The Gunfighter's Pursuit (Ride Hard Book 2)

by Zoe Blake

  “I…I…I…Emma?” whined Gerald.

  “Gerald is it?” said Horn.

  The shorter man could only nod.

  “Sorry, ol’ boy. There has been a mistake. Emma is mine. You’re going to need to find yourself another bride.”

  “But…but…but…but…mother is going to be very angry. She bought Emma all those new dresses and everything.”

  Reaching into his saddlebags, Horn grabbed a handful of gold coins. “This should more than make up for the expense. No hard feelings.”

  Gerald’s eyes bulged at the money.

  “No…no hard feelings…but what should I tell the preacher? He’s waiting.”

  “Tell him to wait.” With that Horn closed the door on her former groom.

  “Well, that was a little disheartening,” groused Emma.

  “What? I thought you would be happy. I could have shot him for just the thought of trying to marry my woman. Here I gave the man a handful of coin!”

  “That’s what I mean. I was going to be his wife for heaven’s sake. You’d think he would have at least tried to put up some kind of fight to keep me,” pouted Emma. She didn’t want Gerald, never really did, but no woman liked to be turned over that easily.

  “Jesus, woman. Isn’t one man pursing you through hell and back enough for you?” teased Horn.

  “I suppose,” said Emma playing with the quilt.

  “What more could you want?”

  “Well, you’ve never said that you love me,” she looked up at him shyly through her lashes, a pretty blush covering her cheeks.

  Horn placed a knee on the bed, crawling over her body till she was forced to lay back. “Maybe, if you would stop trying to kill me or run away from me long enough I would,” he taunted, kissing the tip of her nose.

  “Well, you caught me now.” Emma ran her fingers through his thick waves of dark hair.

  “Yes, and I plan to keep you good and caught because I love you, Emma Glendolene Rimmel Fairfax.”

  “I love you too, Jackson Notorious Not-really-a-lawman Gunfighter Horn.”

  Horn captured her lips with his own. Learning the taste of her all over again.

  After a few moments, he broke away. “You need to get up. You heard the man, preacher’s waiting.”

  Emma beamed but then bit her lip. “I don’t recall being asked if I’d like to marry you.”

  Horn grabbed her wrist and pulled her from the bed, swatting her bottom as he did so. “And I won’t be asking. I’ll be telling. You’re marrying me.”

  Emma stuck her tongue out at him playfully as she moved to dig a dress out of her small traveling trunk.

  “No. Nothing in there.” Horn handed her one of his shirts from his saddlebag.

  “Horn, you cannot be serious! The scandal! I can’t get married in one of your shirts!”

  Horn wrapped his arm around her waist. “You’ll do as you’re told.” He wasn’t having her marrying him in clothes bought by another man…or that man’s mother. She would wear something of his. Close to her skin. Covering her. Protecting her.

  Within the hour, in front of a flustered and embarrassed preacher, Emma became Mrs. Notorious Gunfighter.

  Epilogue

  Willow Brier Farm, Arizona Territory Sweetbrier Whiskey Distillery

  “They’re here! They’re here!”

  Emma watched as a beautiful blonde came bounding out of a charming cabin the moment they alighted from their horses.

  “Why, Jackson Horn! You ought to be ashamed of yourself! Making a new bride ride astride on a horse! You should have hired a carriage,” scolded the petite blonde with her hand on her hips.

  That same moment, a ruggedly handsome man scooped her up from behind. “Annabelle, at least let the man provide the introductions before you start chewing his ear off.”

  “Mason, put me down,” laughed Annabelle.

  Horn wrapped a protective arm around Emma’s waist. Leaning in, he whispered into her ear, “I did warn you about these two didn’t I?”

  Emma turned smiling eyes up to him. “Yes, but I don’t believe you did them justice.”

  Mason put Annabelle back on her feet. After taking a moment to straighten her simple, blue calico dress, she walked straight up to Emma and gave her a warm hug. “I was so happy to hear the news that Horn had married. The moment I heard the story of how you fired that rifle at Horn, I just knew we were going to be the best of friends,” giggled Annabelle.

  Horn turned an accusatory glare on Mason. “You told her.”

  Mason shrugged his shoulders. “The dang woman was beating the pants of me in poker again. Literally. I had to tell her something to distract her.”

  Annabelle hooked her arm around Emma’s as they walked toward the cabin. “We have the whole thing set up per Horn’s instructions. I followed the list to the letter. We have a globe, slates, and primers. I did have a hard time finding enough copies of Harper’s Young People but I did get plenty of McGuffy’s Readers and the Youth’s Companion until I do,” chatted Annabelle animatedly. “The whole valley is just abuzz with excitement over your coming.”

  Emma sent Horn a confused look over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

  “Annabelle. I hadn’t told Emma yet. It was supposed to be a surprise,” admonished an annoyed Horn.

  Mason pulled Annabelle away from Emma. “Come away, Calico. Let’s give them some privacy.”

  Annabelle resisted. “Oh! But I want to be here when he tells her. I worked hard at the surprise too,” she said with a small stubborn stamp of her foot.

  “Keep up that petulant pout and you are going to get a spanking from my brush,” Mason warned teasingly.

  “You mean my brush,” Annabelle teased right back in what was obviously a private jest between husband and wife.

  Horn and Emma left the cabin and followed a small path which lead to a charming pool fed by a small waterfall.

  Horn took Emma into his arms. “I know you had your heart set on a dangerous life of crime. Living with a notorious gunfighter. Sleeping out in the wild. Moving from town to town. Living off of hard tack and salted beef. But we need to get something straight right now,” he said with mock severity. “You’re not the one calling the shots. I am. And I say we are going to settle down, right here at Willow Brier Farm. I’m buying into Mason’s whiskey business. And you, miss, are going to be the local school teacher.”

  Emma gave a shout of laughter and threw her arms around Horn’s neck, covering his cheeks and lips with kisses.

  “Now, Emma. I will take no disobedience on this matter,” he continued in his serious tone. “You will be a good, respectable girl whether you like it or not, little bunny!”

  Pressing her hips suggestively against his own like he taught her, Emma whispered against his lips, “I hope not too good.”

  Horn gave a bark of laughter as he started to lift her skirts. “Oh darlin, there is never any danger of that with you!”

  Sometime later, Mason and Horn were sharing a whiskey on the porch while the women were comparing dress patterns inside.

  Horn toed a tuft of grass with his boot as he broached a difficult subject. “Have you heard from Michael?”

  “No. You?”

  “No. As set as we were on our revenge, we didn’t come close to Michael. Jesus. I’ve never seen anyone so filled with hatred,” mused Horn.

  “Brandon wouldn’t have like it.”

  “No. I expect not.”

  They had all served together in the War Between the States. Brandon and Michael were siblings. Brandon didn’t make it. As he lay dying, Horn and Mason had sworn to watch over and protect Michael for him. Problem was Michael didn’t take too kindly to being watched over…or any attempt at protecting.

  “Last I heard, Michael was headed to Indian Territory just outside of Texas. I double-timed it there but was too late. The trail was already cold. That was going on six months back,” remarked Mason.

  “Jesus,” grumbled Horn rubbing his
hand down his face. “What do you think Brandon would say if he knew we lost track of his hell-bent-on-revenge little sister?”

  “Well,” mused Mason. “I’d expect he’d be mad as hell.”

  Horn gave a mournful laugh, “Yep, that’s what I figure too.”

  The End

  Author’s Note

  The inspiration for this story is based in fact. Tom Horn is one of the most iconic figures from the Old West. While I take great liberties with his tale, he was a famous range detective/gunfighter, who did fall in love with a school teacher named Glendolene. For more information about this interesting man, go to https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tom_Horn

  Cheers!

  ZB

  Hope you enjoyed reading The Gunfighter’s Pursuit!

  Please read on for an excerpt from Book One in the Ride Hard Series, The Cowboy’s Revenge and a sneak peek of Book Three, The Rebel’s Secret, available Spring 2017.

  The Cowboy’s Revenge

  Ride Hard Series, Book One

  By

  Zoe Blake

  Chapter One

  Vulture City, Arizona

  His only warning was a muffled feminine screech followed by the high-pitched sound of shattering glass. A large shiny object fell at his feet. Reaching down, Mason picked up the brush. It was sterling silver with an ornate floral patterned silver back and polished ivory handle.

  There was the sound of a window sash being raised, then an indignant voice called out, “That is my brush!”

  Mason raised gunmetal gray eyes to clash with irate cornflower blue ones.

  Large blue eyes framed by a heart-shaped face with a pert little chin stared back. Her lush pink lips were topped by a small, round-tip nose. Thick ringlets of honey-brown hair fell unbound over her shoulders.

  Tilting his Stetson back, to catch a better look, Mason drawled, “Not to be contrary, miss, but I believe it is now my brush. I did just find it here in the dust.”

  Her pretty eyes flashed with anger as she pounded on the wooden window ledge with the heel of her hand. “I’m the one that threw it! It’s mine!”

  Giving a low whistle as he twirled the brush by its smooth handle, Mason responded, “There again, miss. A thinkin man would say when a pretty lady throws a brush through a window, she no longer wants to possess it.”

  The woman was leaning out the carelessly broken window of a massive three-story home with brightly painted wood and quarry stone. Its sheer size and purely ornamental garden in stark contrast to the clapboard, ramshackle cabins with their small, withered vegetable gardens lining Main Street and beyond. Only the bank and saloon could rival it in splendor. The mayor’s house…and this must be the mayor’s daughter.

  Her comely looks were going to make his revenge that much sweeter.

  “Listen, you gray back cow punch! I want my brush!”

  He would also enjoy putting that naughty mouth of hers to better use.

  Mason Weiser rolled his shoulders, adjusting the weight of the heavy leather saddlebags. Dressed in a navy, spun-wool shirt with leather vest and red bandanna. Buckskin California pants, hugging his waist and falling loosely over a scuffed pair of Cavalry boots and a thick black leather belt secured with a tarnished brass buckle emblazoned with a capital “CS”. He wasn’t exactly hiding the fact he was a cowboy making his way in the world after bearing the brunt of being on the losing side of the War Between the States. The holstered Colt 1860 Army revolver and coiled cow whip hung low on his belt let everyone know he wasn’t keen to talk about it.

  At over six feet, there were few men who could look Mason in the eye, which suited him just fine. He preferred to keep folks at arm’s length. Unfortunately, the same could not be said of women of marriageable age…and some well beyond. Sharp handsome features, piercing gray eyes, coffee brown hair the wrong side of church-proper length and a scruffy jaw that had only had a passing acquaintance with a razor was a dog whistle to any woman looking to tame and civilize a man. Mason wasn’t interested. Give him a willing painted lady, a few coins and a decent shot of rotgut without too much turpentine and he was content. After what he lived through in the war, his expectations from life and society as a whole were low.

  Until he received the letter.

  The letter telling him his brother had been murdered.

  Life took on a different, singular, intense purpose. Revenge.

  “Do you know who my father is?” snapped the bit-o-honey from the window.

  Mason lowered his head, shielding his expression.

  “Why yes, miss, I do. Soon, he’ll know me,” he cryptically intoned before stashing her brush in his saddlebag. Ignoring her shriek of fury, Mason strolled the rough-hewed boards down Main Street towards the bathhouse. He had a plan to put into action.

  Annabelle was so shocked at the rude stranger’s action she raised her shoulders to shout one last time at his retreating back. The motion caused her to crack her skull on the windowsill. The sudden shock of pain not improving her already foul mood. Pulling her body back into the safety of her bedroom, Annabelle gave a large shard of broken glass from the window a kick, sending it sliding across the polished wood floor before tangling with the thick fringe of her bedroom carpet.

  Rubbing the back of her head, she stomped over to the small upholstered stool in front of her mirrored vanity. Sitting down with a humph, she stared at her reflection in the polished glass. The encounter with that outrageous cowboy had given her cheeks a high rosy glow. The soft pink contrasted nicely with her porcelain skin. She took care to never step a foot out of the house without a bonnet and parasol to preserve her milky-white complexion. Cocking her head at an angle, she admired how a stray sunbeam made her unique violet eyes sparkle and her pale tawny hair appear almost golden. Instinctively she reached for her brush, intending to brush the lush locks to a burnished gold. Clenching her fists in anger, she pounded on the small table. Damn that cowboy!

  Annabelle didn’t really care about the brush. She would simply buy another but there was a problem. It was part of a mirror and comb set gifted to her by her step-father. Every one of the servants in the large household were his personal spies. Reporting on Annabelle’s every movement. Her fit of anger and loss of the brush would surely get back to him. Even if her own maid did not betray her, as she was wont to do, her step-father was bound to notice the jagged hole in one of the house’s front windows!

  There was no point in concocting a lie. He knew why she was upset.

  Ever since the death of her mother two years past, her step-father had increased his attentions towards Annabelle. At nineteen, she was well-past marriageable age and yet he had refused every offer she had received. The latest from the rather handsome and very rich banker’s son. This time he didn’t even bother to come up with an excuse. There wasn’t much he could say about her suitor’s respectable family and their wealth. Sure the son was a bit boring with the personality of old dishwater but that wasn’t his problem, it would be hers as his wife. Annabelle couldn’t give a fig about being entertained by a potential husband. She would have his money to buy pretty gowns and jewelry and her own personal coach to travel to bigger cities where they had fancy restaurants and theaters! Entertained by a husband, indeed!

  Over breakfast this morning, her step-father had the audacity to hint at forcing her to become his wife. The very idea was outrageous! Even though they didn’t share blood, he had raised her since she was a little girl. They had never been close but that was far from the point. Surely it would be breaking one of God’s laws?

  What sent a chill up her spine was he just may succeed with the awful plan. As the mayor and wealthiest resident of Vulture City, he practically owned the entire town. No one stood up to Jacob Waltze. His German ancestry made him a stubborn force to be reckoned with under any circumstance. She might not have a choice. Her step-father had all the money and power. She wasn’t like those frontier women she saw coming into town for supplies. Eking out a living in the wild territories. Having to make
do with home-spun cloth and boiled soap!

  Annabelle ran a hand down the bodice of her sapphire blue princess cut dress. Sweeping her hair into a loose chignon at the back of her neck, she held it in place with a pearl encrusted comb. No, she couldn’t possibly run away and risk winding up in some shack making her own food and being forced to wash in some creek. She would just have to come up with another plan.

  Perhaps she could convince that dumb banker’s son to elope and run away to San Francisco?

  Enjoy this sneak peek at the last book of the trilogy – The Rebel’s Secret Available Spring 2017

  The Rebel’s Secret

  Ride Hard Series, Book Three

  By

  Zoe Blake

  Chapter One

  A lone rider scanned the horizon. The fiery orange sunset bathed the desert valley in a rosy glow. Blotches of desert scrub and tiny bursts of honey yellow flowers from the greasewood plant the only other hint of color across the brown barren stretch of stone, sand and jagged rock. In the far distance, just to the south, were the low mudbrick and wooden structures of Fort McIntosh. The stranger’s destination.

  Easing the horse forward, the stranger kept a wary eye on the surroundings. The distinctive grayish-brown coat and black-tipped ears of a bobcat appeared from behind a mesquite bush only a few arm’s lengths away. The stranger pulled on the reins. Although not its natural prey, it didn’t pay to take chances. The bobcat darted east after a black-tailed jackrabbit.

  As the fort neared, so did the wide expanse of the Rio Grande as it cut through the valley like a blue ribbon. The dirty canvas tents, tumbledown shacks and brightly, painted clapboard buildings of the rowdy town which sprung up between the banks of the river and the wooden spiked picket fence of the fort also came into view. Shouts of drunken laughter, the tinny sound of a saloon piano and the occasional crack of a gun harshly replacing the calming sound of rushing wind and the call of a mockingbird from the trail.