The Outlaws: Sam

by Ten Talents Press

  The Outlaws: Sam

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  The Outlaws: Sam

  by Connie Mason

  Copyright 2011 by Connie Mason

  Smashwords Edition

  Chapter 1

  Denison, Texas 1868

  He opened his eyes, one at a time, slowly, carefully. His head pounded and his mouth tasted like the inside of an outhouse. Sam Gentry knew without a doubt he had the granddaddy of all hangovers. Even more disheartening was the fact that he was in jail and had no idea how he got here.

  Had the posse caught up with him? Had the sheriff of Denison, Texas seen his picture on that blasted wanted poster that proclaimed to all the world that the Gentry brothers were outlaws? The last thing he remembered was sitting down at the poker table in a saloon whose name he couldn't remember and betting the last of his money on a winning hand. The pot had been substantial and he'd bought a round of drinks for everyone at the table. He searched his memory for more information and came up blank. He choked out a groan. What in the hell had happened?

  "You finally woke up. I was beginning to worry."

  The gruff voice sent pain shooting through Sam's head. He turned slowly. His bleary eyes focused with some difficulty on a man who looked vaguely familiar. He was sitting on the floor, his back braced against the wall. He was older than Sam by many years. His faded red hair was streaked with gray and his leathery complexion had the look of a man who'd spent his life outdoors.

  "Do I know you?" Sam didn't recognize his own voice, which came out raspy and grating.

  The man chuckled. "You sure as hell ought to. I'm Rusty Ramsey from the B&G Ranch. How much do you remember about last night?"

  "Damn little."

  "You're one helluva fighter, Sam."

  "You know my name?"

  "You mentioned it last night. In Texas nobody asks for last names. It ain't healthy, if you know what I mean."

  Sam knew exactly what he meant.

  "You won a heap of money at the poker table last night and bought everyone a round of drinks. I reckon you decided you needed a few more cause you sure hung on a good one."

  "I remember that much. But that doesn't explain why I feel like I've been run over by a hay wagon. Why did you say I was a good fighter?"

  "The fight's the reason we're both cooling our heels in jail. I reckon Sheriff Hale will show up soon to turn us loose."

  Sam sat up slowly, very slowly. "Tell me about the fight, Rusty. I can't believe I'd do anything that would land me in jail. I've been trying to stay out of jail since I left Dodge a few weeks ago."

  "So you're from up Kansas way," Rusty said. "Thought I recognized that Kansas twang. I take it you don't recall the boys from the Taylor spread picking a fight with me."

  Sam shook his head and was immediately sorry.

  "They were goading me about their boss's upcoming marriage to the owner of the B&G. Said I was too old to continue on as foreman, that I'd be out of a job after Taylor Cramer took over. I took exception to being called old." He wiggled his jaw back and forth. "I reckon it was foolish of me to take on two men younger than myself by several years, but they made me mad. I didn't ask for your help and you didn't ask if I wanted it, but I sure as hell appreciated it when you threw yourself into the fight."

  "No wonder I feel like I've been battered. I can usually hold my own in a fight, but I'm not usually drunk when I'm doing it. Did we win?"

  Rusty grinned. "We weren't losing. The sheriff broke it up before anyone was seriously hurt."

  "Are the Cramer hands in jail?"

  "No. Sheriff Hale learned that I started the fight and let the Cramer hands go. Don't worry, we'll be out of here soon. I need to get back to the ranch. The boss lady depends on me."

  Sam gave a shudder of relief. He was to be set free, so obviously the sheriff hadn't seen the wanted poster. "A woman owns the B&G?"

  "Yep. Her uncle up and died a couple of months ago and left it to her. A pity, too. She wasn't born to ranching and don't know beans about it. But I gotta hand it to her. She's learning fast and she ain't afeared of hard work."

  The sound of squeaking door hinges sent renewed pain shooting behind Sam's eyes. He blinked, and the tall, solid form of the sheriff came into focus.

  "You boys ready to leave?"

  Rusty dragged himself to his feet. "I reckon we are, sheriff."

  The sheriff fit the key in the lock and swung open the door. "You're both free to go. You know better than to pick a fight, Rusty. And you, young fella," he said, fixing Sam with a stern look, "you're a stranger in town, aren't you?" Sam nodded. "If you plan on sticking around, you should know I don't condone fighting in public places. Denison is a peaceful town and I aim to keep it that way."

  "Sam won't give you any more trouble, sheriff," Rusty promised.

  Sam rose unsteadily, anxious to leave the jail. He followed Rusty out the door, squinting into the brilliant daylight.

  "You look awful," Rusty said.

  "You don't look so good yourself.

  "What are you gonna do? You got business in town or something?"

  Sam rubbed the dark stubble growing on his chin. "I'm just riding through."

  Rusty slapped him on the back. "I like you, son. If you're looking for work, I can offer you a job on the B&G. We can use another hand or two."

  "What about your boss? Won't she have something to say about it?"

  "She leaves the hiring and firing to me. She's got enough to do taking care of her son. Cute little tyke named Andy."

  Sam seriously considered taking Rusty up on his offer. He'd always preferred ranching to farming, and a ranch sounded like a good place to lay low for awhile. And he doubted those wanted posters he so feared had reached this far south yet. Denison was a small town, he felt reasonably safe here.

  "Maybe I'll take you up on that offer, Rusty. I need a job and a place to light for awhile. At least until your boss marries that Cramer fellow and we're booted out."

  "He won't fire all the hands, just me and a couple others. Me and Cramer had a little run in a while back. That was before Hob Bigelow, Lacey's uncle, died. Come on, Sam, forget that bastard. Let's get our horses from the livery and ride out to the ranch. I'll introduce you to the boss lady and show you the ropes. You know anything about ranching?"

  "A little. My people were farmers, but I can ride and rope with the best of them."

  "You'll do.

  Sam and Rusty headed out of town. Sam was happy to see the last of Denison. He'd tried to avoid towns since shaking the posse a few weeks ago, but he'd run low on provisions and money. He had stopped at Denison to find a poker game. He'd always played a good hand of poker, not as good as Jess, but better than Rafe. He'd used the last of his money to bet on an inside straight and won, but Lord only knows what he did with the money. From the size of his head, he suspected he had squandered it all on booze.

  Sam needed a drink. His head felt ready to burst and riding made it worse. A cup of strong coffee would be mighty welcome now. Sam's mind wandered back to Kansas, to the day he and his brothers
were falsely accused of bank robbery. They hadn't had time to consider whether running away was a good idea, not with a posse of hotheaded men with hanging on their minds breathing down their necks.

  During the past few weeks Sam had often wondered if they would have been able to prove their innocence had they not run. He seriously doubted the posse would have let them live long enough to face a judge and jury. The Gentry brothers had been Southern sympathizers in a Yankee state, and the people of Dodge never let them forget it. They hadn't even allowed Jess, a dedicated doctor, to practice medicine after the war. They had shunned his services in droves, and Jess was forced to take down his shingle.

  Rafe had tried hard to make a go of the farm, but the last draught had all but wiped them out. And asking for a bank loan had started all the trouble with the law.

  "I'll bet you're hungry," Rusty said, reining in beside Sam.

  "Nope, but I can sure use a drink," Sam answered. "You don't have a bottle on you, do you?"

  "Nope. I ain't a drinker. I hope you're not one either cause the boss don't cotton to drinking men working for her."

  "I don't usually drink to excess, though I do like a drink now and again. Last night was an exception. I've had a...bit of hard luck recently. I reckon I let it get me down and reacted by getting drunk. It won't happen again, though a drink would settle my stomach right now."

  "The ranch is just up ahead. A cup of Luke's coffee and some of his hot biscuits should perk you up."

  Shading his eyes against the brilliant rays of the sun, Sam spied the ranch. Squat and rambling, it sat on a low rise surrounded by numerous outbuildings and scraggly trees. In the distance, he could see cattle grazing on the range, and the yard and paddock were a beehive of activity.

  "Looks like a prosperous spread," Sam said.

  "Looks can be deceiving," Rusty answered. "Miz Lacey is having the devil's own time keeping the ranch. Several years of back taxes are due shortly and she hasn't the cash to pay them. I swear she's marrying Taylor Cramer for his money. She and little Andy ain't go nowhere else to go."

  Lacey!

  The name produced a tangle of painful memories that Sam had tried hard to forget. Not even his brothers knew about Lacey, and he intended to keep it that way. He could hardly stand thinking about her himself. But this Lacey couldn't be the same Lacey who had cold-bloodedly betrayed him. The woman who had sent him to a sure death. But he had fooled her and escaped. He shook his head clear of unwelcome thoughts. To his knowledge, though he hadn't bothered to find out, Lacey Peters was still living in Pennsylvania.

  "I assume your boss is a widow."

  "Yep. Her husband died in the war. Then her Pa died. After the war she and her son came to live with Hob Bigelow, her mother's brother. Old Hob renamed the ranch to include the first initial of Miz Lacey's last name."

  "Hob Bigelow must have been a poor businessman," Sam mused, already putting Lacey Peters behind him where she belonged.

  "Hob did his best, but he lost a bundle supporting the Rebel cause during the war. Never did recoup his losses. He died a mite sooner than he thought and left Miz Lacey with a heap of bills she had no idea existed, including five years of back taxes."

  "And you think she's marrying Taylor Cramer for his money?"

  "Can't think of no other reason. That man wanted to get his hands on the ranch before old Hob died, but Hob wouldn't sell. He didn't trust Cramer and neither do I."

  "Maybe Miz Lacey loves Cramer."

  Rusty gave a bark of laughter. "Ha! That ain't likely. I'd be the first to admit her boy needs a pa, but Cramer ain't that man. He don't even like little Andy."

  They rode through the gate. Rusty directed him toward the paddock. "You don't look in any condition to meet Miz Lacey today." He dismounted. "Leave your horse, one of the hands will take care of him. I'll take you to the cookhouse first, and you can sample some of Luke's coffee. If you survive that, you can survive anything. Then I suggest that you clean up, find yourself an empty bunk in the bunkhouse, and sleep off your hangover. You'll find the bunkhouse over yonder." He pointed to a long, low building a stone's throw from the cookhouse.

  "I reckon I do look pretty rough. Don't want to scare the boss lady."

  Sam shouldered his saddlebags and started off toward the cookhouse. "Are you coming?"

  "Not right now. I want to check on the hands first. Don't want any of them shirking their duty. I'll see you later."

  The cook wasn't in the cookhouse so Sam found a tin cup and helped himself to the coffee sitting on a back burner. It was thick and black and he gulped it down in one long swallow. It burned clear down to his stomach, but it did help settle it. The thought of food was revolting so he headed over to the bunkhouse. He stopped at the pump and pulled off his shirt. Then he bent over and pumped cold water over his aching head.

  Lacey stepped out the back door, shaded her distinctive hazel eyes against the glare of the sun and walked briskly to the henhouse to gather eggs. Dust swirled around her booted feet and along the hem of her split skirt. We need rain, she thought as she gazed out over the brown prairie grass. She worried excessively about the cattle during this dry time of year, but fortunately there was a stream on the property that rarely ran dry due to the underground spring feeding it. Other ranchers weren't as lucky in that respect.

  Lacey had nearly reached the henhouse when she caught sight of a man washing up at the pump. His back was to her, but she would have sworn no hired hand on the B&G matched his description. He was magnificent, like no other cowhand she'd seen. His hips were narrow, his back broad and his shoulders wide. When he bent over to dunk his head beneath the pump, her gaze lingered on the taut mounds of his buttocks.

  Her breath hitched.

  Even though she couldn't see his face, something about the man was familiar. Too familiar for comfort. A shiver slid down her spine as memories assailed her. Her thoughts were so painful she forced them away. Then she realized she was staring at the man's backside and deliberately looked elsewhere. What would he think of her if he caught her watching him?

  Shaking inappropriate thoughts and unwelcome memories from her mind, she proceeded to the henhouse. But Lacey's wayward thoughts still lingered on the man she had once loved. The dark-haired stranger reminded her of the him, and the war, and how her life had changed because it. A Rebel had walked into her life and left her a little wiser, a little older, a little bruised. But she had Andy, and she couldn't regret a moment of the experience.

  Chapter Two

  Sam slept the entire and day and through the night. The following morning Rusty took him in hand, introducing him to Luke, the B&G cook, and the ten hands who worked the ranch. Most were young men ranging in age from seventeen to just under thirty. Sam fell somewhere in the middle.

  After a satisfying breakfast, Rusty took Sam to meet Miz Lacey.

  "She's usually in her office going over accounts at this time of day. I'm sure she won't have any objections about me hiring you on for that's my jurisdiction, but you need to meet her anyway."

  Sam squared his shoulders. "So let's go meet your Miz Lacey. By the way, what does this paragon look like?"

  "Like an angel. Small and blond with unusual greenish gold eyes and a smile that could light up the world. The boys would do anything for her, but they don't think much of her intended husband."

  Sam fell silent. Small and blond with greenish gold eyes could describe the Lacey he had fallen in love with during the hellish war between the states. But that Lacey was a Yankee and to his knowledge was still living in Pennsylvania.

  Rita, the cook/housekeeper, let them in the back door. She smiled at Rusty. "The Senora is in her office. You know the way."

  The house, Sam noted as he passed through the kitchen and parlor and down the hallway, was neat, clean, and well kept up. The furniture was functional, not fancy, apparently built for hard wear. Rag throw rugs were scattered over polished hardwood floors, and the curtains were drawn back to allow the breeze to pass through the ope
n windows.

  "This is Miz Lacey's office," Rusty said, pausing before a closed door.

  Rusty rapped lightly, and moments later a feminine voice bid them enter. Rusty opened the door and walked inside. Sam followed close on his heels.

  "Howdy, Miz Lacey," Rusty greeted. "I hired on a new hand. Thought you'd like to meet him. Say howdy to Miz Lacey, Sam."

  Sam stepped forward, and found himself entangled in his worst nightmare. Miz Lacey was Lacey Peters! The one woman he had every reason to hate. The woman who evoked memories he'd fought hard to bury all these years. Now here she was, his nemesis, his nightmare, looking more beautiful than he remembered. Fate had dealt him a devastating blow.

  Lacey stared at Sam Gentry as if he were a ghost come back to haunt her. Her face papaled and her hands shook as she clutched the edge of the desk. Sam Gentry! Alive! Not dead and buried all those years ago like she'd been led to believe. He stood before her larger than life, a bit older but more handsome than she remembered. She couldn't believe it. Alive! And he was staring at her with more venom than she deserved.

  Why hadn't he gotten in touch with her after the war? Her heart sank. She knew why, but he was wrong. She'd had nothing to do with her father's decision to trade him to the Yankees for her brother.

  "Are you all right, Miz Lacey?" Rusty asked. "You look kind of peaked all of a sudden."

  Lacey heard Rusty's voice as if it were coming from a great distance. She knew she had to answer but couldn't seem to make her mouth work. She realized her face was white as a sheet but she had just received the greatest shock of her life. She collected her tattered nerves, swallowed hard, and said, "Anyone you hire on is fine with me, Rusty. You're the expert here. But if you don't mind, I'd like a few words alone with Sam."

  If Rusty found anything unusual about Lacey's request, he made no mention of it. "Sure thing, Miz Lacey. Meet me at the corral when you're finished here, Sam."