Sundown

by Jade Laredo

  TITLE & COPYRIGHT

  Sundown

  Romantic Western Novella

  By

  Jade Laredo

  Names, characters, places, organizations, and situations solely contrived on the author’s imagination unless otherwise notated. Therefore, any similarities pertaining to afore mentioned fictional scenarios are strictly coincidental.

  Copyright@2012 Jade Laredo

  All Rights Reserved.

  Reproduction of this book in any format not allowed without sole consent in writing from the author.

  TITLE & COPYRIGHT

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER NINE

  AFTERWARD

  ABOUT AUTHOR

  FACEBOOK FAN PAGE

  COMING SOON

  EXCERPT CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Colorado Territory

  1872

  “Madam your reticule.” Smooth and polished, the quiet inflection in his rich voice hinted a cool southern drawl. Arabella Gentry calmly inspected the cruel piece of metal aimed straight at her face. Nonplussed, she starred into the firearm’s dangerous barrel.

  She had seen its kind before.

  For a moment, she lost all sense of time and place. Instead, she could hear the clamor of bullets whizzing overhead, and the reel of cannon exploding, while dying soldiers released bloodcurdling cries. Though in the back of her mind the memory lasted but a split second, the misery went on forever.

  Strange, she thought. After twelve years, no matter where she went or how far she traveled, she could never escape the horrific effects of war, even now, while she stood facing down a deadly firearm.

  “Miss Gentry.” A voice of reason pleaded, yanking her mind from an unwanted memory.

  Emeril Hartley, a portly mercantilist on his way to Sundown, lifted a bushy brow and spoke with earnest.

  “You’d best do as the man asks.”

  She noticed drops of perspiration rolling down the man’s forehead as his doe-like eyes darted back and forth; alerting her to the fact, the hold-up was more serious than she had originally thought.

  Slowly, she surveyed the scene.

  Six passengers stood huddled together, holding their hands in the air, gaping at her apprehensively as if she had lost her complete mind.

  Ida and Ined Bump were gracious sisters on their way to Denver to keep house for their eldest sister. Lyle and Bette Prattle recently married wanting to make their home in the booming town. She looked into the face of Emeril Hartley’s son, Edward. She had spied the young man cast her at least a dozen amorous glances ever since their departure from St. Louis. She had befriended them all and now they stared back at her as if she had lost her mind.

  “My dear.” Ida Bump cleared her throat. The old woman’s graveling voice was careful with warning. “Why not give the gentleman your reticule?”

  Intuition garnered a cruel sentence.

  Though she had yet given the brigand much thought, she could sense his irrefutable presence. As much as she wanted to ignore him, she felt an inexplicable draw.

  More curious than frightened, she slowly tilted her chin and stared into the most unusual pair of eyes she had ever seen. Cerulean blue, like a sultry sea, she found herself drowning in the depths of an aquatic gaze. Though she could only see the shimmer of his mesmeric eyes, she suspected hidden behind the dusty bandanna was a well-chiseled face. No doubt, the man was an undeserving soul with a façade gifted from God who had fallen from grace no less.

  She did not miss the outlaw’s mocking smile or the poised gaze he leveled as if he knew what she was thinking. Strong and calculating, those amused eyes bore right through her.

  Unnerved with the bothersome man, she let loose her reticule and shoved the delicate drawstring purse his way. She watched with resigned fury as he rummaged through her velveteen purse. It was not long before he withdrew a wad of banknotes, and stashed the paperbacks into his tattered butternut gray jacket. Returning his arrogant gaze, he rewarded her with a triumphant smile.

  Unmoved, Arabella pulled her lips into a tight moue.

  It was plain to see even unto this day, the fugitive remained a hard-core Rebel. Did he not know the war was over?

  “Hoss!” A young man’s voice, intense and without patience startled her from bitter scrutiny. “What’d wanna do about the strongbox?”

  “Take care of it.” The outlaw barked not allowing his gaze to stray. Instead, his mesmeric eyes beset with curiosity meandered across her face. She watched with fascination as he slowly trailed down the hollow of her neck, settling lazily on her bosom. Instinctively, she grabbed at the locket, which clung to her breast.

  “Miss Gentry, is it?” He asked. Slowly, he brushed the barrel of his gun over her chest, toying with the golden charm.

  “If you would, please.”

  Not the locket. She backed away, refusing his insistence. His smile soon turned cold and underhanded. Breathless, she watched as he slowly worked a tick in his jaw. Without warning, he stepped forward, barely inches away, towering above her. Jerking the necklace from her neck, she waited uneasily as he studied the precious ornament.

  “You’d risk your neck for a bauble?” He asked incredulously, turning the tiny piece of jewelry in his hand, he studied it with interest. She glowered at him, refusing to answer she met his challenging stare. With seconds ticking, his hard eyes probed her face and asked.

  “Why?”

  “A keepsake.” Somehow, she found her voice then swallowed. “It was a gift from my fiancé who died during the war.”

  “Which side?”

  “The North.”

  The outlaw studied the locket for a long moment. With an expert hand, he pried open the charm and examined its content. Like an open book, she watched his blue eyes skim over a painful chapter, which bore her soul. Snapping the enclosure, he let the necklace spiral back into her hands.

  “Fear not, Miss Gentry.” He murmured. His gaze no longer seemed amused, but rather lenient and sympathetic. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  Arabella blinked. She suddenly realized this man was no ordinary outlaw. Intrigued she forced an incongruous smile. Indeed, he knew her secret. Yet he did not judge her, nor did he despise her for concealing the truth. With her sense of curiosity heightened, Arabella could have kicked herself for wanting to know more about this man.

  “Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, mother of God!” An excited voice bellowed. “Dammit Hoss! Would you quit dallying with that skirt? We’ve got us some disgruntled company!”

  From nowhere, a cloud of dust rumbled in the distance. No doubt, a posse hot on their trail. Arabella craned her neck to see the impending ruckus. She watched two other bandits quickly mount their horses, sputtering a film of dust in their wake. All of the sudden, the outlaw grabbed her arm, hoisting her over his shoulder; he carried her toward his mount.

  “Fight me and I’ll shoot you. Understand?” He growled, heaving her up into the saddle with the swoop of one powerful arm.

  She did not have time to answer. Suddenly, a barrage of bullets riddled through the air, making the other six passengers scatter in chaos. The wild commotion startled the outlaw’s mount, sending them flying down a small ravine. Arabella closed her eyes, holding on for dear life she offered a silent prayer.

  To her disbelief, the bullets did not stop.

  Surely, the posse would not shoot at a hostage! Shocked, she ducked her head, and flinched. They kept coming, round after round. With dreaded alarm, she realized they wanted the outlaw dead, and obviously, at any cost.

  “
Hold on tight!” He shouted as the wind whipped at their faces, and the rush of bullets hurtled overhead. She leaned in, resting her head against the narrow of his chest. They rode long and hard, circling back, repeatedly until their tracks melded into one.

  One by one, the posse fell back until the trail was clear behind them. They rode for another twenty minutes before he brought his mount to a steady gait. Rounding a rock-strewn ridge, they slowly climbed to the top. In every direction, she could see for miles and miles, there was nothing but rolling hills and endless prairie.

  “Get down.” He ordered.

  Arabella obeyed. She slid from his horse, and wobbled on her feet. The heat from the afternoon sun beat down on her face, making her sway as she tried to steady her balance. With ease, he vaulted from his mount, and grabbed her elbow, eyeing her warily.

  “Have a seat.”

  They waited for what seemed like an hour.

  She watched as he scanned the distant prairie, his blue eyes roving with ease. More clever than most, she realized he had easily outwitted the posse. Amazed, she raised her chin and nodded at his horse.

  “Where’d you learn to ride?”

  “Rode with the best.”

  Arabella looked away. His answer was not much to go on, but judging by his superior bearing, this told her all she needed to know.

  “It’s time.” He turned around, holding out his hand. Reluctantly, she grabbed his fingers and with one heave, she was up in the saddle and he right behind her.

  “Hold on.” He whispered into her ear, his breath, warm and moist against her ear. Impulsively, she nudged her chin against her shoulder, brushing away the unsettling sensation. In return, she heard him laugh, but the rush of hot wind against her ears blotted out any further response.

  Arabella closed her eyes. She squeezed the golden locket, tucked safely away in her skirt pocket. Why the outlaw decided to let her keep the little treasure was unfathomable to her. Perhaps his act of kindness was in some way due to the tattered rebel jacket he still wore. A relished memory he could not let go just as she could not part with her precious locket. Regardless, she was thankful the brigand chose not to keep it.

  As she swayed back and forth to the steady rhythm of his mount, nerve-racking exhaustion took hold, and she lost track of time. Minutes slowly turned into hours beneath the glare of the high plains sun, and soon she fell in and out of consciousness. The last thing she heard before succumbing to a dark void was the sound of the outlaw whispering her name.

  Arabella opened her eyes to a gulf of darkness.

  The moon hung low, full and luminous in the midnight sky. The peaceful sound of rippling water lapping against a nearby bank meshed with the rise and fall of a steady breath. At that point, every muscle in her body tensed once she realized she lie with her head against the crook of his solid chest.

  “You’re awake.”

  The sound of his voice was loud and clear, and no longer muffled by the confines of a hankie. Before she could lift her shoulder, he cuffed her chin, and blindfolded her with his bandanna.

  “Trust me.” He murmured. With adept hands, he tied the cloth around her forehead, covering her eyes. “You’re better-off not knowing.”

  Arabella frowned.

  “May I have your name, at the least?”

  She waited patiently.

  “Luke.” He said. “And your name?”

  “Arabella.”

  “Courageous,” Luke ushered a sigh. “Willful and tragic.”

  “Come again?”

  “The lost Queen of England.” He began, clearing his throat. She noticed his voice took on a thoughtful quality. “You share the same first name as Arabella Stuart, and strange as it seems you seem to share the qualities as well.”

  “How so?”

  “You defied me, justly so, to save your precious locket, knowing very well your life was in jeopardy, yet willing to give up your life for the memory of a lost love.”

  Arabella liked the sound of his whiskey-tainted voice, smooth and perceptive. Swallowing hard, she realized his astute assessment of her tattered life. His consideration was proof enough he managed to figure her out in mere seconds when in fact, it had taken her nearly a dozen years to do so.

  “Why didn’t you take my locket?”

  “I didn’t want your locket.” He replied. “I only wanted an excuse to touch a piece of your life. You intrigued me, and I felt the need to know you.”

  Arabella swallowed hard.

  Earlier that morning, he had pointed a gun in her face, and now he confessed he only wanted to know her. Confused, she turned her head away.

  “Why did you lie to me about your fiancé?”

  “I didn’t lie to you.” Arabella emphasized with a sigh. Clearing her throat, she found her voice only to catch once again. “I originally hail from Maryland. Those northerners on the coach whom you thought were my friends wouldn’t understand the concept of living on the border and loving a rebel.”

  After a lengthy moment, Arabella decided her answer was enough for this strange man. The silence that loomed was deafening. Rolling her head, she shifted. Finally gaining the courage, she asked him directly.

  “What are you going to do with me?”

  “What do you want me to do with you?”

  “Let me go.”

  “You may do so if you wish.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not exactly familiar with these parts.”

  She never thought the sound of a man’s laughter sounded so appealing. It started low and throaty until the chortle escaped his lips, turning deep and guttural.

  “Why so funny?”

  “Bella.” He unwittingly uttered a childhood name, one her father cherished. “It seems you have me at your disposal, at least until the morning.”

  Overcome with relief, she was thankful he was not going to abandon her to the dark and its wilds. The surprising realization made her heart flutter, and she sighed at the notion. Though they were complete strangers, she felt as if a most peculiar bond irrevocably drew her to him.

  On impulse, she raised her hand, letting her arm slowly trail his stubbly neck until she reached his chin. She felt him tense beneath her touch, yet she continued, feeling the clear-cut lines of his square jawbone. Cupping the side of his jowl, she felt the lean muscles in his jaw flex, suggesting a stubborn streak.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I – I wanted to see you. If not with my eyes then so be it with my hands.” She stammered surprised by her own admission. “Do you mind?”

  “At your leisure, Miss Gentry.”

  Mustering enough courage, she continued ever so lightly, touching the outline of his generous mouth. Full and supple his lips warmed against her fingers, slightly parting. For a heart-stopping moment, she felt him lightly nudge the palm of her hand, gently nipping her fingers with his lips. She slowly let her index finger trail the bridge of his aquiline nose until she reached the arch of his brow. Brushing the back of her fingers against his forehead, she caressed away the furrow at his temple not realizing the extent of her intimate perusal.

  “Woman.” Luke whispered hoarsely. “If you continue in this fashion I promise you will not walk away unscathed.”

  Feeling like a fool, she closed her eyes.

  What had gotten into her?

  The man was an outlaw, the scourge of civil society. No proper woman would dare consider consorting with a fugitive. Even still, she could not push away the fancy image she had created in her mind of him. Shameful, and a little shaken, she whispered.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  Not even a warning and in one powerful swoop, he pinned her beneath his massive shoulders, the pressure of his rock-hard body melding against hers left her feeling breathless.

  “Have you ever been with a man?”

  She breathed in his powerful scent.

  “No.”

  “Do you want to be with this man?’

&n
bsp; “Yes.”

  “Why?” He asked, nearly growling.

  Arabella thought for a moment, too mortified to answer. She was nearly twenty-five, and still untouched. By a cruel hand of fate, she had never experienced her rite of passage into womanhood. Already considered an unmarried woman past her prime, she was desperate to feel like a real woman. How could she tell him her deepest most aching need?

  “Tell me.” His voice crooned against the hollow of her neck. “I’ve stolen from you, threatened your life, and now you want me to ravage your innocence?”

  “I trust you.”

  “Trust me?” He scoffed. “Have you lost your mind? I am a lowlife criminal, running from the law. If I had to, I would’ve killed you without pause.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I’m no fool.” He whispered, his breath hot against her lips, he tasted sweet and earthy. The sensation wrought shivers down her spine. “You want me to be him, your rebel lover, don’t you?”

  At that point, in time, the past and the present came together as one. To her, it made no difference whether he was the ghost from her past, or a living and breathing outlaw who grasped her mind like no other. All she wanted was to feel alive and wanting like a woman.

  “Would you do that for me?”

  “God help me, but I’m willing.”

  “And so am I.”

  There was a long pause as if he contemplated the inevitable. Waiting eagerly, she felt his hand caress upwards until his skilled hand reached the apex of her inner thighs. Feeling her pulse quicken, a sense of sheer excitement overtook her. Unable to control her yearning, she moaned with wanting beneath his hard frame.

  “Make me a woman.”

  “My woman.” He whispered.

  Arabella heard the gentle intonation in his voice, the subtle way he had marked her as his territory. In her giddy mind, she almost wanted to believe she truly was his woman.

  Holding her breath, she stiffened as he slowly slid his hand beneath her bodice, cupping her breast. She felt the heat of his mouth as he aroused her nipple twirling an artful tongue as she wreathed longingly beneath his hardened body. He was touching her in a manner she had never dreamed could happen between a man and a woman. Set on fire, she felt like she was going to explode with wanting him.