Renegade

by Anna Schmidt

  “Ollie!”

  The conductor she had met on the train to Juniper just a year earlier grinned at her. “Got some wedding cake out here,” he said as he pointed to a metal cart set with two glasses and a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. Cody stood aside to allow Ollie to roll the cart into the compartment.

  “Ollie, this is my husband, Cody Daniels.”

  “Pleased to know you, Mr. Daniels. And Mrs. Daniels.”

  “Ollie was on the train that brought Grace, Emma, and me to Juniper the first time,” Lily explained, and Cody broke into a broad grin.

  “Well, let me shake your hand, sir,” he said.

  Ollie accepted the handshake with a shy smile. “Compliments of Mr. and Mrs. Hopkins,” he said as he popped the cork and filled the glasses, then he backed out the door. “You folks enjoy now, and when you’re done, just set the cart in the corridor. I’ll see to it nobody disturbs you again.” On his way out, he lowered the privacy shade on the door to the compartment, and Lily was pretty sure he winked at Cody as he left.

  “If people keep serving us champagne, I’m going to need a nap,” Lily said. She sat on the upholstered seat and raised her glass to Cody.

  “To us,” he said, touching his glass to hers. They each took a sip, and then Cody set the glasses back on the cart and wheeled it out.

  Lily stretched, removed her hat and gloves, and pulled off her boots. Cody closed and locked the door before collapsing onto the seat with her. She tucked her legs underneath her and curled into his arms. Without the necessity of words, they watched the world fly by out the window.

  After a few moments, he kissed her temple and said, “Do you know what I wish?”

  “What?”

  “My wish for us is that every day we share will be better than the one before.”

  She twisted around to face him. “That’s a tall order.”

  He tweaked her nose. “I think we can do it. We’re just going to have to work really hard.”

  Lily had almost dozed off when Cody stood and removed his jacket. He remained standing as he considered the furnishings of the small cabin. “There’s got to be a way to make this thing into a bed,” he mused.

  “Cody! It’s not even noon.”

  He shrugged as he fiddled with the seat opposite them. All of a sudden, it slid forward, and the back flattened. “Looks like a bed to me, Mrs. Daniels.” He opened an overhead storage bin and produced two pillows and a blanket, his grin infectious. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a nap.”

  How could she resist this man?

  She shrugged out of her jacket and took off her skirt and petticoat, then faked a yawn. “Sounds like a good idea,” she replied as she curled onto the bed and tugged the blanket over herself. She closed her eyes, pretending sleep, but frowned and peeked when she heard him still moving about.

  “Cody,” she gasped when he lay down next to her, turned onto his side, and raised up on his elbow so he could see her. The man was stark naked.

  “You gonna share that blanket, Mrs. Daniels?”

  “No,” she teased, clutching it tighter.

  “Guess I’ll just have to lay claim then,” he said, and she noticed his voice was raspy and the teasing glint in his eyes had been replaced with something far more intense. He pulled the blanket away and tossed it aside. “You’re overdressed, lady.”

  He kissed her and tunneled his hand under the waist of her pantaloons. She couldn’t decide what felt better—the rhythmic stroking of his tongue inside her mouth or the massage his fingers gave her inner thighs, edging ever closer to her most private areas. She had her answer when he found her core and filled it with his fingers. Her hunger for him was insatiable. She moaned when he abandoned her mouth and used his teeth to pull free the ribbon ties of her camisole.

  She tugged at his shoulders, clawed at his back, sending whatever signal she could to demand more from him—much more. She could feel the fullness of his erection pressing against her and recalled the night they had started to make love and he had pulled away.

  Not this time.

  She twisted away, struggling to push her pantaloons down her hips. “Help me,” she pleaded, nearly beside herself with the desire to have him inside her again.

  He half sat up and undressed her with a tenderness that was breathtaking. As he removed her camisole, he kissed her breasts and then moved lower, kissing her stomach as he pushed her undergarment down and off. Finally free of the bonds of clothing, she urged him up so she could see his face, wanting to know if he shared what she felt.

  He gazed down at her. “This time, there’s no going back,” he whispered as he slid into her, filling her.

  There was a heartbeat when he stayed very still, watching her, his gaze seeking her permission to complete their union. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his hips, urging him deeper. He sucked in a breath and then began the lesson only he was allowed to give her—the lesson of making love.

  * * *

  Afterward, they lay curled together under the blanket as their breathing slowed, listening to the clack of the wheels against the tracks. Cody knew he would never have enough of this incredible woman.

  “Hungry?” he murmured, realizing neither of them had ever gotten around to consuming the wedding breakfast.

  She giggled and lightly bit his earlobe. “What are you suggesting, Mr. Daniels?”

  “Well now, there’s hunger that can be satisfied with a good solid meal, and then there’s hunger that requires something entirely different.”

  She shifted so that she was atop him, her long, white-gold hair a curtain that surrounded them. “I’ll take that one,” she whispered as she ran her palms over the ridges of his chest and bent to kiss his stomach.

  “So soon?”

  “I want to make sure,” she replied, her voice muffled as she moved lower, her mouth within a fraction of finding trouble.

  “Sure of what?” He pulled her back to face him.

  “Sure that we’ve done a good job of getting started on our firstborn. We’ve wasted a lot of time, Cody, with me being too stubborn all those months to see what was right in front of me and you having all these rules and constantly chasing after bad guys. I mean, you do want children, don’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a grin. He lifted her so that she remained sitting on top of him as he entered her. Her eyes widened in surprise, and then she smiled.

  One thing was certain, Lily would only play by the rules that made sense to her and question everything else. He’d known from the day he met her that she was a renegade—now she was his renegade.

  For more Anna Schmidt check out

  the Where the Trail Ends series

  Last Chance Cowboys: The Drifter

  On sale now!

  Author’s Note

  The hotels named in this story are fictional, but there are still hotels around that were once part of the Harvey Company. One well worth visiting is La Fonda in Santa Fe, where you can take a step back in time and imagine meals served by smiling young women dressed in black with white pinafore aprons “setting your cup” and serving you a delicious meal.

  While Fred Harvey and his sons eventually became famous for hotels and restaurants and even guided tours that helped the West become a major destination for travelers, it was his eating houses along the Santa Fe railway that started it all. Throughout the story, I have mentioned dishes made famous by the Harvey Company. Thanks to George H. Foster and Peter C. Weighlin, many of those recipes have been preserved in The Harvey House Cookbook (Atlanta: Longstreet Press, 1992).

  With the publisher’s permission, here are two of those delicious recipes:

  Huevos Rancheros

  1 cup pinto beans

  1 tablespoon red chili powder

  ¼ cup cold water

  4 tablespoons minced onion<
br />
  2 tablespoons butter

  2 eggs

  ½ to 1 teaspoon finely minced green chili pepper

  1 teaspoon butter

  Wash beans, cover with cold water, and let soak overnight.

  In the morning, heat to boiling, then reduce heat and let simmer, covered, until beans are tender, three to four hours. Cool.

  Add red chili powder to the cold water and let soak one hour. Sauté onion and finely minced green chili pepper in 2 tablespoons butter very slowly until tender but not browned. Add beans, which have been broken up coarsely with a fork, and heat through. Add ¼ to ½ cup hot water if beans are too dry.

  Transfer beans to a well-buttered ramekin or individual casserole dish. Make two depressions in top of beans using back of tablespoon and drop an egg in each depression. Pour two tablespoons soaked red chili powder over the top, and dot tops of eggs with butter.

  Bake in a moderate oven (350 degrees) for 20 to 25 minutes or until eggs are set. Serves one.

  Cheese Cake

  2 cups fine graham cracker crumbs (25 crackers)

  1½ cups sugar

  ½ cup melted butter

  4 eggs

  2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

  2 tablespoons cornstarch

  1 teaspoon salt

  2 teaspoons grated lemon peel

  1½ teaspoons lemon juice

  1 teaspoon vanilla

  1 cup heavy cream

  1½ pounds dry, small curd cottage cheese

  Mix crumbs with ½ cup sugar and the melted butter; reserve ¾ cup of crumb mixture for topping. Press remaining crumb mixture into a 9-inch springform pan, lining bottom and sides, building up sides to 1¾ inch height.

  Beat eggs with remaining sugar until light; add flour, cornstarch, salt, lemon peel, lemon juice, vanilla, cream, and cheese. Beat thoroughly.

  Pour into crumb-lined pan; sprinkle with remaining crumbs. Bake in moderate oven (350 degrees) for one hour. Cool, then remove from pan.

  Read on for an excerpt from Last Chance Cowboys: The Drifter, also by Anna Schmidt

  Chapter 1

  Arizona Territory, June 1882

  Chet Hunter tugged on his horse’s reins as he paused on a flat mesa and studied the terrain below. His dog, Cracker, glanced up at him. Their journey had already taken them hundreds of miles from Florida, traveling across territory that was a far cry from the tropics they’d left behind. He eased a speck of the never-ending dust from his eye with the knuckles of one hand and surveyed his surroundings.

  Below was a river, a cluster of trees—most likely cottonwoods—some scrubby mesquite, and miles of open grassland as far as he could see. The river was low, but that was the only clear evidence of the drought that had followed him from West Texas and into the semi-arid landscape of New Mexico and Arizona. For days, he’d picked his way through open range that had been overgrazed until the grass he’d been told could grow as high as seven feet was little more than stubble. He’d crossed dried-up creek beds and rivers with waters that barely reached his boot tips. The scene below looked about as close to paradise as he ever thought he’d see in this part of the country.

  Maybe it was one of those mirages he’d heard about. From what he’d always figured, Arizona Territory was desert and rock with cactus plants tall as any man providing the only hints of green…and the only relief from the unrelenting sun that scorched the land from morning to evening. But here the white light of the noonday sun made the land stretch out flat, and the mountains in the distance jutted up from a purplish-blue haze. Beyond the river, he saw what looked like hundreds—no, more like thousands of cattle grazing. The herd stretched out for miles, and that could mean the work he needed to shore up his savings and eventually get him to California—not to mention the chance of a decent meal.

  And if he couldn’t find a likely ranch before sundown, the area below the mesa looked like it might be as good a place as any to set up camp. For one thing, he could bathe in the river that had more flow than any he’d seen in a while. It would feel mighty good to wash off the layers of dust and sweaty grime that clung to his clothes and skin. Cracker could take a bath as well and cool off some. But as he zigzagged his way along the terraces that led down to the valley and to what, from above, had seemed to be open land in all directions, he realized that the way to the river was blocked. Barbed-wire fencing stretched on as far as the eye could see with signs warning that the land was property of the Tipton Brothers Cattle and Land Company and there was to be No Trespassing.

  “Come along, Cracker,” he murmured, although the instruction was not necessary. The brown-and-white collie, her fur matted with dirt and debris, had an instinct for knowing what Chet might need, especially now that the two of them had traveled halfway across the country with pretty much just each other for company. In a lot of ways, Chet felt as if he and the dog had melded into a single being. Cracker picked her way over the rutted path that ran parallel to the fence—a fence that appeared to stretch on all the way to the horizon.

  Nope. No free range here.

  He rode along the fence, studying the land on the other side. Now that he was level with the grass, he saw that it too was stunted and parched, but that was to be expected, given the heat and obvious lack of rain. At least here there was grass—not like the barren landscape he’d left behind in Texas. On the Tipton side of the barbed-wire barrier, he spotted some skeleton remains of steers left to rot, their bones bleached by the sun. Cracker saw them too and pressed her nose between the strands of wire, then let out a yelp.

  “This way, Crack,” Chet said as he turned his horse away from the fencing. By contrast, the land where he was riding showed signs of new growth in spite of the drought. Of course, he also had not seen any cattle on this side of the fence. But he figured that if the fence marked a boundary for the Tipton Brothers Company, then outside the fence must be land owned by some independent rancher or farmer—land that Tipton’s owners had not yet swallowed up. Chet crossed a running creek and climbed back up to higher ground. As he followed the mesa, he spotted another herd—much smaller than the first—in the distance, grazing on open land. There had to be a ranch somewhere around—maybe two or three smaller places. Plenty enough work to be had for a drifter who knew his way around a herd.

  * * *

  Maria Porterfield had had almost no sleep and the last thing she needed was a confrontation with the ranch foreman. But like it or not, Roger Turnbull was striding toward her, and every muscle in his body told her he was not happy.

  “Cyrus Cardwell said you went to the bank asking for a loan, Maria.”

  She took another sip of her coffee and gazed out at the horizon that marked the boundaries of the Clear Springs Ranch. “And just why would Mr. Cardwell be discussing my family’s personal business with you, Roger?” Behind him, she saw a trio of hired hands who worked for her family pretending not to listen. She acknowledged them with a wave, which made Roger wheel around to face them.

  “Go check on the horses,” he ordered. “I’ll be along directly.”

  When the men pushed themselves from the corral fence and sauntered away, Roger turned back to Maria. “I am trying to do my job.”

  “I fail to understand how the financial affairs of this ranch are part of your job.”

  “Maybe that was true before your father died and your brother took off, instead of staying and running this place like a man should. But things are different now. What do you expect?”

  “I expect you to trust that I know what I’m doing.”

  Roger removed his hat and looked down at her with a glint in his eyes that told her he was about to try to sweet-talk her into seeing things his way. If she lived to be a hundred, she would never understand why men thought women couldn’t see straight through such tactics.

  “Now, Maria, everybody here knows that you are as good as any man when it comes
to certain things, but—”

  “My father taught me and my brother everything we needed to know to take over the running of this ranch, Roger. Jess isn’t here, so it falls to me.”

  “But I am here, and with all you’ve got to worry about, taking care of your mama and sister and young Trey, letting me run the business end of things is exactly what your pa—”

  She took a step closer to him, her chin jutted out in anger. “Do not presume to think you know what my father would want, Roger. You’ve made it clear you know nothing about him. He would not want to sell out to the Tiptons—as you have repeatedly urged me to do since the day he died.”

  Roger’s eyes narrowed. “Well, if you keep borrowing money you can’t repay, you won’t have to sell, Maria. You’ll lose this place for sure and not have a dime to show for it.”

  The fact that he had a point just infuriated her more. A big part of what kept her awake at night was worrying that she might make a mistake. Asking for a loan from the bank was just one example. “We need that money to see us through until we take the herd to market,” she said.

  “Face facts, Maria. The men haven’t been paid in a couple of weeks, and I haven’t taken anything for the last month.”

  “They have food and a roof over their heads, and are free to move on and seek work elsewhere—as are you,” she blustered. “I understand the Tipton brothers are hiring.”

  The minute the words left her mouth, she knew she had gone too far. Roger Turnbull was a good man—a man her father had trusted. On top of that, she was well aware that he had feelings for her. She might not return those feelings, but she had certainly relied on Roger a good deal since her father’s death. Perhaps too much. “Roger, I didn’t mean—”

  He slowly put on his hat and stepped away. “Guess if that’s the way you feel, then I’m wasting my time staying. I’ll be out of your hair in an hour.” He turned and walked away.