When anger and tenacity collide, sparks are inevitable.
Devils on Horseback, Book 4
The Civil War took more than Lee Blackwood’s arm. It took his confidence, his pride…and hope that any woman will see him as more than half a man. His friendships helped keep the demons at bay—until now. As each Devil has found happiness, Lee is left alone to cope with the darkness that claws at his soul.
Genevieve Blanchard has only one thing going for her: her no-good late husband’s run-down farm. That, and a fancy name no one can spell might get her a cup full of dirt in Tanger. Room, board and seamstress skills aren’t much, but it’s all she can offer any man willing to help her bring in her wheat crop.
Reluctantly Lee takes on the job, the widow’s smart-mouthed daughter and his growing attraction to a woman who stubbornly refuses to see him as anything less than whole. Slowly, his bitterness begins to fade under the light of their blooming love.
Then the truth of her past threatens to rip away everything: her farm, her child—and the man she loves. But this time, there’s a line of Devils between her and looming disaster.
This title has been revised for rerelease.
Warning: Look out for a one-armed Devil to meet the woman who will teach him to love, to give, and to fight for what he believes in. Make sure to include a crop of wheat and a lot of fighting and making up.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
Devils on Horseback: Lee
Copyright © 2015 by Beth Williamson
ISBN: 978-1-61923-382-9
Edited by Sasha Knight
Cover by Kim Killion
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Original Publication: 2010
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: December 2015
www.samhainpublishing.com
Devils on Horseback: Lee
Beth Williamson
Dedication
To the Bradford babes, the most amazing, supportive, smart, talented and funny group of women I have ever had the privilege of knowing. Y’all rock.
Prologue
March 1867
Lee Blackwood frowned at his reflection in the window as the errant curl stuck up on his forehead for the tenth time that morning. He licked his fingers and smoothed it down again, yet the blond shock of hair had other ideas and sprang right back up.
“Damn.”
“Don’t you look beautiful?”
Lee whirled to find his cousin Gideon standing at the door, smirking, his arms folded across his chest.
“Shut up.”
“You’re sure all fancied up, Lee. And last time I checked, they hadn’t moved Sunday to Tuesday. That means you’re looking dapper for something other than the good reverend’s sermon.” Gideon stepped in, then walked around, assessing Lee’s appearance. “Even wearing clean britches.”
“I said shut up.” Lee turned back to the window. “There’s no call to tease me about it.”
“Oh but there is.” Gideon sounded amused. “Who else is gonna do it? Your brother is happily married and isn’t around to do the job. That only leaves me as the closest relative.”
Lee grumbled under his breath, but didn’t give Gideon the pleasure of hearing it.
“You know if you put a mirror in here, I wouldn’t have to fix your hair.” Gideon stepped over and reached for Lee’s head.
He couldn’t help flinching—even more than two years after the war ended. War changed a man, sometimes on the inside just as much as on the outside. Lee was no exception. His cousin stopped in mid-motion, waiting with concern evident on his face.
“Sorry.” Lee let out a huge breath, wishing like hell he could be someone who didn’t flinch away from people’s touch.
Gideon slowly lowered his hands to Lee’s head and fussed with his hair briefly, then stepped back. “God only knows why he put such a beautiful head of hair with such an ugly face.” With a grin he patted Lee on the shoulder.
Lee snorted and grabbed for Gideon’s brown curls. “At least I don’t have a moppet head.”
Gideon frowned and harrumphed. “I do not have a moppet head.”
“And I do not have an ugly face.” Lee moved what was left of his arm. “I do, however, have a hell of a scar to impress the girls with. Wish me luck, cousin.”
He was nervous as hell, but had finally found the balls to do what he’d wanted to for quite a while. With more than a little trepidation, Lee Blackwood headed out the door, brushing past Gideon.
Quite possibly the rest of his life waited for him, he only had to get there.
* * * * *
His heart beat steadily as he waited. Lee had never considered himself a coward, but staring into the brown eyes of the woman he’d just proposed to had him quaking in his boots.
The light from the sun began to fill the restaurant. It was early, just past dawn, and they were the only two people downstairs. Gideon was still upstairs, leaving Lee alone with Margaret.
He’d fallen in love with her over time. It wasn’t until his brother, Zeke, had pointed out the obvious affection that Lee realized what he was feeling was love. He’d been pushing people away for so long, what he experienced was foreign and scared him. After seeing the joy Zeke, Nate and Jake found with the women they loved, well, Lee thought it was time he acted on those unfamiliar feelings and maybe find a piece of that joy himself.
Margaret was a war widow, as were many women in Tanger, Texas. She’d been working for the restaurant co-owned by Lee, Zeke, Gideon and Cindy Cooley, who spent her days hiding in her now seemingly permanent room at the mill. The daily operations had been the Blackwoods’ responsibility since it reopened six months earlier.
When Margaret first started working for them, Lee didn’t want anything to do with her. Women had been scarce in his life, and since he’d lost most of his left arm in the war, they were even scarcer.
Yet she’d grown on him, the way she bossed him around, didn’t take any of his guff or rudeness. Margaret treated him as if he was normal, and for that he’d fallen head over heels for her. It just took him a while to figure it out.
“Did you just ask me to marry you?” Margaret tucked a wisp of hair behind her ears. He tried not to notice that her hand shook.
Lee resisted the urge to squirm in his seat. “Well, yeah, I did.” His cheeks felt warm and he knew he was probably blushing, but damn it, he couldn’t help it.
She nodded and picked up the mug in front of her. The steam from the rich brew curled around her delicate features. “Why me?”
“Why not? We rub along good together.” His stomach rolled into a ball at his cowardice. Lee could not tell her he loved her. Jesus, what a fool he was.
“Lee, you and I, we’re friends.” She shook her head slightly and his breath caught. “But I don’t think we should be husband and wife.”
At that moment, he c
ouldn’t swallow even if he wanted to. His mouth had gone as dry as trail dust. “Lots of folks start off as friends when they first get married.” The words sounded thick and unnatural as his tongue tried to work properly.
When Margaret used the word “but”, Lee knew he’d made a big mistake. Possibly the stupidest mistake of his life. Anger bubbled up inside him at his own foolishness.
“Then get it over with and say no.” His head began to throb even as his hand clenched into a fist. “No woman wants a one-armed husband.”
Her eyebrows slammed together. “Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t care if you had one eye and a wooden leg. I don’t judge people by the way they look.”
“You’re still going to say no.” He stood and looked down at her. “I’m sorry I bothered you, Margaret. I wish— Damn, there’s not enough hours in the day for that list.”
As he walked away, he felt her gaze on his back and he nearly missed a step. Pain was not an unfamiliar emotion, but it sure as hell was an unwelcome one.
“Lee?”
He stopped, but didn’t turn around. He couldn’t. “What?”
“If I hadn’t fallen in love with Matthew, I would have said yes.”
Matthew Marchison owned the mercantile in town, and he had both arms. Lee couldn’t help the snort that burst from his throat. “Yeah, pardon me if I don’t believe you.”
She sighed softly. “Someday you’re going to have to let go of that anger. If you don’t, you’ll never be happy.”
This time he didn’t stop walking. Lee burst from the restaurant and ran. He didn’t know where he was running to, but he couldn’t stay there even one more minute. Hurt and confusion wrestled with fury at God and frustration that he hadn’t died on that battlefield.
No matter how far he ran though, he knew he’d never escape himself.
Chapter One
August 1867
Genevieve Blanchard had been blessed, or rather cursed, with a fancy name and not much else except an abundance of pride. It was that pride that kept her from asking for help for nearly six months after her no-account husband died.
Pride rode on her back as she made her way into town with a sullen Sophie beside her on the wagon seat. The seven-year-old took after her mama for sure.
“Now stop that bellyaching, Sophie. We need help and that’s all there is to it.” The words spilled out of her mouth, but they were hard to chew. Genny figured her daughter heard the doubt and latched onto it, like any stubborn female would.
“Not hardly. We can make do on our own. We have been since Pa died.” Sophie pooched out her lower lip and frowned so fiercely her small eyebrows nearly touched. She favored her grandmother, like it or not. The wavy brown hair, the light blue eyes, even the heart-shaped face all screamed Camille.
Genny shook off the memories of her mother and focused on getting the old workhorse into town. Ned was twenty years old if he was a day, and every morning Genny wondered if he’d be standing or lying hooves up in his stall when she went to feed him.
“Git up there.” She flicked the reins as they plodded along toward Tanger. Genny aimed to ask for a little help, only a week or two’s worth of work. She wasn’t a charity case and wouldn’t take help without something in return. If there was one thing she could do, it was sew really well. What she was hoping for was a single man who would trade some good hard work for new clothes. Much of Henry’s clothes were salvageable, and since he was such a big man, she could make them fit just about anyone with a bit of work with a sewing needle.
“I still don’t want to have a stranger at the farm.” Sophie folded her arms. “Pa wouldn’t like it.”
Genny swallowed a snort. It didn’t matter one whit what Henry would have thought of having a stranger help on the farm. As much as Genny loved Sophie, for certain there had been no love for the late Mr. Blanchard. He’d been a lazy man with three needs he constantly wanted satisfied. When Genny refused to provide one of those needs anymore, he went into town and found it at the whore’s saloon. For that, Genny had been grateful.
Sophie was a blessing in a life spent with a man twenty-five years older than she was. However, she didn’t want to have any more children. One was enough work considering Genny did the majority of the farm chores. Henry only worked when there were crops in the field. The other six months of the year, he sat on his ass and demanded to be serviced.
It was his laziness that convinced Genny she could manage the farm after his death. She had been doing everything herself already. She nearly laughed at the thought now. Little had she known just how wrong she’d be.
Shaking off the maudlin thoughts of her failures as a farm owner, Genny focused on Ned’s hindquarters. No need to be crying over spilled milk. What she needed was to stop whining and realize although she didn’t want help, she sure as hell needed it.
As they crested the last hill into Tanger, Genny’s courage tried its best to jump ship. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to keep going. What kind of example would she give Sophie if she gave up because of her pride?
Through conversations she’d had with neighbors at the last shindig in town a few months ago, she heard the men from Georgia were still doing work for folks who needed it. She hadn’t met any of those men except for the redheaded one who had married Gabby. It stood to reason that Genny could talk to Gabby about her needs at the farm. Asking for help would be a simple business transaction, nothing more.
Then why did Genny feel sick to her stomach?
Ignoring her breakfast churning around inside her, she headed straight for the mill. Although it wasn’t busy this time of year, she knew Gabby was usually there.
“Where are we going, Mama?”
“To see Miss Gabby and get some help for the farm.”
“But we don’t need—”
“That’s enough, young lady. Whether or not you realize it, we need help, and sometimes you have to accept the kindness of strangers even if it sticks in your craw.” Genny hadn’t meant to be so harsh, but judging by the look on Sophie’s face, perhaps the girl would finally accept the inevitable.
Genny wondered if she’d been talking to herself or Sophie.
“After we see Miss Gabby, can we go to the store for a peppermint?” Sophie turned her gaze up at Genny. The girl knew how to manipulate with those wide, innocent eyes, smart little booger.
“If you behave yourself, then maybe. Mr. Marchison might have a penny candy or two he could part with.” Genny was rewarded with a whoop of childish enthusiasm.
“Oh he always has peppermints, Mama. His little boy loved them so he gives them out to other young’uns. That way it reminds him of his own little boy.” Sophie’s explanation was simple, but the reasons for Matthew’s generosity were much more complex.
Genny knew the man was trying to make amends for his wife’s perfidy years ago when she had profited from kidnapping and selling the women in town. He also had lost his son in the war, and grief was a constant companion for the soft-spoken man.
When they pulled up to the mill, Genny realized her hands were shaking right along with the rest of her. She hadn’t considered the possibility that no one would be available to help her, which meant she would have to hire a farmhand. They could little afford to pay anyone. Hell, they could hardly afford to feed themselves. Thank God for a big garden and the apple orchard.
Her feet hit the ground and she pulled up her courage from somewhere near her toes. With each step she took, Genny’s throat grew tighter.
“Stay in the wagon while I find Miss Gabby.”
Wisely, Sophie nodded and clutched the rag doll Genny had made for her when she was born. Genny was blessed to have what she did, and she intended on keeping it all for Sophie. If they could hang on to the farm, she would inherit it and hopefully spend her life there with her own family.
Squaring her shoulders, Genny stepped up on the po
rch and walked into the mill.
Lee watched the wagon, pulled by the oldest horse he’d ever seen, stop in front of the mill with a woman and girl on the seat. He didn’t know either of them, but the girl looked vaguely familiar. Maybe he’d seen her at the Founder’s Day celebration in the spring.
He stood looking out the window waiting for Jake and Gabby to return. They had gone to see Doc Barham and asked him to keep an eye on her father. The man was bedbound and couldn’t speak, but Lee did what he could to help considering he was living at the mill without paying room and board.
It had been months since Lee had been in the restaurant. He spent his days doing accounts for businesses in town, including the restaurant, and his meager pay went into the bank. His friend Richard Newman assured him that within six months he’d have enough to buy his own place.
Lee craved the isolation of his own home, away from the noise and drama of other people. Each time Gideon brought the receipts to him, he asked when Lee would return to the restaurant. Of course, the answer was never. There was no need to live at the restaurant when he could do his accounting work anyplace.
This allowed him to stay away from Margaret and keep his sanity. Gideon accepted his decision, but that didn’t keep him from nagging at Lee almost every day.
The woman from the wagon stepped into the mill and Lee turned to face her. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but when she took off her hideous bonnet, her youth surprised him. She was younger than he was.
Her skin was the color of cream with a touch of honey mixed in. A smattering of freckles stood out on her long, thin nose. With reddish brown hair captured in a bun on the back of her head, she was average looking, almost plain. However, she had a forthrightness in her brown gaze that gave him pause. Not many women were able to do that.
“Is Gabby here?” Her voice was like whiskey, husky and throaty with a slight rasp that immediately made the small hairs on his body stand up.
What the hell was that about?
Devils on Horseback: Lee, Book 4 Page 1
