Give My Love to Rose

by Nicole Sturgill

  Give My Love to Rose

  The Outlaw Series

  Book 1

  Nicole Sturgill

  Dream Big Publishing

  Byron Center, MI

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used factiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Dream Big Publishing

  A publication of Dream Big Publishing

  Byron Center MI

  Copyright 2015 by Nicole Sturgill

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in

  whole or in part in any form.

  Dream Big Publishing is a registered trademark of

  Dream Big Publishing.

  Man’s photo provided by © Kozzi. /pawelsierakowski

  Text of this book is set in Garamond text size 13.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  All rights reserved.

  Summary: Outlaw and all around bad guy Marston finds a dying man along the railroad tracks. His only plan is to take the man’s nearby horse, his gun and whatever money he might have in his pockets but the dying man’s words gnaw at him ‘Give my love to Rose’ the man had said and ‘Tell my boy I’m proud of him’. Without knowing why Marston feels the need to honor the dying man’s wishes. The man’s quest leads him to Harper Louisianna and when he finds Rose she is not what he expected and neither is the boy…. Marston has spent his whole life hurting people and not caring. Willl these people make him want to change and what will Rose say when she learns what kind of man he really is?

  [1. Historical – Fiction 2. Romance ]

  ISBN: 9781310125416

  Nicole Sturgill

  Copyright 2015 by Nicole Sturgill

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved.

  Chapter One

  Texas

  1874

  The hot mid-August sun beat down on Marston Jacob’s broad back as he walked across the dry, arid ground of north Texas. Sweat trickled down his back beneath his stiff blue shirt and it soaked the waist of his worn trousers.

  If Marston ever saw that good for nothing son of a bitch who had stolen his horse, he’d kill the bastard—not that Marston should be surprised he’d had his horse stolen. He’d stolen his fair share of horses in his time.

  Marston glanced up at the bright yellow orb in the sky and cursed its very existence. The only purpose he could figure it served at that moment was making him unbearably hot and burning his skin. Without a word of warning to that ball of fire and heat, Marson pulled his .45 Colt and fired three quick shots straight up at it. Of course, that action accomplished nothing other than to give him a ringing in his ears and scare up several crows that had been resting in the thin branches of a nearby tree.

  He pulled three bullets from the bandolier across his chest and reloaded his gun with a smooth and practiced ease before holstering it. Swiping his forearm across his sweat slicked brow, Marston grumbled and then dug into his empty pockets on a fruitless search for a cigarette.

  “Wring that scrawny man’s neck is what I’ll do,” Marston growled as his boots dragged along the dust covered road. He didn’t care that he and Jeremiah had come from the same womb, he’d kill the bastard just the same for taking his horse and leaving him out here to die. While it was true that Marston had owed him money, Jeremiah should have known he’d pay him back. Stealing his horse had been completely unnecessary. At least his worthless brother had left him his saddlebags--which were heavy as lead and currently resting on Marston’s broad shoulder.

  With his tongue as dry as a powder keg and feeling ten times the size it should be, Marston lifted the canteen tied to his belt. He pulled the cork and laid the rim against his lips, tilting his head back as far as it would go. Marston swore he heard the sun laugh when not a single solitary drop rolled onto his waiting tongue. With a sigh of defeat stuck the cork back in the canteen and continued walking.

  Topping over a small rise, Marston’s gold eyes narrowed as he crouched instantly and took in the scene below and the opportunity he had just been presented with.

  He sat his hat on the dirt beside his scarred boots and shoved a calloused hand through his thick brown hair. A covered wagon with gleaming wood and shining brass parked beside a glistening water hole just down the hill. A pair of tired mules were hooked to the front of the wagon but several good horses were tied to the back. Marston saw one he truly liked. It was a tall, broad-chested gray with what appeared to be Marston’s name written across its forehead.

  Marston slid his gray wide-brimmed hat back on his head as he surveyed the group of people standing beside the water. It appeared to be a family group with a man, a woman, two young boys and a girl who appeared to be in her teens. They seemed to be all decked out in their Sunday best and Marston frowned.

  Was it Sunday? Or was it Tuesday? Hell, he didn’t know. Living the life he lived meant that he rarely had time to worry about the month and year let alone the day of the week. Truth was, Marston didn’t even know how old he was. According to the orphanage’s poor records, he was somewhere between thirty and thirty-five--they’d been unable to narrow it down any further than that because his whore of a mother hadn’t been very helpful.

  Marston checked the family for any sign of weapons and saw none. He himself was well armed with his .45 Colt, his Winchester rifle, his derringer and his eight inch knife strapped to his leg. Hell, he even had a few sticks of dynamite in his saddlebags. When Marston had left the orphanage he’d been taken in by a man named Duke. He’d ridden with the man’s gang for three years steady and still did from time to time when the mood struck him. Duke’s lessons had stuck with him and he still lived by many of them to this day. One of those lessons had been to always be prepared.

  With a sigh, Marston stood straight and headed down the hill with a confident stride and a friendly smile on his face. He wasn’t worried that he’d be recognized despite having several old wanted posters--whoever had drawn those up had been blind in one eye and couldn’t see well out the other. Marston had eaten lunch in the presence of several bounty hunters and shaken the hands of countless sheriffs, deputies, and US Marshalls since they’d been drawn up and no one had recognized him yet.

  Marston saw the alarm in the man’s eyes when he saw him coming and he couldn’t blame him. Marston was an intimidating man upon first sight. At six and a half feet tall, he was much taller than most other men, and he was broad and thick. Most even compared him to an oak tree. His black boots were scuffed, his trousers stained and his shirt was ripped and splattered with blood from the fight he’d been in the day before. Add to that his thickly bearded face, sharp golden eyes and numerous weapons and Marston would be pretty damn afraid of himself too if he were that man out here with his vulnerable family.

  “Hello folks,” Marston greeted kindly.

  The children quickly hid behind their mother and their father stepped forward cautiously. “Hello,” he greeted tightly.

  “It’s a hot one today, isn’t it?” Marston acknowledged as he stepped to the edge of the pool of water and crouched down. He sat his saddlebags down and splashed some of that cool water over his face and the back of his neck. After drinking his fill and filling up his canteen, he stood back up slowly and saw the man ushering his family quickly toward the wagon.

  “It’s uh.. It’s nice to meet you, sir,” the man stammered as his family clambered aboard the wagon. “We’ll just be on our way now.”

  Marston clicked his tongue several times and shook his head. He pulled his revolver and rested the
sights on the man’s fancy silk vest. “Stop right there, mister,” he warned, his voice just as friendly as it had been moments before. Marston might be a thief, gambler, murderer, gunslinger and outlaw but, he was never rude.

  “Sir, we don’t have anything to offer you,” the man’s shaky voice assured him.

  “I think you do,” Marston countered.

  The man glanced at his wife and Marston snorted. “No, I don’t have any interest in your woman. You see, I find myself in need of a horse and here I find you with a couple to spare.”

  “N..no, we need these horses. They are all we have and we’re moving out here to start up a homestead,” the man replied.

  “I think I need ‘em just a bit more than you do,” Marston winked. “I’ll just relieve you of whatever money you have as well.”

  “Just give him the horse!” the woman hissed fearfully.

  Marston smiled up at her on the wagon. The glare she was throwing in his direction would have probably made him feel guilty had he ever in his life learned to bother with emotions such as those. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Fine.” The man pointed toward the horses. “You can have the brown mare…”

  Marston scratched at his thick brown beard with the barrel of his revolver. “Ya see, I was kinda thinking I’d like that gray a little better.”

  “Fine!” the man exclaimed, his nerves obviously getting the better of him. “Take the gray just, please. Don’t hurt my family!”

  “Hurt your family?” Marston chuckled. “Sir, that thought had never crossed my mind.”

  The man’s shaking knees nearly buckled completely when Marston stepped forward and pressed his gun to his sweat slicked forehead. Screams and cries of shock rose up from the wagon. Marston smiled. “Money now,” he ordered sternly. Then he shrugged. “Please.”

  A short time later, Marston found himself sitting atop the broad gray with his pockets and his saddlebags loaded down with money, jewelry and valuables. This family had been wealthy--but now it was Marston who had quite a bit more wealth to his name than he’d had that morning.

  “Thank you folks kindly,” Marston called with a tip of his hat.

  “Please, leave us with some of our money… we need that to feed our family,” the man pleaded.

  Marston raised his brow and shook his head. “Those kids’ll be just fine. Folks will take one look at them and share their pot of soup, I reckon.”

  Marston started away from them and glanced back to see the teenage girl glaring at him from the back of the wagon. “Ma’am,” he greeted with a tip of his hat.

  “You’re evil!” she hissed.

  Marston laughed heartily. “I’ve certainly been called worse.” He rode off whistling a tune and feeling much better about life than he had just a short hour ago.

  Marston camped that night beside an outcropping of rocks and, after eating some hardtack biscuits and jerked beef from his saddlebags the next morning, he loaded up and headed north-east. He’d find Jeremiah and pay his brother dearest back for stealing his damn horse. Jeremiah was certainly going to regret doing that.

  The morning was still early and light fog hung in the air, covering the land like a blanket. Heavy dew weighed down the tops of the long grass and soaked the horse’s legs. Birds were singing and the sun was working to break through the layer of white clouds currently covering the blue sky.

  Marston rode along slowly, whistling his favorite tune and following a set of railroad tracks. The peace of the morning was suddenly interrupted by the snorting of a horse up ahead.

  All of Marston’s sharp senses were suddenly on high alert as he pulled up on the gray’s reins and brought the horse to a stop. He waited several quiet moments, scanning his surrounding to ensure he wasn’t being watched or followed, before clicking his tongue quietly and urging the gray forward. When he topped the small hill ahead of him he saw the horse who had been snorting.

  It was a brown mare with white feet and she was standing over the body of a man. She had her head down, grazing on the long grass as her reins dragged the ground. It was a nice horse and would fetch a good price in town if Marston could get his hands on her.

  Marston dismounted and stepped closer, prepared to pull his gun quickly if need be. He relaxed substantially when he saw the dark red blood covering the front of the man’s shirt. He stood over the old man and frowned down at him. The man’s eyes were closed, his skin was pale and his face was drawn. His frail chest was rising and falling rapidly but very shallowly and Marston could hear the gurgling of blood in his lungs as the same red substance oozed from the hole in his chest.

  This man was on the darker side of dead and that was for sure and for certain. There wasn’t a thing Marston could do that would help that and so he might as well just help himself to a few things and be on his way. If he didn’t do it then someone else much less deserving than himself would come along and do it for him.

  Marston crouched and reached for the dying man’s pocket. His hand was stopped in mid-air when the old man’s eyes suddenly flew open and pierced Marston with a dark blue stare. Marston found himself unable to look away from the man’s gaze as his colorless lips worked up and down, in an effort to speak.

  Assuming the man wanted someone to hear his dying words and since Marston had nothing better to do, he figured he could humor the man and listen. “What is it, old man?”

  The man coughed. Blood flew from his mouth and splattered against Marston’s cheek. “I n..need a favor,” he gasped, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper.

  Marston swiped at the crimson droplets on his cheeks and inclined his head to better hear the old man’s weak voice. A favor? Why would this man think that Marston would do him any favors? Then again, no harm could come from telling the man he’d do as he asked. After all, he’d be dead in a matter of minutes and never know that Marston had been lying.

  “What do ya need, fella?”

  “I..I was on my way h..home to Louisiana. I’ve spent..the last ten y..years in prison in ‘Frisco p..paying for past crimes…” the man said between shallow, rattling breaths.

  Marston nodded. “I heard that’s a rough prison,” he acknowledged, wishing this man would simply get on with it and die more quickly so he could be on his way.

  “Harper Louisiana… I need.. You to go there.”

  Marston pulled off his hat and ran his hand through his thick brown hair. Harper Louisiana? Harper was barely more than a pinpoint on any map and was about a week’s worth of riding away. What could possibly be so important there?

  “Why?” Marston questioned.

  “I need you to.. Take my money…to my wife.. And to my s..son.” the man winced with pain. “I..was…hoping to get to know…my son.” The man’s blue eyes were growing weaker by the second and Marston knew he’d be passing on soon enough.

  “Sure,” Marston lied. “I’ll take care of that for you.”

  The man reached out and grabbed a leather bag from beside him. He shakily raised it and shoved it into Marston’s chest. “H..here’s all the money. I wish…I had more to offer…They’ve been w..waiting ten years for me. Tell my boy..that I’m proud of him.”

  The man’s eyes began to slip closed and Marston couldn’t believe his luck. This man had just handed over his money willingly!“Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll make sure they get the message,” Marston lied again unable to wipe the grin from his face.

  He was about to stand when the man’s cold, pale hand closed around his arm. He looked back down and found the man’s sharp blue eyes once again staring up at him. “I’m..trusting you. Thank…the Lord for..sending y..you here to me.”

  Marston felt an uncomfortable pang in the pit of his stomach. He’d never in his life had anyone thank God for him and he didn’t like it a damn bit. “Sure, mister,” he grumbled as he tried to pull away.

  He was surprised when the man’s grip tightened and held him in place. Marston wouldn’t have guess a man this old and this near to death would be
so strong. “My..name is Langston. Please…give m..my love to Rose. Tell..her I love her… And to buy h..herself something nice…with the money.”

  Marston jerked his arm away and stood straight. “Sure. Whatever you want.” He wiped his hands on his pants. There was something about this man that Marston just didn’t like. Something about the way his blue eyes were so piercing and seemed to be looking straight through him and inside of him that made him uneasy. It was no wonder someone had shot the man and left him for dead. Hell, Marston was thinking of doing the job a little better than the last man had.

  “You..don’t understand… I want you..to give my love..to Rose,” Langston repeated.

  Marston nodded. “Sure, mister. I’ll tell your damn woman that you love her.”

  “No..give love..to her…” Those were the last words that the dying man uttered before his eyes slipped closed and his chest ceased to rise.

  Marston let out a sigh of relief before pulling a string on the leather sack in his hand and looking down inside. His eyes widened when he realized there had to be close to six hundred dollars in that bag.

  Where the devil had an old man who had spent the last ten years in prison get that kind of money? Marston looted the dead man’s pockets and smiled with victory when he found the tobacco and rolling papers inside. He also found a release paper from the prison with Langston Howell wrote on the top and the man’s name signed at the bottom.

  Marston folded up the paper and stuck it in his pocket before grabbing the brown mare’s reins. He led her over to the gray secured her to the other horse. Marston prepared himself to hop up onto the gray’s saddle but paused when he glanced over his shoulder at the dead man lying on the road.

  With a low grumble, Marston stomped back over to Langston and took him by the arms. He dragged his body away from the glaring sun and tossed him under the shade of a tree. Marston had no shovel to dig with and there weren’t enough rocks around here to cover a body. He was a good couple days ride from any town and he wasn’t about to drag a body with him. He could only hope that someone else would happen by and discover the man’s body before it rotted or critters got a hold of it. Chances of that seemed good since this was a fairly well-traveled road.