by Linda Broday
In addition to that, and though it sounded rather trivial when compared to a hanging, Weston had taken Sam’s pocket watch during a stagecoach holdup a year ago. Sam tried to protect a payroll shipment, but Weston did the oddest thing. The outlaw took exactly fifty dollars, a paltry sum compared to what remained in the strongbox, and left the passengers’ belongings untouched. He did, however, seem to take particular delight in pocketing Sam’s prized timepiece. The way the wily outlaw singled Sam out was downright eerie. Weston knew exactly where to find the treasured keepsake. No rifling his pockets. No fumbling. No uncertainty. Memories of how Weston had flipped it open and stared intently at the inscription for almost a full minute before tucking it away drifted through Sam’s mind.
“Makes me mad enough to chew nails.” The thought filled Sam’s head with so many cuss words he feared it would burst open.
The captain leaned back in his chair and propped his boots on the scarred desk that Noah must’ve brought over on the ark. To make up for a missing leg, someone had cut a crutch and stuck it under there. “Sometimes we all get cases that sink their teeth into us and won’t let go.”
“I just about had him the last time.” And now the captain was forcing him to take time off. Sam would lose every bit of ground he’d gained.
Luke Weston had led him on a chase this past year from one end of Texas to the other. To this day, other than a vague outline of his figure, Sam had yet to glimpse anything solid except a pair of cold, pale green eyes glaring over the top of a bandana. Eyes that only held contempt and anger. Except for this last time, when they’d seemed to hold concern. But maybe he’d imagined that.
Damn! He really didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t anymore.
Maybe the captain was right.
Reaching for a poster that lay atop a pile on his desk, Captain O’Reilly passed it to Sam. “Got this yesterday.” Bold lettering at the top of the page screamed: WANTED! $1,000 reward for capture and conviction of notorious outlaw Luke Weston. Sought for robbery and murder. Armed and considered extremely dangerous.
The murder charge was new since the last poster Sam had seen. The reward had been only two hundred dollars then. He stared at the thick paper and narrowed his eyes, wondering whose fate had intersected with Luke Weston’s.
“Who did he kill?”
O’Reilly’s face darkened. “Federal judge. Edgar Percival.”
“Stands to reason Weston would turn to outright murder eventually. Seems every month he’s involved in a gunfight with someone, though folks say they were all men who needed killing.”
And yet the new charge did shock Sam. He’d come to know Weston pretty well. A period of four months separated each of the outlaw’s robberies, with only fifty dollars taken each time. And in every single instance, Weston had never shot anyone. Maybe he robbed out of boredom…or to taunt Sam.
“A bad seed.” The ranger captain’s chair squeaked when he leaned forward. “Some men are born killers.”
This poster, as with all the others, didn’t bear a likeness, not even a crude drawing. There were no physical features to go on. Frustration boiled. The lawman in him itched to be out there tracking Weston. The need to bring him to justice rose so strong that it choked Sam. Weston was his outlaw to catch, and instead, he’d been ordered home.
Hell! Spending one week on the huge Lone Star Ranch was barely tolerable. A month would either kill him, or he’d kill big brother Houston. The thought had no more than formed before guilt pricked his conscience. In the final moments before the outlaw had hit his horse and left Sam dangling by his neck, regrets had filled his thoughts. He’d begged God for a second chance so he could make things right.
Now, it looked like he’d get it. He’d make the time count. He’d mend bridges with his father, the tough Stoker Legend.
Family was there in good times and bad.
Despite his better qualities, Stoker had caused problems for him. Sam had driven himself to work harder, be quicker and tougher, to prove to everyone his father hadn’t bought his job. Overcoming the big ranch, the money, and the power the Legend name evoked had been a continuing struggle.
Captain O’Reilly opened his desk drawer, uncorked a bottle of whiskey, and gave his coffee a generous dousing. “Want to doctor your coffee, Sam?”
“Don’t think it’ll help,” he replied with a tight smile.
“Suit yourself.” The hardened ranger put the bottle away. The white scar on his cheek had never faded, left from a skirmish with the Comanche.
Sam studied that scar, thinking. Although Sam had intended to keep quiet about the woman he may or may not have bumped into on the way over, out of fear of being labeled a lunatic for sure, he felt a duty to say something. He wouldn’t voice doubts that he’d imagined it. “Cap’n, I saw something that keeps nagging at me. I collided with a young woman a few minutes ago. All I said was sorry, but a man grabbed her arm and shoved her into the alley between the mercantile and telegraph office. I saw fear in her eyes. When I followed, they got on a waiting horse and rode off. Can you send someone to check it out?”
Sam winced at how quickly doubts filled O’Reilly’s eyes. The captain was wondering if this was one more example of Sam breaking with reality. Hell! If he’d conjured this up, he’d commit himself into one of those places where they locked up crazy people.
O’Reilly twirled his empty cup. “After the bank robbery a few weeks ago, we don’t need more trouble. I’ll look into it.”
“Thanks. I hope it was nothing, but you never know.” Relieved, Sam took a sip of coffee, wishing it would warm the cold deep in his bones.
“When’s the train due to arrive, Legend?”
“Within the hour.” Sam would obey his orders, but the second his forced sabbatical was over, he’d hit the ground running. He’d dog Luke Weston’s trail until there wasn’t a safe place in all of Texas to even get a slug of whiskey. He’d heard the gunslinging outlaw spent time down around Galveston and San Antone. That, Sam reckoned, would be a good starting point.
O’Reilly removed his boots from the desk and sat up. “I seem to recall your family ranch being northwest of here on the Red River.”
“That’s right.”
“Ever hear of Lost Point?”
Sam nodded. “The town is west of us. Pretty lawless place, by all accounts.”
“It’s become a no-man’s-land. Outlaws moved in, lock, stock, and barrel. Nothing north of it but Indian Territory. Jonathan Doan is requesting a ranger to the area. Seems he’s struggling to get a trading post going on the Red River just west of Lost Point, and outlaws are threatening.”
“I’ll take a ride over there while I’m home. Weston would fit right in.”
“No hurry. Give yourself time to relax. Go fishing. Reacquaint yourself with the family, for God’s sake. They haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.”
“Sure thing, Cap’n.” The clock on the town square chimed the half hour, reminding him he’d best get moving. Relieved that O’Reilly had softened and allowed him to still work a little, Sam set down his cup. “Appears I’ve got a train to catch.”
O’Reilly shook his hand. “Get well, Sam. You’re a good lawman. Come back stronger than ever.”
“I will, sir.”
At the livery, Sam hired a boy to fetch his bags from the hotel and take them to the station. After settling with the owner and collecting his buckskin gelding, Sam rode to meet the train. He shivered in the cold, steady downpour. The gloomy day reflected his mood as he moved toward an uncertain future. He was on his way home.
To bind up his wounds. To heal. To become the ranger he needed to be.
And he would—come hell or high water, mad as a March hare or not.
Right on time, amid plumes of hissing white steam, the Houston and Texas Central Railway train pulled up next to the loading platform.
Sam quickly
loaded Trooper into the livestock car and paid the boy for bringing his bags. After making sure the kerchief around his neck hid his scar, he swung aboard. He had his pick of seats since the passengers had just started to file on. He chose one two strides from the door.
Shrugging from his coat, he sat down and got comfortable.
A movement across the narrow aisle a few minutes later drew his attention, as a tall passenger wearing a low-slung gun belt slid into the seat. Sam studied the black leather vest and frock coat. Gunslinger, bounty hunter, or maybe a gambler? Bounty hunter seemed far-fetched—he’d never seen one dressed in anything as fine. Such men wasted no time with fancy clothing. A gunslinger, then. Few others tied their holster down to their leg. No one else required speed when drawing. Likely a gambler too. Usually the two went hand in hand.
His coloring spoke of Mexican descent. Lines around the traveler’s mouth and a gray hair or two in his dark hair put him somewhere around the near side of thirty. Though he wore his black Stetson low on his forehead, he tugged it even lower as he settled back against the cushion.
The fine hairs on Sam’s arm twitched. He knew this man. But from where? For the life of him, he couldn’t recall. He leaned over. “Pardon me, but have we met?”
Without meeting Sam’s gaze, the man allowed a tight smile. “Nope.”
Darn the hat that bathed his eyes in dusky shadows. “I’m Sam Legend. Name’s not familiar?”
“Nope.”
He’d been so certain the man looked familiar. “Guess I made a mistake.” Maybe his madness had taken over again. Odd that the man hadn’t introduced himself, though.
“Appears so, Ranger.”
How did he know Sam was a ranger? He wore no badge. “My apologies,” Sam mumbled.
The train engineer blew the whistle and the mighty iron wheels began to slowly turn.
Sam swung his attention back to the gunslinger. A few more words, and he’d be able to place him, surely. “Would you have the time, Mr.…?” Sam asked.
“Andrew. Andrew Evan.” The man flipped open his timepiece. “It’s ten forty-five.”
“Obliged.” Finally, a name. Not that it proved helpful. Sam was sure he’d left his real one at the Texas border, as men with something to hide tended to do. By working extra hard trying to make himself invisible, Evan had as much as declared that he had things to conceal.
Worse, the longer Sam sat near Andrew, the stronger the feeling of familiarity grew. And that was something Sam’s brain had not conjured up. He glanced out the window at the passing scenery, trying to make sense of the thoughts clunking around in his head. When he next looked over at Andrew Evan, Sam wasn’t surprised to find the slouching gunslinger’s head against the seat with his hat tilted over his eyes.
The hair on his neck rose. Sam felt Andrew’s eyes watching from beneath the brim of the Stetson. Then he saw a muscle twitch in Andrew’s jaw and watched his Adam’s apple slide slowly up and down.
Tension electrified the air.
As Sam stared at Evan’s hands, searching for the tattoo, a woman rushed down the aisle. She came even with them just as the train took a curve and tumbled headlong into his lap. He found himself holding soft, warm curves encased in dark wool.
Stark fear darkened the blue eyes staring up at him, and her bottom lip quivered.
A jolt went through him. Lucinda? But no—it couldn’t be her. Yet this girl had Lucinda Howard’s black hair and blue eyes framed by thick sooty lashes.
His body responded against his will as he struggled with the memory. Hell! At last, he realized this girl was not the faithless lover he’d once known.
But she was the woman he’d collided with on his way to Ranger headquarters.
“Are you all right, miss?”
“I–I’m so sorry,” she murmured.
He felt her icy hand splayed against his chest through the fabric of his shirt, where it had landed when she tried to break her fall.
“Are you in trouble? I can help.”
“They’re—I’ve got to—” The mystery woman pushed away, extricating herself from his lap. With a strangled sob, she ran toward the door leading into the next car.
Sam looked down. Prickles rose on the back of his neck.
A bloody handprint stained his shirt.
Three
He knew for damn sure he hadn’t made her up this time. Sam grabbed his coat and hurried after the woman. If she was injured, she’d possibly need the coat. A muscle worked in his jaw. He’d make any man rue the day he tried to harm a woman.
Not seeing her among the group in the next coach, he hurried through. Maybe she was out on the small platform separating them from the baggage car.
A pair of fearful blue eyes framed by thick dark lashes swam in his mind, along with the faint fragrance of wild honeysuckle. He had to find her. He had a feeling her life depended on it. But she wasn’t on the platform either. That left one option. She could only be hiding with the mailbags and luggage, and sooner or later, whoever was after her would figure that out too.
And when they did, they’d find themselves staring at his Colt.
Sam put on his coat to free his hands. Sliding his weapon from the holster, he opened the door. Swollen by the rain, the wood scraped loudly against the floor. He flinched. So much for trying to keep quiet.
Shadows greeted him and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.
“Don’t be afraid, ma’am. I’m Texas Ranger Sam Legend.” Movement behind a stack of luggage drew his attention. “I’m here to protect you. Are you injured?”
Please let her answer and quiet the doubts in my head that she is real.
She stood. Even from his position in the doorway, her fear rolled over him, engulfing Sam like thick fog.
“You can trust me.” He shut the door and moved slowly toward her. “Are you hurt?”
“Not badly. A cut on my hand—my throat.” She moved out of her hiding place. “They’ll do worse if they find me.”
“Who?”
“Isaac Ford and his gang,” she whispered.
Sam’s mouth tightened in anger. He might’ve known. Ford had a reputation for terrorizing folks, women in particular. Sam had dealt with the man over the years and even put him away for a time. Trouble was, Ford never stayed behind bars long.
“I won’t let him get you.” As Sam’s thoughts flew to finding a plan, the train began to slow. “I’m going to get you off this train when we stop at the water station just ahead. What is your name?”
“Sierra Hunt. Thank you, Ranger.” She rested a trembling hand on his arm. “They mean to kill me.”
Though cold, her touch warmed something deep inside Sam. Sierra Hunt settled his mind and grounded him in a way nothing else had before or since the hanging.
“Ain’t gonna happen if I have anything to say about it, Miss Sierra. You’re shivering.” He removed his coat and draped it around her shoulders. Where was the cloak he’d seen her in earlier? She’d need something on her head when they went out into the storm.
Sam directed her to a seat on a large trunk. “I’m guessing you lost your cloak.”
“Forgot it when I saw my opportunity and ran.”
He spied an empty mailbag hanging on a nail. Grabbing it, he took the knife from his boot and sliced the thick burlap up the side. “That’s a pretty name you’ve got. Don’t think I’ve ever heard it before on a woman. Only know Sierra from the large mountain range.”
“That’s where my parents got it from.”
Sam noticed the smile that trembled on her lips. But then, Ford could frighten anyone half to death. “Here’s what’s going to happen. When we come to a complete stop, we’re heading to the livestock car for horses. Then we’re leaving Ford and the train behind. It’s still storming out, so put this burlap on your head. Maybe it’ll help.”
&n
bsp; Sierra took the bag and started to remove the coat.
“No, keep it. You need it worse. Why is Ford after you?”
“I don’t know. Last evening, just after dark, he burst into my brother’s office and took me. I tried to escape, but Ford caught me and forced me onto a horse. I spent the cold night in a cave with him and the other six gang members. They…” She put a trembling hand to her mouth. “We rode back to town this morning, and that’s when I ran into you.”
“And you have no idea why he wants you?”
“He held a gun to my head and kept yelling something about giving him a map. Crazy talk about treasure. I’ve never seen a map. My brother only runs a modest newspaper. I don’t know anything.”
No telling with Ford. Maybe he had a rung or two missing from his ladder, too. But the way she lowered her eyes and the little hitch in her breath said she knew more than she was saying. He considered pushing for the truth, then decided to let it be. No use trying to get more out of her just now.
Sam sat down beside her. “It doesn’t take much for outlaws to get something in their heads, and when they do, there’s no getting it out.”
The faint scent of honeysuckle circled him. He wished he could put his arm around her shoulders, but seeing as how they’d just met, it seemed wrong. She’d probably box his ears. Suddenly, his mouth quirked at the corners. Maybe that would fix his fool head.
“I feel safe here with you, Ranger.”
“Sam. Call me Sam.”
They sat in companionable silence, listening to the rain pounding on the metal roof. She’d talked of feeling safe. He didn’t know many people who made him feel that way. His father, his brothers—the men of Legend.
Stoker Legend had been one of the first settlers to North Texas and took up arms in the war for independence. He’d fought Comanches, braved fires, floods, and outlaws to plunk down roots so deep nothing short of a twenty-mule team and thirty pounds of dynamite could yank them out. No stronger, tougher, more fearsome man walked the earth than Stoker Legend. He’d carved his name on Texas land with his blood.
