The Outlaw's Second Chance

by Angie Dicken

  He began to crawl deeper into the prairie.

  “Wait. Aren’t you going the wrong way?” She tried to grab his ankle but he was too quick.

  “I’m not going back and risk crossing those scouts’ path,” he said.

  He was right. She felt trapped between her dream and the law. How did this happen? Because she was a Huxley. That was how.

  Ben stopped and sat up again. “Look. Saw it as I rode. Just before the scouts shot at me.” Ash-colored light peeled away the darkness of night more rapidly now. Aubrey followed his pointing finger. A flutter of movement hooked her gaze and quickened her heartbeat.

  A marker, just like the land official had explained when she registered for the race, stood by its lonesome about half a mile away.

  The marker waited for her like a treasure.

  Ben poked his head above the prairie floor, swiveling as he spied all around them. “Come on, Aubrey. It’s safe. Let’s stake your claim.” He stood up.

  “Wait!” Aubrey tackled him to the ground. “You might have forced us into this situation, but I am not breaking any more rules. We’ll wait until noon.”

  “You and your rules,” he grumbled. She narrowed her eyes and waited for him to relent. He flicked his head, and she crawled past him.

  Just beyond the marker, they came to the top of a steep bank. They slid down. Relief coursed through her now that they were no longer in the open. A shallow stream snaked through the narrow creek bed. They crept along some rocks and came to a bend where the bank had eroded and left a cave-like nook. A perfect hiding place. Aubrey crawled inside the nook first. Ben cozied up next to her, his head skimming the muddy ceiling while his body blocked most of the opening. Aubrey’s eyes pricked with exhaustion.

  “If we wait just past noon after the race begins, then I’ll stake my claim fair and square. At the same time as everyone else.” She brushed off dirt from her skirt and rubbed her tired knees.

  “Don’t you worry, sis. I’ll make sure you do.” Ben yawned.

  If she could only believe that. Last night was proof that she needed to get away from the likes of Ed and Ben Huxley. Even yesterday, he was nowhere to be found when that customer had tried to take advantage of her just before Cort Stanton came to her rescue. The handsome cowboy’s gallant gesture shone bright amid the dark memories of all the times her father had proved he couldn’t care less. Mr. Stanton didn’t know her at all, and yet he’d tried to help her in a time of need. If she had made it to the land race this morning, would she have been tempted to find him on the line?

  Aubrey pushed her back into the packed dirt and closed her eyes, shoving away any more thoughts about the handsome distraction. Ben’s breathing was slow and rhythmic, lulling her to a dreamy state. They hid out in this little nook that she’d soon own. Chills squirmed their way up her crouching spine. Miss Landowner. Mama would never believe it. Aubrey couldn’t contain her smile. She spied the other side of the creek bed through the crowded opening. Untouched soil, wild grasses and freedom.

  She was in the same sleepless predicament as she had been back at camp. How could she manage to rest at a time like this?

  But when her eyes grew heavy and her smile faded, there was only one thing to do before sleep invaded her. She forced a little prayer:

  Wake me up when it’s time to stake my claim. Quarter past noon would be best.

  * * *

  He really shouldn’t do it. The intense glare of sunshine promised the day would be agonizing enough. During the morning of the race the only thing Cort should be doing was preparing for his venture on the prairie—finding his spot among the other settlers, waiting for the start and then racing to land of his own. Why did he choose to go find Miss Huxley instead?

  He did run out of saddle soap. That was a good excuse. A fine reason to visit that shoddy corral and its beautiful owner once more. But, as he went against the flow of settlers, away from the starting line, he knew his notorious Stanton bloodline would be the death of him. He was just drawn to making wayward decisions, it seemed.

  The Huxleys’ tents were all sealed up, but Mr. Huxley was outside, his feet propped up on a barrel as he snoozed in a rocking chair. Two old horses knocked around an empty pail with their dusty noses, and the gate of the corral swayed in the hot wind. Cort approached, closing the gate behind him. He pulled off his hat as he walked up to the old man.

  “Excuse me, sir?” he said, but the man kept snoring. Cort spied the saddle soap on a table under a small canopy. He went up to the closed-off tent and cleared his throat. “Uh, Miss Huxley?”

  He felt as ridiculous as a schoolboy trying to prove himself to be a man. He crammed his hat on his head. He could do without the saddle soap. As he turned, his boot crushed a piece of parchment.

  It was crumpled up in the red Oklahoma dirt. He blew it off. It was a letter, not addressed to him, yet he couldn’t help but read the elegant handwriting:

  Dear Pa,

  By the time you read this, I’ll be riding in the race, praying that I have the chance to find some land of my own. Ever since Mama passed, I’ve wanted to honor her with a proper horse ranch of her dreams. I know you weren’t able to give that to her, but as her daughter, I must try.

  Please don’t look for me. I am twenty-two years old and need to find my own way apart from you and Ben. I have left you the last of my savings from sewing, which should help with your expenses to get back home and even buy a couple decent horses for profit. That’s the last I can offer you, Father. I’ll send word once I am established. Take care of Ben. He needs you, and you need him. But right now, I just need to do this on my own.

  Your daughter,

  Aubrey.

  Cort let out a long whistle. Mr. Huxley slept in his rocker even though his daughter had just bidden him farewell forever?

  Cort and Aubrey had talked about their secrets last night. Aubrey’s was out in the open now. The hope Aubrey had kindled in him as they parted ways last night flooded him now. He wondered what it might feel like to have his secret out. Sure, it would clear his name. Give him a chance at freedom, but at what cost? If he told anyone the truth, he’d risk the chance of his brother being taken away from his young family forever. Cort would never forgive himself.

  No. His innocence would never be found out. It would jeopardize his brother’s freedom and his nephew’s future.

  He lifted his gaze from the letter to the distant horizon already shimmering in the heat.

  She was somewhere along the start line, ready to build a ranch of her own. Now that Cort was a praying man, he said a prayer for Aubrey’s safety. And then, against his own reasoning, he prayed that one day they’d meet again. He couldn’t look for her today, but one day. And he hoped it would be a day he wasn’t ruled by the fear of the law catching up with him. Perhaps when he was certain of his freedom, he might even share his life with a woman like Aubrey Huxley by his side.

  He shook his head. Dreaming was no pastime for a cowboy who’d run out of chances. He may be free now, thanks to his dear friend Sheriff Conway, who’d allowed him to escape that prison fire and run away. But now that the sheriff had died of typhoid, he didn’t stand a chance against the rest of the state of Texas. Cort Stanton could outrun his fellow land seekers, but he couldn’t outrun his past. If anything, he should pray that God would keep him far away from Miss Huxley.

  Before he left the corral, he crumpled up the paper again and threw it down where Mr. Huxley had tossed it. He would only focus on the race now.

  The swarm of settlers fled the camp, yanking their whole lives in wagons, carts and packs. Cort was blessed in that way. He had nothing but what was in his small pack. Once he untied his horse and led him to the start line, he swung himself on top of his saddle. The anticipation around him frenzied like a kicked beehive. It was a day of all days. The day where he would cling to living and l
eave everything else behind. Live in the moment and do what he did best. Work the land.

  “Whoa, boy.” He tried to calm the horse as he kept his place in the bulging line. It was tough to expect much from the animal amid the chaos, but talking to him was at least calming Cort’s own nerves.

  Was he really this close to possessing his own piece of land? His heart stuttered. Just two years ago he was content working someone else’s land clear up in Wyoming. But now?

  He loosened the bandanna around his neck. Either the heat was getting to him, or his conscience was starting early. Usually, he did well to not think about it until the quiet of nightfall. Perhaps the quieting mass as they neared noon gave him too much room to ponder. Ironic to think of this as a thought-provoking place. He was packed in between thousands of horses, hundreds of carts and sweating settlers hungry for what a fourteen-dollar registration fee bought them—a slim chance at acreage. A baby’s cry pierced the aggravated silence. Regret niggled in Cort’s core while he tightened the grip on his reins, leaning forward as most everyone did around him. He’d yet to have a family to provide for. Would he ever? His costly mistakes before now may have jeopardized any chance for that.

  Aubrey Huxley slipped across his mind again. How could one woman have such an effect on him in such a short amount of time? One thing was certain: he could not endanger her happiness by linking his future with hers. No, he couldn’t pull anyone else into his life now.

  His horse slung his head back and snorted.

  When an explosion coursed through the stifling heat and the line lurched forward, Cort kicked his horse to a roaring gallop. He left behind the billowing dust and toppling wagons, focusing only on one thing—staking his claim where God knew best.

  Chapter Three

  Aubrey woke up with a gasp. Ben was leaning most of his weight on her, blocking any view to the creek bed.

  She shoved him. “Wake up.” The air was hot and the light outside was a bold afternoon shine, not a weak morning glitter.

  What time was it?

  Ben stretched his arms, but Aubrey couldn’t wait. She scrambled over him, elbows and knees battering her brother in the process.

  “Ow!”

  “We overslept. I know it.” Her voice was as hoarse as the train whistle in the distance. She grabbed her sack and ran down the creek. “Come on, Ben. Look at the sun. Is it straight above?” She refused to consider that it was on more of a western crawl.

  Please, let there be time.

  She heaved the sack on the higher ground then pulled herself up. The clip-clop of hooves grew louder, louder still. Her heartbeat skipped ahead of the noisy gallop. Upon the horizon, a man appeared, racing straight toward the marker.

  “No!” She yanked out her stake from her sack and clambered to her feet. Her legs were weak from the marathon run last night. As she took her first stride, her knees buckled. The rocky ground met her splayed hands while the stake lay without purpose just beneath her.

  “Are you okay?” Ben rested a hand on her shoulder.

  Aubrey whipped her head around and screamed, “Go!”

  Her hands burned like fire, yet she could only focus on one thing—the man leaping off his horse and racing her brother to the marker.

  Ben was closer—she was sure of it. That was, until the man swiped the marker away and lifted his stake above his head. When he pierced the ground, Aubrey’s dream came crashing down like pouring rain after the final crack of thunder.

  Everything she had planned—to break free from her father, to revive her mama’s dream, to make something of this life—slipped into a sour memory. Her stomach twisted. How could this happen?

  A wild groan erupted from Ben. He flung himself at the man, wrapping his arms around the man’s knees. They rolled away from the stake and Ben’s fists pounded into his opponent. Aubrey knew Ben’s effort was futile. The man had claimed the land. Nothing would change that. Yet a swell of awe struck her as her brother fought—for her. But when Aubrey spied the man’s holster on his hip, panic puffed her with fear.

  She must warn her brother. “Stop!”

  Ben looked up from the brawl and the other man hunched over, his shoulders heaving with big breaths. Ben’s brows turned downward into a sharp V. She’d seen that look when he was planning a devious scheme. She began to take brisk strides toward him. He couldn’t continue, especially with the rightful owner retreating. Before she could speak, Ben swiveled around and barreled toward the unaware stranger. His head lodged in the man’s ribs. Grunting and groaning eclipsed Aubrey’s screams. Ben wouldn’t relent. Every time the man tried to escape, he’d clutch at him.

  “Ben Huxley. You stop this instant,” Aubrey yelled from the back of her throat. The man tried to push him off, and Ben’s foot slipped from under him. He didn’t let go. Suddenly, they fell in a heap, Ben trapped under his opponent. The thud shook the ground beneath Aubrey’s feet.

  She ran to them. “Ben, are you okay?” The man rolled off. Her brother lay there, moaning and reaching for his leg. “Ben, talk to me.” His leg was bent in an awful shape and his eyes fluttered open then rolled back.

  “Ben!”

  Slapping his face did nothing. His head became a heavy boulder in her arms.

  Silence hung in the air, thicker than the dust that refused to settle from the fight. It seemed everything floated in a trapped moment of time. Aubrey listened as Ben’s heart began to slow from its quickened beat. The same rhythmic breathing from earlier this morning tickled her arm as she swiped away his hair to check for any open wounds. She tried to gently shake him awake.

  His eyes fluttered open. Then he screwed his face up, reaching his hands down toward his legs. “It hurts, sis.”

  “Just don’t move. We’ll get you help.”

  A shadow blanketed her. Aware of her vulnerability now, Aubrey held her breath and skimmed her gaze upward. The man stood with a ray of sunshine around his silhouette. His body was indeed a shadow, dark and indistinguishable against the bright Oklahoma sky.

  “Is this man with you?” His voice rolled away Aubrey’s timidity. She knew that voice. Her mouth fell as she tried to make out his features.

  She swallowed hard and said, “He’s my brother.”

  “Miss Huxley, I didn’t mean for it to go this far.” Cort Stanton squatted in front of her, and his face came into focus. His chiseled cheeks and strong jaw were covered in a thick layer of black dust, no doubt from the stampede of horses at the race. His green eyes pierced hers eagerly. There was that compassion again. He swiped his hat from his head, hanging it on his knee. “I tried to step away. I—I...” A crease appeared between his eyebrows, and he placed a hand on her arm. “I am so sorry.”

  Aubrey stared at his strong, sun-stained hand—brown against her cotton sleeve—the hand of a hard worker but the soft touch of a dear friend. “He’s in pain, Mr. Stanton.” She searched his face once more for any sign of malice. If only she could find it then she wouldn’t feel so bad that he was the one person who’d destroyed her chance to own land.

  His face transformed with an apology, but it would never be enough to comfort her. After all she’d gone through, she’d not only lost her one hundred and sixty acres, but injured her brother in the effort. A tender look on a handsome face did nothing to soothe her broken heart or restore her shattered dream.

  “I can’t tell if you’re devising a plan of revenge, or if stealing my breath away is revenge enough.” Cort managed a smile that would’ve tempted many a woman to swoon and forget their current situation. But Aubrey was not just any woman. His charm only trivialized her loss.

  “I do not intend to devise a plan.” She cleared her throat. “My only plan is ruined.” All her hope skittered away when he staked her claim.

  Aubrey encouraged her brother to rest then carefully left his side. She brushed off her skirt, m
aking sure her ankles were hidden away. Her world might be falling apart, but she needn’t lose her dignity. Her boots crushed the grasses as she headed toward her belongings. Sensing Mr. Stanton following her, she stopped and spun around.

  “Do not accuse me of stealing away your breath, or anything, for that matter.” Aubrey leveled her gaze, her nose just barely aligned with Mr. Stanton’s dimpled chin. “ I am the one who’s been robbed. My horse was taken before I even had a chance to run. And another thing has been stolen right beneath my nose. Thanks to you, Mr. Stanton. You, sir, have stolen my land.”

  * * *

  Cort didn’t understand how delusion could look so beautiful. Under no circumstance was this Aubrey Huxley’s land. He glanced at his flag flapping in the hot breeze, looked about the land, then tilted his face toward her. “I am confused. How’s this your land?”

  Miss Huxley flared her nostrils and narrowed her eyes. The prettiest little “hmph” came from behind her lips. She flicked her dark hair over her shoulder, freshening the air with the scent of spring flowers, then took brisk strides and snatched up her lifeless flag.

  He eyed her brother’s crooked leg.

  Please, Lord, forgive me for hurting him. I tried not to—

  Cort’s horse grunted behind him. “Hey there. Decided to stick around?” Loyal after a day? What a creature. He hitched him to a tree. Cort had thrown himself off so fast when he’d seen the man running for the flag, he didn’t even consider his horse’s whereabouts. His only belongings were strapped to the back of the horse. And really, nothing was worth much in a change of clothes, cooking utensils and some blacksmith tools. But his pay from horseshoeing these last couple of months would get him started on building. His fingers itched to work land of his very own.

  Miss Huxley tied a bonnet around her hair, the straight long locks fanned out upon her shoulders. If ever there was a beautiful mess, it was those dark strands catching the breeze.

  Enough, Cort.

  Where in the world had his reason gone?