Cherished (Cutter's Creek Book 9)

by Vivi Holt

  Contents

  Title Page

  Also by Vivi Holt

  Copyright

  About the Book

  Chapter One

  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

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Excerpt from Of Peaks and Priairies

  Also by Vivi Holt

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Historical Note

  CHERISHED

  Cutter’s Creek (Book 9)

  VIVI HOLT

  www.viviholt.com

  Also by Vivi Holt

  Orphan Brides Go West

  Mail Order Bride: Christy

  Mail Order Bride: Ramona

  Mail Order Bride: Katie

  Mail Order Bride: Holly (coming soon!)

  Cutter’s Creek

  The Strong One

  The Betrothed

  Cherished

  Paradise Valley

  Of Peaks and Prairies

  For an updated list of my books, please visit:

  www.viviholt.com

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  Copyright © 2016 by Vivi Holt

  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, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  About The Book

  1871

  Camilla Brown always wanted a family of her own. But it seemed destiny had other plans. She began to feel as though she'd always be in the background, helping others build their families, leaving her dreams to wilt and die.

  That is, until the handsome Winston Frank comes courting at the church picnic. But then, Sheriff Clifford Brentwood sweeps her off her feet, literally! Both men make her pulse race. Both are determined to claim her love. Only one can win her heart.

  When an unexpected danger threatens her very life, Camilla will have to make a choice. Who will she choose?

  Chapter One

  April 1862

  Bilton, Wyoming Territory

  Five hundred dollars sure was a packet of money.

  Deputy Sheriff Clifford Brentwood whistled beneath his bushy mustache and pressed the wanted poster against the wall with his fingertips. He extracted a nail from the pocket of his vest, held it to the top of the poster, retrieved the hammer that hung from the back of his belt and knocked the nail into the paint-chipped wall outside the saloon. Then he tipped his hat back from his forehead to survey his work, his hands on his hips.

  The man in the photograph in the center of the poster, “Wild” Clay Craddock, had a long black beard and empty eyes. Beneath his face, a $500 reward was posted in thick black numbers, followed by a list of the outlaw’s crimes. The murderer, cattle rustler and horse thief had been a scourge on the Wyoming Territory landscape for three long years.

  But Clifford knew it was only a matter of time until either the Pinkerton detectives or one of the sheriff’s men caught up with him. He’d hit a local ranch only two weeks earlier, taking two dozen cattle and a half-dozen horses, and Sheriff Frank Gillard was certain he was still in the area. He’d tasked the young deputy with hanging as many posters around town as possible, in the hope that someone would spot the man and tip off the authorities.

  Clifford pushed his hat back down over his forehead and strode along the covered sidewalk toward the sheriff’s office. At twenty-three years of age, he wanted more than anything to make his mark in the world. He’d been working under the renowned Sheriff Gillard for only six months, and he was eager to learn as much as he could from the man who’d hung more outlaws than any other sheriff in the Northwest.

  He pushed through a set of swinging doors and into the sparsely decorated sheriff’s office.

  “Mornin’, Cliff,” Deputy Sheriff Nathaniel Winn called in his nasal twang.

  “Good morning, Nat. How are you on this fine day?” He smiled and walked to the far wall. Wanted posters lined the space from floor to ceiling. He always liked to peruse them each morning, scanning the faces so they’d be seared into his mind.

  “I’m well. The boss should be in shortly – had to stop by the Post Office first. Did you get those posters hung like he asked?”

  “I did.” Clifford studied the wall, taking in the rows of Stetsons, bearded faces, steely eyes, and dirty neckerchiefs looped around thin necks. “Today’s the day, Nat.”

  “For what, Cliff?” Nat studied a ledger on the desk in front of him, quill raised in one hand over the paper.

  “We’re gonna get Wild Clay Craddock.”

  Nat looked at Clifford with one eyebrow raised. “Is that so?”

  “Yep.” Clifford spun around and smiled at Nathaniel, his teeth flashing white beneath his blonde-flecked beard.

  “Well, that would be somethin’. Bunch of rough-lookin’ bounty hunters comin’ to town after that reward money. Guess you’re plannin’ on beatin’ the lot of ‘em, huh?” Nat grinned and spun the quill between his fingers.

  “You bet.” Clifford slapped his thigh with one hand and pulled a silver revolver from the holster that hung low on his hips. He spun the chamber, examining it as it twirled. He’d cleaned it thoroughly last night, as he did every night, and the silver gleamed in the morning sunlight.

  The front doors flipped inward and Sheriff Gillard strode into the office, his hat pulled low over his brow. “Mornin’, Nat, Cliff. Anythin’ I should know?”

  “Yep.” Nathaniel jumped to his feet and followed the sheriff into his office. “Bounty hunters have been arriving by the dozen over the past twenty-four hours, just as you predicted, sir,” he said as the sheriff hung his hat and coat on the coat rack by the door. Clifford trailed behind them and inched into the room to stand just inside the door.

  “Good. Maybe one of ‘em will lead us to him. We’ll let ‘em do some of the work for us.” Gillard chuckled and flipped through the stack of papers on his desk, his eyes scanning the contents.

  “I was thinkin’ we should go back out to the Larson ranch and see if they might have some idea of where the gang went to,” said Clifford.

  Gillard looked up with a frown and pushed his fingers through his spiky brown hair. “Is that so? We’ve already asked ‘em all about it, and they didn’t tell us nothin’ helpful. What makes you think anythin’ would be different if we went out there again?”

  “Well, I’m thinkin’ they’ve got to have some idea which direction the cattle went, since with the dry weather we’ve had there’s bound to be tracks. The animals need water, and the Larsons would know where the closest watering holes are. I think they were just angry when we spoke to them. Now that they’ve had a chance to cool off, maybe they’d be a bit more helpful.”

  “Fine. You go
out there and see what you can find out.”

  Clifford’s eyes sparkled, “Thanks, Sheriff.”

  He turned to leave. “And Cliff …”

  “Yes, Sheriff?”

  “Be careful. Clay Craddock is a man without a heart. He won’t hesitate to shoot you, kid. So don’t do anythin’ stupid, okay?”

  “Yes, Sheriff.”

  ***

  Clifford ducked behind a fence post, crouched low to the ground and ran. He’d made it to the Larson ranch and discovered the secret to the family’s earlier reticence. He’d spotted an outlaw asleep at his post as lookout on the ground beside the wooden swinging gate that marked the ranch entrance.

  Clifford had dismounted and crept his way to hide behind the large barn beside the house. He squatted there, peering around the corner at the house every now and then, figuring what the best plan of attack should be. It was several hours’ ride back to town, and would take most of the day to get a posse together and back to the ranch again. The family was obviously in trouble and needed his help. So he’d decided to at least stake out for a while behind the barn and discover what he could about what was going on. Perhaps there was something he could do.

  That was when he saw her through the door of the barn. Wild Clay Craddock and his gang were holding Bill Larson’s daughter hostage there. Hidden behind several bales of hay, she was tied to a post, with a gun-wielding outlaw standing guard. The rest of the gang was holed up in the house, eating, drinking and playing a rowdy game of cards. He caught glimpses of them through the front door and kitchen window as they moved around.

  He frowned. If only the sheriff had ridden out with him. What should he do? If he rode back to town, it was likely he’d be spotted before he got far, and if they didn’t chase him down and kill him, they’d be gone before he got back with reinforcements. If he tried to take on the men alone, he’d most likely die in a shootout.

  His heart hammered in his chest, and he drew in a deep, quiet breath.

  Whispering a silent prayer, he crawled forward to peer through the barn doors again. The young woman stared at the ground with reddened eyes. Her blonde hair fell in thin strands over her face, her hands were pulled behind her thin back and tied to a sturdy post. She’d pulled and tugged until the knots had tightened over her pale wrists, leaving angry welts.

  Clifford returned his revolver to his holster and drew his hunting knife instead. He’d have to be quick and quiet if he was going to get this done. He crept forward slowly until he was only a few feet away from the outlaw and closed his eyes for a brief moment. Then with a quick shove, he leaped silently from his hiding place and slipped the knife across the man’s neck before he could let out a cry.

  As the man fell to the ground, Clifford hurried to pull him into the haystacks and covered the drag marks with fresh hay. Then he ran to the girl’s side and loosened the handkerchief tied tightly around her mouth.

  She’d watched it all with wide eyes, and began to sob as he set her free. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Thank you.”

  “Shhhh …,” he said, lifting a finger to his mouth. He pointed to the loft above them, and she nodded, picked up her skirts and quickly climbed the ladder to hide amongst the piles of hay stored in the top of the barn. He watched until he was certain she was safe, then turned toward the house with a look of determination on his young face.

  ***

  Wild Clay Craddock had shaved his black beard, but he couldn’t hide those vacant black eyes. They stared dully at the hand of cards he held. He chewed on a long piece of straw as he waited for the man opposite him to make his move.

  His opponent pushed one card toward the center of the table and pulled another from the top of the deck to add to his hand. Craddock did likewise, his eyes never leaving the face of the man across the table. Both added a stack of coins to the growing pile beside the deck , then each fanned their hand of cards out in front of them without a word.

  Craddock leaped to his feet and pulled a pistol from the holster strapped around his thick hips in one single, smooth movement. He held the pistol to the other man’s head, and a smile crept across his thin lips. “You feelin’ lucky, Hairy?”

  “Sorry, boss. Just forget it, okay? I don’t gotta win. It’s yours – take it.”

  “You bet I will. You cheated, you dirty scoundrel.”

  “I didn’t, boss, I promise.” Hairy’s eyes closed as he waited, his breathing rapid.

  Clifford stepped through the doorway silently and crept toward the men. He’d already taken out the guard stationed outside the door with a knock to the head, and from what he could tell, only these two men remained. The rest of the Larson family was tied up together in the parlor.

  He pressed his revolver to the back of Craddock’s head and cocked the hammer with an unmistakable click. “Hands up, Craddock. You’re under arrest.”

  ***

  Three days later …

  Clifford cleaned his revolver with a smile, his feet propped up on the desk in front of him. He glanced over his shoulder at the jail cell behind him and watched with satisfaction as Craddock and Hairy fought over a place on the single thin bench. He sighed, blew on the silver shaft of the revolver, then rubbed it with the underside of his checked shirt until it gleamed.

  “Whatcha doin’?” asked the sheriff, striding into the room. “Everythin’ under control here?”

  “Just cleaning my weapon, Sheriff. Everything seems fine so far.”

  Gillard glanced around the room, his eyes restless, and grimaced. “I’m not feelin’ good about this, son.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The gang’s supposed to have seven men in it, right? That’s what the Larsons said, and that’s what the wanted poster says too. You found five. That leaves two unaccounted for, and it don’t sit right with me.” He paced back and forth, rubbing his mustache with one hand.

  “Maybe they took off,” suggested Clifford, reloading his revolver and slipping it back into his holster.

  “Maybe. You just be careful, okay? I’ve got two more deputies outside, and I’m going to do another ride through town. We’ll take these five on down to Cheyenne tomorrow, but until then … eyes open, you hear me?”

  “You got it, Sheriff.”

  The sheriff hurried from the office, leaving Clifford alone with the outlaws again. He tiptoed to the door, opened it and peered outside. It was getting light as the morning sun rose over the eastern plains, and the streets were drifting back to life along with its long, jagged rays. Two deputies outside paced slowly back and forth.

  The rapid tap of heels on the covered sidewalk drew his attention, and he watched as the young woman from the Larson ranch hurried toward the office. Her hair was neatly pinned into a chignon, and a jaunty hat sat on top of her head. She looked completely transformed in a fashionable gown with a high-necked bodice, lace collar, and a parasol at her side.

  “Good morning, Miss,” Clifford said, dipping his head and touching the brim of his hat as he spoke. “How are you feeling?”

  “Deputy, it’s so good to see you. I wanted to come and thank you in person for what you did for me and my family.” Her blue eyes sparkled, and her cheeks were flushed a delicate pink.

  He blushed and removed the hat from his head to press it nervously between his palms. “Just doing my job, Miss …”

  “Marlene – my name is Marlene Larson.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Miss Marlene.”

  “And you …”

  “Clifford Brentwood, at your service.” He took her hand and shook it gently, marveling at how small it was.

  “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Brentwood.” She smiled and pulled her hand back to her side.

  His pulse raced as he watched her. He’d never seen a woman as beautiful as her before. He’d been in town for six months, and he wondered why he’d never met her – he would definitely have remembered her if he had.

  ***

  Six weeks later …

  “Han
ds behind your back,” said Sheriff Gillard, pressing Craddock’s wrists together and encircling them with the loops of the cuffs. Clifford hurried to open the door to the cell, and Gillard pushed Craddock through and out into the office.

  But Clifford’s mind was on Marlene. They’d been spending a lot of time together since he’d rescued her, and he fell harder for her each day that passed. He planned on speaking with the sheriff about a pay raise after they transported Craddock to Cheyenne – he could hardly be expected to raise a family on the wage he was currently getting. That’s where he and Marlene were headed, at least to his way of thinking. She seemed to share his feelings, and the anticipation he felt as he planned his proposal made his heart jitter in his chest.

  “We’ll be back next week, Nathaniel,” said Sheriff Gillard. “We should get to Cheyenne in five days, then back again. About eleven or twelve days, round trip. We’ll see you then.”

  Clifford followed close behind the sheriff, pulling a rucksack onto his shoulder and donning his hat. Gillard’s hat hung from the hat rack beside the swinging doors. As he reached for it, Craddock swung away from his grasp and ran through the doors.

  “After him!” cried Gillard, breaking into a run.

  Clifford threw the rucksack to the ground and drew his revolver from its holster as he moved. Craddock was getting away, but he wouldn’t get far with his hands bound behind his back.

  As he passed through the doors that swung closed and slapped against his legs, Clifford saw the busy street stretched out before him. Craddock ran past the coach that waited by the side of the road, his fellow gang members seated inside under guard. Or were they? As Craddock passed them, one of the guards slumped to the ground, and the outlaws clambered out of the coach to follow their leader down the street. What was happening?

  Clifford raced down the street behind Gillard, his heart pounding in his chest. The sounds of the street seemed dull in his ears compared to the thumping beat of his pulse.