The Cowboy's Honor

by Amy Sandas

  “Hush, Courtney.” This was from Alexandra’s cousin Evelyn, or Evie, as she and Courtney called her.

  At twenty-one, Evie was a year older than both Alexandra and Courtney, but in many ways, she was far more naive. Protected and guided by Aunt Judith her entire life, she had had few opportunities to experience anything beyond the small world she had been born into. Evie’s older brother, Warren, had betrayed the family’s dreams of becoming a prominent Boston social figure by becoming a doctor instead. With Warren off saving lives across the country, Aunt Judith was left to pin all her hopes for climbing Boston’s social ladder on her daughter…and Alexandra.

  “Shall we all go for some refreshment?” Evie suggested. Her motivation was clearly to distance them from her mother so they could talk more freely.

  After making their excuses to Aunt Judith, the three young ladies strolled across the ballroom at a sedate pace, despite the energy bristling among them. Alexandra found she could breathe more easily now that she was away from both Mr. Shaw and her aunt, but that cloying dread was still there, hovering about her shoulders in a heavy cloak.

  Once settled in a corner of a connecting sitting room, lemonades in hand, Courtney urged in tones of whispered excitement, “So? What did the renowned Mr. Shaw have to say?”

  Alexandra hesitated over her response. The conversation on the balcony still did not feel quite real. “He proposed marriage,” she answered quietly.

  “I knew it!”

  Alexandra looked to Courtney in surprise. “You did? How could you? He gave no indication whatsoever that he had such an inclination. We have spoken less than half a dozen times.”

  “Yes, but that is still twice as much as he deigned to speak with any other girl,” Evie noted reasonably. “He was obviously showing an interest in you.”

  “I wish someone had told me. Maybe I wouldn’t have made a fool of myself by being so surprised.”

  Evie’s eyes grew wide. “I thought you knew.”

  “You said yes, of course,” Courtney said. “Tell me you said yes.”

  “I did.”

  Her friend clapped her hands and gave a bright smile. “Excellent. Now we are both engaged. We just need to find someone for Evie, and we can all become brides together.”

  Courtney’s excitement only accented the churning discordance that had taken up residence inside Alexandra. She should be thrilled by the prospect of becoming Mrs. Peter Shaw. Ecstatic, even.

  Instead, she felt…dishonest.

  And on the verge of serious panic.

  “Alexandra,” Evie said softly, leaning forward to place her slim hand on Alexandra’s wrist. “What is the matter?”

  Meeting her cousin’s compassionate gaze, Alexandra sighed. “I do not know. Something just feels…wrong.”

  “How do you mean?” Courtney asked, a flicker of concern crossing her features.

  “I do not know,” Alexandra repeated. “I am not sure I made the right choice in accepting. What if I am not the person Mr. Shaw believes me to be? He barely knows me.”

  “You will get to know each other better during the engagement and after, once you are married,” Courtney assured.

  Alexandra looked between her two closest friends. One red-haired and vivacious, the other slender and elegant with pale-blonde hair and soulful eyes. They knew her as no one else on the earth knew her, and loved her anyway. She could be nothing but fully honest with them.

  “The truth is,” Alexandra admitted, “I barely know myself anymore. Evie, you remember what I was like when I first arrived from Montana.”

  “Yes, and you have come such a very long way since then.”

  “That is my point,” Alexandra said. “I barely recognize that girl in comparison to who I am now. But it was me. She might still be me somewhere deep down.”

  Her friends exchanged a quick glance, but did not interrupt.

  “How do I know all this is not just a false facade? How can I commit to a future as someone’s wife when I do not even know who I truly am?”

  “What will you do?” Evie asked in a low whisper.

  Alexandra took a bracing inhale. “I must tell Mr. Shaw that I need more time before committing to my answer.”

  “It will shock him to his toes,” Courtney declared.

  “It might be too late to withdraw your response.” Evie directed her pointed gaze across the room.

  Peter Shaw stood nearby, looking dapper and fine in a group with some of the most prominent gentlemen of Boston society. His smile was modest as he accepted toasts and congratulatory handshakes. The way the gentlemen kept sliding surreptitious glances toward Alexandra suggested that he had already announced their engagement.

  Panic expanded through her, tightening her chest.

  She was trapped.

  But a small, defiant part of her whispered: Or maybe not.

  They were not married yet. Some engagements lasted months or even years. She had time.

  A fierce little flame of rebellion sparked in the midst of her panic. The more she focused on that flame, the greater it grew, spreading out like a slow-burning wildfire. She had become the perfect Boston lady, but after five years of learning to curb her impulses, Alexandra pushed all that careful training aside and embraced the reckless urging inside her. “I am going back to Montana.”

  Her words slipped free before she completely thought them through, but the moment they were uttered, she knew the rightness of them.

  She was suddenly flooded with memories of her childhood: how the Rockies rose majestically beyond the plains, how wildflowers spread across the ground in spring, and how the land made one feel unbelievably small and infinitely powerful at the same time.

  The compulsion to see it all again—to go home—was overwhelming. And perfect.

  Evie and Courtney stared at her, wide-eyed and in shock.

  Her cousin recovered first. “Mother will never allow it.” Her voice was low and almost sad.

  “Your new fiancé will never allow it,” Courtney added with conviction.

  Alexandra leaned toward her friends and lowered her voice. “That is why they cannot know.”

  “But how will you manage it?” Courtney asked, awed excitement creeping into her words.

  “I have money tucked away. Father gave it to me before I left home. I never had cause to use it. Now I do.”

  “But why?” Evie asked. “Why go back now?”

  Alexandra had to think of her reply. It mostly felt like an instinctive certainty. Before she could consider going forward, she had to go back.

  “I must discover unequivocally who I am. My life has been split into two very different halves: my childhood in Montana and the five years I have been here in Boston. I need to know how much of my past is still a part of me…or if it is time to put it to rest for good.” She lowered her gaze as another realization hit deep in her heart. “I need to see my father again.”

  Her friends were silent for a moment. Then Courtney said, “How can we help?”

  Ideas and plans tripped over themselves in Alexandra’s mind as she considered everything she had to do to make good on her escape.

  “I will leave tonight. All I need is time to get away. I must rely mostly on you, Evie. You will have to tell your mother I was not feeling well—the excitement and all—and I decided to head home early. Then tomorrow, when she asks after me, you can say I developed an illness—I don’t care what, just something to keep me abed. She won’t come to check on me. We know how she detests being around anyone who is sick.”

  Evie’s delicate features were tense with concern. Alexandra knew it went against her cousin’s nature to be deceptive in any way, especially toward her mother, but she nodded in agreement and Alexandra felt a rush of gratitude for her dear cousin’s loyalty.

  Looking to Courtney, she said, “Will you lend me your c
arriage? I must return to the house to gather some belongings, then I will need a ride to the train station.”

  “Of course,” Courtney agreed readily. “I will go with you to help you pack.”

  “No, you mustn’t. If things go bad, you can deny that you knew anything of my plans. At least Evie’s perfidy will be kept within the family. Can I trust your driver to keep my activities secret?”

  “Absolutely. Edward is as discreet and steadfast as they come.”

  “Once it is discovered where I have gone and it is too late to stop me, Aunt Judith and Mr. Shaw will have no choice but to await my return. Surely, they will eventually come to understand my desire to visit the land of my childhood one last time.”

  The other women’s expressions seemed dubious, but Alexandra ignored their uncertainty. Her confidence was more than enough to sustain her. It all made such perfect sense. Surely she wouldn’t be able to breathe so easily if this were wrong.

  She should have realized long ago that she would never truly be happy until she knew where she belonged.

  With a swift round of hugs, Alexandra bade heartfelt goodbyes to her best friends. Then she rose and made her way toward a discreet exit while Courtney and Evie loitered with their lemonade to give her as much time as possible before going to inform Aunt Judith of her departure.

  As she slipped from the grand Boston mansion into the fresh night air, Alexandra breathed deep and wide. Catching sight of Courtney’s family carriage, she glanced around to make sure no one else was about, then she lifted the skirts of her ball gown in both hands and sprinted off into the darkness.

  Montana was waiting.

  Chapter Two

  Boulder, Colorado Territory

  August 4, 1881

  Malcolm Kincaid would’ve given anything to send his fist flying into the face of the wastrel seated across from him. He didn’t, because the grimy outlaw claimed to have information Malcolm needed.

  But damn, he wanted to.

  Freddie Golding had spent his life stealing from widows and orphans and every sort of poor soul in between. The criminal went by a thousand different names, which was how he’d managed to evade the law for so long, even though he was wanted in five counties through three different territories. That and the fact that he was so common in appearance as to be totally forgettable.

  The outlaw was going by a new name in Boulder and had no idea Malcolm knew exactly who he was. The world would be a better place without him, but right now Freddie had something Malcolm wanted more than the bounty on his head.

  They sat at a table in the back corner of John J’s Saloon. It was late on a Saturday night, and the place was hopping with men who’d come in to let loose with a night of drinking, gambling, and whoring.

  By the shake in Freddie’s hand as he reached for his glass, his red, bulbous nose and bloodshot eyes, it was clear he was not a man who went long without his whiskey.

  “You said you had information for me,” Malcolm said tersely. “Get to it or I’m leaving.”

  Freddie leaned forward, his greasy hair falling around his face as he smiled wide enough to show three missing teeth. “Oh, I’ve got what you want, mister. But you’re not gettin’ it for free.”

  Malcolm narrowed his gaze. His hand itched to curl into a fist.

  “I heard you been asking for this little tidbit for years,” Freddie said smugly. “Somethin’ like that’s gotta be worth quite a bit.”

  “Tell me what you know, and I’ll decide what it’s worth.”

  The greedy man downed the last of his whiskey, then flicked his rheumy gaze over Malcolm’s untouched glass. Noting the longing in Freddie’s expression, Malcolm lifted his whiskey. He stared hard over the rim of the glass until Freddie met his gaze.

  “Tell me where he is.”

  There was a flash of uncertainty in the outlaw’s dark, beady eyes as he licked his thin lips. “Maybe another drink’ll help me remember the details.”

  Malcolm set his drink down hard, causing liquor to slosh from the glass. All pretense was gone from his manner as he replied in a biting tone, “Maybe I’ll haul you back to Amarillo or Silver City and see what they think a fair price for the information might be. Or maybe I’ll just take you straight down to Pueblo. I heard the judge in that town is itching to have you back.”

  Freddie’s eyes grew wide as his gaze darted about the saloon, as though he expected a cavalry to emerge from the dusky shadows to drag him to justice. “I don’t know what—”

  “Shut up, Freddie. The only thing I wanna hear out of your mouth is what I came here looking for.”

  Freddie turned his wary focus back to Malcolm as he leaned in across the table. “You gonna take me in?”

  “Not if you spill what you know.”

  After another quick glance around the room, he said, “You lookin’ for the Belt Buckle Kid, right?”

  Malcolm nodded. It wasn’t a secret. He’d been hunting the elusive outlaw for years and had gotten close to capturing him more than once in the beginning. But then the Kid stopped using his idiotic nickname. No one knew him by anything else so he’d basically disappeared. It had been years since Malcolm had gotten any solid information on the wanted man.

  Freddie hesitated one final time before letting his breath out in a gust. If he made a run for it, Malcolm would have him pinned to the ground and howling in an instant. They both knew who held the power here. “His real name’s Walter Dunstan. His daddy’s got a spread outside of Wolf Creek up there in Montana.”

  The tightness that bound Malcolm’s chest shifted just enough to allow one full breath before it squeezed tight again.

  Walter Dunstan of Wolf Creek, Montana.

  It was strange. The elusive murderer had been known only as the Belt Buckle Kid for so long that the new name didn’t seem to fit. Walter Dunstan sounded like some graying old man, not a cold-blooded killer who couldn’t be much more than thirty years old.

  None of it changed the fact that Walter Dunstan had a death to answer for.

  “How do I know what you’re telling me is the truth?” he asked.

  Freddie shrugged. “You don’t. But I can tell you that I used to work for his pa years ago. I was even with Walter when he beat that boy with his belt and first gained the stupid nickname.”

  It could be true. And if it was, that meant Malcolm was finally getting close to seeing his vow of vengeance fulfilled.

  “If you go after him, you’re likely to be the one who ends up with a bullet in the gut,” Freddie warned. “His pa’s real powerful.”

  Malcolm shrugged. As long as he took the Belt Buckle Kid out first, it didn’t much matter what happened to him. And now that he had what he needed, he no longer had any use for Freddie. “Get the hell outta here before I change my mind about taking you in.”

  As Freddie stumbled from the saloon, Malcolm acknowledged that he probably should have collected the bounty on the man anyway. Freddie was a menace. Just being in his vicinity put a bad taste in Malcolm’s mouth. The information was enough of a boon, however, that Malcolm was willing to give the slimy weasel a head start.

  He lifted the whiskey and drained the glass in one swallow as he considered what he’d learned.

  He didn’t trust Freddie any farther than he could spit. But if what the man said was true, after all these years, Walter Dunstan was as good as dead. He just didn’t know it yet.

  Chapter Three

  Rock Springs, Wyoming Territory

  August 12, 1881

  Alexandra Brighton came to a swift halt four steps into the Painted Horse Saloon. Blinking a few times to adjust to the dim interior, she took a measured look around.

  As saloons went, it was nothing special. Not that Alexandra had seen many—or any, to be honest.

  Despite the early hour, the place was busier than expected. Three men stood in hushed conversati
on as they leaned against the bar running the length of the wall to her left. Several tables filled the open area to the right, where two separate card games were in progress, and narrow stairs toward the back led up to a closed second floor. An upright piano that looked like it hadn’t been touched in years stood lonely in the shadows by the stairs.

  Upon her entrance, everyone turned to stare at her, yet only a handful of the men bothered to scrape to their feet. Their expressions, ranging from mildly curious to outright covetous, reminded her of what she already knew: a saloon was no place for a lady.

  Alexandra steadied her chin as she stared coolly back. She did not have the luxury of fear. That would have been handy before she had left Boston. But now, she was too far from the place she’d called home the last five years to go back.

  Her only option was to go forward.

  Preferably as quickly as possible.

  All she needed was one good man. One noble, honorable man who could escort her to Montana while keeping her free from harm. Was that too much to ask?

  She feared it was, but Alexandra was low on options. And funds.

  The stagecoach out of Rock Springs, Wyoming, was inoperable due to required repairs, leaving Alexandra in desperate need of another way to get to Helena. When the blacksmith mentioned a bounty hunter in town who was heading in that direction, she didn’t stop to think about it—just headed off to the saloon where the man was said to be catching some respite.

  It had been a long time since her reckless will had landed her in trouble, yet here she was, standing in the middle of a filthy saloon while men of all varieties stared at her in a way that made her feel like a sheep who’d wandered into the midst of a wolf pack.

  Stiffening her spine and reminding herself of her purpose, she scanned the room again.