by Keta Diablo
A slow smile spread across his face, and in a moment, it was matched by Ruby’s grin. Trip picked up their clasped hands, turned them over, and dropped a light kiss on the back of her wrist.
"What are we looking at when we get there?" he asked, letting go of Ruby and pulling open the straps of the saddlebag.
Ruby handed him a shirt from where it hung on the slat-back rocker in the corner of the room. "It looks to be interesting—apparently there’s some kind of water-creature haunting a bridge across the river there. Nat Tremayne seems to think it might be a troll."
Trip’s heart grew lighter as he listened to Ruby outline what she knew about trolls.
Oh, yes. It looks to be interesting, indeed.
* * *
Thank you for reading Wild, Wild Ghost. If you'd like to know more about Margo's books, please visit her Author Home: https://margobondcollins.com/ And her Amazon Author page: https://www.amazon.com/Margo-Bond-Collins/e/B00EOU9DEG
COMES AN OUTLAW
A Western Romance Novel
by Keta Diablo
Copyright ©2016 by Keta Diablo
Cover art by ©Charlene Raddon
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organization, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.
About COMES AN OUTLAW
When a tragic accident claims her husband's life, Jesse Santos must find a way to keep the ranch, the only home her 12-year-old son has ever known. The ranch hands have abandoned her, a gang of cutthroat ranchers want her land and an ancient Yaqui Indian insists a spirit has taken up residence in the house.
After a fifteen-year absence, her husband's brother, Coy, returns to his childhood home. He doesn't plan on staying, and he certainly doesn't intend to settle down with a widow and her son...no matter how pretty she is.
He's an outlaw, after all, and made a decision to put an end to his gun-slinging days long ago. Will his conscience let him walk away from family, or will his heart overrule his head?
Chapter One
Arizona 1885
Dawn caressed the homespun curtains in the cramped bedroom, rousing Jesse from a restless night's sleep. A delicate breeze rustled through the two-inch gap between window and sill, doing little to motivate the damp, heavy air in the room.
She tossed back the blue and white quilt, slid from bed and crossed the room to the pitcher and bowl on the bureau.
Gonna be another scorcher today, Jezebel. Might want to tie your hair back.
For a brief moment, she closed her eyes and willed the voice in the room to leave. He wasn't there, not in a real sense. Like every other day since his death, he invaded her thoughts, spoke in her head. She opened her eyes and fought the overwhelming urge to turn around, prove once and for all ghosts didn't exist.
"Are you set on driving me crazy, Cain? Don't I have enough to deal with without you tormenting me? Besides, I don't like it when you call me Jezebel, and you darn well know it."
That's why no one calls you Jezebel except me.
She spun around and glared at the rocking chair under the window. "Ah, another one of your tricks to make me think I'm losing my mind—call me something no one else does."
Yes, I'm in the rocker, the one my mother always sat in beside the hearth. You remember after she died, we brought it into our bedroom?
"Stop...you must stop." Her hands went to her temples. "If you were real I would see you sitting there."
If only I could show myself. You have no idea how hard it is to project my voice. Takes so much energy. I'm working on it though, have high hopes I'll get better at this spirit realm thing.
"I don't want you to get better at it; I want you to stop speaking to me entirely."
We talked about this, agreed that if something happened to one of us, we'd do our best to come back, watch over the other one.
She paced a small area at the end of the bed. "I only agreed because I thought it would never happen, could never happen. I wanted to please you, knew how much you loved your line of work, believed in it."
Nonetheless, Jezebel, it happened. I'm here and I mean to look out for you. I didn't want to leave you so soon but we must deal with what is now.
Stopping her harried pace, she looked to the chair again. "You don't think I'm doing my best to deal with what is now? And stop calling me that!"
You'll always be my precious Jezebel.
She heard a contented sigh filter through the still air.
My Jezebel with the tangle of long, copper hair, eyes the color of Robin's eggs and the lovely bowed mouth. I recall the first time I saw you. Slop bucket hanging off your tiny arm, you walked from the back room of Two Bits, skirted the bar and dropped to your knees to scrub the floor. Do you remember?
She hung her head. "How could I forget the day you saved me from a life of...well, destitution, offered me safety, security?" Looking up again, she fanned an arm over the room. "Offered me a home."
And I want to make sure you keep that home, our home, Grange's home.
"That's why you're here?"
For the most part. I always said this is a unforgiving land. People aren't careful it'll swallow them whole and—
"Kill them."
Yes, and I aim to do everything I can to make sure it doesn't take you and Grange.
"I don't think I can do this, dark forces are at work, conspiring against your son and me. Lord knows I've tried, Cain, but how can a woman and a boy fight against the harsh elements, the day-to-day struggles without a man? Hard enough when you were here, but now, most days I think the land is going to win. Every morning I walk out onto that porch and think I'm walking into the fires of Hell. There's more...someone's been cutting the fence lines, scattering the cattle. Takes us days to get them back again."
Not someone, Jezebel. Search your heart; you know who's behind it.
She walked back to the bureau, opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of leather trousers. After pulling the nightshirt over her head, she grabbed Cain's flannel shirt from a hook, slipped her arms into the sleeves and pulled the trousers over her hips. "I know who the varmints are, all right. Domingo and Benito. Am I right?"
The Torres brothers.
"Yeah, and the low-bellied snakes they ride with, Mutton-Chop Walsh and Digger Newly." She blew an exasperated breath and looked over her shoulder to the window. "How do you expect me to stand up to that, Cain? I can't do it, I tell you. Let them have the land because it ain't worth dying for, or God forbid, losing Grange over."
You can't give up the land, love. Been in my family for generations. Ma and Pa will be turning over in their—
"I don't care. I'm not sacrificing my son, our son, for a piece of scorched earth in the middle of nowhere."
You're talking foolish now. You love the land as much as I do, I mean did. You're tired, worn out; I get that, but....
"But what?"
I never thought I'd hear you say you want to give up the land, give up on life.
"It's different now that you're gone. You might as well face it, I'm leaving, Cain. And you should leave too, find that white light you always talked about and forget about this place."
Help is coming, Jezebel.
"Yeah, and so are monsoon winds, dried up creek beds and taxes. Or did you forget taxes are due...again?"
I'm asking you to hang on for a little while, that's all.
"You expect me to believe a knight on a big white horse will be riding in soon to save us?"
He rides a Piebald.
"What?"
I said he rides a Piebald with black and white spots, sixteen hands tall.
"Who...who rides a spotted horse and how do you know he's coming here?"
I'm fading, Jezebel. Used up everything I got this morning.
"No you don't! You can't waltz in here, drop your innuendoe
s and disappear like a snuffed out candle."
Trust me. Hang on...please hang on.
"Cain, wait...don't go! You can't leave like this!"
Hang on, Jezebel...hang on....
* * *
Her mind reeling after her conversation with her late husband, Jesse stood on the porch with her hand cupped over her brow. In the distance the saguaro cactus and prickly pear shimmered beneath a blistering sun. Cain had been right about one thing...today would be another scorcher. She didn't know what to think anymore. Was she losing her mind or had Cain somehow crossed the veil to watch over them?
She couldn't speak of it to Grange, not while he still struggled with his father's sudden death. He was no longer the carefree boy of days gone by, but a sullen and withdrawn twelve-year-old with too much responsibility and too few smiles. Most days, he'd rush through his chores and head into the Vulture Mountains, sometimes for hours on end.
She looked to them now, that crescent shaped range, fearless and wild, rising up like giant sentinels, beckoning man and beast alike to enter its rugged terrain. Cain had succumbed to their beauty, as had his parents before him. Even her beloved son couldn't resist its formidable summons. She pictured him now, his father's old Winchester cradled in his arms, Fetch scrambling up a slope ahead of him and standing stock still the moment he spied a desert cottontail or an antelope jackrabbit. The owlet he rescued would be perched on his shoulder; its downy ear tufts twitching, its keen eyes alert.
As if her thoughts could call him forth, Grange walked from the side of the barn, two rabbits hanging from a rope off his wrist. His long, midnight hair gleamed as he advanced and offered a casual wave. He didn't take after her and didn't resemble his father much either, except for his height. Tall for a boy his age, she imagined one day those gangly legs and arms would fill out, the shoulders would broaden and, dare she hope, the rain-gray eyes would reflect hope and promise again?
"Had some luck hunting, I see."
Grange tossed the rabbits onto the porch. "Make a fine soup for supper tonight." He walked up the steps, leaned the rifle against the railing and pivoted around when Fetch let loose a series of barks. "You expecting someone?"
Jesse looked toward the cloud of churned up dust at the end of the long drive and shook her head. "No, and no one comes calling this early in the morning." Instinctively, she reached for the rifle and held it in the crook of her arm. "You don't suppose it means trouble?"
"Trouble comes in many forms these days, Ma. If you're thinking the Torres brothers, those cowards do their dirty work after dark."
"Just the same..." She raised the rifle, resting the stock against her chest. "If it is them, I mean to let them know we won't go down without a fight."
Cain's word rang in her ears as the whirling-dervish advanced. Help is coming, Jezebel. He rides a Piebald, sixteen hands high.
Chapter Two
The one-hundred and forty miles from Yuma taxed Coy's already depleted stamina. In some small measure, he could blame it on the heat, but in truth, he was no longer accustomed to the long, grueling days in the saddle and sleeping on the hard ground at night. He'd grown soft in the last seven years, something he intended to remedy in the immediate future.
The town of Red Butte sat five miles behind him, which meant his destination should appear around the next bend. He wondered how much had changed since he'd left fifteen years ago. Hell, he wondered if anyone would even recognize him. Guess he'd soon find out.
The one-story house came into view. Still painted buttercup yellow and trimmed in white, with a wrap-around veranda the same color as the trim, at least that hadn't changed. The red barn still stood and to the right of the house, the riotous garden remained. Childhood memories flooded him. He could almost smell his mother's Blue Bells and Forget Me Nots, taste her home-grown beans, squash and the mouth-watering ears of corn, fresh off the stalk.
A dog barked from somewhere near the steps of the porch. As he drew closer he spotted the long-haired cur, part Australian Shepherd and a breed he couldn't identify. The dog trotted up the steps when he brought his horse to a halt, settled in beside a young boy, and then flashed an ominous row of white teeth his way. His gaze left the dog and wandered to the boy with a baby screech owl perched on his left shoulder. A brown slouch hat sat atop his head, the chin strap resting on his chest. His hair was long and jet black, his eyes gun-metal gray. A rope-belt held up his baggy wool trousers and the white cotton shirt set off his youthful, tanned face. A face that held a wary expression yet exuded a cocky air.
"State your business," a female voice called out.
Too busy taking in his surroundings, the dog and the boy, his tired brain overlooked the woman on the porch. Now that he'd taken a good look, he couldn't imagine how any man with blood running through his veins could fail to notice her. Tall and lean, weathered leather trousers clung to her long legs like second skin. A red flannel shirt hung long and loose on her body but failed to hide her womanly curves. Her hair was thick and straight, falling past her shoulders in a tangle of burnished copper. Watchful and intense, her large, round eyes glistened like liquid pools of blue ice.
When he brought a knee up to dismount, she cocked the rifle. "You don't hear so good. I asked you to state your business."
"My business? I was about to ask what you're doing here and follow it up with just who the hell are you?"
"Don't bother dismounting, and don't even think about going for that sidearm at your hip. Though the buzzards might like it; they haven't had their breakfast yet this morning."
"Right friendly, aren't ya?"
"To my friends, yes."
"Where's the folks that used to live here?"
She jerked her chin toward a cluster of cottonwoods in the distance. He remembered the trees and the black wrought-iron fence surrounding them, the family graveyard. His heart wrenched for a brief moment. He hadn't considered the possibility that his parents might be dead.
"Where's Cain? He off again on one of his infamous ghost hunts or is he hiding inside with his nose buried in a textbook?"
Something crossed her eyes for a second...surprise, sorrow? Maybe both. "You know Cain?"
"I should, he's my brother."
Definitely shock this time. "Your...your brother?"
"Now who can't hear so good?"
"I heard you. He, well, he didn't talk much about a brother."
"No, don't imagine he did." He put his hands out at his sides. "Look, it's mighty hot out here under the sun, and my horse needs water. And for the record, never point a rifle at a man unless you intend to use it."
"I still might."
He shook his head and blew a puff of air.
"All right, climb on down but keep your hands where I can see 'em." She eased up on the rifle and turned to the boy. "Grange, grab a bucket of water for his horse."
The kid scrambled down the steps and headed for the well nearby, the mutt close on his heels and growling as he passed. "Easy, Fetch," the boy said.
"Fetch? How original."
"At least he's got a name," he muttered under his breath and kept on walking.
Coy turned back to the woman. "The kid's right. Forgive my manners. Name is Coy...Coy Santos, Cain's younger brother. If he's not here right now, I'm sure he'll vouch for me when he gets back."
She leaned the rifle against the railing and met his eyes. "I'm Jesse, and that boy watering your horse is my son, Grange."
He looked toward the cemetery again. "So Ma and Pa are gone, huh? Didn't realize I'd been gone so long."
"I'm sorry." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Your pa died seven years back, your ma..." She looked off for a minute as if recalling the event. "Must be five years ago now."
"Well, I guess time slips away without us realizing it." He caught those shimmering blue eyes again. "You didn't tell me your last name."
"Santos," she said and paused to wait for his reaction. When he didn't offer one, she added, "Cain's wife."
&
nbsp; The merciless sun must have scrambled his brain. She looked too young to be his brother's wife; she couldn't be more than thirty years old. And Cain, well, he was almost twenty years older than him. Above that, she had to be the most handsome woman he'd ever laid eyes on. There had to be more to this story, and he intended to find out how she ended up married to his bookish brother.
"You...you're married to my brother?"
She nodded. "Last time I checked."
"The boy is Cain's son?"
Another nod as she glanced toward the boy.
"Guess I missed out on a whole lot of news from home."
"There's more." She turned on her heels and walked toward the door leading to the house. "Can't very well turn family out. Come inside, breakfast is warming on the stove. I'll let you know what else you missed."
* * *
The man who claimed to be Cain's brother took his time looking around the kitchen. She couldn't tell if he was recalling events from his childhood or if he always scoped out his surroundings before committing to any situation. He reminded her of a wild animal, wary and ready to spring into action at the first sign of danger.
When he finally turned his attention to her, she nodded him into a chair at the kitchen table and then grabbed two coffee cups and the pot from the stove. "Do you take cream or sugar?"
"Black will do."
Grange walked through the door with Fetch. Both eyed the newcomer with suspicion before her son plopped into a chair opposite him and the dog settled in near his feet with a long huff. "Son, I've asked you to leave that owl in a tree while we eat."
"Ah, come on, Ma. He might fall out again, and besides, he doesn't know what to do without me."
If Coy thought it strange a baby owl seemed at home on Grange's shoulder, much to his credit, he said nothing. "I was waiting for Grange to return for breakfast when you rode in." She filled his cup and then hers with coffee, returned the pot to the stove and set a skillet down on the table. "Bacon, eggs and sourdough biscuits. Help yourself."
He lifted the cover from the skillet, filled his plate and picked up his fork. While he shoveled food into his mouth (how long had it been since he'd eaten a hot meal?) she studied him. He didn't resemble Cain, not in coloring or features. This man's hair was midnight black, his eyes dove gray. It dawned on her at that moment Grange looked more like the man who called himself Coy Santos than he did his own father. This man was taller, harder in appearance. While Cain's face was filled out and round, this man's was lean, all sharp angles and planes. Dark eyebrows and long eyelashes rested above a strong, straight nose, and below a wide, full mouth completed the features. Most women would call him handsome, in a rugged sort of way.