Wild Western Women Ride Again: Western Historical Romance Boxed Set

by Kirsten Osbourne

  Mrs. Kennedy bustled into the room. “Here, take this food with you, and my heavier jacket, it will keep you warm.”

  Footsteps coming down the stairs caused both women to turn as Dr. Kennedy entered, waving a pistol.

  “Doctor, for heaven’s sake, what are you doing?” Mrs. Kennedy screeched.

  “This is for Mrs. Wilson to bring with her.”

  “Oh, my goodness.” She patted her chest. “You scared me half to death!”

  The road from Bartlett’s Creek to Indianapolis was, as expected, completely deserted. Most likely a vast amount of the citizenry were celebrating. The earth under the horse’s hooves allowed her to go at a quick pace. As a well-traveled road, it provided a solid ride.

  Rosemarie shifted in the saddle and pulled the collar of the borrowed jacket up to cover her ears. The night air was chilly, and she thanked God for the Kennedys’ generosity.

  Moonlight cast long shadows over snug little farmhouses and sizeable barns as she continued on her journey. The odor of fresh dirt from furrows of freshly plowed fields rose to her nostrils, the familiar smell comforting her. Silence was her only company, broken only by the heavy breathing from her and Mellow as she maintained a brisk pace.

  Her thoughts drifted to Daniel. For the first time since she’d met Captain Nelson and his men on the road in town, hope filled her heart. Hope that she would have the man who had captured her heart and her children’s devotion. Memories of their time together before he left raised her temperature. She’d never imagined the joining of a man and a woman could be so wonderful. The only recompense she’d ever gotten from her intimacy with Hans were her three beautiful children.

  Now that the initial excitement for her plan had worn off, fatigue engulfed her. Her backside hurt from the constant jarring of the horse. She shifted in the saddle, but no matter how she moved, after about ten or fifteen minutes, she was sore again. Maybe if she nibbled on the food Mrs. Kennedy had packed for her, it would help to keep her awake.

  Munching on a juicy red apple, Rosemarie bent low over the horse and galloped on toward Indianapolis, praying the horse wouldn’t lose his footing in the dark.

  

  Rosemarie banged on the Governor’s door for the third time. The inky black sky, with thousands of stars lighting it, confirmed it was still a few hours before dawn. She held her breath and rested her ear against the large wooden door. Yes. That was the sound of footsteps approaching. Someone fiddled with the lock and then the door opened. “Yes, miss?”

  The servant had apparently been roused from his slumber. Rosemarie pushed the guilt aside. “Mrs. Rosemarie Wilson to see the Governor.”

  White hair stood in tufts from his head as the servant regarded her, his eyebrows rising. “Madam, it is barely a few minutes past three o’clock in the morning.”

  She nodded. “Yes. I know. May I come in and wait for him, please?”

  He opened his mouth, then closed it, repeating the action until he resembled a fish. “The governor won’t be receiving guests for several hours.”

  Rosemarie ran her sweaty palms down the front of her dress. “Look, Mr….” When he didn’t answer, she continued. “It is a matter of life and death that I speak with the governor as quickly as possible.”

  When he moved to close the door, she slapped her hand against it. “Please. Please, sir, just let me wait inside until dawn. Then I really must insist you wake Governor Morton so I may speak with him.”

  “Madam,” his voice rose, “kindly remove your hand from the door, or I shall summon the police.”

  “What the devil’s going on down there, Billings? I’m surprised you haven’t woken the entire neighborhood.” Governor Morton hurried down the stairs, tying the belt of his silk dressing gown.

  “I’m so sorry, Governor, but this woman insists on entering and waiting to speak with you.”

  “For heaven’s sake, madam,” the governor pulled the door open. “You don’t knock on people’s doors…” He stopped, his eyes wide. “Is that you, Rosemarie?”

  “Yes. It is me, and I need help. Right away.” With the door opened further, she edged her way into the entranceway.

  “Of course, of course, come in. Please.”

  The servant, suddenly seeming to notice his appearance, smoothed his hair and brushed the front of his red and white striped sleep shirt.

  “Billings, show…” he glanced in Rosemarie’s direction.

  “Mrs. Wilson,” Rosemarie added.

  “Mrs. Wilson to the parlor. I will join her shortly.”

  The servant bowed. “Yes sir.” He turned to Rosemarie. “Right this way, madam.” He conducted her to the parlor with all the dignity of a man dressed in the finest livery to be had in Indianapolis. Rosemarie covered her mouth with her hand to control the giggles as she followed him, his pale, hairy legs leading the way.

  Three quarters of an hour later, Governor Morton entered the parlor, dressed as if it were two o’clock in the afternoon. He strode in his familiar manner, crossing the room in a few steps. “It’s so good to see you, Rosemarie.” He grinned as he took the seat across from her. “I just wish it were a bit later in the day.”

  “I’m sorry to have arrived at such an hour, but I need a favor, and it was important I come right away.”

  They both turned as Billings knocked lightly on the door and pushed in a cart filled with coffee, tea, biscuits, jam, and fruit.

  “Ah, here we are.” The governor turned to Rosemarie. “I thought whatever you needed to discuss would go down much better with some food.”

  Tears flooded her eyes at the familiarity of this home, this man. He’d been like a second father to her in the years she worked for him. A smidgen of guilt nudged at her with the realization that she’d not visited him since the day she left. Her eyes had filled with tears that day too, as he hugged her goodbye and she left with her meager belongings to a new life she’d had no say in.

  Not that the years with Hans had been horrible. He’d never struck her, and provided well for her and their children. If there was no softness in the man, he at least didn’t make demands on her that she wasn’t comfortable with. She gave herself a mental shake. This reminiscing wasn’t solving her present problem.

  The governor sipped from his coffee cup and leaned back, a look of pleasure on his face. “So what is this problem that brings you to my doorstep in the middle of the night?”

  Rosemarie told her story, starting with Hans’ death, the months of fear and loneliness, and then Daniel’s arrival and all that evolved since then. When she finished, crumbs from the biscuit she’d worried into bits covered her lap.

  Governor Morton was silent for a few moments after she finished, then he stood, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’ve been against the brutality of this war.” He turned to her. “On both sides.” He stared into the distance and continued. “This war will go down in the history books as the worst conflict this great country of ours ever had.” He began to pace, lost in his thoughts. “Every single soldier who bled to death on the field was an American. Every limb cut from a screaming soldier belonged to one of us. We killed our own brothers, uncles, sons, and fathers. Battle fields in both the north and south are saturated with the blood of our young men. How shall we survive as a nation with so many of our promising youths dead or wounded?”

  Rosemarie licked her dry lips. Time was passing, and she needed his help. The sky had lightened since she’d begun her story.

  “I’m sorry, my dear. I realize you’re probably anxious to save your young man, and here I am rambling on as if I stood before an audience at a rally.” He grinned and took his seat. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  “I need someone with authority to stop Lt. McCoy’s hanging. The Commander at the camp has been called to Washington. You are the only person above Captain Nelson who can stop this.”

  He gave her a curt nod. “Excuse me.” The governor rose and walked to the door, shouting for Billings. The servant appeared within
seconds.

  “I want you to take a note to the Western Union office right away.” He moved to a small desk in the corner and pulled out a piece of paper with the Governor’s Seal on top. Dipping his pen into the inkwell, he began to write.

  Rosemarie took in a deep breath. Hopefully, the missive would reach the camp before Captain Nelson followed through with his plans. Then an idea formed that made her heart twist. She didn’t trust Captain Nelson. She chewed her lip as Billings left the room, the note in his hand.

  “May I ask one more favor?” Rosemarie stood, her fingers clenched.

  Governor Morton leaned back in his chair. “What else?”

  “I have reason to believe Captain Nelson is taking this entire thing personally. I fear he may ignore the telegram.”

  The governor frowned. “Surely he wouldn’t ignore a direct order from the Governor?”

  “No, probably not. But, who’s to know when the telegram will arrive? Even if it’s later found he disregarded your instructions, it will be too late to save Lt. McCoy.”

  He nodded and pulled another piece of paper from his desk drawer, and wrote again. “Here. I suggest you ride to Camp Morton with this in your hand.”

  “Thank you so much. I will never forget your kindness.”

  A slight flush rose on the governor’s face, and he waved her away. “Just go save your young man. That’s all the thanks I want.”

  She bent and kissed him on the cheek.

  “And don’t wait another nine years to visit again.”

  With the paper in her hand, she left the house.

  Chapter Ten

  Daniel must have dozed off, as he was jarred awake by the sound of the cell door swinging open. “Got some breakfast here for ya, Lieutenant.” The sheriff held a small basket that he placed on the edge of the cot. “Haven’t seen hide or hair of Captain Nelson, so I thought I’d better feed ya. No telling how long they caroused last night.”

  Rubbing his palms over his face, Daniel stood. “Thanks, sheriff. I appreciate it.”

  “Sure seems ya got yourself in a lick of trouble.”

  Daniel nodded. “Can I get some water? I’d like to clean up a bit.”

  The sheriff swung the cell door closed and headed out toward the back. He returned a short while later with a pan of water and a small square of cloth. He slid them under the bars. “I’ll clean everything out when you’re gone.”

  When you’re gone.

  Today was most likely the last morning he would wake up. His eyes shifted to the small window where he’d touched Rosemarie’s hand last night, while he cursed the wall that separated them. Now the moonlight had disappeared, leaving the buildings across the street glowing in the orange haze of sunrise. How soon would the captain come for him? Would they hang him the minute they hit the fort, or give him time to contemplate his fate?

  The water in the pan was cold, but it felt good on the injuries his face had taken yesterday. After cleaning his face and teeth, Daniel ran his wet fingers through his hair. He shoved the pan into a corner and pulled the basket to him. Two warm biscuits, jam, and a small jar of coffee. He unscrewed the lid and drank the hot, bracing liquid. Although they smelled wonderful, his stomach rebelled at the thought of eating the biscuits.

  Once he finished the coffee, Daniel stretched out on his cot, his hands behind his head. The ceiling above him was cracked, the paint chipped. His gaze roamed the room, the stark walls, small cot, slop bucket in the corner, and the bars on the cell door. Keeping him in, away from those he loved.

  Before long his thoughts drifted to exactly where he didn’t want them to go. Rosemarie. The woman he’d intended to return to when the war was over. To marry her, love her, help raise her children. A slight smile hitched his lips.

  Amelia with her hatred of oatmeal, the appreciation in her bright eyes when he’d made her scrambled eggs. The pride in Chandler as he held up a rabbit he’d shot the last time they hunted. And little Jace, giggling as his arms raised, wanting Daniel to put him on his shoulders. How he would have loved to see them all grow into adulthood.

  The sound of footsteps and deep voices pulled him from his musing. Captain Nelson and two of his men stood outside his cell. The sheriff arrived right behind them, the ring of keys in his hand.

  “Time to go, southern boy.” Captain Nelson sneered. “You ready to swing?”

  Daniel muttered a curse under his breath and stood. He wouldn’t give Nelson the satisfaction of showing the fear that tightened his belly. “Anytime, Yankee.”

  Captain Nelson scowled and nudged the sheriff. “Get the bastard out of there. We’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

  Once again Daniel’s hands were tied behind his back. They escorted him down the hallway and outside to the bright sunlight. Two other men and six horses gathered in front of the jailhouse. Across the street, several shopkeepers stopped sweeping and gossiping, and stared.

  “How do you expect me to mount the horse with my hands tied?”

  Nelson gestured to one of the soldiers standing next to him. The young man, not yet out of his teen years, quickly untied the leather strap. Daniel mounted the horse. “Don’t see as how I can ride either, with my hands tied up.”

  “No matter, dead man. One of my men will have a gun pointed at your back the entire ride. Either swing from the rope or get shot in the back, makes no difference to me.”

  Captain Nelson and his men all straddled their horses, and with a wave of his hand, Nelson moved them forward. Daniel was positioned between the captain and two young soldiers in the front, and the rest behind. The click of a gun by a soldier to his rear reinforced the captain’s threat.

  The two hour ride to the camp passed quickly. As they rode through the main gate, Captain Nelson led the men to a different location than the one Daniel had escaped from several weeks back. “Danforth,” Nelson directed his comments to the soldier alongside him, “lock the prisoner up. I’m going to the office to get the paperwork done for his hanging.”

  The level of activity in the camp had increased since Daniel’s departure. News of the surrender of General Lee had apparently reached the men. Already groups of men, ragged and weary, rode into the fort in creaking wagons from the fighting fields.

  Danforth nudged Daniel with his gun and indicated he should dismount. Daniel slid from the horse, and with a soldier on either side, entered a small room. A desk with papers scattered about sat in the middle of the space, with several chairs in various positions. A large map hung on a wall between two windows.

  “In there.” The young soldier motioned.

  Daniel walked the short distance to one of four cells in a room behind the office. After being locked in, he sat on the cot and leaned against the wall, awaiting his fate.

  

  Captain Nelson entered his quarters and laid his sword and gun on his desk. A rap on the door caught his attention. “Enter.”

  A middle aged soldier, with a belly that hung over his belt, saluted as he move into the room. “This telegram just came for you, Captain.”

  “Thank you, soldier.” After nodding at the man, Nelson opened the paper and read, his eyes moving over the words. His jaw worked, and he felt his face flush.

  “Goddammit!” He crumpled the paper, then fisted his hands on his hips, staring out the window. After a few minutes, he tore the missive into small pieces and tossed them into the fireplace.

  

  “Time to go, Reb.” Captain Nelson smirked at him from the other side of the bars.

  After the door unlocked, Daniel stepped out, and the soldier standing next to Nelson tied Daniel’s hands behind his back.

  “Don’t I get to see a preacher?”

  “No. We don’t have one here. You’ll have to ask the good Lord to forgive your black soul all by yourself. Get moving.”

  As he stepped from the building, Daniel blinked at the bright sunlight, his eyes riveted on the platform with the noose hanging from it. This was it.

  I’m so s
orry, Rosemarie. Please don’t mourn me for too long. Take care of Chandler, Jace, and Amelia. Hug them for me and hold them close.

  Daniel climbed the steps and walked to the center. The young soldier standing guard positioned him, and then slid the rope around his neck.

  “Have any last words, soldier?” Captain Nelson stood, arms crossed.

  “Stop!”

  All three men glanced toward a woman, her skirts above her knees, hair flying in the breeze as she rode a horse right up to the platform, yanked on the reins and slid to the ground.

  Rosemarie?

  She looked magnificent. All the righteousness of an avenging angel radiated from her. Her hair tumbled down her back, her face was flushed. She gasped to catch her breath, her chest rising and falling. With her hands fisted at her side, and eyes flashing, she marched up to Captain Nelson, drew her arm back, and punched him square in the jaw.

  Oh my God. Now we’ll both hang.

  The soldier on the platform jumped down and grabbed Rosemarie, wrenching her hands behind her back.

  “Leave her alone,” Daniel shouted. Turning to the other soldier on the platform with him, he growled, “Cut me loose.”

  Confused with the turn of events, and eyes bulging at the attack on the Captain, by a woman, no less, the soldier withdrew his sword and cut the ties binding Daniel’s hands together. After yanking the rope from his neck, Daniel ran down the steps.

  “You dirty, stinking bastard!” Rosemarie attempted to free herself, but the soldier held tight. “Governor Morton sent you a telegram this morning, telling you to halt this hanging.”

  The captain rubbed his chin. “I received no such information.”

  “Strange. I was right there in his parlor three hours ago when he sent his man with the note to the Western Union office.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Proceed with the hanging.” Nelson glared at the soldier. “Who authorized you to free his hands?” The captain’s face contorted in anger.

  “No you don’t.” Rosemarie yanked herself free from the befuddled soldier. “I have another note right here, signed at the same time by Governor Morton.” She shoved the paper into his hand. “You can all see for yourself this is the Governor’s seal on that paper. If you hang Lt. McCoy, I’ll make sure you’re thrown into prison for the rest of your miserable life.