by West, Everly
The Wanted Bride
Everly West
Contents
Copywrite
Blurb
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Also By Everly West
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 2019 Everly West
All Rights Reserved
Cover Design: Dar Albert
Release date: July , 2019
This book and parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the author and publisher, except as provided by the United States of America copyright law. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.
An Outlaw Scared Straight
When Hannah Anderson, aka the Shadow, eludes capture by the skin of her teeth, she vows to end her thieving ways and live an honest, law-abiding life. Until the Laramie Orphanage on the verge of closing, draws her back into the outlaw world.
A Sheriff’s Black or White View of the Law
Not much happens in Laramie without Sheriff Nathan Wiley knowing about it—especially the arrival of Hannah Anderson. Intrigued by her beauty, her sense of humor and her mysterious past, Nathan resolves to unravel her secrets and win her heart.
Chapter 1
Wyoming Territory, June 1888
Hannah Anderson rode hell-bent for leather. More scared than she’d ever been in her life. She glanced over her shoulder at the band of men hot on her trail. Kicking her heels into her horse’s flanks, she prayed Raven had enough left in her to get them to safety. If they could get around the next bend and slip through the hidden crevice in the bluff unseen, maybe they’d make it through this debacle.
Maybe the posse would ride pass.
The moonless night crowded around her, both a blessing and a hindrance. She knew every nook and cranny of this canyon, knew every rut and inconsistency in the canyon floor. She didn’t like running Raven full out in the darkness, but she had no choice. If she could get out of the posse’s sight for only a few seconds, she’d be home free.
Reaching the concealed entrance to the cave in the side of the mountain, Hannah clutched the reins, zigzagging through the fissure in the rock as fast as possible. Suddenly, the walls widened into a cavern. She pulled on the reins—hard. Raven danced to a skidding stop, barely missing a collision with the back of the cave. Before Raven came to a complete stop, Hannah leaped to the ground, wrapped her arms around her horse’s neck and whispered, “You’re all right, girl. We’re going to stay here for a bit. You rest. We may make it out of this mess, yet.”
Hannah rubbed her palm over Raven’s quavering neck and shoulder. “As soon as that mean ole posse goes away, we’ll sneak out and head home.”
As though on cue, the thundering of horse hooves pounded by and then gradually diminished as the posse raced farther away. Fifteen minutes later, Hannah lead Raven through the twisted corridor from the cave into the wide expanse of open land.
An hour after that, Hannah stepped into her small, one-room cabin completely exhausted. She’d brushed and curried Raven, feed her a double ration of oats and made sure her water trough was filled to the brim with fresh, clear water.
She quickly shucked her “Shadow” garments, folded them carefully then hid them in the false bottom of her over-large eating table. The last thing she needed was the posse showing up on her doorstep with her still garbed in black pants, black shirt and the padded undergarment that hid her curves. Explaining the black horse that suspiciously looked like the Shadow’s horse would have been hard enough.
Hopefully, that day would never come. But then, it might.
Tonight’s fiasco hadn’t been the first time she’d almost been caught. In the last four months, she’d eluded near-capture three times. But this one had been the closest.
She knew what she had to do. Although, she didn’t know if she had to heart to do it.
Tomorrow morning, she’d pack up what she could carry and walk away from the only life she’d ever known. But first, she’d release Raven into the wild. Just the thought of it, broke her heart.
Hannah Anderson, formerly known as the Shadow, cried herself to sleep.
* * *
Two weeks later
Sheriff Nathan Wiley nailed four new wanted posters to the wall outside the jail. Then stood back and examined his handy work.
That should do it, Nathan thought. Nothing all that interesting in this month’s bundle of posters. Still, he’d done his duty and studied each and every one of them. Then he’d selected the three or four that might pertain to the Laramie area and posted them for public inspection.
Not that he expected any trouble. Not in Laramie, anyway. He made sure he stopped any concerns before they became real problems. Some people said it was uncanny how he could tell when and where to be to thwart trouble. Truth be told, his insight was more about using common sense, knowing human nature and his dogged determination to get to the bottom of things.
Nathan grinned as he watched Miss Polly Maples enter Collins Mercantile, knowing Ernie Helms over at the feed store would find a reason to visit the Mercantile soon. Helms was sweet on Polly, he just hadn’t gathered up the nerve to admit it to her yet. Sure enough, less than a minute later, Ernie crossed the street and stepped into the store.
Down the street, Ralph Toller left Bennett’s Bakery with his mid-morning snack of sugared donuts. According to church gossip, his wife still hadn’t figured out how Ralph kept gaining weight even though she’d cut back on his portions at home. Nathan couldn’t blame Ralph though. He’d tasted Hazel Toller’s cooking. The woman had a heart of gold, but couldn’t boil water without burning it. Yep, Ralph hadn’t married Hazel for her talent in the kitchen.
Nathan slid a chair out of his office, placed it beside the open door and sit down. Stretching his legs in front of him, he soaked up the everyday sounds of Laramie. His peaceful, law-abiding Laramie.
Yes sir, life was pretty good.
Five minutes later and still sitting in the chair in front of his office, Nathan studied a newcomer riding into town. Normally, the occasional drifter wasn’t all that unusual. But this one was.
A woman, a beautiful woman—and obviously travelling alone. No man in sight. Just her.
Where was her man, her chaperone, her protector?
No wagon loaded with household goods, though it was obvious she’d pulled up stakes and was moving on from her former home. With three valises and several filled to near-bursting tow-sacks tied to her saddle, her light-colored sorrel looked more like a pack-mule than a horse.
As she passed, he could see a thin layer of dust clinging to her clothes. So, she’d been on the trail for a couple of days. Maybe more, if she’d had access to a creek or bathhouse.
A wide-brimmed straw hat rested against the back of her head, doing little to shade her against the warm summer sunshine. A cascade of sable-colored hair tumbled down her back, bouncing in rhythm with the sorrel’s gait. Several sweat-soaked curls plastered against her cream-toned face.
Large, doe-brown eyes dominated her features. A man could get lost in those eyes. She worried her full bottom lip between white teeth. A tell of the nervousness she obviously hoped she hid from the world.
His body stirred. He tipped his hat to her when she glanced his way. She nodded back, still ambling down main street
.
Had she tensed, gripped her reins tighter, when she spotted him? Or maybe his badge? Or was that his imagination?
He covertly watched from under the brim of his hat. She stopped in front of Olsen’s Café, dismounted then lead her horse to the water trough. Once the horse had had it’s fill, she tied the sorrel to the hitching post and headed into the café.
Nathan thumbed his hat back and sighed. A woman didn’t see to her horse’s needs before her personal ones if she had someone to see to it for her. Oh yeah, she was on her own and had been for a while.
He’d give her some time to settle in and then go say howdy. Besides, today’s special was fried chicken.
* * *
“Have a seat. I’ll be with you in a minute,” a man called from an open door in the back of the dining room.
Hannah weaved her way through the crowded room and settled at a table by the window. Good, she thought as she removed her wide-brimmed hat and placed it in the seat next to her. She could watch over Ginger and her belongings while she ate.
She’d stashed her “earnings” from her last couple of jobs in a coffee tin then hid it amongst her other food stuffs in one of the tow-sacks. She hadn’t been foolish enough to think she could start a new life without a nest egg. In her case, a secret nest egg. What if she couldn’t find a job immediately? Heck, she had no idea what kind of job to look for. She didn’t know anything other than what her father, Gentleman Jack Lightning, had taught her. Thieving.
Her daddy was the best safe-cracker this side of the Mississippi. He’d taught her all the tricks of the safe-cracking trade, but she didn’t have the patience to follow in her father’s footsteps. So, he had made a get-up of all black that covered her from head to toe and taught her how to be a highwayman. Then he’d named her the Shadow.
The Shadow’s garments weren’t so easily hidden. She’d ended up sewing the black pants and shirt in between two saddle blankets. Yes, the double blanket was probably warmer than the normal one blanket over Ginger’s back, but it was also more cushion between horse and saddle. Ginger didn’t seem to mind.
She’d disassembled the padded undergarment into three pieces then packed one piece into each of her three valises. The black scarf she’d used to hid her hair went in with her undergarments. The full-face black mask that had hidden her features were pinned to the underside of her petticoat. Unfortunately, she had to leave her black hat behind.
She didn’t bother hiding her father’s six-shooter. A woman traveling alone would be considered six kinds of stupid if she didn’t have a gun for her protection.
She should’ve burned the Shadow’s clothes, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so. They were a gift from her father. And besides that, she might need them one day. She had every intention to live a law-abiding life. She also refused to work in a saloon. So, if there ever came the day when she had to choose between starving or resurrecting the Shadow, she’d have something to wear.
Ten minutes later and no sign of the man who’d promised he’d be right with her or a waitress, she walked over to the pot-bellied stove in the corner. Grabbing a dish towel to handle the hot coffee pot and a cup from the table beside the stove, she poured herself some coffee.
Before she could replace the pot on the stove, a man sitting close by raised his cup and asked, “Would you mind filling mine while you’re at it?”
“Sure thing,” she said as she crossed to the stranger’s table and refilled his and his companions’ cups. Spotting more empty cups, she made a circuit around the dining room pouring coffee.
At the last table an elderly woman asked, “Could you be a dear and ask Mr. Olsen how much longer before my lunch will be ready? I have quilting bee soon and I don’t want to be late.”
Hannah looked down at the frail woman and smiled. “Of course, I’m be right back.”
She made her way to the open doorway assuming it was the kitchen. Sure enough, a portly-built man with an apron tied around his thick waist stood in front of a large cook stove flipping pieces of chicken in a frying pan. “Excuse me, sir. There’s a lady out there wondering when her lunch will be ready.”
“Which table?” the man asked not taking his gaze from the cooktop.
“The one just to the left of the door.”
“Ah, Mrs. Greenwell.” He nodded toward a small table with a plate of fried chicken, green beans and mashed potatoes waiting to be served. “It’s ready, but I can’t leave the kitchen until I finish turning all this chicken. It’ll burn before I get back.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll take it to her. She needs to be somewhere soon and is afraid she’ll be late.” Hannah waited for his permission, before picking up the plate and returning to the dining room.
Three minutes later, she returned to the kitchen. “Umm…Mr. Boatman’s table asked about their lunches?”
Again, the cook nodded toward the small table in the corner where four plates waited. “Do you mind?”
“Of course, not.” She grinned. It felt good to stretch her legs. She’d been on the trail for two weeks, only stopping at dusk to make camp. And then rising at daybreak to break camp and ride again. Her saddle sores had saddle sores.
Still, it had been worth it. She’d put some good distance between her and the Shadow’s outlaw past. Now, she needed to find a nice, quiet place and lead an honest, law-abiding life.
Pulling herself out of her wandering thoughts, she grabbed a large serving tray from the shelf above the table, loaded the four lunches on it and headed toward Mr. Boatman’s table.
And so, it began. She and Mr. Olsen worked together through the lunch rush.
An hour later, the café had thinned out enough Hannah could catch her breath. How did Mr. Olsen do this by himself? It had taken both of them running at high speed to keep up with the customers. She’d delivered meals, taken orders and made and served enough coffee to float a riverboat.
Determined every customer left smiling, she’d taken it as a personal challenge when the grumpiest old man she’d ever come across came in the café. Cantankerous people fed off of politeness. So instead, she’d bowed her back and gave as good as she got. Light-hearted sass met orneriness probably born out of loneliness.
Like a chess match but with words instead of board pieces, the contest of attitudes was on. Admittedly, Hannah’s sass had the edge. She’d played this game with her father many times after her mother died. In the end, Grumpy didn’t stand a chance.
Before he left, Grumpy patted her hand and smiled. “You remind me of my wife. God rest her soul. She never let me get away with anything either.”
Hannah winked. “Poor woman. Bet that was like a one-eyed cat watching two mouse holes.”
“That it was, sweetie, that it was.” Laughing, he retrieved his hat from the chair and left just as another customer entered.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard Mr. Sanders laugh,” a deep, rich voice said from behind her.
“He’s a little rusty, but he’ll get there,” she said as she headed to the coffee pot, her back still to the new patron. “Coffee?”
She turned and gasped, nearly dropping the hot coffee when she came face to badge with the town Sheriff. He stood less than five feet away, his hat in his hand.
“Sorry, I scared you,” he grinned and stepped back. “Where would you like me to sit?”
“An-Anywhere is fine,” she stammered, then silently scolded herself for letting her anxiety show. Lawmen asked questions. If he realized how nervous she was, he might wonder why and start asking the wrong questions?
The last thing she needed was a nosy Sheriff sniffing around in her past.
Taking a bracing breath, she slapped a friendly smile on her face and followed him to a window table.
“What can I get you?” she asked after he’d sat and she’d poured him a cup of coffee.
“Today’s special and a little conversation with a pretty lady?”
Before she could say anything, Mr. Olsen appeared at her elbow w
ith another mug of hot coffee.
“Sit down, Hannah, and enjoy Nathan’s company. He’s devilish handsome and he knows it, but he’s a good man.” Mr. Olsen winked then pulled out the chair across from the Sheriff and placed the steaming mug on the table. “I’ll bring you both some lunch.”
She sighed and sat in the offered seat. What choice did she have? Decline and risk putting a bigger target on her back? She had a strong feeling the lawman already had a pocket full of skepticisms concerning her arrival in town.
“Are you sure you don’t need my help?” She glanced around the almost empty room, hoping her feigned concern covered her sudden case of jitters.
“Nah, you’ve done enough. I’ve already got the chicken frying. You rest and enjoy your lunch.” Mr. Olsen picked up the coffee pot she’d set on the table and headed over to top off the only other customer’s mug. Halfway across the room he turned and said, “Would you come talk to me before you leave?”
“Of course,” she promised, smiling. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving without saying goodbye.”
“Nathan Wiley,” the sheriff said, extending his hand over the table to her.
All righty then, here we go. Let’s get this over with.
“Hannah Anderson.” She shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“So, you’re leaving?” he asked.
“Yes, there’s still some good daylight left in the day.” She shrugged. “I stopped for a hot meal and time out of the saddle and ended up helping Mr. Olsen out of a bind.”
“That was kind of you.”
Hannah ran her finger around the handle of her mug, barely holding her panic at bay. What did an outlaw on the run and a gorgeous Sheriff talk about over lunch?