Almost an Outlaw

by Patricia Preston

  Almost an Outlaw

  By Patricia Preston

  Rancher Austin Cade rides into Liberty looking for his old comrades, the James-Younger gang. He needs their help tracking down the horse thief who’s stolen his prized mare. In town, the former gunfighter is reunited with Darcy, the first girl he ever kissed—and never forgot.

  Young widow Darcy Branson owns a shop full of fashionable ladies’ attire, but continues to wear mourning black so she won’t forget her role in her husband’s death. Austin stirs a passion inside her that has long been dormant, but can Darcy learn to believe in Austin—and love—enough to let go of her tragic past?

  Time is rapidly running out… As a cousin to Jesse James, Darcy has attracted unwanted attention, thanks to her rumored association with the gang. Soon Austin and Darcy are faced with confronting not only their growing desire, but danger in the form of a deadly bounty hunter…

  Dear Reader,

  A new year always brings with it a sense of expectation and promise (and maybe a vague sense of guilt). Expectation because we don’t know what the year will bring exactly, but promise because we always hope it will be good things. The guilt is due to all of the New Year’s resolutions we make with such good intentions.

  This year, Carina Press is making a New Year’s resolution we know we won’t have any reason to feel guilty about: we’re going to bring our readers a year of fantastic editorial and diverse genre content. So far, our plans for 2011 include staff and author appearances at reader-focused conferences such as the RT Booklovers Convention in April, where we’ll be offering up goodies, appearing on panels, giving workshops and hosting a few fun activities for readers. We’re also cooking up several genre-specific release weeks, during which we’ll highlight individual genres. So far we have plans for steampunk week and unusual fantasy week. Readers will have access to free reads, discounts, contests and more as part of our week-long promotions!

  But even when we’re not doing special promotions, we’re still offering something special to our readers in the form of the stories authors are delivering to Carina Press that we’re passing on to you. From sweet romance to sexy, and military science fiction to fairy-tale fantasy, from mysteries to romantic suspense, we’re proud to be offering a wide variety of genres and tales of escapism to our customers in this new year. Every week is a new adventure, and we want to bring our readers along on the journey. Be daring, be brave and try something new with Carina Press in 2011!

  We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to generalinquiries@carinapress.com. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Executive Editor, Carina Press

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  Dedication

  To a Gang of Great Gals: Beverly Barton, Edna Waits, Jane Harrison and Pat Trainum.

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  April 1874, Liberty, Missouri

  “I wouldn’t wait nine years on any man.” Darcy Branson spoke to Emma Nash as they stood in the fitting room of Darcy’s dress shop. The upcoming marriage of Darcy’s cousin, Jesse James, to his longtime sweetheart, Zee Mims, was the subject of speculation among those who knew about the secret wedding. Darcy thought nine years was an unreasonably long courtship.

  Of course, there was a lot to be said for waiting. If she had waited that long before marrying Stephen, she might have learned the truth about her Prince Charming before it was too late.

  “At least Zee isn’t going to end up an old maid like everyone thought,” Emma said.

  Darcy nodded as she helped Emma try on a lovely gown of topaz silk faille. However, there were much worse things than being an old maid. Like being a vengeful wife who had gotten her husband murdered. That was, indeed, worse.

  Emma smiled with excitement as she looked at her reflection in the cheval mirror. “I do love this dress,” she said. “I don’t know how I will ever repay you.”

  “You owe me nothing.” Darcy smiled, happy that she could provide a pretty gown for Emma, who could not have afforded it otherwise. Some of the well-to-do old biddies in town said she was too generous toward the less fortunate. She didn’t think so. Generosity reaped its own reward. “Mister Caruthers will be completely smitten with you.”

  Blushing at the mention of her beau’s name, Emma turned to Darcy. “Why don’t you wear that emerald gown you bought in Saint Louis to the wedding?”

  “No.” She always wore black.

  “It is time—”

  “No.” It would never be time.

  “Stephen has been dead for almost three years now. Long enough that no one would think ill of you if you put aside mourning colors.”

  Darcy removed the tape measure that hung around her neck. She was a graduate of the San Francisco Academy for Young Ladies, where she had been taught good manners and social graces. She knew exactly what was and was not proper. She sighed. “The rules of etiquette change nothing.” They were only words in a book. “They can’t change what is inside me.” They couldn’t change what she had done. She splayed her hand over the waist of her black bodice. “Black suits me.”

  The jingle of the bells attached to the front door of the shop came as a welcome diversion. She left Emma to admire herself in the mirror and went to wait on her customer. She stopped short when she saw the customer was a man. Rarely did a man enter her dress shop, only the occasional local business owner looking to buy his wife or sweetheart a gift. The tall, dark-haired man standing with his back to her as he looked at the ready-made frocks on display looked more like a gunman than a gentleman. A black duster fell from the wide span of his shoulders to his knee-high boots, and he held a center-dented black hat in his left hand. Men who dressed like him lived in the saddle. Uneasiness spread through her. The large bounty offered for her cousins, Frank and Jesse James, had brought a number of unsavory men into the town of Liberty. It was a dangerous time, especially for those connected to the outlaws. No one trusted outsiders.

  The customer appeared particularly interested in the expensive emerald gown that Emma had suggested she wear to Jesse’s wedding. It was a lovely dress. One she had fallen in love with the moment she saw it in Saint Louis.

  She squared her shoulders as she made her presence known. “May I help you?” she asked pointedly, standing behind a gleaming mahogany counter.

  He turned and she looked into a pair of exceptional eyes she had never forgotten. Over a decade had passed since she had looked into those uncommon smoky gray eyes. Time and the elements had aged him somewhat. Then again, he had never had the face of a boy. Injustice and atrocity had matured him at an early age.

  “Miss Howard.” He gave his head a dip of respect as he addressed her by her maiden name.

  She remained mute for a moment as her brain struggled with this reality. It appeared Captain Austin Cade, the infamous guerilla commander, was not dead. He was alive. He was here. The man who had defied the odds and saved her years ago. He had been her hero on that summer day. Memories returned of the farewell kiss he had given her. It had been her very first kiss. Considering her husband’s deception, Austin may have given her the only true kiss she’d ever had.

  “Captain.” She managed to find her voice. “I-I
thought you were dead.” The war had been over for years, and it had been assumed that Captain Austin Cade had died in some forsaken place. Violently, like all his peers.

  He didn’t appear surprised. “Most people think that.”

  “Obviously, we have all been wrong in our assumption.” Fidgeting with her cameo brooch, she hoped she didn’t sound as overwhelmed as she felt.

  He strode over to the counter where she stood. Sensations she had long ago buried darted through her. He brought the scent of leather and forest to the shop that usually smelled of lavender and roses. Warmth spread through her body as he leaned against the counter. She pressed her hand against the front of her bodice, which suddenly felt too tight.

  Years ago, the newspapers had dubbed him the White Comanche. The first time she had seen him, his dark hair had been much longer, well below his shoulders, and war paint had made his handsome face terrifying. She remembered the way he moved. Like a young mountain lion on the prowl. She felt as stunned by him now as she had ten years ago.

  He set his black hat on the counter. “When did you move back?”

  “Last year. I liked living in San Francisco, but I wanted to come home and bring a little fashion to the ladies of Liberty.”

  He nodded and glanced around. His gaze lingered on the pretty emerald evening gown. “That dress matches your eyes,” he observed.

  Her breath hitched. He had noticed the color of her eyes. Her pulse was racing as if she had just danced the Virginia reel ten times. There was no reason for a simple comment to be so exciting. She reminded herself she was not a young girl anymore, neither was she innocent. She folded her arms on the counter.

  “What can I do for you, Captain?”

  “I need a favor.”

  “Oh.” Goodness knows she couldn’t refuse him since she was in his debt. Had he not rescued her when he did, she might have been one of the girls killed when the old building that was being used as makeshift women’s prison in Kansas City collapsed.

  “I’ll be happy to do you a favor.” There was only one reason why men came to her shop. “You tell me what kind of dress you’re looking for, and I’ll see that you get it.”

  His gray eyes widened. “You think I want a dress?”

  “Well, no. Not for yourself, of course.” She laughed. “But for someone special, yes. And if you’re looking for something besides clothing, I do have a number of lovely gift items that any lady would love.” She reached for one of the bottles of perfume displayed on the counter, and she dabbed a bit of fragrance on her wrist. “This cologne is a very light orange blossom and lilac combined. It is one of my favorites. Do you like it?”

  He sniffed her wrist and nodded. “I would buy it for a special lady, but I don’t have one.”

  Much to her horror, his words thrilled her.

  “I see you got married.” He gave her wedding band a pointed look.

  She pulled her hand back and closed the bottle of perfume. “Yes, I was married. I’m widowed now.”

  “You’re awfully young to be widowed.”

  “Young men die too,” she said. Sometimes their wives get them killed. He offered the standard condolences while she returned the perfume bottle to the display tray. “What about a silk hankie or a beaded reticule?”

  “I’m not here as a customer,” he remarked, and she lifted her brows in surprise. He spoke quietly. “I talked to Thad Adams at the Croft Hotel.”

  She had known the hotel manager all her life. They had gone to school together and Thad was now married to her aunt’s sister-in-law.

  “He said you could help me.”

  “With what?” she asked.

  “I need to see the Boys,” he said, using the local nickname for the James-Younger gang.

  In that one second, when he mentioned the Boys, a chill swept over her. She couldn’t keep smiling, not when she sensed trouble. Warily, she slid a glance to his waist where he wore his guns tied down and heels forward, gunfighter-style.

  “I don’t know why Thad would have said such a thing.” She stepped backward. Beneath the counter, between the moneybox and a feather duster, lay a short-barrel Colt revolver within her reach. She smoothed the front of her skirt and tried to look apologetic. “I cannot help you.”

  “That’s not true.”

  She met his determined gaze. She was aware he had been good friends with both Frank and Cole during the war. They had been young men, barely twenty, when they had rode under a black flag together, forging a brotherhood in battle. But the war was long over and people could change. Especially when it came to a fortune in reward money.

  “Let me put it this way,” she said curtly. “I won’t help you.”

  A frown deepened the lines in his tanned face. “Surely you know you can trust me.”

  “I know nothing about you at all,” she replied in a cold tone. “And, no, I don’t trust you.”

  With an offended scowl, he said, “You have no reason not to trust me. Ask Frank or Jesse if you have doubts about my honor.”

  She rubbed her forehead. Men and their honor. She rounded the counter and motioned for him to follow her. She walked over to the front windows of her shop. “You see those two men across the street?” Two heavily armed men sat on a wooden bench in front of a barbershop.

  “They are Pinkerton agents. They know who I am. They follow me everywhere I go and they watch every move I make. I cannot help you. Even if I wanted to,” she added for good measure. Of course, she had no intention of leading him to her cousins.

  His frown deepened as he studied the two men across the street. Finally, he turned back to her. “All I want you to do is tell the Boys I need to see them. I can be reached at the hotel. That’s all you have to do,” he said. “I’d be much obliged.”

  “I will give it some thought.” She would not promise more.

  Before he left, he toyed with his hat for a moment. “You still pick wildflowers?”

  His question almost knocked the wind out of her. It took her a moment to find her voice. “Yes. Sometimes,” she answered in a breathless voice, shocked that Austin Cade had recalled her penchant for picking wildflowers. Did he recall their kiss too?

  He gave her a farewell nod and disappeared out the door. She rushed to the window. He put on his hat as he strode across the street toward the barbershop. Her heart gave a lurch when he approached the Pinkertons. Both agents were on their feet instantly, and they appeared to be on the defensive as they exchanged words with Austin. Panic rose in her chest as she considered how suddenly violence could erupt. Three years ago, she had witnessed how quickly an outraged man could pull a trigger and end a life. It could happen in a second and there would be no altering the deadly result.

  She wished she had never mentioned the Pinkertons to him. Heart pounding, she rushed to the door, but by the time she stepped outside, the two Pinkerton agents were marching up the street, away from their habitual post. Austin looked her way and tipped his hat to her before he went inside the barbershop.

  Men! She stormed back inside her store. Why did they always court danger? She assured herself it would not be her fault if Austin Cade ended up in a gunfight with the Pinkertons. Then she thought of John Younger, who had been killed last month by a Pinkerton agent. Fuming, she made a quick decision and headed for the fitting room.

  “Emma, I’m going to be out for the rest of the day.” She snatched her shawl off a wall hook and threw it over her shoulders. “Men are nothing but trouble!”

  Emma grinned. “Can you believe Captain Cade isn’t dead after all?”

  In response, Darcy rolled her eyes. “I can believe he may end up dead if he’s not careful. A man who’ll stroll across the street and confront two Pinkertons is asking to die.”

  “What do you think he wants with the Boys?” Emma asked. “I wasn’t eavesdropping,” she added, “but I did overhear him.”

  “I have no idea. But whatever his business is, the sooner it is finished, the sooner he will leave town, and the less tr
ouble there will be for everyone.”

  Especially her. She already had enough blood on her hands.

  Chapter Two

  Austin sat silently in the barber’s chair while the barber shaved him. He wasn’t a man to make trivial conversation, and at the present moment, his thoughts had taken him back in time. It had been a hot, dry day in July of 1863 when he saw Darcy for the first time. She was walking down a dusty road, wearing a yellow dress and sun hat, her hands bound. A detachment of five Home Guard soldiers on horseback flanked her.

  Watching from the woods, he figured they were escorting her to Kansas City, where dozens of young women and girls were being held prisoner by the Union army. Part of the new war effort against the Missouri guerillas was to arrest their womenfolk. His close friend, Cole Younger, had three sisters and two cousins imprisoned in Kansas City.

  Weary, she stumbled, and her guards scolded her instead of offering a horse to ride or a drink of water. If they had shown her some compassion, he might have been more lenient toward them. Then again, probably not. Since he was seventeen, he had witnessed a number of their atrocities against his neighbors and family. His own home had been burned and his mother murdered. He had not been able to save his mother, but he could save this young woman.

  With the stealth he had acquired from surviving in the wilderness, he moved silently through the woods to his horse. About a fourth of mile ahead was a clearing. The perfect place for an ambush. He checked his pistols. He carried four revolvers, two in a shoulder holster and two strapped to his thighs. The odds were five to one. Fair enough.

  He took a moment to retrieve pouches of war paint from his saddlebags. Mixing the powder with water in his left palm, he used his finger to smear red, black and white streaks across his face. He had learned how to apply war paint, lift scalps and generally terrorize the enemy when he had wintered with the Comanches. A fearful enemy was easily defeated.