by Bobbi Smith
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
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Epilogue
About the Author
The LADY &
The TEXAN
BOBBI SMITH
Copyright © 1997, 2017 by Bobbi Smith. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of The Evan Marshall Agency, 1 Pacio Court, Roseland, NJ 07068-1121, [email protected].
Version 1.0
Originally published by Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
bobbismithbooks.com
LADY LUCK
He pulled her closer to him, and she seemed to fit perfectly in his arms. And then he deepened the embrace, parting her lips to taste of her sweetness.
But at his bold invasion, reason returned. This was Jack Logan! With all her might, she shoved against his chest. Jack was caught unaware by her sudden move and let her go.
She found herself free and glared up at him, her arms akimbo. “You’re a horrible, terrible man!”
He grinned down at her. He thought she’d never looked prettier. “I’ve been called worse,” he said.
“I’m sure you have!” she countered.
His grin grew lopsided. “And you, my dear, are one stubborn, hard-headed female. I feel sorry for your poor father. I don’t know how he’s going to handle you once I get you back to him. I wish him luck, because he’s going to need it!”
“We can’t get to San Rafael soon enough to suit me!”
“My sentiments exactly. It will be a pleasure to be rid of you!”
This book is dedicated to Debbie Pickel Smith, a true friend and a great supporter of romance! Thanks, Deb!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’d like to thank the bunch of booksellers who work out of Anderson Merchandisers in Amarillo, Texas. Their support has been phenomenal. Thank you—Bill Lardie, Mike Gamer, Deborah McKirdy, Carla Watland, Robert Hill, Pat Brown, Scott Weisenberger, Ann Mangin, Kim Vorpahl, Linda Clark, Jennifer Espiritu, Alena Pifer, Kristen Shannon, Colleen Sommerville, Paula Cariker, Staci Newton, Jim Mueller, Tony Arnone, Mike Dowling, Ron Karis, Tim Creghan, Charlie Southern, Marilyn Deering, Vera Coberly and Sid Thomas.
And two friends I missed at Annie’s Book Stop in Florissant, MO—Nena Horack and Melissa Chenault.
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
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Epilogue
About the Author
Prologue
San Rafael, Texas 1878
Elizabeth was in his arms, kissing him.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispered.
“I’d almost given up hope that you would come to me.”
Just the scent of her perfume aroused him. Already the fire was burning within him to be one with her.
They fell together on the bed, their clothing shed in a heated frenzy as they strained against each other. He moved over her and thrust deep within her. She met him in that feverish mating, clawing at his back, urging him to take her harder and faster. Her wildness was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before, and it pushed him to the limit.
“Do you want me, Jack? Really want me?”
“You know I do.”
“How do I know you want me? I want more of you, Jack . . . More—”
Her taunting urged him on. He quickened his pace, driving into her, wanting to please her. But Elizabeth was the one in control, and she took him to ecstasy and beyond.
She lay on top of him, smiling in triumph. As he gazed adoringly up at her, her passion-sated expression began to change. Jack knew a sudden apprehension as her gaze turned cold and was filled with blood-lust.
“Elizabeth . . . ?”
“You’re a fool, Jack Logan . . . a fool!” She gave a maniacal laugh as she moved from the bed to stand over him. She lifted her hand and Jack saw only the gleam of the knife before she struck.
Searing agony tore through his body as she stabbed him again and again. She was smiling.
He began to scream . . .
Jack Logan was thrashing wildly about as he awoke with a start. He threw himself from the bed and stood in the middle of the cheap rented room, shaking from the power of the nightmare. He stared sightlessly around as he relived the horror in his mind. When at last he had calmed enough to realize that nothing had happened, that it had only been another dream he drew a ragged breath and staggered back to the bed. He sat down on the edge and blindly grabbed for the whiskey bottle on the night table nearby.
He lifted it to his lips, eager to find forgetfulness. He muttered a vile curse when he found it was empty. In a fit of frustration and rage, he threw the offending bottle across the room. He groped around in the darkness to find a match and lit the single lamp on the table. Staggering to his feet, he pulled on his clothes and stormed out of the room. He needed escape from the demons that haunted him.
Jack made his way downstairs to the saloon. It was late, well past midnight, but a few patrons were still there drinking and playing poker. He ignored the others and made his way straight to the bar.
“Whiskey,” he ordered tersely, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked worse than a saddle bum, and he didn’t care. It was nobody’s business but his own what he did. All he wanted to do was drink . . . and forget.
Charley, the barkeep, took out a glass and started to pour him a single shot. Jack leaned across the bar and snatched the bottle out of his hand.
“I want the whole thing, not just one.”
“Let’s see the color of your money, Jack,” Charley said.
“Here.” Jack all but threw the money at him. Granted, he only had a few dollars left to his name, but he’d worry about that in the morning. Right now, he just wanted to get through the night.
Charley picked up the money and moved away. Talk had it that this man had once been a Ranger. He had to admit that sober, he would have made a formidable foe, for he wore his guns as if they were a part of him. He wondered what demons were driving him to destroy himself with liquor.
Jack poured himself a full glass of whiskey and downed it. He enjoyed its fiery bite, knowing that he would soon feel its ease. He spied a secluded table near the back and made his way there to finish what he’d started. He had a meeting with an old friend scheduled for early the next day, but right now that didn’t matter. All that mattered was erasing the memories that threatened
to destroy his very soul.
The knock at the door jarred Jack awake, and he sat up groggily in bed.
“Jack?” a voice called out as the knocking continued.
“Yeah, yeah. . . . Just a minute.” His words were slurred and his voice gruff.
It was daylight, and Jack wondered where he was and why he was there. He got up and made his way unsteadily to the door. In irritation, he threw it wide to find himself face-to-face with Dan Taylor, the man he was supposed to have met downstairs half an hour before.
“ ’Morning, Jack. Looks like you had yourself one helluva night. No wonder you’re running late,” Dan Taylor greeted him.
“Dan . . . Damn, it’s good to see you.” Jack shook his hand as he tried to compose himself. “I’m sorry I overslept. Give me a minute and I’ll be down.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Dan went back down to the bar where he’d already been waiting for Jack for the better part of an hour. It was deserted since it was so early, and he was glad. When they talked, he wanted some privacy.
Jack’s appearance had shocked Dan. The Jack Logan he’d known when he’d commanded him during the war had been a brave young man, a man he would trust with his life. He wondered about this one.
Dan had known that Jack had come to Texas after the war and had joined the Rangers. He’d heard recently that Jack had been involved in a particularly deadly incident in the town of Del Fuego. He had quit the Rangers afterward and had been hiring himself out as a gunman ever since. That was why, when word came to him that Jack was in Corona, a town nearby, he’d sent a message requesting a meeting in San Rafael this morning. He had a job that needed to be done by someone he could trust implicitly.
“Sorry,” Jack said as he joined him a few minutes later.
“Sit down.” Dan gestured toward the chair opposite him. He noticed that Jack had taken the time to splash water on his face and change his shirt, but that had barely improved his appearance. “You look like hell. What’s happened to you?”
Jack grimaced inwardly at Dan’s bluntness. “Nothing.”
“ ‘Nothing’?” he said pointedly. “You’ve changed.”
“I made a mistake, and I learned from it. I’m not quite so trusting any more, that’s all.”
“Then why the whiskey?”
“I like the taste,” he stonewalled, not wanting to talk about the past.
Dan looked him over with an openly critical expression. “The Jack I knew was a man of conviction and honor. I need that man now. I need someone I can trust and rely on. That’s why I sent for you. Was I wrong?”
Jack heard the doubt in his tone, and it stung.
“No,” he answered tersely, suddenly caring that he did not look his best. He owed this man his very life, and he would not let him down. He would do whatever Dan wanted, no questions asked. “I’m fine. What do you need?”
Dan studied him long and hard, and then nodded abruptly. “I need you to go to Philadelphia. I’d make the trip myself, but I can’t leave right now. My brother and I own Taylor Stage and Freight Line, and we’ve had some trouble—two robberies in the last few months. I have to stay here and keep an eye on things. That’s why I need you.”
Jack nodded. “What’s in Philadelphia?”
“Not what, who—my daughter Amanda. I need you to bring her back.”
“Your daughter?” This was the last thing in the world he’d expected. He’d thought Dan needed a hired gun. He’d certainly be more comfortable riding on a stage as shotgun than traveling back East to escort a little girl home.
“Yes. That’s why I need someone I can trust. My wife passed away some years ago and Amanda’s been living with her maternal grandmother. Circumstances are such now that she needs to come home.”
Jack was silent for a moment as he digested this information. After Elizabeth, he wanted nothing to do with females of any age. He wanted to say no right then and there, but he couldn’t. During the war, Dan had saved his life. He owed him. “If you need me to go, I’ll do it.”
He sounded less than enthusiastic, so Dan quickly offered, “I’ll pay all your expenses, plus five hundred more when you get back.”
Jack was impressed by the money, but he would have done the job without it. He was about to agree, when Dan went on.
“I do have one requirement.”
“What’s that?” He frowned.
“I’m entrusting my daughter to your care. I want to know that I can count on you to stay sober while you’re with her. Will you give me your word?”
Jack could have groaned out loud, but he knew it was a legitimate request. He hadn’t been the most upstanding citizen lately. “I agree.”
“Good. Here’s all the information.” Dan took a packet out of his inside jacket pocket and handed it over. “I appreciate your doing this.”
“You saved my life, Dan. Picking up one little girl in Philadelphia is hardly as important as what you did for me. I’m glad to help you.”
“I’ve already written to my mother-in-law and told her that someone would be coming for Amanda. There is one thing, though, Jack.” He sounded uneasy.
“What’s that?”
“Amanda—”
“Yes?”
“Well, she’s not a little girl anymore. She’s nineteen now. I’m sure her grandmother will see that she has a suitable traveling companion to accompany you on the trip back.”
Jack stared at his friend and knew he could say nothing more. He had already committed himself. But in truth, if there were two things in the world that he didn’t want to do right now, they were stay sober and be with women. And he’d just given his word that he would do both.
The old adage was true—paybacks were hell.
Texas Ranger Jim Eskin took a drink of his whiskey and smiled to himself as he sat at the bar in a saloon in San Antonio.
“You look mighty happy,” the barkeep said as he wiped the bar before him.
“It’s been a real fine day.”
“Oh? What happened?”
“I brought in The Gila Kid today. He won’t be robbing or shooting anybody for a long time to come.”
“You deserve a drink on the house for that,” the bartender offered, reaching for the bottle of whiskey to refill his glass. “It ain’t every day a mean one like The Gila Kid is locked up.”
“Thanks for the offer, but no more for me tonight. I have to be up and out of here early in the morning.”
“Well, the offer stands for next time you’re in town.”
“I appreciate it.”
Jim finished his drink, then set his empty glass aside and left the saloon. It was a moonless night and the streets were deserted. Jim’s mood was relaxed as he started down the quiet side street that led to his hotel. But just as he crossed the entrance to a particularly dark alley, an uneasy feeling came over him. It was a sixth sense he had that had saved his life many times—the ability to feel someone watching him. It served him well this time, but not well enough. Jim knew there was danger, but he couldn’t prevent it. He started to turn back, but before he could, two shots rang out. Jim collapsed, bleeding and grievously wounded.
The sound of muted, triumphant laughter came from the depths of the alley.
Hank Sheldon emerged from the darkness and walked toward the fallen Ranger. He nudged him with the toe of his boot, and when Jim didn’t move, he smiled. “Three down and one to go.”
“We’re showin’ them sons of bitches!” Willy Sheldon, Hank’s younger brother, crowed. “Them Rangers are gonna die for what they done to us.”
“All we gotta do now is find Jack Logan. Once he’s dead, our revenge is complete.”
“I’m gonna enjoy watchin’ Logan die,” Willy said with bloodthirsty eagerness as they disappeared into the night.
“So am I,” Hank agreed in a deadly voice as he remembered how their little brother, Kyle, had been killed in a shoot-out with four Rangers several years before. They’d lost that fight and had been sent to pr
ison, but they’d broken out now. So far, they’d killed three of the four who’d taken them in. Only Jack Logan remained. “So am I.”
Captain Steve Laughlin of the Texas Rangers quietly entered the semi-darkened room. “Jim?”
“Steve . . . You’re here,” Jim Eskin whispered. The Sheldons’ bullets had done their damage, and he had been hovering near death when some of the townspeople had found him that night lying in a pool of blood in the alley. He had fought desperately to live so he could tell Steve what he knew about the shooting and the Sheldons.
“I came as soon as I got word. God, Jim, what happened?” Steve came to his bedside and gazed down at his friend. He clasped his hand in a firm grip, wanting to share his strength with him. They had worked together for years, and Steve knew Jim was one of the best.
“It was the Sheldons—” he managed in desperate tones. “I didn’t see them, they shot from down the alley, but I heard them when they came to check on me. One of them said, ‘Three down and one to go.’ I heard them, Steve. . . . I heard them.” There was a frantic look in his eyes as he drew a strangled breath and tried to summon enough strength to continue. “You gotta warn Jack. . . . They’re out to get the four of us who sent them up. . . . Jack’s the only one left.”
“Joe and Vic—”
Jim nodded slowly as he closed his eyes for a moment.
It all made sense to Steve now. Joe Reynolds and Vic Everly had been shot down in cold blood earlier that month in West Texas. There had been no witnesses to their deaths, no clues to their killers. Until this moment, Steve had been at a loss to explain the murders, but now he understood. The Sheldons had broken out of jail some six weeks before, and they were back for their revenge.
“Find Jack. . . . Tell him they’re gunning for him. . . . Tell him he’s next.”
“I haven’t heard from him in months.”
“Corona—” Jim whispered, his strength ebbing from the exertion of talking. “He was in Corona last I heard, drinking and working as a gun for hire.”
“I’ll get word to him right away,” Steve promised. “Thanks.” Jim collapsed weakly on the bed, his breathing strained. “I beat them, you know. They thought I was dead.” He looked up at Steve and almost managed to smile in spite of his pain.