Once A Bandit

by Diana Bold

  Once A Bandit

  By Diana Bold

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Once A Bandit

  By Diana Bold

  Copyright May 2017

  Cover Artist: Kim Killion

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Dedication

  For Elizabeth Reyes, who has brought such fun and happiness into my life. I love your sense of humor and your sweet and caring heart. You are one of the good ones!

  Prologue

  If not for the snow storm, he might have made it.

  Until those first damning snowflakes fell, Josh Morgan had been well on his way to escaping with the fifty thousand dollars he’d stolen from the bloodthirsty outlaw who’d raised him. He’d meant to hide out in the foothills for a few days, then head south once the dust settled.

  But snow meant tracks, and tracks meant that either the gang he’d double-crossed or the sharp-eyed lawmen determined to bring him to justice would soon be hot on his heels. He spurred the horse beneath him, trying to focus on the certain pleasure on Carrie’s beloved face when he showed up in the New Mexico Territory and told her they were going back east. This money meant he’d finally be able to give her the life he’d always promised, and he had no intention of letting this chance slip away.

  Unfortunately, the sounds of hoof beats, creaking leather, and snatches of conversation filtered through the trees on the chill wind. Though he couldn’t see who was closing in on him, he had a bad feeling it was Clyde and the rest of the gang. Better it had been the marshals. He didn’t relish the thought of prison, but he found iron bars far preferable to the fate Clyde no doubt had in store for him.

  The price of his betrayal would be steep. He feared he’d pay with his life.

  Grimly, he scanned the surrounding area for some sort of landmark as he grabbed a handful of cash out of the leather satchel that held his loot. He’d take just enough to get him through the next few days and hide the rest. If he managed to elude his pursuers, he’d come back. If he didn’t, at least he’d die with the satisfaction of knowing Clyde would never get his hands on their ill-gotten gains.

  Chapter One

  Susannah Barrett found the stranger face down in her back pasture, a pool of frozen blood crusting the snow at his temple. She stared down at him, torn between sadness for what he’d suffered and fear for what his presence on her land meant for her quiet, solitary life. Cradling her shotgun beneath one arm, she awkwardly lowered her pregnant bulk from the back of her horse, casting nervous glances toward the line of trees on the ridge.

  A hail of gunfire had woken her in the middle of the night, and she’d spent the hours until dawn huddled in a terrified heap against the wall of her cabin, fully expecting outlaws to burst through the door. When morning came without incident, she’d gathered her courage and forced herself to investigate; afraid someone had poached one of her handful of cattle.

  Instead, she’d discovered this poor dead man.

  Trembling, she sank to her knees in the snow beside the victim of last night’s violence, wondering what had happened and how he’d gotten here. She lived nearly ten miles from the nearest town.

  Given her advanced pregnancy, she didn’t know how she’d find the strength to bury him in the frozen ground, but if she left the corpse out in the open, it was bound to draw predators. Biting her lip, she set her gun aside and started going through his pockets, hoping to find some clue to his identity.

  As she pulled out a thick wad of greenbacks, he gave a soft, pain-filled moan. Gasping, she shoved the money back in his pocket and scrambled away, her heart thundering in her chest.

  He’s alive.

  Once she’d regained her composure, she crept forward, pressing her icy fingertips against his throat until she felt the slow, steady pulse of life beneath his skin. A bullet had grazed his temple, yet somehow he’d survived both the wound and a night spent out in the freezing cold.

  Gripping his shoulder, she pushed with all her might until she was able to roll him on his back. He moaned again, but then opened his eyes and blinked up at her, his green eyes glassy with pain.

  “What happened?” he asked, in a raw, shredded voice.

  “I don’t know.” She swept her gaze over his long, lean body, trying to see if he’d suffered any other injuries. The handsome blond stranger wore a pair of pearl-handled pistols around his waist, and he was young, probably not much older than her own twenty-three years. To her relief, he didn’t appear to be wounded anywhere else.

  “My head hurts.” He lifted one hand to his temple, then winced and closed his eyes, swallowing convulsively. Despite the cold, his forehead was beaded with sweat. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Can you walk?” she asked softly.

  “Maybe.” He took a few deep, steadying breaths, then planted his hands on the ground and pushed himself to a sitting position. With a groan, he clasped his head in his hands and rocked back and forth, muttering obscenities beneath his breath.

  She got to her feet, staring down at him in dismay. If he couldn’t make it back to the cabin under his own steam, she didn’t know how she was going to get him there. For the hundredth time, she silently cursed her husband, Caleb, for getting her pregnant and then abandoning her to fend for herself in this hostile place. He’d left her when he’d found out she was pregnant, then gotten himself killed a few months later. She had no one to depend on but herself.

  “Give me a minute,” he rasped. “I can do it.”

  As she waited for him to marshal his strength, apprehension built within her. Why had she offered to help him? Though injured, he was obviously a dangerous man. With only a week or two to go before she gave birth, she wasn’t in any position to protect herself.

  The stranger suddenly heaved to his feet, startling her. She stumbled back a few steps, only to rush forward again when he began to sway. Wrapping an arm around his waist, she let him lean against her as he struggled once more to catch his breath.

  “Are you all right?” Digging in her heels, she fought to keep them both standing.

  “Yeah. I’m just dizzy… confused.” He stepped away and grabbed the horse’s saddle horn, taking his weight off of her. “My head hurts so bad I can’t think. I can’t… remember.”

  “The house is only a few hundred yards away,” she assured him. “You can ride, if you like. I’ll walk.”

  His gaze fell to her rounded belly, and he shook his head. “You shouldn’t be walking.”

  She gave him a wan smile, surprised by his chivalry. “I’ll be fine. You need to ride far more than I do.”

  He seemed as though he wanted to argue more, but obviously realized he wouldn’t make it very far on foot. She helped him mount, then led the horse back up the hill.

  Twenty minutes later, the two of them stumbled through the front door of Susannah’s ramshackle cabin. They were both breathing heavily with exertion and chilled to the bone. The fire had gone out, so it wasn’t much warmer in the house than it had been outside.

  “I’ll make a fire,” she told him. “There are some blankets on the bed.”

  As she lit a pile of kindling, she heard him moving around behind her. The thud of his boots hitting the floor sent a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold up her spine. Such an intimate sound. After seven months of solitude, she didn’t know how to react to the thought of a handsome man getting undressed just a few
feet away.

  She cast a quick glance over her shoulder and found him sitting on the edge of her bed, once again cradling his head in his hands. He’d only removed his boots, and she felt ridiculous for her fears. Someone had shot him in the head. He posed no threat to her. At least not tonight.

  Once she got a good fire going, she placed a kettle of water on so she could brew some willow bark tea for his pain and cleanse his wound. As she pushed herself back to her feet, a sharp twinge in her lower back made her pause, bracing her hand against the wall.

  The baby. Terror streaked through her. Not now. She wasn’t ready. Then again, she doubted she’d ever be ready for what lay ahead of her. She had no idea how she would get through childbirth, alone and mostly ignorant of the process.

  Her gaze locked upon the man on the bed, and a bit of her fear abated. She wasn’t alone. Not anymore. Fate had delivered her some much-needed company. In a day or two, he’d probably be well enough to leave, but perhaps she could persuade him to stay until she went into labor. Then he could go for a doctor to help her through the birth.

  Ever since Caleb had abandoned her, she’d been sick with worry over the matter. She didn’t have the money to take a room in town until her time came, and she couldn’t make the trip once her pains started.

  Several minutes passed with no further twinges, and she drew in a huge sigh of relief. She needed to be strong in order to care for the wounded stranger. Especially if she wanted him to return the favor.

  She poured some lukewarm water out of the kettle into a bowl, and then gathered a few clean rags and a pot of salve from the sideboard. The man glanced up as she approached, his eyes still glazed with agony.

  “Something’s wrong,” he told her, an edge of panic in his voice. “I don’t know what happened to me. I can’t remember anything.”

  “You have a nasty gash on your temple,” she explained, setting her supplies on the nightstand. “I think someone shot you, but the bullet just grazed the side of your head. You were lucky.”

  “I don’t feel lucky.” He tried to laugh, but the sound trailed off into another moan.

  She pulled back the covers, patting the lumpy featherbed. “Here, lie down. Let me take a look at that wound.”

  He slowly lowered himself to a prone position, and she pulled the heavy quilts up to his chin. Wetting one of the rags in the warm water, she carefully cleaned the ugly gash, wiping away as much of the blood as she could. He winced when she dabbed on the salve, but didn’t pull away. When she was done, only a shallow, inch-long furrow remained.

  “You have the hands of an angel,” he murmured.

  She smoothed her fingertips through his silky, wheat-colored hair one last time, then reluctantly drew her hand away. She’d nearly forgotten how nice it was to touch someone, to feel needed, if only for a moment.

  He caught her wrist, holding her by his side. “I don’t remember you,” he whispered. “I don’t remember anything before I woke to find you sitting next to me.”

  “It’s all right.” She squeezed his hand in an attempt to give comfort. “I’m sure everything will come back to you after you rest.”

  “You don’t understand,” he told her urgently, gripping her hand so tight it began to hurt. “I don’t remember anything. Not even my own name.”

  She blinked. She’d read about someone who’d lost their memory once, but hadn’t thought such things happened in real life. “You were unconscious for a long time, and that was one heck of a blow you took to your head. I’ll make you some willow bark tea for the pain, and then you need to rest. I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.”

  “Will I?” He released her hand and closed his eyes. “I hope so.”

  Turning away, she went back to the fire, pleased to see the kettle was hot. As she waited for the tea to steep, her gaze swept her nearly empty sideboard. She didn’t have enough supplies to see her through the next month, let alone the whole winter. Caleb had taken every cent they had with him, and she’d already begged a line of credit at the general store, which she had no way of paying.

  She thought longingly of the wad of money in the stranger’s pocket. Though she hadn’t had time to count the greenbacks, she knew there were enough to make all the difference. Enough to see her and her child safely back east. Enough to live on until she found some way to support herself.

  With a sigh, she brought her guest his tea. He was half-asleep already, but she urged him to sit and drain the cup. Perhaps if he wasn’t in so much pain, he would remember who he was and what had happened to him.

  “What’s your name, darlin’?” he asked as she set the cup aside.

  “Susannah,” she answered, giving him a weak smile. “Now get some sleep.”

  * * * * *

  He didn’t know how long he slept, but when he next woke, his head still felt as though… well, as though someone had shot him in the temple. And his mind… still as blank as it had been before.

  The harder he tried to remember the details of his life, the worse his head pounded. Giving up for a moment, he opened his eyes and glanced around Susannah’s small cabin. He remembered this. He remembered everything that had happened since she’d helped him to his feet in the pasture.

  The cabin was tiny—perhaps fifteen feet square—furnished with nothing more than the bed where he lay, a small table, two chairs and the sideboard by the fireplace. Shoddily built of rough-hewn logs, the cabin had gaps in the walls and only one window. The fire had burned down to embers and snow fell steadily outside. No wonder he was so damned cold.

  A soft moan drew his attention back toward the fire. Pushing up on his elbow, he saw that Susannah had made herself a small pallet on the floor. Her lovely face was ravaged with pain, and her arms were wrapped around her hugely pregnant belly in obvious distress.

  Was she having her baby? Christ. Was it his baby?

  “Susannah.” He shoved himself out of bed, and dropped to his knees by her side. “Susannah, darlin’. Are you all right?”

  She shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It hurts. God damn you, Caleb. It hurts so much.”

  Caleb? Was that his name? It didn’t sound right. Didn’t feel familiar. He searched Susannah’s face, trying to make himself remember. Her delicate, fey features were undeniably attractive, but the blue eyes and thick, chestnut hair seemed wrong somehow. Deep down, he was fairly certain this wasn’t the woman he loved.

  “How long have you been having pains?” he asked, smoothing a few strands of dark hair off her damp forehead.

  “Hours,” she managed. “Hours and hours.”

  Fighting a wave of nausea, he crawled to the fireplace and stoked the fire. He had a vague idea that he’d need hot water and clean cloths when the baby came.

  As he hung the half-empty kettle back on the hook, she cried out, a low, keening sound that resonated inside his skull. He scrambled back to her side, gazing helplessly into her face as her entire body contracted.

  “You should have woken me up.” He scooted behind her, legs spread wide to accommodate her slim hips, and pulled her back against his chest. “You shouldn’t have to go through this alone.”

  To his surprise, he knew what had to be done, was confident in his ability to deliver the child safely, barring any unforeseen problems. He thought perhaps the knowledge had come from raising livestock, but couldn’t be sure.

  As she continued to strain and moan against him, he placed his hands upon her distended belly. Gently, he explored the shape of the babe inside her, assuring himself that it was positioned correctly.

  “Everything’s gonna be fine,” he murmured, his gaze locked upon the simple gold band on her finger. Everything seemed to point to the fact that he’d put it there. He wanted to ask, but this wasn’t the time. If he’d been the one to get the poor girl in this situation, he didn’t want to distress her further by once again admitting that he’d forgotten everything about her. “I’m here, darlin’. I’m gonna help you.”

  As
the tension tightening her stomach eased, she collapsed back against him, panting. “You don’t have to do this. Your head. You shouldn’t even be out of bed.”

  Her solicitous words strengthened his fear that she was his wife. He laughed, ignoring the sharp stab of renewed pain in his temple. “We’re a fine pair, aren’t we?”

  She nodded, and a tear slipped down her cheek. “I’m so afraid. I didn’t know it was going to hurt this bad.”

  “Try to breathe through the pain,” he urged. “When the next contraction comes, take quick, shallow breaths.”

  Only a moment later, she tensed again, but this time she tried to do as he’d asked. He rubbed her belly, whispering soft encouragements as she battled through. Only a few minutes had passed, but it seemed an eternity. He didn’t know how much of this either of them could take.

  Head still throbbing, he gently lowered her to the floor. “I have to take a look, darlin’. I need to see how close you are.”

  Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she gave a terse nod.

  He circled her prone body and knelt between her legs. Pushing aside the blankets and bunching her nightgown up around her hips, he took a deep breath and parted her pale, slim thighs.

  The baby’s head was already crowning.

  He surged to his feet, only to experience an overwhelming wave of dizziness and pain. Following his own advice, he took short, shallow breaths, praying he wouldn’t pass out.

  “I need a sharp knife and some clean cloth,” he said, when the worst of the dizziness had passed.

  “There’s a knife in the sideboard,” she replied, with a weak wave of her hand. “And there are some clean blankets and towels in the trunk at the foot of the bed.”

  He gathered everything he needed, as Susannah battled through the grips of another contraction. “Breathe,” he reminded her gently.

  When he returned to her side, he propped several pillows behind her back, then brushed a few strands of sweat-dampened hair from her eyes. “You’re almost there. On the next contraction, I need you to push. Push with all your might.”