by Bobbi Smith
ROMANTIC TIMES PRAISES BOBBI SMITH, WINNER OF THE STORYTELLER OF THE YEAR AWARD!
WESTON'S LADY
"Bobbi Smith has penned another winner."
HALF-BREED 'S LADY
"A fast-paced frying-pan-into-the-fire adventure that runs the gamut of emotions, from laughter to tears. A must-read for Ms. Smith's fans, and a definite keeper."
OUTLAW'S LADY
"Bobbi Smith is an author of many talents; one of them being able to weave more than one story.... Ms. Smith creates characters that one will remember for some time to come."
THE LADY & THE TEXAN
"An action-packed read with roller coaster adventures that keep you turning the pages. The Lady & The Texan is just plain enjoyable."
RENEGADE'S LADY
"A wonderfully delicious `Perils of Pauline' style romance. With dashes of humor, passion, adventure and romance, Ms. Smith creates another winner that only she could write!"
THE LADY'S HAND
"The Lady's Hand is poignant, heartfelt and beautiful. Ms. Smith's memorable cast of characters and secondary plot lines are what make her a truly wonderful storyteller."
LAD Y DECEPTION
"Bobbi Smith is `Lady Deception' herself as she weaves a spellbinding tale filled with adventure and surprises. Her full-bodied characters will steal your heart. It takes a special author to write a book like Lady Deception."
"Good old Ben might have let you put yourself in harm's way, but I am not Ben! I am your new editor. I own the Star! No story is worth getting hurt over."
"You're right about one thing you're not Ben! You're not really an editor, either! I know what makes a good story, and you just ruined everything by interfering with your highhanded ways!"
"Interfering? I saved you from being attacked!" Gabe growled, closing on her. "Or maybe you really wanted to do all the research and make your story completely accurate!"
"Why, you-" Elise was hurt and angered by his insinuation. Without thought, she slapped him.
The last of his iron-willed self-control snapped, and he reached back to push the door shut. "Since you think I interfered with your work and you want to do more research, let me help."
He took her by the shoulders and dragged her to him.
As Elise gazed up at him in the darkness of the night, Gabe looked different to her. No longer was he the mildmannered boss. Tonight, he appeared as some fierce, avenging warrior, and she gasped softly as his mouth claimed hers in a demanding kiss.
Elise resisted for a moment, angered by his daring, but then his kiss gentled. Instead of dominating her, it became persuasive, coaxing. His lips moved seductively over hers, evoking a response that overruled her outrage at him.
Other books by Bobbi Smith:
WESTON'S LADY
HALF-BREED'S LADY
OUTLAW'S LADY
FORBIDDEN FIRES
RAPTURE'S RAGE
THE LADY & THE TEXAN
RENEGADE'S LADY
THE LADY'S HAND
LADY DECEPTION
This book is dedicated to Alicia Condon, the world's best editor!
This title was previously published by Dorchester Publishing; this version has been reproduced from the Dorchester book archive files.
I'd like to thank Gwen Morton for all her help and support.
I'd also like to thank some wonderful people at Anderson News-Bill Golliher, Becky Rose, Aileen Schrade, Bill Davis, James Hollis, Varina Shortt, Diane Hopkins, Charmaine Thessin, Vicki Church, Nick Ursino, Wayne Mathias, Phil Pepalis and Norvel Carrick. Thanks for everything! You're terrific!
"Hi" to all my friends at the Nancy's Trade-A-Book storesin Jefferson City and Columbia, Missouri-Nancy Heidbreder, Nita Pierce, Patty Harrison, Olga Bolden, Kristin Krebs, Becky Asher, Cheryl Elliston, Jennet Wilson and John Harvey.
Colorado, 1883
"We're getting close," Sheriff Trace Jackson warned his posse as he dismounted to check the trail they'd been following. "These tracks are only a few hours old."
"Good," Deputy Paul Andrews said as he reined in beside him. "I can't wait to catch up with the murdering bastards."
"You're not alone," Trace agreed grimly.
The four other members of the posse muttered their agreement. They had been on the trail of the notorious killer Matt Harris and his gang for the better part of a week now-ever since Harris had gunned down an unarmed man in an attempted robbery back in their town of Eagle Pass. The dead man, Ed Rankins, had been a good friend to Trace and the others. They were looking forward to seeing the Harris gang pay for their savagery.
Trace lifted his dark-eyed gaze to study the surrounding hills. His expression was wary. Harris was close by-he could almost feel it.
"Let's keep a sharp eye out. I don't want-" he began, but it was then, in that moment, that he saw the glint of the sun off a rifle barrel among the rocks on the hillside ahead of them. "Take cover!"
Trace drew his gun and began firing just as the outlaws' first shots rang out.
The Harris gang's murderous barrage rained death down upon the lawmen. Bullets slammed into Trace as he dove for the cover of a nearby boulder. The rest of the posse wheeled their horses around trying to escape, but Harris's men seemed to be everywhere. The lawmen got off only a few answering rounds before they were slaughtered.
When the gunfire died down, Matt Harris emerged from his hiding place, laughing and cheering loudly in his victory.
"And Trace Jackson always prided himself on being such a good lawman and tracker," he sneered. "He don't look so damned good right now, does he, boys? All he looks is dead to me!"
Harris mounted his horse and rode down to inspect the carnage they'd wreaked. His men followed his lead. While they went to check each of the deputies to make sure they were dead, Harris rode straight to where Trace lay facedown and unmoving in the dirt. He smiled as he saw the blood that had pooled beneath the sheriffs head, and the blood on his shirt from another bullet wound. He glanced over at Terp Wilson, his closest friend, who had ridden up beside him.
"Damn, I'm good," he gloated. "I got him twice-a head shot and his shooting arm!" He chuckled, pleased with his own marksmanship. "Sheriff Trace Jackson ain't so high and mighty anymore."
"You done good," Terp agreed. They'd always been concerned about Jackson. He'd had a reputation as a tough lawman who always brought in his man. It was good to know that they wouldn't have to worry about him anymore.
Harris drew his six-gun and aimed at Trace's back. Without remorse, he shot him again, then slowly holstered his gun.
"What did ya do that for if he's already dead?" Terp asked.
"Because it felt good," Harris said, grinning. "Now, let's get the hell out of here. I want to find me some whiskey and a willing woman. I want to do some celebratin'!"
As he rode away, Harris was still smiling. He knew what wiping out Jackson and his whole posse would do for his reputation. From now on, only fools would dare mess with Matt Harris.
The pain was unrelenting and maddening, and because of it, Trace knew he wasn't dead. If he'd been dead, he wouldn't have been in such torment. It took all his energy just to open his eyes, and he was immediately sorry for the effort. The glare of the sunlight stabbed at him, leaving him longing for unconsciousness again. In unconsciousness, there would be no agony. In unconsciousness, there would be peace-and the absence of pain.
"So you're finally wakin' up, are ya?"
The sound of the man's voice startled Trace. He struggled to look around, thinking the man might be one of Harris's gang. He was relieved to find that he was a stranger.
"Good to see you're awake, Sheriff," the wildly bearded old man said, giving him a toothless grin. "You had me wonderin' for a while there-I was thinkin' and afearin' you might not make it."
"Water-" Tra
ce said hoarsely as he let his eyes close, exhausted.
"I'll get you some right now."
A moment later the man was back beside him with a dipper of water.
"Okay, young fella, let's see if we can get you to drink some of this," the old man urged, helping to lift his head as he held the dipper to his lips.
Trace drank thirstily. After a few good swallows, the old man drew back.
"Take it easy-that'll be enough for now," he said as he took the water away. "You don't want to drink too fast after what you been through. My name's Gibby, by the way. Gibby Pruett."
"Thanks, Gibby. I'm Trace Jackson." Trace gave a guttural groan as he lay back. He didn't want to rest. He had to get up. He needed to find his men and go after Harris. "Where am I? And my men? Where are my men? Are they here?"
Gibby's expression darkened. "Your men are dead, Sheriff."
Trace closed his eyes against the agony that tore at him. They were all dead.
"You was the only one left alive, so I brung you up here to my cabin," the old man went on. "It ain't nothing short of a miracle that you was still alive and kickin' when I found you, seein' as how you had two bullets still in you and your head grazed by another one."
Trace opened his eyes again to look at the man who'd rescued him. A burning, deadly fervor was mirrored in their dark depths.
"How long...?" was all he could manage.
"Been almost a week now that I've been tendin' to you. I done buried the others."
Trace drew a deep, ragged breath. "I owe you, friend."
"You don't owe me nothin'. Jes' get better, that's all. What town are you from? Do you want me to get word to anybody back there about you being alive?"
"No!" Obviously, Harris had left him for dead. He wanted the outlaw and his gang to keep on thinking he was dead. It was going to take him a while to recover from his wounds, but when he did, he was going to finish what he'd started. He was going after the Harris gang-and he wouldn't quit until they'd been brought to justice.
"No?" Gibby was surprised. "Ain't you got nobody who'd be worryin' about you?"
"No. No one." Trace slowly shook his head. Paul and the rest of his deputies were dead. Harris had killed them all. He thought of Anna, the woman he'd occasionally seen in town. She had known from the start of their relationship that it would never be serious or binding. No words of love had ever been spoken between them, and he had wanted it that way. He had no room in his life for a commitment. His dedication had been to his job as a lawman.
"You sure there ain't somebody who'd want to know about you? Don't you have family?"
"I don't have any family, and if the rest of the folks in town think I'm dead, then we'll leave it that way." He turned to the old man, his eyes glowing with the fire of his intent. "As far as everyone's concerned, Sheriff Trace Jackson from Eagle Pass was killed in an ambush by the Harris gang along with the rest of his posse. There were no survivors."
Gibby saw the fierceness of his emotions and nodded. "I won't tell nobody that you're here."
"Thank you." Fury and hatred filled Trace as he lay there, searing him with the need for revenge and giving him the will he needed to live. "How bad am I?"
"You was lucky that the one bullet only grazed your head. The other two...well, I hate to tell you this, but you ain't gonna be so fast on the draw right-handed anymore."
Trace tried to lift his right arm, but could barely move it. He ground his teeth in frustration at discovering his own weakness. Somehow, he was going to have to find a way to deal with it. When he glanced over at Gibby, his expression was cold and deadly. "If my right arm's this bad, then I guess I'll just have to learn how to shoot left-handed."
Their gazes met and locked.
The old man could see reflected in his dark eyes the depth of the raw, savage emotion that motivated him. Gibby was glad he wasn't part of the gang who'd done this to Jackson, for he knew they were going to pay.
"I'll help you any way I can," Gibby offered.
"I'll see to it that you're paid for your help."
"You don't need to pay me. Just get the ones who did this behind bars where they belong."
Trace nodded, grim in his determination. It wasn't going to be easy, but he would get his strength back, and once he did, he was going to finish what he'd started. He was going to bring in Matt Harris. Harris believed Sheriff Trace Jackson was dead, and that was going to be his fatal mistake.
Trace would see to it.
Durango, Colorado-Two Months Later
Elise Martin knew she was making quite a spectacle of herself waiting at the Sanderson Stage Depot in the middle of the afternoon in her wedding gown and veil, but she didn't care. The wedding ceremony was scheduled to take place in less than an hour, and the stage on which she hoped her fiance, Ben, would be arriving was running late. Her pace was restless as she stared off into the distance hoping to catch a glimpse of the Durango-bound stagecoach.
"Miss Elise? Is there anything I can do for you? Any way I can help?" Tom Bradshaw, the station manager, asked. He was concerned, for he knew how important this day had to be for her-it was her wedding day. Certainly, she did look lovely. He'd always thought Elise quite a pretty young woman with her dark hair and green eyes, but now in her gown of white satin and lace, she was downright beautiful. She should have been primping and preparing for her vows instead of waiting around the stage depot for a fiance who looked like he wasn't going to show up. Tom hoped he would get there in time. Though Tom wasn't a close acquaintance, from what he'd heard about her, he knew that Miss Elise was a lady, and she deserved better than this.
"Not unless you can hurry the stage up," Elise told him a bit shortly. As cool and composed as she usually prided herself on being, she hated to admit that the steadiness of her nerve was being severely tested by this unexpected turn of events. Ben should have been back days ago. Where was he?
"I don't know what could be holding them up today. The weather's been good. They should have rolled into town over two hours ago. What time is your wedding due to start?"
"Preacher Farnsworth is set to perform the ceremony at four. That doesn't leave us a lot of time."
Tom couldn't think of anything reassuring to say to her, so he disappeared back inside, leaving the would-be bride to wait by herself. He knew there was nothing he could do to change things, so it was better just to stay out of harm's way.
Elise stopped pacing and drew a determined breath as she contemplated the possibility that the stage just might not make it into town in time. She had to have an alternative plan of action. She had to think of some way to salvage the situation-and fast! She'd worked too long and too hard making everything come together at just the right time and place today, and she refused to let it all fall through.
Had she been a man, Elise would have sworn aloud her frustration in the vilest language possible. She was a lady, though, and she reminded herself to behave like one. Certainly, she did look the part in her bridal gown and veil. It was just that standing there all alone in front of the stage depot waiting desperately for a stage that might not come didn't sit well with her-not now, not today. This was to have been the most exciting day of her life, but she hadn't intended the excitement to be her not knowing when Ben was going to show up.
"Elise!"
Elise turned at the sound of her name being called to find her grandmother hurrying toward her. She was holding the wedding bouquet in one hand and waving a slip of paper in the other.
"What is it?" Elise moved to meet her. She wondered what had happened to bring her grandmother to the depot at almost a run. It had to be important.
"This telegram just came! I knew you'd want to see it right away!" Claire Martin told her a bit breathlessly as she reached her side and handed her the missive. "It's from Ben!"
Elise tensed at the news. Ben should have been here! Why was he sending her a wire? Did this telegram mean he wasn't on the stage? She quickly read the short message.
"Oh, no," she sa
id in quiet misery as she looked up from the telegram. "Did you read it already?"
"Yes. What are you going to do now?" Claire knew the wire was devastating to her plans. Ben Hollins, her would-be fiance and the owner and editor of the Durango Weekly Star, had lost the newspaper in a poker game, and he would not be returning to town-ever.
"I don't know," Elise muttered in total frustration.
Bens timing couldn't have been worse. The preacher was waiting. The guests were already arriving for the ceremony. She was in her wedding dress. Everything was set, and now he wasn't going to show up at all! She could have screamed, but the sound of a stagecoach in the distance finally pulling into town stopped her. Her expression grew even more determined.
"I don't think I like that look on your face," Claire said worriedly. "What are you planning to do?"
"There's only one thing I can do," she told her grandmother with as much bravado as she could muster as she lifted her gaze to watch the stage roll in.
"What's that?" Claire couldn't imagine what she was contemplating, but then, that wasn't unusual with Elise. Her granddaughter was always surprising her with clever, brilliant ideas, and if ever she'd needed one, this was the time.
"I'm going through with this wedding just as I planned. I'm going to get married-today."
For once, Elise did manage to truly shock her. Claire paled at her declaration.
"I don't understand. Ben's not coming in on that stage. You can't have a wedding without the groom."
"I know Ben's not coming, but somebody else just might. We'll have to see..."
Elise focused on the stagecoach as it drew to a stop before her. She took a deep breath and said a silent prayer. She never liked to admit to being in less than total control of any given situation, so she girded herself for what was to come. This wasn't going to be easy, but she would do it. Somehow, in the next few minutes, she was going to find herself a new fiance and then she was going to get married. It would be that simple-she hoped.
The door to the stagecoach flew open. Straining to get a look, Elise could see that there were only three people inside-two men and a woman.