The Outlaw's Mail Order Bride

by Linda Broday

“Yep. Believe me, when it’s a hanging offense at stake, things move fast. Outlaws are pretty much judged and convicted before they ever make it to a courtroom. A good friend of mine was caught and hanged in the same day.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “He was a good, decent man who just got mixed up with the wrong people. A husband and father.” He lapsed into silence, his features dark and angry.

  She wondered how many of his friends had met a similar fate and prayed that Hargrove would be able to get Clay amnesty.

  If they didn’t, how soon before lawmen caught him? A shudder swept through her. She wouldn’t be able to watch him swing from a rope. The terror of the previous few days seemed to turn into that image, watching the man she loved with every piece of her heart, his lean form dangling in the wind—choking, gurgling, struggling to breathe.

  * * *

  The next three weeks passed in a flurry of activity. Clay, Jack, and Ridge escorted the women who wanted to leave Devil’s Crossing to the destinations they chose. They’d traded for supplies to stock the mercantile, and the hotel finally opened to visitors.

  Rebel steadily improved, much to Tally’s delight, and Ely and little Jenny spent many hours with their new prospective mother. Travis took Ely fishing and taught Jenny how to milk the goats. It did Clay’s heart good to see his involvement with the orphans. Maybe a wedding was somewhere in the cards.

  Clay tried to calm Tally’s nerves as best he could, but each day that brought no news from Hargrove, the more tightly wound she became.

  A chill filled the air on a late September evening when Clay called everyone to a meeting. They all gathered around the campfire. He raised his hand to silence them. “Just a moment of your time. We have reason to celebrate.”

  “Yeah, it’s cooler weather,” Dallas Hawk said to chuckles and amens.

  “Well, that too, my brother.” Clay turned to Tally. “My wife has an announcement.”

  “You need a bigger house?” someone asked.

  “Not yet.” Clay yelled, “Look, I’m going to shoot the next person who interrupts! I don’t like it when you won’t let Tally speak. Show her some respect.” Clay put his hands on her waist and lifted her onto a chair.

  “Hi, everyone. As you know, we need a new name for our town.” Tally held up a paper with a long list on it. “You’ve all had your say and some were quite creative. Whoever put in Gunbarrel City and Hanging Hollow, the answer is no. We’re proud of what we’ve accomplished and we want to attract more people instead of drive them away.” She reached for Clay’s hand. “So, the new name is…Hope’s Crossing.”

  Everyone clapped as Clay lifted her down and he took her place. “Hope’s Crossing says we’re optimistic and looking forward to a bright, shiny future. It’s going to take all of us to make this work. We need every hand, every sharp mind, every able body. Soon we’ll have to elect a mayor—”

  “I vote for you!” Tobias January hollered.

  “Thank you, but no.” Clay scanned the faces. “There are a lot of good people in this town who are better at this than I am, and I’ll gladly hand over the reins. But be thinking of who you want to lead us. We’ll also need a sheriff. I can think of no one better suited than Jack, if he’ll take it, but you might have other ideas. Speak up and be heard. That’s all for now. Dallas, pull out your fiddle.”

  Clay put his arms around Tally and Violet, scanning the sea of happy faces as couples paired off. What a difference from when he’d first dreamed of a town where folks could settle and thrive. He didn’t regret one minute of the hardship.

  Pretty soon, the music seeped into his soul and his leg started twitching. He never had been much of a watcher.

  As he set Violet on his boots, he noticed Travis doing the same with little Jenny. The man would make a mighty good father. He looked to be a fast learner and he seemed to adore Rebel, sitting for hours by her side, getting her anything she needed, whispering in her ear.

  Maybe life was just learning how to roll with the punches and trying not to get knocked down or step in something.

  “Are you happy, baby girl?”

  “I’m all full of sunshine, Daddy—except for missing Mr. Montana.” She lifted her face to him. “Sometimes I can hear him talking. Do you think he’s lonely?”

  “Nope. He’s too busy trying to tell the angels what to do.” Montana Black was going to run the show no matter where he was. But Clay owed him for saving his life and that was a fact.

  * * *

  A young stranger rode in the next morning with a message for Clay and Tally from Phineas Hargrove. Clay laid the leather piece he was working with aside and greeted the lawyer’s assistant. He took the young man’s horse and led the animal to the water trough, then propped his foot on a rail. “Give me the news. What’s the holdup with the trial?”

  The man, who still looked to be wet behind the ears, peered at him through a pair of round lenses. “Well, sir, we can’t find Jude Dominick. And unless we do, we won’t ever have one.”

  “Figured this would happen. What’s your name, son?”

  “William.”

  “Tell me, William, what does Hargrove want me to do?”

  “Find him, sir. Mr. Hargrove said you won’t fail like others have.” William glanced around the town, and to his eyes, there probably wasn’t much to look at. He stumbled over his own feet and lowered his voice. “You’re an outlaw and I’m guessing all these others are too.”

  “That’s right.”

  William moved closer. “Outlaws can do things we can’t.”

  Clay threw back his head in laughter. “That’s true, as long as we don’t get caught.” He winked. “Go back and tell Hargrove he’ll have his witness, and there’s no need to thank me.”

  “He’ll be pleased, sir. And hurry. The trial starts in two weeks.”

  Not a lot of time, seeing as he’d have to cover half of Texas.

  “Then I’d best ride. Help yourself to a meal or whatever else we have. I need to find my wife and get ready to leave.” Clay hurried to find Tally.

  She was sitting with Rebel. The two women had discovered a great friendship, always doing something together. Still recovering from her bullet wounds, Rebel was able to do very little. Right now, she was brushing little Jenny’s hair.

  Tally glanced up. “Who was the man who rode in?”

  “Works for Hargrove in his practice. Can I speak to you?” Clay took her arm and moved away for privacy, where he told her the news.

  Frustration built in her eyes. “I knew something like this was bound to happen.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll find Jude Dominick.” And he didn’t much care how or what the man would look like after, but he’d haul him in. One way or another.

  “What can I do?”

  He tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “If you can put together a bit of food, I’ll speak to Ridge and saddle up. He’ll have to bring you to Fort Worth for the trial. I’m sorry I won’t have time to come back and get you.”

  “Hush with your apologies.” She brushed her face against his hand cupping her jaw. “We’ll see each other soon enough, and Ridge is a good choice. He’ll be the least likely to draw attention. They’d spot Jack and Dallas right off, and the Januarys are too old.”

  “I agree.” He lowered his head to kiss her waiting mouth.

  Hunger swept over him. Damn, he hated to leave her. One taste of Tally had ruined him for spending nights alone. Once this was over, he’d never leave her side.

  Someone tugged on his sleeve. He broke the kiss and looked down to find Violet.

  “Hey, baby girl. I’m glad you’re here.” He lifted her up. “I’m going to have to go away for a few days, but it won’t be for long. I need you to take care of your mama. Can you do that?”

  “I won’t let anything happen. If anyone comes, I’ll whack him wi
th my stick real good.”

  Clay lifted an eyebrow at Tally only to get an innocent shrug. “That’s my girl. I think your mama’s been teaching you some things.”

  Violet nodded. “Not to cuss, not to be mean, and not to let bad people win.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Laughing, he put her down and hurried to Ridge, filling him in. “I’d take it as a favor if you’ll bring Tally and meet me in Fort Worth.”

  “I’ll get her there.” Ridge met his gaze. “Watch your back. They’ll come at you.”

  “I will.”

  An hour later, wearing a long black duster, Clay paused at the entrance and waved to Tally. He tucked the image of her pretty face and that glorious smile deep inside his heart.

  He needed her like he needed air and sunlight. Unbearable loneliness so thick it strangled him already rode in his saddle.

  Forty

  Clay trotted into Abilene six days later as the last rays of the orange sun slid below the horizon. His black duster was covered with dirt from the trail and he was worn out and starving. Except for two- or three-hour stretches of sleep a night, he’d ridden straight through. Sundown was as exhausted as he was. He patted the paint’s thick neck. “We’ll rest some here, boy. You’ve earned a bucket of oats.”

  He recalled Jack saying that Jude Dominick once lived in Abilene and probably still had family. He’d ask around. The young stable hand at the livery promised to brush the horse down and feed him, but he didn’t know Dominick.

  “Mind if I sleep in the loft?” Clay asked.

  “Sure, if you don’t mind sharing with a couple of snorers.” The boy grinned, showing a large gap in his front teeth. “They’s awful loud.” He handed Clay some cotton.

  “Great.” Clay pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He’d have to make do. As tired as he was, he probably wouldn’t hear an explosion. “How about a place to eat?”

  “Two streets over and three doors down. Best food in town. My grandma runs it.”

  “Thanks, kid.” Clay pitched him two bits. “Do a good job and there’ll be more.”

  He followed the directions and strolled into Maxine’s Café, his duster slapping against his legs. The place was packed, but he found a table against the wall and sat down. He soon placed his order and enjoyed the best steak he’d possibly ever had.

  The pretty waitress stopped by and collected his empty plate. “Any dessert, mister? Granny makes peach cobbler that will make a grown man weep.”

  “Sounds good.” He gave her a smile. “I’m looking for a fellow—Jude Dominick. Name sound familiar?”

  “He used to come in once in a while, but I haven’t seen him since he bought the saloon over at Waco. His kin here all died so he doesn’t have a reason to come anymore.”

  “Thanks. I just wondered is all.” Clay ate his peach cobbler and it was every bit as delicious as the waitress had said. Still, it didn’t compare to Tally’s cooking. He paid his bill and left.

  Light, music, and laughter spilled from each saloon he walked past, but he didn’t stop. If he didn’t keep going, he’d curl up on the sidewalk and sleep. To run into Dominick in his current state of exhaustion would be a foolish move.

  Back at the livery, he climbed the ladder to the loft and was out like a light. He dreamed of Tally and dancing with her in the moonlight, her fiery curls spilling onto her creamy shoulders.

  A while later, he was aware of others moving about him in the loft and then the god-awful snoring commenced. Clay stuck the cotton in his ears but that helped very little. He finally rose and went to sleep with his horse. Sundown didn’t snore—too much.

  Clay missed home, his wife, and his daughter. Hope’s Crossing seemed a million miles away.

  * * *

  The clock was ticking in Clay’s head as he donned his long duster and rode out of Abilene, racing toward Waco. Breakfast filled his belly, and a canteen of water hanging from the saddle horn would have to last until he reached a water hole.

  With the brim of his hat providing the only shade, the fall Texas sun drained him of energy and sweat soaked his shirt. He kept a wary eye out for lawmen—he’d have to until, hopefully, Hargrove obtained amnesty for him. Not having to look over his shoulder… Well, he rightly wouldn’t know what freedom of that nature would be like, but he couldn’t wait to see.

  Each time he rode out, he knew his chances of coming back got a little slimmer.

  Tally was far too young to be a widow.

  Clay kept off the beaten path and used caution through the narrow places. Soon he arrived at a small stream and stopped to let Sundown drink. Clay stretched out on his belly and scooped cool, fresh water into his mouth. He rose and sat down under a spindly tree to think.

  Logic told him that since Lucinda knew what was in the air, Dominick would be staying far away from the Crystal Palace and from Waco in general. Where would he have gone until everything died down?

  He wasn’t too familiar with the man or his habits and had just had the one run-in at the saloon a while back. But he knew how men like him thought. Outlaws didn’t go near family or people they didn’t trust, but according to the waitress, Dominick’s kin had passed on.

  No, the man would hole up in a hideaway, someplace he’d set up long before. And who better to know where that might be than some of Dominick’s cronies?

  The decision made and his horse rested, he left the water hole at a gallop. He had no time to waste. Only one week remained to find the man and get to the trial in Fort Worth. A knot grew in his stomach. That would cut it too close.

  If he failed, if this long shot didn’t pay off, if everyone refused to talk…

  A million ifs. He ran a hand over his weary eyes and blew out a worried breath.

  The evening was late when he trotted into Waco four days after leaving Abilene. Dirt and sweat covered Sundown, and the horse needed hay and water, so Clay left him at a livery and walked to the nearby saloon.

  The Crystal Palace was doing a booming business, judging from the noise. His duster slapped his legs like claps of distant thunder as he pushed through the doors and strode to the long oak bar.

  “Beer,” he told the barkeep. He’d get the lay of the land before asking about the man’s boss.

  While the barkeep filled a mug, Clay took his measure. Probably late forties, with beady eyes under a shock of graying hair that he’d parted in the middle and combed to each side. He slid the mug in front of him. Clay took it and turned to scan the crowded room. Spying one small table in a corner, he headed that way and sat with his back against the wall.

  “Hey, sugar, you look mighty lonely.” The saloon girl with her reddish-blond hair had a honeyed voice that could draw a whole swarm of bees. “Care for some company?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Clay put an arm around her and pulled out a chair at the table. “What would you like to drink? I’ll get it.”

  “Whiskey.”

  In a few minutes, he was back and sat down. He raised his beer. “Here’s to you, miss.”

  “You can call me Marta, sugar.”

  Clay leaned closer. “Marta, that’s a right pretty name.”

  “My grandmother’s.” She patted her hair. “You passing through?”

  “Yep. Looking for Dominick. Have a business proposition. Know where I can find him?”

  “No.” She stood, her face darkening. “If that’s the only reason you’re being nice, I have paying customers who need me.”

  Clay watched her make the rounds at the tables. Soon, another saloon girl approached him. She claimed not to know any more than Marta. It was getting late and he was about to leave when he got his first nibble. A plump working girl sat down next to him. After making small talk, he got to the question.

  “I haven’t seen him in a week or so. Why are you looking for him?” she asked.

  He told her Domini
ck had offered him a job.

  The woman leaned closer. “I keep my nose to myself. Healthier that way. Your best bet is to find Amanda. She sometimes hears things. I hope you get what you’re after, cowboy.”

  After sitting there another hour, Clay was ready to leave when a young woman appeared at his elbow. He started to send her away but saw sadness in her scared eyes. She was a child, only about fifteen if she was a day, and sure as hell didn’t belong in a place like this.

  He rose. “Care to sit a spell?”

  “I’m Amanda.” She sat in the chair he pulled out for her. “I haven’t seen you around before.”

  “Just passing through.”

  “What brings you to Waco?”

  “Looking for someone.” He sipped his beer and propped an elbow on the table. “You’re awful young to work in a place like this.”

  “Well, you know what they say—everybody has a story. You don’t want to hear mine.” Desperation and misery on her face made him think she was yearning for a bit of kindness.

  “Actually, I would. How about something to drink?”

  “Sure.” Her dress had fallen off her shoulders and she tugged it up, as though embarrassed to be wearing it.

  Clay motioned to the barkeep to bring two more beers, then turned back to her. “Maybe you can help me. I’m looking for Jude Dominick.”

  Amanda scooted back, her eyes filled with terror. “I don’t know where he is. I’m paid not to know.”

  “Hey, I understand. But if he’s here, I’d like to ask for a job.”

  The barkeep brought two more mugs and plopped them down, sloshing beer all over the table and giving the pair of them an evil eye. Then he turned around and stomped back to the bar.

  She lowered her voice. “You don’t want to work here. This is a bad place and Dominick has a mean temper. A few weeks ago, I watched him kill a man, out in the alley.”

  Nothing surprised Clay. “You should’ve told the sheriff.”

  “The law can’t touch him. He’s too smart and always keeps an alibi handy—someone who’ll lie for him.” Amanda shook her head. “It’s better for my health if I don’t see nothing, hear nothing, or say nothing.”