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Wild West Wife
Susan Mallery

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

Montana, 1879

Jesse Kincaid might not have sold his soul to the devil, but he’d come as close to it as a man could and still expect to head north upon his passing.

Despite the faint sound of hoofbeats in the distance, he allowed himself to be distracted by the quiet beauty of the late afternoon. Winter had finally left Montana and the lush growth of spring promised a long and warm summer. The calving season had gone well...at least that’s what he’d been told. He couldn’t speak from firsthand experience. The herd he and his father had built over the past ten years had been scattered when the ranch had been attacked and his father murdered. Nothing was left but a partially burned house, a legion of memories and the promise he’d made to exact revenge on those responsible.

Because of that, because of the vow he’d sworn on a cold, rainy night the previous October, he now stood by the rutted path that passed for a road and prepared to defy all that his parents had taught him. Because of that, he risked his very soul, raising his rifle as the weekly stage came into view.

He had a momentary second thought. He’d played pranks as a child—just as all boys did. But he’d been raised with good values and a strong sense of right and wrong. Doing the wrong thing for the right reason didn’t set well with him.

“You don’t have a choice,” he muttered aloud, knowing that while the end didn’t justify the means, sometimes justice had to be helped along.

Six powerful horses pulled the large stagecoach. The conveyance swayed, the leather straps under the carriage doing little to absorb the bumps of the road. They were too far away for him to be able to see in the window and identify the passengers, but he knew she was there. He’d received a wire two days before saying she’d made the connection and would be arriving in Whitehorn today. Stoner might be expecting her, but Jesse was determined to make sure she didn’t arrive. At least not right away.

He fitted the butt of the rifle against his shoulder and took careful aim. One well-placed shot would break the axle he’d weakened earlier and bring the carriage to a stop without too much risk. The trick was to time it so they didn’t tip. While he might be prepared to kidnap an innocent woman and hold her hostage, he didn’t want anyone’s death on his hands.

The path leveled out just before a sharp turn. The horses slowed in anticipation of the bend and Jesse pulled the trigger.

The single gunshot spooked the horses. Two of them reared up and pawed at the air. The driver held tightly on the reins and yelled at them to calm down. Seconds later there was a loud crack as the weight of the carriage split the axle and the rear of the stagecoach sank to the ground.

The left rear wheel splintered, then the right rear came loose and rolled away. The instant deadweight jerked the horses in their harnesses and the animals stopped. Several frightened cries filled the afternoon, startling birds into flight.

Jesse walked toward the stagecoach. He’d lowered his rifle, but he was alert and prepared to use it if pushed. Pray God no one decided to play hero and make that necessary. As Jesse stepped out of the bushes, Charlie, the driver, spotted him. The older man looked shaken, but otherwise unhurt.

Bushy gray eyebrows drew together. “That you, Jesse?” Charlie asked. “You hear that? We was shot. Damnation, I want to know who the hell is shooting at the stage. We ain’t got no money on this run. Folks know that. Supplies and passengers. Next week is the payroll. Damnation, I hate it when people can’t keep the schedule straight.”

He glanced around uneasily, then climbed down, moving awkwardly on the tilting stage. “You see anything? You get a look at the good-for-nothing who done this?”

“Stop right there,” Jesse said quietly.

Charlie ignored him. “It just don’t make sense to me. Why this run? We ain’t got nothing important. Shoot. Now we all gotta walk to town. You know how far that is?”

“About four miles,” Jesse said. He’d already figured that out. He’d been careful when he’d picked the spot to attack the stage. He wanted them close enough to town that they could walk in and tell everyone what happened, but not so close that he wouldn’t have time for a clean escape.

Charlie pulled off his worn hat and wiped his bald head. “And we was running early, too.”

“Charlie,” Jesse said, raising his rifle to his shoulder. “I need you to let your passengers out.”

Charlie’s watery brown eyes widened as he noticed the gun for the first time. “Jesse? What’s going on?”

“I’ve got some business with one of your passengers. That’s all. Just do what I tell you, Charlie. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

The stage door rattled from the inside. “Sir!” a man called. “We seem to be trapped. Sir? I say, stage driver? Can you hear me?”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Damn fool prissy Easterners. Got a load of ’em. Not a one has a lick of sense ’cept for Miz Winthrop. She even figured out I’ve got a name, if you can believe that.”

Jesse bit back a curse of impatience. So much for his life of crime. He couldn’t get Charlie to pay attention to him. He took aim at the left front wheel and put a shot cleanly through one of the spokes.

Charlie jumped. “Damnation, Jesse, what’s going on? You could’ve just asked me to stop the stage. You don’t have to keep shootin’ it. There ain’t gonna be enough left for kindling.”

“Put your hands behind your back.”

“What?” The old man stared at him. “Jesse? You mean you’re doing this? You’re gonna hold me up?”

“Yes, Charlie. I don’t have a choice.” He moved next to the other man and drew out the length of rope he’d strung through his belt loops. It took only a couple of minutes to secure Charlie’s hands behind his back. Gently, he led him to the stage. “Have a seat,” he said and helped him sit down.

Confusion darkened Charlie’s gaze. “Jesse, I’ve known you for years. Since you were just a boy. This ain’t like you, son.”

“I know.” He shrugged, then added, “I’m sorry.” As if the feeble words would make a difference.

“Would someone please tell me what is going on out there?” the cultured male voice demanded. “I say, stage driver, we are quite thoroughly trapped in this conveyance. While we are unhurt, the ladies are most uncomfortable. We can’t see any Indians, but perhaps a small bribe would be enough—”

Jesse jerked open the stage door, effectively cutting off the man’s tedious commentary. The unexpected action sent the male passenger sprawling facedown into the dirt. Jesse barely spared him a glance. Instead he stared intently into the darkness of the stage, searching the passengers for the one he sought.

Three terrified women stared back from the floor of the stage where they lay in a pile of skirts and petticoats. The best dressed of the three was obviously the wife of the complainer. Her pinched expression and pale, bejeweled hands spoke of her unfamiliarity with hard work. The second passenger looked like Jesse’s grandmother, and he had a jolt of conscience at the thought that the unexpected stop might have injured her.

“Ma’am?” he said, trying to sound as unthreatening as possible. “Are you hurt?”

Gray corkscrew curls covered her forehead and danced across her weathered skin as she slowly shook her head. “Mr. Prichard said we were likely to be attacked by Indians, but you don’t look like an Indian to me. This is an attack, isn’t it?”

She sounded nearly excited by the prospect.

“Yes, ma’am, it is, but I’m not going to hurt you.”

The wealthy woman clutched her hand to her flat bosom and moaned. “He means to ravish us. Surely that is a fate worse than death.”

Jesse glanced at her husband, still sprawled in the dirt, and figured if her alternative was bedding down with him, then yes, it probably was. Then he wondered what the woman thought he was going to do. There were, after all, three of them and only one of him. Surely she couldn’t expect him to ravish them all on his own. He enjoyed his time with the ladies, but he had his limits.

The thoughts were nearly enough to distract him. Nearly. But even as he decided he wasn’t going to reply to the question of ravishing, he turned his attention to the third woman...and the reason he’d had to hold up the stage in the first place.

He hadn’t realized he’d created a picture of Haley Winthrop in his mind until he was surprised by her appearance and realized his picture was wrong. She was young, but he’d expected that. Wide green eyes, filled with as much curiosity as fear, seemed to dominate her face. Freckles and a faint tan told him that she frequently went without a proper bonnet. She sat on the floor of the off-balance stage and held the older woman protectively in her arms. She didn’t look big enough or strong enough to hold off a half-grown boy, but there was a set of determination in the angle of her chin. Maybe she was tougher than she looked. He hoped so, for her sake.

“Miss Winthrop,” he said politely. “I’d like you to come with me.”

The wealthy woman moaned. “He’s going to ravish us all. Harold? Harold, you must save me.”

Harold stirred on the ground. “Yes, my love. Unhand those women, sir.”

Jesse thought about pointing out the fact that he hadn’t gotten to the point where he was actually touching one of them so there was no unhanding to be done. Instead, trying to ignore the bad feeling at the base of his spine, he turned and found Harold holding a small derringer aimed at his heart.

“It’s very effective,” the other man said. “And I’m not afraid to use it.”

“Me, either,” Jesse told him and slipped a cartridge into the rifle. “Want to see who’s still standing after a shooting competition?” he asked calmly as he took a sight on Harold’s skinny chest. “At this distance you’d be real hard to miss.”

“Jesse, what in tarnation are you thinking?” Charlie demanded. “You can’t kill him, even if he deserves it.”

Jesse knew that and he didn’t appreciate the reminder. While Harold was busy trying to figure out if he could get out of this situation without getting shot, Jesse decided to settle the matter for both of them. Without warning, he kicked hard, hitting the other man’s wrist. The derringer went spinning and Harold yelped like a dog.

“You broke it,” he managed, cradling his injured wrist in his good hand. “I heard a bone snap. Good Lord, what kind of creature are you?”

“A desperate one.” Jesse returned his attention to Haley Winthrop. “Miss, I’d rather not have to hurt anyone else. If you’ll please come with me.”

The woman stared at him. Her curiosity had long since faded, leaving behind only fear. Color fled her cheeks. The paleness reminded him of another woman who had always been afraid. He pushed away those memories. They would accomplish nothing. He had to do whatever he could to see justice done. If that meant kidnapping an innocent woman, he would do it. Was doing it.

In the quiet of the afternoon, he heard the faint call of the birds that had returned to their tree branches. The warmth of the day had bled away, leaving the air chilly. The nightly freezes continued and would do so for a few more weeks. The passengers would need the remaining daylight to get to Whitehorn before nightfall. They didn’t have a lot of time to waste.

He reached past the rich woman and grabbed Haley’s arm. His action obviously startled her. He nearly had her to her feet before she started to resist. She squirmed and braced her legs against the floor of the stage.

“I won’t,” she cried. “No! I won’t leave with you. Let me go. You don’t know what you’re doing. My fiancé will hear about this, I swear he will.”

“I’m counting on it,” Jesse muttered.

The grandmother turned on him suddenly and landed a quick kick against his knee. Her feeble strength barely registered, but Harold’s wife decided an attack was a good idea and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I’ve got him, Harold. Shoot him. Shoot him now.”

“I don’t have my gun anymore,” her husband lamented, still making soft moaning noises. “I swear he broke my wrist, Lydia. I may never be the same.”

“No great loss,” Jesse said under his breath. He ignored the older woman, and Lydia’s enthusiastic attack, and focused his attention on Haley. She squirmed, but he didn’t release her arm.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he told her.

“Of course not,” she snapped. “Kidnapping is a colorful way of welcoming strangers to town. Forgive me for not wanting to participate in your well-planned entertainment, sir. Obviously I don’t travel enough to appreciate the experience.”

This was getting him nowhere. He was trying to pull her up and keep from bruising her. While he might not appreciate her sarcasm, he recognized the truth in her words. There was no way to kidnap a woman and maintain the illusions of being a gentleman.

He tightened his hold on her and jerked her once, hard. She gasped as he pulled her upright. Before she could gain her balance, he dragged her out of the carriage and onto the road. Then, quickly, he bent at the waist, bumped his left shoulder against her midsection and straightened. Her legs kicked out at him and her hands pummeled his back, but he simply wrapped his arm around her thighs to hold her bottom half still. He ignored the top half.

“You can’t do this,” she screeched as she hung over his shoulder like a sack of flour. “I refuse to allow this.”

“No one’s asking your permission. Charlie, which bag is hers?”

“Don’t tell him!” Haley demanded.

Charlie’s mouth dropped open. “Jesse, do you know who she is?”

“Yeah, I do.” That was the point of the kidnapping. He kicked at the tapestry carpetbags that had spilled out with Harold. “Which one?”

The grandmother pointed to a plain, worn, brown bag. The handle straps had long since broken and had been replaced by a couple of pieces of rope. A long rip down the center had been repaired with small, neat stitches of black thread. Either Stoner had sent money for the ticket and nothing else, or his mail-order bride didn’t waste funds unnecessarily.

Jesse grabbed the bag and whistled. His horse stepped out of the wooded grove on the side of the rutted road. He’d tied the second gelding to his saddle and that animal walked alongside his mount.

“I won’t go with you,” Haley said, her voice more muffled as her struggling settled her harder against his shoulder. He figured she was having some trouble drawing in enough air. If she kept up her squirming, she was going to pass out. Of course that would make her easier to handle.

“You don’t have a choice,” he said and glanced at the stage. Harold still sat on the ground, holding his injured wrist. Lydia had moved to her husband’s side, but Jesse wasn’t sure if she was offering comfort or seeking protection. The grandmother watched him warily, but he figured she wasn’t likely to best him with a surprise attack.

He slipped the rifle into the holster on his mount, then moved to the second horse and hoisted Haley across the saddle. Before she could regain her composure enough to scramble off the other side, he had pulled a rope from the open saddlebag and secured her feet together.

“It’s a long way down,” he told her as he walked around the horse and reached for her hands.

She jerked them away and tried to glare up at him. Green eyes flashed fire. “You are evil and disgusting and you will be punished.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sure you’re right. But first they have to catch me and I mean to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

He grabbed her wrists and tied them, then he squatted in front of her. “If you struggle too much, you’ll slip off the saddle. Now hitting the ground is going to hurt like hell. You might even break something. But your real worry is the horse. You spook him and he’ll rear. There’s no telling where those hooves of his are going to hit. If they land on you, well, horses have killed people before.”

“If you were so concerned about my safety, you wouldn’t be taking me in the first place.”

Jesse fingered the brim of his hat. “You know, you might have a point there.” He stood up and surveyed the broken stage, then the passengers. “You’ve got a couple hours until sunset, so I suggest you get headed for Whitehorn.” He nodded west. “It’s that way. Charlie?” He looked at the old man. “When you tell Stoner I kidnapped his mail-order bride, I need you to give him a message for me. Tell him all I want is to talk. He can name the time and the place and I’ll be there. I’ll send someone to contact him to get that information.”

“He’s gonna kill you,” Charlie said.

“I’m sure he’ll try,” Jesse agreed. After all, Stoner had already murdered Jesse’s father, not to mention several other ranchers in the area. What was one more death on his conscience?

“But if he wants his chance, he’s going to have to meet with me,” Jesse told the stage driver.

“Jesse, you’re making a big mistake,” Charlie said. “It’s not too late. Leave the girl with me. No one has to know what happened today.”

Haley let out a squeal of disagreement. “Of course people have to know. This man is dangerous and he should be locked up. My fiancé will see to that. Mr. Stoner will come after me and make you pay for what you’ve done.”

“I hope you’re right,” Jesse said as he swung into his saddle. “It’s getting late, Charlie. You’d best get these folks to town. I don’t think they’d take kindly to spending the night on the side of the road.”

With that he reached down and grabbed the other horse’s reins, then urged his gelding into a walk and headed into the screen of trees. Within a couple of minutes, the stage and its passengers were lost from view. In less than five minutes, the sounds of their complaining had faded, to be replaced with the familiar chirps, trills and rustles of the forest.

He spared a glance for his captive and tried to ignore the flicker of concern when he saw that she’d stopped struggling.

“Miss Winthrop?” he asked.

“What?” The word came out on a gasp of air.

Now that he had her attention, he felt foolish. Was he supposed to ask if she was all right? Of course she wasn’t. Her arms and shoulders would be aching from their unnatural position. The saddle would dig into her belly and ribs until she wasn’t sure if she was going to faint or throw up.

“If you promise not to try to escape, I would be willing to let you ride astride in the saddle.”

“Fine. I won’t try to escape.”

That was too easy. “I don’t think I believe you.”

“You should, Mr. Jesse whatever-your-last-name-is. When I give my word, I mean it. So if I tell you I won’t try to escape now, I won’t. But I will try eventually and I’ll succeed. And when I do, I’ll find my fiancé and bring him back so he can shoot you for the dog you are.”

Quiet venom gave her voice strength. Jesse felt the first grudging flicker of respect. He drew his horse to a halt and stepped down from the saddle. “You and Stoner didn’t correspond much before he brought you out here to marry you.”

It wasn’t a question, but she answered it all the same. “No, we didn’t. He sent me a letter stating what he was looking for in a wife, and I responded. Then he sent me a ticket.”

“Wouldn’t it have made sense to get to know the man a little before agreeing to marry him?” he asked as he approached her.

“I know all I need to.”

He untied her feet and stepped back in case she tried to kick him. But she didn’t. Maybe she was a woman who kept her word.

“Lucas Stoner is a kind, honorable man,” she went on. As he walked around the front of her horse and reached for her bound hands, she raised her head and glared at him. “Decent. He would never do anything like this.”

“You’re right,” Jesse agreed, thinking that Stoner wouldn’t have bothered with kidnapping an innocent woman. He would have shot her dead on the spot, if he thought it would make his point.

He pulled the rope free of her wrists. She started to wiggle. “Don’t,” he told her. “You’ll fall.”

He grabbed her around her waist and lifted her off the saddle, then found himself in the uncomfortable position of having to turn her in his arms so she could stand. In the process, his hand slid against her right breast.

She went rigid at the contact and jumped back as soon as she gained her balance. Both arms came up to cross protectively over her chest. Jesse felt himself falter, not sure if he should apologize or pretend the moment never happened. Despite the tingling in his hand and the impression of soft, yielding curves burned into his brain, he decided on the latter.

“Can you ride astride?” he asked.

She watched him warily for a heartbeat or two, then shook her head. “I’ve never been on a horse before. But it doesn’t look difficult.” The implication being if he could do it, anyone else could be equally successful.

For the first time in months, Jesse felt like smiling. “You’re right. It doesn’t look difficult.” He laced his fingers together to form a step and bent down. “Grab hold of the saddle,” he instructed. “Put your left foot in my hands and I’ll raise you up high enough. You just swing your other leg over the horse’s back and sit down. Couldn’t be easier.”

Haley’s expression hardened. “Why don’t I trust you?”

He shrugged. “Because you’re smart. Don’t trust me, but do as I say. We need to get going and if you don’t cooperate, I’ll throw you back over the saddle and tie you up again. It’s your choice.”

The twist of her mouth told him that she didn’t care for her limited options, but she did as he requested. She braced her left foot against his hand and reached for the saddle.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She nodded.

He lifted gently. But not gently enough. With a muffled shriek, Haley soared over the horse’s back and landed hard on the other side of the animal. Jesse ducked under the gelding’s head to make sure she was all right. She sat in the dirt, her skirt up around her knees, her mouth twisted in anger and pain.

“You did that on purpose,” she said accusingly.

He raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t. Maybe it’s just a little harder than it looks.”

Anger turned to disgust as she looked away from him. For the second time that day, Jesse found himself thinking about smiling.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me,” she commanded, as if she could read his mind.

Of course her words made the amusement rise up in his throat.

“It’s not funny!”

“Yeah, it is.”

He could almost feel her reluctance as she grudgingly rose to her knees and rubbed her rear. “All right. Maybe I underestimated the skills required to ride a horse. But I want to try again. I would rather fall a dozen times than be tied up over the saddle. Agreed?”

He met her steady gaze. He’d come up with the plan of kidnapping Stoner’s mail-order bride because he’d run out of other ways to see justice done. Once he’d made up his mind, he hadn’t allowed himself to think about the woman, or what the kidnapping might mean to her. He certainly hadn’t expected to admire her spirit.

Jesse held out his hand to her and she took it. When he pulled her to her feet, she winced and shifted her weight as if trying to ease the pain from her fall. He didn’t know a damn thing about Haley Winthrop and he didn’t want to. But one point was perfectly clear. No woman deserved to end up with a man like Lucas Stoner, and the hell of it was, if Stoner gave him the information he wanted, he, Jesse, would turn her over to her fiancé without a second thought.

CHAPTER TWO

Three tries later Haley found herself sitting on top of a very tall horse. The hard saddle was uncomfortable, but it was a lot better to be upright on it than thrown across it. She shifted uneasily and tried not to let her fear show. At least her skirt was full enough that the fabric fluttered down to cover most of her legs. She didn’t allow herself to think about exposed ankles and feet, which were a lot easier to ignore than the fact that a strange man had just kidnapped her.

“You gonna be able to hang on?” Jesse asked.

She nodded firmly. She might be his prisoner, but she wasn’t going to cower like a dog. If necessary, she could survive on pride and grit. She’d done it before.

Without warning, his horse started walking. As Jesse was holding on to her mount’s reins, she found herself moving forward, too. The odd swaying, rocking motion nearly caused her to slide off the saddle. She made a quick grab for the leather and clutched it tightly with both hands. Instinctively, she clung with her leg muscles. Every part of her tensed.

After a few minutes of the steady pace, she was able to loosen her grip a tiny bit. They were in a wooded area with trees so thick, the branches were practically a roof. It was still early enough in the year that not all of them had leaves, and she could look up and see patches of sky. In a few weeks the leaves would be so thick it would stay dim and cool, even during the hottest part of summer.

Below them the ground was hard, with a few patches of snow in the shaded areas. Dead leaves covered everything. She inhaled deeply, absorbing the unfamiliar smells of damp earth, the trees themselves, plants, leaves and the sweat of the horses. So different, she thought, half exhilarated, half terrified. She was used to the city. Those smells and sounds were familiar. Not pleasant, but known. Out here, she wasn’t sure what to expect.

Several strands of hair had worked loose from her tight bun and she raised one hand to push them off her face. The steady walking gait was getting easier to move with and she found herself relaxing a little more. Her heartbeat finally slowed, making her realize how hard it had been thundering and for how long. Ever since the sharp gunshot had cut through the rhythmic sounds of the stage rolling over the rough path and the carriage had crashed to the ground. One minute she’d been speeding toward her happy destiny and now...

She stared at the man in front of her. He wore a dark coat that barely came to his hips. The combination of thick fabric and broad shoulders made him look huge and forbidding. His hat was pulled low, and even if he’d been facing her, she would have had trouble seeing his eyes.

She looked away, preferring the view of the trees and plants to watching him. She didn’t want to think about what had happened or about the fact that she wouldn’t get to Whitehorn tonight. If she allowed herself to dwell on that, she would become even more afraid. Then she would shake and possibly even cry. And what use were tears? In all her twenty-one years, crying had never once accomplished anything.

But it was hard not to think about what was happening. She’d come so far, with such high hopes. After years of barely surviving in Chicago, she’d finally had a chance to be happy, only to have it snatched out of her grasp. If this...this...villain hadn’t stolen her away from the stagecoach, she would be meeting her beloved at this very moment.

Haley closed her eyes and pictured what it would be like. She touched the white collar of her green dress, the collar she’d carefully preserved throughout the difficult journey. The clean collar she’d put on only a few hours before at their last stop before Whitehorn. She raised her hand higher, to the intricately arranged hair she’d spent an hour on that morning, working in the dark, trying not to wake the two other women in the shabby room. She’d so wanted to make a good impression on Lucas Stoner.

She opened her eyes and smiled. Even his name was perfect. Lucas Stoner. He sounded strong. And tall. While their correspondence had been brief, with him simply responding to her letter of interest with a stagecoach ticket and a few lines of instructions, she’d studied his words and his handwriting until she felt certain she knew the man. Lucas Stoner was good and honorable, kind yet firm. He was the sort of man others respected. She wasn’t sure what he looked like, except perhaps for his height, of which she was very confident. But his appearance didn’t matter to her. She’d seen too many handsome men who beat their wives and children, or stole, or even killed. What she cared about was on the inside of the man and she knew Lucas Stoner was the incarnation of all pure virtues.

To think that if she’d been allowed to continue on her journey at this very moment she might be meeting him for the first time. She’d pictured the moment a thousand times. The way he would tilt his hat, then take her hand and help her down from the stage. The shy smile they would share, the polite and awkward conversation about which they would both laugh later.

But instead of beginning her new life, she was stuck on the back of a hideously uncomfortable horse, in the wilderness, facing Lord knew what.

“You’re quiet,” her captor said.

She looked at him, but he hadn’t bothered to turn around. “Yes,” she answered.

“Just making sure you’re still there.”

“You’re holding on to my horse’s reins. Where would I go?”

He did glance at her then. A long steady appraisal over his shoulder. Dark eyes met her own. “You could have slipped down and run off.”

“You would have heard me. Besides, I gave you my word.”

His firm mouth twisted slightly. “It’s going to take me a while to trust your word.”

“I hope we’re not together long enough for you to form an opinion of my honesty.”

“You’re a plucky little thing, aren’t you?”

Plucky? She raised her chin. “I’m not afraid of you, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m not afraid of anyone.”

He faced front again. “Must be nice to live that way. Fear can chew a man up inside. Like I said. Plucky. That’s good. You’re going to need that to survive out here. The land is hard on folks. Especially women.”

She glanced around at the tall trees and the endless sky beyond. Ever since they’d left Chicago, she’d been eager to see what the great West of the country had to offer. The sheer size overwhelmed her. Until she’d answered Lucas’s ad for a bride and had decided to accept his proposal, her entire world had consisted of twelve square blocks in a poor part of the city. She rarely ventured past those familiar streets.

What she’d seen on her journey had excited her. There was so much life, so much land. Different places, and people. She couldn’t remember all the wonderful sights and she’d barely been able to sleep for the excitement of trying to relive all that she’d seen during the day. Everything was bigger and the colors were brighter. Winter in Chicago was shades of gray. The sky, the snow, the dirt, even the people.

“I don’t believe it’s harder out here for women than it was in the city,” she said.

“Women die there?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Then maybe it’s just different.”

She didn’t want to think about death. Especially not now when a stranger had kidnapped her. She wanted to think about Lucas and how he would surely come rescue her.

A faint rustle caught her attention and she saw something flash through the trees. It might have been a deer, but she wasn’t sure. She opened her mouth to address the man, then snapped it shut. Was polite conversation appropriate under the circumstances? She didn’t think so.

“What should I call you?” she asked. “The stage driver called you Jesse. Is that what you prefer?”

“It doesn’t much matter. I’m Jesse Kincaid. Make do with what you’d like.”

Calling him by his first name was a little informal, but the man had stolen her away, so using Mr. Kincaid was just too strange. As she mulled over the dilemma, she noticed it was getting darker. The sun had disappeared from the visible bits of sky and the shadows lengthened perceptibly. A shiver rippled through her. Unfortunately, it wasn’t just from cold.

What would happen when they stopped for the night? What would he do to her? She’d heard stories, too many of them. Stories of women at the mercy of strange men.

“We’ll have to make camp soon,” Jesse said.

She jumped, wondering how he’d known what she was thinking. Her unexpected action made her horse step to the side suddenly. She shrieked and grabbed the saddle with both hands.

Jesse reined in his mount and reached for her. He gripped her upper arm, steadying her. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

Which shouldn’t have reassured her, as he was the reason she was frightened in the first place, but it did.

When her horse was calm again, he released her. “There’s a stream a little up ahead,” he said. “We’ll stop there for the night. I’m going to have to ask you to promise not to run away.”

She glared at him. “Why should I do that? I don’t want to be with you. I want to be in town with my fiancé.”

“If you don’t give me your word, I’ll have to tie you up. It will make your evening very uncomfortable.”

She thought about how he’d so casually lifted her onto his shoulder, then flung her across the horse. Anger filled her. She knew it was only there to camouflage the fear, but she didn’t care.

“No! I won’t do this,” she told him. She wanted to be in town. She wanted to be with Lucas. Finally she had a chance at being happy, at living in a safe place and belonging, and no one was going to take that away from her.

She snatched at her reins. In the process of steadying her, Jesse had released his grip on them. He grabbed for her, but she was faster. She slapped her horse’s neck. The animal bolted forward, the force of the movement nearly tossing her from the saddle. But she clung on to the leather and gripped the reins tightly.

“Dammit, Haley, you’ll get yourself killed.”

She ignored him, just as she ignored the sound of hoofbeats behind her. The brush and trees grew close together here. There were branches all around her. They plucked at her clothing and pulled at her hair. The musty odor of the forest was thicker, too, seeping up from the ground and filling the air with a heady aroma that, under different circumstances, might have been pleasant.

Her horse moved faster. She didn’t know where they were or where she might find Whitehorn, but right now all that mattered was getting away. Later, she would figure out how to find Lucas. For now, there was only escape.

“Haley, look out! Pull back on the reins.”

Jesse’s frantic words made her look up ahead. Tree branches jutted out on the path, forming a thick, impenetrable barrier. The horse would probably be able to duck underneath them, but they would hit her in the center of her chest.

She screamed low in her throat as she began to saw on the reins. Her horse didn’t slow. If anything, the animal went faster. The branches seemed to rush forward. She screamed louder and tried to sit up. Behind her, the sound of hoofbeats got louder but she knew Jesse wasn’t going to reach her in time.

At the last possible second, her horse dug in and stopped. She felt powerful muscles bunch with the effort and then found herself sailing through the air. Twigs and new leaves clawed at her arms and face, then the ground rushed up to meet her.

She landed on a patch of snow. The impact knocked the breath from her body, leaving her stunned, aching and unable to breathe. She tried to sit up, tried to inhale, anything to relieve the hideous pressure in her chest. At last she drew in a shaky mouthful of air, then another.

Every part of her hurt. Her back, her arms and legs, her shoulders, even her hair. The cold, damp snow soaked her dress, but she didn’t have the strength to move. She just wanted to lie here until Lucas found her and took her to town.

But the man looming over her wasn’t her fiancé. He was big and as cold and unyielding as the ground beneath her. Without saying a word, he crouched beside her and began touching her.

Haley was too stunned from the fall to protest. Her eyes burned and she fought tears as large, male hands moved over her arms, then her legs. She flinched against the invasion, wondering why she’d been spared attack for so many years in the city, only to find herself at some man’s mercy out here.

She told herself to fight him, to scratch and kick until she drove him off. But there was nothing left inside. The failed escape attempt had used up her last reserves.

“Nothing feels broken,” he said, sitting back on his heels. “Can you stand?”

She blinked several times. “Wh-what?”

“I asked if you can stand up. Are you hurt?”

She rolled until she was kneeling, then slowly pushed herself to her feet. Once there, she staggered a step or two until she regained her balance. Straightening her shoulders, she stared at her captor. “I’m not hurt.”

“Good. Hold out your hands.”

When the meaning of his words sank in, she thought about running. But where was there to go? If she hadn’t been able to escape on horseback, she wouldn’t make it on foot. There would be another chance tomorrow, she told herself as she brought her arms up and held them stiffly in front of her.

As he wrapped a length of rope around her wrists, she studied his lean face. The stubble darkening his jaw, the set of his firm mouth. “You’ll be punished for this,” she said defiantly. “You’ll be caught and punished.”

He finished his task, then shrugged. “You’re probably right. But it will be worth it.”

* * *

Daisy Newcastle lifted the cover off the china serving dish and smiled. “More soup, Lucas?”

The tall man sitting across from her at the small table shook his head and tossed his napkin on the table. “I don’t know how you do it, Daisy. I’ve paid three dollars for a meal like this in the city and never tasted anything so delicious.” He leaned forward and cupped her chin. “You’re a treasure.”

The feel of his fingers against her skin made her want to shiver, but instead she smiled winningly and lowered her gaze as if embarrassed by the compliment. “You’re so sweet to me,” she said. “I don’t deserve you.”

He squeezed once, then released her. The light from the lamps around the room caught his profile. As she stared at the left side of his face, she acknowledged that Lucas Stoner was a handsome man, with strong features and thick, dark hair. But when he heard a noise outside and turned toward it, she saw the other side. A thin scar cut down his right cheek, the line marring the flesh from his cheekbone to the corner of his mouth. The two sides of his face were much like the man himself. Viewed one way, he was handsome, successful and charming. But the other side of him, the scarred side, was ruthless and forbidding. He was a cruel man for whom life held no meaning, save perhaps his own. She played a dangerous game, teasing a lethal opponent. Yet she didn’t have a choice. She would risk everything for the man she’d once loved. She couldn’t bring him back from the grave, but she could try to make his murderer pay.

That thought was as close as she came to allowing herself to think about Michael Kincaid, Jesse’s father. About his senseless murder and the destruction of his ranch. She dropped her hands to her lap and clutched her fingers tightly together in an effort to control the rage and helplessness that swept through her. It had been nearly six months, but the pain lingered. In some ways it wasn’t as fresh as when she’d first learned the news, but she’d loved him too much to let him go easily.

So for Michael, and for Jesse, too, she invited Lucas Stoner to her small house and into her bed in the hope of learning enough to get him arrested. For justice’s sake she played the whore and made him believe he was all she’d ever wanted.

Sometimes when she wondered how she could stand it another minute, she reminded herself she wanted to see Stoner in prison, then she wanted to watch him hang. With any luck his death would be slow and painful. At least that was what she prayed for each and every night.

“Did I smell pie?” he asked and raised the left corner of his mouth in a mocking imitation of a smile.

“Yes. I know it’s your favorite dessert and I couldn’t help myself.”

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers. The feel of his hot lips and the scent of his body made her stomach turn. She forced herself to stay completely still until he’d straightened back in his seat.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Anything for you.” She rose to her feet and began clearing the table. As always, she refused to think about what would happen in the next few hours...what always happened. The idle chatter about his day and how brilliant he was. How he sipped coffee from the delicate cups that had been brought to this country by her English grandmother. The way he would set the cup on the table in front of the sofa, place his hands on his thighs and leer at her.

“I think it’s time, Daisy dear,” he always said, then waited for her to lead the way to her bedroom.

She hated it all. Especially his calling her “Daisy dear.” But at least he was quick. Sometimes he didn’t bother undressing all the way. He simply unbuttoned his trousers and thrust himself inside of her. Sometimes, if she ignored the burning pain and telltale wetness he left behind, she could convince herself nothing had really happened.

As she took a step toward the kitchen, someone knocked on her front door. Daisy frowned and glanced at the grandfather clock in the hallway. It was already dark and after seven. Who would be calling at this time of evening... especially when Stoner left his carriage carelessly in front of her house for everyone in town to see?

She set the dishes back on the table and brushed her hands against her skirt. “I’ll just get that,” she said.

“Perhaps I’ll come with you.” Stoner pushed back his chair and stood.

Daisy crossed to the door and pulled it open. An older man stood on her small porch, his hat in his hand. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t put a name to his face. Stoner moved close behind her and supplied the information.

“Charlie, what are you doing here?” he asked.

“Mr. Stoner, I’ve brung you a message.”

Daisy frowned at the man, realizing he drove the stage. “Were you expecting a package?” she asked, glancing at Stoner over her shoulder.

“In a manner of speaking,” he answered. “What message? Was there a problem?”

Charlie turned his hat in his hands, spinning it faster and faster. He swallowed twice and a muscle twitched in his cheek. “Mr. Stoner, we had us some trouble with the stage.”

“Would you like to come in?” she asked Charlie.

“That won’t be necessary,” Stoner said, never looking away from the driver. “What happened?”

“There was a holdup.”

“I didn’t have any packages or money on the stage.”

“I know that. But you did have...” Charlie trailed off and glanced pointedly at Daisy. “You know.”

“My mail-order bride. Yes, I do know. Go on.”

Charlie began speaking, but Daisy wasn’t paying attention. So the woman had arrived. There was nothing to be done about her, of course. The poor innocent had answered an ad from a man looking for a wife. No doubt she thought she was marrying someone kind and ordinary. Not a monster. Not Lucas Stoner.

“Jesse Kincaid took her off, bold as you please. Right in front of all of us.”

That got Daisy’s attention. “What did you say?”

Charlie’s head bobbed several times. “That’s right, ma’am. Jesse kidnapped Mr. Stoner’s bride. Said he would bring her back when Stoner agreed to talk with him.” He shrugged. “So that’s what I come to tell you.”

Daisy didn’t want to look, but she forced herself to turn slowly and raise her gaze to Stoner’s face. The cold, ugly hatred there made her shrink back against the door frame.

There were several moments of silence. All Daisy heard was the sound of the hat brim brushing against Charlie’s callused fingers and the faint ticking from the clock in the hall.

“Thank you for bringing me that information,” Stoner said at last. “I’ll take care of it.”

Charlie bobbed his head again. “Yes, sir, Mr. Stoner. I just wanted to be the one to tell you. When he took her off, she wasn’t hurt or anything.”

“Thank you,” Stoner repeated, drew Daisy inside the house and firmly shut the door.

Daisy tried to gather her composure. She had to figure out how to act. She hadn’t known about Jesse’s plans, so her surprise about that had been genuine enough. The fool boy was trying to get himself killed, she thought grimly, then pushed the thought away. There was no time to deal with Jesse’s folly right now. First she had to handle Stoner. She was supposed to be his loving mistress, and as such, news about a mail-order bride should bother her. Stoner had no way of knowing she’d overheard him talking to the wire operator when he had sent the money for the woman’s ticket.

“Lucas?” she asked, as he led the way back into the dining room. “I don’t understand.”

He motioned for her to take her seat. She hesitated, then did as he requested. She rested her hands flat on the table and opened her eyes wide. For a couple of heartbeats, she allowed herself to remember the pain of watching Michael Kincaid hanged for a crime he didn’t commit. As always, the memory of the senseless death brought tears to her eyes. She blinked as if trying to hide them.

“A b-bride,” she said, deliberately stumbling over the word.

“I know, Daisy dear. This is a shock.”

“More than a shock. I thought—” She shook her head and turned away. “Lucas...”

He took the chair next to her and grasped both her hands in his. “I don’t have a choice. Look at me.”

She drew in a deep breath for courage and did. His faked concern made her supper rise in her throat.

“You know about my ambitions,” he said.

She nodded. “You’re going to be governor.”

“And more.” He smiled as if she were a bright student and had provided the correct answer. “That requires the right kind of connections and the right wife.”

Daisy hung her head. “I have no connections, nor am I a young, blushing bride.”

“You are a beautiful woman and I have no intention of ending our relationship.”

She sucked in a breath, then turned her mouth up into a smile. Pray God he didn’t notice the lie. “Really? But I don’t understand.”

“She will be a convenience, nothing more. I specifically wanted an orphan. She has no family to appear and refute whatever I may say about her past. But she will be little more than a decoration to appease the world. You will still warm my bed at night.” He leaned close and kissed her. “Often.”

Her pity for the faceless young woman vanished. She, Daisy, was still going to have to allow Stoner to have his way with her. At least for now. Which was fine with her. She still wanted Stoner dead.

“But she’s been kidnapped. What are you going to do?”

His expression hardened again. “I will take care of Jesse Kincaid myself.”

Just like you took care of his father, Daisy thought angrily.

“He can’t be allowed to go around kidnapping innocent women,” Stoner continued. “I will think of something suitable.”

Daisy realized she had to warn Jesse. On the heels of that concern came the knowledge that he’d known by kidnapping Stoner’s bride-to-be he would be tangling directly with his enemy. Perhaps that was what he wanted—a way to flush Stoner into the open. He had a plan. Of that she was sure. The best thing she could do to help was to stay close to their mutual enemy and learn all she could. Eventually Lucas Stoner would make a mistake. They only needed one. Then she would be standing right in front to watch the man hang.