To Marry a Texas Outlaw

by Linda Broday

  Brenner shifted, rustling against the ground by the fire, and she glared at him, willing him to disappear from her sight as he already had from her mind. At least Sam and Houston were keeping a close eye on him. He wasn’t going to escape.

  Night fell and the women sentinels of Deliverance Canyon disappeared to safety below. Sam and Houston built a fire. Having done as much as they could for Luke, they marched over to Brenner, leather chaps slapping against their legs, and yanked him up.

  Sam pulled out the gag. “We’re gonna have a talk. And you won’t like what happens if you don’t tell us everything.”

  “I’m a respected lawyer. You can’t treat me this way,” Brenner spat. “I’m going to be appointed judge soon.”

  “You know, Sam, I think McCall is right,” drawled Houston. “We shouldn’t treat him this way. It’s much too nice and civilized.” In a swift move, Houston jerked Brenner up by a hand around the man’s throat. Brenner’s eyes widened as he choked.

  “The marshals are gone,” said Sam, calmly testing the sharpness of his knife. “There’s no one to see what we’re about to do.”

  “When the lawmen return, they’ll find your carcass a mile from here.” Houston tightened his grip, lifting Brenner off his feet. “We’ll tell them you got away and the animals feasted.”

  “So, you see?” Sam smiled grimly. “We’ve thought of everything.”

  Brenner’s eyes pleaded for Josie to save him. Houston lowered him when she stalked over. She drew back a fist and drove it into his face. Blood squirted from his nose. Then she kicked him with the toe of her boot until her leg gave out.

  “You never kept one damn promise you ever made,” she spat.

  “All right,” Brenner screamed. “Get her away from me. I’ll talk.”

  Sam glanced at Houston. “I think we should use her in all our dealings with outlaws.”

  By the time Brenner McCall had answered all their questions, an hour must’ve gone by. They tied him back up and warned if he didn’t keep quiet, they’d gag him.

  The two brothers drank coffee and stared into the fire as the shadows deepened and the black night closed around them. Josie sat by Luke’s side, gently caressing his face. The dark stubble along his jaw made him look dangerous, even though his piercing eyes were shut. She washed blood from his mouth and leaned to kiss his lips, pouring her love into him.

  “Wake up, my darling cowboy,” she whispered. “Get well so we can plan our future.”

  His mouth moved. “Love…you…” The words were weak and she could barely hear, but she hadn’t imagined them. He still felt her, knew she was there.

  But was it his final goodbye?

  Oh God, please don’t let it be that.

  Let it be a sign that he wasn’t giving up.

  Time dragged. Where was Doc Jenkins? He had to hurry. He had to save Luke. She didn’t want to live without him; it would be impossible. Her heart beat only for him, for this lonely, scarred outlaw who’d burrowed into her thoughts, mind, and soul.

  The fire crackled and popped. Then she heard what could be the faint sound of riders. She, Sam, and Houston jerked to their feet at the same time. She strained to hear, praying it was help. The sounds came again, closer and clearer.

  Houston whooped and grinned.

  Help had arrived.

  Soon after, Stoker’s big form strode toward Josie. Then she spied Doc Jenkins. Also the whole group of lawmen, but that didn’t matter.

  Stoker’s long legs carried him to Luke’s side. He knelt and took Luke’s hand. “Son, I’m here. I brought Doc and he’s going to fix you up in no time. You’re going to be all right. Just trust me and hang on for dear life.”

  Josie watched him smooth back Luke’s hair. Though his touch was awkward and rough, she saw love in each stroke.

  Luke’s eyes fluttered, then opened. His voice was weak. “I’m a Legend.” He tried to smile but couldn’t. “Luke Legend. For one day.” He tried to wet his lips. “I love you…Pa.”

  Thirty-seven

  Tears rolled down Josie’s face. The father and son had finally found what each had sought. Luke had seen his dream of being a Legend come true. He belonged. And Stoker had gotten his third son into the fold at last.

  Only…was it too late?

  Josie glanced up at the stars and prayed as she never had. Surely God didn’t need Luke yet, but Lord, how she did. Couldn’t God wait longer for him?

  Doc knelt and opened his black bag. Someone lifted a torch so the man of medicine could see. She hoped he had a miracle up his sleeve, because that’s what it would take.

  Everyone stood in a circle, barely breathing, waiting for the verdict.

  Doc frowned as he inspected the wound. Finally, he addressed them. “He needs surgery—now.”

  “It’ll take time to get him to the ranch.” Stoker’s glance swept to Luke’s still form. “He’s holding on by a thread.”

  Doc rose. “That’s why I’m going to do it right here.”

  Josie gasped. “Isn’t that too risky?” She thought of the dirt, the flies, the thousands of other things that made the conditions unsanitary.

  “We’re out of choices, Miss Josie,” Jenkins answered. He turned to the men. “Back the wagon up real close, and carefully lift Luke into the bed. Don’t jostle him or that bullet will move. Get me all the whiskey, clean cloths, and water you have. I’ll need torches—as many as you can make.” He swung to Josie. “I’ll need an assistant.”

  Everyone—lawmen and all—scattered to put things in place for the doctor.

  All except Stoker. His dark, angry features frightened her. The man was someone to reckon with. If Josie had any kind of softness in her heart for Brenner, she’d have felt sorry for him. Only she didn’t. The man deserved his fate.

  Stoker, his face a stone mask, stalked over to Brenner McCall, Marshal Haskill by his side. Stoker jerked the outlaw to his feet and swung a beefy fist into his jaw. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t put a bullet into your brain right now.”

  Terror filled Brenner’s eyes. “Luke ruined my plans. I only wanted to stop him. He always had too much conscience for his own damn good.”

  Marshal Haskill watched as Stoker backhanded Brenner. The blow would’ve knocked the outlaw ten feet if Stoker hadn’t been gripping his shirt tight. “My son is worth a hundred of the likes of you. He wears honor and courage like a badge. I know you’ve already told your story to my sons but you’re going to tell me and Marshal Haskill.”

  “I’m tired of talking,” Brenner spat. “Take me to jail.”

  Josie quaked at the glassy hardness in Stoker’s eyes. She prayed he never had reason to turn that frightening gaze on her.

  “God have mercy on your soul if you don’t!” Stoker thundered. “I’ve seen men stake their enemies out in a red ant bed. Have you seen what those ants do to a man after a week?”

  Brenner gulped. “No need for that.”

  While Josie and Doc prepared for the surgery, Brenner came clean. She listened and sagged with relief when he cleared Josie of Walt Preston’s murder, then detailed the night of Judge Percival’s demise, taking the bounty off Luke’s head.

  She heard the marshal say they’d take Brenner to Fort Worth to jail come morning.

  Stoker moved to Luke, and the rest of the men sat around the campfire. It finally hit Josie that Luke was free. But would it really make any difference now? If he died, he’d never know. The more Josie’s thoughts tumbled, the harder she scrubbed her hands as Doc Jenkins instructed, scrubbing and scrubbing.

  Anger that it had taken so many years to right that wrong washed over her.

  The kindly doctor laid his hand over hers. She’d scrubbed her hands until they were raw. “That’s enough,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  “Doc, be honest. What are Luke’s chances?” Her voice quivered, barely l
ouder than a whisper.

  “I won’t know until I get in there and see the damage. Hopefully, I can repair it. Another concern—his breathing is too shallow.”

  Doc Jenkins paused before he went on. “Miss Josie, I’m going to do my level best to save that young man.” He patted her shoulder. “But will my efforts be enough? Only the good Lord has the answer to that.”

  It didn’t do much to ease her mind, but Josie appreciated the honesty. “Thank you, Doc.”

  She went with him to the wagon where Luke lay on a thick, bloody bedroll. His eyes were open as he reached for her hand.

  “If I don’t make it through this—” When he paused to suck in air, a whistling sound came from his mouth. His breathing was so shallow. “Pa said…land is yours.”

  Stoker cleared his throat and laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’m going to take care of you.”

  Unable to speak for the sob lodged in her throat, Josie pressed her lips to Luke’s. She couldn’t bear to hear him talk of death. He was strong. She chose to believe that he was going to survive. He’d survived prison, and every other single thing the world had hurled at him. He’d get through this too. Brenner’s wasn’t the bullet he’d feared all his life. Somehow, she had to make him believe that.

  “Luke Rafael Montoya Legend, hush with this kind of foolish talk,” she said over the roar of her fear. “You’ll die over my dead body. So dammit, you better fight and fight hard.”

  “Trying,” Luke muttered, his hand going limp in Josie’s.

  His pale-green eyes stayed locked with hers until Doc placed a cloth over his mouth and dropped some liquid onto it. Finally, freed of the searing agony, Luke slept.

  Stoker crawled from the wagon and stood at the end.

  Doc Jenkins told Sam, Houston, and the marshals with torches to gather close and give him light.

  “The chloroform blocks the pain,” Doc explained to Josie. “He won’t feel a thing.”

  Yes, but would he wake up? That was the question keeping an iron grip on Josie’s heart.

  Thirty-eight

  Josie turned her head as Doc put a scalpel to Luke’s chest. She couldn’t watch the loss of even more precious blood. Even a tough Texas outlaw like Luke had only so much.

  Her hands shook and she prayed she could follow Doc’s instructions. What if Luke died because she messed up?

  Whatever she had to do, she’d just have to make sure that didn’t happen. Josie took a calming breath of air and focused on the task.

  The passage of time didn’t register as she and Doc Jenkins worked in unison. She immediately handed him whatever he requested, without fumbles or questions.

  Finally, Jenkins tied the last knot in the stitches and straightened. Lines in his face betrayed his deep weariness. Blood covered the fancy pinstripe suit he always wore. Josie suspected this didn’t happen all that often. She glanced at Luke. His face was ashen and he barely breathed. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest said his heart still beat.

  “I’ve done all I can do,” Jenkins announced to the grim-faced men around the wagon. “The rest is up to the man upstairs. The next hours will be critical.”

  Stoker’s voice rose. “I want to be with my son. I’ll sit with him—me and Miss Josie.”

  She murmured thanks to Luke’s father for including her. He knew she would not leave the man she loved. She stared at the blood covering her hands.

  After washing up, she climbed into the wagon next to Stoker. Josie took Luke’s palm and held it to her cheek. He would feel her presence and perhaps take some of her strength. She’d gladly give all she had to save him.

  Stoker put his arms around her and told her everything was going to be all right. And who would dare dispute such a commanding man? He was Stoker Legend, so the words had to be true.

  She sat by Luke throughout that endless night, touching his face, willing him to wake up. To tell her he loved her one more time.

  Just to hear his voice again, to feel his arms around her would be heaven.

  Sam and Houston never left the wagon, their gazes locked on their fallen brother.

  In a touching show of the depth of their hearts, the marshals came one by one to ask if there was any change. Deep concern lined the face of each man.

  Marshal Haskill assured Josie that his men had Brenner under guard and would transport him to jail at daybreak.

  Josie would be glad. She wanted to finally be rid of him. His vicious hatred had possibly destroyed her chance at happiness. She felt nothing for the man who’d fathered her. What her mother first saw in him she didn’t know, but Brenner must have been very different as a younger man, before greed and hate and meanness took over.

  Filing that painful chapter of her life away, she turned her focus back to Luke, resting her hand lightly on his bandaged chest. She could feel the reassuring beat of his heart beneath her palm, steady and sure.

  Stoker leaned to put his arm around her. “He’s going to make it, Miss Josie. Luke’s a fighter. I’d put my money on him, and I always bet on a sure thing.”

  Josie rested her head on his wide shoulder. She adored this man who had seen endless trouble since establishing the Lone Star. From what Sam and Houston had said, it had taken every bit of strength and determination Stoker had to hold on to his dream. No question that he loved his land, his sons, and the women who’d borne them.

  And Luke loved his father right back. He’d finally confessed what was in his heart.

  She remembered the scene and her eyes welled with tears. Luke had endured so many horrible tragedies, and any number of them could’ve killed him. Stoker was right. Luke was a survivor.

  As she borrowed from Stoker’s strength, she clung to the knowledge that Luke would emerge even stronger and tougher.

  Dawn broke with Doc announcing that his patient still held on to life. A loud cheer went up.

  Josie caught Doc Jenkins. “When will we try to take Luke home?”

  “I wish I could wait a week, but I don’t think that’s possible.” Jenkins rubbed his bleary eyes and yawned. “I need things I don’t have at my disposal here. We’ll start in a few hours. We’ll have to take it slow, so we’ll sleep under the stars another night.”

  “That’s good news. I want you to have everything you can possibly need.” And Josie would feel a lot better being where she could take care of Luke properly. With all these eyes staring at her, she hadn’t had a private moment.

  She yearned to lie beside him and listen to his breathing, to feel him returning from this place he’d gone to.

  A place she couldn’t go.

  * * *

  As dawn broke, spreading color across the sky, Marshal Haskill and his men rode out with Brenner. It appeared to Josie that the air became cleaner with the outlaw gone. If Luke died, she’d find whichever jail they’d taken Brenner to and put a bullet in him. It didn’t matter what they did to her after that.

  Without Luke, her life would be over anyway.

  Sam and Houston disappeared for a bit and Josie knew they’d quietly slipped away to relay news of Luke’s surgery to Tally and her ladies—Luke’s other family.

  Over the next hour, she busied herself getting Luke ready to travel. She piled blankets that Tally’s group had brought, as well as sleeping bags and whatever else she could find around Luke to cushion him for the ride.

  If he could just make it to the Lone Star, everything would be all right. She just knew it.

  Doc and Stoker discussed the smoothest route, with Sam and Houston throwing in valid arguments.

  At last, they set out. Josie rode in the wagon with Luke and kept a close eye on him. Very frequently, she checked to make sure he still breathed. After each time, she sent up a prayer of thanks. Though he hadn’t shown signs of waking up, or returning the squeeze of her hand, she was grateful for each second he still lived.

&nbs
p; When twilight fell, they made camp. Sam and Houston hunted for game and they shared a quiet meal. With a pall hanging over them, no one felt like talking. They took turns sitting up with Luke. Josie was glad for a little rest, even though she dreamed of nothing but problems. One after another, various things prevented them from reaching the Lone Star. She’d never been so happy to see dawn.

  After traveling all that day, they finally reached ranch headquarters about sundown. When she saw the tall Texas flag waving proudly, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  She kissed Luke’s still lips and whispered, “We’re home, my love. You made it. You’re going to live.”

  * * *

  Josie met Mrs. Ross on the porch’s bottom step and filled her in. Noah hurried out and insisted on crawling up in the wagon to see the man who’d saved him. The boy clung to Luke’s hand and told him that he was a hero and heroes didn’t die. Noah shed no tears, but his solemn expression showed plenty of worry.

  The men had agreed that instead of carrying Luke up the stairs and putting him through untold torture, they’d set up a bed in the coolness of the office. Josie and Mrs. Ross hurried to ready the room. When Josie opened the door, she inhaled sharply in surprise. A striking portrait of a beautiful woman hung on the wall.

  “That’s Luke’s mother,” Houston said.

  “This room is perfect.” Josie stepped inside to take a better look. Luke would have to get well now, with his beloved mother watching over him.

  Once they brought a bed down from upstairs, she made it up with Mrs. Ross’s help. Then Josie stood for a moment, her glance sweeping the room. The tall bookshelves on two walls must have held hundreds of books. She ran her fingers across Stoker’s mahogany desk, feeling the smooth wood. This room reflected Stoker’s personality—big and powerful. While she waited for the men to bring Luke, she glanced at a framed letter on the wall.

  Josie stepped closer. It was a letter signed by Sam Houston, thanking Stoker for service above and beyond in the fight for Texas independence. The general called Stoker a true patriot and an uncommon hero. Josie couldn’t agree more.