The Outlaw's Second Chance

by Angie Dicken

  Aubrey flinched but didn’t drop her gaze. She just narrowed her eyes. “That doesn’t sound like the Cort I know.”

  “Oh, really?” he challenged. She knew nothing of his past. And he’d kept it that way on purpose. To speak it? He might as well bury himself in a grave as deep as the shame he felt. It would be more bearable than living another moment with it out in the open.

  “The Cort I know gives grace and compassion more than a whole army of angels. Surely the same man can afford some forgiveness for himself.”

  “I’ve followed a wayward path for so long, I guess it’s time I pay up.” The shame began to rise. He could feel it starting at his boots. Where was his shovel?

  Aubrey rounded the bench. “You’re a man of much faith, Cort. Don’t give up on yourself because of the past.”

  “Why do you care, Aubrey? I thought we’d reached an agreement. Business only. This whole getting into each other’s business just makes a mess of things.”

  “I know.” She knit her brows together as she stared over at the shade tree where Dr. Mills met with Ben. “No matter what you’ve done, or who’s waiting for you, I’ll never take back my friendship. You’re my friend, Cort. I want to keep it that way.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Aubrey.” Cort’s lip trembled. He was a miserably weak cowboy. This woman brought him to a place he never wanted to go, but he might be fine never leaving.

  “You’ll only hurt me if you continue to be so hard on yourself,” she said. “You’ve changed my opinion about how to treat my pa. Now it’s my turn to tell you something, Cort. Stop living your life with regret. Just live.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  As Aubrey folded the last of the linens into the chest, her skin prickled with a thrill of accomplishment. Last week had started with a sealed deal with Mr. Caldwell. She’d finished another dress today, and she eyed the bare mannequin that stood in the newly framed window of Mr. Caldwell’s shop. She’d come a long way since that first day in Alva when the Irish tailor had doubted her ability. If he were here, she wouldn’t be able to resist asking him to display the soft woolen dress with pretty puffed sleeves. But he had gone to the depot to meet the afternoon train. Several yards of fabric and embellishments were aboard from the west.

  Aubrey flung her shawl around her shoulders to ward off the recent chill that kissed the Oklahoma prairie.

  “Are you ready, Aubrey?” Cort filled the doorway of the shop, holding his cowboy hat over his heart. His rich voice and humble stance sent her stomach in a tumble.

  “Yes, Cort.”

  They’d agreed to be friends, even after those quiet weeks of conversations confined to business. And she’d hoped Cort was starting to take her advice to not be so hard on himself. During their silence, she’d asked God to help her understand all that Cort had said about her pa being a lost man. She’d also prayed that God’s will for her next step in forgiving her father would be clear. And as she prayed, she had realized Cort’s need for a bit of grace for himself. He was not only running from the law, but lost love. He needed a friend and some kindness. She could give him at least that. He deserved so much.

  “Did you pick it up?” She clasped her hands together, anxious to hear.

  “Yes, I did.” He stepped into the dirt-packed road and crushed his dark curls with his hat. “You now own a wooden table. It barely fit on my cart.”

  She squealed. The sturdy table stood in the general-store window. She’d bought it with the profit from her first dresses, and Cort promised to pick it up with his newly purchased cart.

  “Imagine eating at a proper table now. I’ll never picnic again,” she said.

  He winked beneath the shadow of his hat’s brim. His emerald eyes were a familiar elixir of comfort and home. Aubrey bit her lip. She should not think such things about a friend, should she?

  She hooked her gloved hand in his arm and they began to walk toward the hitch. Whatever thorn lay in his past, her desire to be the one person who showed him God’s grace in second chances grew every day. After all the second chances she’d been given, she could at least do that.

  A whipping breeze lifted some dust from beneath the wooden walk. She leaned her face into Cort’s shoulder to shield her eyes. It was a strange thing to feel the prairie winds change along with the condition of her heart. These past days, she had begun to picture herself in a rocker on a swept porch, sewing the next batch of aprons for the women of Alva and listening to the hum of Cort working on the fence around her ranch. She’d be a seamstress, and he’d oversee the ranch. The vision suited her passion to sew and would mean Cort became a long-term resident. It was a dream that could replace her old stubborn one—the one she’d sought in desperation to escape the man who’d destroyed her mother, the man who was destroying himself. Her strife was dissipating with her need to reach beyond herself, giving grace as Cort had illustrated. Life was changing with the season from fiery fury to cool surrender.

  “I see your new boss over there.” Cort nodded toward the depot where Mr. Caldwell was removing crates from a train cart. A whole bustle of townspeople crowded Main Street between them and the depot.

  “Do you mind if I meet you at the hitch? I’d like to tell him that I finished the dress for Mrs. Patterson.” She gave a wry smile. “He didn’t think I’d get it done before Christmas.”

  Cort gestured with a wide sweep of his arm for her to pass by. He smelled like peppermint and fresh leather, another scent of comfort.

  Remember, he’s just a friend.

  She tried to heed her self-imposed warning and immersed herself in the crowd. Several women wove along the wooden walk as she pushed through. They smiled and ushered young children this way and that. One little boy crashed into her and fell back, landing on his sack that was tied around his wrist.

  “Excuse me, ma’am.” He scratched his head then grabbed his hat from the walkway and scrambled to his feet.

  Aubrey looked about for a chasing mother, but everyone seemed focused on their own whereabouts.

  “Are you lost?”

  “I’m runnin’ away,” he announced. He was only about six years old but had a determined brow.

  “I see.” Aubrey crossed her arms. “Why are you running?”

  “My mama cares about my new daddy more than me.” His plump bottom lip stuck out.

  “I am sure that’s not true.” Aubrey carefully knelt down. “And I’m certain you won’t get very far without a mama. I wish mine was still here. You’ll miss her something fierce, promise.” She patted his button nose with her finger. Beady blue eyes peered up at her through long eyelashes.

  “Trevor!”

  His eyes widened, and he stiffened like a soldier. A woman approached from across the street dressed in a ruby-red shirtwaist, fashionable leg-of-mutton sleeves and a matching skirt. Her wide-brimmed hat shadowed a mass of blond curls resting on one shoulder. She jostled toward them with a carpetbag banging against her fine dress. “Trevor Jeremiah Stanton. You had me worried sick.”

  “Stanton?” A relative of Cort’s? Here, in Alva?

  The woman paid no attention to Aubrey’s exclamation and grabbed Trevor by the arm. “Thank you, ma’am, for stopping him. He threw a fit on the train and stormed off when it stopped.” She glared down at him while he wiggled his arm in her grasp. “This is not a good start to our new life, child.”

  “Did you say your name was Stanton?”

  “Why, yes. Mrs. Cassandra Joselyn Stanton.” She gave a dazzling smile. “We’ve come up from Amarillo.” She pinched her cheeks and smacked her lips together. All she needed was a mirror. “Seems my sweetheart’s hiding out in this godforsaken place.”

  Aubrey couldn’t find words. A sudden dread pressed heavy on her heart. Was this the lost chance of love that Cort had spoken about? Surely he wouldn’t hide a wife?

 
; “You are...?” Cassandra’s manicured eyebrows arched high.

  “I’m...I’m Aubrey Huxley. And your sweetheart is?”

  “Oh, perhaps you know him.” She squealed. “There he is!”

  Aubrey spun around, and dread split her heart in two. Cort was at the corner across where she’d left him, his face as long and blanched as hers felt. But his eyes weren’t on Aubrey. They were soaking in the beautiful Mrs. Stanton, who then rushed past, dragging her child beside her.

  Was this part of his secret past? A beautiful wife? By the looks of her, Aubrey doubted an entire hundred and sixty acres would be big enough to share with this woman. She felt like a scrawny schoolgirl, one who’d been tempted by a handsome cowboy. He’d not only come to her rescue more than once, but given her reason to think there was more to their relationship than a business deal.

  While Cort’s attention was completely stolen by the two newcomers, Aubrey slipped around the newly constructed bank and hurried across town.

  She would rather walk clear to Kansas than join in this family reunion. Hot tears coursed down her cheeks. Ridiculous. There was nothing to cry about. Hadn’t she wanted to be left alone from the very beginning? Perhaps her original plan shouldn’t be discarded so quickly?

  But why did she despise the fact that loneliness consumed her with every step she took upon the familiar dirt path through the prairie grasses? How could this place of freedom and dreams be so colorless? Aubrey had little doubt in her mind that all the color in Alva was wrapped around the shoulders of that Mrs. Cassandra Stanton. Her crimson dress outshone the very hue of the setting sun.

  * * *

  “Cassandra?” Cort’s voice cracked. He thought he was losing his mind when his brother’s wife barreled toward him, dragging his little nephew down the main street of Alva.

  “Oh, Cort. It’s been too long.” She clasped her gloved hands together then reached out and brushed Cort’s cheek. “My, you’ve only gotten more handsome than I remember.” Her glassy blue eyes swam in a mixture of joy and sorrow. “And I’d forgotten how much you look like...him.”

  Cort squatted to level with the youngest Stanton. “My, my, Trevor. Last time I saw you, you were half that size.” He tousled the boy’s hair. “You still look like your pa, even more so.”

  Trevor narrowed his eyes and tugged at Cassandra’s waistcoat. “Mama, is this my new daddy?”

  Cassandra let out a tinkling laugh.

  Cort’s heart plummeted to his stomach as he stood up again. “What is he talking about, Cass?”

  “Oh, Cort. He’s a child.” She snaked her arm around his, leaning into his side. “We’ve got so much to catch up on.”

  “Where’s Charles?”

  Cassandra began to babble about her train ride, clearly avoiding a straightforward answer. Before he could drag any worthwhile information from the woman, Mr. Caldwell approached with a large crate in his arms.

  “I’m losing my grip!” Mr. Caldwell declared.

  “Here, let me help.” Cort escaped Cassandra’s hold and took the crate from the tailor. He craned his neck to see if he’d spy Charles down the street. He remembered Aubrey. She’d stood just across from Cassandra, hadn’t she? A fog had fallen on Cort’s conscience when he’d seen his sister-in-law. He hadn’t even thought to wave Aubrey over. But she was gone. A deep, disconcerting pain crossed his chest. How could he ignore the most important person in his world? Even in the face of his debilitating past?

  “Where’s Charles?” He seethed in Cassandra’s direction, but she and Mr. Caldwell were making acquaintance, shaking hands and introducing themselves.

  “Pleased to meet you.” Cassandra beamed her usual dazzling smile and Mr. Caldwell’s own face lit up by it. Typical of Mrs. Charles Stanton. Able to get the most dull of men to brighten in her presence.

  “I do appreciate your help, Mr. Stanton. My back isn’t what it used to be.” The tailor sighed, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe his brow. “I apologize if I interrupted you.”

  “Not at all,” Cort mumbled. “I’ll take this to the shop and then we’ll get you settled, Cassandra. Wait here. My horse is the chocolate stallion with the cart over there.” He nodded across the square, refusing to look at Cassandra directly. He swiveled on his heel and stormed down the street.

  Something was terribly wrong. Why else would Cassandra be here without Charles? But more than that, how in the world did she know to find him in Alva? A dark cloud invaded every corner of Cort’s soul as he imagined the worst. Apparently, the news of his whereabouts had traveled down the Oklahoma plains across the Red River and out west toward Amarillo.

  “I thank you kindly, Mr. Stanton.” The tailor fiddled with the lock and then opened the door. Cort placed the crate on the floor. “Ah, Miss Huxley has been hard at work.” He raised his spectacles to his forehead as he inspected the seams of a dress.

  If Cassandra could find her way to the Cherokee Strip, then who else was looking for him? Cort had to leave and find out.

  “Well, I better go tend to my...uh, family, sir.” He tipped his cowboy hat, but Mr. Caldwell only gave a distracted goodbye. The tailor continued to inspect Aubrey’s work as Cort left the shop.

  Cort was ready to get a straight answer from the woman. Cassandra and Trevor waited by Cort’s horse. His little nephew was whining and jumping up and down. “Please, Mama. I just want to sit on him for a minute.”

  Cassandra just swatted at the air and looked in a small hand mirror. “You hush.” She spied Cort from under her obnoxious hat, pushing her son aside. “Now look, Cort. You don’t treat a visitor like that—shoving us to the hitchin’ post to leave us by our lonesome?” Her notorious bottom lip plumped forward, and she batted her eyelashes. He had never allowed her flirtations to get to him before, and now, with Charles nowhere to be found, Cort bristled at her brazen charm. He wondered why exactly his brother’s wife stood here without him.

  “Where’s Charles, sister?”

  She blew away a golden curl that slipped from her hat. “Oh, Cort, don’t call me that.” She patted his chest. “You know I’ve never liked that about us. Brother, sister? So strange to think of you as my brother.”

  “This is not about us, Cassandra. I’m asking about my brother. Where is Charles?”

  She crossed her arms and looked down at her little boy, who was drawing in the dirt. “He’s gone, Cort. And Trevor and I are all alone.” For the first time, she gave a sober look his way. “Your brother is dead.”

  * * *

  The journey back to the ranch was a blur for Aubrey. She tried to prepare herself for the life she had first expected when she’d fought Cort for the land—to ranch by her lonesome, without help. He deserved a fair price for his help and then she should send him, and his young family, on their way. He’d warned her that the time would come when he’d leave. Why had she foolishly allowed herself to grow attached to the idea of a permanent tenant?

  She approached the clearing between their houses. One soddie would certainly become a barn this winter.

  “Hello, Aubrey.”

  Startled, she froze in midstep. Ben stood there, leaning on his walking stick without a cast.

  “Ben!” She ran up to him and flung her arms around his skinny frame. “Your cast is gone! I can’t believe it.”

  “Dr. Mills came by this morning.”

  “I am so happy for you, brother.” After the miserable walk she’d just spent stewing, she welcomed a reason to be happy.

  “You stuck to your word and helped me get better.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I realized how I’d messed up everything you dreamed of, sister. It wasn’t right for me to take your horse. It was my own fault for getting injured. I never even planned on staying out here, really. Just wanted to make a profit off the land and take my earnings back to Kansas.” He wagged his hea
d. “You wanted to start new. Make something of yourself. And I took that from you.”

  A smile crept on her face and her heart skipped. “Oh, Ben, you haven’t taken one thing away from me. I still got my land anyway.”

  “I wrote a letter to Pa. Going to see if he can meet me in Wichita.” Ben shifted from one foot to another. She hugged him again. “And there’s another thing.” He disappeared inside her house, then returned with a small, but bulging, sack in his hand. “This is yours.”

  “What? What is it?”

  “The rest of Mama’s savings. Pa may’ve never found it on that day of her funeral, but I did.” He grimaced. “I am so sorry, Aubrey.” He shoved it toward her then turned away, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

  Her mouth fell as she stared at the lost money. All this time, he’d kept it from her. Anger crawled up her neck. How dare he? They’d nearly died from heatstroke because of her desperate, penniless state.

  “Ben Huxley, you turn around this very minute.”

  He obeyed. She’d never seen him so broken, so close to shame. “Sis, I am sorry—that’s all I can say. Guess I’d been hoping Cort would mess up before I had the nerve to give you the money. Then maybe I’d look like a hero.” He kicked the dirt. “There’s just something about him.”

  Ben wanted to be a hero? Maybe that was why he’d fought so hard for the land in the first place. Maybe he cared more than she’d thought? But she knew another side of him—the one who stole Mama’s savings. Was his confession enough? Cort had given her apologies time and again, and he meant them from the bottom of his heart. He’d trained her well to spot sincerity, and right now, no matter how much her brother looked like Pa, she was certain his apology was authentic.

  “Thank you, Ben.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and he returned a hug. When they pulled apart, a silent truce filled the space between them.

  “Want to see me walk without the crutch?” He wiped his eye with his palm.