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Wild West Wife
Susan Mallery
Return to 1800s Whitehorn, Montana, in this fan favorite from New York Timesbestselling author Susan Mallery.All Haley Winthrop wants is a chance at building a home and family. So, after corresponding with a wealthy rancher, Lucas Stone, she finds herself in a stagecoach bound for Montana, where she will become Lucas's wife. But before she even arrives her coach is held up by a bandit. And he doesn't want money; he wants Haley. He has some disturbing things to tell her about her future husband…Jesse Kincaid is only interested in one thing: to take revenge on the man who had his father killed. So he lies in wait and kidnaps the man's fiancée from her passing stagecoach. But he didn't count on the bride-to-be, Haley, being so beautiful, so beguiling. Can he convince her that she's about to marry the wrong man before it's too late?
Return to 1800s Whitehorn, Montana, in this fan favorite from New York Times bestselling author Susan Mallery.
All Haley Winthrop wants is a chance at building a home and family. So, after corresponding with a wealthy rancher, Lucas Stone, she finds herself in a stagecoach bound for Montana, where she will become Lucas’s wife. But before she even arrives her coach is held up by a bandit. And he doesn’t want money; he wants Haley. He has some disturbing things to tell her about her future husband…
Jesse Kincaid is only interested in one thing: to take revenge on the man who had his father killed. So he lies in wait and kidnaps the man’s fiancée from her passing stagecoach. But he didn’t count on the bride-to-be, Haley, being so beautiful, so beguiling. Can he convince her that she’s about to marry the wrong man before it’s too late?
Wild West Wife
Susan Mallery
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
Cover (#ua703bf3d-141b-56d9-9bc3-82de3cb0cd41)
Back Cover Text (#uf99fa7e7-ded3-543e-8787-b7649da24ab6)
Title Page (#u8d86d132-3287-5eac-ac97-a24da78004b3)
Chapter One (#ulink_e334c0be-6379-5298-895b-f65d32734a47)
Chapter Two (#ulink_769dfbe1-6a3d-54f7-9a77-6fe8e89792c7)
Chapter Three (#ulink_e3257843-b88c-56c4-9183-f23b9b7fcad1)
Chapter Four (#ulink_1276410f-bc3e-52c2-99af-466e9371853f)
Chapter Five (#ulink_7b04f551-fc73-5db3-bede-3921e9e95319)
Chapter Six (#ulink_13cbaf7c-b3d5-5c02-b9d6-67fac49d1ac4)
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)
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)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_978f602d-18c8-5e32-b395-b6cb4f2f8252)
Montana, 1879
Jesse Kincaid might not have sold his soul to the devil, but he’d come as close to it as a man could and still expect to head north upon his passing.
Despite the faint sound of hoofbeats in the distance, he allowed himself to be distracted by the quiet beauty of the late afternoon. Winter had finally left Montana and the lush growth of spring promised a long and warm summer. The calving season had gone well...at least that’s what he’d been told. He couldn’t speak from firsthand experience. The herd he and his father had built over the past ten years had been scattered when the ranch had been attacked and his father murdered. Nothing was left but a partially burned house, a legion of memories and the promise he’d made to exact revenge on those responsible.
Because of that, because of the vow he’d sworn on a cold, rainy night the previous October, he now stood by the rutted path that passed for a road and prepared to defy all that his parents had taught him. Because of that, he risked his very soul, raising his rifle as the weekly stage came into view.
He had a momentary second thought. He’d played pranks as a child—just as all boys did. But he’d been raised with good values and a strong sense of right and wrong. Doing the wrong thing for the right reason didn’t set well with him.
“You don’t have a choice,” he muttered aloud, knowing that while the end didn’t justify the means, sometimes justice had to be helped along.
Six powerful horses pulled the large stagecoach. The conveyance swayed, the leather straps under the carriage doing little to absorb the bumps of the road. They were too far away for him to be able to see in the window and identify the passengers, but he knew she was there. He’d received a wire two days before saying she’d made the connection and would be arriving in Whitehorn today. Stoner might be expecting her, but Jesse was determined to make sure she didn’t arrive. At least not right away.
He fitted the butt of the rifle against his shoulder and took careful aim. One well-placed shot would break the axle he’d weakened earlier and bring the carriage to a stop without too much risk. The trick was to time it so they didn’t tip. While he might be prepared to kidnap an innocent woman and hold her hostage, he didn’t want anyone’s death on his hands.
The path leveled out just before a sharp turn. The horses slowed in anticipation of the bend and Jesse pulled the trigger.
The single gunshot spooked the horses. Two of them reared up and pawed at the air. The driver held tightly on the reins and yelled at them to calm down. Seconds later there was a loud crack as the weight of the carriage split the axle and the rear of the stagecoach sank to the ground.
The left rear wheel splintered, then the right rear came loose and rolled away. The instant deadweight jerked the horses in their harnesses and the animals stopped. Several frightened cries filled the afternoon, startling birds into flight.
Jesse walked toward the stagecoach. He’d lowered his rifle, but he was alert and prepared to use it if pushed. Pray God no one decided to play hero and make that necessary. As Jesse stepped out of the bushes, Charlie, the driver, spotted him. The older man looked shaken, but otherwise unhurt.
Bushy gray eyebrows drew together. “That you, Jesse?” Charlie asked. “You hear that? We was shot. Damnation, I want to know who the hell is shooting at the stage. We ain’t got no money on this run. Folks know that. Supplies and passengers. Next week is the payroll. Damnation, I hate it when people can’t keep the schedule straight.”
He glanced around uneasily, then climbed down, moving awkwardly on the tilting stage. “You see anything? You get a look at the good-for-nothing who done this?”
“Stop right there,” Jesse said quietly.
Charlie ignored him. “It just don’t make sense to me. Why this run? We ain’t got nothing important. Shoot. Now we all gotta walk to town. You know how far that is?”
“About four miles,” Jesse said. He’d already figured that out. He’d been careful when he’d picked the spot to attack the stage. He wanted them close enough to town that they could walk in and tell everyone what happened, but not so close that he wouldn’t have time for a clean escape.
Charlie pulled off his worn hat and wiped his bald head. “And we was running early, too.”
“Charlie,” Jesse said, raising his rifle to his shoulder. “I need you to let your passengers out.”
Charlie’s watery brown eyes widened as he noticed the gun for the first time. “Jesse? What’s going on?”
“I’ve got some business with one of your passengers. That’s all. Just do what I tell you, Charlie. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
The stage door rattled from the inside. “Sir!” a man called. “We seem to be trapped. Sir? I say, stage driver? Can you hear me?”
Charlie rolled his eyes. “Damn fool prissy Easterners. Got a load of ’em. Not a one has a lick of sense ’cept for Miz Winthrop. She even figured out I’ve got a name, if you can believe that.”
Jesse bit back a curse of impatience. So much for his life of crime. He couldn’t get Charlie to pay attention to him. He took aim at the left front wheel and put a shot cleanly through one of the spokes.
Charlie jumped. “Damnation, Jesse, what’s going on? You could’ve just asked me to stop the stage. You don’t have to keep shootin’ it. There ain’t gonna be enough left for kindling.”
“Put your hands behind your back.”
“What?” The old man stared at him. “Jesse? You mean you’re doing this? You’re gonna hold me up?”
“Yes, Charlie. I don’t have a choice.” He moved next to the other man and drew out the length of rope he’d strung through his belt loops. It took only a couple of minutes to secure Charlie’s hands behind his back. Gently, he led him to the stage. “Have a seat,” he said and helped him sit down.
Confusion darkened Charlie’s gaze. “Jesse, I’ve known you for years. Since you were just a boy. This ain’t like you, son.”
“I know.” He shrugged, then added, “I’m sorry.” As if the feeble words would make a difference.
“Would someone please tell me what is going on out there?” the cultured male voice demanded. “I say, stage driver, we are quite thoroughly trapped in this conveyance. While we are unhurt, the ladies are most uncomfortable. We can’t see any Indians, but perhaps a small bribe would be enough—”
Jesse jerked open the stage door, effectively cutting off the man’s tedious commentary. The unexpected action sent the male passenger sprawling facedown into the dirt. Jesse barely spared him a glance. Instead he stared intently into the darkness of the stage, searching the passengers for the one he sought.
Three terrified women stared back from the floor of the stage where they lay in a pile of skirts and petticoats. The best dressed of the three was obviously the wife of the complainer. Her pinched expression and pale, bejeweled hands spoke of her unfamiliarity with hard work. The second passenger looked like Jesse’s grandmother, and he had a jolt of conscience at the thought that the unexpected stop might have injured her.
“Ma’am?” he said, trying to sound as unthreatening as possible. “Are you hurt?”
Gray corkscrew curls covered her forehead and danced across her weathered skin as she slowly shook her head. “Mr. Prichard said we were likely to be attacked by Indians, but you don’t look like an Indian to me. This is an attack, isn’t it?”
She sounded nearly excited by the prospect.
“Yes, ma’am, it is, but I’m not going to hurt you.”
The wealthy woman clutched her hand to her flat bosom and moaned. “He means to ravish us. Surely that is a fate worse than death.”
Jesse glanced at her husband, still sprawled in the dirt, and figured if her alternative was bedding down with him, then yes, it probably was. Then he wondered what the woman thought he was going to do. There were, after all, three of them and only one of him. Surely she couldn’t expect him to ravish them all on his own. He enjoyed his time with the ladies, but he had his limits.
The thoughts were nearly enough to distract him. Nearly. But even as he decided he wasn’t going to reply to the question of ravishing, he turned his attention to the third woman...and the reason he’d had to hold up the stage in the first place.
He hadn’t realized he’d created a picture of Haley Winthrop in his mind until he was surprised by her appearance and realized his picture was wrong. She was young, but he’d expected that. Wide green eyes, filled with as much curiosity as fear, seemed to dominate her face. Freckles and a faint tan told him that she frequently went without a proper bonnet. She sat on the floor of the off-balance stage and held the older woman protectively in her arms. She didn’t look big enough or strong enough to hold off a half-grown boy, but there was a set of determination in the angle of her chin. Maybe she was tougher than she looked. He hoped so, for her sake.
“Miss Winthrop,” he said politely. “I’d like you to come with me.”
The wealthy woman moaned. “He’s going to ravish us all. Harold? Harold, you must save me.”
Harold stirred on the ground. “Yes, my love. Unhand those women, sir.”
Jesse thought about pointing out the fact that he hadn’t gotten to the point where he was actually touching one of them so there was no unhanding to be done. Instead, trying to ignore the bad feeling at the base of his spine, he turned and found Harold holding a small derringer aimed at his heart.
“It’s very effective,” the other man said. “And I’m not afraid to use it.”
“Me, either,” Jesse told him and slipped a cartridge into the rifle. “Want to see who’s still standing after a shooting competition?” he asked calmly as he took a sight on Harold’s skinny chest. “At this distance you’d be real hard to miss.”
“Jesse, what in tarnation are you thinking?” Charlie demanded. “You can’t kill him, even if he deserves it.”
Jesse knew that and he didn’t appreciate the reminder. While Harold was busy trying to figure out if he could get out of this situation without getting shot, Jesse decided to settle the matter for both of them. Without warning, he kicked hard, hitting the other man’s wrist. The derringer went spinning and Harold yelped like a dog.
“You broke it,” he managed, cradling his injured wrist in his good hand. “I heard a bone snap. Good Lord, what kind of creature are you?”
“A desperate one.” Jesse returned his attention to Haley Winthrop. “Miss, I’d rather not have to hurt anyone else. If you’ll please come with me.”
The woman stared at him. Her curiosity had long since faded, leaving behind only fear. Color fled her cheeks. The paleness reminded him of another woman who had always been afraid. He pushed away those memories. They would accomplish nothing. He had to do whatever he could to see justice done. If that meant kidnapping an innocent woman, he would do it. Was doing it.
In the quiet of the afternoon, he heard the faint call of the birds that had returned to their tree branches. The warmth of the day had bled away, leaving the air chilly. The nightly freezes continued and would do so for a few more weeks. The passengers would need the remaining daylight to get to Whitehorn before nightfall. They didn’t have a lot of time to waste.
He reached past the rich woman and grabbed Haley’s arm. His action obviously startled her. He nearly had her to her feet before she started to resist. She squirmed and braced her legs against the floor of the stage.
“I won’t,” she cried. “No! I won’t leave with you. Let me go. You don’t know what you’re doing. My fiancé will hear about this, I swear he will.”
“I’m counting on it,” Jesse muttered.
The grandmother turned on him suddenly and landed a quick kick against his knee. Her feeble strength barely registered, but Harold’s wife decided an attack was a good idea and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“I’ve got him, Harold. Shoot him. Shoot him now.”
“I don’t have my gun anymore,” her husband lamented, still making soft moaning noises. “I swear he broke my wrist, Lydia. I may never be the same.”
“No great loss,” Jesse said under his breath. He ignored the older woman, and Lydia’s enthusiastic attack, and focused his attention on Haley. She squirmed, but he didn’t release her arm.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he told her.
