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Wyoming Renegade
Susan Amarillas
The Need For Vengeance Burned Inside Him Half-breed Josh Colter knew he'd never rest until he'd fulfilled his vow. Murder had been done. Justice must be served - even if it meant betraying the woman fate had decreed as his true-bound bride!The West was wild, open and free - and Alexandria Gibson knew that under the sun-streaked skies she'd found a world that spoke to her restless soul. And in the arms of Josh Colter it felt like paradise. But could she trust a man who harbored murder in his heart?
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#uef450d0f-6405-5121-9984-892f2955c270)
Excerpt (#u6ff8de7d-72b3-5178-8e75-251be77b4b4c)
Dear Reader (#u2feaa003-2024-5fcf-a718-8091a7bede7b)
Title Page (#ua7ba3413-9d94-53b6-9704-75fe9ed8fff4)
About the Author (#u3a275262-8922-5a5f-a0ec-becebfcbabb1)
Dedication (#ue988ff5b-4108-5fee-839f-1f2bc9257ef5)
Prologue (#ua7b923ce-6d45-55e2-9221-826b03d22151)
Chapter One (#u5da77dfe-d521-5b35-99d6-6477a369906e)
Chapter Two (#uf9b0dc6c-4f54-50ed-9d42-fbd4e7d65910)
Chapter Three (#u72878803-b200-5057-8688-2f4ce6f1d012)
Chapter Four (#u18cf8d1d-7792-5fbf-8a1a-3a579b14b75f)
Chapter Five (#uf6c52cae-7df8-54bb-8d58-108001ce96b7)
Chapter Six (#u7fedf34c-aae6-5d2a-9ee1-b04693772a03)
Chapter Seven (#uc217639d-bffb-5ceb-92e9-6720a536f399)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Colter, sometimes you can be a first-rate ass, Josh thought to himself.
“Aw, hell, Alex…” His guard slipped. He dragged out a chair and straddled it, keeping the back like a barricade between them. “I didn’t mean…” Josh slapped his hat down on the table and raked one hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. Sorry this happened. I feel like—”
“Like saying I told you so?” She made a small sound in the back of her throat that could have been a chuckle.
“Never,” he lied, having thought that exactly. She looked so pitiful. It was all he could do not to reach out and pull her into his arms, to hold her until the fear went away.
Don’t even think about it. She’s trouble. She’s the one woman in the world you can’t have.
Yeah, he knew that. So how come she was the one woman he wanted so much?
Dear Reader,
Josh Colter is a rancher on a trail of revenge. Alexandria Gibson is on a journey to find her brother. Both are looking for the same man in Susan Amarillas’s new Western, Wyoming Renegade. Susan’s last two books have won her 5
ratings from Affaire de Coeur and many new fans who’ve been eagerly awaiting this tale of two people who must choose between family, and love and honor. Don’t miss this exciting story.
Catherine Archer’s Lady Thorn is the story of a Victorian heiress who falls in love with a sea captain who promises her protection in exchange for her help in locating his son. We hope you’ll find this gifted author’s story—in the words of the reviewer from Affaire de Coeur— “impossible to put down.”
USA Today bestselling and multiaward-winning author Ruth Langan’s new series, THE JEWELS OF TEXAS, moves into full swing with this month’s Jade, the story of a small-town preacher who surrenders his soul to the town madam. And in Kate Kingsley’s new Western, The Scout’s Bride, a determined young widow decides to accept the help of a rugged army scout who has made himself her unwanted protector.
Whatever your taste in reading, we hope you’ll keep an eye out for all four titles wherever Harlequin Historicals are sold.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Harlequin Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie. Ont. L2A 5X3
Wyoming Renegade
Susan Amarillas
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SUSAN AMARILLAS
was born and raised in Maryland and moved to California when she married. She quickly discovered her love of the high desert country—she says it was as if she were “coming home.” When she’s not writing, she and her husband love to travel the back roads of the West, visiting ghost towns and little museums, and always coming home with an armload of books.
To my “big sister” Madeline Baker
There from the first, there for me still
Many thanks
Prologue (#ulink_c3e3e1fa-7d6d-5dde-9af0-155c6e547e1b)
Zeke Larson was going to die. He knew it, and so did his captor.
Moonlight, white and cold, flooded the valley, casting the red rocks in black shadows. The woeful howl of a coyote and Zeke’s harsh breathing were the only sounds.
He was strung up to a cottonwood tree like a damn four-pronged buck, his arms stretched painfully over his head, hemp rope cutting into his wrists. Every time he moved, the trickle of blood oozing from his side turned into a crimson rivulet.
Close by, stood his captor. A motherless gut-eating ‘breed by the dark look of him. Zeke hated half-breeds and Indians and just about anyone else who- wasn’t what he thought of as “his kind.”
“I’m telling you I ain’t the one you’re lookin’ for,” Zeke argued, not for the first time.
The man didn’t answer, just pushed the cold, hard barrel of his .45 deep into Zeke’s wound.
Zeke groaned against the searing pain. “Damn you, ‘breed!” he spat.
“Absarokee,” his captor corrected flatly. “Are you ready to tell me?” His voice was soft, almost serene, as though he hadn’t been torturing Zeke for the past several hours.
Zeke knew he could end it, knew what the bastard wanted. Damn ‘breed had said so plain enough at the beginning. He wanted the names of the other two who’d gunned down a group of Indians a couple of weeks back.
Zeke had denied everything, not that it had done him any good. Zeke liked to drink and he liked to brag. He had made the mistake of doing both at the local saloon. He figured that was how this coldhearted scum had gotten on his trail.
Now Zeke was trying frantically to come up with a way out of this—an excuse, an alibi, a deal. So far nothing had worked.
A sage-scented breeze rustled the leaves of the tree, but it didn’t do a thing to ease the sweat that beaded on his forehead. He swiped his face on his sleeve. He was determined to outlast this bastard. No Indian was gonna get the best of him!
“Are you ready to tell me?” his captor repeated.
“I don’t…know nothin’.” Zeke ground out the words between clenched teeth. That bit of defiance earned him another slap in his throbbing wound.
“Son of a bitch!”
“Tell me.”
Zeke wanted to stay alive, at least he did if he could get free of this. He knew the other man meant business, knew that once he told the bastard what he wanted to know, there was nothing and no one to stop his captor from killing him.
Another sudden slap against his wound and he wasn’t so defiant anymore. Pain pulsed and trembled through him, searing his mind and body in a blinding red haze. The scent of his own blood filtered into his nostrils, his sweat-soaked shirt clung to his chest.
It wasn’t any kind of loyalty that kept Zeke from spilling his guts; it was spite, and the knowledge that this information was the only thing keeping him alive. Besides, there wasn’t much to tell.
They’d split up right after their little “party.” Cordell had said he was headed south. Hell, that could be anyplace from Colorado to Texas. And there was the kid, Gibson. They’d picked him up in Gunlock. He had been working in a bank, of all things, and when they’d said they were headed out to look for ranch work, he’d come along, eager for excitement. Well, the tenderfoot had gotten his share, and then some.
A few days out of town, they’d spotted a bunch of Indians camped by Lazy Horse Creek. Zeke didn’t know one tribe from another, didn’t care. Everyone knew them redskins were causin’ trouble, slipping off the reservation, stealing horses and cattle. There were way too few soldiers to keep them in line, teach ‘em just who this land belonged to.
It hadn’t taken much talking, or much drinking, for the three of them to decide to ride on in and put the fear of God into them heathens. Why, it was a white man’s patriotic duty. Hell, they were only doing what the army did. They were probably saving some rancher’s life, they’d told themselves. It had seemed a mighty fine idea then.
Zeke lifted his head slightly to see that his captor had stepped directly in front of him. The breeze stirred the ‘breed’s shoulder-length hair and the moonlight caught on the beading of his buckskin shirt. Without a word, he put his gun barrel next to Zeke’s thigh and fired, the bullet ripping through flesh and muscle.
“You bastard!” Zeke snarled, then clamped his jaw down hard to hold back the scream. He yanked at the restraining ropes, wrapped skin-tearing tight around his wrists.
His captor only smiled, a slow menacing smile. “Tell me.”
Zeke remained silent. He tried to think of something, anything, but the constant pain. But no matter what he tried, the only thoughts that came were ones of them Indians. One in particular. He’d never seen such hatred in a pair of eyes, not that he’d cared. She was just some whoring squaw. He’d held her down and forced her legs apart. He’d rode her hard, ignoring her screams.
When he let her up, she’d charged at him, claws bared. He’d had to kill her—self-defense and all.
The sharp metallic click of a gun’s hammer being pulled back brought reality clearly and painfully into focus an instant before the gun fired, the bullet ripping through his other leg.
This time Zeke did scream. Blood soaked his clothes and his skin. Pain was a living force inside him. There were no other senses, no other emotions, only the pain and the knowledge that this was just the beginning. A man could last like this for days if he let himself.
“Anything! I’ll tell you!” he screamed.
“I’m waiting,” the man said quietly.
“Cut me down, dammit. I’ll tell you.”
There was a moment of hopeful silence, then the sound of the gun hammer being cocked again.
Zeke sagged in defeat. He told the man everything, the names, the smallest detail of descriptions, every little bit he knew about destinations. When he was done, he said, “Kill me. Just kill me and be done with it.”
“You mean quick?” his captor said, sliding his gun back into his holster. “Or do you mean slow, the way you killed my sister, you bastard?”
“Sister?” Zeke’s head came up and he was eye to eye with his tormentor. Moonlight illuminated the man’s face and eyes, hard eyes, black as Satan’s.
