by Kathy Shaw
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Copyright © 2018 by Kathy Shaw
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Langley Legacy-1899
Can love grow in a bed of lies?
After ten years of dodging the law, bounty hunters, and Pinkerton agents, the infamous outlaw Donnie Langley wants to go straight. Only he'll have to "die" first.
In a bizarre twist of fate, Donovan finds his identical twin brother dead. The opportunity for Donovan to live his life as his law-abiding brother surrounded by family is too great to squander.
But his brother had secrets of his own. Like his impeding marriage to the Sheriff's daughter and a long list of folks who wanted him dead.
Beare and Forebeare
Also By Kathy Shaw
Contemporary
I Do Kinda
Hide and Seek
Blondie and the Hitman
Jack and Tequila
Historical
Twin Trap
Donovan’s Deceit
Langley’s Legacy
“Beare and Forebeare” (be patient and endure)
Meet the Langley’s who’ve traveled from their homeland of Ireland with only what they could carry. Along with the meager possessions brought from their homeland of Ireland, were a piece of lace and a silver pocket watch with the family motto “Beare and Forebeare” inscribed inside.
When the Langley’s settled in New Dawn Springs, Oregon, little did they suspect the land would be a legacy to those who would come after them and that the land would be owned by the family for generations to come.
Follow the Langley’s rich family history through the years as told through the wonderful storytelling voices of these six bestselling authors.
1850 - Finn’s Fortune - Kathleen Tighe Ball
1875 - Patrick’s Proposal - Hildie McQueen
1899 - Donovan’s Deceit - Kathy Shaw
1933 - Aiden’s Arrangement - Peggy McKenzie
1968 - Heath’s Homecoming - Merry Farmer
Present - Collin’s Challenge - Sylvia McDaniel
Donovan’s Deceit
The Langley Legacy
Kathy Shaw
Contents
Blurb
Also By
Langley’s Legacy
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Thank You For Reading!
Twin Trap
Also By
About the Author
Prologue
January 1899
I’m too old for this shit.
Donovan Langley shivered against the dank back wall of an Oklahoma cave. Nuzzling his horse’s nose, he prayed the black stallion remained quiet until the Pinkerton man—who’d been hot on his trail since San Antonio—passed the brush-covered opening of his hideout.
The man was like a hunting dog with a nose full of his prey’s scent. Relentless.
But then Donovan was as desperate as a fox caught in a snare. He’d chew off his own foot to escape.
In the bottom of his soul—what little he had left, he knew Sam Carter wasn’t backing off until one of them was dead.
And that was a line Donovan Langley wouldn’t cross. He did not murder in cold blood. Killing in self-defense was a thin line away from murder, but a line, nonetheless.
Donovan watched Carter double back, searching for the trail the freezing rain had wiped away. Finally, the lawman coaxed his horse farther down the mountain path, away from Donovan’s hidey-hole.
Still, Donovan waited until long after nightfall before emerging from the cave. Just as he’d figured, a campfire burned a hole in the darkness less than a half a mile away.
Thankful for the rainy moonless night, he walked his pitch-black horse in the opposite direction of the campfire. Maybe he’d get a couple hours lead if he rode hard and fast—as soon as he got out of earshot.
Yep, he thought, the only way to get that stubborn son of a bitch off my ass is to die.
Chapter 1
Oregon - Three months later
Donovan slipped in and out of the shadows like a thief in the night. Hell, he was a thief—and a damned good one. Just not tonight and damned sure not here. Not his ancestral home, not the Legacy.
Midnight, the black stallion he’d won in a poker game a couple years ago, snorted, sending a cloud of vapors around his nose. Donovan patted the horse’s thick neck. “Easy, boy, there’s no one here to hurt us.”
At least, he hoped not. Ten years was a long time to stay away from home without a word. Not a Christmas letter, not an I’m alive and well telegram—nothing.
The only one at the Legacy he could count on not to shoot him on sight was his twin brother Sullivan. Well, he was pretty sure his brother wouldn’t kill him. He might wing him just to prove a point, but he wouldn’t do any lingering harm.
A half mile down the hill across the creek from the big house, a light in the front window of the old log cabin flickered to life. Had Sullivan moved out of the main house and into the cabin? Had he taken a wife? Started a family?
A shiver of…something…crawled down Donovan’s spine. A niggling warning whispered across his consciousness. There’s trouble here. Ride on, fast and far!
Self-perseveration kicked him hard in his gut. It took everything he had not to run. He wasn’t the self-centered boy he was ten years ago when he turned his back on his family to chase adventure. Now, all he wanted was a nice discreet life. A life where he didn’t have to be looking over his shoulder for the next asshole looking to collect the sizeable reward for his capture.
He wanted to find peace within himself.
But before he could have the simple life he wanted, there were a couple things he had to do. Like telling his brother not to believe everything he heard, then “die,” and finally find an out-of-the-way corner of the world and reinvent himself.
He’d already plotted the very public accident that would end the life of the infamous thief Donnie Langley. Complete with an irrefutable eyewitness, Pinkerton’s Sam Carter himself.
Donovan grinned at the irony of his plan.
A silhouette moved to the lighted window, pulling Donovan out of his thoughts. He tied Midnight’s reins to a low-hanging branch then made his way toward the cabin on foot crouching low, blending into the shadows when possible. With a quick glance at the brightly lit interior, he saw his brother standing at the open w
indow, sipping from one of their mother’s crystal-cut tumblers.
Again, a shiver of alarm slithered up Donovan’s spine—only more powerful, more demanding this time. He fought the insistent urge to hightail it out of there.
Just five minutes—ten at the most. Then I’ll be on my way.
He’d spent too many days veering out of his way to get to the Legacy to turn yellow and run now. Hell, he missed his family more than he wanted to admit—even to himself. But not enough to chance going to jail.
Death would be easier than facing years behind bars.
Donovan chuckled under his breath. Funny how the idea of his death had occupied his thoughts of late.
He watched as his brother moved into the darker recesses of the room. With uneasiness still humming through his veins, he cautiously slipped into the shadow of a big oak tree closer to the cabin.
A gunshot ripped through the night.
The Hell with caution!
Donovan raced toward the cottage.
Gun drawn, he shouldered through the front door. The sight before him stopped him cold in his tracks.
A movement in the corner flickered in Donovan’s periphery vision. Instinct kicked in. He spun and nearly put a bullet hole in his grandmother’s lace curtain fluttering in the open side window before he checked himself.
Heart still racing, he turned toward the sight that would haunt him forever.
His brother’s upper body lay slumped over the table, a trail of blood oozing out of a small hole in his temple. His palm laid open over the grip of a Colt 44.
God, no!
Donovan ran to the table, felt for a pulse knowing he wouldn’t find one. After a broken heartbeat and a ragged sigh, he brushed his fingertips over his brother’s eyes, hiding his haunting death stare.
Why would Sullivan contemplate—much less commit—suicide? What would be so bad, so unbearable, that he felt he had to take his own life rather than face the problem head on?
Donovan slumped to the floor beside the chair holding his twin brother’s body. Even now, ten years later, they looked identical. The same colored hair although Donovan’s was a tad longer than Sullivan’s. The same body build—tall, square shouldered, muscled. He shuddered when he remembered the sightless stare of Sullivan’s greenish-brown eyes—the same greenish-brown eyes that stared back at him from the mirror every morning.
God, even at the age of twenty-six, they could still pass as each other without anyone, not even their mother, knowing the difference.
A glint of silver attached to Sullivan’s vest caught his eye. The Langley watch.
His grandfather, Finn Langley, had taken the pocket watch with him when he left Ireland to start a new life in America. It had been handed down from generation to generation to the first-born son.
Donovan’s hand trembled as he pulled the watch out of Sullivan’s pocket. Palming the antique timepiece, he ran his thumb over the ornate shamrock engraved in its cover. Without looking, he knew the words inscribed inside.
Beare and Forebeare. Be patient and endure.
But how was he supposed to endure his brother’s death—his suicide?
Why, Sullivan! Why did you do this?
Donovan braced his elbows on his knees then buried his face in his hands. There was nothing he could do to help his brother now. He was gone, and the world would, above all else, remember his last desperate act as the sum account of his life.
Memories rolled through his thoughts. The day he and Sullivan found their secret place. Sullivan grinning at him from the tallest branch of an old oak tree. Sullivan telling him about his first kiss. Sullivan begging him not to leave ten years ago. Then begging him to take him along.
Donovan remembered the gnawing hunger that drove him to rob a drunk passed out in a back alley. He remembered the first time he pulled a gun on a stagecoach driver and the rush of excitement when he got away untouched. He shuddered when he recalled the first time he barely escaped capture. Lastly, he remembered the first bounty hunter he’d killed in self-defense.
Bile rose in his throat, but over time, he’d learned to fight back the urge to empty his stomach. He hadn’t been so lucky that night seven years ago. But it had been Donovan’s life or the hunter’s. He’d chosen to live.
Shit! He didn’t deserve to live. But Sullivan did.
Suddenly, a thought hit Donovan so hard, it almost knocked the breath out of him.
Sullivan would live! He’d remain a respectable member of the community. A good man, a decent man. An honorable man.
And Donovan could come home.
Chapter 2
At dusk the next day, Donovan left the barn and headed toward the water pump stationed near the back door of the main house. He’d worked with the ranch hands patching a fence in the lower pasture that morning, and then, after a quick lunch in the bunkhouse with the hands, he’d helped break a couple mustangs gathered from the mountain earlier in the week.
Oh yeah, he had sore muscles where he didn’t even know he had muscles. But it felt good. Really good.
A couple times, he’d caught a baffled look from one of the guys—especially during the noon meal—but, all in all, he’d weathered his first day as Sullivan Langley fairly well.
Step one: Establishing himself as his twin brother on the ranch. Check.
Step two: Establishing himself as his brother inside the “big” house. Working on it.
That was going to be trickier than fooling the ranch hands. Most of them had been hired on after he’d left ten years earlier. But his parents? And Nessa, his childhood nanny? They would be his ultimate test.
Donovan ducked under the water pump. Cool water sluiced over his head, neck and shoulders, washing away the grime and weariness of an honest day’s work. Exhaustion and anxiety raced through him as he shook water from his hair and face.
He was free of his past, free of a dumb kid’s stupid decisions and their costly consequences. Free only because of a horrible loss.
Donovan sighed as a strong wave of grief rolled over him. There was only one thing left to do for Sullivan. Make him proud.
Scents of roasted beef, braised vegetables, and yeasty bread wafted over him as he stepped through the back door and into the kitchen. Home.
A plump, slightly gray-haired woman was bent over the open oven door as she pulled out two loaves of glistening fresh-baked bread. Donovan would have recognized Nessa if he’d been gone another ten years. His mood lightened.
He crossed the kitchen on silent feet, hoping to catch her unaware. A prank he and his brother tried to pull frequently as children without success.
Another three steps and he’d finally win.
“Still trying to sneak up on me?” Nessa asked without turning. “I’d thought you’d grown out of that by now.”
“Not until I succeed and probably not then.” He moved to her side, waiting until she’d placed the hot bread on the counter before pulling her into his arms for a hug. Not bothering to hide his love for the elder woman, he squeezed her tightly to him. “How are you?”
For half a heartbeat, Nessa stiffened in his arms and then relaxed again. If he hadn’t been paying attention, he’d missed it.
“About the same as I was when last you saw me,” Nessa answered, not moving out of his hug.
“Right.” Donovan released her as he mentally kicked himself for his near blunder. Of course, Sullivan wouldn’t have such an emotional greeting for someone he’d seen almost every day of his life.
Stay on your toes, idiot, or you won’t make it to sunset without being discovered, he silently scolded himself.
Donovan casually leaned his hips against the kitchen counter top and reached for the bowl of freshly washed cherries beside him. “A little early for cherries.” He popped a cherry into his mouth then reached for another. “Yet, they’re very sweet.”
Nessa flung herself back into his arms. “Donovan!”
Donovan froze. What had he said wrong? How had Nessa figured it out? But more
importantly, how was he going to wiggle out of this mess?
When he and Sullivan were kids, she was the only person who could tell one from the other. But ten years later? Surely not. He needed to think—fast!
“Come on, Nessa, you know better than that.” Pulling her from him, he moved farther away. Maybe a little distance would help. “Donovan has been gone for years. Hell, he’s probably dead in a ditch somewhere.”
“No. I knew you’d come home.” She grabbed his hand. “I always knew you’d come back.”
Donovan guided Nessa to a well-worn worktable nestled in the corner of the kitchen. He hated to plant doubts in her head but—as he’d learned the hard way—sometimes doing an unscrupulous thing was the only way out of a bad situation.
“You’re confused. Sometimes it happens with people your age. You’ve probably been thinking about Donovan lately. Our birthday is coming up. Maybe you’re missing him more than usual and your imagination took over.” Donovan squeezed her hand softly. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
Nessa jerked her hand out of his. “Horse-hooey!”
“Now—”