A Cowboy's Fate

by Gini Rifkin

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Ccopyright

  Praise for Gini Rifkin’s Books

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Author’s Note

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  A Cowboy’s Fate

  by

  Gini Rifkin

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  A Cowboy’s Fate

  COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Gini Rifkin

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Cactus Rose Edition, 2014

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-388-9

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise for Gini Rifkin’s Books

  VICTORIAN DREAM

  “Written with a rich depth of detail. Nicely spiced with an underlying sense of mystery and danger.”

  ~Night Owl Reviews

  SPECIAL DELIVERY

  “The chemistry between these two excellent characters is riveting. You won’t want to miss finding out what happens to them.”

  ~Fall Into Reading Review (5 stars)

  IRON HEART

  “...gives the classic epic adventures a run for their money.”

  ~Sizzling Hot Books (5 Hearts)

  ~*~

  “A wonderfully captivating blend of medieval history and fantasy.”

  ~The Medieval Chronicle

  LADY GALLANT

  “Rifkin’s novel is epic in scope, meticulously researched and finely detailed. A genuinely sweet romance married to an exciting war/espionage story.”

  ~Romantic Times Book Reviews

  THE DRAGON AND THE ROSE

  “Rifkin is immensely knowledgeable about the story’s time period.”

  ~Romantic Times Book Reviews

  Dedication

  For all the animals great and small, past and present.

  Thank you for the love, laughter,

  and life lessons learned.

  With special thanks to The Wild Rose Press,

  and Amanda Barnett, Editor Extraordinaire.

  Chapter One

  Denver, Colorado, 1880

  Britania followed the maitre d’ to a table in the dining salon of the elegant hotel. Breathless with anticipation, eyes wide with appreciation, she sat down and studied the rich décor. This is how she would live some day. The cards said so.

  Hands folded demurely in her lap, she quietly awaited the arrival of Mr. Cody James. Inside, she burned with intense curiosity while she studied the affluent patrons, especially the women—their manners, how they moved, what they wore. Learning to be a proper lady seemed a never-ending task.

  Reaching up, she patted her hair, making sure each tendril remained in place. Then she smoothed the fabric of her bodice, knowing the dusty-rose color offered the perfect complement to her fair hair and complexion. She’d worn her best dress. Like it or not, appearance counted for a great deal, an axiom upon which she depended as she made her way in the world.

  She’d also tweaked and polished her voice, eradicating her telltale East End London inflection. And her new and improved British accent proved quite helpful in accomplishing her charade. For some reason, people in America connected such speech with the upper class, and the farther west she traveled the more this phenomenon seemed to hold true.

  Her gaze drifted over to the clock on the wall. The man hired to escort her to Leadville, the city of her fate, should be arriving any minute. She intended for Mr. James to assume she had spent the night here at the Palace Hotel. In reality, she’d slept down the street in a cheap rooming house, waking up late and making it to this grand establishment with but moments to spare.

  Frequenting posh surroundings and passing herself off as a lady-of-good-standing helped to keep indecent proposals to a minimum. When men found out they were in the company of a barmaid and Tarot fortuneteller, they tended to assume she was illiterate and easy with her favors. Her ruse today would hopefully spare her from constantly defending her honor as she travel alone with Mr. James.

  Sliding her right hand under the table and down her leg, she patted the reassuring bulk of a derringer strapped to her thigh beneath her skirts. If her deception didn’t work, she came prepared to ensure his gentlemanly cooperation by other means. The cards did not forewarn of any danger on her journey, but life had taught her to be prepared for all eventualities.

  ****

  Britania Rule—what a hell of name for a female. It sounded like trouble to Cody, and another dose of adversity was the last thing he needed. Guess it didn’t matter much, since the first thing he needed was to get out of town.

  Standing on the boardwalk, he re-read the tattered newspaper clipping.

  Wanted: experienced guide to escort lady from Denver to Leadville.

  Must be of good character, with sound body and mind. High moral ethics a must. Payment of $12.50 to be made upon completion of journey.

  Apply P.O. Box 21, Denver. Attention: Miss Britania Rule.

  Cody reckoned his body would pass muster, his character by western standards only slightly tarnished. Of course, his decision to answer the ad made the state of his mind questionable. He must be half-crazy to hire on with a woman.

  As far as moral issues, live and let live worked for him. He tried not to interfere in other people’s pursuits, while still ensuring his own survival. Right now, honest gambling sustained him—barely.

  He’d tried his hand at a few other jobs, but regular hours and regular pay didn’t appeal to his adventurous nature. And although in his reckless youth, he’d been tempted to run a scam or two, he always stopped this side of the law. No one would mistake him for a charity worker, mind you, but he didn’t rob widows and orphans either. What more could this woman want?

  He’d fill the bill—had to—he needed the money, and a new town. His luck on the Front Range had run out, grown cold, just like the women he’d bothered to love. Oddly enough, he’d been pondering the idea of going to Leadville; maybe Lady Luck would be waiting for him there.

  He eyed the building up the street where Miss Rule waited. She must think he could do the job, or she wouldn’t have suggested this meeting. Of course, the letter he’d sent in response to the ad had been pretty darn convincing, if he did say so himself.

  Refolding the article, he tucked it in his back pocket and moseyed up the street toward the Palace Hotel. Time to meet the new boss.

  ****

  “Would madam care to order?”

  Startled by the voice, Britania jumped and glanced up at the stiff little waiter hovering at her side. Pencil poised over a tiny pad, he stood ready to scribe her request for breakfast.

  “I would prefer to wait for my guest, please. I’ve left my name at the fr
ont desk. I’m sure my companion will be joining me directly.”

  “As madam wishes.”

  Disappointment shadowed the man’s expression as he gave a slight bow then wandered off to attend other patrons.

  Her stomach rumbled, giving voice to her hunger. But unable to afford the prices here, she planned to put off ordering indefinitely. There had been a man selling baked potatoes on the boardwalk, she could buy one of those after completing the interview.

  Returning to people watching, she noted a tall man enter the hotel lobby. Dressed in dark clothing, he walked as if to challenge anyone who got in his way, and a dangerous air lingered about his pensive eyes and solemn mouth. Her gaze slid lower across his broad chest and narrow hips, and a shiver of need washed over her, followed by a forgotten rush of desire replacing hunger for food, with hunger of another nature. She not only traveled alone, she felt lonely.

  His stance suggested a well muscled yet trim physique, and when he removed his flat-brimmed hat, a swatch of hair, a bit long and rich-hued as mahogany, dipped forward over his brow. He raked it back with the fingers of one hand, the tousled results a relief to the otherwise serious demeanor.

  With a sigh, she imagined what it would be like to be held in the arms of such a man. Down, girl—she mustn’t give in to such needy thoughts. She’d been in love once, and look how that had turned out. Her sweet, soulful lover had fallen victim to opium. He’d smoked away their grand dreams and minimal savings, and when he succumbed to fever, her faith in love died along with him. Since then, she only allowed solitude and common sense to court and occupy her time.

  The stranger entered the dining area, his gaze sweeping the room, the width of his shoulders seeming to block out the world behind him. Well-heeled boots added to his already impressive height. They didn’t grow men like that in England.

  Although his clothes were clean, on a more thorough inspection, he appeared a bit scruffy, with a faint stubble of beard shadowing the plains of his cheeks. When he turned in her direction, she glimpsed the gun and holster he wore beneath his jacket.

  Mercy me. His persona appeared more outlaw than western hero. The provocative thought sent her heart racing. Then it picked up even greater speed as he headed straight for her table. Bloody bother. This handsome stranger must be Cody James.

  The smell of leather and pine soap infused the air when he halted beside her chair. Tilting her head, she gazed up at him.

  “You Britania Rule?” he asked, his voice deep and mellow, his words unhurried and tinged with a drawly quality making her wish he would say more.

  “Are you Cody James?” she countered.

  “Yes, ma’am. Willing and able.”

  “Then yes, I’m Miss Rule.”

  “I thought you’d be older,” they spoke in unison.

  The corners of his mouth twitched, and he fiddled with the hat he still held.

  “Please, sit down Mr. James. I’m anxious to confirm our plans and begin the journey.”

  “Now just hold on there, little lady.” He eased into the chair across from her. “I have a few questions for you first,” he added, setting his black hat, brim side up, on a vacant chair.

  She stiffened at the thought of divulging personal information. She preferred keeping her life private, and didn’t like sharing confidential information with anyone, let alone a stranger, good looking or not.

  “You can ask. I’ll not guarantee the answers.”

  Her evasive remark prompted a guttural sound from him, seemingly a cross between a growl of discontent and a snort of amusement. She didn’t know whether to be offended at being ridiculed, or pleased at having given him pause.

  “I take it you’re not from around here,” he said, stating the obvious.

  “If that’s an example of your deductive reasoning, I’m not terribly impressed.”

  He sat up a little straighter. “All right then, how about telling me why you’re going to Leadville, and why you’re offering the darn curious payment of $12.50? That’s more than most folks make in a month. You on the run?”

  She supposed his questions were reasonable, but how could she explain moving to a wild and wooly mining town, sight unseen, meant following the path of her fate? He would think her addle-brained, just before he assumed the glazed expression nonbelievers wore when she tried explaining the power of the Tarot. And while believing in predestination as foretold by the cards and the occasional bit of psychic intuition worked for her, she doubted it would pacify a man like Cody James. A good lie seemed her only recourse.

  “I’m simply on the move, not on the run. I’ve a job waiting in Leadville, managing the largest gambling house in town.” That seemed a safe enough answer. All towns had a saloon of some sort.

  “And the money?”

  “I’d be more than happy to pay you less.”

  Traveling across this vast land had been at her expense, and after converting her English currency to this confusing American legal tender, the sum of $12.50, one fourth of all she had left to her name, seemed a fair price for the services required and a simple way of coming up with a figure.

  She remained silent—she would not be cowed or bullied regarding her decision, nor would she elaborate on the subject.

  “It’ll more than do,” he relented.

  “Why all the questions, Mr. James? I’m the one doing the hiring.”

  He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Although I’ve been known to take a chance or two at the tables, in other ventures I like to know in advance what kind of calamities I might be heading for. If I’m going to be responsible for you, I have a right to know a bit about you.”

  A half smile played on his generous mouth making him all the more appealing, but his attitude irritated her. “I don’t need to be taken care of. I made it all the way from England to Colorado on my own. I simply require a guide to see me through the last leg of my journey.”

  She scowled at him—their gazes locked, and her bravado faltered beneath his unreadable expression. His dark brown eyes reminded her of Black tea, brewed strong and served raw with no sugar or cream. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t. Nor could she stop the heat rising in her cheeks. Good Lord, she hadn’t blushed in years, how infuriating, and Cody James bore the blame.

  The disconcerting effect left her tongue-tied, and she didn’t like it one bit. Perhaps the altitude had clouded her brain. Back home at the tavern, she’d easily handled many a cheeky lad, always able to come up with a saucy response or a gentle reprimand. But, Cody James wouldn’t be put off as easily as some playful young fellow, or safe old curmudgeon. How could she spend day after day on the road with this embodiment of the West if his mere presence reduced her to a stuttering schoolgirl? She must take back control of the situation, or find another guide.

  “Don’t take it so personal,” he said, in a more amiable voice. “The questions are simply a policy I adhere to Miss Rule.”

  “Then turnabout is fair play, Mr. James. Since I’ll be trusting to your gentlemanly conduct, I have the right to know whether you are a saint or a sinner.”

  As if deciding how much truth to reveal, his expression turned to serious contemplation. Could his past be so questionable?

  “My younger brother’s a preacher, and my older brother got himself hanged for bank robbery and horse thieving. I guess that makes me a bit of both. All you need to know is I keep my promises, and I promise to get you to Leadville in one piece.”

  His response surprised and excited her. He sounded like the kind of man who lived on the edge, challenging danger, living fast, and loving hard. Oh for heaven’s sake, there she went again—where were these thoughts coming from? She should never have read the Penny Dreadful she found on the train. The book’s vivid depiction of the Wild West, and the men who fought and tamed the land had been scintillating as well as fascinating. Now she couldn’t get the images out of her mind.

  In a dither, she mentally declared the interview over, justifying her d
ecision to hire Mr. James based on the fact she must depart as soon as possible. How he made her feel in the pit of her stomach had nothing to do with it. Time had run out for deliberation or meeting with other candidates. She wanted him—for her guide.

  “Despite your rather dubious answer, you’re hired. I’ll be ready to leave this afternoon.”

  “Well, that’s real nice, lady, but I won’t be leaving until morning. Then there’s the matter of expenses.”

  “What expenses?”

  “Unless you plan on walking all the way, we need a wagon and a couple of horses. And I assume you want to eat between here and there. Travelin’ in the wild can make a body mighty hungry.”

  Her spirits faltered. She thought everyone out west owned horses and wagons—didn’t he have either? Now she would have to spend more of her precious cache of money. Maybe she should have defied the cards and stayed back East where civilization ruled, and where the men weren’t so dangerously appealing.

  “I’ll get us a good deal, Miss Rule,” he promised.

  So much for concealing her heartfelt dismay.

  “And we can supplement the food with game along the trail. Do you know how to cook?”

  “I haven’t starved yet,” she countered. Although there were times she had come close, but not from lack of culinary skill. “I can manage.”

  “Good. I’ll see you at sun-up. Don’t bring more than two trunks. We’ll be rubbing elbows with the Continental Divide, and horses can’t breathe any easier than humans at ten thousand feet. I’ll put the supplies on credit, and we can pay off the bills on the way out of town. Nice doing business with you.”

  He settled his hat into place and stood up—leaving her speechless. Again, she had lost control of the situation. Didn’t she have any choice in what food would be bought, or what type of carriage they should procure? And two trunks…she had arrived with three.

  Gaining her feet, she followed him. “I protest your dictatorial manor.”

  He spun around—bringing her up short. The determined look in those dark brown eyes pinned her in place, and heart in her throat, she dared to stare him down.