A Bounty Hunter and the Bride Read online

  She thought back to the day she’d met Allan. He’d shown up on her doorstep with a cheery smile on his handsome face and holding a newspaper carrying the ad she’d placed for the sale of her farm. Selling would allow her to pay off the mortgage and give her funds to live off until the baby arrived and she could find some type of work to do.

  Before purchasing the farm, Allan had insisted on examining every aspect of the property and equipment. As they’d spent hours together going through the barn, touring the land, and reviewing the books, Katie had grown accustomed to his presence. One afternoon, he’d taken her to nearby Claremont for dinner at the new hotel. She smiled at the memory of the fancy dining room and delicious food. Her mouth watered just thinking about the fresh trout, the abundant vegetables, and the creamy ice cream she’d eaten that night. Maybe he’d take her there again sometime.

  Allan’s charming personality and constant pampering were a balm to her lonely, grieving spirit. Soon, instead of talking about buying the farm, he was begging her to marry him. And she’d finally given in. It hadn’t taken too long for her to see that marrying him was the only way to save her baby’s inheritance. By marrying Allan, she could keep the farm and have him, too.

  Katie sighed. She would have preferred to grieve over Jarrod longer, but Allan had swooped in and taken her by surprise. In this day and time, a woman did what she had to do to get by. It was very common for women, especially those with children, to remarry quickly, foregoing the customary mourning period. Surely God had sent Allan to her. Katie shook her head. Enough of this debating. She’d made her choice.

  Standing, she crossed the room and stared out the window at her large farm. She and Jarrod had made such great plans for this place. What would he think about her marrying again so soon after the accident that had taken his life? Would he understand the farm was simply too much for her to handle without him, especially with a baby on the way?

  Crossing the room to the oak chest of drawers, she picked up a photograph taken on her first wedding day. She’d been so hopeful and naive, with no premonition of the disaster soon to come. She studied Jarrod’s sturdy face, then placed a kiss against the cool glass covering the picture. Who could have imagined things would turn out like they had? Jarrod died never even knowing he was going to be a father. “You’d have been a wonderful dad. I’ll never forget the love and laughter we shared, sweetheart. Good-bye, my love. See you in heaven someday.”

  Katie opened the top drawer and slid the picture under her unmentionables. Her fingers lingered on the smooth gold of her wedding band. After a final moment of hesitation, she slid it off and placed it on Jarrod’s picture.

  She smoothed her hand across her stomach. She might not love Allan as she had Jarrod, but he would be good to her, her child would have a father, and she would no longer have to struggle running the farm alone.

  She slipped on a pair of cream-colored gloves to hide her rough hands and chipped fingernails, and inhaling a strengthening breath, she lifted her head and opened the bedroom door. It was time to get married.

  Her footsteps echoed down the narrow, dimly lit hallway to the parlor. The smells of old wood and furniture polish battled with the fragrant scent of chicken baking in the oven. Being so much with child, she had decided to get married at home rather than at the church in town, and afterward, they all would enjoy a good meal before the judge departed.

  As she glided into the parlor, all heads turned in her direction. Allan looked striking in his new three-piece gray suit, and she was sure that was a glint of victory she’d seen flash in his icy blue eyes. They reminded her of a cold winter’s morning when the fog still clung to the earth. He had a right to look satisfied; he’d finally gotten her to consent to marry him.

  The smile she gave him turned to a frown when she noticed Judge Simons sitting on the sofa, nursing a glass of whiskey. Allan moved his hand, and the lamplight reflected off the empty glass he also held. Disappointment coursed through her. She lifted an eyebrow at him. He knew she objected to having liquor in the house, so why was it here?

  His expression remained cool, and he shrugged. “Surely you can’t object to a man toasting his own wedding.” He slapped the glass down with a clink on the fireplace mantle as if daring her to oppose him.

  She certainly could object but didn’t want to start an argument before she was even married. Turning away, her gaze fell on the Hoffman family Bible. In that instant, she realized she’d never asked Allan if he believed in God. Since he’d been so kind and helpful, she’d assumed he was a Christian. Surely, he must be. He’d gone to church with her nearly every Sunday since they’d met. She shook off a shiver of concern.

  The rotund Judge Simons smacked his empty glass on the end table next to the settee. “Shall we begin?”

  He looked over the top of his spectacles at her, and a flash of regret pierced her heart for not having a minister marry them. Using the arm of the settee for support, the judge heaved his large body upward and ambled toward the fireplace.

  As she crossed the room to stand beside Allan, she smiled at Carter and Sam, her two ranch hands. They were the only guests in attendance. Another stab of guilt sliced at her for not letting Uncle Mason and Aunt Rebekah know she was getting married again. She wasn’t up to all the hoopla and family members they would have brought with them. Uncle Mason would have drilled Allan on his family history and his spiritual well-being. Aunt Rebekah would never have let her have such a simple wedding. And she’d been too embarrassed to admit to her neighbors that she was marrying so soon after Jarrod’s death—not that six months was all that soon. She couldn’t help wondering what her friends would say when they found out she had married Allan King.

  The judge cleared his throat, and Katie cast aside her reservations and feelings of guilt. She was doing what she had to do to keep her farm and to provide her child with a father.

  “Dearly beloved.” The judge’s huge cheeks puffed up even bigger than normal as a belch escaped.

  Katie closed her eyes, blinking back stinging tears. This wedding so paled in comparison with her first one. She didn’t even have a flower bouquet or anyone to give her away.

  She looked into Allan’s eyes to draw support but was met with his smoldering gaze. His slicked-back black hair glistened like a raven’s wing, and his full lips twitched, reminding her of the times he’d stolen kisses. She shivered, wondering if she could be the wife he’d surely want. She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, and his mouth pulled sideways in a one-sided grin.

  Her heart pounded a frenzied beat. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To be Mrs. Allan King?

  Turning back to Judge Simons, she realized she hadn’t heard a word he’d said.

  “If there be anyone here who objects to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace.” The judge lowered his spectacles, his bushy eyebrows pulled together into a single line, and he glared at Carter and Sam. The two ranch hands looked at each other, then shrugged. Katie knew Carter didn’t approve of Allan, probably because he was still loyal to Jarrod; but Sam was a new employee, and Katie had no clue why he, too, seemed uncomfortable in Allan’s presence. Still, she had faith Allan would soon win both men over as he had her.

  When nobody responded, the judge continued. “Do you, Edward Allan King, take Katherine Ann Hoffman to be your wedded wife?”

  “You bet. She kept me waiting long enough.” Allan smiled down at her, his eyes filled with something that made her swallow hard. Her quivering legs barely held her up. He squeezed her hand and turned back toward the judge. Funny, he’d never told her Allan was his middle name.

  The judge looked over his glasses at her. “Do you, Katherine Ann Hoffman, take Edward Al—”

  The front door burst open and slammed against the wall, rattling the windowpanes. Katie jumped and pivoted around. Cool October air charged in, followed by a cowboy with a gleaming silver pistol in his hand. Dressed mostly in black except for a stained brown duster, he stood surveying th
e room, his eyes barely showing under the black hat pulled low onto his forehead. Allan grabbed her upper arms and pulled her in front of him as if she were a shield. His quickened breath warmed her nape even as chills of fear raced down her spine. Who is this stranger? What does he want?

  Footsteps echoed on the front porch, and Marshal Dodge from Claremont strode in. “I told you to wait for me, McIntyre.”

  His gaze flew past Katie and landed on Allan. “That him?”

  The cowboy’s lips thinned to a straight white line, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. He shoved his hat back on his forehead. Coal black eyes glared at Allan, and he nodded. “We meet again, Sloane.”

  Allan’s fingertips dug into Katie’s arms. Her heart pounded like a blacksmith’s hammer. Who is Sloane? Why is the marshal here?

  She glanced at Carter and Sam, who’d backed up against the wall, eyes wide in confusion. Too bad they weren’t wearing their holsters. If only she hadn’t requested they not wear them during the wedding. But then if the marshal was there, surely they were safe from this stranger.

  The judge slithered away, leaving only Allan and Katie in the gunman’s path.

  The marshal reached for his gun, and Allan muttered a curse that made Katie cringe. Suddenly, he shoved her forward. Her heart jolted; confusion circled her mind. She took two quick steps, then stumbled on the hem of her long dress, falling forward. Fear clutched her being, and her only thoughts were to protect her child. Katie reached for the side of the settee but missed. Her shoulder collided with the settee’s wood trim as she fell under the round-topped end table. She reached out to break her fall, but a stinging sensation shot through her hand and wrist, stampeding up her arm. She landed hard, the table’s wooden feet biting into her side. Pain surged like a flash flood throughout her body.

  “Get ‘im!” the cowboy yelled as he charged toward Allan. A ruckus erupted in the room. Men flew in different directions.

  Katie sucked in several slow breaths, trying to maintain control and keep from fainting. Had Allan actually shoved her? The ache in her heart matched the one in her wrist.

  With her good hand, she pushed herself onto her back. She lifted her injured arm and laid it across her chest. Wincing, she watched the judge slink out the front door like a fat snake with Sam close on his heels. Marshal Dodge fanned out to the left, the cowboy inched forward toward Allan in the middle, and Carter moved to the cowboy’s right side.

  Squinting through her pain, Katie saw Allan’s gaze, steady and measured, as if trying to figure out how to take on three men. She wanted to yell that this was a mistake. They had the wrong house. The wrong man. But she couldn’t find the strength to force the words out.

  “So, McIntyre, how’s your deputy? He still alive?” Allan hiked his chin and hissed the words in the cowboy’s direction. His eyes glinted. “And how’s that pretty little wife of yours?”

  The stranger stiffened, then yelled and charged Allan. Moving at the same time, Allan rushed toward her. Katie’s heart soared. Was he coming to help her?

  The next instant, he leaped onto the gold brocade chair that sat beside the end table, stepped up onto the back, and then dove through the window above her head. Glass shattered and rained shards on top of her like a hailstorm. The chair spun around on one leg, then toppled back, landing with a dull thud and sharp stab on her left ankle. She squealed from the intense pain.

  The cowboy lunged out the window right behind Allan. Marshal Dodge and Carter charged out the front door. The marshal shoved Carter out of his way, knocking him against the hall tree that sat next to the door. Carter regained his balance and hurried outside, leaving her alone.

  The hall tree teetered back and forth, then tumbled away from her, landing with a crash on a small round table. Katie held her breath as the beautiful hurricane lamp Jarrod had given her as a wedding gift toppled to the floor and shattered. A sharp stab of loss lanced her heart. Flames ignited, licking at a zigzag trail of oil across her carpet. The breeze blowing through the door fed the blaze that grew in frantic intensity. Katie’s eyes widened, and she covered her stomach as she realized the danger she was in.

  “Dear Lord, please help me!” she cried, fighting her overwhelming fear as the room filled with smoke and she watched the home she and Jarrod had built being destroyed.

  She had to get out of the house! Was nobody was coming to rescue her? Where had all the men gone? She wanted to cry over Allan’s desertion, but she had to stay focused.

  “Stay calm. Don’t panic.” She took a steadying breath, ignored the shooting pain in her hand, and tried to get up. Pressed against the wall with the heavy chair across her legs, she couldn’t move her cumbersome body. Her heart pounded. Her breath came in staccato gasps.

  Flames fanned out in all directions like a furious lynch mob seeking its victim. Her long lace curtains poofed ablaze, and she watched as the fire raced upward. Fighting her fear, she struggled and squirmed with all her might. One foot broke free, but the chair still held her dress and other leg prisoner. She’d always hated that chair. Why hadn’t she gotten rid of it before now?

  Hampered by her long skirt, in desperation, she shoved with her foot, trying again and again to move the heavy chair. Each kick only made the chair bite into her leg more. This can’t be happening.

  Tears burned her eyes as thick smoke scorched her throat.

  She coughed and covered her face with her sleeve. Would this be her last day on earth? Would she die without seeing her baby’s face? Without her child taking its first breath of life?

  No! She wouldn’t give up without a fight. She writhed and wrestled the chair that held her captive. The child inside her tumbled around as if joining in the effort to get free.

  “Help me, Lord. Somebody help me!”

  three

  Dusty tucked in his chin and closed his eyes as he dove out the window right behind Sloane. His hard landing jolted his shoulder and hip. He rolled off the edge of the porch and onto his feet. Sloane was only ten paces ahead, dashing toward the marshal’s horse. Dusty burst into a run, hoping his long legs would give him an advantage.

  Just as Sloane slowed to mount the bay mare, Dusty lunged through the air and hit him behind the knees. Sloane smacked hard against the horse and bounced off, tumbling backward over Dusty and onto the ground. The mare squealed and pranced sideways. Dusty struggled to his feet and flung himself across Ed Sloane’s body.

  Weak with relief at finally catching his man, Dusty pressed himself across Sloane’s back as the man bucked and struggled to get free. Dusty heard footsteps, then the rattle of handcuffs as the marshal secured Sloane’s hands—then Sloane’s curse.

  “Got him.” Heaving from exertion, the marshal waved Dusty off.

  Dusty sat back on his heels, breathing hard and staring at the lowly scoundrel who had ruined his life. He wanted to pummel Sloane’s face and watch him beg for mercy, but he wouldn’t yield to that temptation.

  Although dirt and dried grass clung to Sloane’s disheveled hair and clothing, he smirked. “I got away once. I can do it again.”

  Dusty clenched his fist and ground his teeth together as the memory of that awful day resurfaced—the day his wife had died and Sloane had escaped. He stood and took a step toward his nemesis, but then turned away with his fists at his sides, staring out across the acres of barren farmland. Slugging Sloane wouldn’t bring Emily back or ease his pain.

  “You ain’t gettin’ out of my jail.”

  Dusty turned around at the sound of the marshal’s voice, grateful for the man’s help in capturing Sloane.

  The lawman hauled Sloane to his feet. “You there—” He pointed to the other man who’d helped chase Sloane, one who had been at the wedding. “Help me get this crook on that gelding.”

  Dusty watched as the two men lifted Sloane onto the spare horse the marshal had brought with them. A wave of relief and satisfaction washed over him at finally capturing his man. Dusty sucked in a breath and nearly gagged on a whiff of smoke. Spinning
around, heart pounding, he faced his nightmare again.

  Flames raced up the curtains inside the two-story farmhouse, sending a cloud of smoke barreling out the broken window and open door. The memory of another house burning singed his thoughts.

  A woman’s scream rent the cool afternoon. Dusty surged into motion, realizing Sloane’s bride was still inside. He wouldn’t let another woman die—not if he had the power to save her.

  The marshal turned to assist him, but Dusty waved him off. “Stay with Sloane.”

  Running toward the house, he pulled his bandanna over his mouth and nose and jerked off his duster. He leaped up the steps and stopped just inside the front door. Angry flames had branched out from what looked like the remains of an oil lamp. Thick smoke clung to the ceiling and drifted downward.

  Where was the woman? He dropped to his knees and crawled inside, his gaze darting one way and then another, eyes stinging from the thick smoke. Where had he last seen her?

  By the broken window! He had reached out to try to break her fall when Sloane had cast her aside, but she’d been too far away. Pivoting to his left, he noticed a chair had tumbled across the lady’s skirt. He crawled forward, ignoring the sharp stings in his hands as they landed on shards of glass.

  Dusty tossed the chair to the side. Frantic blue eyes softened with relief. The woman coughed and tried to rise, but he could tell that she was in terrible pain. He swooped down and picked her up, even as she struggled.

  “I—I can walk.”

  With her in his arms, he hurried toward the front door. Behind him, a wall crashed down, sending billows of smoke around them. The woman’s harsh cough blasted his ear again and again.

  Dusty didn’t want to think how close he’d come to causing another woman’s death. At least this one should survive. He could only hope the fall and the smoke wouldn’t somehow affect the child she carried.

  When they neared the barn, Dusty set her on the back of a buckboard. Tears streamed down her face, making rivulets in the soot on her cheeks. She gazed past him at her home. A look of total loss on her face made his heart clench.