Hunter: Blood Brothers, #1

By Cali Moore

Caleb Hunter was not what one could call an approachable man. After five years of seeking vengeance, he found life back on the farm stifling. Those who loved him knew his spirit was dying and something needed to be done. Trainer was not sure a wife was the solution until Abby Fox answered his ad. Abby had known nothing but horror since the civil war and carried the scars and burdens to prove it. It wouldn't be easy for either of them, but nothing worthwhile ever is.

          Hunter wasted no time turning his bride into a wife and explaining what was expected of her. The dormant hunter within reawakened and he became filled with purpose again. Only this time it was different. He had a wife, a wife he was coming to love, and her light was still dim.

          He knew how to avenge her, but he didn't know how to heal her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cali Moore
• Release date: Apr 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393623755

Book preview

Prologue

The bullets ricocheted off the canyon walls, making it sound like the posse was five times the size it actually was. The reality was enough for Hunter. A bullet grazed his right cheek and he swore viciously before scrambling ever upward. He had almost made it into a shadow before a bullet tore off his left pinky. He watched the blood pour out before another miss sent him scurrying again.

He was going to die this day and was stoic enough to accept that. He would have much preferred it to happen while buried inside some woman’s thighs. He’d always thought that would be the way he’d go. Between his healthy libido and his total concentration on the endeavor it was the most likely place for him to have been taken by surprise.

The man the west knew only as The Hunter and the Indians called White Death was now the hunted. It was not all that surprising considering the bodies he’d scattered over the west in the last five years. There were more than the six he’d set out to deliver to the devil.

Hunter reached the shadows and things were blissfully silent for a moment. He closed his eyes and prayed. Not to a God he’d decided long ago cared little for him and his, but to his sister, safely tucked away in San Francisco under Rusty’s protection. Poor Rusty didn’t stand a chance.

Ah, Blair. It is done. Unfortunately, so am I. Be at peace, little sister. Give Rusty hell until he marries you. Hell girl, give ‘em all hell. For me.

The next shots let him know it was time to keep moving. He glanced upward and tried to determine his best path to the blackness that indicated a cave or cavern. It was rather open between here and there.

A bullet hit his thigh and he lost his footing. It was a hell of a long way down but his body landed with a bone numbing jar on a small ledge. By the time his senses stopped reeling and he realized all had gone quiet again, he became aware that he could no longer be seen.

Did we get him? Someone called out.

I don’t know, came several replies.

Hunter wiped the blackening from his sweaty hair because it was getting in his eyes. It didn’t do much good. He’d used his left hand, like an ass, and now he had blood in them as well. With a curse, he pulled the bandana from his neck and wiped the mess away so he could see.

What he saw brought a smile to his lips. It wasn’t much, but it was a chance. He slid the blade from his boot and slit his wrist, adding that blood to the ones from the other wounds as he inched toward the edge. Satisfied that enough had been spilled over the edge, he used his teeth and good hand to bind his wrist with the filthy bandana. The self-inflicted wound would be the worst. A lot of blood flowed through that vein. He’d wanted a lot of blood. Enough and the fools may not bother to search further.

Hunter pulled his shirt from his pants and ripped off a strip to bind the gaping flesh where his pinky had been. The thigh wound wasn’t bad just sitting here. With luck, it wouldn’t open up more with his next exertions. For this to work, he could not leave a crimson trail to the hollow he spied less than six feet above him. He wiped his bloody cheek on his sleeve.

Christ, he was a mess.

He loathed being dirty.

Hunter took a deep breath and began the slow climb, praying he wouldn’t be spotted from below or leave a telling trail. His last thought before he blacked out in the small cave was that it was too simple to work. A misdirection of six vertical feet was not nearly enough. But he was done and prepared to meet his maker.

If there was a god in heaven, he prayed He was the understanding sort.

The smoke woke him.

Ah, shit, he was going to hang after all. Hunter wondered if they’d grant him a last woman instead of a last meal. He opened one eye. Then the other. He blinked at the man leaning over him.

About time you woke up, Death, the familiar voice said simply.

Hunter grunted.

You’re a bloody mess.

Are we speaking literally or figuratively, my lord?

Trainer Baintree grinned. That was his name in White America. The English called him Viscount Shetrock. If his father didn’t do something to save him from his future, he would eventually be the Earl of Shetrock. That was a truly distressing state of affairs as far as Trainer was concerned since he only tolerated England. His mother’s people, the Sioux, called him Lonelord. He thought his Sioux name amusing and he allowed them to think it bothered him. In truth, he thought it perfect. Both.

Did they buy it?

Trainer nodded. Yes. He looked at the rabbit roasting in the fire and decided it needed a few more minutes. Fools. They came up to look. Hector and Rouser, anyway. Told the others you were definitely dead.

Hunter took a deep breath. He felt weak but the pain was tolerable. The Hunter is dead. Caleb Hunter, gentleman farmer, is reborn.

Trainer cocked a brow. You hate farming.

What else am I going to do but go home, Train? My temper will get me recognized or killed if I stay in the west and a city would suffocate me.

And the farm won’t?

I did what I left to do. Blair is avenged. Ma and Brian have been alone long enough. It’s time I see to my responsibilities to them.

Trainer grunted and pulled the rabbit from the fire to cool. If there’s any farm left, he pointed out. He knew more than any man should about responsibilities.

Exactly. I have to make sure they’re all right. Being on the border was not the best place for either side. Hunter closed his eyes. He knew that truth well enough since the deserters he’d hunted had crossed to the North at their farm.

Most of the fighting was further east. I’ve only heard of one battle in Indiana, Trainer said softly. It’s over, Hunter. All of it. It’s time to let your own war go.

Perhaps. Hunter opened his eyes and stared at a man for whom war would never be over. I still have to go home.

Trainer nodded. The money? Shall I bring it?

No. You should stay away for a while. It would be too easy for someone to make a connection if we were together too soon. Go to San Francisco, if you can spare the time. Check on Blair and let her know I’m all right. After that, you can probably safely come visit if you wish.

Trainer passed a critical eye over his friend. I’ll make time, he promised. You can’t travel for a few days. I’ll gather food to tide you over and go fetch your money. You can take it with you.

My horse?

I’ve got Dante.

Saw the whole thing, didn’t you?

Trainer nodded. Couldn’t do much to help. Too damned many of them. I knew you’d figure a way out of it. Slitting your wrist wasn’t the wisest choice.

Hunter accepted a piece of rabbit. As always, it was cooked to perfection. He took a bite and grinned at Trainer through skin covered with a mixture of dye, blackening, and blood. I’m going to miss being a ‘breed.

Trainer grunted again. He had never been sure how he felt about it. His father’s status had made it impossible for the polite world to reject him. His mother’s tribe had given him things a white man’s world never could. And everyone else, well, he did rather enjoy scaring the hell out of the ignorant, savage that he was. What he hated was that the two bloods that suited him so well didn’t seem to suit the rest of the world.

I’ve insulted you, Hunter teased.

You? A lowborn farmer insult a warrior and peer? Not bloody likely.

Hunter groaned at the thought of being a farmer again. Go to hell.

I just might at that, though I think you’d be a better match for the devil. I do have some redeeming qualities.

Hunter didn’t reply to that. He was surely going to hell, forgiving God or not. But not Trainer. Trainer’s hell was on earth. The white man’s God and the Indian’s Great Mystery wouldn’t bar him from paradise at his death. If there were a heaven, Trainer would be as welcomed as Christ.

And that was probably the only thing of which Hunter was certain.

Caleb Hunter paused at the crest of a gently rolling hill and stared at the spread below him. Oh, God, he was a farmer again. He loathed farming. It had never held any appeal for him. Even when the place had been in its prime and his father had looked proudly at the endless fields of corn and hay, he’d felt nothing but dread every morning he woke to it.

It was backbreaking work. Filthy work. Fate played a bigger role than the farmer. It had aged his mother much too fast and he hated the smell of manure. And chickens. Dear God, how he hated chickens. Stupid, filthy creatures.

The Hunter was nowhere in evidence in the man atop the magnificent black stallion. Gone was the artificially darkened hair. In its place were the sandy locks he’d been born with. His skin was now the reddish tone of a fair-skinned man who’d been out in the sun a good deal. His brilliant blue eyes were no longer shadowed by the brim of a hat pushed low on his brow. Caleb Hunter had a scar on his right cheek that The Hunter had never sported and he was missing the left pinky that The Hunter had possessed. Ten weeks had passed since The Hunter had been tracked down and killed by twelve bounty hunters working together.

Twelve dangerous men to bring down one ‘breed bent on rampaging white men.

Hunter thought he would go to his death with that as his most note-worthy accomplishment. Especially since they hadn’t managed it. A pity the world couldn’t know that.

Hunter looked closely at the outbuildings. The coops were in terrible shape, unable to keep out even the dumbest fox. The stable listed to the east. Fences were broken or non-existent, the springhouse no longer deserved the title. The cattle were under weight, the one horse he saw was a pathetic excuse for one. The fields, three thousand acres strong, had succumbed to native growth except for perhaps a hundred acres and the corn that should be tasseling above his head by now was barely waist high.

Only the house looked normal. There was a thin trail of smoke rising from the chimney. From this distance the windows looked reasonably clean. He glanced at the sun and froze at the sound of a rifle being cocked.

Jesus, he was stupid. Trainer would laugh himself into his grave if he ever found out about this.

I mean you no harm, Hunter said quietly, raising his arms so the armed man behind him could see them.

You got business here?

If this still belongs to the Hunters, yes. If not, tell me where they are and I’ll be on my way.

You know Missus May?

May I turn around?

Slowly.

Hunter did and found the man holding the gun to be an enormous Negro with arms the size of a redwood tree. He was almost seven feet tall. Jesus.

The black man grinned, revealing strong white teeth. Name?

Caleb Hunter.

He blinked. "Really? Missus May!"

Hunter thought they probably heard that bellow in Chicago.

Yes, Abraham? Came a thin, female voice from the cabin.

Man says he’s Caleb.

Dead silence.

Hunter turned back to the house and waited while the door slowly opened and his mother looked out. She blinked and even from this distance he could sense the tears forming. It’s Caleb, Abraham.

Abraham lowered the gun and rested it on his shoulder, inclining his head toward the house.

Hunter rode to the front porch. Hi ya, Ma, he said with a grin. The place looks like shit. What happened to the money I’ve sent?

May Hunter swallowed hard. I sent Brian back east. To school.

Really? Hunter puzzled over that and decided it didn’t really surprise him. Working the land had been his father’s dream. With him gone, it made sense for May to want to see one of her children educated properly. That’s all right then.

You approve?

He shrugged. I don’t disapprove.

May looked guiltily around the farm. I didn’t keep your inheritance in very good shape.

Hunter laughed and she finally smiled. Either did I, Ma. Either did I.

Your sister was more important.

Yes, he agreed. And she’ll be fine. Rusty will see to it.

May nodded. She didn’t entirely approve of Hunter’s solutions to Blair’s problems, but accepted them stoically. Presumably Hunter knew what he was doing. He usually did. And you?

Abraham?

Yes, sir?

Hunter shook his head. No sir, Abraham. Hunter will do. You’re a free man and no worse or better than me. You willing to work for me?

Yes, sir!

Hunter rolled his eyes. Abraham.

Yes, Caleb.

Hunter, he corrected. I haven’t used Caleb in years. Where are you sleeping?

The stables.

Hunter looked at them again. He sighed. It’s too late to do anything about the crops this year. We’ll start on the buildings. We’ll start with a cabin for you.

Abraham beamed. My own cabin?

Yes, Abraham. You got a wife?

The huge black man glanced south. Somewhere, sir. Babies too.

Hunter swore. We’ll see what we can do about finding them. I can’t promise anything. I wish I could.

I been looking. Got friends looking. Maybe one of us will get lucky.

Hunter thought it unlikely but didn’t voice that opinion. In all likelihood they were dead or his wife thought he was and had remarried.

Hunter hadn’t fought in the war. His political convictions hadn’t been strong enough then. He frankly hadn’t cared until it touched his life. And Blair’s. Then he had chosen to wage his own long, weary war.

And he had won.

Chapter One

Jeff heard the key turn and listened to the heavy tread on the floor. He waited until long after the sounds of a carriage had disappeared down the street before turning on the gas lamp near his bed and looking at the clock. Three in the morning. With a heavy sigh, he pulled on his robe and made his way down the hall to see what damage the bastard had done this time.

He didn’t knock on the door. Long experience had told him Abby would hide herself from him if he did. Instead, he pushed it open and looked toward the bed. There was blood, of course. Abby was scrubbing herself raw at the basin in the corner.

He slipped inside the room and closed the door soundlessly. Leaning against it, he waited for her to finish and tie her robe. Finally, she turned to him and jumped. Jeff. You scared me.

He looked pointedly back at the bed. This has to stop, Ab.

It will, she replied, as always. As soon...

As I’m able to support us, he finished for her, his golden eyes blazing in the lowered gaslight. Jeff pushed off the door. It’s not going to happen, Abby. It’s time you accept that.

It will.

It won’t.

Matching eyes stared at each other for long silent moments. The color and the pain were the same, but the younger ones were fired by defiance, the older deadened by resignation and knowledge no twenty-year old woman should have.

Abby broke the contact. We have no choice.

We do, Jeff countered. He limped to the bed and tore the sheets from it with his one whole arm, flinging them into the corner in disgust. Sit down.

Abby’s eyes flew back to his. His voice had been so strong. So full of command. So like their father’s had been. When had it stopped cracking? Dear God, he was fifteen. He was no longer a boy. Or wouldn’t be for long. His only chance to be a man was to use his brains. She had done everything in her power to make sure he had that chance.

Sit down, he repeated. The command was even more deadly for its softness and Abby moved to the bed and sat. Jeff pulled an advertisement from his pocket and handed it to her. Read this.

She read. Wanted. Wife for Indiana farmer. Must be of strong stock and possess a sense of humor. You’ll need it. Ladies need not apply. Contact Trainer Baintree at the Regal Hotel.

Mail order brides, she said in disgust. He’s probably fat, old and smelly.

Jeff rose to his full height and scowled at her. "First of all, it’s not quite mail order. He’s here. Second, not only is he here, he’s staying at the Regal. Hardly squalid, sis. And thirdly, you can’t go on like this!"

Abby’s eyes narrowed. Of all these ads, why this one?

The wording, he replied.

Abby reread it. It was definitely unusual. No mention of looks or circumstances. If anything, the man seemed to be trying to scare women off, not attract them. She felt an odd breeze and looked up to find the window still closed. The expression about someone walking over your grave occurred to her. No.

Jeff clenched his fist and went to the window. Abby stared at the shoulders that should be broad and moving in silent laughter, not bony and stiff from pain and hopelessness. She watched as the one hand he still possessed raked through the curly hair she knew he hated. We can’t stay, Ab, he said quietly. We have to get out now. While you’re still young enough to find a decent man and I’m young enough to learn to be one.

Your education. Langley...

Jeff laughed bitterly and turned to face his sister. Langley. Christ, he’s got it made. The perfect wife at home, who knows all about his little mistress and turns a blind eye, as is fitting for a woman in her position. I wonder if she knows what her husband requires from you?

He’s having you educated!

Jeff snorted. Yeah. Haven’t you ever wondered why?

That was the bargain.

The bargain. The bargain struck by a wild-eyed, frightened young girl of fifteen. The naive girl. I wonder sometimes how you can still be so.

I’m not, she insisted stubbornly.

You are if you think Langley’s going to allow me a decent job somewhere and you free. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the window. Sort of. It was difficult to cross one’s arms when the left one ended three inches above where the hand belonged. Let me enlighten you, sister. Langley has had me educated for two reasons. The first, obviously, is to hang onto you. In case you haven’t noticed, Abby, you’re a very beautiful woman. The second is his friends of dubious tastes prefer their companions to possess a degree of intellect. They do have standards, you know.

Abby frowned. He wants you to do something illegal?

He wants me to do exactly what you do.

Abby stared at him in horror. He knows a woman that wants to keep you?

He knows men that will pay for me.

She was going to be sick and she knew it. So did Jeff. He handed her the chamber pot just in time.

Abby felt no better a few minutes later. If anything, the cold chill that crept inexorably into her bones was worse than the violent reaction. By its very nature, it would be there much longer. I didn’t know, she whispered, staring at the face she thought only she found handsome. Another place where only half was whole on his battered body. Jeff, I didn’t know.

Jeff made room for some compassion, but not much. One way or the other, they were leaving within days. Even if Langley weren’t such a bastard, Ab, I want more. Damn it, I don’t want to be a clerk or solicitor. A man of other’s affairs. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. I want more. I miss the stud. I want to ride a horse again. I want to shoot a gun. I want...what other men want. I want to feel like a man. Can you understand that?

The world is changing, Jeff. Intelligence counts for more than brawn now.

Jeff shook his head and moved to the door. He paused with his hand on the knob. We’re leaving, Ab. Like it or not, we are leaving. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to the man. He left the room as quietly as he had come.

Abby had no idea he’d felt so...useless. She should have. Jesus, when did he grow up? And when did she become so damned weak? By dawn she knew the answers to both of those questions. Five long years ago. She also knew that Jeff was better at hiding from her than she was from him.

And she had decided to go meet Mr. Trainer Baintree.

Abby arrived at the hotel and looked around in amazement. There were more than thirty women in the room. As she watched, she saw them enter a door one at a time, and return about two minutes later. Most appeared to be toned down whores, but there were plenty of servants there too. She suspected a servant would become Mrs. Trainer Baintree. A farmer would want those skills as well as ones in his bed. The remark about ladies in the ad could have had a sexual inference, or one to do with hard work.

Well, damn it, she could do both. She went up to the clerk, who did little more than glance at her, and gave him the name she had decided on before retreating to the shadows.

She looked again at her competition. Some were pretty, some were definitely the hardy sort he meant by strong stock. She was the only one in men’s clothes. Oh well, that couldn’t be helped. It was too possible that Langley or one of his cronies would appear and recognize her. She wasn’t exactly a prisoner and had never really been. Langley’s willingness to educate Jeff had been enough to hold her and he’d realized that quickly.

The clerk called her false name twice before she realized he meant her. She wiped her sweaty palms on her pants and went to his little desk. Go on in, he said without looking at her. She thought of Jeff and knew he would never be happy in such a capacity.

Trainer stared at the fabulous woman in the doorway and felt himself harden. He wanted to blink, but didn’t. Instead he leveled his almond gaze on her face. Name?

Abby.

Abby what?

Fox, she replied truthfully. Away from the lobby it didn’t matter.

He nodded. Your story? He was sure it would be good, true or not, and couldn’t wait to hear it. As far as he was concerned, his search was over. This was the woman he’d been waiting for. Hunter would take one look at that face and shape, bed her, and not worry about the rest of it. That he wanted to bed her himself was his problem.

Story? Abby asked, confused.

Madam, you are wearing men’s pants.

Oh that, she said, still staring at his features. I didn’t want to be recognized. You’re an Indian.

Half, he concurred. Sioux.

That explains it then, she said with a nod.

It was Trainer’s turn to be confused. Explains it?

Why a man who can afford the Regal needs to advertise for a wife.

Trainer burst out laughing. Me? Oh no, my lady, I’m not looking for a wife. No siree, not this red man in a white man’s world. Perish the thought. I am merely acting as an agent.

Abby sighed. You’re a marriage broker? This time he laughed long and hard. You’re confusing me, Mr. Baintree.

He grinned at her. Am I? Then we’re quite square, I assure you. Sit down, Miss Fox, and tell me about the pants and why you might be recognized in this establishment.

Damn, she was hoping he’d forgotten about the pants. She doubted Trainer Baintree forgot anything. She sat. Do you have a Sioux name?

Of course.

What is it?

He smiled. Lonelord.

Odd, isn’t it?

He shrugged. It suits. I’m rather fond of it, actually. Can we get back on topic here?

Damn again. Abby sighed and made a motion that would have straightened skirts had she been wearing any. Mr. Baintree, were you the man looking for a wife I would answer your questions at this point. But you’re not, so before I do, I would like to know something about him. If I think we won’t suit, there’s no point in telling my little tale.

She rose several notches in his esteem. This was no waif looking for a free ride. No whore looking for a way out. No servant looking for a little respect. This was ...he swallowed... a lady.

Well hell.

Are you a lady?

Abby smiled, her feminine instincts telling her she’d just scored a point. I might have been, Mr. Baintree. Most likely, I would have been what you men like to call a hellion. Perhaps a menace. I always wanted to be a menace when I was a little girl.

He grinned, amused and intrigued by her. I imagine you did a fine job of it.

Actually, I did. Her smile faded. I wasn’t given the time to find out if I would have remained one or not.

The war?

Yes, but that’s part of the tale.

Virgin?

She looked him straight in the eye. No. If that’s what he’s looking for, there’s no point in wasting our time.

He has no desire for a virgin. Actually, I believe his exact words were, if you bring back a bloody virgin, Train, you’ll damn well do the deed yourself! His eyes raked her slender form. A pity. I would have enjoyed it.

Abby had enough experience with men to know a compliment when she heard one. Thank you.

Trainer nodded. You’re most welcome, Miss Fox, and if you can stand the heat for a bit, you and Hunter should suit quite well.

Hunter?

Last name. Caleb Hunter. If he has a middle name I’ve never heard it. Most call him Hunter. He prefers it.

I thought he was a farmer. What does he hunt?

He doesn’t anymore and what he hunted doesn’t concern you.

It was gentle, but it was still a rebuff. She acknowledged it with a nod. Go on, please.

Caleb Hunter is twenty-nine. He’s blonde headed, blue eyed, well formed, though more wiry than brawny. It’s fooled many men. He’s much stronger than he looks. And cunning as a cat. He is also loyal, honest, arrogant, demanding, and at times, utterly impossible. He watched Abby struggle to hide a grin. "The best way to handle impossible with Hunter is with humor, Miss Fox. Laugh loudly enough and he’ll pause long enough to see he’s being an ass. His grin at those times is quite priceless.

He’s not a particularly happy man. Nor is he easy. He hates farming and returned only for his mother and younger brother. And only after he had accomplished what he’d needed to do. For himself and for his sister. She’s in San Francisco and recently married. Hunter’s been back on the farm for a year and a half and is half mad with it all. He misses the west. Even more, he misses the sense of purpose that carried him through the previous years. It’s very likely when his mother dies and his brother is settled he’ll sell the farm and head out again. To do that, he must find some peace.

Wouldn’t a peaceful farm settle a man? It sounded backwards to her. Why would a man need peace to roam? The restless roamed, they did not stay and work the land. And if he went roaming, what would happen to his wife?

Most men. I didn’t mean to imply abandonment. Hunter would never do that to a wife and children. But frankly, Miss Fox, Hunter just isn’t a farmer. He would discuss it with his wife and they would come to a decision together.

He’s loyal?

Like a dog.

Compassionate?

When he cares to be.

Abby frowned. You’re not trying very hard to make him sound appealing.

What he is, is a good man that life hasn’t treated very well. He’s lonely, lost, and sexually frustrated, Trainer said bluntly, trying to gage her reaction to that. She didn’t so much as blink. Hunter doesn’t need a shrinking violet or a lady that wants pampering. Nor does he need a slave. Something in between. He needs a woman that will tolerate his frustration and welcome him into her bed. He needs a woman that will laugh at him when he’s being an ass and stand by him when he finds a cause he needs to fight for. In short, he needs a wife that will be all the things a woman is capable of being. He will settle for lusty and reasonably attractive.

Abby sighed. Hunter sounded both impossible and intriguing. He also sounded too good to be true. Humor might be a problem.

Was it before the war touched your life?

No.

Trainer reached a hand across his desk and grabbed hers gently. Abby, look at me. He waited for her to obey. It won’t be easy. Hunter won’t make it easy. He’s not happy about this. We’ve all sort of badgered him into it. He needs something and we decided that something was a woman. If you have the strength to last, the heart, you may laugh again. And you may even find love. Hunter believes in it. He’s seen it. He just doesn’t think he’ll ever find it for himself. I happen to disagree with him on that.

Heart. It was a term her father would use for his horses. It meant both staying power and desire. She was very afraid the heart had been burned out of her long ago. Not without compassion, she said softly, thinking of Jeff.

Will you explain? Her