by Kristen Iten
Loving an Outlaw
Kristen Iten
Contents
Books In This Series
Acknowledgments
You’re Invited
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
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
A Note to the Reader
About the Author
Books In This Series
Loving an Outlaw
Loving a Lawman
Loving a Toymaker: A Lone Star Christmas
Copyright © 2018 Kristen Iten
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please visit www.KristenIten.com to submit permission requests.
Acknowledgments
I would like to say a special thank you to an amazing group of friends and fellow authors. Michelle L., Liwen H., and Patricia B., without your support and encouragement this book wouldn’t be what it is today.
Dedicated to my sweet family. You inspire me daily.
You’re Invited
Do you love to read clean romance? Visit www.KristenIten.com and sign up for my newsletter. I work hard to find the best deals on new clean romance to share with you. I’ll also let you know when my next book comes out!
Chapter 1
“He’s a respectable doctor, Abigail.” Aunt Virginia’s pursed lips and flushed cheeks warned that her patience was wearing thin.
“He’s forty-four years old,” said Abigail.
“There’s talk of him becoming head of surgery in one of those big New York City hospitals.”
“He’s forty-four years old.” Abigail held up four fingers on each hand to help drive the point home.
“I’ll admit he may not be much to look at, but if you marry him, you’ll never be penniless like your mother. Land poor, that’s what she was. Think of that before wagging that smart tongue of yours.”
Abigail crossed the room and sat with the practiced elegance of a refined young lady. The room was quiet for a moment as she surveyed her delicately folded hands.
“I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
Abigail’s aging aunt sat with perfect, unyielding posture that rivaled that of DaVinci’s Mona Lisa. She raised a knowing eyebrow and nodded her head. A triumphant smile played on her lips.
Abigail heaved a heavy sigh. “He’s forty-four years old and he’s ugly.” Her laughter filled the room. “When I think of those colorless eyes of his…” A shiver ran down the length of her spine.
“You’re an incorrigible child, exasperating the life out of me. That’s what you’re doing. A person as plain as him will have no use for pretentiousness. You could love him if you tried,” said Virginia
“It’s not so much that I don’t love him; it’s that I can’t stand him.”
“That is going too far, Abigail. An eligible widower has extended his hand, and you swat it away without so much as a thought. It’s ungrateful, that’s what it is.”
“Ungrateful? Should I be grateful for his bad breath or his clammy hands? I would truly be grateful if I didn’t have to listen to another one of his endless, droning stories.”
“You are to be grateful a well respected man of good breeding would be willing to entertain the thought of marriage to an orphan girl like yourself.”
Abigail bristled at her aunt’s last words but held her peace.
“He will take care of you long after I’m gone, Abigail.” Aunt Virginia spoke with a decidedly softer tone.
“I don’t need Dr. Price to take care of me. I’ll be leaving soon. Jonathan and I will take care of each other—that’s what family does.”
“I wouldn’t count on Jonathan.”
The words, though gently spoken, fell heavy on Abigail’s heart. “What do you mean?”
“How long has it been since you received a letter? Four months?”
“Jonathan is fine. I’m sure there’s a perfectly natural reason for the delay.”
“A devoted brother writes to his sister faithfully every week for six months and then suddenly stops? If that’s not a sign of trouble, I don’t know what is. Something has happened. He was probably gunned down in the street—”
“Don’t talk like that, Aunt Virginia!” Heat rose in Abigail’s cheeks.
“Land of opportunity, bah. The lawless west, that’s what it should be called. I honestly don’t know what the two of you were thinking, a brother and sister trekking across the country and you barely into your eighteenth year. You certainly didn’t consult me before making your plans. If I had my way—”
“Jonathan is fine.” Abigail blurted the words out with more passion than she had intended. “He’s busy, that’s all. It’s hard work building something out of nothing.” Even Abigail could hear how silly the words sounded. Her denial was only skin deep. Truth be told, Jonathan’s sudden silence had been keeping her up at night.
Aunt Virginia’s brows drew together as she absently played with the broach pinned to her collar. “Mark my words,” she said. “Something has happened to that boy.”
“You’re wrong, you’ll see. I’ll write you—we’ll write you—as soon as I meet him in Texas.” Abigail stopped speaking before her emotions betrayed her own secret fears.
A knock at the door disrupted the uneasy silence that had fallen on the room. Aunt Virginia rose from her favorite spot on the settee.
“Straighten your dress, girl. It won’t do to have company see you in such a state.”
“If our visitor doesn’t wish to see my wrinkled dress, I suggest they go home.”
“Do as you’re told.” Aunt Virginia clucked her tongue in disapproval. “And pinch those cheeks. You look deathly pale. Smile. Don’t forget to smile. Be charming. You are capable of such warmth when it suits your fancy.”
The last chastisement was delivered over her aunt’s shoulder as she practically galloped to the foyer. The vulgar task of answering the door, as Aunt Virginia referred to it, was normally reserved for Abigail. But not today.
Virginia paused in front of the mirror. A few silver strands had managed to escape the oppressive bonds of the perfect bun that sat high on the back of her head. It was a look that actually suited her face.
Abigail watched as her aunt smoothed the offending hairs back into place. Aunt Virginia’s words echoed in her head, “A face framed with curls is nothing more than vanity on display.” Opinions were certainly something that Aunt Virginia had never been in short supply of. Her aunt took a moment to compose herself. She brushed away the wrinkles that had settled on the front of her own ample skirt before opening the door.
Abigail knew there was only one person in the world who could send Aunt Virginia into such a flutter. She cringed at the thought, and moved to her great-grandmother’s straight backed chair. It was not the most comfortable seat in the room. Its one saving grace was its location along the back wall of the parlor. Sitting in that chair was as close as one could get to leaving the room without actually leaving the room.
Abigail gathered her thick brown hair and twisted it up into a stylish bun. The unwelcome visitor would no doubt treat her like a child, but she
had no desire to look the part as well. She fished hairpins from her pocket and secured her long tresses into place. The curled ends were left to sit on top of her head.
She rummaged around in the sewing basket for her latest needlepoint creation and set about her work, hoping to be left alone when their caller entered the room.
“Thank heavens you’re here. The girl has gone mad.” Abigail heard the words fairly fly out of Virginia’s mouth the second the door opened. “For the first time since I took those children in, I am at a loss. The girl is being obstinate.”
Doctor William Price stepped into the foyer, dripping with the stomach turning combination of false humility and condescension Abigail had come to expect from her suitor. He bowed deeply as if he were being introduced to a foreign head of state. The doctor had an unfortunate habit of raising his thick eyebrows high above half-closed eyelids whenever greeting someone. It was an expression that had forced Abigail to stifle a laugh on more than one occasion.
“There, there, my dear, Aunt.” He gave her shoulder a patronizing pat. “We’ll soon have an end to all of this nonsense.”
The blood boiled in Abigail’s veins. She is not your aunt. Abigail knew full well what he was doing. Every time he called Virginia his aunt, it was his subtle way of pushing her one step farther down the wedding aisle. His presumption of what he considered to be their inevitable marriage was infuriating. Abigail rolled her eyes in disgust and readied herself for his grand entrance into the room.
Instead of sitting in his usual spot on the settee, Dr. Price headed directly for Abigail’s refuge near the door. She took note of his appearance. He wore a gray suit with a dull gray tie. His shoes were a few shades darker than the suit but still decidedly gray. A gray outfit to match all of that gray hair.
Even his skin seemed to be tinged with gray. He was the living embodiment of a sunless December afternoon. Everything about his appearance was dull, unless you counted the bright sheen that emanated from his abnormally large and rather greasy forehead.
“My dear child, what is all this I hear?” Dr. Price took her hand. His moist touch sent a shiver of revulsion down her spine. “Tell our poor aunt that you’re not serious about this business. Let’s be done with it.”
She slipped her hand out of his with one easy motion.
“I do not appreciate being spoken to like a child.” She dried her hand conspicuously on one of the ruffles of her skirt.
“Then I suggest you stop behaving like one, my dear.”
There was nothing endearing about the last two words he spoke. They were delivered with bone chilling coldness. This man was not the sympathetic doctor he tried to portray himself to be. Abigail had caught glimpses of his true character over the last several months, and his ugly side was beginning to surface once again.
He was a man who was unwilling to be crossed. A man who only saw Abigail as a child to be ordered about. It was little wonder Aunt Virginia had waited until Jonathan left for Texas to push him at her. Jonathan would never have stood for it.
“It is time that you get these ridiculous ideas out of your head,” said Dr. Price.
“There is nothing ridiculous about my plans.”
“A lone girl traipsing off on a half-witted journey across the country is ridiculous.” He feigned an apologetic expression. “You will forgive me if I tell you that your venture is doomed to failure. An expedition from Pennsylvania to Texas is one that I would not even wish to undertake. I am sorry, Miss Dodd, but it is time you faced the fact that you simply don’t have the brains for it.”
Aunt Virginia’s brows furrowed at the doctor’s cutting remarks. Abigail looked at her aunt, searching for any sign of solidarity. She waited for a response but none came. The color in Virginia’s cheeks deepened as she lowered her gaze.
Abigail flung her needle point to the ground and leapt from her seat. She threw her shoulders back and looked the doctor directly in the eyes. The thumping of her heart grew louder in her ears by the second.
“I will not abandon my brother, William.” The force with which she delivered the words both surprised and pleased her. “I don’t know why Jonathan hasn’t sent for me yet, but I’m going to go find out.”
Her chest rose and fell quickly. She placed a steadying hand on her stomach. Compose yourself before you fall into a faint. The urge to run to her room and tear her corset off was nearly overpowering. She needed to breathe, but retreat was not an option. If she left the room now, Price would see it as a sign of weakness, and she was not about to hand him a victory tonight. If it were to be all out war, she was going to win.
Price claimed his usual spot on the settee.
“We all know that you are a devoted sister. You’ve made that point quite clear. The fact remains; however, that if your brother were any sort of man at all, he wouldn’t need his baby sister to come to his rescue. This conversation is becoming tedious. I refuse to hear another word of it.”
Price fixed his cold gaze on Abigail. “You are not going. If you continue with these wild ideas, I shall consider it a form of madness. We shall have no other recourse but to lock you in your room until the ailment has passed.”
He picked up a book that was lying on a lace doily nearby and flipped through the pages. He spoke again without so much as glancing up from his book. “Go fetch some refreshments. The ride over was unpleasant, and I feel the need for some of our aunt’s excellent raspberry cordial.”
Abigail’s large, green eyes narrowed to two thin slits, while Aunt Virginia’s widened. For the second time in the history of the world, Aunt Virginia had no words.
Although Dr. Price’s speech had been intended to crush Abigail’s spirit, all he had managed to do was light a fire in her soul. She brushed past her aunt on the way out of the room. The blood rushing through her ears was deafening.
She headed straight for the kitchen, but didn’t stop at the pantry. Her handbag sat on a small table next to the back door. She snatched it up and was outside in a moment without so much as pausing to quiet the screen door as it slammed shut on its hinges.
Abigail knew exactly where she was going. She had travel plans to arrange.
Chapter 2
“You ready, Missy?” The lines in the stagecoach driver’s weathered face deepened when he smiled. His squinting eyes were almost swallowed up entirely by bushy eyebrows that grew straight out from his head before curling back inward. Abigail could just make out the twinkle of old Abe’s dark eyes beneath the wiry mass.
The train ride to St. Louis had been exciting, but it didn’t compare to the thrill she had felt the day she boarded the stage that would take her to her final destination.
Abe’s toothless grin coaxed his oversized beard to twist in all sorts of unnatural ways. The comical sight had struck her funny bone too many times along the road to Texas. After days on the trail together, he felt like an old friend.
She stifled a laugh with a round of fake coughs. “All set in here,” she said. Why do I laugh at all the wrong times?
Abe closed the stage door and hoisted himself into the driver’s seat with surprising agility for a man of his advanced years. He settled into place with the reins in hand. “Get on!” was all he had to say. Four strong horses worked in unison, and just like that, they were back on the road.
Her arm rested on a faded carpet bag. Its once rich, scrolling pattern was difficult to discern now, but it was easy to see that it had been beautiful once upon a time.
Abigail took off her jacket and unfastened the top button of her blouse. The farther south and west she traveled, the thicker the air became: thick with humidity and dust. It was oppressive. She dug a few papers out of her bag and fanned herself. Can it get any hotter? She knew full well that the answer to that question was a resounding yes. It was only ten o’clock in the morning. It was going to get a lot hotter before the day was over.
The stage jostled and bumped slowly along the rough patch of ground that Abe called a road. One of the back wheels fell int
o a rut with surprising force. Abigail managed to keep her seat, but her bag was not so fortunate. It crashed to the floor, spilling its contents.
“Sorry ‘bout that, Missy,” the driver called. “The rains was real bad last year and made for some pretty deep ruts. The ride gets a might bumpy if ya slip in.”
A might bumpy? Abigail knelt on the wooden floorboards and gathered her belongings. She took special care to examine her mother’s kettle for damage. That old, tin kettle was one of the few things she brought with her when she came to live with her aunt in Pennsylvania. She packed her bag again and rubbed her backside before taking a seat.
Despite the heat, bumps, and the endless road that stretched out before them, she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. She was right where she wanted to be. Every time she gazed out of the window, a thrill of excitement danced in her stomach. She had traveled halfway across the country. Alone. In only three more days, she would be reunited with her older brother. She kept that hope alive in her heart. Any other thought was unbearable.
Abigail shifted in her seat, searching for relief from the hard, wooden bench that had been her resting place for what felt like an eternity. The worn leather covering on the seat did little to improve its looks and even less to improve its comfort. She rolled her jacket and placed it behind her neck. The makeshift pillow left much to be desired. She found herself longing for the plush cushions of her aunt’s settee back home. Why didn’t I think to bring my goose down pillow at the very least?