by Linda Broday
Also by Linda Broday
The Bachelors of Battle Creek
Texas Mail Order Bride
Twice a Texas Bride
Forever His Texas Bride
Men of Legend
To Love a Texas Ranger
The Heart of a Texas Cowboy
To Marry a Texas Outlaw
Texas Redemption
Christmas in a Cowboy’s Arms
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Copyright © 2002, 2017 by Linda Broday
Cover and internal design © 2017 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover art by Judy York
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious and are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567–4410
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Originally published in 2002 in the United States by Leisure Books, an imprint of Dorchester Publishing, New York.
Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
A Sneak Peek at To Marry a Texas Outlaw
Two
Three
Four
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Cover
For my own knight, Clint, who taught me that dreams are possible to obtain.
One
Texas, 1880
The journey between yesterday and tomorrow dragged slowly, sometimes taking Duel McClain places he’d just as soon avoid. Like now. What the hell kind of place was Cactus Springs?
“Another card, mister?” The poker dealer’s curt tone interrupted Duel’s concentrated study of the amber contents in his whiskey glass.
The gurgle of a baby breached his self-induced haze. Bleary eyes focused on the child seated in the sawdust. Disgust rippled through him. Saloons were no place for nurslings.
Lazily, he put down the drink and pushed back his hat with a forefinger. He knew his unhurried attitude irritated the men seated around the table. Their state of mind didn’t matter much to him. Time was a commodity he had plenty of.
“You come here to play poker or Mumblety-Peg?” the dealer prodded, prompting chuckles from the group.
Without glancing at the cards in his hand, Duel tossed three of the five onto the table. He figured it didn’t make much difference. He merely breathed and took up space. Didn’t have a reason to live or care about it—not anymore.
“Three.”
Across the table, Duel caught a stranger’s stare, watched his beady eyes narrow.
“Not much of a card player,” the shifty man muttered.
Ignoring sarcasm came with the territory. No need to easily rise to the bait. Duel had learned to pick his battles. Yet something about this adversary turned his stomach more than some. Smelled worse than ripe horse manure—and that didn’t pertain to his filthy clothes. The stench came from deep inside, from pure meanness. With sudden cursing, the poor excuse for humanity jerked up the baby who’d strayed from his chair, smacking it hard before dropping it back to the sawdust floor.
Duel’s jaw tightened. “Voicing an opinion without being asked will likely get a man a piece of lead for his trouble.” His slow drawl carried the weight of the Smith & Wesson Schofield strapped to his leg. The threat earned him a small measure of satisfaction when the stranger dropped his gaze and fiddled with his cards.
If he was doing more than taking up space, he’d delight in teaching this jackass a thing or two. Truth to tell, Duel had become nothing more than a shell of a man. Too much losing and too little caring made his heart a bare slate, like words on a tombstone wiped smooth by the harsh elements. This father—if that’s what he was—and his kid weren’t Duel’s problem.
He lifted the whiskey glass and let the fiery elixir slide down his throat. The burning path brought an odd sort of relief, momentarily dulling the permanent ache that lodged in his belly.
With a noncommittal grunt, the dealer slapped three cards in front of Duel, who took his time picking them up. The baby, whimpering at the men’s feet, unraveled the tightly knit threads of his composure. How could he concentrate with that sound?
A glance at the first card revealed an ace of spades. He stuck it between the eight of hearts and the two of clubs in his hand. Then he turned over an eight of diamonds. A pair might take the hefty pot in the middle of the table if he could bluff his way through it. That is, if he cared enough to try. One more card lay facedown. Shielding it from the curious eyes of his opponents, he lifted it slowly. An ace of clubs.
His blood turned to ice.
Aces and eights—the deadman’s hand. The unlikely draw struck dread in the hearts of all gamblers from Mississippi to Alaska ever since a sidewinder by the name of McCall shot Hickok in the back of the head while he held that very array of cards.
A resigned calm welled up. If lady luck rode with Duel tonight, he’d not be taking up space much longer—except on Boot Hill.
Something brushed the leg of his buckskins. An animal must have sneaked under the swinging batwing doors and beneath the table. The baby’s soft sniffling grew louder, and he hoped the dog or cat didn’t harm the child. Whatever had motivated the father to bring a babe into the saloon? All sorts of harm could befall the infant.
Tiny hands gripping his buckskins got his attention. What in blue blazes? He leaned down. The baby had crawled to him and now tugged, trying to pull itself upright.
Thin and dirty, the child stared up at him and he fought against the protective urges that rose at the sight of tears glistening in the kid’s big brown eyes.
“Up the bet, mister, or fold.”
The dealer broke his trance. Duel pitched two bits onto t
he pile. He just wanted to get this over with and leave. One by one each opponent around the table tossed down their cards in defeat until it came to him again. Just two remained in the game—him and the stranger.
The baby played with the fringe running the length of Duel’s leg, gurgling and trying to stick a piece in its mouth.
He shifted in his seat, feeling as if a gang of horse thieves had staked him out in a red-ant bed. If he had a lick of sense he’d fold and get the hell out of here. Deadman’s hand be damned.
A smug expression drifted across the face of the babe’s father when Duel closed up his cards, intending to lay them down.
Pure revulsion made Duel ache to smash the stranger’s jaw. Instead he reached into his pocket for six bits, the amount of the bet plus a little extra—all that he possessed. He hesitated for only a split second, glancing down at the filthy child who deserved more out of life than the sorry-assed father it had gotten. Then he shifted his gaze, savoring the look of surprise on his opponent’s face when he placed his bet.
The sour-faced weasel had been ready to reach for the pot, sure he’d won. His face colored. He was reduced to turning each of his pockets inside out for more coins. None came to light.
“Whatcha gonna do, Will? Either come up with more or Duel here wins.” The dealer’s impatience grew.
“Just hold your horses.” The man named Will leaned down. “Gal, where’d you go? Git your useless hide over here to your pa. Don’t know why I didn’t drown you when you was born.”
So, the child was female. Didn’t have much of a start in life. Duel reached down and drew her up. “Looking for this?”
The weasel snatched the girl by one fragile arm. “Tryin’ to steal my daughter?”
Ignoring the question and the loud wails that came from the child, Duel leaned forward to scoop up his winnings.
“Not so fast, mister.” Will sat the baby in the middle of the table. “I’m puttin’ up this here brat. She’s worth six bits, I reckon. You win an’ you got yourself a young’un.”
“I won’t gamble with a man’s flesh and blood,” Duel said. “You been eating locoweed?”
The dealer frowned. “The bet’s proper, I say. Let’s get on with it. Show your cards, Will.”
Tears running down the face of the baby girl left white trails amid the filth. For a split second, Duel wished he held more than the lousy two pair. He wished he could alter the hands of fate. But he’d never been able to change it before. What made him think he could now? He’d spent a lifetime making choices, and most had turned out wrong.
“Quit your sniveling, you brat,” Will snapped at the child as he flipped his cards faceup.
Two pair also. Kings and deuces.
Quiet calm washed over Duel. He gave the group a wintry smile and revealed his hand.
“Aces n’ eights. Beats yours, Will. Done in by the deadman’s hand.” The dealer straightened his silk vest and poured himself a generous drink.
Duel stuffed the coins from the pot into his pockets. What on God’s green earth did a man like him do with a babe? The girl had stuck a thumb in her mouth and sucked noisily on it between whimpers. He’d sooner grow wings and fly than take on the responsibility of another human being. Maybe he could just saunter out the door.
“Ain’t you forgettin’ something, mister?” Will’s nasty snarl whipped the stale air like a thin, razor-sharp piece of leather.
Much as he sympathized with the small girl’s lot, he couldn’t accept his prize. “Take her home to her maw. Don’t have any need for a kid.”
Will grabbed his daughter’s sparse hair and pulled her small face next to his own. Ignoring her sharp cries, he yelled, “Ain’t got no maw. See there, Marley Rose. Ain’t no one wants you. You’re about as worthless as one of them Confederate greenbacks. Ain’t never goin’ to be any good for nothin’. Any o’ you cowpokes wanna buy a snot-nosed brat? Sell her cheap.”
Spurred by anger, Duel found himself reaching for the scared, helpless babe. “Changed my mind. Believe I’ll take what I won.”
Small hands clung tightly to the neck of his collarless shirt as he strode for the door before he could backtrack.
The last thing on earth he needed was another mouth to feed. He must have lost what fool mind he had left. Maybe when the sun rose he’d find this had all been nothing more than a dream. Yet the girl’s face snuggled against his chest told him reality had come home to roost.
Out on the sidewalk he took stock of the situation while he tried to untangle the girl’s small fist from the tender tuft of hair that grew just below the hollow of his throat. But the little thing held her grip, refusing to release him. How tiny fingers no longer than a matchstick could cause so much pain he didn’t know. The agony made his eyes water until, finally, he pried her hand loose.
Twinkling stars above shed little light on his predicament. His glance swept the length and breadth of Cactus Springs’s main street. A few saloons and bordellos lined each side. Nothing suitable for a child.
Marley Rose sniffled loudly through the last of her tears. He glanced down. The liquid brown eyes staring curiously up at him brought a lump the size of a silver dollar to block his windpipe. He didn’t blame her for being scared. Yet despite that, something else shone from those saucer eyes—trust. That was the part that did him in.
“Lord help us. Looks like it’s just you and me, kid. Don’t know if you’re any better off than you were, but I sure as hell won’t sell you. I promise you that.”
A crooked smile curved her rosebud lips as Marley Rose examined his nose and mouth with probing fingers. He made darn sure they strayed no lower than his chin.
“Don’t look at me that way. I’m dead serious. Haven’t had a roof over my head in so long I can’t remember, and I’m sorely in need of a bath. All I can offer you is hope for a better tomorrow. Thunderation! We don’t even have a place to sleep unless you’re counting the ground beneath our feet.”
Marley Rose gurgled back contentedly, even though there wasn’t a damn thing to be pleased with.
“Just wonder if you’ve got good sense, girl. Taking up with the likes of me at the drop of a hat. Don’t know a dad-burned thing about babies. Guess we’ll have to find you some milk before you start yammering again.”
Tied to the hitching post, Preacher neighed and tossed his head. The movement sent moonlight dancing over the horse’s black coat. Before Duel could take more than two steps toward him, a warm surge of wetness soaked his shirt.
“Of all the…” Disgusted, he held Marley Rose at arm’s length while a steady drip splatted the dusty street.
“Now you’ve done it! What the hell am I supposed to do now? I don’t have a supply of dry…whatever they call those things you’re wearing.”
While he was contemplating his next move, a saloon girl swung through the establishment’s doors, her heels tapping loudly on the wooden walk. She gave him a quizzical stare, then turned her attention to the babe and her puppetlike legs dangling from his grip.
“Trouble, mister?”
“Know where I can find baby needs this time of night?”
“Appears you could use some female savvy. I have a friend who has what you need. She’ll be happy to lend a helping hand.”
“Much obliged, ma’am.” Duel breathed a sigh of relief when she took the child. He quickly grabbed Preacher’s reins and fell into step beside her.
“Don’t get much o’ that around here.” The woman’s husky voice blended with the mysterious darkness.
“What’s that?”
“Ma’am. Folks here in Cactus Springs ain’t overly generous when it comes to showin’ respect.”
“Everyone deserves some dignity. I was raised to show good manners even if I don’t have much else.” Of late, his belongings didn’t include so much as a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of.
Her tired gaze showed sympathy. “Name’s Ellie.” She jostled Marley Rose to her left arm and offered her hand. “Do you answer to
anything besides ‘mister’?”
“Duel McClain.”
“You’re a good man, Duel McClain. I saw what happened in the saloon. That man oughta be horsewhipped.”
“That’s why I couldn’t leave her behind, ma’am. Never cottoned to anyone who doesn’t care spit for his own blood.”
*
Near midnight, Duel sat by the campfire twirling an empty coffee cup in his hand. He watched the babe sleeping on the pallet he’d made with his only bedroll.
Despite draining her bottle dry, she held on to it for dear life. Each time he reached to pull the nipple out, she whimpered and began sucking feverishly. He guessed it wouldn’t hurt to leave it.
She was a heart tugger. And cute as a shiny new button to boot. He set the cup on the ground and reached to cover a leg that peeked from beneath the blanket. How in the name of all that’s holy would she be able to survive under his wing?
A flock of magpies couldn’t make more noise than the advice swarming in his head. Remembering it all would take a whole lot more brains than he had available.
Thank goodness the ladies in Cactus Springs had taken pity on a greenhorn. Without Mrs. Patrick’s help he doubted he’d have survived the last few hours. Her healthy brood of eight inspired total confidence in the woman. She’d provided him with a bottle, and with squares of bunting that he had learned to fold in triangles. That was the easy part. She and Ellie just smiled knowingly when he attempted to pin the damn thing on. It was worse than trying to saddle a wild bronc. He was darn near tempted to sit on the kid’s legs. And he stuck his finger at least half a dozen times. Yep, they’d witnessed his true lack of know-how in child rearing. Okay, he’d give them that, but the two ladies had the gall to snicker behind their hands when he asked a simple question. How was he to know a baby could pee that much?
Ever willing to assist in his education, Mrs. Patrick pointed him in the direction of a Mexican goat farmer, where Duel managed to buy a nanny with some of the poker winnings. Not that he’d ever milked one of the pesky animals before today. It would all come in its own time, he supposed…but having responsibilities sure changed a man’s life.
He settled his hat low and leaned against a big rock for some serious thinking. Now he had another human being looking to him for food and shelter. And dry bunting, which alone seemed to consume a whole lot of time. He couldn’t wander around the country footloose and fancy-free. Bad as he hated the thought, he had obligations.
