скачать книгу бесплатно
Wed To The Texas Outlaw
Carol Arens
A bride to redeem an outlaw!The only way Boone Walker can escape jail is by capturing the fearsome King brothers. But to do that he needs Melinda Winston’s help – and that means making her his wife!After being valued only for her beauty, Melinda is delighted to find a man who sees her for who she truly is. Even as their mission leads them into ever greater danger Boone proves to be courageous and honourable beyond measure, and Melinda determines to show her outlaw husband that he is worthy of redemption…
She arched a delicately shaped brow.
“I am the woman who has a signed certificate of marriage. I’m also addressed as Mrs. Walker. I am the woman who has shared the loft with you, whose bosom you have slept upon.” She curled up her fists and pressed them against his chest. “That makes you my husband.”
“Not the one you deserve. I’m—”
“Mine.”
“No.”
But he was hers. Whether he ought to be or not didn’t change the reality.
Oh, hell. He cupped her cheeks in his hands then came down upon her lips, kissing them hard.
Author Note (#ulink_897ed1f2-ad4f-5d79-a892-1da0bf10c9a7)
Do you love stories of redemption? They are among my favourites.
To see our heroes and heroines face their demons and come out the better for it is deeply satisfying. To see them turn from an ugly past to walk in the light of love is at the heart and soul of courage.
In Wed to the Texas Outlaw Boone Walker must fight ruthless criminals. But none of them is more difficult to conquer than the guilt he harbours over his own past. His road to redemption might be a darkly troubled one were it not for Melinda Winston, walking beside him, lighting his path with her unshakeable trust. I hope you enjoy this story of darkness to light, of desperation to joy and new beginnings.
May the spirited Melinda Winston charm you. May the outlaw Boone Walker steal your heart.
Wed to the Texas Outlaw
Carol Arens
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CAROL ARENS delights in tossing fictional characters into hot water, watching them steam, and then giving them a happily-ever-after. When she’s not writing she enjoys spending time with her family, beach-camping or lounging about a mountain cabin. At home, she enjoys playing with her grandchildren and gardening. During rare spare moments you will find her snuggled up with a good book.
Carol enjoys hearing from readers at carolarens@yahoo.com (mailto:carolarens@yahoo.com) or on Facebook.
In loving memory of Jim Reed, who never left home without his pocket full of dog treats. Brother, we will always remember you as a best friend to man’s best friend.
Contents
Cover (#u36bb1b48-9476-5417-9d9d-a76617c02232)
Introduction (#u84de3758-09f0-5266-9f89-1906e538411f)
Author Note (#u66d8036d-c4bb-5c18-a922-725325df7a78)
Title Page (#ua4a5d800-3119-50f9-81a2-15f6ee8d161a)
About the Author (#u92b15758-ef1e-595c-bd26-801568214abd)
Dedication (#u4f8c7f8e-68d7-5c4d-a865-8174e29c7652)
Chapter One (#u545122e9-f1e6-5a12-a96d-3e41b95170b0)
Chapter Two (#ue69a28b9-4ecf-5396-ab1b-ebb2b49349f4)
Chapter Three (#u5e7747b7-7acb-540b-bbce-8dfdb17d7d2a)
Chapter Four (#ud0418b67-9176-50ff-9c99-451ead1a5550)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
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)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_0d002b5c-69fa-5173-9f12-bb068735567a)
Buffalo Bend, Texas, October, 1883
In the courthouse of the Honorable Harlan J. Mathers, located at the rear of the Golden Buffalo Saloon
“Mr. Walker, do I have at least your partial attention?”
The edge of impatience in the judge’s voice snapped Boone Walker back to the here and now. He shifted his gaze from the woman seated beside his lawyer to the matter at hand.
“Beg pardon, Your Honor.” From his seat on the elevated defendant’s chair, Boone tried to direct his full attention to the proceedings but it wasn’t easy with the piano player on the other side of the thin wall practicing the tunes he, no doubt, intended to perform this evening.
To Boone’s mind it sounded jarring and cheap. Even though he’d lived a tawdry life on the run from the law, he didn’t care for the irritating sound.
“Keep in mind that we are determining your future,” the judge declared, glaring at him from under bushy gray brows. “The decisions made here might grant you your freedom.”
He doubted that. Even if Judge Mathers personally handed him the keys to his prison cell, he couldn’t imagine that he would ever really be free.
Public opinion had branded him an outlaw and that stigma would follow him forever; a dirty shadow that the brightest day would not diminish.
A gust of October wind blew a hail of yellow and red leaves past the courthouse window. Public opinion or not, he wouldn’t mind having these cuffs off his wrists so that he could gather a pile of autumn’s glory, toss it up and watch the leaves fly where they might and land where they pleased.
In spite of the judge’s admonition, his attention returned to the woman. The public at large had not been admitted to this hearing. Other than a few curious faces peeking through the dust-smeared window, there was only him, an armed guard, his tenderfoot lawyer and the lady.
And she was clearly a lady, as pretty as they came. She leaned forward in her chair, watching intently while Stanley Smythe paced and presented his case. Her eyes crinkled in concentration, a fine line creased her forehead nearly to her hairline. But it was the slight parting of her lips that intrigued him and kept his attention returning to her when it should be on the outcome of these proceedings.
Why was she here? He was certain he didn’t know her. The women he had been acquainted with his whole life had not been ladies—beginning with the wife of the man he had shot all those years ago.
“Let me present to you a boy, Your Honor.” His lawyer, Stanley Smythe, swept his arm dramatically toward Boone. The little man stood as proudly as his five-foot-and-about-three-inch frame would allow. “Imagine, if you will, the boy Boone Lantree used to be before he crossed paths with a certain kind of woman. What chance did he have against that cunning taker of innocence? A scarlet woman to the core? And she, along with a vagrant known to be intoxicated at the time, the only witnesses to the presumed crime, other than the defendant’s brother.”
“I’ve read your letter, Mr. Smythe, and might I point out that Mr. Walker is no longer a defendant but a convicted murderer?”
“Wrongly convicted, as you will see once I have presented the facts.”
The woman bobbed her head vigorously in agreement. A dislodged curl at her temple bounced with her nodding. Apparently the pretty stranger was aware of Smythe’s facts. He couldn’t imagine why she would be, though.
Couldn’t imagine why the young lawyer had taken a shine to his case, either.
He’d never even met the man until yesterday. But five months ago, the one-year anniversary of his conviction, he’d received a letter from Smythe asking to represent him in having his verdict overturned.
Since then they had corresponded by mail and he’d learned that the fellow wanted to make a name for himself.
Didn’t explain who the woman was, though. The lawyer’s wife maybe, but trying to picture them together...well, it didn’t seem likely.
“Let’s get on with it, then.” Judge Mathers waived his hand to the empty room. “I’ve got a jury trial coming up at one o’clock and I could use my noon meal before I get into it.”
“Yes, indeed,” Smythe agreed with curt a nod. “Picture, then, our young innocent, his pockets full of earnings from his first payday working as a janitor for the general store. A meager amount to be sure, but the boy’s own for the spending. Now imagine a grown woman with her rouged cheeks and swaying hips seeing the boy and figuring him for an easy mark. She flirts with him, his eager young heart takes a tumble.”
As he recalled the event, it wasn’t his heart that reacted so much as his—but after a few moments of Martha Mantry’s flirting, it was true that he had fallen under her spell. And it had to be said that he had not known Martha was married.
“Our boy believes the woman has taken a shine to him just as he has to her. So he follows her to her room, full of eager innocence—a lamb to the slaughter, if you will—unaware that Elliot Mantry, the deceiver’s husband and partner in crime is hiding in the closet, waiting to steal every cent the boy worked so hard to earn.”
The lawyer did put a nice spin on things. Boone’s money had been hard-earned—it was just that he’d meant to give it to Martha after she had relieved him of his virginity. He wouldn’t have minded his empty pocket in that event, but having the money stolen rankled even after all these years.
Harlan Mathers yawned while glancing at the clock. This was not a good sign. Boone would feel more encouraged had the judge appeared to be interested in his case.
“Put yourself in young Boone’s place, Your Honor. We have all been that age at one time.”
This line of argument seemed to intrigue the woman. Her lips parted another half inch while her blue eyes blinked wide. She glanced back and forth between Smythe and Mathers.
“Let’s get to the hammer and nails of the subject, shall we?” Mathers drummed his fingers on his desk. “My noon meal won’t stay warm forever.”
Lunch didn’t seem a half-bad idea to Boone, either.
“I’m merely setting the scene.” Stanley Smythe smoothed his tweed vest with trim, slender fingers and squared his shoulders. “So the events that followed will be in perspective.”
“It’s clear enough, Mr. Smythe. A boy who had no business bringing his money to town lost it to a pair of con artists, got drunk and challenged one of them to a gun fight. Elliot Mantry, who was also drunk, may or may not have been reaching for his gun. His widow, watching from the window, says that he was not. The facts were confirmed by a fellow who could barely stand or speak.”
“That is the story that convicted my client. But as you know, the woman did not testify to this in court because she was serving time for continuing her treachery against other children. Boys who ought to have grown to be the pillars of society, the rocks upon which law and order depend. But instead, because of Mrs. Mantry, they were led down the path of depravity. Like young Boone, here, they have been forced into a life they would not have chosen.”
Being caught up in Smythe’s story, some of it true and some far-fetched, he nearly forgot the woman with Smythe until she sniffled and dashed a tear from her eye.
“May I speak, Your Honor?” she asked.
All of a sudden the judge didn’t look so bored. His face lit up and he was all smiles, and she, pretty dimples flashing, smiled back.
With a rustle of feminine-sounding cloth, she stood then folded her dainty gloved hands demurely in front of her.
He’d like to see the man who didn’t swallow every word the enticing creature had to say.
Boone would decide later if he believed her or not. Years ago he had believed everything Martha Mantry had told him and look where that had gotten him. Over time he had discovered that women could be skilled at getting what they wanted by flashing a comely smile or a swishing a pair of rounded hips.
Just what was it that this one wanted?
“I would simply like to ask that you look at your own past, Your Honor, or at your own grandchildren, if you are blessed.” Miss Every Man’s Dream wrung her fingers. “Even little girls are born with a spoonful of mischief. The only difference between Mr. Walker and myself is a bit of good luck.”
That and the fact that she had not likely ever put her lips to a bottle of whiskey or carried a gun on her hip thinking the world was as easily conquered as the dust under her boots.
“And here is something to consider...did you realize that Boone Walker has a twin brother?” She arched a pair of prettily shaped brows. “At first, this might not seem to relate to Mr. Walker’s situation, but upon reflection you will see that it does. The boys’ parents named them the same name. Boone Lantree and Lantree Boone. I ask you, sir, what kind of parents name their children the same name? Lazy ones, I say, and uncaring—the boys were doomed from the start by the very people who were supposed to nurture them.”
She sure as shooting wasn’t describing his folks. They were not lazy or uncaring. Ma and Pa had named them for their grandfathers. By giving him and his brother both of the names, no one got offended.
Since he didn’t know what the woman was up to, and she seemed to be on his side, he didn’t correct her. Probably should, though. It wasn’t right to let Ma and Pa’s memory be sullied. Every day it ate at him; how he’d caused them grief over the years. They had gone to their rewards many years back from fevers, he’d come to find out. He always wondered if they died believing the things said about him.
“A twin, you say?” The judge leaned forward on his elbows. “If the parents were so neglectful, what became of Lantree Boone Walker? What has he done with his life?”
The woman sighed, looking sorrowful.
Did she know Lantree? His brother had always been a square shooter, always the responsible one.
He ought to have asked his lawyer about Lantree, but never had. Too much of a coward, he guessed, to come face-to-face with what his running must have cost his twin. Even given their opposite personalities, he and his brother had been close growing up. Right up until the day Boone had run, leaving Lantree cradling the body of a dead man.
Smythe did mention that it was Lantree who was paying his fees. He did know that little bit.
“He’s a hardscrabble cowboy, branding, roping, cussing.” She shook her head in what he saw as exaggerated sorrow but the judge seemed too smitten with her pretty pout to notice the insincerity.
She was truthful about the cussing, though. His brother did cuss. “Hell and damn” as he remembered it. The phrase was his brother’s one claim to wildness.
He doubted that Lantree had changed that much over the years. Must be that the woman was trying to show that because of Ma and Pa, neither of them had had a chance at growing up respectable.
Hell, being a cowpoke wasn’t so unrespectable, not like being an outlaw was.
