and swirled.

She plucked the pins from her hair then reached for the hairbrush on the dresser beside the window. While she brushed the day’s tangles out, she thought about Boone.

How could she not? The man was a puzzle.

He was handsome, like his brother, and yet not at all like his brother. The features all added up to mirror images, but when she looked at Boone, there was a little flutter in her belly.

He made her feel edgy and uncomfortable—but at the same time fascinated.

That didn’t happen when she looked at Lantree. At least not after the first glance, because by the second glance she’d known that he was meant for Rebecca and the flutter had vanished and never returned.

Maybe the flutter would be gone for Boone, as well, once she thought things through. Once he was not so mysterious, her heart might settle back into place.

She stared at his transom window. From where she stood, it was just visible through the rising dust.

It ought to be that Boone was as different from his twin as dusk is to dawn. One a healer, one an outlaw. An angel and a devil.

Or that might not be true at all.

After the brief time she had spent with Boone, she wondered if in his heart of hearts he was more like Lantree than it first seemed. Perhaps he, too, might have been upstanding had his life not taken such an ugly turn.

Recalling their conversation, he had been concerned for her safety.

What sort of a soul lived inside Boone Walker? The hardened criminal that life had made him? Or had something of the boy survived the hard life...maybe that person would resurface once Stanley won him a new future.

She set her brush aside and plaited her hair all the while staring at the transom window down the alley.

What was he thinking about at this moment? She could not help but wonder. No doubt he wanted to know more about his family. She hadn’t had the time to tell him anything except that his brother was a father.

In the event that he wasn’t freed by tomorrow night, she’d go back and tell him the rest. About Moreland Ranch and how his brother had become a doctor, about how deliciously in love he was with his wife.

Melinda sighed. Where was the man who would be deliciously in love with her?

Oh, it was true that men were in adoration of her left and right. They put her on a pedestal, admired her but did not lift a foot to climb up after her. There must be a man somewhere who had hands big enough to yank her off, to love her even when she stood on solid ground.

Where was the man who would look past her face to really see her? The one who would love her down to her soul, who would want her with all her faults and virtues? The one who would never leave and still want her when she was old and her beauty faded?

Where was that man? She wanted to know.

A movement caught her eye. Boone’s face appeared between the transom bars. Moonlight reflected off his handsome features.

She thought he was gazing up at the stars but from this distance it was hard to tell.

Perhaps he was watching...her.

His hand lifted into view. He waved.

Feeling a flush from her hairline to her toes, she waved back.

A serious flutter that may or may not be gone by ten in the morning twisted her insides in a way they had never been twisted.

This was disturbing since she wanted that feeling to be for the man she married. It was unlikely that Boone, given his past, would even consider a wife and family.

And...who was he really? Maybe he was the dastardly outlaw of the broadsheets and not the hapless boy that Stanley presented him to be.

Quite honestly, she had no way of knowing for sure, even though she was very good at reading people. Was it possible that she felt a kinship to him because he looked like Lantree, whom she loved, or was she drawn to him because he was exceptionally handsome? If that were the case, she would be like her own hordes of suitors, infatuated with an image.

My word!

She backed away from the window, flung herself on the bed and waited for her nerves to settle or for morning to come.

Morning came first.

* * *

By ten o’clock the next day the wind had quieted. The courthouse door was left open to let in the sun-warmed air of an autumn morning.

The sounds of wagon wheels and commerce rolled past. Scents from a nearby bakery drifted in. Boot steps fell heavy on the boardwalk then faded into the distance.

Boone listened to the noise in an attempt to keep his heart from beating out of his chest and his shirt from becoming soaked with nervous sweat.

Apparently, Judge Mathers didn’t want to hear more formal testimony. First thing upon entering the courthouse he had ordered Smythe into his chambers and shut the door.

His lovely “cousin” had leaped from her chair when the slender lawyer disappeared.

Her pacing was putting him on edge. The swish of fabric feathering around her ankles made his insides itch. The sound of the guard’s boots tapping on the floor echoed from one wall to the other when he wearily shifted his weight.

Life was funny when one man in a room could be tied up in agitation waiting to see where his future would go and the other so bored he risked drifting into a doze.

Melinda Winston suddenly stopped pacing and approached Boone at a quick pace. She had her mouth open, apparently ready to say something, when all of a sudden the guard came to attention and blocked her way.

She blinked at him; she flashed dimples.

“I would take it as a kindness if you would let me speak to my cousin,” she said in a voice as sweet as any he’d ever heard.

“I’d like to oblige, ma’am, but it’s against the rules.”

“Oh, of course,” she sighed with a lift of her bosom. She shrugged then turned to walk away. Suddenly she spun around. “It’s just that I have family news. Would it be acceptable if the three of us sat on this bench with you in between me and Mr. Walker?”

“Don’t know that there’s a rule against it but—”

“I’d be ever so grateful.”

Had she practiced that batting of the eyelashes? He’d wager a hundred dollars that she had. She was skilled; he’d have to give her that. He’d wager another hundred that the deputy didn’t know he was being reeled in, a fish flopping on a hook.

“I reckon it can’t do any harm, as long as the two of you keep your distance.”

“Thank you.” She gave the deputy’s forearm a quick squeeze then sat on the bench. “You are a true gentleman.”

Bedazzled, the man could only nod.

Boone sat on the left side of the lawman. By damn, the fellow was preening.

Miss Winston, with her hands folded in her lap, leaned forward so that she could peer at him around the guard.

“What I didn’t have time to tell you last—” She stopped suddenly. Apparently she didn’t want it known that she had snuck out in the dark of night. “Last time we met, is that Lantree is more than—”

“This is a mockery of every legal standard!” Stanley Smythe’s voice penetrated the wall. He reckoned even the saloon keeper could hear the ruckus. “I will not stand for this.”

That didn’t sound promising for his future. Melinda cast him a quick frown.

Long silence stretched in which he could only guess the judge was speaking in a quieter tone. The clock in the courthouse seemed to tick louder all of a sudden...with a longer time between each swing of the pendulum.

Even the deputy turned his head in the direction of the judge’s chambers, listening.

“My client should walk free on the merit of his own innocence and you know it.”

More silence, except for the clock that grew ever louder.

Melinda stood and turned toward the door with her hand at her throat.

Oddly his mind conjured the sound of his brother’s voice saying, “Hell and damn!”

“No! This is highly irregular. I will not permit it.”

Boone stood and faced the judge’s chamber. So did the deputy.

All at once the door flew open and Judge Mathers strode out, his robe flapping like the black wings of doom.

“A situation has come up, Walker,” he announced. He didn’t sit at his podium but he did pick up his gavel and point it at him. “If you help me out I’ll set you free.”

Didn’t sound so bad to Boone, but his little lawyer bristled.

“My client refuses. I insist that you release him without putting him through this farce.”

Melinda tipped her head to the side, the fine line etching her forehead reaching her hairline.

“May I speak, Your Honor?” Boone asked. “I reckon I ought to know what kind of help you need and why it’s got Mr. Smythe in a tizzy.”

“Not a tizzy, but a bout of righteous indignation!” Smythe marched across the room and stood in front Boone with his hands on his hips, looking for all the world like a bristled bantam rooster protecting his oversize chick.

It was damn hard not to admire the man.

“You may speak, sir.”

“Sir” coming from a judge...it made his neck tingle.

“What kind of farce are we considering?” Not that it mattered much if it earned him his freedom.

“I’m in a bind.”

The judge set down his hammer and stepped down from his polished podium. Crossing the room, he gripped Boone’s shoulder and looked up, holding his gaze along with his future.

Whatever the judge wanted, Boone couldn’t imagine refusing, short of murder, that is. He was well and done with that in this lifetime.

“I want you to capture an outlaw gang. If you do, you are a free man.”

“Mr. Walker.” Smythe, who had been pushed aside by the judge, elbowed his way back in. “I advise you to refuse. You ought to be a free man, by your own merits. The judge has no right to include you in his dangerous schemes.”

“It is within my power to set you free or to send you back to the penitentiary.”

It didn’t matter what Smythe felt about the right and wrong of the situation. Boone knew that in reality, Mathers did have the authority to decide his future.

“How many outlaws in this gang?” he asked. Not that it mattered. He was not going to turn down his single chance to be a free man.

“Last we knew, six. Shouldn’t be a problem for a man of your...talents, shall we say?”

Rumor had cast him as a cold-blooded killer and the judge must believe it, otherwise he would not have offered him this opportunity. No one knew that the one killing he had committed had not been in cold blood. Liquor and ignorance had been running hot in his veins that night.

But he did know outlaws. Had run with them most of his life.

“I’ll take the job, Your Honor, in exchange for my freedom.”

He only hoped that it would not be in exchange for his soul. It was hard to imagine how he was going to round up six outlaws, possibly hardened killers that folks believed he was, without bloodshed.

Smythe let out a resigned sigh. “I’ll have this written up, everything neat and legal.”

The judge nodded, his expression satisfied, then turned toward the podium and started up the steps. He pivoted suddenly.

“Oh, and you’ll need a wife.”

* * *

Surely the judge was making an absurd joke.

Melinda cocked her head at him, searching for any sign of mirth.

Unfortunately all she could detect was satisfaction dashed with a pinch of smugness.

“A wife?” Boone gasped.

Poor man, trading one shackle for another.

From outside on the boardwalk a woman’s singsong voice drifted inside. She was reciting a child’s ditty and doing an off-key job of it.

“How the hell am I supposed to capture outlaws and protect a woman while I’m doing it?”

The judge shrugged away Boone’s concern. “I had a deputy and his missus set for the job, paid them a pretty penny of taxpayer money, too, by way of a bonus. Yesterday I was informed that the wife is in a family way and now they’ve backed out of the deal.”

“I’ll get things done quicker on my own,” Boone declared, his complexion looking blanched. “Where in blazes would I get a wife anyway?”

How odd that Boone cast her a brief sidelong glance. No, perhaps not. No doubt he had only been breaking his stare-down with Mathers.

“A wife is a must, my boy. Everything has been arranged for you and the missus to pose as homesteaders—it’s the only way to draw the criminals out. This particular gang goes after settlers.”

“I’ll settle as a single man.”

Mathers shook his head. “No, that won’t do at all. A wife gives the impression of vulnerability.”

“That may be, but where the blazes do you think I’ll conjure up one?”

The singsong voice stopped suddenly, to be replaced by footsteps pattering into the courthouse.

Suddenly a smile shot across the judge’s face. “Ah, here she is now!”

“Back out while you can, Boone,” Smythe urged. “We’ll take your case to a higher court.”

Melinda sat hard on the bench. Even the guard groaned under his breath.

Boone’s bride-to-be had hair the color of cinnamon, lips the hue of ripe radishes and a crimson gown that barely covered anything.

“Miss Scarlet Cherry—” the judge inclined his head toward Boone “—meet Boone Walker, your intended.”

“Oh, my, my,” Miss Cherry purred, but even that was off-key. “It’s the outlaw in the—” Scarlet Cherry stroked nicotine-stained fingertips over Boone’s wrist “—flesh.”

This would not do. No, not in a thousand years. This woman was to be Rebecca’s sister-in-law? Baby Caroline’s auntie?

If only Lantree were here. He would intervene with a lecture about the risk of venereal disease.

In spite of the fact that Scarlet Cherry’s name had everything to do with red, her face was pale, lined and sickly looking. No doubt she had a dreaded illness.

Wish as she might, Lantree was not present. No one from the family was here to take Boone’s side...no one but her.

What was she to do? She might argue against this marriage all day and night but, with his freedom at stake, Boone would go along with this scheme in the end.

Truly, who could blame him for that?

Still, there must be something that she could do to prevent this injustice.

She covered her face, thinking, trying to figure a way out of this mess...other than the obvious one.

Peeking out from between her fingers, she saw the harlot press her beleaguered charms against Boone’s arm. He stared down at her with a frown.

“Miss Cherry,” Boone said while disengaging his arm. “As much as I appreciate your willingness to help, I’ll do this on my own or not at all.”

“Good day to you, ma’am.” Stanley plucked Miss Cherry’s sleeve and hustled her out the open doors of the courtroom.

My, but that was a relief. The very last thing she wanted to do was report that Boone had been forced to marry that brightly hued woman.

As far as Melinda could tell, Boone was a man who could capture the outlaw gang all on his own. He had a hard, worldly edge to him that his brother did not have.

Truly, all Boone had to do was cast the outlaws the scowl that he was currently giving the judge and they would put themselves in irons.

“It’s a wife or a jail cell, Walker. The choice is yours.”

“That is no choice at all!” Melinda leaped to her feet, feeling the injustice to her bones.

“It’s the one he’s got, young woman. Perhaps you would like to volunteer for the assignment...grant this outlaw his freedom.”

The challenge had been laid at her feet...and it was not as though the idea had not been making her stomach churn for the past fifteen minutes. Could she really make such a leap without running outside and losing her breakfast?

Marrying a stranger, no matter that he didn’t quite feel like one because of Lantree, was beyond bold. It was life-changing and perhaps the most foolish thing she would ever do.

But in the end, family stood up for family. It was the way love worked. Lantree loved his brother and Rebecca loved Lantree. Melinda loved Rebecca and they all loved baby Caroline, therefore—

“Perhaps I would!”

Her mind reeled; she could scarcely find her breath. With three words she had changed the course of her life. In all, though, she was not sorry she had risen to Mathers’s challenge even if she had to resist the urge to run outside and be sick.

Honestly, there was nothing else to be done.

Judging by the loud objections of Stanley and Boone, they were not well pleased with her decision. Indeed, her ears rang with Boone’s curses and Stanley’s bellows of outrage.

Mathers was grinning, though. It occurred to her that maybe he had brought the harlot here simply to goad her into volunteering. When one thought about it, Melinda would make a far more believable homesteader than Scarlet Cherry would have.

Yes, indeed. All she needed was a couple of sturdy brown dresses and she could play the part to perfection.

“I’d like to speak with you for a moment, Boone.” Her quiet statement silenced the profanity. “Over in the corner.”

She led the way toward a bench in the rear of the room.

Boone followed, then the guard and, after him, Stanley. Only Mathers remained near the podium, hands in his pockets. Rocking back on his heels, he looked like the cat who’d swallowed the canary.

“Gentlemen, I’d like a word with Mr. Walker in private,” she said with a nod at her escorts.

“I’ll allow it,” called the judge.

With a scowl at everyone, Stanley Smythe followed the guard to the far side of the room.

“Miss Winston, have you lost your mind?” Boone whispered before they had even taken a seat on the bench.

“You’ve been speaking to my mother?” She laughed as she fluffed her skirt on the bench. Couldn’t help it because she clearly heard her mother’s voice in her head. She had heard the disapproving tone too many times growing up to not hear the familiar voice in this moment of upheaval.

“This is hardly a laughing matter, ma’am. Mathers isn’t talking about acting married, he’ll have us hog-tied in a second.”

“Judge Mathers?” She stood and turned toward the podium. “What if we simply acted as though we were married? It would accomplish the same thing.”

“It would accomplish your reputation being ruined. I’ll not have that misfortune darkening my career. No, no, indeed. It’s marriage or prison.”

She sat back down.

“We’re strangers.” Boone rubbed a hand over his face. She heard his palm scrape the rough stubble of his beard, the chain of his handcuffs jingle. “Why do you want to help me?”

“Because we aren’t strangers at all. We may have only just met, but through Lantree, Rebecca and Caroline we are family...forever bound.”

He stared at her, his brows lowered while he shook his head in apparent denial of the facts.

Well, no wonder he was in a sullen state. He was being put in a completely unfair situation.

Yes, indeed, and hadn’t he spent the better part of his life the victim of an unfair situation?

“Your Honor?” Melinda stood again. “Once Mr. Walker fulfills his mission and you grant him his freedom, can our marriage be annulled?”

“Under a certain condition.”

She sat down, arching a brow at her reluctant relative. “There, you see? Once we meet the condition, everything will be as it was before, except that you will be a free man.”

“Not worth the risk.”

“But it is! Do you know how much your brother has worried about you over the years? How he’s watched the Wanted posters, praying that you hadn’t been captured or killed, hanged even?” She caught his hand and pressed it between her palms. “Boone, you owe it to Lantree to fight for your freedom.”

“With you as the ammunition?” He snatched his hand from hers. “Woman, are you insane?”

Chapter Three

“While it’s true that I’m overwhelmed by this hornet’s nest we’ve landed in, I’m quite lucid. I understand what I am doing.”

“I’m in a hornet’s nest. You are not.”

The woman smiled at him as though they were not about to jump hand in hand off a cliff. Hell’s curses, there was a twinkle in her eye.

“You’re making light of a serious situation. The danger is as real as razor’s edge. Think for a minute...your family will be devastated if something happens to you.” He’d shake some sense into her if his hands weren’t shackled.

“Our family, Boone. Believe me when I say that you are an important member—you can’t know how much you are loved.”

He might be able to dismiss what she was saying if her demeanor had not become suddenly serious. As intently as he looked into her eyes, there was no trace of the woman who could clearly get anything she wanted with a smile. “Your absence has been hard on your brother. You owe it to him to do whatever you need to do to come home.”

As true as that might be, he could hardly risk Miss Winston’s safety to accomplish it.

“Besides,” she said, “they will have every confidence, as I do, that you are fully able to protect me. And might I point out that I am far from a withering violet. I am well able to care for my own safety.”

That statement just went to show that the lovely Miss Winston didn’t know a hill of beans about what she was getting herself into.

The woman looked as delicate as a porcelain doll. If she’d ever even been in an outlaw’s presence, he’d eat his hat.

“My brother hasn’t seen me in half a lifetime. He can’t know what I will or won’t do.”

“Maybe not, but, Boone, I know.”

“No.” He stood. It wasn’t worth the risk. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

The walk across the room to the judge felt like twenty miles uphill.

“I appreciate the offer, Your Honor, but you know as well as I do that the risk to Miss Winston is too great.”

“It’s a damned shame, son.”

“It’s a damned outrage!” Smythe actually shook his fist at Mathers.

While it might not be an outrage, it was a damned shame. He’d come so close to freedom, had nearly been able to taste it. Sleeping in the open and being able to go wherever the wind blew him had been within his grasp. He’d been only a decision away from being able to see his brother again.

That was the worst of it, he reckoned. Not seeing Lantree.

“You’re right, Smythe. It is an outrage.” Mathers turned from the lawyer to pin Boone with a hard gaze. “If you choose to spend your days behind bars, that’s no one’s tragedy but your own. But those folks living in Jasper Springs? Well, they live in fear every day. You’ll keep Miss Winston safe by your decision, but their daughters don’t dare to even go into town. The young men are at even more risk. Why, just last week—well, if you aren’t interested, there’s no point in reliving the tragedy.”

“Please, Boone,” Melinda said from somewhere behind him. “This is bigger than us. What’s a temporary marriage when lives are at stake? I’ll never sleep another wink knowing I could have helped and I didn’t.”

He ought to slap himself in irons since no one else seemed to want to, but what Mathers had just revealed pierced him through the heart. He understood more than most the damage that a criminal could do to a green boy.

He’d been those boys, going to town and having their lives ruined. Maybe Melinda was right about this being bigger than they were. What was a temporary marriage—or his freedom to choose his destiny for that matter—in relation to the lives of the people in that town?

Mathers might believe that the champion he was sending to battle was the killer who could round up an outlaw gang as easily as a cowboy herded cattle, but that was not the case.

He was no more than a dime-a-dozen criminal.

But he reckoned he could at least have the courage of Miss Melinda Winston.

And if he did get the pair of them out of this still breathing, he’d be a free man. Maybe he’d go to Montana and meet his baby niece.

“I’m uneasy about this, but I’ll take the job.” Even while he was speaking, he prayed that he was not making a mountain of a mistake.

Mathers clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s get the pair of you hitched, then.”

Melinda rose from the bench at the back of the room. She strode toward him without hesitation. The confident smile on her face made him wonder if, in spite of the fact that she looked like a rose petal, she had a backbone of iron.

His own gut was doing backflips. He reckoned he couldn’t force a smile if his future depended upon it—well, hang it, now that he thought about it, it did.

Mathers nodded at the guard who unlocked the handcuffs and took them off.

The ceremony was finished three minutes after Melinda took her place at his side.

Chances were this was not the romantic wedding that a woman like her would have dreamed of, but if he kept her safely through this, she could have that next time, when she married for real.

When the judge said he could kiss his bride, Smythe stepped between them with an exaggerated shake of his head.

Melinda extended her hand and he shook it. The deal was sealed.

“You’re free to go, Walker.”

Go where, was what he wanted to know. He hadn’t a dollar to his name. Only the folks in this room knew him to be a free man.

It was an odd, nearly uneasy feeling to know that he could simply walk out the courthouse door and not be stopped by the deputy.

“Keep low for a day or two. Folks will wonder. We’ll meet at the livery, day after next, 4:00 a.m. on the dot.”

“Since we are married, it would be appropriate for you to stay with me,” the blue-eyed innocent declared.

“Not as I live and breathe.” Smythe snatched Melinda by the elbow. “I’ll escort you to your room, miss.”

Stopping at the door, Smythe turned back to shoot him a glare. “I don’t approve of this, not by a mile. Still, things are what they are. You will lodge with me. Miss Winston will emerge from this ordeal unharmed and a maiden still.”

He answered Smythe with a nod.

Keeping his cousin, or rather his wife, safe, would be his first obligation. Capturing outlaws and protecting a town? He’d do that but only as long as it did not endanger Melinda.

If he failed to return her safely to the family, his freedom meant nothing.

As far as the maiden business went, he’d never bedded a maiden and he could only admit that the idea intimidated the hell out of him. A man had a responsibility to a virgin. Bedding the innocent meant pledges, vows of undying love. Not false vows, either, but sincere and from a committed heart.

That was one thing he could set Smythe’s mind at rest about.

* * *

At four in the morning, the moon sat fat and full on the western horizon. Boone watched its slow decent as he walked from the hotel to the livery.

Buffalo Bend slumbered peacefully. This far into October, even the crickets had gone silent. The heels of his boots clacking against the wooden boardwalk sounded like shots in the night. In a moment folks would be peering out their windows.

He reckoned he didn’t need to fear that any longer. Still, old habits died hard. He leaped off the boardwalk and walked down the middle of the road where the dirt muffled his steps.

Sometime during the night Smythe had packed up his belongings and gone without even a farewell. It only made sense that with this job finished, he was on to the next case that might make him a name.

It was just a shame that Boone had never had the chance to thank him for all that he had done.

From half a block away, he spotted a light shining from under the livery door. He hoped there was a fire in the stove, as well. Nights had turned cold enough that a man could see his breath.

He went inside without knocking, figuring he would be expected.

A man shoving a log into the stove, turned. He nodded.

“Boone Walker?” the fellow asked.

Boone nodded back.

“Frank Spears. Owner of this livery.” Spears slapped his hands on his pants, dusting off the splinters. “They say you’re a killer.”

“Folks like to talk.”

“Don’t mean any offense by it.” Spears crossed the livery and extended his hand. “You’ll need all the meanness you got to get rid of those vipers in Jasper Springs.”

Boone let the heat seep into him, gathering it for the time he’d be on the trail again. Maybe someday he’d have a hearth of his own, four solid walls.

A new life was opening up to him; one never knew how it would end up. A roof over his head and a fire seemed—

“Got a brother in Jasper Springs. A niece, too. I only hope you can help them.”

“Sounds like Mathers has told you everything.”

“He hired me to get the wagon loaded. Things were all set for the married couple, but it looks like a bit of good luck for you that they quit.”

“Time will tell, but I reckon this beats a life term.”

“There’s the wagon over in the corner, loaded with most of what you’ll need to set up housekeeping. I’m sending my best team to go with it.”

“I’ll do my best to return them to you.”

Spears nodded, quiet for a moment. “You sure you’re a killer? I don’t see it in your eyes.”

“That I am...but only the one time and both of us were drunk.”

“It’ll sound strange, but I’m disappointed to hear it.”

“I’ve been a thief since I was in long pants, if that eases your mind.”

“Some, I reckon. Say, I don’t hold a man’s past against him. I needed a fresh start myself, once. And don’t worry about the return of the wagon and horses. They’re yours—just—if you’ll keep my kin safe.”

Generosity on the part of strangers was not something he was used to. While he stumbled around in his mind thinking of a proper way to thank him, the door creaked open.

Mathers and Miss Winston—Mrs. Walker, rather—stepped inside.

His wife’s cheeks were blushed pink from the cold. It hit him all of a sudden how glad he was that his bride was not that Cherry woman.

“I’ve written up a few things,” the judge said, bypassing any sort of cordial greeting. “There’s a map to Jasper Springs, a bit about the outlaws, the parts you and your wife will play. Oh, and you’ll need cash.” He handed him a roll of money wrapped in a rubber band. Hard to tell how much, but it seemed to be a good sum.

“Good morning, Boone.” Melinda’s smile might as well have been sunrise, it was that bright and cheerful. “I hope you slept well.”

“Best I’ve slept in some time.” He hadn’t expected to, but he must have since he hadn’t even noticed Smythe take his leave. “You look refreshed.”

“It must be married life.” She shot him a wink and he sucked in a breath.

“Where’s Deputy Billbro?” Mathers asked, glancing around.

“Just went out to relieve himself. He’ll be along as soon as he smells folks in the livery.”

“Everything you need to know ought to be in here.” The judge handed the stack of papers to Melinda.

“One more detail...” Harlan Mathers dug around in his coat pocket. “Here it is. Don’t put it on until you make an arrest, your settler roles would be compromised.”

“It” was a deputy’s badge, bent and tarnished, but a symbol of law and order none the less.

What Boone wanted to do was dump it in the dirt. That badge had been his enemy for too many years.

He tossed it in the air, caught it and then put it in his coat pocket.

“Send me a wire now and again to let me know how you’re progressing.”

Without warning, the door opened again.

Boone had to blink to make sure he saw right.

There stood his lawyer dressed for adventure, from his stiff-looking new Stetson to his denims and his barely scuffed boots.

The new get-up made him look an inch or two taller. Even his strides seemed longer.

“Stanley?” Melinda’s eyes widened. “What are you doing here?”

From the far side of the door a mule brayed.

“That will be Weaver, my mount. As to what I’m doing here, isn’t it obvious?”

“Can’t see that it is,” Boone said.

“I made a promise to bring Miss Winston home, safe and sound.” Stanley said. “I’m beginning to regret that vow but I did make it.”

“Stanley, I’m sure my husband is equal to the task.”

The little lawyer chuckled under his breath while shaking his head.

“Well, I’m for my bed,” Judge Mathers declared.

“Not quite, sir,” Smythe said. “I’ll see the signed papers granting my client his freedom.”

“I’ll gladly sign them, just as soon as the job is finished.”

“I’ll have that written in pen and ink. What is there to say that you will not re-arrest him once things are wrapped up?”

“What’s to say he won’t take his freedom and head for the hills?”

“I say he won’t,” Melinda declared. “I vouch for him.”

Why? She didn’t know beans about him.

“And I bear witness that Mathers has agreed to sign the document,” Spears added.

It seemed, with the details arranged and the vouching finished, it was time to leave the warmth of the livery.

Spears hitched the team then strode to the livery door. He opened it and stuck his head out. “Billbro! You finished with that pee?”

Seconds later an animal nosed his way into the livery.

“My word,” Melinda exclaimed and scuttled closer to Boone. “Is that a wolf?”

“As far as anyone knows, Deputy Billbro is only half wolf.” Judge Mathers petted the canine between the ears. “You’ll be glad he’s along once you get used to him.”

There were a lot of things that Boone was going to have to get used to. The dog probably being the least of them.

For one thing, his wife was clinging to his arm, seeking protection.

He’d never been responsible for anyone but himself. All of a sudden there was a woman, a town and very likely a lawyer who needed to be watched over.

He’d better start getting used to the dog-wolf, since he was going to need all the help he could get.

* * *

Sometime during the wee hours of their first night on the trail, Melinda sat up suddenly from her bedroll. She gazed past the embers of the dying fire feeling uneasy.

One difference between Melinda and her husband of a day was clear already.

He looked quite comfortable sleeping under the stars while she preferred peering out at the night from behind a window in a bed piled high with feather blankets.

Darkness throbbed beyond the shrinking glow of the campfire. She could nearly imagine that nothing existed in that blackness...or that everything did. What was there to say that a wolf or even a bear wasn’t lurking behind a tree? A cougar poised on the limb over her head?

She would feel better if the deputy was awake. The great hairy dog-wolf lay at her feet snoring, but not as loudly as Stanley was.

The lawyer dozed between her and Boone; a human buffer. Surely the noise he made alerted every predator within a mile. Another log on the fire might help ward them off.

She hadn’t even made it to her knees to get a log before the dog lifted his snout and Boone cracked open an eye.

“What’s the trouble?” he asked, propping up on an elbow.

“It’s too dark to sleep.”

“I reckon it’s not the dark keeping you awake.” He nodded toward Stanley.

The dog stood, stretched, sniffed the air then resettled his large gray body alongside her leg. He plopped his heavy head on her lap, seeming so content that she would believe he had gone back to sleep if it wasn’t for his nose twitching this way and that.

“It’s always darkest and coldest about now,” Boone said. “But it’ll be sunup soon.”

“I guess you’ve slept in the open many times.”

He nodded. “A body becomes accustomed to the fresh air and freedom. I’ll admit, those nights in prison were hell on earth. I’d take a wild beast over some of those inmates any time.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“It wasn’t anything I didn’t deserve.” He gazed up at the stars, silent for a moment before looking back at her. “Melinda, thank you for what you did. I should have said so earlier but with all the travel there wasn’t time to talk.”

She laughed softly. “And my guardian did keep us apart as much as he could.”

“Dedicated of him.” His smile twitched up on one side. This was not Lantree’s smile. Mischief lurked in the turn of Boone’s lips.

“Well intentioned, I suppose, but he hasn’t even given us a moment of privacy so that I can tell you about your brother.”

Boone blew out a low whistle. “There’s a part of me that’s afraid to know. He’s got a baby and a wife, though, so I reckon he must have turned out all right.”

“He’s all right now, but he did go through hard times.”

“Because of me, do you mean?”

“Oh, he worried about you, certainly. But his hard times weren’t to do with you, Boone.” She petted the dog’s head, curled her fingers into his warm fur. “Before Lantree married my cousin, Rebecca, he was engaged to another woman. At that time your brother was a doctor, a very good one, too. Well, there was an epidemic, a lot of folks died under his care, his fiancé’s family among them. She blamed him—he blamed himself. She ended the engagement, and very bitterly.

“Poor Lantree ran away, from his career and himself. He was in a hard way when Rebecca’s grandfather found him and gave him a new career as foreman of his ranch. I believe that Grandfather Moreland—he’s not really my grandfather but that’s how I feel about him so that’s what I call him—gave your brother much more than a job. What he gave him was a new life. Lantree found healing at Moreland Ranch. Now he’s a cowboy and a doctor.”

“And a proud father?”

“He couldn’t be otherwise. Baby Caroline is the sweetest little thing you could ever hope to see. She’s only five months old, but already she looks just like her daddy...and you.”

“I’ll be damned.” Boone looked pleased, smiling in a way she hadn’t seen until now.

“You’ll see that for yourself soon.”

He was silent for a moment, gazing at the glowing coals and the fingers of flame darting from the crumbling logs.

“We ought to talk about this marriage—set some rules,” he said at last.

“If you like.” Dratted rules. They tended to chafe at her. Especially since they tended to put unreasonable restrictions on her behavior. If Boone took his job as her husband too seriously, he might try to control her.

Just like Mama when she’d lost her sparkle and shackled herself, and her young daughters, with society’s every little directive.

“Our wedding could not have been the one you dreamed of.” He arched a brow.

Naturally not. What woman could possibly dream up such a wedding? But it did have to be said that it was adventurous. And there was no denying she was intrigued at the idea of being a wife, of having a man of her own, even for a short time.

“I just want to make it clear that you won’t miss out on the one with all the frills and fancies because of me. I promise that I won’t compromise you.”

She felt the blush staining her neck and face but in the dim light he would not see it. Really, he had no way of knowing that in the deep hours of the night she had entertained intimate thoughts of him.

What wife would not? Boone Walker intrigued her in ways that no man ever had. Even men she had known for quite some time.

“That goes without saying,” she said demurely, but there was that in her that stuffed down a sliver of disappointment. If a woman was to be compromised by such a man, it could not truly be called a compromise.

Prudent women might call her a fool for feeling such stirrings for a stranger—a reportedly dangerous stranger—but Rebecca would not. Rebecca knew that Melinda was an astute judge of character.

“I won’t make unreasonable claims upon you, unless we are playing our parts.”

“I do appreciate your restraint.” She tried not to smile.

He nodded, sighed even.

“I’ll protect you with my blood if it comes to it. I just ask that you respect my decisions when it has to do with your safety.”

The last thing she wanted was his blood on her conscience. She had come to restore him to his family not take him away.

“I will do my very best,” she answered more somberly.

“Well, then.” He offered his hand, as though to seal the conditions of their agreement. “I believe we’ll have a good marriage.”

He might not think so if he knew how the press of his palm on hers made her stomach flutter.

“Good night, then.” She withdrew her hand, scooted down beside the dog and closed her eyes.

Sadly, no matter how tightly she squeezed them shut, she could not hide from a niggling suspicion.

It was not impossible that there might be something between her and Boone and it wasn’t Stanley Smythe.

Chapter Four

Sitting on a grassy incline that overlooked a fresh-running stream, Boone savored the last breath of warmth from the fading day. He shuffled through the handwritten notes that Mathers had supplied.

It wasn’t comfortable reading about the town and its trouble because, in his time, he’d caused a fair share of trouble. He’d been the outlaw they feared.

Hell, he’d become more than that. Common outlaws could be found on every saloon corner, but his reputation had snowballed until he was seen as a monster.

And all because of bad timing.

Until the day he’d robbed the saloon in Dry Creek, he’d been as common as any other thief. That day, with his pockets comfortably sagging with cash, he’d gone out, passing a man going in. That man, reportedly angry at finding the coffers empty, had killed four people, women among them.

The killer was as common-looking as beans. Boone was tall; he had looked threatening that afternoon. So it’s him they remembered...him they gave the blame to. Word spread that the pair of them were partners. After that, fear and a natural love of gossip attached many sinister stories to him. Some of them actually happened, just not by his hand. Others were born of ripe and idle imaginations.

Reaching into his shirt pocket, he withdrew the bent badge Mathers had given him and rubbed his thumb over the tarnished metal.

Holding this symbol of law and order in his hand, knowing that he would one day pin it on his vest, made him feel like an imposter. This business of upholding law and order was the last thing he’d ever imagined he would be doing.

Never expected he’d be anything other than a two-bit criminal.

He’d been a novice at crime, though, compared to the outlaws he would be facing.

The sun sat low and bright over the horizon. It was only an hour before sundown. They’d reach Jasper Springs by noon tomorrow.

That didn’t give him long to figure out a way to round up six bloodstained souls. He’d have a better shot at it if he had the meanness in him that his reputation said he did.

All he was, was a survivor. He reckoned that would have to do.

A rustle of petticoats approached from behind. Melinda sat beside him, a blanket drawn across her shoulders. Funny how it smelled as if she’d brought a handful of sweet-smelling flowers along with her.

“I’d like to read those.” She pointed to the papers he held.

He shook his head. “It’s not fit reading for a lady’s eyes.”

Eyes that had been as agreeable as sugar suddenly narrowed at him. “If that lady’s life depends upon knowing what she is up against, it is fit reading.”

She wouldn’t find it pleasant, but he handed them over.

A gust of cool wind rustled the pages in her hand. She pressed them to her bosom. He tried his best not to notice.

For a long time she was silent. A delicate line creased her forehead while she read.

Was she seeing his face when she read about the outlaws? That alone would be enough to make him feel guilty about his past, even though it was not as black as she must think. Funny how a man wanted his wife’s respect. It didn’t matter that he barely knew her or that she wouldn’t be his wife for long.

“Six King brothers in all,” she sighed. The blamed wind tugged at the paper. She pressed it to her chest again. The way the pages flapped against her bosom made it impossible not to think about—hell’s curses—unsuitable things. “What will we do?”

“‘We’ will not do anything.” He shot her a severe frown but she did not react to it. “This is all on me. The one and only reason you are here is for show.”

With a delicate arch of her brow, she questioned him.

“Let’s see...” She tapped her finger on the paper on her breast. He turned his gaze to the water rolling by, staring at each ripple with dedicated concentration. “There’s Efrin King, the oldest, known as King Cobra. It says here that he’s a greedy soul, in love with money and power. Then we have Buck King—King Diamond Back. He’s second by birth and they say that he is jealous of Efrin. And what about Lump King? King Horny Toad is simpleminded, quite evil nevertheless. I’ve got to say, that one worries me, Boone. You can’t think to take on this whole family alone?”

“Look, I know you want to help. Seems to be in your nature to. But this is dangerous business. The only way of coming out of it whole is if you do what I tell you to without question.”

“I reckon you can handle Olfin—King Hornet.” Blamed, if the woman hadn’t just ignored him. “It’s says here he’s not as bad as the others, just sort of goes along.”

He should have refused to involve Melinda in this, at least more forcefully than he had. Here she was, as determined as a bee collecting pollen, to put her nose where it didn’t belong.

“I welcome your ideas and that’s as far as it goes.” He shot her the frown again. “Anything besides that, you’ll only be in my way.”

“If it weren’t for King Copperhead, Leland, I’d take to my bed and cover my head with a dozen quilts. But what do you intend to do with someone who, it says right here, is charming and at the same time the most deadly of them all? Of all the brothers he takes the most pleasure in violence. Did you see this, Boone?” She shoved the paper in front of his eyes. “He delights in it!”

He was silent because he didn’t rightly know what he was going to do. Not with Leland or any of them.

According to the plan, they, as homesteaders, were supposed to look weak, victim-like. To his mind that was no plan at all.

Smythe, who had been collecting firewood, dumped his load beside the circle of stones Boone had set out for the night’s campfire.

With his strides crisp and his back straight, the lawyer crossed the clearing then wriggled down between him and Melinda. The dog-wolf followed but turned aside to snuffle through the brush, his tail wagging and resembling bristles on a worn broom.

Mathers had seemed to feel the beast would be helpful. But so far his disposition seemed mild; they hadn’t heard so much as a growl out of him.

“You are my charge,” Smythe said to Melinda. “I won’t have you putting yourself at risk.”

“As your husband, I say the same.”

Melinda gave them both a sincere smile, a lovely one, in fact. “I would never dream of being a burden to you, Stanley. Or, Husband, of putting you at unnecessary risk.”

Odd that her apparent compliance didn’t ease his concern a whit.

“Still, I can’t help but wonder, Boone, what you will do about the youngest, Bird King, who calls himself King Vulture? It says right here that he is unpredictable.” She jabbed her slender finger at the words on the page. “Apparently charming one moment but the next nearly as wicked as Leland.”

“Sounds like they consider themselves royalty,” Stanley said.

“According to Mathers, they rule the town, even make other folks call them by their last name first. ‘King’ So-and-so.” He took the papers from Melinda and handed them to Smythe. “The only law that’s observed in Jasper Springs is at the whim of the Kings. Says here they hanged a boy barely out of the schoolroom for trying to defend his sister from Horny Toad. Doesn’t say what happened to her.”

Silence stretched for a time, broken only by the chirrup of crickets, the croak of frogs.

Suddenly there was a tussle in the shrubbery. Branches cracked and leaves scattered.

Billbro trotted out with a limp rabbit in his jaws. He set it before them.

“Good. One of us is a hunter,” Stanley observed. “We won’t starve.”

* * *

Riding down the main street of Jasper Springs, the wagon wheels laboring over the rutted road, Melinda thought the town must have been well cared for at one time.

Flowerpots decorated the raised boardwalk. A banner advertising a long-gone Fourth of July celebration was strung from one side of the street to the other. Looking past the banner, toward the end of Main Street, she saw a fountain gurgling in the town square.

Sadly, Jasper Springs now resembled a ghost town more than anything else. Those pretty flowerpots were cracked, growing weeds, the banner faded and tattered. The spring-fed fountain sounded lovely but no one was around to enjoy it. It would be easy to imagine that no one lived here any longer.

At least there were trees to soften the dreariness of the place. Dozens of them grew around town, their fall colors bright and beautiful. What a satisfaction to know that the outlaws did not control everything.

Melinda adjusted her drab bonnet and tried to fluff her brown dress. Sadly, no amount of encouraging could make the homespun fluff.

She reminded herself that she was not here to look her best but to pose as a homesteader’s wife. To appear dutiful, hardworking and, most of all, vulnerable.

That is what her new husband must believe she is, if his hesitation to let her read about the Kings was any indication.

“Humph!” He would need to learn that she would not wither at the first sign of trouble.

Stanley, sitting beside her, the team’s reins gripped in his smooth, lawyer-like hands, looked at her in question.

“It’s nothing,” she said, even though it was. If a man was going to rely upon a woman’s help, he had to respect that she could actually help.

Boone rode in front of the wagon, sitting tall on Weaver the mule. A rifle lay square across his thighs. To her mind, he looked far too commanding to be a meek farmer, even given his humble mount.

Far too handsome, as well.

As if reading her thoughts, her admiration of the masculine image he presented, Boone twisted in the saddle.

It felt as if he looked past her eyes and into her mind, saw himself the way she saw him: bold, well formed, commanding. A smile tweaked one side of his mouth. He arched an eyebrow.

She held his gaze for an instant then quickly glanced away. For all the good it did now. No doubt he felt the heat of her blush all the way from here.

Deputy Billbro kept pace with the mule, sniffing the air and learning things about the place that mere humans were unable to perceive.

“Where is everyone?” she asked softly. It was too quiet. A muttered voice might be heard for a block. “It’s midday. You’d think folks would be about.”

All of a sudden Weaver brayed. The sound echoed all over town. A curtain swayed at the window of the bank but then fell back into place. A baby cried but was quickly silenced.

Jasper Springs was not deserted, after all; it only seemed so.

Boone reined in the mule. Stanley halted the wagon beside him.

“We’ll visit the mercantile for supplies,” Boone said. “Make our arrival known.”

Melinda wiped a spot of dirt from the wagon bench and smeared it on her cheek to make herself look weary, which she was not.

“Slump your shoulders, Boone. No one will believe that a man of your size is a weakling.”

He arched a brow but did as she asked, but really, it didn’t help much. He was a fine, strapping man and there was no hiding it.

Stanley slumped his shoulders, too, but it didn’t make a difference, not that she would ever point that out.

The dog didn’t need to act dusty and matted, he was naturally that way.

Early this morning they had discussed Mather’s plan, how they would give the appearance of easy victims to attract the interest of the Kings. This would not be easy for Boone. She had noticed him chafing at the idea even from the first mention of it.

Stopping in front of the mercantile, Boone hid his rifle in the back of the wagon, then helped her down. His big hands cupping her waist did not feel anything but strong.

No, and neither did his arms as he set her effortlessly on the ground. It would take some doing to make him appear vulnerable.

“I’ll need to act the nag,” she whispered in his ear. “Will anyone recognize you?”

She worried that someone might have seen his Wanted poster. If they did, the scheme would be exposed.

He shrugged. “Probably not. It’s been some time since that broadsheet’s been spread about. Folks forget.”

Chances were, that would be true of most men, but Boone was quite tall, his face striking in its handsomeness and, to her mind, unforgettable. Her cousin, Rebecca, liked to call Lantree her big blond Viking. Naturally the same could be said of Boone.

“Come along, brother Stanley,” she said with a wink at her pretend sibling. “Let the theatrics begin.”

“I wish you’d take this more earnestly, Miss Winston,” he chided.

“That’s ‘Mrs. Walker.’ I know you’re worried about me, but between you, my husband and the deputy, I could not be safer if I were locked in a vault.”

Boone led her up the stairs of the boardwalk. She gazed down at her scuffed boots, at the sad sag of her faded brown skirt while she gathered the inspiration to play her part.

The painted sign beside the mercantile door indicated that they had come during business hours but the door was locked.

Boone rapped on the wood.

“You’ll have to pound harder than that,” Melinda said in a raised voice while she rolled her eyes.

Her homesteader husband frowned. She hoped that he remembered that she was only acting at being a nag. “I declare, you’ve grown weak from all that alcohol. Soon as we settle into our homestead, I’m burying the bottle.”

Boone actually gasped.

“Here, let me do it.” She nudged him aside then pounded her fist on the door. Maybe she ought not to have flashed him a smile.

All at once the door opened and they were greeted by a scowling man with a drooping mustache that hid his lips.

“Don’t you know to stay off the streets, today of all days?”

He hustled them inside, cast a cautious glance at Billbro, then shut the door and shoved the bolt closed.

“Looks like rain by sundown, but I can’t see why that should keep us off the street now,” Boone commented.

“Take off your hat indoors, Mr. Witherleaf.” Melinda cast her husband a scowl then turned it on Stanley. “And you, too, brother. Don’t behave like a heathen.”

Her “relatives” looked startled by her bossiness when they ought to be acting as though her bitter tongue was commonplace. Later on, some lessons in role-playing would be in order.

Still, she would have to allow the men some leeway. Clearly, they had not grown up as she and Rebecca had, always trying to keep one step ahead of Mama’s restrictions and at the same time avoid undue punishment.

“You’re new to town.” The storekeeper wagged his head long and slow.

“I’m Boone Witherleaf. This is my wife, Melinda, and Melinda’s brother, Stanley.”

The name Witherleaf had been assigned by Mathers and could not have been more absurd. In Melinda’s opinion, calling Boone “Witherleaf” did nothing to diminish his natural aura of power.

Perhaps her nagging would seem more effective if he would hang his head lower.

“You always neglect to introduce the dog.” She knelt down and snuggled the big hairy head against her bosom. “Billbro is as much a part of the family as you are.”

Boone coughed.

“We’re taking over the old Ramsey place,” he said to the merchant.

“The Ramsey place? If you want my advice, you’ll turn tail and run.”

“Why would we?” he asked. “And why should we stay off the streets?”

“I reckon you’ll find that out soon enough. I’m Edward Spears, by the way. This is my store, for what it’s worth anymore.”

“A pleasure.” Boone extended his hand in greeting, so did Stanley. “Might you be the brother of the livery owner in Buffallo Bend?”

“One and the same.”

“Oh, he’s a fine man.” Boone nodded his head. “Well, I reckon we’ll need dry goods and a few tools, grain for planting.”

“This time of year?” Spears asked. Melinda suspected that he was smirking under his massive mustache.

“Please excuse my husband. He’s a greenhorn through and through.” She stood. Hands on hips, she faced Boone. “I told you, planting is done in the spring.”

“You’ll need firewood, though. Trees are scarce out that way. And a gun. I notice you aren’t carrying, but if you’re set on staying you’ll need one.”

“If you really think it necessary.” Boone shrugged. “I reckon I’ll purchase that, as well.”

Actually there were a dozen weapons packed at the bottom of the wagon.

It was good to see Boone handle the weapon Spears placed in his hand as though it were a live snake.

Mr. Spears had yet to say why they should be off the streets today more than any other day. Clearly, everyone else in Jasper Springs was of the same mind.

Boone withdrew a large roll of money from his pocket, making sure the storeowner got a good look at it.

“I’ll take the dog outside for a moment,” she announced.

Naturally, she would be forbidden to do so, but her intention was to find out why.

“I wouldn’t, ma’am. Not without protection.”

“Why ever not?”

“Olfin King was buried today.”

“I’m sure that’s very sad.” She touched her throat, pretending that it was. But, really, that meant one less outlaw to be a threat to Boone. What a shame that according to the notes, Olfin King was the least villainous of them all.

“I reckon not so sad. You can bet the folks of Jasper Springs are celebrating behind their bolted doors. After you’ve been here a while, you’ll understand why.”

“That seems coldhearted,” Stanley observed.

“What happened to Olfin King?” Boone asked.

Yes, to her mind, that was an important bit of information.

“He got himself shot in the leg a few weeks ago. The doc tried to heal it but infection set in. The Kings buried Olfin this morning. Hate to say so, but I reckon it won’t be long before we’ll be burying the doc.”

Melinda felt her stomach turn. She slid closer to Boone; the need to be near him natural and not a bit of show in it.

The danger involved in what they had undertaken hit her fresh. Boone’s big, solid presence helped to sooth the jitters skittering along her spine.

With an arm around her shoulders, he tugged her close. He squeezed his fingers, sending a message. No matter what, he would be here to keep her safe.

While she was, in most instances, able to see to her own safety, she leaned into him, took comfort in his large, Viking-like presence.

For all that she felt heartened. She knew that Boone felt the pressure of the situation. This close, she could see his jaw grinding with tension.

“We’ll be on our way, then, just as soon as we’ve loaded the wagon,” he stated.

“I wouldn’t settle on that land if I were you. The Kings see it as their own. Won’t be pleased that you’ve taken it over.”

“Pleased or not, they have no legal right to it,” Stanley pointed out.

“Well, you’ll find that they do what they want to whenever they want to do it. And a sorry day, too, for anyone who stands in their way.”

She felt Boone’s muscles tense. Glancing up, she saw his expression harden.

Boone dropped his gaze, stooped his back. Clearly he was striving hard to hold on to the character of Witherleaf. Behind the playacting, she suspected he was smoldering not withering. Just now, on the inside, Boone was probably as meek as the outlaw portrayed in his Wanted poster.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.