Give My Love to Rose

The Outlaw Series

Book 1

Nicole Sturgill

Dream Big Publishing

Byron Center, MI

This book is a work of
fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real
locales are used factiously. Other names, characters, places, and
incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any
resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead,
is entirely coincidental.

Dream Big Publishing

A publication of Dream Big
Publishing

Byron Center MI

Copyright 2015 by Nicole
Sturgill

All rights reserved, including the right of
reproduction in

whole or in part in any form.

Dream Big Publishing is a registered
trademark of

Dream Big Publishing.

Man’s photo provided by ©
Kozzi. /
pawelsierakowski

Text of this book is set in
Garamond text size 13.

Manufactured in the United States of
America

All rights reserved.

Summary: Outlaw and all
around bad guy Marston finds a dying man along the railroad tracks.
His only plan is to take the man’s nearby horse, his gun and
whatever money he might have in his pockets but the dying man’s
words gnaw at him ‘Give my love to Rose’ the man had said and ‘Tell
my boy I’m proud of him’. Without knowing why Marston feels the
need to honor the dying man’s wishes. The man’s quest leads him to
Harper Louisianna and when he finds Rose she is not what he
expected and neither is the boy…. Marston has spent his whole life
hurting people and not caring. Willl these people make him want to
change and what will Rose say when she learns what kind of man he
really is?

[1. Historical – Fiction 2.
Romance ]

ISBN: 9781310125416

Nicole Sturgill

Copyright 2015 by Nicole
Sturgill

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

Chapter One

Texas

1874

The hot mid-August sun beat down on Marston
Jacob’s broad back as he walked across the dry, arid ground of
north Texas. Sweat trickled down his back beneath his stiff blue
shirt and it soaked the waist of his worn trousers.

If Marston ever saw that good for nothing
son of a bitch who had stolen his horse, he’d kill the bastard—not
that Marston should be surprised he’d had his horse stolen. He’d
stolen his fair share of horses in his time.

Marston glanced up at the bright yellow orb
in the sky and cursed its very existence. The only purpose he could
figure it served at that moment was making him unbearably hot and
burning his skin. Without a word of warning to that ball of fire
and heat, Marson pulled his .45 Colt and fired three quick shots
straight up at it. Of course, that action accomplished nothing
other than to give him a ringing in his ears and scare up several
crows that had been resting in the thin branches of a nearby
tree.

He pulled three bullets from the bandolier
across his chest and reloaded his gun with a smooth and practiced
ease before holstering it. Swiping his forearm across his sweat
slicked brow, Marston grumbled and then dug into his empty pockets
on a fruitless search for a cigarette.

“
Wring that scrawny man’s
neck is what I’ll do,” Marston growled as his boots dragged along
the dust covered road. He didn’t care that he and Jeremiah had come
from the same womb, he’d kill the bastard just the same for taking
his horse and leaving him out here to die. While it was true that
Marston had owed him money, Jeremiah should have known he’d pay him
back. Stealing his horse had been completely unnecessary. At least
his worthless brother had left him his saddlebags--which were heavy
as lead and currently resting on Marston’s broad
shoulder.

With his tongue as dry as a powder keg and
feeling ten times the size it should be, Marston lifted the canteen
tied to his belt. He pulled the cork and laid the rim against his
lips, tilting his head back as far as it would go. Marston swore he
heard the sun laugh when not a single solitary drop rolled onto his
waiting tongue. With a sigh of defeat stuck the cork back in the
canteen and continued walking.

Topping over a small rise, Marston’s gold
eyes narrowed as he crouched instantly and took in the scene below
and the opportunity he had just been presented with.

He sat his hat on the dirt beside his
scarred boots and shoved a calloused hand through his thick brown
hair. A covered wagon with gleaming wood and shining brass parked
beside a glistening water hole just down the hill. A pair of tired
mules were hooked to the front of the wagon but several good horses
were tied to the back. Marston saw one he truly liked. It was a
tall, broad-chested gray with what appeared to be Marston’s name
written across its forehead.

Marston slid his gray wide-brimmed hat back
on his head as he surveyed the group of people standing beside the
water. It appeared to be a family group with a man, a woman, two
young boys and a girl who appeared to be in her teens. They seemed
to be all decked out in their Sunday best and Marston frowned.

Was it Sunday? Or was it Tuesday? Hell, he
didn’t know. Living the life he lived meant that he rarely had time
to worry about the month and year let alone the day of the week.
Truth was, Marston didn’t even know how old he was. According to
the orphanage’s poor records, he was somewhere between thirty and
thirty-five--they’d been unable to narrow it down any further than
that because his whore of a mother hadn’t been very helpful.

Marston checked the family for any sign of
weapons and saw none. He himself was well armed with his .45 Colt,
his Winchester rifle, his derringer and his eight inch knife
strapped to his leg. Hell, he even had a few sticks of dynamite in
his saddlebags. When Marston had left the orphanage he’d been taken
in by a man named Duke. He’d ridden with the man’s gang for three
years steady and still did from time to time when the mood struck
him. Duke’s lessons had stuck with him and he still lived by many
of them to this day. One of those lessons had been to always be
prepared.

With a sigh, Marston stood straight and
headed down the hill with a confident stride and a friendly smile
on his face. He wasn’t worried that he’d be recognized despite
having several old wanted posters--whoever had drawn those up had
been blind in one eye and couldn’t see well out the other. Marston
had eaten lunch in the presence of several bounty hunters and
shaken the hands of countless sheriffs, deputies, and US Marshalls
since they’d been drawn up and no one had recognized him yet.

Marston saw the alarm in the man’s eyes when
he saw him coming and he couldn’t blame him. Marston was an
intimidating man upon first sight. At six and a half feet tall, he
was much taller than most other men, and he was broad and thick.
Most even compared him to an oak tree. His black boots were
scuffed, his trousers stained and his shirt was ripped and
splattered with blood from the fight he’d been in the day before.
Add to that his thickly bearded face, sharp golden eyes and
numerous weapons and Marston would be pretty damn afraid of himself
too if he were that man out here with his vulnerable family.

“
Hello folks,” Marston
greeted kindly.

The children quickly hid behind their mother
and their father stepped forward cautiously. “Hello,” he greeted
tightly.

“
It’s a hot one today,
isn’t it?” Marston acknowledged as he stepped to the edge of the
pool of water and crouched down. He sat his saddlebags down and
splashed some of that cool water over his face and the back of his
neck. After drinking his fill and filling up his canteen, he stood
back up slowly and saw the man ushering his family quickly toward
the wagon.

“
It’s uh.. It’s nice to
meet you, sir,” the man stammered as his family clambered aboard
the wagon. “We’ll just be on our way now.”

Marston clicked his tongue several times and
shook his head. He pulled his revolver and rested the sights on the
man’s fancy silk vest. “Stop right there, mister,” he warned, his
voice just as friendly as it had been moments before. Marston might
be a thief, gambler, murderer, gunslinger and outlaw but, he was
never rude.

“
Sir, we don’t have
anything to offer you,” the man’s shaky voice assured
him.

“
I think you do,” Marston
countered.

The man glanced at his wife and Marston
snorted. “No, I don’t have any interest in your woman. You see, I
find myself in need of a horse and here I find you with a couple to
spare.”

“
N..no, we need these
horses. They are all we have and we’re moving out here to start up
a homestead,” the man replied.

“
I think I need ‘em just a
bit more than you do,” Marston winked. “I’ll just relieve you of
whatever money you have as well.”

“
Just give him the horse!”
the woman hissed fearfully.

Marston smiled up at her on the wagon. The
glare she was throwing in his direction would have probably made
him feel guilty had he ever in his life learned to bother with
emotions such as those. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“
Fine.” The man pointed
toward the horses. “You can have the brown mare…”

Marston scratched at his thick brown beard
with the barrel of his revolver. “Ya see, I was kinda thinking I’d
like that gray a little better.”

“
Fine!” the man exclaimed,
his nerves obviously getting the better of him. “Take the gray
just, please. Don’t hurt my family!”

“
Hurt your family?”
Marston chuckled. “Sir, that thought had never crossed my
mind.”

The man’s shaking knees nearly buckled
completely when Marston stepped forward and pressed his gun to his
sweat slicked forehead. Screams and cries of shock rose up from the
wagon. Marston smiled. “Money now,” he ordered sternly. Then he
shrugged. “Please.”

A short time later, Marston found himself
sitting atop the broad gray with his pockets and his saddlebags
loaded down with money, jewelry and valuables. This family had been
wealthy--but now it was Marston who had quite a bit more wealth to
his name than he’d had that morning.

“
Thank you folks kindly,”
Marston called with a tip of his hat.

“
Please, leave us with
some of our money… we need that to feed our family,” the man
pleaded.

Marston raised his brow and shook his head.
“Those kids’ll be just fine. Folks will take one look at them and
share their pot of soup, I reckon.”

Marston started away from them and glanced
back to see the teenage girl glaring at him from the back of the
wagon. “Ma’am,” he greeted with a tip of his hat.

“
You’re evil!” she
hissed.

Marston laughed heartily. “I’ve certainly
been called worse.” He rode off whistling a tune and feeling much
better about life than he had just a short hour ago.

Marston camped that night beside an
outcropping of rocks and, after eating some hardtack biscuits and
jerked beef from his saddlebags the next morning, he loaded up and
headed north-east. He’d find Jeremiah and pay his brother dearest
back for stealing his damn horse. Jeremiah was certainly going to
regret doing that.

The morning was still early and light fog
hung in the air, covering the land like a blanket. Heavy dew
weighed down the tops of the long grass and soaked the horse’s
legs. Birds were singing and the sun was working to break through
the layer of white clouds currently covering the blue sky.

Marston rode along slowly, whistling his
favorite tune and following a set of railroad tracks. The peace of
the morning was suddenly interrupted by the snorting of a horse up
ahead.