Texas Passion

By Sara Orwig

While hunting a killer, a man meets a fierce beauty determined to protect her fugitive family—in a novel by the “talented” USA Today-bestselling author (Rendezvous).
 
Rachel Kearney expected a heartfelt reunion when her father returned home from the War Between the States, but instead, she was greeted by a man on the run from the law. Now, Rachel and her family must flee, leaving behind the only home they’ve ever known.
 
Dan Overton is pursuing an elusive killer when he stumbles upon the spirited beauty who calls herself the Widow Kearney. From the moment he sees her, he knows he will do anything in his power to protect her and her brood from the dangers of the rugged post-war frontier.
 
But something more than a shared passion connects them, and it may be the very thing that tears them apart…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Apr 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781626817685

Sara Orwig

Sara Orwig lives in Oklahoma and has a deep love of Texas. With a master’s degree in English, Sara taught high school English, was Writer-in-Residence at the University of Central Oklahoma and was one of the first inductees into the Oklahoma Professional Writers Hall of Fame. Sara has written mainstream fiction, historical and contemporary romance. Books are beloved treasures that take Sara to magical worlds. She loves both reading and writing them.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Fort Worth, Texas

August 1867

I’ll take two balls of twine, one sack of flour—

Rae! Her nine-year-old brother called to her, charging down the aisle of the general store, his shoes clattering on the dusty wooden boards.

Josh, don’t run. The last thing they needed was to draw attention to themselves. But one look into his green eyes, and her breath caught. What’s wrong?

You gotta come quick! Some men are scaring Abigail. Pa tried to stop them, and one of them knocked Pa down.

Pa’s hurt? Rachel felt as if her heart jumped to her throat.

Without waiting for an answer, she glanced at the clerk. They needed supplies, but it was more important to get to Pa.

I’ll be back to get my things, she told the clerk who stared at her through rimless spectacles. With her heart pounding, she ran out of the store. We don’t need more trouble. Dear God, please keep us out of trouble. It was blistering hot, but she didn’t dare shed the denim jacket. The only reason she passed for a boy in most towns was because no one paid any attention to her. The boyish clothing wouldn’t fool anyone. And until today, they had avoided anyone taking notice of them.

Did Abigail get out of the wagon?

She got hot. She told me not to tell you.

I told her to stay out of sight! Fear made Rachel’s pulse race. As she hurried along, she tucked a stray tendril of auburn hair beneath her broad-brimmed slouch hat.

Whatcha’ gonna do?

I don’t know, Josh. What could she do? She didn’t know how to shoot well enough to wade into a group of men. Where’s Lissa? she asked, wondering about their three-year-old cousin.

She’s in the wagon.

Was Abigail talking to— She broke off her words. Pa!

On the quiet, dusty street lined with stores and saloons, the lanky figure of her father was stretched on the ground beside a wheel of their covered wagon, his wrists tied to the wheel. Feeling fear deepen to terror for her father, she began to run.

Pa! She clenched her jaw closed. Their spare black gelding was tethered to the back of the wagon. There was no sign of a group of men or of her sixteen-year-old sister Abigail.

A man dressed all in black lounged in the shadowed doorway of a barber shop. With his hat pulled low over his forehead, his long, lean frame was relaxed, one knee bent and his booted foot propped on the wall behind him. As she passed him, he raised his head. She felt a shock as she looked into thickly lashed dark brown eyes, meeting a stare that was hard and cold. Rugged and handsome, the man exuded an aura of danger, and a chill ran down Rachel’s spine. Black hair showed below his hat, hanging on the back of his neck and touching his shoulders. His features, the hawk nose, the prominent cheekbones, gave him an arrogant air. He didn’t move or speak, only stared at her until his gaze flicked down to her feet and then up again.

The blatant assessment made her aware of herself as a woman, conscious of her dusty appearance and boyish clothing. As she stared into his dark eyes, she felt threatened.

Turning from the stranger, she knelt beside her father. Ebenezer Kearney’s mouth bled and a bruise was already darkening on his temple. His hands were tied to the wagon wheel.

Pa! Untie him, Josh.

Eb Kearney’s eyes fluttered. They got Abigail, he said in a harsh whisper. I couldn’t stop them, Rachel. I couldn’t—

Pa, you tried. Don’t worry, she said, hurting for him and feeling a rising panic over her sister.

Mam— A small child thrust her head out the back of the wagon. Auburn curls covered her head and wide green tearful eyes gazed at Rachel as she held out her arms.

Eb Kearney’s eyes filled with tears. They took Abigail into a saloon.

Rachel’s heart lurched, and the momentary chill of fear transformed to fury. Which saloon?

Red Bear, he said. We have to get Abigail. Get the sheriff.

Three-year-old Lissa’s wails became louder, tears streaking her plump, pink cheeks. Rachel scooped her up to hug her. I’ll be right back, Lissa. You do what Josh tells you. She squeezed the child and set her in the wagon. Josh, untie Pa and get ready to go. We may have to leave in a hurry. Anger boiled in her that men would beat her father and tie him and take Abigail. Pa didn’t need another bit of trouble.

Rachel yanked down his Winchester and cocked it, looking for the Red Bear and spotting a faded wooden sign across the street. Bullies and ruffians. Get Pa into the wagon, she told her brother, and wait in the middle of the street. Get the pistol.

Whatcha’ gonna do?

I’m going to find Abigail.

Don’t do anything foolish, Rachel. Get the law. Her father’s voice was a croak.

Pa, don’t you worry. I have the Winchester. Without waiting for his answer, she marched across the street, waves of anger rising in her like heat coming off the sun-baked street. Shouts and music came from the saloon. As she stepped inside the swinging doors, her eyes slowly adjusted to the smokey interior.

No one paid any attention to her, because men’s backs were turned. Their eyes were on sixteen-year-old Abigail who stood over them on the bar. Her blond hair tumbled down her back, and she clutched her blue muslin skirt while she cried. Men surrounded the long, scarred mahogany bar, laughing and calling ribald suggestions to Abigail.

Sing, little bird. As long as you sing, you can stay up there where you’re safe.

Come on, sweetie, let’s see your purty legs.

Tears streaked Abigail’s cheeks, and her voice quavered. All color had drained from her face. Enraged, Rachel wanted to squeeze the trigger of the rifle and blast away at the ruffians, but she held her temper and tried to think what to do.

Do a little dance, honey!

One of the men scrambled up on the bar with her and caught Abigail’s blue muslin skirts, lifting them to her knees. Show us your legs!

Crying, she twisted away from him. The neck of her dress was torn at her throat. Shaking with anger, Rachel moved so her back was against the wall near the door. No one was within ten yards of her, or seemed to even noticed she was there.

A tall, broad-shouldered man entered and moved around the room, leaning back against a wall and looking at Abigail. Surprised, Rachel recognized him as the same man who had lounged in the doorway by the Kearney wagon. She gripped the Winchester tightly as she turned from the man’s impassive stare.

Trying to decide what to do, she glanced around. Hanging by ropes from the ceiling were three chandeliers made from wagon wheels. One hung above the men crowded in front of the bar. Since fleeing from Vicksburg, Rachel had practiced shooting daily and now she prayed she could hit the rope holding the fixture.

A man grabbed Abigail’s ankle and yanked her off her feet. She toppled on the bar, her skirts flying up, causing loud guffaws and cheers. Shoving down her skirts, she scrambled to her feet.

Come on, sweetie, show us some fun.

Rachel raised the rifle and aimed, taking time because no one was looking her way. With a deep breath she peered along the barrel and squeezed the trigger. The blast was deafening.

The rope snapped. The chandelier fell, dropping straight down with a crash of glass, brass chimneys knocked awry. Men fell beneath it as the lamps shattered. The other men spun around to face her and the piano player stopped playing, his mouth hanging open while he stared at her. For a moment silence prevailed while everyone stood still.

Get back out of the way, she ordered in a low voice. The next shots go into you men. Get down, Abigail.

Sobbing, Abigail scrambled off the bar and ran out the door. Rachel’s heart pounded, knowing how easily they could catch her and her family. There had to be thirty men in the saloon.

Look what we’ve got here—a little lady dressed like a man, said a tall man. His hat was pushed back, showing blond curls and his shoulders were broad, his blue eyes raking over her as a smile flitted on his handsome face. He edged toward her. We’re just funnin’— he said in a deep, raspy voice.

Stop right there.

I’m not hurting anything, he said, inching toward her, the crowd seeming to surge closer behind him. Aren’t you the brave one, green eyes. I wouldn’t hurt a pretty gal—

She lowered the rifle and fired, the shot ripping up wood next to his foot. He paused to stare at her, looking amused. If he was afraid, she couldn’t detect it. She aimed the rifle at his chest. Don’t come any closer. She didn’t want to wait to see how he accepted the challenge. Her rage was evaporating, fear returning as she faced so many men. I’m covered by my pa in the wagon. Don’t come after us.

Backing out the door, she glanced around the room again and felt a shock. The stranger in black held a revolver in his hand, but he wasn’t watching her. His attention was on the crowd. He flicked one glance at her, and she met his cold gaze. Drawing her breath, her heart missed a beat as she looked at him, because he looked tougher than the others. Then his attention shifted to the men, and she looked away. With a pounding heart, she edged across the boardwalk and down into the dusty street, turning to run to the wagon.

Go, Pa! she cried as she climbed onto the seat. He sat holding the reins with Josh beside him. Josh held a pistol with both hands.

Eb Kearney flicked the reins, cracked the whip, and the wagon lurched forward. She thought of the bundle of supplies she wanted in the general store. They would have to wait now until the next town. Thank heaven they had already purchased salt and bacon and beef. Terrified the crowd would spill out of the saloon and overtake them, she crawled into the wagon. Picking up Lissa, Rachel pushed past a sobbing Abigail to look out the back as the wagon swayed and bounced on the dusty hard-packed street.

Inside the saloon the blond man stepped forward. Let’s go get them. We can have ourselves some fun.

The blast of Dan Overton’s Colt brought instant silence as the men looked at him. He held the revolver drawn on them. Leave them alone. Everyone back to the bar, he said in a quiet voice, meeting the blue-eyed stare of the blond man, thinking he had crossed paths with the man before, unable to remember where or when.

Grumbling, the men stared at him a moment and turned to the bar. In minutes the piano player was pounding out a song and card games were back in play.

Keeping his back to the wall and his Colt in hand, Dan edged around the room to the door. The blond man turned his head to look into Dan’s eyes again, and Dan felt a stirring of memory. He knew the man, but where? When? Then a swift stab of anger came as memory stirred. In his mind he saw the blond in a Confederate uniform at Sabine Cross Roads when the Confederates had taken Yankee prisoners and were herding them together to ship them to prison. He could see the tall blond Confederate lieutenant hit the Sioux prisoner with his rifle butt. As the man crumpled, the lieutenant had raised the rifle.

Dirty redskin bastard! We’re not taking Injuns prisoners.

Sir! A soldier strode toward the lieutenant. The soldier reached beneath his jacket and produced a paper, holding it out. Lieutenant McKissick? A message, sir.

McKissick returned the soldier’s salute and yanked up the paper to read. Prisoners milled about, shuffling the injured man back into their ranks.

Move along! Dan yelled, not caring that the Lieutenant outranked him. Dan motioned to the prisoners to move toward the waiting wagons.

Dammit! McKissick snapped, jamming the paper into his pocket. Tell the major I’m on my way.

Yes, sir, the private snapped, saluting and turning away.

Where the hell is that Injun? McKissick shouted.

He’s already in a wagon, Dan answered flatly.

As McKissick stared at him, Dan felt anger pulse between them. Swearing, McKissick turned and strode toward his horse.

Dan glanced at the wagon. He had talked to the Sioux who had been a scout before the war and enlisted with the Union. Dan looked over his shoulder and saw McKissick holding the reins, sitting astride a bay. They exchanged another glance and again he felt hostility flare between them.

Now, years later, as Dan looked into McKissick’s eyes, he wanted to slam his fist into the blond man’s face, but it would mean trouble he didn’t need. Did McKissick remember him? At the Sabine Cross Roads encounter, Dan had a mustache and beard. All through the war, he had worked for Pinkerton’s Detective Agency, often posing as a Confederate while he spied and gained information for the Union Army. He stared back at McKissick, anger still churning. Abruptly Dan pushed through the swinging doors and stepped outside.

At the end of the street a cloud of dust still hung from the wagon’s wake. Dan stared at it, figuring they had only a few minute’s start ahead of him. His gaze circled the town until he spotted the telegraph office. He strode across the street. In minutes he handed the clerk a slip of paper.

Send this telegram, will you?

The clerk took the paper and placed it on the counter between them, running his finger under the words to read:

To: A. Pinkerton. I am on right trail. Will contact when I have Peter Benton. D.O.

That’s correct.

Very well, sir. I’ll send the telegram now.

Dan waited until it was sent, paid the clerk, and left the office, striding back to his sorrel tethered to a hitching rail. His spurs jingled as he mounted and turned west out of town after the wagon. He glanced back at the saloon and didn’t see any men leaving. He urged his horse to a trot, waiting to get out of town before he broke into a run after the wagon.

As the Kearneys’ wagon turned south, Lissa wrapped her arms around Rachel and clung to her while Rachel peered outside. No one had come out of the saloon. Amazed, Rachel stared at the empty street as they raced west out of Fort Worth along the Wells Fargo Overland Stage trail. Where were the men? Why weren’t they coming in pursuit? Was it because of the stranger in black with pistols in his hands? Could she have stirred his sympathy? The look in his dark eyes hadn’t been sympathetic. It had been hard and cold. Was he the reason no one was coming out after them, or had the men had their laugh and now they were drinking, forgetting Abigail?

Abby’s crying, Lissa said softly, her eyes round.

She’s all right, Rachel said, smoothing a mass of ringlets away from Lissa’s face and setting her down. She shifted to a crate to sit beside Abigail and stroke her head. You weren’t really hurt, were you?

I was so scared! I got out of the wagon because it was hot and a group of men came over to talk— Crying, she pulled out a balled handkerchief to wipe her eyes. I’m sorry, Rachel. I know you told me not to get out of the wagon.

Rachel felt sorry for Abigail and the fright she just had. She stroked her sister’s head, pushing blond hair off her forehead. It’s over now and we’re all right. Just remember, Abby, that we’re on the frontier and the towns are rough. There aren’t many women. It isn’t like home.

I want to go home!

We can’t, Rachel said flatly. She squeezed past Abigail again to the back of the wagon to look out through a cloud of dust. Still no sign of anyone. Along the edge of the wide road, houses now were farther apart. Then they passed pens of cattle.

Leaving the Wells Fargo trail, they turned south along a wide trail used by cattlemen who drove their herds north to Fort Worth and on to Kansas. Feeling relieved to get away from town, she looked at the crowded wagon. All the belongings they could carry were crammed inside. On hooks driven into the curving staves that supported the canvas wagon cover, pans and tools swayed overhead. A thick layer of dust was on crates and furniture. Moving past Abigail, Rachel climbed up on the plank seat between her father and Josh. No one is following us.

You were brave, Rachel. You’re too quick to wade into danger without help. If anything happens again, get the sheriff.

Yes, sir, she said, trying to avoid giving him an extra worry, but someone had to face trouble, and she was the only one in the family to do it.

We shouldn’t be out here alone.

At the general store the clerk said there is a way station on this trail.

Eb Kearney tugged on the reins and slowed the horses to a walk, turning to her. If those men come after us, we’re unprotected. Did you ask how far it is to the station?

We should reach there around mid-afternoon.

Lord, that’s hours away! Should we turn back? We can go straight to the hotel and stay inside until a wagon train comes through. We stopped our wagon by saloons. The whole town won’t be like those men. I heard them talking—they’ve been north on a cattle drive.

She thought about going back to Fort Worth, worrying over being alone and vulnerable, worrying about her sickly father who used to make all the decisions. Pa couldn’t take an attack out here without help. He wasn’t up to a fight. Not since the war. He had come home from the War Between the States suffering from a wound in his chest, one in the calf of his right leg, barely able to talk, and his nerve gone.

Fine lines of white scars crossed his temple and his throat. He was uncertain, and fearful. It hurt to see him that way, and she didn’t know what to do about it. Moments of crisis pushed him into taking action like today. He drove the wagon without hesitancy. He had acted forcefully in the confrontation with Alvin Eubanks in Vicksburg. Then Pa had been a fearsome, angry man who had defended his family and property. But afterwards, he was a wreck of nerves, shaking, indecisive again.

We keep going, she answered, feeling determined to go, knowing all decisions were on her shoulders.

Josh climbed back into the wagon and Rachel scooted over. Lifting her face to the breeze, she watched heat waves roll up from the land. In the distance was a shimmering mirage that looked like a silver-surfaced lake. Riding out of Vicksburg to Fort Worth, the land had been rolling with tall pines, and then the cross-timbers, but now the trees were gone. High and green, grass rippled like the sea. A tingle ran down her spine and her breath caught. She felt awed by the immensity of space. Spreading miles before her, the green grass bowed in the wind, and for the first time since Vicksburg she felt free. The land was different, the future filled with hope.

Pa, she said, gripping his arm. Look at this land. Texas is so open.

It’s wild, Rachel. And dangerous. I don’t know if we’ll like it or not. I don’t know if we’ll survive it or not.

We’ll survive, she said. It’s grand, she added lowering her voice, feeling a sense of oneness with it. Pa, we belong here. Look at it. We’re free here.

We don’t know anything about this land. We’re accustomed to planting cotton, to shade and rivers. This land looks flat and empty, and we’ve been warned about the dangers. Snakes, savages, renegades, miles and miles without water. They say wind can tear across it so fierce, it’ll knock a man down.

She barely heard him. She inhaled and the air was sweet. Freedom. The land stretching miles to meet an endless blue sky. With each roll of the wagon wheels, the terror of prison and a barred cell for her pa faded. Pa, it’s going to be good.

Keep the Winchester handy. We’ll need it.

As the sun moved across the sky, to her relief no one followed them. Mid-afternoon they stopped at a way station where Rachel asked if a wagon train had been through recently. We’re a single wagon and I hoped if one is only a few hours ahead, we can catch up with it,

Nope, the tall, thin man said, peering through rimless spectacles at Rachel. It’s been three weeks since the last one and sometimes it’s more than a month between travelers. This trail is used mostly by cowmen driving herds north. A single wagon is risky. Lots of things out here to interfere—wheels broken by rocks, attacks by Indians, renegades, storms.

Thanks, she said, turning away. She didn’t want to hear about the dangers. Gazing back to the north, she hoped other travelers came along.

In the last hours of daylight the sun became a flame in the western sky, throwing up streaks of red that were broken by streamers of white clouds. She saw trees in the distance and when the wagon drew closer to the line of cottonwoods, she touched Eb’s arm.

Pa, see those trees. There might be a creek. We should stop and make camp.

Within the hour the wagon was beneath a cottonwood beside a dusty riverbed that held a trickle of muddy water. They built a campfire, and Rachel cooked a pot of potatoes.

As dark settled Rachel took the first watch while the family bedded down. Overhead stars twinkled, and the cry of a coyote made a chill run down Rachel’s spine. For the first time since leaving Fort Worth, she felt alone in a vast land where danger lurked in the dark.

Another lonesome cry of the coyote carried through the night, and she rubbed her arms. The fire was smoldering embers, and everyone was asleep. She was to wake Pa later, so he could keep watch. She looked beyond the dying glow of the fire into the darkness. Fear chilled her, and she jumped up, getting the Winchester and cocking it, feeling exposed by the firelight. She stomped out the campfire and kicked dirt over it, smothering the last plume of gray smoke.

Maybe they shouldn’t have built a fire. The stories of savages began to haunt her, tales of scalpings, women taken captive. She sat with her back against a wagon wheel and stared into the night, her eyes adjusting to the darkness as a silvery sliver of moon rose in the sky.

Later she jerked up her head. What had disturbed her? The soft whicker of a horse was distant, and Rachel’s flesh prickled. Someone was out there in the darkness.

She rose to her feet, standing slowly, listening and peering into the night, her drowsiness vanishing.

There wasn’t a sound except the deep, steady croak of a frog and a high singing sound of crickets. Frightened, she raised the Winchester, her finger on the trigger. She strained for a sound of someone moving.

Get Pa. Now. Pa and Josh won’t be much help, but two guns are better than one. Someone is out there. She took a step.

Arms locked around her from behind, and a hand came over her mouth.

Chapter 2

The rifle was yanked from her hands, and a warm breath played over her ear. The arms that held her were muscled, powerful, and she couldn’t break free. She had to warn the others! Wild with panic, she fought her captor, struggling and twisting against his lean body.

I won’t hurt you, he whispered in her ear. Don’t scream. I came to help.

Could she believe him? Straining against tight arms, she had no choice, so she stopped struggling.

Don’t yell now, he said and released her, still holding her Winchester.

Feeling her heart pound with terror, she spun around to face a stranger. What do you want?

I saw you and your family in Fort Worth.

It was the man who had lounged against the wall, the stranger in black. The man stood only inches away, and she tried to get her breath. What did he really want? What did he intend to do?

One wagon shouldn’t be out here alone. Some of the men followed you today. I’m offering my help. I’m Dan Overton.

Give me back my Winchester. Feeling angry, she didn’t trust him, and her knees shook from the fright he gave her.

He handed the rifle to her, and she stepped back, pointing it at him. Her pulse still raced, and she didn’t believe him.

Whoa, there, he said, making a dismissive gesture. His voice was deep and mellow, and he sounded confident. I came to offer protection. I don’t want to get shot for trying to help.

You have a fine way of offering aid! she snapped, still scared and furious with him. If your intentions are good, why didn’t you ride up before sundown and offer help when we could see you coming?

Because I didn’t want the men following you to see me. I wasn’t going to show myself tonight, but I don’t trust them to wait. They’re camped three miles behind you.

Three miles is a distance. She didn’t believe the stranger. He had been at the wagon when Pa was tied. He had been in the saloon when she rescued Abigail. Now here he was in their camp. Too many times he had been the same place they had. Bounty hunter? Detective? Renegade or robber? The name Dan Overton meant nothing to her.

Ma’am, a family shouldn’t travel alone the way you folks are doing. Soon a wagon train should come along this way. If you’ll go back and wait at the way station, when wagons come, you folks can join them and you’ll have protection.

We can travel without your help, mister. I don’t know what you want, but you get going. We don’t need your help. Why didn’t Pa or Josh wake up? She talked in a normal tone of voice and hoped they would hear her and one of them get the pistol.

There are six men back there, and they were all in the Red Bear. They know this country and they’re tough.

We’ll take our chances. Thanks for the warning. Now get!

Not very trusting, are you?

She raised the rifle. We can bury you out here, and no one will know what happened to you.

Mister, came her father’s whisper from the wagon. Eb leaned outside and pointed the revolver. You do what she says.

Dan Overton nodded. Fire two quick shots if you want me. The sound will carry a long way out here.

Thanks for your warning and help, she answered, relieved to see him stride away. His horse was out there somewhere. She watched his hands, and they stayed away from the gunbelt around his slender hips. She didn’t trust him. Why would he appear in the middle of the night? Why had he followed her to the saloon?

A shiver of fear ran across her nape as she watched him. He had the easy stride of a strong, fit man. He turned to look into her eyes, and her heartbeat quickened. With his angular features, his prominent cheekbones and solid jaw, he looked like a hard man who wouldn’t let anything stand in the way of taking what he wanted. She remembered the assessing look he had given her in town. It had been a bold appraisal that seemed to strip away the boyish clothing. Was he a bounty hunter? Were men camped three miles away and were they being followed? Or was that merely a ruse by Dan Overton for an excuse to travel with them? Overton vanished into the night, and she wondered where he went. Was he only yards away where he could watch and hear them?

Pa appeared beside her, the pistol in his hand. I heard you talking.

He said men from the saloon are camped three miles behind us, and they’re following us.

Maybe we should have let him travel with us, Rachel. He’s alone. He may be in danger, too.

I don’t trust him. He doesn’t act like a man you can trust, slipping up on us in the night.

I suppose you’re right. We could move on. Eb Kearney looked overhead. It’s about two in the morning. If we go slow, we should be able to travel.

If we go now, we couldn’t hear if anyone slipped up on us, and we couldn’t see the trail, she said, feeling jumpy, unable to shake her fear of Dan Overton. The first few moments she had been completely helpless and at his mercy, and the feeling frightened her. She didn’t want to move on during the night when she couldn’t see riders approaching. The problems they faced seemed to mount instead of dwindle. She hadn’t had to make so many decisions in Mississippi, choices that held their lives in the balance. She prayed she was making the right one now.

We don’t need to see the trail. That’s one thing the war taught me—how to follow stars and move around at night.

Let’s wait closer to dawn.

Get some sleep, Rachel. I’ll stand watch.

I’m not sleepy any longer. I’ll wake you when I’m tired.

He nodded and disappeared around the wagon. She sat down again and stared into the darkness, worry nagging her. She hadn’t heard a sound when Dan Overton had come up behind her. The only warning had been his horse whinnying. And were there actually six men from the saloon riding after them? Josh knew how to fire a pistol, but he couldn’t aim. Abigail refused to handle guns, and Pa’s hands were often too shaky to be a dead shot. They couldn’t hold out against six. Would they make it to San Antonio? Feeling nervous, she settled against the wagon wheel, holding the Winchester across her lap, her gaze sweeping the darkness before her.

By the first hint of dawn they were moving and soon the sky held streamers of pink, changing to a bright glow as the sun rose over the horizon. To the east a line of trees snaked along the flat ground; otherwise the land stretched and unbroken before them, waves of heat shimmering over rippling grass.

While Rachel sat beside Eb as he drove the team, she looked around. Climbing to the back of the wagon, she continued her scrutiny, feeling certain Dan Overton trailed them and was out there somewhere. How could he hide in such open space?

What are you looking for? Abigail asked.

A man wanted to join us last night. He said we’re in danger.

What man? And what danger? Abigail’s voice rose.

Rachel’s attention shifted to her younger sister. Six years older than Abigail, Rachel felt protective toward her and debated whether to alarm Abigail about the possible danger. He said there are men following us, camped three miles behind us.

Men from the saloon? Abigail asked with terror in her blue eyes. Rachel, I’m scared. We’re so alone out here. Will all the towns be like the last one?

No. And I’m sure there are fine people in the last town. We just happened to meet the wrong men. We stopped near a saloon—next time we’ll keep the wagon away from the saloons. Next time we’ll wait for a wagon train or other people before we head out alone. Rachel’s tone of voice softened. Sometimes Abigail still seemed as much a child as Josh.

Rachel leaned out the back of the wagon and looked around. High grass and a line of trees in the distance were all that she could see. Dan Overton could be in the trees, sitting on his horse and staring back at her. Remembering the moment when his arms gripped her, she bit her lower lip. She recalled being held against his strong body and the memory frightened her. She gazed behind them at the trail. If he was out there—and she felt sure he was—he was keeping well-hidden. Why?

Later in the afternoon, she mounted the spare gelding to drop back along the trail. She couldn’t spot men following them. Had Dan Overton lied? Was he after Pa? She turned the horse and galloped back to catch the wagon.

That night they camped in a draw under the shade of willows. There was no creek, so they had to use the water they carried.

As she sat with her back against a wagon wheel, Rachel stared at the fire. Would Pa be able to keep watch? For supper he had killed a rabbit. They had roasted it, and it tasted as good to her as the most succulent roast pig at home. She heard rustling and looked around as Pa emerged from the shadows.

You get some sleep tonight, Rachel, Pa whispered, standing close to her. You must be worn out.

Thanks, Pa. She nodded and moved to the back of the wagon. Retrieving her bedroll, she placed it behind the wagon. Pa was on the other side, near the fire and the front of the wagon. If anyone rode toward the wagon from the south or the east, she should wake. Hopefully, if riders approached from the north or west, Pa would see them. In minutes she was stretched on a blanket, her muscles relaxing. Millions of stars twinkled overhead in a cloudless, black sky. Sleep came, bringing oblivion that was swift and deep.

Rachel! Rachel!

Even though it was Pa’s raspy voice, the calls penetrated her sleep. With a momentary confusion, she blinked and came wide awake, her heart lurching at the sound of Pa’s hoarse cries. With her pulse racing in fear, she came to her feet and snatched up the Colt revolver. Horses and men’s voices were loud and her fright increased.

With firelight flickering over him, Pa stood with his rifle pointing into the darkness. Too late, she realized they should have put out the flames that revealed them so plainly. She moved away from the fire, so her eyes could adjust to the night. Gripping the Colt tightly in her hand, she shook her head to get her hair away from her face. Her breath caught as she gazed at the line of men riding into view.

Looking powerful, six men rode forward, and her attention focused on the one in the lead. It was the tall, blond man from the saloon. She suspected he was one of the leaders in tying up Pa and tormenting Abigail. His blue eyes settled on her, and she saw the satisfaction in his gaze, the certainty in the slight smile, the lift of his full mouth.

Evenin’, ma’am, he said.

You and your men stop right there, she snapped, her fear changing to the same hot anger she had felt when she had seen Pa tied to the wagon. The man looked as smug as a bobcat caught with a baby rabbit, and his confidence fueled her fury. Pa’s got a gun and my brother has a gun and so does my sister.

The man grinned and threw up his hands. We’re peaceful folks. We just thought we’d join you. I’ve shot a deer and dressed it and thought we’d share it. I’m Lyman McKissick, ma’am, from San Antonio. I own the Circle M ranch.

We ate hours ago. You take your men and ride on. With a pounding heart, she braced her elbow against her side, holding the revolver aimed squarely at his chest.

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