by Linda Broday
Rowdy jumped from his cozy basket and stretched, sniffed Jack and Clay, then hopped into Noah’s lap where the boy perched on the top step. Noah threw a stick for Rowdy to fetch, and Luke watched them play.
Was Noah his boy? Did he want to be? Luke meant to make a home for the boy if he stayed. They needed to have a talk soon.
Jack took a long drink of his lemonade. “Luke, remember our old hideout, Devil’s Crossing, in the Texas Panhandle?”
“Nothing but a dangerous outlaw den, best I remember.” Luke had holed up there for a while when things had gotten too hot.
Clay Colby leaned forward. “Jack, me, and a few like-minded outlaws have this dream of cleaning it up. We’ll root out the bad seeds and turn it into a respectable town with a new name. We want to make it a place for families and bring in businesses. I want to give settling down one more try before I give up for good.”
The yearning in Clay’s face tightened Luke’s chest. Jack Bowdre’s too. Like him, they wanted more. “If I can help in any way, I will. I just don’t know what I can do. As soon as I heal, I’m going to start working this ranch alongside my pa and Houston.”
“We just want you to tell us we’re not loco.” Clay took out his sack of Bull Durham and rolled a cigarette.
“You’re not crazy to want this, Clay. But towns won’t thrive without families to occupy them. How will you make that happen?” Luke saw the huge chore ahead of these two. “And you’ll need law and order to keep them safe.”
Clay lit his cigarette and inhaled. “Jack and I will handle that part. We’ll run rotten killers like Montana Black clean out of the territory.”
“I did some carpentry on the side when I sheriffed.” Jack picked up Rafael and scratched him behind the ears. “We also have Ridge Steele with us and he’s tired of running too.”
“I met him once. A good man.” Luke leaned forward. Their plans excited him. Ridge Steele was an ex-preacher who carried a large pistol inside a hollowed-out Bible. He and Ridge had once fought their way out of a town full of vigilantes.
“We recognize we need wives and families to make this town happen. But no decent woman will marry an outlaw.” Smoke from the cigarette curled around Clay’s head.
Josie poked Luke in the ribs. He frowned. What the hell? He ignored her and shot the men a look of admiration. “I see you’re serious about this.” Josie poked his ribs again. “Would you like to say something, Josie, or bruise me up worse than I am?”
Her eyes burned bright as she leaned forward. “I have the perfect solution. Luke and I know where to find wives for you.”
“We do?” He wondered what had been in that lemonade.
“Remember? Tally Shannon?”
Oh. Well, maybe. But even if he could convince Tally, and that would be a tall order, how would they get the two groups together, never mind talking to each other? Still, Josie might have something. It would sure help those women find their way out of Deliverance Canyon and get themselves a place where they could really live again.
“It’s a possibility,” Luke admitted. He turned to the outlaws. “Communication would have to be in secret. Josie and I could hand-carry letters back and forth so you could get to know each other before anyone moves anywhere.”
“And find the perfect match,” Josie insisted. “A marriage won’t happen unless it’s right.” She giggled. “We’d have the start of an underground mail-order bride service. Discreet and safe. We might just be on to something, Luke.”
Good Lord! The only thing he wanted to be “on to” was her naked body.
* * *
That night, Josie lowered the lamp to a just a tiny flame, removed her shoes, and got set to put on quite a show for her husband. He sat propped up with pillows against the headboard, looking like the dark, dangerous outlaw of old. Bare-chested, the white of the bandage contrasted with his light-brown skin.
The gleam of hunger in Luke’s eyes made her heart flutter and her mouth go dry. Lord, he hadn’t been a bit shy about telling her how much he wanted her. And she him. But not just yet. Tonight, she’d drive him crazy with desire before she fell into his arms. She was already burning hot, for beneath the sheet draped over his lap, she knew he didn’t wear a stitch of clothing. He was ready for her. By the time she finished undressing, neither would want to waste one second.
With her eyes locked on his, she unfastened her bodice, one button then another with a pause in between. Very slowly, she opened one side, teasing him with a glimpse of what lay beneath.
With excruciating slowness, she drew the fabric down her arms, dangling it by the barest of fingertips before dropping it.
Luke grinned, quietly singing “Betsy Barlow, the Calico Queen.”
She joined in and ran her fingertips across her lacy chemise, untying the satin ribbon. But instead of removing the undergarment like she knew he yearned for her to do, she slid her hands to the waist of her skirt, releasing it to puddle around her feet.
Giving him a flirtatious smile, she tugged down each stocking and offered her legs to Luke to pull the bit of silk off.
“I always said you have the prettiest legs this side of heaven,” Luke murmured, tracing their curve.
Tingles sashayed up her spine like shameful dancehall hussies and her heart hammered against her ribs. She hurriedly retreated from reach to finish her performance. Except she couldn’t escape his smoldering, dark gaze that seared her.
One by one, she dawdled over each bit of clothing until she stood at last in only her chemise. She raised the hem of the thin fabric, teasing him with skin.
“I’m a very lucky man,” Luke drawled. “You do have the most beautiful body of anyone alive, Mrs. Legend.” His eyes darkened to a dangerous shade. “But if you don’t get over here, I’m going to get up and rip that damn thing off you.”
Heat flared in Josie and she issued a breathless dare. “Oh, you will, will you?”
“Faster than you can whistle ‘Dixie.’” His eyes glittered with raw lust and sultry heat.
“One. More. Little bitty. Piece.” Josie lazily let her fingertips drift across the swell of her breasts and each pebbled tip. She lingered over the satin ribbon that nestled in the deep valley between her breasts. Her knees went weak with desire for Luke and she was tempted to abandon her plan entirely and quench the fire blazing inside her.
Opting to continue a bit longer, Josie drew the fabric aside, one inch at a time, revealing more and more hot, aching flesh to Luke’s gaze.
Before she could pull the chemise over her head, he leaped naked from bed and grabbed for her. Josie yelped and sidestepped his reach, scurrying behind an overstuffed chair. Her gaze swept appreciatively over his lean body, pausing on his jutting need.
The throb between her thighs told her she had to end this playtime. She had to have what he alone could give. And soon.
Luke’s eyes smoldered as he gripped the arms of the chair, growling, “Do you know what happens to naughty little girls who tease the big bad wolf?”
Her eyes widened innocently as her breath hitched. “Does she get eaten, perhaps?”
“Nibbled on, devoured.” Luke lunged for her again.
Josie squealed and made a break toward the bed. He caught her a second before she reached it. She twisted free, snatched up a pillow, and launched it at him.
Luke again grabbed, holding her fast to him. She tilted her head back, trying to calm her pounding heart as he crushed his lips to hers.
The kiss sent a scorching flame through her body. Josie slid her arm around his neck. Breaking the kiss, he swept her into his strong arms.
“Luke, put me down. You’re still healing.”
“I refuse to be an invalid a second longer.” His lips moved down her neck. “Mi princesa hermosa. You’ve driven me out of my mind. I’m ordering you a scarlet dress in the morning as soon as the mercantile opens.”
“I’ll love you even more, Mrs. Legend.”
When he lowered her to the bed, she held up her arms. He yanked the chemise over her head and pitched it into a corner.
He was inside her in an instant, filling her with his love. The vigorous rhythm couldn’t be good for him and Doc was sure to pitch a fit, but she had no breath left to even whisper a warning.
Luke was back and she took everything that he gave.
Life with him would never be mundane or boring. He’d rescued her, and she liked to think, in a way, she’d saved him too.
He was her love, her dream, her future all rolled into one.
Maybe love was nothing more than two people saving each other and spending their days making one another happy.
Here on the Lone Star, where a man found his true worth sleeping under the bronze star, a dream had collided with life.
Josie snuggled against Luke’s side, taking care not to hurt him. The day they’d met, she’d run screaming after those outlaws, begging them to tell her who she was. Now she knew.
She was Josie Legend, Luke’s cherished wife.
Epilogue
Three months following Luke’s escape from death, Stoker Legend met a slow-moving wagon under the crossbar. His heart smiled. They had brought his lady.
The wagon stopped. “Where would you like us to go?” the driver asked.
“I’ll lead you.” Trembling, Stoker tied his white horse to the back and climbed up. He kissed the freshly hewn coffin and wept. “You’re finally home, my darling. Welcome to the Lone Star.”
He wiped his eyes, reached into his pocket for a pencil, and scrawled the words I Love You on the wood, then laid a single red rose on top.
“Head where those people are gathered.” He pointed the way to the little hilltop cemetery where a crowd waited in silence. When the wagon stopped, Luke helped his father down.
“Your mother is here, son.” Stoker gazed into the eyes of his firstborn. “This won’t make up for all the years when I didn’t know about you, but maybe it’ll help.”
Luke nodded. “I know she’s happy here, Pa. I feel her presence and I’m sure she knows she’s loved.”
Josie slipped her arm around Luke’s waist. “We’re all together now, sweetheart. Your mother is at peace.”
Sam and Houston strode forward to help Luke and their father carry Elena Montoya to her final resting place. Stoker’s vision blurred. He longed to grab those lost years. Except he couldn’t. Life had to go forward, not back.
A short time later, Elena lay next to where Stoker would one day. Both of his loves, resting on either side. Two remarkable, unforgettable women and he loved them both with all his heart and soul.
Luke moved the tombstone into place and quietly knelt alone beside his mother.
Though Stoker itched to go to him, he refrained. Luke needed a private moment. Maybe Stoker had learned something after all these years. Now wouldn’t that be something? Even so, a man his age had learned certain truths.
He couldn’t fix his sons. They alone had to do that.
He couldn’t fight their battles or protect them from every hurtful thing, only ride beside them and help.
In the end, he could only love them.
And Lord, how he did. No man ever asked for better.
Noah Jordan stole up beside him and slipped a hand into his. “You made Luke happy.”
“No, son, he made himself happy. I only helped.” Stoker met the boy’s upturned face. “Are you going to live with Luke and Josie when they finish that house they’re building?”
The orphaned kid shrugged his bony shoulders and his brows drew together. “Do you need a little boy, Papa Stoker? Maybe I can stay here.”
Something pierced Stoker’s heart. He loved this kid, whose worldly possessions only amounted to a chewed-up mutt. Stoker knelt to eye level and worked to swallow. “I sure do, and it would put a big ol’ smile on my face if you’d be my youngest son. Mine are grown and married now, and they don’t need me anymore.”
“Nope. I need you, though. Maybe you need me, too, just a little bit.”
“Noah, I always said you were one smart boy.” He winked and rose, putting his arm around the kid. “You know, a man should have a lot of sons. And dogs.”
“Yes, sir.” Noah seemed deep in thought. An old man in a young boy’s body. At last, he raised his eyes. “Papa Stoker, my pa would’ve liked you. I wish you could’ve known him. He loved me a whole bunch.” A troubled sigh followed. “I miss my ma and pa real bad sometimes.”
“I know, son. But you have your memories and no one can take them away. Guard them and hold them in your heart.”
“Yes, sir.” Noah drew his eyebrows together. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Always. Shoot.”
“What is a harlot?”
A bolt of lightning couldn’t have delivered more of a jolt. “Where did you hear that word, son?”
“Josie was singing to Luke. It was something about a calico queen and a harlot.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what.” Stoker winked. “In five more years, we’ll sit down and I’ll tell you all about those ladies. Deal?”
“I reckon I can wait. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
Sam’s son, Hector, ran up and asked Noah to play. Stoker let out a sigh of relief when the two scampered off, Rowdy chasing after them.
Stoker gazed out over the land he loved. It was rugged, inhospitable at times, and a bit untamed. Like him. His attention shifted to the tall flag fluttering proudly, high above the ranch. He’d fought for that piece of material, held men in his arms—his brothers and others he called friends—who’d died for freedom.
His Texas.
Stoker’s gaze returned to his family. His sons, their wives, and their children. Each had found the perfect mate. Although Houston had needed more than a little shove. But what were fathers for?
His eyes misted as he glanced at Sam, and the scar around his neck from the hanging rope. He and Sierra almost hadn’t gotten to declare their love. Their two beautiful children—Hector and Sam Jr.—were welcome additions.
Next came Houston, Stoker’s spitting image, and his wife, Lara. Houston held sweet little Gracie, who was squirming to get down. Stoker bet the farm that she’d grow up to be a spitfire of a woman. She’d make everyone in sight toe the line.
Stoker shifted his attention to Luke and Josie, who’d married in such an unusual way. It was fitting for that pair of strong, unusual people. A few days before, they’d announced that another little Legend would join them before long.
A smile curved Stoker’s mouth. He loved his daughters as much as his sons. No tougher, more courageous women lived than Sierra, Lara, and Josie.
He thought back over the last few years, and the dramatic changes they’d brought to the ranch. He and his sons had worked hard to overcome evil, heartache, and death, and they’d emerged victorious.
The Legends were survivors and dreamers…tamers of a raw land.
Pride swelled in his chest and a mist blocked his vision.
In Texas, some Legends were made, some were born, and some were created by destiny.
This was the way of things.
This was his legacy.
This was the mighty Lone Star Ranch.
For more Linda Broday
check out the Texas Heroes series
The Cowboy Who Came Calling
On sale February 2018
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in the Texas Heroes series by Linda Broday
Santa Anna, Texas, 1881
Often the elders spoke in hushed whispers about a long, painful night of the soul. How the wind visited, carrying problems as thick as a bibli
cal plague. It’s also said that impatience dries the blood sooner than age or sorrow.
Surely this must be such a time.
In twenty years, Glory Marie Day had come to know more about injustice and patience than most women twice her age. She hadn’t asked for any breaks, only a fair shake, and fate hadn’t seen fit to deliver even a sliver of that.
Truth of the matter, she hadn’t overly complained of the lousy handout she’d gotten. She made her own luck and became tougher for it.
Whatever it took she’d do. Though the difficult task at hand might scare off a person of lesser grit.
Glory’s fists curled in a ball. Somehow. Someway.
Reverend Matthews’s sermon yesterday merely gave her added determination. “When Saint Peter marks against your name in the great Hereafter, you’d best make sure you have enough scratches on the plus side.”
Papa always bragged about her being whip-smart. Good thing, because she’d need everything she had to solve this problem. At least more pluses than minuses at the end.
Snooty Bess Whitfield’s snickers brought her thoughts back to the present. For a Monday afternoon, Harvey’s Emporium held a good many patrons. Across the room, Bess gave Glory’s faded breeches an imperious frown, then whispered behind her hand to her companion, Amelia Jackson.
Though not close enough to hear, Glory knew the slurs by heart. “Poor homely Glory. Dressing like a boy, she’ll never have a beau. Her father’s a rotten jailbird. Better stay clear of those good-for-nothing Days.”
A woman’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Here you are, Glory.”
“Thank you, Aunt Dorothy.” She accepted the box of cartridges she’d requested. Except for her aunt, Uncle Pete, and a few others, she would’ve compared life in the Texas town of Santa Anna as something akin to hell.
“Going huntin’?” The woman she loved as a second mother propped an elbow on a big jar of pickles.
Glory’s mouth watered for one of the juicy pickles. Lord knew she loved them better than candy. The sign read five cents. Cheap enough, she reckoned, if a body had a nickel in her pocket. The eggs, milk, and butter she’d just sold her aunt barely covered the ammunition for her Winchester.
