by Pam Crooks
“Grace, honey.”
Jack smoothed her hair with slow, gentle strokes. “Reckon you’re feeling about as low as anyone can get about now. But for what it’s worth to you, I’m here. And I’m not leaving until you feel better.”
“You d-don’t have to be nice to me, you know.” Grace hiccupped. “I just tried to shoot you dead.”
“Yeah, I know.” His thumb stopped a stream of tears and wiped them away. “I’m not real happy about that, but I guess I’ll have to forget about it for now.”
“Stay with me tonight,” she whispered.
“Don’t think you could keep me away.”
Author’s Note
If you’ve read a few of my books by now, you’ll know I love to have my characters rub elbows with true historical figures from the Old West.
The Lawman’s Redemption is no different. Jack Hollister wraps up the Wells Cattle Company trilogy beginning with The Cattleman’s Unsuitable Wife and “The Cattleman’s Christmas Bride” in Cowboy Christmas. In this book, he clashes with Tom “Black Jack” Ketchum, an infamous outlaw who really holed up in New Mexico Territory and met his demise much as I depicted in the book.
Of course, few men have left their mark upon a community as strongly as Paris Gibson did in Great Falls, when Montana was a fledgling territory. His reputation and influence can still be seen today.
Lastly, Jack wrangles with one of the most intriguing villains I’ve ever written. Louis David Riel considered himself a divinely chosen leader and prophet of the Métis people in Canada. He was indeed exiled in the United States for a time and finally succumbed to charges of treason and was executed. Ironically, today he is considered a hero. A man who did what he did for the freedom of his people.
With that, I present to you The Lawman’s Redemption.
Pam
Praise for Pam Crooks
The Cattleman’s Unsuitable Wife
“The battle between sheepherders and cattlemen forms the compelling backdrop of Crooks’s realistic Western and provides a natural conflict between the strong-willed hero and heroine and a plotline to hold readers enthralled.”
—RT Book Reviews
Kidnapped by the Cowboy
“Rarely do I read a book in one day. This book captured my heart.”
—Amazon Reviewer
Untamed Cowboy
“I love a book that won’t let go of me.”
—Goodreads Reviewer
“I was captivated from the very first page of Untamed Cowboy. Although the book’s conclusion was wonderfully satisfying, I was disappointed to see this end. Pam Crooks’s Untamed Cowboy is one of the best historical Westerns I’ve read—ever!”
—Romance Reader at Heart
Wanted!
“Ms Crooks has a wonderful talent for storytelling and delivered an excellent one in Wanted!”
—Goodreads Reviewer
“Wanted! was a superior historical Western. Fast-paced, realistic characters and a very well put-together story put this at the top of the genre. Pam Crooks has been a longtime favorite and Wanted! was no exception.”
—The Best Reviews
The Mercenary’s Kiss
Nominated for Best Historical K.I.S.S. Hero by RT Book Reviews
“With its nonstop action and a hold-your-breath climax, Crooks’s story is unforgettable. She speaks to every woman’s heart…The power that comes from the pages of this book enthralls.”
—RT Book Reviews
THE LAWMAN’S REDEMPTION
Copyright © 2019, 2010 by Pam Crooks
Cover Design: Killion Group
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce or transmit this book, or a portion thereof, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This ebook may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others.
THE LAWMAN’S REDEMPTION is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by, the trademark owners.
Version 2019.10
60,058 words.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
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About Pam
Prologue
New Mexico Territory, 1883
Damned if life wasn’t full of downright pathetic ironies.
Jack Ketchum drew in deep on his cigarette and pondered why it had to come to this. A son hunting down his own father. Kin exacting justice from kin.
Blood against blood.
He squinted through a swirl of slowly exhaled smoke. A grim blanket of sadness settled over his shoulders, weighing him down with regret. Until he reminded himself that Sam Ketchum needed saving from himself. And if Jack didn’t save him, no one would.
He shivered and thought fleetingly of the hour. Had to be midnight, at least. Probably later. The air’s chill had seeped into his bones, and he craved the warmth and comfort of the small apartment he kept in Colorado.
Unfortunately, partaking in those comforts wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Comforts far different than the life his father had chosen. A life on the run. An outlaw’s life. Hiding out somewhere deep in the rugged Sierra Grande Mountains, protected by a night so black, so thick, it seemed no posse could ever find him.
But Jack would. He had to. Or else it’d just be a matter of time until his father wound up dead.
Sam Ketchum would find it mildly amusing his only son had turned lawman and rode with men determined to arrest him and his brother, Tom “Black Jack” Ketchum. Along with their gang, the pair had made a reputation for themselves robbing trains, banks, and anything else loaded with loot ripe for taking. For too long, their greed had hurt innocent people and ruined countless lives—including Jack’s and the one woman who meant the world to him. His mother.
Like it or not, Sam would have to accept the time had come for it all to end. Somehow.
Jack studied the glowing tip of his cigarette. The “somehow” part scared him, and the longer it took for Jack and the posse to track the gang down, the more likely it’d be the outlaw brothers would catch wind of it, then who knew which rock they’d hide under? Or where?
A new wave of resolve swelled through him, and his glance shifted toward the fire burning low in the nearby camp. Around it, six men filled bedrolls—four of them lawmen like himself, the other two agents for the Colorado and Southern Railway Company. Heavily armed even in sleep, each one was as fiercely dedicated to enforcing the law as Jack.
Patience, he knew. He just needed patience to find his father and bring him in for his own good.
Jack’s thighs protested his hunkered stance. Since his spell as night watch was just about up, he grasped his rifle and lifted the c
igarette to his lips for a final drag, inhaling as he straightened.
Halfway to standing, a rock crunched behind him.
His every muscle coiled. But he kept moving, until he stood at full height.
He didn’t turn around. Not yet. Instinct told him it wasn’t an animal behind him, at least not one from the wild. Instead this creature stood on two legs, was likely armed, and judging from the stark silence, he was standing stock-still, watching Jack real close.
“You’re Sam Ketchum’s son, aren’t you?” a low voice said.
The question surprised Jack. Sam Ketchum’s son. Who out here on this mountain would know him like that?
He flicked the cigarette stub, sending it sailing in a neat arc into the rough buffalo grass. He tightened his grasp on his rifle and took his time answering.
“Who’s asking?” he demanded finally.
“No one you know.”
“Yet you know me.”
Iron control kept Jack from turning to put a face to the voice in the darkness. He didn’t know what he was up against, or what this man wanted from him. Mostly he didn’t know if he’d live or die, shot in the back at any given moment….
“It seems I do know you, yes,” the voice purred. “Better than you think.”
“And you know my father, too.”
“Quite well, as a matter of fact.”
Jack’s curiosity raged. The man’s words carried a faint accent. French, maybe, but too slight to be native-born. Each word was refined, articulate. Cleverly taunting.
What was his association with Sam Ketchum? And why had he sought out Jack?
“You’re looking for your father, aren’t you?” the voice asked smoothly, reading Jack’s thoughts. “You and your posse.”
Jack’s glance lifted toward the fire and the men sleeping around it, each oblivious to the stranger who had found them all on this desolate, unforgiving mountain in the middle of the night.
“Yes,” Jack said.
“I know where he is.”
Jack stilled. “How do you know?”
“I just do.”
Suddenly impatient with the man’s game, Jack swore, tossed his rifle to the ground and heard it land with a dull thud. He well realized the risk he took leaving himself unshucked, but the man had to know Jack wasn’t a threat, not when the stranger had gone to great lengths to seek him out. Jack figured he came for one of two reasons: to help him or to hurt him.
He hoped it was the former.
He lifted his hands and half twisted to confront the stranger, to see a face and demand a name, but a snarled oath and the sharp snap of a jerked-back hammer convinced Jack of his mistake.
“Damn you, don’t turn around,” the voice growled.
“Where is he?” Jack demanded through his teeth. “Tell me where my father is.”
The faint crunch of a boot heel on rocky ground warned him the stranger had taken a step back. One, then another. Jack’s heart pounded from the very real possibility the stranger would disappear without revealing Sam Ketchum’s whereabouts.
“There’s a cave in a hill not far from the Cimarron. The base of Capulin Mountain, this side of Folsom,” the voice rumbled. “Sam will be there, hiding out with Black Jack and the rest of the gang.”
Hope soared inside Jack. A pathetic need to believe. To trust this man and all he claimed. “If you’re lying, I swear—”
“They’ll be there,” the voice repeated coldly. “Waiting for the Fort Worth and Denver Express, due in two days’ time.”
Metal jangled softly against metal, and it took Jack a moment to realize the sound came from saddle rigging. He whirled, his glance raking through the darkness to grasp the indistinct shape of a tall man with long hair leaping onto his mount, his arm encased in a heavily fringed jacket sleeve.
Then, before Jack could stop him, horse hooves rumbled, and the stranger was gone.
Only a fool would’ve attempted to ride down the mountain blinded by the night. Rocky trails so narrow, so winding, one misstep would send an unsuspecting horse hurtling over the steep edge into crippling oblivion, and then what would they have done?
It’d required every shred of Jack’s patience to wait until the night lifted and dawn crept in. By the time it did, the posse was up and ready to ride, daring to trust in the stranger’s information, yet prepared for his betrayal, too. Who knew how far Sam and Black Jack would go to keep the law off their trail? Including Sam’s own son?
But the stranger hadn’t betrayed them, and they located the cave with unerring accuracy. Jack found it damned unsettling to hide in the brush to spy on the gang while they moved about their camp. Every glimpse of his father twisted like a knife deep in his belly.
For reasons Jack couldn’t yet fathom, the stranger wanted Sam Ketchum set up for arrest. But for Jack, it was more important to keep his father from robbing yet another express train—and to end his life of crime forever.
“Getting late, Jack. If we don’t move in on ’em now, we’re going to lose our chance.”
Sheriff Edward Farr headed up the posse, but he took sympathy on Jack’s situation. He’d been more than patient, giving Jack the time he needed to prepare himself for what lay ahead.
“I know,” Jack said, grim.
The lawman heaved a troubled sigh. “Things are likely to get ugly for your pa and uncle, but don’t forget there’s a woman in that gang, too.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
Bess Reilly, rumored to be as tough and ruthless as any man. But Jack figured if she committed a man’s crime, she had to pay the price like one.
“I got a bad feeling about this, Jack. Real bad.” Farr shifted, as if to settle the nerves squirming inside him.
Jack’s stare locked on movement at the front of the cave. If Sam Ketchum could’ve heard their scheming, he never would’ve reappeared right then, his heavy gun belt strapped around his hips. His glance slid one way and then the other in careful inspection of his surroundings, and Jack knew what he had to do.
“I’m going in first,” he said.
“Not alone, you’re not,” the lawman said in a rough whisper.
“Maybe I can get him to listen to me.”
“He won’t.” The retort dripped with disgust. “You know he won’t.”
Jack didn’t bother denying it, but he clutched his rifle and eased out of the brush. His father moseyed over to a stand of trees and began to unbutton the front of his pants.
Jack kept going. The muted rustle of cocked weapons assured him of six men’s protection. He strode closer to the infamous Sam Ketchum, and suddenly, time fell away, and he was a little boy again, hungry for the love and attention he’d long been denied—
Except Sam Ketchum had always been a sorry excuse for a father, and wasn’t it a hell of a shame that it had to come to this? His own son sneaking up on him with a rifle pointed at his back while he took a leak?
Hell of a shame, all right. And Jack swallowed hard against the ugly truth. He didn’t trust Sam Ketchum any farther than he could spit.
“Sorry to interrupt, old man, but there’s a thing or two we need to talk about,” he drawled.
The muscles in Sam’s shoulders jerked. Jack kept a keen eye on those revolvers hanging in their holster, but his father merely finished with nature’s call and set about refastening his pants.
“Well, now. Damned if it isn’t my boy I’m hearin’ behind me,” Sam drawled back.
My boy. Jack’s gut went tight.
“Fancy that,” he said.
His father casually lifted his hands and turned to face him. Jack steeled himself against the familiarity of that thick moustache and those cheeks always in need of shaving.
“If I’d a-known you were comin’ to call, I would’ve prepared a right proper welcome for you,” Sam said.
“The hell you would.”
“It’s true.”
“You’re surrounded, just so you know.”
Sam nodded once. Unaffected. “I figur
ed.”
“Tell the others to give up. We can end this without blood spilling.”
“How did you find me?”
His father’s voice had turned guttural, and Jack glimpsed the hard side of him. The ruthless part that earned him the reputation for being one of the most notorious outlaws in the territory.
“A friend of yours enlightened me,” he said.
“Who?” he demanded sharply.
Jack lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. “I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter, besides.”
“It matters to me!”
“Someone wanted you found as much as I did. He did me a favor.”
Sam’s lip curled beneath the moustache. “A favor.”
Impatience rolled through Jack. His father’s arrest wasn’t going to happen while they stood here, exercising their jaws, wasting valuable time, and increasing the chances of detection by the rest of the gang.
“You’re at the end of the line, old man,” Jack said in a terse voice. “Throw down your shooting irons. You’re coming with us.”
Sam eyed the tin star on Jack’s coat with contempt. “Just ’cuz you’re workin’ for the law these days don’t mean I’m gonna do what you tell me to do.”
“Someone has to save your sorry ass.”
“My ass don’t need savin’, boy,” he snapped. “Ride out of here while you still can. And take that damn posse with you.”
Jack’s grip tightened on his rifle. “Can’t do that.”
A lethal, sober calm seemed to come over Sam. For long moments, he didn’t move. “Then I got no choice but to do what I gotta do.”
Jack’s blood pounded, hard in his veins.
Lightning quick, Sam grabbed for his guns. “Now, Tom!”
And before Jack could fathom the signal, before he could anticipate his uncle tearing out of the shadows, a blaze of gunfire erupted in front of him, behind him, around him. A deafening explosion of vengeance and desperation, of law against the lawless, of hate and honor and determination….
But as if time moved in slow motion, Jack was aware of only his father and that he lifted and leveled his revolver. Of the hammer cocked back and the bullet catapulting toward him. Of the burn screaming across his cheek—