Give Me A Texas Outlaw Bundle with Give Me A Cowboy

by Jodi Thomas, Linda Broday, Phyliss Miranda

  “Good heavens! I’ll have to unpack my rolling pin first thing. I’ll need something to fend you off with,” she replied with a twinkle in her fluid brown eyes.

  Johnny chuckled. He couldn’t wait to get started on their family.

  For a man who’d once lost everyone and everything he owned, life was looking particularly rosy.

  And all it had taken was finding trouble in petticoats.

  TEXAS FLAME

  PHYLISS MIRANDA

  To Elaine Standish, Kim Campbell,

  Molly McKnight, and Ginger Porter,

  fellow writers, friends, and critique partners

  who have always known when I needed a hug

  and when I deserved a kick in

  the behind to keep me motivated.

  Thank you, ladies.

  In appreciation also to my coauthors,

  Jodi Thomas, Linda Broday, and DeWanna Pace,

  who helped me through the tough times

  and celebrated the good ones.

  Chapter 1

  Texas Panhandle, 1889

  “Don’t come a step closer!” Savannah Parker leveled her Winchester shotgun directly at Ethan Kimble’s chest.

  “Damn it, Anna, put that dern gun down,” Ethan said harshly, trying not to allow his frustration with the fiery redhead to show. “I haven’t given up four months of my life to chase you from Galveston to this blasted dugout to let you shoot me.”

  A small stone and timber shelter nested into the side of the canyon. Thunderclouds bellowing in an otherwise true blue Texas sky provided a backdrop for the red and gray layered canyon walls. No doubt the lawman would have to duck to get through the door of the dwelling if he were invited in, which he doubted was gonna happen if she had anything to do with it.

  A mangy dog covered with splotches of red and gray mud stood guard at the woman’s side, seemingly not too disturbed that a stranger had approached but certainly not willing to leave his master’s side. Ethan figured if Anna hadn’t been holding the gun with both hands that she’d be pettin’ the dang wild-eyed critter.

  Ethan took stock of the shooting end of the firearm, which quivered slightly. Although he’d known Savannah Parker ever since she was too short to pump water, he’d never known of her handling a firearm, and by the visible shaking of her hands, she hadn’t had much practice since the last time he’d seen her. He’d certainly prefer to face a steady gun any day than a nervous shooter . . . woman or not.

  “What do you want with me, Dimples?” She put extra emphasis on the nickname only she could get by with using.

  “Don’t you dare call me that, Savannah!” He deliberately used her given name in retaliation. “I guess it slipped your mind that you robbed your father’s bank and snubbed the whole blasted town when you tipped your bonnet and said, ‘Good morning,’ before you ran off with the rest of your gang—”

  “Ethan Kimble, I can’t believe you’re accusing me of such atrocities!” she blurted out. “What would your mama think?”

  “I’m sure she was relieved that she didn’t have any money in that bank, and since she didn’t give a squat for your father, she might have even been happy.” He swallowed hard but didn’t let his guard down, making sure his shooting arm didn’t move an iota.

  A low growl came from deep inside the dog. His intensity was certainly a pause for caution. No doubt the tone in Ethan’s voice was more threatening than even he would have liked. The hound bared teeth, to reinforce the earlier warning.

  “It’s okay, Bones,” Anna almost whispered, but the dog stood his territory between his master and her visitor. Ethan sure wasn’t all that confident that the son-of-a-biscuit-eater wouldn’t lunge at him if he so much as sneezed.

  “Get that confounded flea-bitten mutt under control or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what? Shoot him?” She lifted the gun higher, but from the look on the face of the fiery redhead she’d already made up her mind what Ethan would do.

  “You know I’ve never killed an animal in my life unless it was for food. I don’t figure on startin’ now, so don’t plan on eatin’ a tough cut of mutt tonight,” he retorted in chilly sarcasm, clenching his mouth tight.

  “No, Ethan, I don’t know what you’ve been doing since you left Galveston in your quest for fortune and fame.” Savannah kept the Winchester pointed at the man, finger resting heavily on the trigger. “I presume you’ve been gallivanting across Texas hunting down outlaws. And, for all I know, you may have killed one or two along the way. You never liked to follow the rules anyhow.” She let out a brief, shrill whistle.

  Bones heeled at her feet while keeping a leery eye on the stranger.

  Furor coursed up and down Ethan’s spine. “I’ve been doing what I hired on for, something you know little about. Making a commitment and following through.”

  “You know nothing about commitments. As I remember, you hightailed it away from Galveston as soon as you found your calling and live a much more exciting life than you would have ever had working at Father’s bank.”

  “I think it’d been a little crowded there. Don’t you?”

  She ignored the barb. “You could have been a lawyer, too, but you’re more of a man who’d chase after the bad guys and give them some ol’-fashioned six-gun justice instead.” She lifted her brows significantly.

  “You don’t have the slightest idea what I’ve been doing, Anna.” He had to work hard to keep the memories of what had been going on for the last six years out of his mind. He’d become pretty dern good at keeping them at bay, but as it’d been since their school days, simply laying eyes on Anna uprooted him. It wasn’t just her beauty—flaming curls hanging down her back and ivory skin that made him want to touch her—but something about her free spirit and spontaneity, and even her stubbornness, that seemed to draw him to her. But he wouldn’t let that happen this time. Not again. There’d been too many warm beers and hot nights for him to go back now. He wasn’t the bashful, deep-dimpled kid of yesteryear. He was a lawman. A fearless, upstanding Texas Ranger. A man who had experienced a heapin’ dose of life since he’d rode away from Galveston.

  “Let’s put the guns down. One of us is fixin’ to get hurt and you’re much too smart to let that happen,” he said.

  “And, you’re much too arrogant!” Her words were as cool as the water beneath the footbridge off to his right. “I see being a lawman hasn’t changed you. You went to bed mean and woke up even meaner.”

  “How would you know? Remember, you never slept with me.”

  Anna leveled a stare at him equal to the Winchester pointed in his direction. “How could I forget?” She lowered the weapon aiming more at open space between the stream and him.

  Ethan had chased the bodacious, emerald-eyed darlin’ from the Galveston Merchant’s Bank and Trust in Galveston to the Texas Panhandle and by dern he wasn’t about to let the feisty gal, with or without a shotgun, keep him from taking her back home. And what a shame too. She looked like an angel with a devil’s glare—almost a smile but definitely etched with defiance. Nothing like the sweet, soft-spoken Southern belle who had robbed her father’s bank and escaped, daring her family and friends to wish what they might about her involvement. Certainly not the girl he’d grown up with.

  As if it were only moments ago, the same sadness curtained her face that existed when she walked out of the bank, flanked by the two robbers. Even today the look still haunted him.

  For weeks afterward, he found himself drawn back to that moment when she looked him straight in the eye, as he stood outside the bank unable to step in and take a chance of getting her or a bystander killed. When only a fraction of a second could make a difference, he had no choice but to watch her prance away obviously pleased with herself. Although it should have been an emotional, disappointing moment to witness the robbery, it wasn’t for Ethan, who only felt helpless and confused by Anna’s expression that had reeked with a challenge: “Catch me if you can.”

  Considering the turn of events t
hat wintry day, Ethan realized there had to have been a reason he’d decided it was time to come home and see his mama, particularly since it’d been a while since he’d made it back home.

  Memories of that day still felt serene and bewildering to him. Savannah had left a life of comfort behind to commit a crime when all she had to do was ask for money. She’d never been denied anything in her life.

  From miles away steady breezes wafted the air, carrying the smell of fresh rain, bringing Ethan back to the matter at hand.

  He searched the face of the woman standing only a few feet in front of him. What had happened to change her? What circumstances had led to a life on the run? There was one thing certain: this lawman had no intention of getting involved with this woman ever again. The problem was he’d convinced her father that instead of hiring the Pinkerton Agency to chase her down, he should allow Ethan the opportunity to find her first. The sheriff had initially gone along with the plan, as had Ethan’s captain, but at the time no one imagined that Anna and her gang would go on a rampage of bank heists up and down the Brazos River.

  As Ethan had done all of his life, he took on his responsibilities seriously and planned to protect and return her before a less sympathetic lawman caught up with her.

  But seeing Anna in the flesh brought back memories. Memories he’d been successful in keeping at bay until now. Memories of a prior life. A prior dream. A prior commitment.

  Now, searching her face, he knew what his heart had told him years before: in her presence he seemed to lose control of all reasoning and could make a mistake that might cost him his—or worse yet, her—life.

  Ethan watched as Anna shifted her gaze, focusing once again over his shoulder, toward a mesquite wood footbridge that joined the hill and the dugout nestled in with the other side of the narrow, zigzagging stream. A few straggly bunches of purple horsemint and Indian paintbrush dotted the path, hugging the posts.

  Was Anna waiting for someone? If so, whom? As far as he knew the two men who had been her partners in the bank heists were in jail down south in Menardville. Ethan had personally seen a picture of the lookout man, Arlis Buckley, laid out to rest, as evidence of his demise. He was heavy bearded and thought to be in his twenties, although his hat had blurred his facial features somewhat. The picture had stuck in Ethan’s mind because it was the first time he’d known of a sheriff requiring proof of death in order to pay the reward. As far as Ethan knew the reward still had not been collected.

  But until Ethan knew what or whom Anna was watching behind him, he’d not let his guard down . . . nor his pistol.

  Chapter 2

  Ethan heard the crunch of boots on the clay dirt and scrunch grass being broken down long before he caught a glimpse of movement over his shoulder. He shifted his gaze back to Anna, who didn’t take her sight off the footbridge. She raised her gun a bit, not totally pointing it at him, obviously distracted by the approaching sounds. The ruffling of grass indicated whatever neared wasn’t of the four-footed kind, so that pretty much left only a human. Too heavy-footed for a woman yet not the footfall of a man. More of a meandering in their direction, not definite steps or anyone trying to hide his approach.

  The shadow became longer and soft humming could be heard in the distance, a short concerto of the same notes over and over, very close together, a metronome of sounds.

  Ethan turned quickly toward the figure ambling closer, settling his Colt directly on the ambusher’s heart. He locked his finger on the trigger, knowing he had only a split second to get the draw on the intruder before he opened fire on Anna or Ethan himself. Most likely there were one or two gunmen hiding in the brush waiting to strike out when the firing began. Training taught Ethan to fire first and ask questions later, but a warning deep inside told him something wasn’t right; neither he nor Anna was in danger. He prayed his instincts were on target.

  Suddenly, Anna’s scream penetrated his thoughts.

  “Noooo! Ethan, don’t shoot!” She stood petrified.

  Unaware of Anna and Ethan’s presence, a clean-shaven young man with dark hair touching his collar continued to count stones he held in his hand and hummed the same short tune repetitively. A leather pouch hung around his neck.

  Seemingly forgetting Ethan had drawn his Colt, Anna propped the Winchester up against the hitchin’ rail and with complete disregard for her own safety ran to the boy.

  “Where did he come from? Who is he?” In rapid-fire succession, Ethan bombarded her with questions. “What is going on?”

  Tenderly, with her hands Anna drew his attention up to her eyes but never touched him.

  “Thirteen, thirteen,” chanted the boy. “Thirteen rocks.” He began to count the pebbles out one at a time, gingerly placing them in the palm of Anna’s open hand.

  “Dakota,” she said softly. “Look at me.”

  The boy continued to count.

  “Dakota, please look at me.”

  Gradually, he raised his head. With a blank stare, he said, “Thirteen, thirteen. Thirteen, just like you told me to find.”

  Ethan holstered his weapon almost in slow motion, giving his heart time to return to its normal rhythm. Realizing just how close he came to shooting an innocent child, the lawman wasn’t sure if his legs could continue carrying his weight. He couldn’t help but stare at the kid, whom Ethan surmised was not much older than Anna’s little brother, Charlie. Scrawny and barely old enough to shave.

  “Thank you.” Anna grasped the rocks as if they were precious gems and lifted her head. “Dakota, I’d like for you to meet . . .”

  Ethan caught Anna’s eye and studied her. Neither spoke. How in the world was she gonna explain to a kid that Ethan was a lawman coming to arrest her for bank robbery? Just like the day at the bank, her expression pled for understanding.

  “He’s . . . he’s your . . .” Anna hesitated.

  Ethan stared in disbelief. He didn’t even know the dark-headed kid, so Dakota being his anything was nothing but a bunch of malarkey.

  “He’s your . . .” She took a deep breath, then finished, “Your . . . uncle. Your Uncle Ethan.”

  Shock ran rampant through Ethan’s body. Uncle? What in the blue blazes was she talking about?

  Dakota simply looked up, and with no recognition in his face, he recited in the same monotone voice, “Thirteen. Thirteen. Thirteen rocks.” Then he added, “Uncle Ethan.”

  “Please wash up, Dakota.” Anna examined the stones before depositing them in her apron pocket. “It’s suppertime.”

  The young man did not respond. As though he didn’t realize Ethan was there, Dakota simply walked to the pan of water heating in the sun and looked intently into it.

  “Why did you go and do that for?” Ethan had to pull himself away from watching the kid. He tried not to be angry, but he knew he was doing a lousy job.

  “Because his hands are dirty,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “You know I didn’t mean why he had to wash up.” Ethan found himself growling at her much like the mutt, who had now moved to the shade of a scrawny mesquite tree. “Why did you tell him I was his uncle?”

  “What was I supposed to do, tell him, ‘Hey, kid, meet the nasty old man who is going to arrest the only friend you have in the world and take her off to jail? Maybe hang her? Hellfire and brimstone, even shoot her’?” Her voice mirrored her frustration.

  Ethan wasn’t sure exactly how to respond to her accusations, mainly because he’d already thought the same thing. Now wasn’t the time to confront the problem head-on, although he still had the upper hand. She was the one wanted for bank robbery, not him. “Do you realize I could take you into custody for pulling a gun on a lawman?”

  “And I could have shot you for trespassing?” She turned and flounced toward the dugout, which wasn’t a spit’s throw away.

  “I guess you also forgot about the wanted posters in every sheriff’s office between here and Galveston? Not to mention the bounty on your head?” He tried successfully not to add, “Dead or
Alive.” Particularly since she still had a shotgun within reach.

  She grabbed the Winchester in one hand and opened the iron-grated screen to the dugout. As if he’d told her she had an overdue library book, she simply retorted, “Consider me arrested.”

  Turning back, Anna offered up a sweet smile. “If you want supper, wash up.”

  Thunder in the west didn’t hold a light to the roar Ethan felt in his body. Clouds churned bitterly overhead, announcing a thunderstorm much like the turmoil boiling in his heart.

  Ethan was up to his ears in yucca and couldn’t remember why he’d thought it was important to wade through the dang stuff in the first place.

  Pausing, he raised his eyes to the sky and sent up a tiny prayer that Anna wouldn’t ask to see an arrest warrant.

  Chapter 3

  The smell of beans attacked Anna when she entered the dugout. Gingerly, she closed the screen door behind her and put the Winchester back in the gun rack above the fireplace. She made her way to the stand that held a dishpan. Holding on to both sides of the stand, she took a deep breath, trying not to cry. She swallowed the tears and closed her eyes in an attempt to clear her mind.

  Her heart stung from the jolt of reality just heaped upon her. Ethan had every right to take her into custody, and deep inside she realized what hurt the most was that he not only had the right but the duty to arrest her. It wasn’t his job to judge whether her reasons were justifiable; it was his obligation to get her back to those who would.

  Ethan had hit the nail square on the head, as he seemed to always do. Until that horrid day at the bank, she’d never had to stand up and be responsible for her own actions. Her father, if not her mother, always made an excuse or explained things away. But she’d never done anything all that bad—not until she was trapped into it. She now had to face the world—worse yet, her family—and take full responsibility for her own actions, but why in the blue blazes did Ethan Kimble have to be her redeemer?