Once An Outlaw Read online

  Once An Outlaw

  By Diana Bold

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Once An Outlaw

  By Diana Bold

  Copyright April 2017

  Cover Artist: Kim Killion

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Dedication

  To Kendra and Erika, who have been such a joy and blessing. I am so happy and thankful to have you both in my life.

  Chapter One

  December 15, 1871 – Northern New Mexico

  Zach Price hadn’t been this close to a woman in five years.

  The time he’d spent in prison had robbed him of many things, and he’d often wondered if the ability to feel passion and desire had been among them.

  Apparently not.

  As the rocking motion of the stagecoach brought the woman’s knees into contact with his own once again, he wished he were as unfeeling as he’d thought. The stirring in his groin was an inconvenient, painful reminder that he’d never again know the softness of a woman’s body against his. The manacles on his hands and feet, and the presence of the lean, sharp-eyed lawman at his side, ensured it.

  With every bumpy mile, the stagecoach took him closer to Texas, where he’d spend the rest of his life in the same federal prison he’d escaped from two short weeks ago.

  If he’d known his freedom would be so fleeting, he’d have gotten stinking drunk and spent what time he had in the arms of some pretty whore. Instead, he’d kept to himself, living like a hunted animal, traveling at night, sleeping during the day, desperate to reach his brother in the Colorado Territory.

  He’d never expected the United States Marshal on his tail to get there first.

  His gaze returned to the woman sitting across from him. Understandably nervous about sharing the ride with a convicted killer, she had yet to look him in the eyes. Her lovely face was pale, and she looked exhausted. He wondered how long she’d been traveling, and why she’d boarded the coach alone, with no man to watch over her.

  Her vulnerable beauty enchanted him and, for a long moment, he entertained the possibility of taking her hostage when they stopped for the night. He could wrap his chained hands around her slim neck, press against her, use her as a shield to make his escape…

  Reluctantly, he discarded the notion. Despite the desperation clawing and twisting in the pit of his stomach, he hadn’t sunk to the point of involving an innocent bystander in the hopeless mess he’d made of his life.

  He shifted and turned his gaze out the window, noticing it had begun to snow. The sight cheered him. He hoped the weather delayed their journey. Even a few extra nights in a stage stop with Marshal Scott breathing down his neck would be preferable to returning to prison.

  “Where are you headed, ma’am?” the marshal asked their lovely traveling companion, speaking for the first time since they’d boarded the stage in Trinidad several hours ago.

  “I’m going to Texas for Christmas,” she answered. Zach found himself leaning forward in an effort to hear her better. “I have family there.”

  She was even lovelier when she smiled, and he didn’t think his opinion was influenced by the fact that he’d been so long without a woman. She had delicate, classic features and expressive, wide, green eyes. Her hair was a rich, buttery gold, and her figure was trim, yet rounded in all the right places. He imagined he could even smell her; a light, flowery scent that triggered a sudden, vivid memory of a girl he’d known in Virginia. Before the war.

  “We’re going to Texas, too,” the marshal informed her. “I’ll keep an eye out for you, ma’am. It’s not safe for a pretty little thing like you to be traveling all by yourself.”

  An embarrassed blush tinged the girl’s pale cheeks. “That’s kind of you, sir. But really, I’m sure I’ll be just fine. I’ve come all the way from Denver already.”

  She glanced in Zach’s direction and, for just a moment, her clear, green gaze caught and held his. Unmistakable trepidation shadowed those emerald depths. She probably didn’t want anything to do with the marshal as long as he had a dangerous criminal like Zach in tow.

  The marshal also obviously understood the reason for her reticence. “Don’t worry none about him, ma’am. I’ve got the situation well under control. He’s harmless as a Christmas goose trussed up in those shackles.”

  The girl stared at the metal bracelets around Zach’s wrists and ankles. She met his gaze again, and this time he saw more sympathy than fear. “Are those dreadful things necessary?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the marshal answered. “As I said, he’s harmless enough as long as he’s chained. But make no mistake. He’s a bad ’un. Killed some men in Texas a few years back, then managed to escape from prison. Took me two weeks to track him down, and I don’t intend to lose him again.”

  Zach forced his features to remain impassive, even though he burned with shame and anger at being discussed as though he were deaf and dumb. He didn’t know why he cared what this woman thought of him, but for some reason he wanted to shout a denial. He wanted to try to explain the circumstances that had led him so far from the life he’d once expected to live.

  The coach shuddered then gave a precarious lurch. Zach tore his gaze away from the girl to glance back out the window then wished he hadn’t. The snow was falling much harder now than just a few moments ago, and the road dropped off into a deep ravine on his side of the coach.

  They seemed to be heading right for the edge.

  “Shit,” he muttered, trying to brace himself, but unable to do so because of the shackles.

  “What the hell…?” The marshal half rose from his seat and opened the door, as though he meant to ask the driver what was going on. He never got the chance. The horses gave an ear-piercing squeal, and then the coach tipped, tumbling off the edge of the cliff, crashing end over end into the ravine.

  * * * * *

  Bethany Sinclair awakened to the unfamiliar feel of a man’s heavy body sprawled atop her. She gave a frantic shove but couldn’t dislodge the smothering weight. Gasping for breath as panic coursed through her, she glanced about, trying to figure out why everything looked so odd and unfamiliar.

  Where was she? What on earth had happened?

  A horrible, discordant sound shattered the stillness—the sound of an animal in pain. The man groaned and lifted his head. When she recognized the dangerously handsome face hovering just inches above her own, she struggled even harder.

  The prisoner from the coach. There had been an accident, and now she was pinned beneath him.

  “Get off me.” Terror laced her voice as all her efforts to remove him went in vain. He was too big, too heavy.

  “Calm down.” He shifted, relieving her of most of his weight, yet keeping her pinned where she lay in the shattered remnants of the coach. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  A bloody gash marred his forehead, and his blue eyes were cloudy with pain. She tried to relax, remembering the kind marshal who’d befriended her before the wreck. He would help her. He wouldn’t allow this criminal to do her any harm. “Where’s everyone else?”

  “I don’t know.” He scanned the immediate area with sudden purpose. His lean body tensed as he realized the lawman was nowhere in sight.

  Dear God. He was a killer. An escaped convict. To what lengths might he go to keep from being taken back to prison?

  His gaze returned to her face, but his eyes were sharpe
r now, more focused. “Are you hurt?”

  “I can’t tell.” She was surprised he cared enough to ask. “You’re crushing me. Everything hurts.”

  He frowned and rolled all the way off her. The awkwardness of his movements reminded her he was still shackled. She scrambled away, wincing when a shaft of pain shot up her left leg. Her skirts were wadded around her knees, and she stared in dismay at the jagged, four-inch cut on her calf.

  The prisoner knelt at her side, looking concerned. “Is your leg broken?”

  She shook her head. It wasn’t broken, but it bled profusely. She trembled as she realized how lucky she was to be alive.

  “Damn.” He stared at her for a long moment then got to his feet and pulled himself out of the scattered wreckage of the coach, having a hard time of it because of his bound ankles.

  She watched as he disappeared from view, unsure whether to be relieved or frightened. Where were the others?

  With shaking hands, she tore off a length of her petticoat to use as a bandage, trying to ignore the pained squeals of the horses. It was hard going, but at last she managed to rip off enough to bind her calf. Once she’d accomplished the task, she dragged herself out of what remained of the coach, gasping in dismay when a blast of snow carried by an icy wind buffeted her.

  Halfway up the steep hill, the prisoner stood over the twisted, bloody body of the man who’d been trying to bring him back to justice. The marshal had obviously been thrown from the coach as it began to roll. From the looks of him, the vehicle had crushed him.

  Bethany averted her gaze and swallowed to keep from retching.

  “He’s dead.” The prisoner’s voice was quiet and controlled, but she knew what this meant to him.

  Freedom.

  “What about the driver?” Bethany asked, even though she was afraid she already knew the answer.

  The prisoner pointed to another spot a few dozen yards away. “His neck’s broken.” As he spoke, he leaned down and rifled through the marshal’s pockets. He found what he was looking for—the key to his shackles and a pistol.

  Bethany stared at the gun, her blood freezing in her veins as he walked toward her. If he killed her now, his escape was assured.

  She stumbled backward, her injured leg aching in protest. Shaking her head, she lifted her gaze from the gun to the man. He was dangerously beautiful, with inky black, overlong hair, and chiseled features. His blue eyes were shuttered, impossible to read. “Please,” she whispered. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

  He stopped just a few feet in front of her and extended his hands. The key he’d taken from the marshal’s pocket dangled from between his thumb and forefinger. Up close, she could see how the handcuffs had abraded the skin around his wrists. He said nothing, just held out his hands.

  She considered refusing, but what good would it do? If he meant to kill her, he could do it with his hands bound. So far, he’d done nothing to harm her. Perhaps once he was free, he’d make his escape.

  Then all she’d have to worry about was how to survive the night—alone, bleeding, and stranded in the middle of a blizzard with no shelter.

  Trembling, she took the key and fitted it into the lock. The handcuffs fell away with a click, and he was a prisoner no longer. He brushed her cheek with his icy fingertips, stunning her with his tenderness. His blue eyes were startlingly bright amidst his dark features, and snowflakes had caught in his long, inky lashes.

  “Thank you.”

  She shivered. “What are you going to do now?”

  Frowning, he took the key from her and stooped to unlock the chain around his ankles. “I won’t go back to prison. But I won’t let you freeze, either.” He stood, looking around at the twisted wreckage. “There were some lap blankets in the coach, weren’t there?”

  Bethany nodded, eager to help. “There were some sack lunches, too.”

  “Smart girl.” A brief smile touched the perfection of his full lips. “Find them while I put these poor horses out of their misery. I’ll help you get out of the weather before I leave. Don’t worry. I’m sure someone will come looking when the stage doesn’t show up on time.”

  “Will they?” She doubted their stage’s tardiness would cause much concern. At least not for quite a while. They’d expect a delay and probably wouldn’t mount a rescue until the weather cleared.

  “They’ll come.” His voice was grim as he moved toward the horses that lay in a broken, jumbled heap, caught in their traces. “They knew I was on board.”

  He was a killer, she reminded herself. The marshal had told her so. But as she watched the prisoner soothe the terrified, injured horses, she found she no longer feared him.

  Chapter Two

  Zach left the woman bundled up in blankets, tucked in a semi-sheltered corner of the shattered stage. But the last time he’d looked over his shoulder, she’d been shaking uncontrollably, both from the force of the icy wind and the shock of her injury.

  He doubted she’d make it through the night.

  Although he knew he had to put as much distance as possible between himself and the wreck, thoughts of woman haunted him as he plunged forward through the increasingly violent storm. He told himself he couldn’t afford to care. The wreck was a second chance he didn’t deserve, and he’d be a fool to let the opportunity pass by for the sake of a woman he didn’t even know.

  Besides, there was no certainty he’d survive the storm.

  The wind had turned into a howling banshee, whipping through the canyon without mercy. The stinging snow blinded him, and the adrenaline that had carried him through the last hour faded as the cold wrapped him in its icy fingers.

  It took him forever to stumble a few hundred yards. Exhausted, he leaned against the canyon wall, finding a narrow crevice, which offered some protection from the unrelenting wind. As he turned to put his back to the weather, he realized it wasn’t a crack, but the entrance to a cave.

  The crevice widened about six feet in, and then he found himself in a large chamber. Pulling out a box of matches he’d rescued from the wreck, he lit one and stared at his surroundings. A smaller tunnel at the back led to another chamber, but he found no signs of animal occupation. The cave was empty and dry with a soft, sandy floor—a perfect place to wait out the storm. In fact, if he could find some wood for a fire, the cave would be more comfortable than the prison cell where he’d spent the last five years.

  Lady Luck had smiled on him more during the last two hours than she had in his entire life.

  But how could he stay here, snug and warm, while the woman who’d freed him from those damned shackles froze to death less than a mile away?

  “Damn.” He slammed his fist against the rough stone wall, knowing the answer. He had to go back for her.

  Too many deaths already haunted him. He couldn’t buy his freedom at further cost to his soul. He’d bring her back here, then leave once the storm broke.

  Still cursing beneath his breath, he turned up his collar and plunged back out into the cold.

  * * * * *

  Bethany drifted in and out of sleep, each time caring less and less if she ever woke again. Numb and lethargic, she could no longer feel the cold or pain. Her dreams were odd and ephemeral, filled with images of a dark, handsome man who carried her in his arms and begged her not to leave him.

  * * * * *

  Zach stumbled into the main room of the cave, his shoulders, back and arms aching from his heavy burden. He’d feared he would be unable to find the entrance a second time and thanked God for the first time in longer than he cared to remember for granting him this miracle. Sinking to his knees, he lowered the girl to the ground.

  She looked like a snow angel, her golden hair white with ice, her lovely face deathly pale. Leaning over her, he placed his fingertips above her heart and tried to discern whether she still breathed.

  Damn, he hoped he hadn’t let too much time pass before he’d gone back for her. It was full dark now, so he figured at least four hours had passed since
the wreck. Four hours she’d spent bleeding in the cold.

  “Wake up,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “Don’t you dare die on me, darlin’.”

  He shook her, and her lips parted on a soft moan. Relieved, he sank back on his heels and ran a trembling hand across his scruffy jaw. Exhaustion made his limbs heavy and weak, and he wanted nothing more than to lie down beside the girl and sleep.

  Luckily, he was still lucid enough to realize the danger they faced. He fumbled with the makeshift pack he’d made out of the blankets and drew out a few splintered pieces of wood from the coach and the rest of the sack lunches he’d gathered.

  It seemed to take forever to get a fire going, and once he did, he had to force himself to move away from it. He shed his wet, partially frozen clothes and replaced them with a scratchy wool blanket.

  The other three blankets served to form a pallet beside the fire. Then he turned back to the girl, glad for the chill when he considered the task that lay ahead.

  She remained passive as a rag doll while he stripped away her wet, bloody clothes and left her clad in nothing but the serviceable white chemise she wore beneath them. The bandage on her leg was crimson, soaked through, and he carefully peeled it away, frowning as fresh blood welled from the wound.

  Using a handful of snow, he cleaned the gash as best he could, then rewrapped it with another scrap of her dress. Finished with the most pressing matters, he pulled her into his arms and crawled beneath the damp blankets.

  Staring into the dancing flames, he forced himself to resist the temptation of closing his eyes and recalling the image of the girl’s lush breasts and long, slim legs. It was difficult, since those luscious curves and silky limbs were pressed intimately against him.

  Desire chased away the icy chill, but the painful surge of blood to his groin was almost as uncomfortable.