Texas Brides Collection (56 page)

“Never. But I do think some of the ladies at church believe I’ve turned you into them.”

Sammie Jo laughed. “I feel more comfortable in my boots and jeans than dresses.”

Anne kissed the tip of her daughter’s nose. “Me, too, but we best keep that tidbit to ourselves. Let’s see what Rosita has for breakfast. The sooner we help the others round up strays, the sooner you and I can do a little hunting.”

“Is Clancy going with us?” Sammie Jo turned her head slightly, peering up with sky blue eyes that mirrored her daddy’s. The look always caused Anne’s heart to remember the man she’d loved.

“I don’t think so. He’s taking a few of the men to the upper ridge. Fence needs mending.”

Sammie Jo frowned. “He’s getting too old for all this hard work. Needs to settle down and spend out his days in a rocking chair. And his aim’s getting bad. I beat him with my rifle in target practice last Saturday.”

“Do you want to be the one telling him that?”

“No, ma’am. Clancy would chase me with a branding iron.”

Anne hugged her daughter’s shoulder again. They had a good life. For five years they’d worked hard and made the Double L Ranch the largest in this part of the state. And she intended to keep building it into an empire. Vast herds of longhorns and a line of fine quarter horses made her proud. A few eligible men had eyed her ranch and come courting. Didn’t need a single one of them except Clancy, who was like a daddy to her and a granddaddy to the girls. Hadn’t been a man since Will who interested her or could tame her stubborn nature.

Will used to call her
Mustang
. She smiled. Most women would have slapped a man silly for calling them a horse, but Anne took it as a compliment. Those traits helped make her strong when Will took sick and died. Her girls would have a good life ahead of them with money for education back East, and they’d not be dependent on a man to survive.

God had smiled on the three Langley women, and she prayed He’d continue for a long time. Two tragedies in a lifetime were enough.

Colt Wilson could taste the freedom. It lingered on his tongue like thick honey, and when he swallowed, his whole body felt the excitement. His fingers trembled like a kid with a fish on a hook. For six years he’d worn chains and worked like a fool to pay his debt to the state of Texas in Huntsville Prison. Now, as he placed one foot in front of the other, he could see the steel door that led to sweet liberty’s sunshine. No more bug-infested food and bedding down with rats, and best of all, no more jumping every time the man jammed a rifle barrel in his ribs.

“Good luck to ya,” the guard said. “You’re a smart man, Wilson. Don’t get yourself in here again.”

Colt nodded and offered a grim smile. Prison life did that to a man: made him slap on a fake smile when he wanted to fight, laugh when he wanted to cry, and respect those who held his life in their hands. Years like what he’d endured made a man take stock in what he stood for—and what he’d do and not do when he got out.

The heavy door swung open, creaking like the gates of Hades releasing one of its own. Colt inhaled the freshness of life. Air so pure he gasped to make sure he hadn’t died and gone to heaven by mistake. He’d shaken off the shackles that had physically bound him, but he couldn’t shake the memory of the man who had allowed him to be turned in to the law. Those shackles tightened around his heart, and the key lay embedded in bitterness. The hate threatened to overtake his good sense, but Colt had long since promised himself never to set foot in a jail again. He had no future unless he got rid of the past.

He knew the right way to live, and he’d abide by the law. But first he had a matter to settle.

Inside of a week, he found a job with a rancher. He enjoyed the hard work, especially when he got paid for it. The solitary life with a few ranch hands for company settled well with him. The sound of bawling cows was like music, certainly better than gunfire or fighting men.

Summer heat sent sweat dripping down his back, but he’d take these sweltering temperatures above the stench of heat fused with filthy men any day. His mind drifted to the days ahead, and the more he pondered on ranching, the more he realized he could do a whole lot worse than punching cows for the rest of his life.

Two months later, Colt had a few dollars in his pocket, a good horse, and a worn saddle. With a Winchester strapped to his saddle and a saddlebag full of provisions, he headed toward a little town outside Austin called Willow Creek. Before he could get on with his life, Colt needed to see a man face-to-face.

Heading back home to Wyoming needled at him. Seeing his brothers again might be good, but he didn’t know where to begin. They were a sorry lot. All of ’em bent on breaking the law. That most likely had been part of what killed Ma. Maybe his brothers would turn around their way of thinking before their pasts caught up with them. At least Reuben had learned from his mistakes, even if he did get religion. Colt remembered his eldest brother visiting him in prison. Colt had no desire to listen to Reuben’s God-business, but it did grieve him to learn of Ma’s passing.

Colt rode into Willow Creek and headed straight for the general store. Storekeepers always knew the goings-on and could give him directions. He lifted his hat and banged the trail dust from it on his jeans before stepping inside.

“Howdy.” He grinned big at the balding man behind the counter.

The man greeted him, and they talked a bit about the dry weather and the sore need of rain.

“Say, I’m looking for an old friend of mine. Haven’t seen him in years, but I know he was from these parts,” Colt said.

“What’s his name?”

“Will Langley.”

The storekeeper rubbed his whiskered chin. “I hate to give you the bad news, but Will’s been dead nigh on to five years.”

Colt pasted a sorrowful look on his face. “Sorry to hear that. What happened?”

“Accident at his ranch. An ax went through his leg. Got gangrene and died.”

“What about family? Anyone I can pay my respects to?”

“His widow owns a ranch not far from town. I can tell you how to get there.”

“I’d be obliged,” Colt said. “It’s the least I can do.”

Colt took note of the road to the Langley ranch and headed back to his horse. Disappointment snaked through him. Will’s widow probably didn’t have anything but a rundown piece of no-good property. He’d ridden all this way, though. Might as well take in a few more miles. Hard to make a man pay when he was dead. Bad luck had dealt Will Langley a rotten hand, but he felt sorry for the widow. A woman always seemed to suffer for loving the wrong man.

Revenge is bad for the soul
. He could hear his daddy lecturing him, although he’d been dead for years. Unfortunately, whatever folks told him, Colt had a habit of doing the opposite and usually with a heavy dose of temper. Even Reuben had been afraid of him. Colt’s ugly disposition was what got him behind bars in the first place.

No matter what he ended up doing, he had to stay to himself, keep his temper in check, and be careful not to rile anybody. Colt clenched his jaw. Will Langley being dead was probably good. Colt would most likely have lost his temper and ended up back in Huntsville prison for life or in a hangman’s noose.

Colt followed the storekeeper’s directions and rode straight onto a ranch so wide and green he wondered if he’d made a wrong turn. Herds of cattle grazed over rolling pastures, and when he strained to look again, he saw some of the finest horseflesh this side of the Mississippi.
Will Langley’s widow owns this ranch? This may be my lucky day
.

Colt rode right up to a ranch house that was about the fanciest he’d ever seen. This part of the country was known for its abundance of stone, and the Widow Langley’s ranch used lots of it. He dismounted about the time a young girl stepped onto the front porch with a rifle in hand. She wore a tattered hat pulled down over her eyes. Couldn’t tell what she looked like.

“What’s your business, mister?” the skinny, half-sized woman said.

“I’m here to see a Mrs. Will Langley.”

“What for?”

“Business. What’s your name, little girl?”

“I’m no little girl, and you haven’t any right riding on my land and asking me who I am.” She raised her rifle and aimed straight at him.

“Be careful. Do you know how to use that thing?”

“No matter, since I’m about to blow a hole right between your eyes if you don’t ride on out of here.”

“Sammie Jo, put down that rifle before I take a switch to you.” A woman’s voice rose above the quiet. “That’s no way to treat a man just riding in off the trail.”

Colt expelled a ragged breath. For a moment, he thought he’d meet his Maker by way of a girl. He swung his attention around to a woman dressed like a man. A very pretty woman, tall and with hair the color of deerskin. She must work for the widow.

He yanked off his hat. “Thank you, ma’am. I’m looking for Mrs. Will Langley. Her husband is an old friend of mine.”

The woman lifted her chin and eyed him curiously.

“I’m Mrs. Will Langley. What can I do for you?”

T
he color drained from Colt’s face, and sweat dampened his back. He’d had a better reception at Huntsville Prison on his first day. This was Will’s widow and his daughter? In Colt’s opinion, Will was the one who needed sympathy. Whatever happened to defenseless women? If Will died of gangrene in his leg, these two probably offered to cut it off.

The girl called Sammie Jo lowered her rifle and propped it against the side of the porch. A younger girl dressed in jeans and boots slipped through the door and stiffened to about four feet tall. She placed her hands on her hips and scowled.

“I smell him clear over here,” the smallest girl said. “Doesn’t he know what a Saturday night bath is?”

“Hush, Nancy. You mind your manners,” Mrs. Langley said.

What is this? Have I died and gotten what I deserve?

“State your business, sir. I have a ranch to run.” Mrs. Langley crossed her arms over a green plaid shirt. She nodded toward the girls. “Meet me in the horse barn. We’ll talk about your punishment for treating this man shamefully. Right now, you two apologize.”

When the girls hesitated, she repeated her request—a little louder.

“I’m sorry,” the two girls echoed and hurried toward the barns.

Colt dragged his tongue over dry, cracked lips. He’d never done well talking to women. “Your husband, ma’am, was a friend of mine.”

“He’s been gone for five years.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been drifting.”

“In prison, no doubt. What’s your name?”

He started. “Colt Wilson.”

“A friend of Will’s, you say?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Alarm—the strength of a tornado—twisted through him. He best be riding out of there before she questioned his business with her departed husband. If Will had told his wife what he and Colt had done, she most likely would have killed him on the spot.

“Are you wanted?”

“No.”

“What were you in prison for?”

Didn’t your husband tell you?
He shifted from one foot to the other. “Bank robbery.”

“Kill anyone?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Ever kill anyone?”

“Only to defend myself.”

“Likely story.” She glared at him. “Need a job? From the horse you’re riding, you must not have stashed away the money.”

The question caught him by surprise. “Why would you give me a job since—?”

“Since you just got out of prison? Because you knew Will and because I just lost two hands.”

Did he want to work for this woman? For that matter, did he want to spend five more minutes with her? Unpredictably, he heard himself saying, “I’d be grateful.”

She pointed to the bunkhouse. “Take your stuff over there and ask for Clancy. He’ll show you where you’ll sleep and what he needs you to do.” She whirled around to follow the girls. “Don’t waste any time. I’m short-handed and have too much work for you to dillydally.”

“I’ll do a fine job for you, Mrs. Langley.”

She stopped in her tracks and turned around. A little cloud of dust spun up from her heels like a miniature dust devil. “Don’t make me regret hiring you, or I’ll be the one squeezing the trigger.”