Forever with these two wasn’t nearly long enough, but she’d take it.
The End
Anya Summers
Born in St. Louis, Missouri, Anya grew up listening to Cardinals baseball and reading anything she could get her hands on. She remembers her mother saying if only she would read the right type of books instead binging her way through the romance aisles at the bookstore, she’d have been a doctor. While Anya never did get that doctorate, she graduated cum laude from the University of Missouri-St. Louis with an M.A. in History.
Anya is a bestselling and award-winning author published in multiple fiction genres. She also writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance under the name Maggie Mae Gallagher. A total geek at her core, when she is not writing, she adores attending the latest comic con or spending time with her family. She currently lives in the Midwest with her two furry felines.
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Hero Undercover
Justice, Roughly
By
Amelia Smarts
©2017 by Blushing Books® and Amelia Smarts
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Amelia Smarts
Justice, Roughly
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
Chapter 1
New Mexico, 1890
Wyatt Parker rode his two-bit horse into the dusty town of Ashton one quiet Monday morning. He brought little more with him than a bad attitude and an injured arm. As often as he’d swung a lasso in the last decade, he reckoned he should be grateful his arm was still attached to his shoulder, but it hurt something fierce and wasn’t good for much.
Wyatt had learned that not many people have use for an injured man. When he couldn’t wrangle cattle anymore on account of his arm, the boss fired him and cheated him out of two weeks’ pay. It was a shameful way to treat a loyal hand who’d slicked a saddle on his ranch for ten years, but Chuck Swift was known for his wealth, not his fairness.
To add insult to injury, Wyatt’s girl ran out on him with the boss’s son, who’d returned from New York City with a fancy education and more than a dime and nickel rattling in his pockets. Marnie had always had a taste for the finer things in life, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when she left him. Even with his cowhand’s salary, Wyatt had never made enough money to keep her satisfied, and he certainly couldn’t provide her with any luxuries after losing his job.
Things in Temple City were bad for Wyatt, real bad, and he was ready to hang his hat somewhere else. When he heard that crime was on the rise in Ashton, he thought he might change occupations and become a deputy of the law. Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst, he made his way to the next town.
On the day he arrived in Ashton, it was a scorcher, typical for New Mexico in July, and a wind whistled through the air, creating unpleasant clouds of dust that swirled upwards and dirtied his sweaty face. Main Street was empty except for a few wanderers over by the shop.
Wyatt stomped his boots on the mat outside the marshal’s office and sauntered in. The furnishings consisted of rugs stitched from animal hides, utilitarian wooden chairs, the marshal’s desk, and yellow curtains covering the window that faced the street. The cheerful color of the curtains seemed sharply out of place in the dismal main room, which smelled faintly of body odor and something else – despair, maybe. He imagined the smells emanated from the back room, which contained the occupied jail cells.
The first part of the marshal that Wyatt saw was the top of his shiny bald head. He was staring down intently at some paperwork on his desk and didn’t notice Wyatt’s presence until he cleared his throat. When the marshal looked up, Wyatt approached his desk with an outstretched hand and hid his grimace as pain shot from his bad shoulder to his bad elbow during the handshake.
“Howdy, Marshal,” Wyatt said in a friendly voice that didn’t match how he felt. “I’m Wyatt Parker. I’m here to see about working for you. It’s a growin’ town, and I reckon you could use some help. I’d make a fine deputy.”
The marshal eyed him doubtfully, like he was a mustang that looked too mean to break. Wyatt had been told more than once he looked wild and hard, without a shred of compassion. The scar that tracked his cheek from a childhood injury likely added to that impression, but in fact Wyatt was gentle. He had a soft spot for animals, even those destined to become supper, and an even softer spot for women. A woman’s smile was enough to erase any meanness that entered his heart. Despite the scar and roughness of his appearance, women generally found him attractive. His straight posture and piercing eyes projected confidence, even when he was down on his luck, and when he offered a rare smile, it made the recipient feel blessed and a little lighter of step.
“How old are you, son, and what makes you want to be a lawman?”
Wyatt sat on the wooden chair on the other side of the marshal’s desk. The first question was easy enough to answer. “I’m twenty-nine years of age, sir.”
The marshal nodded, encouraging him to go on, and Wyatt was able to come up with a reason for wanting to be a lawman that sounded respectable. “I believe in protecting good people from bad, and I would feel mighty good about doing that as a deputized official.”
It was an honest-enough answer. He had a protective nature and would fiercely defend those in the right. The thing was, Wyatt’s feelings about who was in the right didn’t always match with the law’s opinion on that topic. He’d swiped the Stetson on his head from Mr. Swift, and Wyatt felt very much in the right about stealing it. The boss owed him a lot more, far as he was concerned.
Though Wyatt would have sworn the reason he gave for wanting the job was the kind of reason a marshal would want to hear, to his great confusion, the marshal looked disappointed. “Well, that’s truthful of you, son. Forthrightness is a good quality that I’d normally want in a deputy, but as it happens, right now I need a man who can tell a lie to a man’s face and appear as honest as Abe.”
Wyatt frowned, confused. He tapped the heel of his boot on the ground, a nervous tick that went unnoticed by most people. “Well, then, Marshal, I’m the perfect man for the job. I wasn’t bein’ all that honest right then. Thing is, I don’t care much about protecting and serving. I’m out of money and I need a job. I can be as dishonest as you like.”
A slow, sly
grin spread across the marshal’s face. “This might work after all.” He opened a drawer, pulled out two photographs, and laid them side by side on the desk. Leaning forward, Wyatt looked at the images and recognized them as pictures of cows with their hides branded.
The marshal tapped his finger on one of the photographs. “What do you see when you look at this?”
Wyatt hesitated, wondering if he was supposed to give an answer other than the obvious. Slowly, he said, “It’s a cow branded with an X.”
The marshal nodded his approval. “That’s right. It’s the Xavier Ranch’s brand. They’ve been around these parts since I was a lad. I know the rancher and all his hands.”
Wyatt didn’t know why any of this mattered, but he nodded agreeably and waited for more of the marshal’s chin-wagging.
The marshal tapped the other photograph. “Now, tell me what you see when you look at this photograph, Mr. Parker.”
Wyatt didn’t hesitate this time. “That’s another cow with another brand. Looks like the number eight decided to lay itself down and take a nap.”
The marshal laughed heartily at his description. “That there is called the infinity symbol, and it’s the brand for the Infinity Ranch, which is right next to the Xaviers. Now, these folks, the Fins, they’ve only been in town for a short spell. And the thing is, for the last few months, the Xaviers have been reporting missing cattle. While their cows go missing, the cows on the Infinity Ranch keep multiplyin’. Do you see where I’m going with this?”
Wyatt shrugged. “I reckon you think the folks at the Infinity Ranch are stealing cows from the Xaviers, but I don’t see how they could get away with that, so long as the Xaviers make sure to brand all their cows properly.
The marshal smiled at him in an indulgent way, like one would an ignorant child, and it ruffled Wyatt’s feathers. He didn’t appreciate being looked down on, but he held his tongue.
“Look at the photographs again, Mr. Parker, and if you can tell me why folks at the Infinity Ranch are gettin’ away with rustling cattle from the Xaviers, then you have a job to do that will earn you a penny or two.”
Wyatt couldn’t remember feeling so nervous and desperate to say the right thing, not even when he was a boy standing on trembling knees reciting the Lord’s Prayer in front of the whole church. He frowned at the two photos, looking back and forth, trying to figure out how the brands showed anything but who the cows belonged to.
He’d never been known for his smarts. He wasn’t stupid, and might even have been blessed with above-average intelligence, but there hadn’t been much time for book learning growing up, since his pa had needed him most of the time to help with the crops.
But somehow, despite his lack of education, Wyatt figured out how the Infinity folks were rustling cows from the Xaviers. His heart thrummed in his chest. He was darn impressed with himself and pretty darn impressed with the Fins too, for being so wily.
“You got a piece of paper and pencil, Marshal?”
“Sure do.” Both were planted in front of him.
Wyatt drew the X first. “The Xaviers, they brand all their cows with an X. Easy as pie.”
The marshal nodded. “Been that way for years.”
“Then the Infinity folks come in with their own symbol, a lazy eight.” He drew another X. “To get away with stealing, all they’ve gotta do is steal a cow with the X and brand over the same place with a branding iron that has a C to the left and a backwards C to the right of the same X. Then it looks like it’s one of their cows. That’s how they’re stealing.” He drew the swirl to each side of the X.
Setting the pencil down, Wyatt leaned back in his chair, pleased as punch with himself.
“That’s very good, Mr. Parker.”
He shrugged his good shoulder, attempting to appear casual, though he felt as proud as a peacock. He thought to himself that if Marnie had stuck around, she might’ve been impressed by what he’d figured out, even without a fancy New York education.
“You and I can see what’s happening,” the marshal explained. “But what I need now is proof. I need someone to witness the theft before I can make any arrests. That’s where you come in.”
“You want me to go spy on ‘em?” Wyatt asked, wondering how he could manage to stay out of sight while the hands did the branding.
“In a manner of speaking, yes. I want you to get hired on there as a ranch hand, get involved in the work, and get them to trust you. Then when you see one of the hands branding over the Xavier’s brand, you arrest him and bring him to me.”
Wyatt scratched his beard. “So you want me to pretend to be a ranch hand, but really be a deputy of the law.”
The marshal nodded. “That’s the long and short of it. You’ll be an undercover deputy. You’re the perfect man for the job, really, since you’re new in town. No one will guess your true motives for getting a job as a ranch hand. What do you say?”
Some of Wyatt’s earlier excitement drained out of him. He was tired of being a cowhand and had hoped to do something different as a deputy. Beggars can’t be choosers, though, so he agreed to the assignment. “I’d be happy to take on this task, Marshal. I’m much obliged for the opportunity.”
The marshal’s face split into a wide grin. He stood as Wyatt did and reached out to shake his hand again. Wyatt groaned inwardly as the marshal caused renewed pain in his arm by bobbing it up and down.
“I forgot to mention the best thing about this job.”
“Oh?” Wyatt quirked his head.
“The Infinity Ranch is run by a real pretty lady. Her pa died and left her in charge. I suspect she’s the brains behind the whole thievin’ operation.”
Wyatt frowned. “You mean I’m gonna have to arrest a woman?” He didn’t like the prospect of that one bit.
The marshal shook his head. “Nah, I reckon I’ll be the one doing that. Your job is to arrest the hand you catch carrying out her orders. Once you get him back here, I’ll find out during interrogation if what I suspect is true.”
Wyatt nodded his understanding, still not entirely liking the arrangement.
“Report back tomorrow, Mr. Parker. I’ll swear you in, proper-like, and then you can go about getting a job at the ranch.”
Chapter 2
Elsie Fin, owner and operator of the Infinity Ranch, sat atop her mare and watched her hands as they rebranded the newly stolen cattle. The activity was performed in a flat clearing on the opposite end of the property, the side furthest from the Xaviers. Tall elm trees circled the space, providing some cover and making it an ideal location for performing the thefts. Still, Elsie made sure to keep an eye out for unwanted visitors who might happen upon them.
She’d never participated in any kind of branding before her pa died. It was only after Mark Xavier killed him that she crafted the rebranding iron and planned the operation. Because she was new to it, the formerly unfamiliar scents of hot metal and burnt hide became associated with Xavier. Every time the wind wafted the scents to where she sat on her horse watching, a surge of vengeance would fill her spirit.
Mark Xavier was an evil man. He didn’t kill her pa with a gun or a knife, like someone more decent would do. He killed him in a far worse way, slowly and without laying a finger on him. Because of that, there was no proof of murder and Xavier could not be prosecuted by the law.
Elsie and her pa didn’t wish for much in Ashton other that a place to call home and live out their modest lives. Andy Fin bought a small plot of land around an abandoned cabin, and they worked together to build a sturdy barn for the milk cows and horses. They named their ranch Infinity because it meant forever, and that’s how they saw their new home. It was something that would last. Things were looking up for them after a long period of mourning the death of Elsie’s ma.
What the two newcomers hadn’t realized when they purchased the land was that their neighbors, the Xaviers, were not only fixtures in Ashton, they were also merciless toward anyone whose presence threatened to take even a modicum of
business away from them.
At first, Mark Xavier’s harassment was more of an annoyance than anything else. The Fins would get word that he was spreading lies about their cattle, saying they were diseased. This led to the Fins needing to sell their cattle for less money than they were worth. Still, they made money to survive, and they did their best to remain hopeful that the slander would eventually die down or cease altogether.
But Mark Xavier was ruthless. His next attack came in the form of damming the small stream that ran through his land down to theirs. By cutting off the water supply, he forced the Fins to wrangle their cattle to the other side of the ranch where a well was within walking distance. Her father, an old man, had lugged buckets of water to the animals each and every day. It was backbreaking labor, but he couldn’t afford to hire any additional hands.
That’s what killed her pa. Their grass turned brown. Her father’s shoulders began to stoop. His forehead became perpetually lined with worried wrinkles, not for himself, but for his daughter who would be left orphaned and penniless when he died. He fought until his dying breath, never able to enjoy a moment’s leisure in his elder years. His final days were spent working long hours and riding to town to see about getting a lawful order for the Xaviers to remove the dam causing the Fins’ financial ruin.
The marshal, who happened to be friends with the Xaviers, was useless and barely made an attempt to listen to the Fins, but when a circuit judge rode through town and heard the Fins’ side of the story, they finally got a break. The judge saw what was going on and determined that the Xaviers were doing dirty business in a spiteful attempt to run the Fins out of town. Tragically, Andy Fin died a day before the judge ordered the Xaviers to tear down their dam.
Hero Undercover: 25 Breathtaking Bad Boys Page 94