The Lassoed by Marriage Romance Collection

by Bell, Angela; Breidenbach, Angela; Carter, Lisa

  “Colorado’s gonna heal ya, Gloree, I just know it.”

  Even now Gloree could hear the determination in his voice, see the crease on his brow that appeared only when he thought on a subject real hard. Thomas had that same crease and the same determined voice. Had she not been the weak one, the sickly one, her husband and children would be alive today.

  His last words echoed in her ears even now. “Just hold on, Gloree. Help’s comin’.”

  Again she focused upward at the deep-blue sky. “Well, Pitt Lowe, I sure could use some of that help right now.”

  “Miz Lowe?”

  Gloree jumped at the gruff voice. A rider approached flanked by two others.

  A gasp escaped her lips as she used her apron to smear the grime from her face. Was she so far gone that she’d missed hearing three men on horseback galloping toward her?

  Evidently, yes.

  The rider reined in his mare, a lovely paint, and allowed the two men riding matching bays to catch up. The trio, well-armed and obviously trail weary, approached with a boldness that set Gloree’s heart thumping. These were obviously no circuit riders. More likely, a band of outlaws had come to visit.

  Strange, but the thought of dying today didn’t appeal as much as she expected it would now that the opportunity might be presenting itself. Gloree dropped the corner of her apron and set her hands firmly on her hips. As an afterthought, she pasted on a look of defiance.

  The man called her name once more, and this time she responded. Surely an outlaw wouldn’t stand on formality before he picked her place clean and put her in a grave beside the rest of the Lowe family. However unexpected, these men must be coming as friend rather than foe.

  Relief shot through her. She let her scowl slip.

  Horse hooves on mud mixed with snow made the oddest sound. Odder still that Gloree would notice, and yet she did. As the trio neared, she focused on those hooves instead of the faces of the riders. Only when slush nearly splattered her shoes did Gloree take a step backward and look up.

  Shadowed by the brim of his hat, the fellow leading the trio looked to be the eldest, possibly even father to the pair who lagged behind. The horse whinnied, no doubt protesting her presence. Its rider seemed to be of a similar mind as he swung his leg over and dropped into a relatively dry spot.

  Pushing back his hat, the man revealed a pair of narrow-set eyes and a thatch of gray hair that hung low over his brow. “Miz Lowe,” he said slowly, “you and me’s got business to discuss.”

  He must be looking for silver; most were nowadays. Maybe she ought to tell him now that the creek had nothing of value in it besides the water itself.

  “I don’t reckon I know you, mister,” she decided on instead.

  Gloree spoke with more bravado than she felt, and the expression on the man’s face showed he knew it. Searching for something else to say, she landed on one that was only slightly leaning toward untruth.

  “What with my husband inconvenienced at the moment you might ought to get back on that horse and come back when he’s able to speak to you.” Like never.

  The statement brought guffaws from the trio.

  “Oh, he’s inconvenienced, all right.” This from a skinny man not much bigger than Gloree. Probably not much older, either.

  “Inconvenienced all the way to a hole in the ground, oh about two months ago. Or was it three?”

  It was almost four, but she kept her silence rather than correct the ruffian. Instead, she tried another tack.

  “Gentlemen, I’d be obliged if you’d go on back the way you came. You’re obviously not here on a polite social call.”

  Trembling fingers balled into fists as she forced herself to turn her back on the threesome and walk toward the house and the Springfield that leaned against the wall behind the butter churn.

  To her surprise, they didn’t try to stop her when she picked up her pace and stepped across the sodden prairie like it was a city sidewalk. They followed at a distance, this much she knew by the sound of the horses. Her pride, or maybe it was self-preservation, refused to let her turn and look. It also refused to let her run.

  Her stomach began to churn and her breaths shortened. Unlike her years spent as a consumptive, her lungs were clear here in Colorado, but their capacity for taking in the thin mountain air was poor. Still, she pressed on, even when she began to see spots in front of her eyes.

  By the time she reached the porch steps, however, she’d begun to breathe easier. The Lord had taken almost everything she held dear. The last thing she intended was to let three strangers steal the rest of it.

  Gloree turned slowly, forcing herself to act as if she hadn’t a care in the world. The older fellow stood not ten paces away, already off his horse and seemingly ready to charge the house.

  Or her.

  Swallowing hard, she pressed her palm to her stomach and pulled herself to her full height. “Sir, I’m going to ask you again to leave my home.”

  “She’s a pretty one, Pa. Can’t I have her?” This from Skinny.

  Gloree glared at him, daring the coward to climb off his horse and willing him to stay put all at the same time. To her surprise, his father shot him a look that would have curdled milk. The third member of the group, a plain-faced man of middle years, seemed to ignore the scene entirely.

  “I’m sorry, Miz Lowe,” the man on foot said. “My son’s strong as an ox but not quite as smart.” He punctuated the comment with another look at Junior before turning his attention back to Gloree. “Tell the lady you’re sorry, Del Junior.”

  “I’m sorry, lady.” As soon as the words were out, Del Junior gave Gloree a leering look that let her know an apology was the last thing on his mind.

  “That ain’t funny, Delbert.”

  Gloree turned to stare at the one who’d remained silent. Until now. He gave her a look devoid of expression then studied the knife at his belt. Another glance at Del, then he smiled.

  Something in that smile held a much stronger threat than anything the other two might say. Maybe it was his lack of teeth and abundance of scars. More likely, it was the way he kept looking from the knife to Gloree as if he might draw amusement from one of them at any moment. From her vantage point it was hard to know which was more likely.

  She had to do something. Anything.

  Another move backward and she’d reach the wall. Then it was four sidesteps to the left and she’d be at the churn. If her stomach would just calm a bit she might make it without being pounced on.

  She was thankful she’d paid attention when Pitt taught Thomas how to shoot. Still, there were three of them.

  Delbert Senior set a booted foot on the first step then placed the other beside it. Stomping hard, he left mud and snow all over the bottom stair. “Sorry about that, Miz Lowe. Sometimes I have a hard time controllin’ my sons.” He shrugged as if this were not of much concern to him. “But that ain’t why I’m here.”

  “Nah,” Del Junior echoed. “That ain’t why we’re here.”

  Scarface just studied his knife blade then ran it across his thumb. Lifting the blood to his lips, he met her gaze with a steely stare.

  Forgetting pretenses, Gloree collided with the wall then scrambled toward the churn. She’d almost reached the spot where the gun was hidden when Delbert Senior caught up to her.

  “It ain’t there.”

  She threw the churn aside and stared in horror at the empty place behind it. Just as the stranger said, the rifle was gone.

  Gloree’s attention followed the sound of laughter to where Delbert Junior sat atop his bay. “It ain’t there,” he echoed.

  “Wonder where it is?” Scarface patted the bedroll behind his saddle. “Can’t imagine.”

  Delbert Senior shot them both a look. “Shut up, Francis.”

  “Francis?” Gloree chuckled then clamped her lips shut. Had she said that out loud?

  The man in question leaped from his horse and yanked a rifle from his bedroll. Her rifle. The click of the Springfiel
d broke the silence.

  “I’m named after my mama,” he said through gritted teeth as he aimed the weapon at her. “You wanna make somethin’ of it?”

  Fear colder than last week’s blizzard danced around Gloree’s field of vision. “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help” Gloree stared past the trio to the Rockies. No help in sight.

  No, nothing but prairie and purple mountains dotted with snow and spikes of green. Odd how much a person noticed in the last moments of life.

  I wonder if this is what Pitt and the babies felt. The thought stung worse than the realization she was about to join them.

  And she’d been worried about Pitt sending for his cousin to come marry her. Not worried. Plumb riled up. She’d had one husband. Didn’t need another. But Pitt, oh, he was stubborn. Said he couldn’t rest until he knew she’d be taken care of after he was gone.

  Yesterday she was glad Pitt’s cousin hadn’t arrived like his letter said he would. Today, she wasn’t so sure.

  “We ain’t here t’ kill her. Give me that gun, son.”

  Del Senior yanked the rifle away from Francis and stalked toward Gloree. Ignoring the relief his statement gave, she stood her ground and prayed.

  The man stopped just shy of colliding with her and held the gun in the slight space between them. “I’m gonna make you a deal, Miz Lowe.” He craned his neck to see inside the cabin. “I know you’re out here all by yourself. That ain’t safe, dear.”

  Never had she heard the word dear used in such a threatening manner. She opened her mouth to retort and found she’d lost her voice.

  “And I know about your troubles with the bank.” She must have let her surprise show, for he grinned. “Didn’t think that was common knowledge, did ya?” He shrugged. “You’d be surprised what a man can learn when he asks the right questions. This is a fine piece of property.”

  “It’s not for sale,” she somehow managed.

  “I figure anything’s for sale if a man’s willin’ to pay the right price.” He walked to his horse and pulled a roll of bills from his saddlebag. Peeling off a few, he set them on the icy porch rail between them. “That there’s the down payment. I’ll bring the rest come Friday when you’re cleared out.”

  “Friday?” came out more like a squeak than a word.

  Off in the distance she thought she saw something. A rider, perhaps? Could be the husband Pitt had ordered. Or maybe it was the circuit rider who’d promised to stop by sometime this week and do the deed of marrying them legal.

  Whoever it was, Delbert Senior saw him, too.

  “We best be headin’ home, boys,” he said. “Looks like Miz Lowe’s ’bout to have some comp’ny.” He gave Gloree a hard look. “I can see how Friday might be a bit too soon to expect a little thing like you t’ vacate the premises. Despite what you might think, I’m not an unreasonable man, and I’m gonna prove it by givin’ you a full two weeks. I’ll be back the first of the month.”

  The rider pressed forward. He looked to be in a hurry. Gloree let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Thank You, Lord.

  She squared her shoulders and braved a direct look at Delbert Senior. “This land is not for sale. It belongs to my husband and me.”

  He leaned closer, and Gloree could smell his rank breath. “You misunderstand. I didn’t ask you, I told you. Now you put on your purtiest smile and you tell whoever that is comin’ that the boys’n me was just transactin’ a little business with you. Tell ’em we’re the new owners come the first of the month.” He peeled off another bill and sat it atop the pile on the rail. “That’s for movin’ expenses.”

  Gloree yanked the money off the ledge and threw it back at the intruder. Del Junior slid off his horse and gathered up the money then handed it to Delbert Senior.

  Delbert Senior took great pains to check for bullets and then laughed and thrust the Springfield toward her before returning to his horse. “Might want to see it’s loaded and hide it in a better place next time. Better yet, take it with you when you leave.”

  “I’m not going.”

  “Miz Lowe,” Delbert Senior said as he shook his head, “you don’t have any say in the matter.”

  He glanced over his shoulder then grasped the reins. “Way I see it, there’s one of him and three of us. I like them odds. Let’s go and pack our Sunday go t’ meetin’ duds, boys. Looks like we’ll be movin’ soon.”

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw the horse picking its way across the muddy plain. Another few minutes and the rider would be at her doorstep.

  Delbert Senior took off in the opposite direction at a lope, the other two on his heels. As the stranger reined in his mount, the trio reached the tree line. She set the Springfield against the rail and waited.

  Chapter 2

  Mack had seen the woman and her companions well before she spied him. Though everything in him said turn and go the opposite direction, something drew him toward her. It was almost as if he had no choice in the matter.

  He’d shown himself when he guessed she might be in distress, so an argument could be made for checking to be certain she was not in peril. Yes, that’s what spurred him forward.

  It had to be.

  The home was ramshackle at best, the sort of two-story wooden structure erected by carpenters with good intentions and few skills. Though the lace curtains hinted at some level of domestication inside, nothing on the exterior could be called welcoming in the least.

  A lone horse grazed in the side yard, and a half-dozen meager-looking goats roamed in a fenced enclosure. Snow lay in spare patches, likely where the shadow from the mountain darkened the land, and chickens fussed along the fence line, their squawking clearly audible across the expanse of prairie.

  Just beyond the homestead there was a barn, but the structure was so poorly made that he could see right through it to the empty wagon inside. If anyone hid in wait there, they would be easily seen. Thus, he discounted the threat from that direction.

  He glanced down at the Winchester strapped to his pack and then scanned the horizon once more before returning his attention to the woman. Hair like yellow sunshine curled in tendrils around her face and teased shoulders clad in a frock of blue gingham.

  Though he couldn’t see them from astride the horse, Mack guessed the woman’s eyes to be a bonny blue. As he moved closer, he saw they were indeed as green as the English countryside in spring.

  If he’d met her anywhere but in this barren stretch of Colorado, he would have thought her worthy of a second look. Truth be told, he thought that now.

  “Ma’am,” he said as he lifted his hat in a courtly greeting worthy of the time he was introduced to the Queen and Princess Royal at Ascot. “A fine day, is it not?”

  She glanced over to where a Remington rifle leaned against the porch rail and then back at him. “I reckon it’s fine enough. Unless you’re with one of them.”

  “If they were the men you just parted ways with, then no, I am not.”

  “Then you’re late.”

  To be sure. Pitt’s choice for her husband was handsome in that way that some men have of being pleasing to the eye and yet offering just enough hint of danger to make a woman wonder. And he was nice and tall like Pitt, almost a foot above her own height with shoulders broad enough to hint at his ability to work hard even if his clothing told another tale.

  He removed his hat, revealing a thick shock of ink-black hair that he tamed at the back of his neck with a length of leather. Though Pitt swore that his cousin was a farmer by trade, this man wore the clothes of a man who appeared to spend more time indoors than out.

  Then there was the matter of his English accent.

  She thought about the glittery stone in his lapel, an emerald if it was real, and couldn’t help but think it cost more than she owed to the bank for the house and land where she now stood. The gold signet ring on his left hand would pay for her trip home to Texas and provide a nice place for the child she carried to grow up
. All she had to do was…

  Steal them? Oh. Forgive me, Lord.

  “Come on, then. I didn’t have any say in you being here, but I won’t be accused of not showing you the proper welcome.” Without a backward glance to see if the man would follow, she set off toward the porch at a brisk pace. “Don’t think I agree with what Pittman Lowe did, but he always was a stubborn man. I’ll abide by his wishes.”

  “I did sense that you were disagreeable about something.”

  “I’d say I’ve got good reason.”

  The man shook his head. “And I’ve got good reason to be completely confused.”

  Gloree spied a lone rider coming over the ridge. Francis. She sighed.

  “You know who that is?” her companion said.

  “I expect so.”

  “Friend or foe?” he demanded.

  “Foe.”

  “And there’s no one here but you? No one inside the house?”

  “No,” she said softly. “Not anymore.”

  “Go inside and lock the door,” he commanded as he rushed the mare into the side yard, removed his rifle and pack, and penned her up with the other horse.

  Instead, Gloree grabbed for the Springfield and gave aim. She might not be able to shoot anyone, but she could give the impression it was possible.

  Then came the first shot as the remainder of the group appeared in the distance. The stranger stood between her and the riders and fired three times, knocking one of the riders off his horse and causing a second one to veer off course.

  The rider got up then fell back down. From where she stood, it looked to be Delbert Senior. That meant Francis and Junior were left. And armed.

  Her companion aimed and attempted to fire, but nothing happened. “It’s jammed,” he said as he reached down for the rifle at his feet.

  Fire the Springfield. The thought made no sense because she hadn’t put any bullets in it.

  Fire it.

  Gloree steadied the Springfield against her shoulder and took aim. “I’m a blame fool for not listening to you, Pitt. I should have kept this thing loaded.” Pressing the trigger, she closed her eyes.