The Cowboy's Revenge (Ride Hard Series Book 1)

by Zoe Blake

  Her plan was to return to Vulture City and convince her step-father she had escaped and was glad to be home. The moment his guard was down, she would shoot him. He was no longer her horrible step-father in her eyes. He was just the bastard who killed her mother and wanted to kill the man she loved.

  As Annabelle alighted off Cupid, there was a stir in the yard. Turning she watched as four riders galloped up to the small clap-board building. She recognized her stepfather’s palomino immediately. Annabelle turned to reach for the saddlebag where she stashed Mason’s Colt. He had given her a lesson a few days ago. He wanted her to be able to protect herself. Although she never did shoot down any of the bottles, she at least knew how it worked. She was certain she would not miss when aiming at her step-father’s black heart.

  Before she could unbuckle the strap, a hand was buried into her loose locks, wrenched her head back. She twisted to see her attacker. It was her step-father.

  Waltze looked at her with a sneer. “I wouldn’t have known you daughter. Being a harlot suits you.”

  Had it really only been a week since her world was turned topsy-turvy? Annabelle caught sight of her reflection in the station window out of the corner of her eye. Instead of being artfully arranged on top her head in a chignon with ringlets and small braids, her hair was wild and loose. Her milky-white complexion was now light golden with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her corsets and hoop skirts were now a simple camisole and pantalets…borrowed ones at that! Gone were the silks and taffeta dresses. In their place was a pair of denim pants and simple ivory blouse.

  Annabelle felt the bile rise in her throat at his appreciative leer. She realized now her plan would never work. She couldn’t be alone for one minute with this man and pretend she was glad to be back under his protection.

  Pulling on her head, trying to loosen his grasp, she bit back, “Well it was your rubbish card playing that turned me into one.”

  Annabelle had only a slight moment of triumph when she saw the sting of humiliation gloss over his eyes before he hauled off and slapped her hard across the face. She fell into the dirt, holding her hand to her bruised cheek.

  “Bitch. Just like that whore of a mother of yours,” he spat out.

  “You mean the one you killed,” she charged.

  Waltze kicked her in the ribs. Annabelle cried out at the fierce pain. Reaching down he pulled her upright by her hair. “You had better shut your mouth.”

  Annabelle screamed, kicking at his shins.

  The three men with Waltze closed in. If Annabelle thought they were going to intercede, she was wrong.

  “Coach Driver says he recognizes Mason’s description. Thinks he’s the one who lives on a homestead off the Hoolie Bacon trail, top of the ridge just past Tortilla Creek,” said one of the scraggly looking lot.

  “Go. Kill anyone you find,” groused Waltze. “I’ll take care of my dear daughter.”

  “No! No! He’s not there! No one is there! He left me! That’s how I got away. There’s no point in going there,” Annabelle desperately lied, panicking as she watched the three men climb onto their horses and ride out. Oh god! She had left Mason tied up and defenseless. She closed her eyes, praying Horn had found him by now.

  “Now, Calico, I thought I made it clear I was never leaving you.”

  Annabelle turned, wincing at the sting from Waltze’s continued grasp in her hair.

  In all the commotion, neither had heard Mason and Horn ride up.

  If ever there was a living-embodiment of War and Death from the Bible’s horsemen of the Apocalypse, Mason and Horn were it. Horn was entirely in black, right down to his piercing black eyes. Mason’s body radiated rage, from his lowered brow to the tense set of his shoulders.

  “You cheating sonofabitch, I’ll see you hung from the nearest tree,” snarled Waltze as he placed Annabelle in front of him like a coward.

  “I’m afraid you won’t live long enough to see my neck stretched,” responded Mason. The low tenor of his voice belying the anger seething in his gray eyes.

  “My men will shoot you down like a dog!”

  “You mean those cold-footed, chuck-eaters we encountered on the trail?” asked an amused Horn. “’Fraid they’re half-way to Tulsa with their tails between their legs by now.”

  Waltze pulled out a small pocket revolver from inside his vest and held it close to Annabelle’s forehead. “Stay back or I’ll kill her.”

  Mason slowly and methodically unwound his thick, black cow whip. Tilting his head to the right, he barely nodded to Horn. That was all the signal Horn needed.

  Horn laughed. “That’s a pretty little gun you have there, Waltze. You find it inside a lady’s skirts?”

  “Shut up! Shut up!” said Waltze with a high-pitched screech as he lengthened his arm and pointed his gun at Horn.

  That was all Mason needed. With a thunderous clap, he sent his cow whip sailing through the air. The wired popper at the end caught Waltze painfully on his wrist forcing him to drop the gun as the whip wound tightly around his bony arm. Mason yanked his arm back, pulling Waltze forward to fall face first onto the dusty ground.

  Without taking his eyes off Waltze, Mason commanded, “Annabelle, come here.”

  Annabelle scurried around her step-father’s prone form and ran to Mason’s side. Taking his eyes off Waltze for a moment, he leaned down in his saddle and scrutinized Annabelle. Placing a hand under her chin, he raised her head. Seeing the purplish bruise blooming on her cheekbone, he sucked in a deep breath. Rage…hard and fast…flooded his vision.

  Annabelle grabbed his forearm, a look of pleading on her face. “Please, it doesn’t hurt. I realize now he’s not worth it. It’s not worth risking the hangman over a low-down dog like him…for either of us. It’s not what your brother or my mother would have wanted.”

  Seeing the love in her big, violet eyes Mason relented. He wanted to spend a lifetime with this amazing woman and it wasn’t going to be watching her through some iron bars or worse cut short by a rope.

  Mason turned back to Waltze. He would tie the bastard up and wait for the local Sheriff to arrive. Let the law handle him.

  Waltze had unwound the whip from his arm and had just reached for his gun. Aiming it at Mason, he snarled, “This is for my gold mine.”

  The sudden gunshot startled the horses and sent a pack of birds squawking into the blue sky.

  Waltze clutched his chest before falling to the dirt…dead.

  Mason turned to see Horn re-holstering his six shooter.

  “You said you had enough blood on your hands from the war, my friend. I on the other hand I am just getting started,” said Horn with unaffected calm.

  Mason knew Horn’s thirst for revenge was even greater than his if that was possible. There would be plenty more blood spilt before Horn was finished with his personal vengeance. Mason nodded his thanks. No words were needed. Horn pulled on his horse’s reins, turning him sharply before galloping out of the yard. He didn’t want to be there when the law showed up asking questions. There would be plenty of witnesses to vouch for self-defense but that wasn’t the point. Horn was chasing down his own demon and only got waylaid to warn Mason.

  Mason could feel Annabelle’s hands on his pant leg. Reaching down he hauled her onto his lap, feeling her arms wrap tightly around his waist, seeking solace. Burying his hands in her hair, he tilted her head back, searching her violet eyes. “It’s over, Calico.”

  She knew she probably earned a punishment for tying him up and going after Waltze on her own but she didn’t want to think of it just now. She just wanted to feel the strong protection of his arms around her shoulders and to finally confess how she felt.

  “I love you,” she shyly whispered against his shirt.

  “I know,” he arrogantly responded.

  Annabelle just shook her head in mock exasperation, “Take me home, cowboy.”

  Mason tilted the brim of his Stetson. “At your command, your majesty.”

&nb
sp; For the first time since the war and the news of his brother’s death, Mason felt a sense of contentment. He felt nothing with Waltze’s death. No. His salvation had not come through revenge he thought…but love.

  “Can we get a hot bath?” she asked, picking at the dirty fabric of her blouse. “I have a need to wash this day off.”

  Mason laughed. God he hoped she never changed. “Anything you want, my love,” he offered.

  After your punishment, he thought with a smile.

  Epilogue

  Willow Brier Farm, Arizona - One year later

  “I won’t do it!” she stubbornly shouted as she defiantly crossed her arms across her chest.

  “You can and you will, Calico,” he argued back.

  “No! And you can’t make me!” she rejoined, sticking her tongue out at him.

  “I think we both know I have ways to make you, darlin,” he drawled.

  Annabelle’s cheeks blushed. Even after a year of marriage. A year of making love in the waterfall basin. A year of lazy days spent in bed. A year of hot baths, Mason ordered a tub large enough for them both from the Sears Roebuck and Co. catalog. A year of creative punishments, what that man could do with a spur! After a year of all that passionate living, she still blushed whenever he lowered his voice to that seductive drawl, reminding her of all the things he could do and had done to her body.

  Annabelle shook her head. “Not this time, cowboy!”

  Mason sighed. Even after a year as man and wife, she was still all horns and rattles…he would have it no other way.

  “You brought this on yourself, you know that!”

  “I know,” she spat out. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  “It’s not my fault you took to whiskey distilling like a duck to water. Damn, woman! We can’t keep up with the demand here. We have to move to Phoenix where I can setup a bigger still, hire more men.”

  Turns out, Annabelle was a natural when it came to business. In a few short months, she turned Sweetbrier Applejack Whiskey into a household name in these parts. Hell, there were several places on the East coast asking him to ship whiskey to them! The operation had outgrown their little orchard valley at Willow Brier. He now needed to move the whole thing to Phoenix.

  Plus now he was finally able to spoil Annabelle with all those dresses and jewels she had given up to marry him not to mention a large house on Main Street befitting her upbringing.

  So of course the stubborn woman would be arguing with him!

  Mason didn’t understand. Annabelle adored their quiet existence. She loved their cozy cabin and although he would never admit it, she knew she was now a better baker than he! She didn’t want to give it all up for some noisy city and a bunch of silly silk dresses!

  “Tell you what,” offered Mason as he drew her into his strong embrace. “How about we keep this place and come back every summer and spring as long as we’re in Phoenix for the harvest and distilling.”

  “Do you mean it, Mason?” she asked, her face lighting with happiness and hope.

  Mason smiled. “I don’t want to give up our moonlight swims any more than you do.”

  “Oh, thank you! Thank you!” cried Annabelle as she wrapped her arms around his neck and covered him with small kisses.

  “It’s a good thing we worked this out. I would have hated to blush that beautiful bottom with my brush.”

  “You mean my brush,” she said with a glint in her eyes.

  Mason’s mouth quirked up in the corner. He could feel another fight coming along. Damn he was a lucky man!

  Author’s Note

  The inspiration for this story is based in fact. There is a “Lost Dutchman’s Gold Mine”. It is the most famous lost mine in American history and surrounded by myth and legend. To this day, there are still treasure hunters combing the wilds of the Superstition Mountains in Arizona hoping to get rich off its storied wealth. There are several books on the subject but here is a quick link for more information. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lost_Dutchman%27s_Gold_Mine

  Cheers!

  ZB

  “The Gunfighter’s Pursuit”

  Book Two in the Ride Hard Series

  Preface

  New River Stagecoach Station, AZ

  The Colt felt heavy in her hand. When she first grasped the smooth walnut handle, she was surprised it felt cool to the touch. A weapon that shoots fire should feel hot. Her hand began to tremble. Laying the gun across her lap, she wiped her damp palm on her denim pants.

  “Dammit, Ezra! Tell your little brother to pick up his gun. It’s almost time,” snarled a man across the dimly lit cabin.

  “All right, Clayton. I’ll handle it,” responded Ezra as he left his own post and crossed the clapboard floor.

  Ezra went down on his haunches before her. “Get it together, Emma, or you’re going to blow this for us,” he whispered fiercely.

  Emma looked into a pair of green eyes that mirrored her own. This whole thing had been his plan from the start. She went along with it because he was her twin brother, her only family. After their parents’ deaths, she went along with his crazy scheme to come out West and mine for gold. When there was no gold and their meager savings ran out, she went along with his plan to rob a mail coach. It was only supposed to be one time, enough for them to get something to eat and back on their feet. When he insisted she dress like a boy because it would be safer, she went along with it, abandoning her hoop skirts and bonnets and donning denim pants and a large brimmed hat. When he had them join up with a Clayton’s crew because he said the take would be enough to finally get them back East, she reluctantly went along with it.

  Now she was hunched down inside a stagecoach swing station, waiting for a coach full of passengers to come rolling up so they could rob them at gunpoint…and she no longer wanted to go along with it.

  “Ezra,” she whispered frantically, watching Clayton from beneath the brim of her hat, “it’s not too late. We don’t have to do this! We can get the money another way.”

  “What way, Emma?” he growled in response as he dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her upper arm. “Do you want to become a harlot? Lie on your back day after day for man after man?”

  Emma winced and tried to pull away.

  “Answer me, Emma! ‘Cause that’s the only way we would get enough money to get us out of this fix. That’s if Clayton and his crew don’t shoot us for trying to bust.”

  “I just…I have a bad feeling about this, Ezra,” Emma said in a low plaintive voice, already aware they were attracting the unwanted attention of Clayton.

  “You say that every time. Nothin’s going to happen,” he groused.

  Emma looked over at the station master. He was on his side on the floor securely tied with a nasty, bleeding cut on his head from the butt of Clayton’s gun.

  “This time is different,” she angrily insisted. “We’ve never robbed passengers. We’ve never hurt anyone,” she said with a meaningful look in the station master’s direction. Since that first job, they had robbed two more mail coaches before hitching up with Clayton, all without a fuss or injury. Unfortunately, also without allot of money to show for it. The mail coaches were not heavily armed because there wasn’t much to protect. The real money was on the trains which carried the payroll for all the railroad employees, thousands of dollars in paper scrips and gold coin. Robbing a train took horses and many men not to mention fire power. The next best thing was to rob one of the more popular stagecoach lines. The Black Canyon line running from Phoenix to Prescott was one of the richest. Wealthy bankers and businessmen frequently rode it. It was also used for small payrolls. There was usually only one whip, an armed driver, easy to overpower. Clayton’s crew had already hit this line several times over the last few months before Ezra and Emma joined up.

  Right now, they were holed up at the New River Station, an isolated part of the Black Canyon line. It was only a small cabin and horse corral. The coach would stop here for new horses before making the twelve-mi
le trek to a larger station where the passengers would disembark and get something to eat. It was perfect for an ambush. They were just going to stroll right up to the coach and demand anything of value. No one was supposed to get hurt. So Ezra promised, but Emma was uneasy. She spared another glance for the station master.

  Ezra rubbed his hand over his face in frustration. “Emma, you’re just going to have to trust me.”

  Whatever she might have said was cut off by the distinctive sound of a brass bugle. It was the driver of the coach signaling their approach.

  “Quit your yammering you two and get ready,” barked Clayton.

  “Keep your head down and your mouth shut,” warned Ezra as he stood, gun at the ready.

  Emma watched through the grimy window as the Concord coach with its signature bright yellow wheels and red carriage rolled up. She could see the bored looked on the passengers’ faces, unaware of what was about to befall them. The driver called out for the station master as he placed his Henry rifle by his side and alighted from the coach perch.

  Clayton and the rest of his crew emerged from the cabin, Ezra trailing behind. Emma stayed, unable to move.

  “This is a robbery. Ladies and Gents, out of the coach. Now,” came Clayton’s booming voice.

  The driver lunged for his rifle. There was the ominous blast of a six shooter. The driver fell to the ground, a large red stain slowly spreading across the back of his leather vest.

  The female passengers started to scream and wail. Emma covered her mouth, stifling her own scream.

  “No more shenanigans from any of you!” snarled Clayton. “Sam, Red, you to get the strongbox out of the boot. Ezra you collect the coin and jewelry from the passengers. Toby, up on the roof, toss the luggage down, maybe there’s somethin worth somethin. Where the hell is your little brother, Ezra?”