A Choice Between

By Pam Bazemore

In a time when women are expected to be dependent on men, Kayleen lives alone in Arkansas. Weary of her hard life, she accepts an offer of escape from an unusual pair of outlaws. Although charmed by the handsome Kid Sinclair she has secretly loved for years, she is conflicted when his partner embarks on his own quest for her affection. Outlaws Stormy Sinclair and Hamilton Crockett wager an amnesty with the governor to rescue the daughter of a friend. While eluding relentless bounty hunters and trying to keep to a mutual agreement to leave her untouched, they risk sacrificing their amnesties and perhaps losing the woman who loves them. Evaluating their criminal pasts and uncertain futures, each man struggles to hold on to what he’s found with a hope to achieve a secure and happy life with her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: May 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781509214129

Book preview

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Chapter 1

Kansas, July 1878

Stormy Sinclair stepped out of the telegraph office into the clear morning air. Frustrated, he walked across the street toward the eating house to meet up with his partner. His intention was to mollify himself with some ham and eggs.

He’d drawn more than one healthy glance from the pretty young thing coming toward him. She cast him a coy smile. With a tilt of his head, he politely fingered the brim of his faded brown Stetson. The addition of a bold, straight white smile induced a delightful blush in the petite lady’s cheeks. She hurried past, and he chuckled when she glanced back twice before slipping into the door of a shop.

With his ocean blue eyes and wheat colored curls, Commander often ribbed him about his baby-faced appeal to the ladies. He didn’t think it had hurt him any. In fact, he kind of preferred it that way. As far as knowing how to act around women, Stormy guessed he probably knew more than most. Growing up in a whorehouse did have some influence, after all.

Farther down the street, he heard the noisy sound of the train and glanced over his shoulder to see it slowly arriving at the Salina station. He stepped onto the boardwalk at the entrance of the eating house and was met with the warm, welcome scent of fresh biscuits and bacon. Near the back of the room, his friend sat at a table with a half-eaten plate of food in front of him. Already shaved, bathed, and dressed in his favorite dark brown vest, clean white shirt, and soft denims on his slim but muscular one hundred and seventy-five pound frame, it was clear Commander had been up awhile.

Stormy rubbed knuckles against the short, sparse whiskers of his jaw. A long soak in a tub would feel good, but the growl of his stomach would be satisfied first.

As he started across the floor, he saw that Commander was offering the charm of his dimpled smile to the waitress in exchange for a refill of his coffee. Though his skin was more white than bronze, his coloring was in distinct contrast to Stormy’s. But his chocolate-colored eyes and overly long mahogany hair were the only hints that half the blood circulating through his veins was Indian.

The legs of the wooden chair squeaked against the floorboards when Stormy pulled it out and dropped his six foot two frame onto it. After the waitress took his breakfast order, she filled a fresh coffee cup and moved away again.

Commander’s hooded, steady eyes evaluated him over the edge of his own cup, their expression unreadable. About time you showed up, he said after a bit. I trust it was something important that kept you in bed so late?

Stormy smiled, thinking about the girl he’d seen in the street. Having no idea who their contact was going to be or when he would arrive, he and Commander had spent the last few days either playing poker in the saloon or in the arms of the more than willing ladies at the local sporting house. The latter had kept them out of trouble more often than the former.

He shook his head. Nope. Not this morning. Been to the telegraph office.

Kid, it’s only been four days since the governor’s wire, Crockett said. And hI told you then it might take that long before his lackey shows up; that’s why he made our usual deal with the bank."

Stormy shrugged. I know, but that fifty dollars he sent is almost gone. His man better be on the train that just pulled in.

Shortly, the waitress brought out Stormy’s breakfast and refilled his and his partner’s coffee cups again.

He sliced open a fluffy biscuit and shoveled on a load of hot scrambled eggs. Two bites later, he looked around before he lowered his voice. I think he’s got a lot of gall. Barely six hours after you’d opened that safe and he’s already sendin’ us on another job? We nearly got caught. Too long out of the thievery business, Stormy couldn’t remember having been that scared since he and Commander pulled their first robbery more than fifteen years ago. It’s been two years. Ain’t it ever gonna be enough for him?

Commander drew in a slow breath. Kid, I’m just as tired of these damn fool jobs as you are, but we’ve worked too hard to abandon our chance for a pardon now.

You’re right, Stormy replied glumly. But I’m beginning to think this deal ain’t worth it anymore. We should just give it up and— He stopped when a sudden, prickling chill lifted the fine hairs at the base of his skull.

Crockett’s head rose at Stormy’s sharp intake of breath; a display he recognized his partner had sensed something as only he could. This mysterious ability for him to sense danger, either a form of intuition or a learned benefit left over from his gunman days, was something both men had come to trust with their lives. What is it, Kid?

Not sure, Stormy replied quietly. He closed his eyes in surrender of his heightened perception. Gooseflesh trickled up his spine, and he shivered. His eyes opened again and focused on the entrance of the eating house. I think he’s here.

Crockett’s head turned to follow the direction of Stormy’s gaze.

A tall, rangy, older gentleman, with hair as white as a lighthouse beacon, had just stepped inside. Well-dressed and obviously wealthy, he scanned the restaurant’s patrons until his attention centered on the two of them. He then began a purposeful stride across the room.

Stormy exchanged a wordless glance with Commander. Since the man appeared to have recognized them, he sure hoped this was the governor’s messenger. Concerned though, that Routt might have somehow failed to give their aliases during the clear descriptions he’d obviously given of them, Stormy and his partner abandoned their table to meet the gentleman halfway. It wouldn’t do to have him blurt out their real names to the listening breakfast crowd.

The man’s near black eyes centered on Commander. Hawkins?

Considering the stentorian quality of his voice, Stormy issued a mental thanks the man had used his summer name. He wondered if the governor had even told him who they really were.

As was usual with them, he positioned himself to Commander’s right and slightly behind him. Stormy’s intrinsic faith in his partner’s smooth-talking manner had worked in favor of his cautious nature more than once; Commander’s ability to control any overall conversation usually left Stormy free to quietly observe and determine any dodgy or dangerous change in conditions.

Crockett hitched a thumb at Stormy. "He’s Hawkins. I’m Bryson. You must be the governor’s man." He offered his hand.

The gentleman appeared to bristle. Stormy made note of this peculiar reaction but saw that Commander kept his open hand out.

The man glanced at it but dismissed it. You’re familiar with the Grand Central Hotel on the West Side of Santa Fe Avenue?

Ah, Crockett faltered. Y-yes. My friend and I are at the Pacific House, but we—

Deliver the package to my room at seven o’clock, the stranger continued, failing to show the least interest in anything other than his own particulars. We’ll discuss the details and conditions of my offer there. I suggest you not be late.

His intent to emphasize his superiority clear, he lastly furnished Stormy a long, cold appraisal of his stubby beard and rumpled clothing. You’ll both consider a bath before you arrive, I trust, he added.

He leveled a brief, hostile glare at each of them and then turned to exit with the same deliberateness he arrived with.

Stormy studied his partner’s profile. Crockett had lowered his unshaken hand, but one dark brow had risen. He’d been with Commander long enough to recognize the look. He knew he wouldn’t wait long before his brassy humor emerged to shatter the tension of this peculiar situation.

Crockett cleared his throat. Excuse me, sir, he said just loud enough, Stormy knew, for the dozen other folks seated at their tables to hear.

The man stopped. He straightened and spun on his heel. Yes?

A dart of Crockett’s tongue moistened his lips. Pray, good sir, your name? he asked, his tone urbane. I mean, so we may know who to call upon this evening.

Broad shoulders covered in expensive wool swelled in indignation. His countenance darkened, and his entire form seemed to harden with a bridled ferocity.

Stormy effected to keep his face bland and expressionless. Wherever this fellow came from, he was powerful and highly recognizable, unused to the necessity of having to explain himself. Although it pleased Stormy that Commander had achieved his goal in taking the man down a notch, he knew they would have to be careful. He sensed a base darkness about him.

Liquid fire seemed to burn in those deep, black eyes. Douglas, he said. William Douglas. After a turn on the heels of his shiny, high-dollar boots, he disappeared out the door.

Stormy stared after him with a slack smile. What an ass.

Crockett turned with look of mock seriousness. Just reeks of charm, doesn’t he?

****

I don’t think I’ve seen a man so mad, Kid said. He glanced at the room number marked on the next door along a hallway of the Grand Central Hotel.

You know, Crockett said. I didn’t mind so much he didn’t let me get a word in edgewise. I didn’t mind the little game of control he wanted to play. But the devil prickled me when he suggested the bath. He shrugged. Couldn’t help myself.

Just ’cause you’re smarter than everybody else doesn’t mean you have to shoot off that big mouth of yours to prove it.

You thought it was funny.

Kid cut a wary, sideways look at him. I did, he chided. But that’s a habit that’s gonna get you in trouble someday. I just hope I’m there to see it when it happens.

Crockett did not take offense as it was an old joke between them. Still, whatever happened in this meeting with the churlish Mr. Douglas, he knew his best friend would, as usual, defer the greatest part of it to him and his keen intellect and silver tongue. Kid was confident in his own philosophic wisdom, but where his aptitude lay in experience and instinct, Crockett’s angled more toward eloquent common sense and clear reasoning.

Here it is.

Crockett delivered a knock to the door to which Kid referred. William Douglas looked less harsh now that he’d changed from traveling clothes into a dark informal suit. He gave the ex-outlaws the same look of appraisal he’d given them earlier, however, he’d apparently learned they weren’t men to be trifled with.

Gentlemen. With a scant but polite bow and a sweep of his hand, Douglas instructed them to deposit their hats on the table by the door. Allow me to express regret for my behavior earlier. He then led them into the bright spaciousness of the elegant quarters.

Crockett caught a movement to his right.

Reminded of the scene at breakfast earlier, Kid was scraping knuckles across his jaw to cover the smile pulling at his cheek.

Behind Douglas’s back and devilishly eager to prod a bigger response about the incident, Crocket slanted his friend a grin he knew displayed the very edges of his teeth.

Kid briefly glanced over but refused him the satisfaction of any other reaction.

Douglas moved toward the center of the room. A pair of divans faced each other, a short table set between upon which sat a crystal decanter of whiskey and three short glasses. He motioned to the small sofas. The two of them sat down, and Douglas began to pour short drinks.

I have encountered mounting pressures in my recent past, the man explained. And my trip here was not the most enjoyable I’ve ever experienced. I was quick to speak before thinking. My apologies. I pray our association will not be affected by my discourtesy. Black eyes flickered from one outlaw to the other. And the package is—

Safe. Crockett resisted the urge to pat the bulge in his shirt beneath his vest. He ruminated on just how much effort it must have taken Douglas to wrench that apology from his mouth.

Douglas made a great show of his meager bow before he seated himself on the opposite sofa. He then removed a fine linen napkin from beside the tray on the table to expose a long, folded piece of paper. With slow deliberation, he fanned it open and offered it to them.

Crockett boldly met the murky look in the man’s dark eyes and briefly paused before he accepted it. The older gentleman then picked up his glass and sat back, crossing his long, thin legs at the knee. Kid picked up a drink of his own and settled himself against the stiff cushions of the sofa. Crockett glanced down at the letter and recognized John L. Routt’s handwriting at once. He gave the missive his full attention.

H. Crockett & S. Sinclair:

I wish to express my appreciation and gratitude in regard to that certain piece of information you have acquired for me, of which I trust you haven’t opened as per our agreement. I am indebted to you and your discretion. With respect to the promise I made to you long ago, I intend to grant full and unconditional pardons upon your return provided you cleave to the requests that follow.

With the reading of this letter, you have now met William L. Douglas. Granted, he is a bit captious at times but a good man nevertheless. Will is a dear old friend who carries with him a heavy burden. I have gone to great lengths to market your special skills to him, not to mention your trustworthiness and integrity. At this time, I bid that you entrust the envelope to his care. He will deliver it to me in exchange for your services.

I believe you gentlemen can help him if you will but listen to his offer, which, I might add, bears generous potential. Thank you again, and good luck. I look forward to your return upon completion of this assignment.

J. L. R.

Crockett read it through a second time before he passed it to his partner. He then faced Mr. William Douglas, masking any reaction from the elevated pound of his heart.

Two long years of performing odd jobs for the governor was finally over. Sure, Routt had referred to their agreement for amnesty as if it was nothing more than inclement weather, but they had it. Their full pardons had come through at last. They were practically free men with clean slates! The only hurdle left was the stipulation to offer their services to the self-important man before them.

The governor’s assignment had been so easy they could have done it blindfolded. By his insinuation in the letter, Routt expected them to fulfill whatever task Mr. Douglas had for them, which, Crockett hoped, would be just as easy. He couldn’t care less about the package itself. Their job had been to recover it. If Routt wanted this man to secure it for him, that was his choice. Considering his and Kid’s genuine desire to fulfill their deal with the governor, whatever damning information was there was useless to them anyway.

The dispatch also acknowledged that Douglas knew their true identities. Crockett was aware the letter had been presented loose. He wondered: could Routt originally have sealed it in an envelope, opened by Douglas en route? Damage done, it couldn’t be helped. Crockett felt uneasy about it, but the mention of a generous offer clouded the matter a bit.

Kid completed his own perusal of the letter. Crockett allowed himself a smile when eyes the color of cornflowers met his. He knew his friend well enough to recognize that his well-camouflaged reaction of relief and disbelief had been the same as his own.

He retrieved the letter and gave it a calm, composed glance. He cleared his throat, refolded the paper on its creases, and moved to stuff it inside his vest.

Close to his heart.

But its journey froze mid-air when thick fingers stuck out from the large hand before him, opening and closing like the claw of a huge snapping crab.

Douglas’s smile was unpleasant. Due to the contents of the letter, the governor has requested it stay in my possession. He was quite sure you’d understand the damage that would ensue should it fall into the wrong hands.

What damage? It seemed to Crockett that a public report the governor had taken two formerly successful outlaws out of circulation could only help Routt during his administration. But Crockett wasn’t a politician, didn’t have any interest in policy, and perhaps couldn’t understand the true harm the governor’s actions could cause him. Still, he seriously doubted the old gentleman’s claim.

He gave the coveted missive a reluctant look. The first and only tangible evidence of Routt’s promise of amnesty, it was something he’d wanted to keep, to hoard away.

But Douglas snatched it out of his grasp.

Crockett swallowed hard as the paper disappeared into an inside pocket. All right, he growled and seized the last glass of whiskey. The social visit is over. What is it you want?

From the set of Douglas’s jaw and hard line of heavy brows, Crockett realized he’d just knocked at the gate of some kind of perimeter. Broad but thin shoulders rose and fell with a long, slow breath. Douglas’s glass, which appeared small in his large hands, diverted the potency of his attention. Several silent moments passed before he began to delve into his story.

"Five years ago, I had the perfect family; a beautiful wife, two handsome sons, and a lovely, innocent daughter. Unfortunately, due to a pair of horrendous calamities, I lost both my grown sons within a few weeks of each other. Then, one night, when I was away on some trifling business, a former employer—a man named Galen Durham—killed my wife in a ridiculous disagreement over wages." He quieted for another moment to allow the drama of his words to sink in.

He seemed content to stare at the glass. Shadowed eyes exaggerated his gaunt features. After a deep sigh, he appeared to recover himself and began again. "But Durham was apparently not satisfied with just her death. He then had the audacity to…to kidnap…my only remaining child: my daughter, Kayleen. The last living member of my family."

He paused again from his oration. The knuckles of Douglas’s hand turned white when his grip tightened around the glass. Though five years since his daughter’s alleged disappearance, Crockett could understand why the man’s passion to find her still bordered on obsession.

The old gentleman cleared his throat and continued. Her general location has been known for some weeks now. Yet, despite the money spent on multitudes of bounty hunters and expert trackers, they have all failed to find her. Just recently, though, my hopes rose at a promising report of someone fitting her description below the northern border of the Arkansas Territory and—

To the former outlaw, the mention of hired bounty hunters had caused an uncomfortable but outwardly undetectable hitch behind Crockett’s sternum. But this last piece of information caused his glass to halt its journey midway to his mouth. Arkansas Territory? Indian country?

Dry eyes and a direct gaze suddenly shone with a dark intensity. Although the deep rumble of Douglas’s voice was reverently quiet, it seemed to fill the room. Yes. Someone spotted a man fitting Durham’s description around one of the mining communities there. A young, dark-headed girl was reported seen with him. His focus lowered again. "I pray she has not been harmed. Kayleen was always such a…sweet child. When she is returned—and she will be—I just hope she’ll be strong enough to recover."

Douglas gently placed his half-empty glass on the table and rose from the sofa. Crockett watched him cross to the window and push aside the curtain to look out onto the street below.

I’d heard and dismissed countless solutions before, he said. But I was intrigued when the governor—John—said he had a pair of outlaws working for him under the limits of a verbal contract of conditional amnesty. Said he’d pleasantly discovered you to be intelligent, literate, and even polite young men, quite positive of your sincerity to go straight. Then he told me who you were. And frankly, from what I’d read in the newspapers about the outlaws Hamilton Crockett and Kid Sinclair, I personally thought the governor had lost his mind.

He turned slightly to stare at them over his shoulder. "Is it true you’ve never killed anyone?"

Crockett bobbed his head minutely.

Elevated brows arched as he mirrored the outlaw’s brief nod. Interesting, he said, almost to himself. Desperate, but not ruthless. Douglas turned back to the window.

His torso expanded with another slow breath before he continued, his congratulation echoing against the glass. "The governor gave the two of you high recommendations, you know. I was worried about what you might have to do in order to retrieve that for which he sent you. I suggested you might even disappear. That is until you needed something. His resulting chuckle sounded brittle. But John assured me of your unique abilities, your admirable qualities, and of your gentleman’s agreement not to use the potentially embarrassing information in the package against him. I admit I was concerned at John’s confession, but it’s clear he trusts the both of you. You’ve done well proving yourselves to him. It’s not often I hear such words of praise from my friend; not for his closer acquaintances, much less for employees."

Crockett stared hard over the edge of his glass at Douglas’s back. A less cautious man would be flattered by such pretty words. Convinced of this tale, that same naïve man would mire himself deep in trouble by not asking questions. This explanation just wasn’t settling well. Something about it didn’t sound right.

Douglas turned to face them again with a dramatic prop of a fist on a narrow hip. Now to the business at hand. If you will turn the package over to—

We don’t know you, Crockett interjected. "Why should we trust you?"

There was no physical reaction from the gentleman. It was as if he’d expected Crockett’s rejection. Then a shadow of an odd grin turned up the edge of Douglas’s lips. He knew you’d want some type of confirmation to release it to me, he countered. The letter—in the governor’s own hand—gives you your undeniable proof I’m someone you can trust. Consider that you are still wanted men. On the run, now, in particular, considering your most recent acquisition. John knew you’d naturally be suspicious if the situation deviated in any way.

Crockett drew in a breath to respond but held it. Routt had given them explicit instructions not to let the envelope out of their sight. Now he wanted them to give it to a gentleman unknown to them? He was astonished by the governor’s abrupt turnaround. Even after two years and of all the jobs they’d faithfully and loyally done for him, could he still believe them to be a pair of devious, conniving outlaws?

Routt obviously had confidence in Mr. Douglas. Maybe more so than he did him and Kid, Crockett thought grimly.

Then he wondered how much influence this cleverly shrewd man before him had in the governor’s sudden decision to doubt the both of them?

The truth of it, gentlemen, Douglas continued, his address low, clear, and hypnotic. Is that I’m a powerful man, very influential in the state of Colorado. By means of my station and authority, I could be very helpful to you. And if you chose to help me, I could be generous, as well.

That word again. If the former outlaw hadn’t had experience in the business of deviousness, this strange affair might not have bothered him so. Gut feeling was that it stank of something deceitful and underhanded. What he wanted, more than all else right now, was to put a finger on exactly how and why it did.

The outlaws traded glances. Crockett saw the cobalt of his counterpart’s eyes darken. They shared an equal distrust in the man. Kid turned a smile toward Douglas that, he noticed, failed to include his eyes.

That sounds a better deal than the governor’s, I think, his friend drawled. He’s had us by the hamstrings, dancing us around like puppets with nothing more than a slap on the back and a dangle of a promise. It’d sure be more satisfying to get paid for our troubles for a change.

"That is, if the recovery of your daughter is all you want," Crockett added.

Douglas’s long legs brought him back to the sofa. He perched on the edge and leaned forward.

It may not be that easy, he said, his voice swelling with sudden and unexpected emotion so profound that Crockett was taken aback. "I fear Kayleen’s been with him too long. I know Durham and what he’s capable of. It could be he’s poisoned her mind to the truth. I know it sounds impossible, but it could be that he’s convinced her to distrust the very people who could return her home. She may truly believe to be safe where she is. Please, gentlemen. You must not only find her; you may actually have to persuade her to leave him."

In the short time he’d known the man, Crockett had seen in him several different states: excessive, arrogant, galling, presumptuous. However, staring into black orbs moist with what uncomfortably appeared to be genuine tears, he found himself overwhelmed by the man’s stricken look of sheer desperation.

This hadn’t gone quite as expected, but he had to acknowledge the overall rationality of Douglas’s explanation. He still didn’t fully trust Mr. Douglas, but by his meeting him and Kid here in Salina, there was logic in that they wouldn’t have to go all the way back to Denver just to deliver the governor’s package. Douglas could relieve them of it, which would allow them to head straight into Arkansas Territory to begin their search for young Miss Douglas right away.

Chapter 2

She looked up from the stack of bills on the smooth, worn counter in bewilderment. Mr. Hughes?

This is all I can give you today.

Kayleen swallowed hard and shifted from one moccasin-covered foot to the other. Her long hair tucked up under her hat, a few loose strands brushed her cheek. She pushed them behind her ear, using the moment to appraise the man behind the counter.

She focused on Hughes’s yellowish brown eyes and noted the shiny film of sweat formed on his high domed forehead. She’d have to be careful. Though her limited history in dealing with him found him polite and usually fair, he was not a charitable man. She’d made great effort in the last few months to gain his trust but knew that if she were to offend him—even unintentionally—he could refuse to give her the first penny. She drew strength from her growing irritation and struggled in her search for inoffensive language.

Sir, she began. I chose business with you because I trust your honor and judgment. She made a deliberate downward glance at the small stack of bills, half-expecting him to realize and respond to her unspoken plight. And if you think these pelts aren’t quality, I could take them elsewhere.

That isn’t fair, Miss Kayle, he defended. He shook his long, narrow head, looking more annoyed than agitated by her comment, and spread both hands flat on the counter. "I’ve had so many skins brought through here in the last few days my stockroom is all but stacked to the rafters. Truth is, I don’t really need yours, but I’ve offered to take them because I want to keep your business. He indicated the money with a wave of one large hand. And it isn’t these aren’t quality pelts, but to be frank, I’m not able to pay more to anyone until I sell my overstock."

Kayleen hated the feel of her rising emotions. The man had, in one mighty sweep, complicated everything. It wasn’t enough money. She’d expected at least ten dollars more for those furs. It meant she would have to spend every penny she’d made today, plus what was left in her pocket from last month, to buy supplies.

She ground her teeth, feeling a burn behind her eyes. She had no choice but to accept Hughes’s offer. The most frustrating part was there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Her heart suddenly felt very heavy, her belly very empty.

She pressed her lips together and stared down at the bills again. She hoped Mr. Hughes perceived her frown as anger instead of the effort it was to hold back tears. She then glanced at the crumpled and dirty strip of paper she’d dug out of her trouser pocket. Mentally, she crossed off six entries. There hadn’t been many items on the list to begin with, and