Annie and the Outlaw (Montana Women Book 2)

by Nancy Pirri

  Annie and the Outlaw

  A Montana Women Novella

  Nancy Pirri

  Copyright © 2017 by Nancy Pirri

  First Printing: 2017

  ISBN: 978-1-68046-503-7

  Published by Satin Romance

  An Imprint of Melange Books, LLC

  White Bear Lake, MN 55110

  www.satinromance.com

  Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Cover Design by Caroline Andrus

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Thank You For Reading

  Satin Romance Mailing List

  Also by Nancy Pirri

  Janie and the Judge Preview

  Janie and the Judge Excerpt

  Did You Miss…

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Christmas Day, 1887

  Huntsville, Texas Prison

  Cane Smith had a son.

  A son.

  The letter from Mae Franklin, dated a year ago, had found its way to him. During the six and a half years he’d spent in prison, he’d never received a single letter until now. There was a note tucked inside the envelope with Mae’s from Judge Simon Hopkins, the man who’d sentenced him to prison. Mae had written the letter but had never sent it. In Bozeman, Montana, U.S. Marshal James Freeman, had found the letter addressed to Cane after Mae had been found dead in her home. She hadn’t included an address but Freeman had recognized Cane’s name from his trial and passed the note on to the judge.

  Cane learned that a boy being raised in Bozeman by the Callahan family resembled Cane. The boy’s mother, Giselle Hanks, had been a prostitute. She’d spent nights in the arms of many men, including Cane. On her deathbed, Giselle confessed to her friend Mae how she was certain Cane was her baby’s father. Mae had asked her how she knew for certain, after being with so many men. Giselle’s last murmured words convinced Mae. Only with Cane had she left herself unprotected, for she loved him and believed he loved her.

  Tears welled in his eyes at the same time hope filled his heart. He had a son, a reason to live when he’d wanted to die. After spending almost seven Christmases in prison, he had a purpose in finding a way out of this hellhole. He folded the letter and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. He lay back on his lumpy cot and imagined being a father—imagined what his life would be like with a son.

  His happiness fled quickly at the thought of his life up to this point. How would he take care of the boy, even if he were released? He’d been a wandering cowboy for years before going to jail. He was twenty-eight years old and had accomplished nothing good in his life. Nothing except for fathering a child.

  Cane thought back to the day he’d been sentenced to twenty years in prison—for a train robbery he hadn’t committed. Without proof, he never had a hope in hell of clearing himself. The few folks on the train who’d witnessed the robbery had accused him.

  Was there a chance of turning it around now? He had to find a way. Sitting up with renewed determination, he decided he’d find a way out of prison and claim the boy. He came to his feet. “Hey! Jailer!”

  The only reply he received was from the inmate in the cell to his right. “You prick! You woke me up.”

  Old Warren Strom was no threat. Truth be told, he was Cane’s only friend in this godforsaken place. “Sorry, Strom, I need to see a guard.”

  “What for?”

  “I need to write a letter and don’t have any paper or pencil.”

  A hand holding a scrap of paper, a yellowed envelope and a broken stub of a pencil appeared out of the bars at the front. Cane reached over and grabbed them. “Thanks. I owe you.”

  Strom muttered gruffly, “Now shut the hell up and let a man get some sleep.”

  Settling down on his bunk again, Cane wrote back to the judge. When he finished, his heart felt weighed down in grief as he thought about sweet Giselle who’d died, strangled by some drunken cowboy passing through Bozeman shortly after the birth of their son. The poor woman hadn’t had any chance in life, having been born of a prostitute, the only home she’d known a brothel.

  He’d been no better than any other man who’d swaggered through her boudoir door. After living on the plains for weeks at a time, spending a night with a prostitute was one of the few joys in life a cowboy had to look forward to when he came to town. A few visits to Giselle, and he knew he’d fallen in love.

  The last time he’d seen her he promised he’d return once he saved enough money. Then he’d marry her and take her away with him. He thought of her tear-filled eyes and the longing in them as she’d nodded. It was only after he left town that he realized she hadn’t believed him for an instant. He guessed she’d received similar offers from other cowboys who hadn’t kept their promises. He’d meant to keep his and would have if he hadn’t gone to jail. Sadness filled him then as he thought of Giselle dying before he could show her he meant his declaration of love.

  Cane hadn’t been able to save the woman he loved, but, by God, he would find a way out of prison and find his son.

  He thought about Judge Hopkins, the man who’d deliberated over his trial. He’d come to know the judge a bit the few times he’d come to Bozeman before being accused of the train robbery. Had sat and drank a beer with him and played a few hands of cards. From that little interaction, he knew the judge was a good, honest man. Before Cane went to prison, after his trial, the judge had taken him aside and said he believed in his innocence. Unfortunately, the jury hadn’t. Then the judge had told him to keep his ears and eyes open while in prison.

  Prisoners came and went—none of them shedding any new information—until a month ago, when two new prisoners had arrived. Prisoners were allowed out of their cells only a few hours a day. Cane was watchful, planting himself near these men to hear more talk whenever he could. The longer he listened to them, and the more he watched them, he began to recognize them. They’d been two of several cowboys working a cattle run with him before he was arrested. One of the men bore a striking resemblance to Cane.

  In the letter he’d just written, Cane asked Judge Hopkins to open his case once more, based on what he’d heard. Meanwhile, he would keep his ears open for more information. He’d befriend the two men, hoping they’d take him into their confidence.

  Chapter 1

  October 1888

  Bozeman, Montana

  Annie Callahan sat patiently, waiting for her seven-year-old-brother, Mark, to leave the schoolhouse, even though she had chores to do at the ranch. Waiting for Mark was never a waste of time. Besides, these precious moments gave her the opportunity to mentally organize all of the tasks she needed to complete in preparation for the holidays.

  She’d already started sewing chambray and woolen shirts for the ranch hands, a tradition that had been passed on to her from her mother, and a task she thoroughly enjoyed. She still had several more shirts to sew for the men, plus the new pants and shirts for her brother. She smiled. Unl
ike the ranch workers, Mark wasn’t as excited about getting new shirts. His Christmas wish list included a gun, slingshot, a bow and arrow, and a tomahawk. The thought of Mark handling a weapon made her shudder.

  Suddenly, like lightning on a stormy night, a premonition struck Annie from where she sat outside the schoolhouse in her wagon. She saw herself sitting on the ground. A man’s shadowy form stood over her. She fought to remain conscious; fought to ascertain the man’s identity.

  No!

  She didn’t want to know him!

  Pull yourself out of it, Annie!

  Forcing away the presence, the man disappeared and sanity returned. Breathing easier, she blinked several times. Looking around at the calm, peaceful schoolyard, she breathed a sigh of relief. She was still sitting on the bench in her wagon, her horse’s reins gripped tightly in her hands.

  She tugged her shawl close around her shoulders to stave off the cold, wishing Miss O’Gara would release the class. The temperature had been tolerable during the day but, with the lowering of the sun, the air had grown chilly.

  Suddenly, searing pain pierced her skull. She slammed her eyelids shut and collapsed against the back of her seat as the premonition returned, full force this time.

  A man with a muscular build stood over her as she clutched Mark in her arms. Her eyes widened in horror when he bent closer. She saw nothing but his shadowy form, unable to make out his features. He reached for her brother, big hands stretched out, fingers clawed. Screams tore from her throat. Her mind screamed, Run! But she couldn’t. Her feet seemed to be locked in place. The man wrestled Mark away from her and fled, her brother’s screams piercing the air. Sobbing inconsolably, she remained helpless as the child’s shouts dimmed.

  Annie’s breathing calmed as the premonition faded away. Nevertheless, she kept her eyes closed. No, Mark was safe. He was here, in school.

  She had no desire to look into the future, no desire to feel any pride or satisfaction in the “gift” God had given her. Why He’d chosen her, she had no idea. Due to skepticism in town from some, fear and suspicion from others, she’d learned to keep the premonitions to herself. She guessed if hunting witches were in fashion, she’d be gone from this earth by now.

  A door creaked, and Annie looked up to find the door wide open. Then the schoolchildren poured from the building. Still, Mark didn’t appear, but she knew the teacher was helping with his arithmetic for a few minutes after school.

  She looked around again and saw a man walking toward her. Seeing him pause as he watched the children scattering in all directions, she shivered.

  With the sun low in the sky behind him, she saw only his silhouette. Apprehension settled in. Could it be the man she’d just seen in the vision? The man’s hair was dark as the night, framed by a black Stetson. The closer he came, the more she saw of him. She noted that the color of his hair was identical to Mark’s.

  “Miss Annie Callahan?”

  “Yes.” At his low, raspy tone, she froze in her seat. “Are you here for a student? I’m afraid they’ve all left for the day.”

  Removing his hat, he strode toward her, then stopped beside her wagon. “I’m here for my son.”

  “As I said, they’ve all gone home. I’m just waiting for my brother.”

  His son, he’d said. She knew everyone in Bozeman, but not this man. Her heart stalled at the handsome, square-jawed face. His dark eyes were hard and searching. His finely chiseled lips made her wonder for an unbidden moment what their touch would feel like. She also caught the weariness etched in his face, and the thick, dark hair that bristled along his jaw and on his chin. He appeared as though he’d been away from civilization for a while. A shave and haircut were certainly in order.

  She swept him another look from head to toe. Never had she seen such a tall man save for her neighbor, Jed Porter. Lately Jed had gotten pushy about trying to court her, forcing her to be firmer in declining his suit.

  The man drew even closer, and she stiffened once more in her seat.

  She stood up despite the awkwardness in the wagon. “Who are you?” Because no evil thoughts entered her mind, no premonitions concerning him filled her heart and soul, just those few shivers, she guessed this man wasn’t violent and would do her no harm. But then she hadn’t seen the features—only the shadowy bulk—of the man in the premonition she’d had…

  “My name is Cane Smith, and I’ve come for my son.”

  She frowned. “What’s his name, sir?”

  “Your family named him Mark.”

  Cane Smith grimaced when he saw her face drained of all color. “Miss Callahan? Maybe you should have a seat.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  She just stood there, showing no signs of heeding his advice. Reaching up, he gently took her elbow and pulled her back down on the bench seat. Breathing in deep, he enjoyed the sweet honey scent of this pretty, fair-haired young woman.

  Eight months of befriending the bastards he believed committed the crime he’d been accused of had finally afforded Cane the proof he needed. In front of several prisoners and a few guards, the braggarts confessed they had indeed robbed that train. The prisoners and guards had promised Cane they’d stick up for him when he went to court with the new evidence. In late August, Cane had his day in court and, after all testimony was given, was finally released. He made it a point to find Judge Hopkins once he arrived in Bozeman to thank him, and to claim his son.

  Heaven help the man or woman who stood in his way—even this Callahan family who’d taken the boy in.

  Upon his arrival in Bozeman, he’d inquired in town about the Callahan family. Katie Freeman, proprietor of Katie’s Palace, informed him that the Callahan family lived several miles outside of town on a spread called the Moonstruck Ranch. She also informed him Annie worked at Katie’s Palace and had just gone to pick up her brother at the schoolhouse on the outskirts of town. Cane left Bozeman on foot, since he had no carriage or horse, to meet Miss Annie Callahan and his son.

  He settled his hat on his head, watching her gather her composure. When she rose, he assisted her down from the wagon. She stood before him, the sweetest confection of womanhood he’d ever seen, with tears in her eyes.

  He couldn’t see much of her since she had averted her gaze. After a moment, she visibly squared her shoulders, tossed back her head and glared up at him. “Mark may be your son by birth, but my father and I have raised him since infancy. He’s a Callahan now.”

  Cane felt his face turn hot as he straightened to his full height. First irritation, then anger, flared through him but it quickly subsided. If he’d learned anything in prison, it had been the virtue of patience, which would serve him well for the rest of his life. Long gone were the angry, impetuous days of young manhood.

  “He’s a Smith, and he’ll soon learn the fact of the matter. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me from telling him.”

  She jammed her index finger into his chest. He stumbled back a step out of sheer surprise.

  “No, you can’t claim him! You aren’t the one who fed him, clothed him and changed his diapers. You aren’t the one who stayed up all night caring for him when he was ill and burning up with fever,” she choked out.

  She reacted much as a mama bear would when her cub was threatened. He liked that; liked how she had so much love for his son. It meant that she and her father had cared for him well. Cane ached for her…just for a moment.

  It was time to make the woman understand he wasn’t backing down, though he had to admit he admired her lack of fear of him.

  He took a step forward, and she backed up a step but still kept her chin tilted up at him. Stubborn woman! He saw unshed tears sparkling in her eyes and groaned inside. Tears were the worst weapon she could use on a man, especially this one.

  Cane tried reasoning with her. “By no choice of my own did I not claim him earlier. I want to experience everything I can now. It’s my right. He’s mine.” Cane had been born illegitimate himself and never knew his fat
her. He wouldn’t allow that to happen to Mark.

  “No!” she wailed. “My father adopted Mark. He won’t let him go without a fight.”

  “I understand. If I were your father, I’d do the same. If you don’t mind, Miss Callahan, I’d like to speak to him now, as soon as Mark comes out.”

  Cane wound his hands around her tiny waist and lifted her easily onto the seat of her wagon. Off balance, she plunked down hard on the seat and grimaced. She gasped but held her tongue. Sitting in the driver seat, her eyes focused straight ahead, tears tracking down her cheeks.

  “He might fight me, but, when all is said and done, Mark will be mine. I came all the way from Texas to claim my son.”

  Cane understood men better than women. He’d spent most of his life with them and quite frankly knew little about the fairer sex—with the exception of prostitutes who’d serviced him when he needed a woman. He’d spent months crossing the country without fair company, except for the occasional town he passed through. And, when the opportunity arose to spend a night in a willing woman’s arms, Cane, like most cowboys, took it.

  He guessed, in the end, Tom Callahan would give Mark up. He would understand that the boy belonged with his true father.

  “I need to get home,” she whispered.

  “I’m riding with you, so scoot on over.”

  She scanned the area, then looked at him. “How did you get here?”

  “I walked.”

  “From the stagecoach depot?”

  He nodded.

  “Why, that’s three miles!”

  “A mere Sunday stroll,” he said dryly. “I told you that I’m claiming my son. Nothing can keep me from him. Now move on over.”