Kiss Of The Night Wind

by Janelle Taylor

Genres: Historical Romance

Synopsis

Leaving her brother's outlaw gang, Carrie Sue Stover starts a new life as Carolyn Starns, schoolteacher, but an attack on the stagecoach she is riding brings her right back into the world of outlaws.

Release date: October 24, 2011

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 516

Sample

A BEGUILING INTRIGUE

(4441, $3.99)

by Olivia Sumner

Pretty as a picture Justine Riggs cared nothing for propriety. She dressed as a boy, sat on her horse like a jockey, and pondered the stars like a scientist. But when she tried to best the handsome Quenton Fletcher, Marquess of Devon, by proving that she was the better equestrian, he would try to prove Justine’s antics were pure folly. The game he had in mind was seduction—never imagining that he might lose his heart in the process!

AN INCONVENIENT ENGAGEMENT

(4442, $3.99)

by Joy Reed

Rebecca Wentworth was furious when she saw her betrothed waltzing with another. So she decides to make him jealous by flirting with the handsomest man at the ball, John Collinwood, Earl of Stanford. The “wicked” nobleman knew exactly what the enticing miss was up to—and he was only too happy to play along. But as Rebecca gazed into his magnificent eyes, her errant fiancé was soon utterly forgotten!

SCANDAL’S LADY

(4472, $3.99)

by Mary Kingsley

Cassandra was shocked to learn that the new Earl of Lynton was her childhood friend, Nicholas St. John. After years at sea and mixed feelings Nicholas had come home to take the family title. And although Cassandra knew her place as a governess, she could not help the thrill that went through her each time he was near. Nicholas was pleased to find that his old friend Cassandra was his new next door neighbor, but after being near her, he wondered if mere friendship would be enough…

HIS LORDSHIP’S REWARD

(4473, $3.99)

by Carola Dunn

As the daughter of a seasoned soldier, Fanny Ingram was accustomed to the vagaries of military life and cared not a whit about matters of rank and social standing. So she certainly never foresaw her tendre for handsome Viscount Roworth of Kent with whom she was forced to share lodgings, while he carried out his clandestine activities on behalf of the British Army. And though good sense told Roworth to keep his distance, he couldn’t stop from taking Fanny in his arms for a kiss that made all hearts equal!

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If this doesn’t work out and you get caught, Carrie Sue Stover, as surely as the summer’s hot, you’ll either swing from a rope or waste away in some awful prison! Ever alert and wary, Carrie Sue scanned her surroundings and strained to hear each sound, her senses sharpened from years on the run. Being with strangers always made her nervous, as she constantly feared being recognized and arrested even this far from Texas and her infamous reputation.

The redhead continued dressing in a small room which she had shared last night with another female passenger at the “home station.” She had traveled from Fort Worth on this stage line, a coach which halted every night, unlike the Butterfield stage which halted once every twenty-four hours for passengers to get sorely needed sleep. Between these rustic inns which were owned and operated by the Garrett Overland Company, the coach stopped for fresh horses at relay stations where the passengers could eat and freshen up.

Her roommate, a soldier’s wife from back East, had completed her grooming quickly and left the cramped room, almost as if she were afraid of Carrie Sue. The redhead frowned, knowing that her thoughts were groundless and it only proved that she was too mistrustful of most people. She had given the timid woman no reason to be afraid of her. The soldier’s wife, who had joined them yesterday at Fort Bowie to complete her journey to Fort Verde, had jumped at every twist and turn, at every sudden voice or stranger’s glance. Without a doubt, she concluded, the Eastern female was petrified of her own shadow. How, the redhead wondered, would the pitiful creature ever survive the wild west?

Carrie Sue shook her head in sympathy. She vigorously brushed her long hair to remove as much trail dust as possible. Whether it be in a rented tub of hot suds or in a cold stream, she hated not having daily baths. She was eager to reach her destination where a good scrubbing from head to toe would be her first priority.

Carrie Sue glanced at the brush she was holding whose handle was marked with a painted “C.S.S.” Suppressing guilt, she repacked the confiscated belongings of Miss Carolyn Sarah Starns. She wanted to believe that fate had decreed that the Butterfield Stage would overturn between St. Louis and Fort Worth during a robbery attempt by her brother’s gang. All the passengers had been killed, including a Texas Ranger and the young woman whose identity and possessions she had stolen in a moment of desperation.

If the driver had reined up that day near Sherman, Texas as ordered by Darby Stover instead of recklessly charging her brother’s gang and trying to outrun them, the fatal crash would not have occurred. Carrie Sue wished it could have been avoided, but no one could bring the innocent victims back to life. Upon learning the female passenger was dead, Carrie Sue had been compelled by some inexplicable force to search her belongings to learn something about the unfortunate woman. From the woman’s letters and detailed diary, Carrie Sue had made a startling discovery and found the answer to her problems.

Carolyn Starns had been a twenty-one-year-old orphan who was heading to Tucson to become the town’s new schoolmarm. The lovely brunette would be a stranger there. By the time the gang had completed their task, Carrie Sue knew what she wanted to do, what she had to do. The chance at a new life had been too tempting to ignore. Carolyn looked enough like Carrie Sue…but their initials and sizes were eerily the same. It had to work!

So, after her brother helped her bury the teacher’s body miles from the scene of their crime, on April twentyeighth of ’76, Carrie Sue Stover became Miss Carolyn Sarah Starns. Today, May tenth, she was on her way to blissful freedom in a Tucson schoolhouse as long as no one recognized her. That was a strong possibility since her wanted poster was done so poorly, by Quade Harding’s nefarious design!

The redhead was tired of running and hiding, tired of being scared, tired of being shot at, and tired of being pursued until she was exhausted or provoked into lethal self-defense. She was tired of innocent people getting hurt, and of being accused of crimes which she and the gang hadn’t committed. She’d been forced into a life of crime at the tender age of seventeen—she’d never wanted to live this way! Several times she had tried to “go straight” and once she had risked turning herself in to the law and ending this awful existence. All of those desperate actions had failed. Too, she had heard of how horrible prison was for women, and that three female outlaws had been hanged in the last few years by crazed mobs!

Carrie Sue wanted a normal life. She longed for peace and safety. She wanted to fall in love, to have a husband, a home, a family. She wanted this soul-wrenching loneliness and misery to end. She wanted to ranch again, to work alongside her family. She wanted to be the Carrie Sue Stover she had been at seventeen before her life was torn asunder by a greedy man named Quade Harding.

The lovely outlaw sighed wearily as she braided her hair. She secured the long plait near her nape and fluffed her thick, wavy bangs over her forehead in an attempt to avoid calling attention to the fiery locks that had caused the law to brand her the “Texas Flame.” How she yearned to gaze toward a bright future rather than looking over her shoulder for trouble. This opportunity had fallen into her lap like a miracle, and she had taken advantage of it. In a way, she was giving God a helping hand with her survival. If no one recognized her, her dreams could be realized. She had to make this work. She had to!

So far, Quade Harding had still not released an accurate sketch of her that could insure her capture or possibly cause her death. No, Quade Harding wanted her alive, wanted her as his private prisoner. In May of ‘74, Quade had furnished the law with her name and a poor drawing of Darby Stover’s sister, but only to frighten her and to remind her of her precarious existence which he could destroy at any moment.

Unlike posters for the other members of the Stover Gang, her wanted poster demanded that she be turned in alive to Quade Harding for a payment of five thousand dollars in gold. The law, on the other hand, was offering two thousand paper dollars for her capture, preferably alive. She knew the reason for Quade’s stipulation; he wanted to use his power and money to obtain control of her. As long as no one learned she was the “Texas Flame,” Carrie Sue was safe; she could make a fresh start in Tucson. But what, she mused frantically, if Quade decided he would see her dead if he couldn’t have her alive? All he had to do was release a better description.

“Breakfast!” the station keeper shouted and interrupted her worrying.

With increased haste Carrie Sue finished her task. As she buttoned the front of her dress, she was relieved that Carolyn’s clothes, although rather plain and inexpensive, were comfortable and appropriate for her new status. Judging from the way she had packed her belongings, Carolyn had been a precise and careful person.

“It’s on the table and going fast!” the second announcement came.

Carrie Sue entered the adjoining room. The mouthwatering smells of cat’s-head biscuits, fried bacon, perked coffee, and flour gravy reached her nose. She inhaled, realizing how hungry she was. No more trail food, her mind sang happily, and no more choking down food on the run or on the impatient Butterfield stageline which she had used earlier. Thank goodness the frugal Carolyn had wanted to save money by purchasing a ticket between Fort Worth and Tucson from Garrett lines which traveled more cheaply but much more slowly. Knowing the routine by now, she walked toward a wooden table to join the driver, guard, woman, and the men who had caught the stage two days ago.

Instantly she sighted a handsome stranger sitting there and eating calmly. At her approach, he glanced her way for a moment, his rapid and probing gaze sliding over her before it returned to his meal. Everything and everyone in the room except him vanished briefly. Her heart pounded in trepidation. Numerous questions about him filled her mind. She trembled, but struggled to regain her poise.

The only vacant seat was across from the black-haired male whose presence seemed to fill the room, and Carrie Sue took it. She eased her chair to the table and placed the red-checked napkin in her lap as her mother had taught her long ago. Relax, she ordered. He’s only a customer. If not, you can bluff your way out with Carolyn’s identity.

When he looked up from his plate, she was astonished to feel weakened and warmed by his smokey gray gaze. Why was she feeling this way? She had lived among men for years!

In what seemed to be only a second, the darkly tanned stranger scrutinized her thoroughly. She could tell his mind was quick and keen, so she tried to keep her expression blank. His stubbled jawline and upper lip said he hadn’t shaved in a day or two, but his face and hands were freshly scrubbed and his collar-length hair was combed. He was dressed in a faded gray shirt and jeans, both snug enough to evince a muscular body and worn enough to imply his funds were limited. Sleeves rolled to his elbows revealed a lean hardness in his forearms. He looked up again and nodded a polite greeting which caused a midnight lock to fall across his forehead, and he left it there as he returned to his meal.

A drifter? she wondered. Can’t be, she reasoned. His body is too well-honed and his movements are too controlled for an easy-going cowpoke. Who is he and what’s he doing here? That sketch hardly favors me, but what if he guesses the truth and challenges me?

Carrie Sue tried to keep her hands from shaking and rattling the dishes as she served herself. For a reason which she couldn’t grasp and a reaction which she couldn’t halt, she had difficulty eating, and more difficulty keeping her disobedient eyes off of him. She had been around countless men, but none had affected her this way. She found herself wanting to stare at him, to talk with him, to share passion with him. That was crazy! He was a stranger, perhaps even a threat to her.

Beneath lowered lashes as she nibbled at a large biscuit, she eyed the enticing span of hairy chest which was showing above the three buttons which he had left unfastened. His features were strong and appealing.

She observed the way he sat in his chair, leaving room between his chest and the table and between his back and the chair to allow for rapid movement if it was required. The other men chatted amiably, but the stranger kept quiet. Even so, she realized that he caught every word spoken and each move made, that he was in full control of himself and any situation. The others might think he was totally relaxed or distracted, but she knew better. Yes, he was alert and guarded; those were traits which she recognized too well. She knew he could spring into action swifter than she could blink if danger approached. She wondered on which side of the law this man stood. And was he here to eat or was he biding time for an unknown purpose?

The stranger finished his breakfast and laid his fork on the empty plate. After his coffee cup was refilled, he propped his left elbow on the table and placed his thumb along his sturdy jawline with his first two fingers entrapping a cleft chin between them. As if in deep thought, he absently rubbed his jawbone with his thumb, causing the dark stubble growing there to make a noise which he did not seem to hear. Those smokey gray eyes boldly studied her in a manner which warned her that he knew she had been furtively doing the same with him, studied her as if he were trying to figure out a crucial puzzle. Maybe, as Kale Rushton had told her long ago, fear had an odor, and this man had detected it in the air. Certainly that would cause a gunslinger, if that’s what he was, to become intrigued.

Carrie Sue struggled to ignore him, but his pull was too strong. Her gaze fused with his, and she felt as if he was probing the depths of her soul. Her cheeks flushed slightly. The handsome stranger glanced at her dark blue cotton dress with small white cuffs and collar and at her neat hairstyle. She heard a deep inhalation and exhalation of air through his shapely nose as his eyes narrowed, but not in a menacing way. For an instant she read doubt in those smokey depths. His gaze shifted to her left hand. One brow lifted inquisitively. He studied her again and confusion—an obviously unusual emotion for him—briefly filled his eyes.

“Can I give you anything, Miss?” he asked, his voice teasing over Carrie Sue’s flesh like blazing sunshine on a frigid day. When her expression said she was astonished at him speaking to her, he half-grinned—only the left corner of his sensual mouth lifting—as if to imply she should have expected his response to her behavior. He lifted his cup and sipped coffee as he brazenly observed her over its rim.

While she collected her wits, Carrie Sue watched the steamy curls from the hot coffee tickle his nose and dampen it. She noticed the enticing humor in his potent gaze which implied that his real query had nothing to do with food. She was baffled, as he did not seem to be the kind of male who flirted with a strange woman, or one who had to make any effort to get a female’s undivided attention. There was something about the way he was eyeing her that made her tension increase. This was something more than a man admiring a pretty face; there was an array of emotions battling within him.

What if he’s a bounty hunter? What if he’s playing games with me? Or trying to decide what to do about me? How she wished she had her Remington revolvers nearby for comfort, but they were concealed in Carolyn Starns’s baggage. Besides, she doubted she could defend herself against this particular man. The way he moved, looked, even breathed told her of his enormous prowess. The flaming haired female shifted in her chair, unnerved by his overt attention. Maybe he was only intrigued by her scent of fear, or responsive to her unintentionally enticing behavior. She reminded herself to behave as the respectable and studious schoolmarm. “No, thank you,” she replied in a ladylike manner and dismissive tone. She focused her eyes on her food, but was intensely aware of him.

Suddenly he stood, pushing back his chair with his legs, and walked to the front wall. Recovering his gunbelt from a peg, he strapped it around his firm waist, the way he buckled it exposing that he favored his…right hand. Strange, she would have sworn he was left-handed. The holsters held two Frontier Colts, the ’73 model, six-shot, forty-five caliber, single action. As he bent forward to secure the dangling thongs about his thighs, Carrie Sue observed his lithe movements. Before putting a dark hat on his ebony head and settling it into place, he pulled on a brown leather vest which was as worn as his shirt and jeans. He retrieved a Winchester ’73 lever-action rifle from where he had leaned it against the door jamb.

“A fine meal, Sam,” he told the station keeper and smiled broadly, a smile which captivated Carrie Sue and sent tingles over her body.

The burly man in a stained white apron smiled and responded, “Most folks say I got the best vittles on any line. Stop in again to fill yore belly. I cook a kill-for stew on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

The appealing stranger tossed Sam an extra coin, glanced back at the beautiful redhead, shrugged as if she puzzled him, then departed.

Carrie Sue heard a horse gallop away, but only halfprayed she had seen him for the last time. She waited patiently while the other passengers, the two men and the soldier’s wife, completed their meals. The driver and guard loaded their baggage and summoned them.

For a moment, the fleeing desperado wondered if she should buy or steal a horse and escape this area as swiftly as possible, just in case that virile stranger was after her. No, she bravely decided. This chance for a new life was too good to pass up without proof he was on her trail. If he had delayed her capture with the hope of her leading him to Darby and his gang, he would have a long wait!

“All’s away!” the driver shouted to let the passengers know he was leaving so they wouldn’t be thrown backwards roughly when the horses jerked against the harnesses and the stage’s weight.

Tomorrow night, she would be in Tucson. There were only a few more stops for fresh horses, meals, and one night’s sleep between her and her destination. Suspense, eagerness, and hope filled Carrie Sue Stover and diverted her from thoughts of the stranger.

The stage had passed the Dragoon Springs station where an Apache massacre had occurred in ‘58. The road was flanked by impressive mountains. They had made it through the Chiricahua range which had been Cochise’s stronghold until four years ago when the infamous Apache chief had agreed to settle on a reservation. Carrie Sue looked out the window, as did the other three passengers. No one chatted, which suited her just fine.

The arid countryside possessed a wild beauty with its abundance of blooming yuccas, entangling catclaw, bean laden mesquite, paloverde, snakeweed, and countless other sturdy plants and small trees which could survive this harsh area and climate. A variety of cacti, some crouching low to the ground and some standing tall and green against the blue skyline, was scattered before her line of vision. The coach had passed through many mountain ranges, but the landscape in this flash flood region was relatively flat.

She watched the scenery alternate between scrub-covered areas with an occasional hill, to sparsely vegetated areas, and sites with countless boulders and brown mountains on all sides. In some places, grass was a yellowy tan, or pale green, or nonexistent. At times thousands of yuccas grew on both sides of the road; at other times, only scrubs and small trees were visible. She noticed that the mountains had an almost purply brown color—unlike the vivid reds, grays, and blacks of Texas mountains or the heavily forested green ones of Georgia.

Carrie Sue’s eyes had rested enough to return to her task, which was a difficult one in the jouncing coach. She wanted to read Carolyn Starns’s letters and diary as many times as possible before she reached Tucson so she would know the woman’s life by heart. She could not afford any slip-ups when she met her contact tomorrow and began her new job. She had practiced signing Carolyn’s name until she could do it perfectly. She had learned why Carolyn had purchased a ticket for this cheaper stageline, to save money. The brunette was intent upon saving enough to buy a dress shop with a small home attached.

Carrie Sue hated sewing. But when she claimed the money which Carolyn had transferred to the Tucson bank, she would not squander those hard-earned dollars; she would use them wisely. Carolyn had no need for them and she had no family to claim the shattered-dream fund. Carrie Sue would use the money for a promising future, just as Carolyn had meant to do.

She also studied the school books in Carolyn’s baggage to refresh herself on “reading, writing, and arithmetic,” along with history and geography. She was glad her mother had insisted on educating her and that she’d always loved learning. She went over sample lesson plans to familiarize herself with presenting information to various ages, as the Tucson school included first through eighth grades. Carrie Sue smiled, for she felt confident she would make a good schoolmarm. If she didn’t like teaching, she could change jobs later, after she was certain her new identity cloaked her securely.

Following the midday meal, the other three passengers dozed in the warm stage which was traveling at an almost rocking pace in the heat of the day. Carrie Sue leaned her head against the coach and closed her eyes to think about her brother and their stormy past. While there was not an accurate picture of herself on her wanted poster, Darby and his gang were not as fortunate. She worried about her brother. Darby had been such a cheerful, easy-going, likable person before Quinn Harding and his lecherous son Quade had ruined his life. She fretted over how Darby was changing, especially during the last two years since Quade had released her brother’s picture and name and had tagged his band the Stover Gang: a vicious trick to flush her into the open again. The longer Darby was an outlaw and the more he was forced to do to survive, the harder he would become.

She and Darby had been born and raised in Georgia, until a greedy Carpetbagger wanted their farm following the War Between the States. The northern controlled law had refused to protect them when they were forced to sell out for less than half of the land’s value or risk imprisonment for allegedly unpaid taxes. After her father secretly took revenge on the villain, they had left Georgia to make a new life elsewhere, finally settling in Texas. Her parents, Martha and John Henry Stover, had come upon another Southerner in dire straits and purchased his ranch near Brownwood. But Quinn Harding and his son had wanted to add it to their large spread, the QH Ranch, a fact the seller—who despised the Hardings—had not told them. Her father had refused to sell out to the Hardings, refused to be forced from his land and home again. Within a year, her parents had been killed and the Hardings had taken control of the small ranch with a coveted water supply and lush grasslands. This time, their unpaid bank loan had been used as the so-called legal means to steal all the Stover’s possessions. Lacking evidence against the Hardings, there had been nothing she and Darby could do, or so the Hardings had believed.

In ’69, at the age of seventeen, she had gone to work in the Harding home as the housekeeper’s helper to spy on them for her brother. The elder Harding, a hateful man, had treated her as a slave—someone to dominate and cruelly tease. She had despised waiting upon Quinn Harding, who had been crippled three months earlier from a fall. It was that accident which had placed Quade in control of the QH Ranch, their evil plans, and all of their hirelings. She had learned about payroll shipments, cattle drives, auctions, and more—information she had passed on to Darby and the gang he had formed to destroy the Hardings. The unknown band of outlaws had cut fences, rustled cattle, burned barns and fields, and stolen payrolls—anything to punish the Hardings.

In the beginning, she and Darby had been concerned only with justice and revenge. But her furtive activities had been discovered by the lustful Quade who had watched her too closely. After seven months on the everincreasing QH Ranch, she had been compelled to flee Quade’s wicked demands and his threats about unmasking her brother.

From his wheelchair, “Old Man Harding” had ordered his devious son to hire gunslingers to guard his spread and bounty hunters to destroy his persistent enemies. Quade had agreed to a certain point but, despite his family’s losses, he had not told his father or the law about Carrie’s involvement or about the gang’s identity. She had been surprised and confused by Quade’s silence, until she guessed his motive: he wanted to capture her, not have the law do it.

After several run-ins with detectives Quade had hired, Darby had ceased his harassment of the Hardings, and they had fled into the Oklahoma Territory. They had lain low there all winter, until a lack of supplies had forced them to pull off raids in Oklahoma and Kansas. For a year, dressed as a boy and masked, she had ridden occasionally with Darby’s gang as they eluded Quade’s relentless detectives and struggled to survive. But unless it was too perilous to leave her behind, she remained in hidden camps because Darby didn’t want her—a fiery-haired female—to be sighted and remembered. The same was true when the boys visited towns in small groups, which was possible since their faces and names were unknown. Still, no matter where they journeyed, they had to be on constant guard. And she, at eighteen, could do nothing except tag along for safety.

With no place to live and on the run from Quade’s cohorts and the law, Darby’s gang had begun to commit other crimes, mainly robberies and rustlings. Carrie Sue had realized her brother’s gang was becoming too much like other outlaws or the men she wanted to punish, but she was caught up in the band’s crimes and too fearful of capture to leave.

When the men had grown restless in camp and supplies had run out, the gang had made their raids. Yet, Darby Stover was careful not to kill, and he never attacked poor folks. Sometimes, he gave money to people in dire straits whom they met along the way. For those reasons, his reputation became the colorful one of a hero more than that of a ruthless outlaw. Darby’s rule had been “Never kill anybody unless you have to save your hide ‘cause it only gives lily-livered men the guts to join posses and chase our tails to kingdom’s come. Folks will allow robbing but not killing. They know we’ll treat them fair, so they yield without trouble. Some of them even enjoy being held up by the Stover Gang.”

In late ’71, she was desperate to break free from her offensive life and Quade’s obsessive pursuit. She tried to make a fresh start by working in a mercantile store in Sante Fe. To go unnoticed, she dressed plainly, kept her eyes lowered timidly to hide their color, and covered her fiery hair with a dark brown net. Her freedom lasted only ten months before one of Quade’s detectives tracked her down and delivered his intimidating threat: “Marry me and I’ll get the charges against you dropped. If not, I’ll see to it you and your brother are imprisoned and hanged.”

Carrie Sue had heard tales about the treatment of female captives. The law could kill her as punishment, but never send her to prison! She would do just about anything to avoid that degrading existence. She had used her wits and skills to overcome the clever detective. She had fled to one of Darby’s hideouts and nervously waited for three wintry months until her brother arrived to lay low and found her there.

At twenty, she was thrown into the gang again, and rode with them from March of ’72 until April of ’73. To protect her identity, she continued to dress as a boy, to conceal her hair, and to wear a mask.

Things had changed over the years, mainly because they were charged with crimes which they hadn’t committed. Clearly the gang’s reputation was suffering from the false accusations and wild newspaper stories, and sometimes from the bitter truth. During her absences, Darby had begun hiring other outlaws to help pull certain jobs. Her brother was a strong leader who tried to choose his men carefully, but a “rotten seed” sometimes slipped past his keen wits. It was those rare mistakes who were hard to control at all times, mistakes who got them into trouble with unwanted violence. Still, Darby Stover was responsible for his gang’s actions.

Carrie Sue admitted to herself that she wished she had never gotten involved in such a wicked existence, even to punish the Hardings. Perhaps the grief and anger she’d felt after her parent’s deaths had made her too susceptible to Darby’s scheme.

In April of ’73, Darby and his men had grown tired of roaming and of being chased. They had realized their luck could not last forever. One truth could not be denied or halted: every fast gun and strong body eventually slowed, every keen eye and mind dulled with age.

The men who had ridden with Darby from the start put their money together and purchased a ranch near Laredo from a widow who could no longer manage alone. On April nineteenth, for a pleasant change, she had celebrated her twenty-first birthday in happiness and peace. As they had always been masked during their crimes and Quade had continued to hold silent, their identities had remained unknown. Still, they had taken the precaution of changing their names. For eight wonderful months all went well, even if Darby wouldn’t allow her to leave the new seclusion of their new home. Then, Quade’s detectives had located them again, forcing them to leave the ranch and new life behind. They had fled to Mexico for the next few months.

That time, Quade became desperate, impatient, and dangerous. He released the descriptions and names of Darby and his men in hopes of flushing the gang—no, her—into the open. He hired an artist to provide the law with accurate sketches of the men. Yet, Carrie Sue’s wanted poster still lacked her sketch and identity, containing only a vague description of a fiery-haired female. He had labeled her the “Texas Flame,” a nickname which had stuck to her.

She had been lucky to remain a secret over the years. Her family had not lived near Brownwood very long when they were slain, so few people had met her there. She had been over seven years younger and her looks had changed greatly since ‘69. Her short, dark auburn hair was now—due to hours beneath the sun and years of growing—a long “flaming red mane with a golden soul” as Darby put it. Nor was she a “skinny kid” any longer. Anyone who might have met her as the sixteen or seventeen year old Carrie Sue Stover was either employed by the Hardings or had been run out of Texas by them. No doubt, Quade had ordered everyone on the ranch to keep silent about her looks and, considering her scanty poster, his father must have agreed to let Quade have his way in this matter, if the old man even knew about it.

Maybe Quade’s relentless pressure was partly her fault. At times, she had led him on, boldly and vindictively tantalizing him with what he could never have. She had made him crave her to the point of taking any risk or paying any cost to have her. Yet, as an innocent seventeen-year-old, she had not fully understood the hazardous trail she was taking with that unpredictable villain. But marry her? She didn’t believe him. Probably Quade wanted to force her to become his defenseless and slavish whore, to punish her for duping and eluding him! Without a doubt, both Harding men were evil and cold-blooded.

For the past two years, she had stayed with the gang, becoming widely known as the mysterious “Texas Flame.” She had given up trying to tuck her thick hair beneath a hat and banding her breasts tightly to conceal the shapely feminine figure which her cotton skirts and snug jeans insisted on revealing. But she still wore a mask to hide her identity and made certain to keep her distance from their victims to prevent anyone from noticing her unusual periwinkle eyes.

She knew what most men thought and said about her, “a wildcat to be tamed” or a “sly vixen to be captured and punished.” Yet, Carrie Sue only shot in self-defense if she was cornered. Even then, she gave her pursuer many chances to retreat or yield before firing.

But things had worsened over the years. With the men’s faces and names known, they could no longer travel at will. And they all feared that Quade would panic and expose her at any time. Carrie Sue was sickened by the accidental deaths like Carolyn’s and the Ranger’s two weeks ago, and a mother’s and her child’s in March near San Angelo.

Her worst experience had been in August of ’75 when a Texas Ranger snared her. She had the drop on him, but couldn’t shoot him, so she surrendered. The vile lawman had physically and mentally abused her, and had tried to ravish her. With skills taught to her by Kale Rushton—a half-Apache member of Darby’s gang—she had thwarted the wicked Ranger and escaped. That experience hadtaught her that the law couldn’t be trusted. She also had learned that the authorities were no longer lenient with female criminals, especially those without children.

She had been given no choice except to stay with the gang. Anger and resentment gnawed at her. Being a woman, she couldn’t take off to faraway places without plenty of money, a job, or a partner. Often women were trapped in terrible situations because good and safe choices were so few. To have raced off with the blind hope of finding a lucky opportunity would have been reckless. Every time she had been on her own, numerous men had tried to take advantage of her. She was a good shot and fighter, but she could not call attention to herself by going around killing or beating wicked men all the time! And once Quade raised the amounts of his rewards, listing “Dead or Alive” in all cases but hers, bounty hunters and vicious gunslingers became a threat to them. Everyone knew that bounty hunters were like badgers; they never let go of their prey. At least she had her brother and his gang to protect her from beasts like the Hardings, their detectives, bounty hunters, posses, lawmen, and gunslingers.

Off and on for seven years she was a daring desperado in Texas, Oklahoma, New Mexico, and Kansas. But she had faced the truth long ago. Her deeds were no longer a matter of honor and vengeful justice. The harsh demands of a criminal’s life—the cold, the rain, the dust, the hunger, the desperation—were wearing. She couldn’t pretend to be cold, hard, and tough any longer. She was tired of having no home, no meaning to her life, and no friends except other bandits. And, she admitted, she hated what people thought about her.

Too, real life was passing her by swiftly. She was twenty-four, a spinster by custom. She had never been married, never had a child, never even had a lover! To keep galloping down the wrong road was like recklessly racing toward a box canyon with a crazed posse hot on your tail. Surely Fate had forced this life-saving decision upon her.

After concealing Carolyn’s body and fleeing the soldiers who were approaching the overturned stage, Darby and his men had headed for a hideout in the Oklahoma Territory, hoping to stay unnoticed for a few months while “heads cooled a mite in these parts.”

The soldiers had taken “Carolyn Starns” to the next Butterfield station to continue her journey following a “lucky rescue just in the nick of time.” Since that tragic day, she had switched to this Garrett stage in Fort Worth for the remainder of her trip to Tucson.

The redhead knew her brother was worried about her daring plan, but he had agreed with it because he was more concerned about himself and his gang endangering her on the trail. If anything went wrong, she knew where and how to contact Darby.

Gunshots filled the air and ceased her musings. Carrie Sue glanced out the window and sighted the trouble. As the driver urged the horses to outrun the bandits who were attacking it, the stage lurched wildly, hurling the two passengers on the other seat toward her and the man beside her. Obviously the driver had seen the six masked men galloping from behind a hill toward them and had decided to make a desperate race for the next relay station, which baffled and alarmed her because it was twenty miles down the road. It was a policy of stagelines to yield to robbers to safeguard passengers’ lives, but the rash driver must have felt that he and the guard could successfully discourage the bandits, as he surely could not race the horses at breakneck speed for hours.

Carrie Sue and the other man helped the two fallen passengers back into their places. The holdup made no sense to her, as it was common knowledge that the Garrett line carried no mail or strongboxes; the Butterfield line performed those perilous tasks. The Garrett line was known for its passenger comfort because of its slower pace and fewer robberies. Averaging five miles an hour for nine to ten hours a day in comparison to Butterfield’s rapid nine miles per hour and fewer stops, this line only covered forty to fifty miles a day and halted every night instead of every twenty-four hours for sleep. They had been on the road for five hours today, and Tucson was about sixty miles ahead of them. So close for trouble to defeat her!

The stage bounced up and down roughly, shaking them about like cotton bolls in a flour sack. Many sounds assailed her ears: the driver’s whip slapping against horseflesh; the metal and wood creaking in protest; the pounding of many hooves and the labored breathing of the frantic animals; the exchange of gunfire. The soldier’s wife began screaming hysterically and the two men cursed in fear.

Carrie Sue saw the guard’s body fall from the stage and tumble several times upon the hard ground. Hills, trees, yuccas, and brown mountains flashed by swiftly. The man on the seat beside her slumped into her lap as a bullet caught him in the head, staining her dress with blood. She did not shove his body aside because it would probably only fall her way again. The other man drew a small pistol and began firing at the outlaws. She shouted a warning but he sneered at her. He, too, was shot and killed.

As Carrie Sue peered out the window to see how close the gang was, the soldier’s wife—in a panic over the horrible tales she had been told about the Wild West—screamed, “They’ll rape us and murder us!” The woman seized the dead man’s gun and shot herself in the head before Carrie Sue could grab the weapon from her. The redhead gasped at the shocking sight. She looked at the three bloody bodies which surrounded her and heard the peril closing in on her. These bandits were merciless, and she did not want to imagine what they would do to her. Now she knew what it was like to be a helpless victim. As Kale vowed, she had actually smelled fear and death in the air, and its odor was foul in her nostrils. Carrie Sue knew she wasn’t anything like these heartless outlaws; yet, she wanted to gun them down! Dare she reveal who she was? Would it matter to them that she was Darby Stover’s sister, that she was the “Texas Flame?” If she exposed herself, probably they would take her with them and there was no telling what would happen to her in their camp!

Outlaws were galloping on both sides of the coach. The driver reined in and yielded only to be shot by the bandit leader. Carrie Sue wished fervently she had her revolvers or rifle inside the coach. She was an excellent shot and her aid might have swung the odds in their favor. She knew better than to hide her money—no, Carolyn Starns’s money—even in her bodice. She knew better than to give the cutthroats any trouble. She knew from experience.

Suddenly she wondered if the handsome stranger at the relay station was in this gang, if he had been scouting the stage while pretending to eat. Would his presence help her?

During her brief distraction, the door was jerked open and Carrie Sue.was yanked outside. She lost her balance and fell, skinning her hands and dirtying her already ruined dress. Quickly she flipped to her seat and glared at the despicable ruffian, preparing to defend herself. She watched the man’s expression change upon viewing her face.

A lecherous grin revealed his perilous interest in her. “Whatda we have here? Seems this stage was carrying two prizes, boys. Get that strongbox while I have a look-see at this pretty thing.”

As the lawless bully bent forward to seize her, he was shot in the throat near his collarbone. His body fell past Carrie Sue, hitting the ground with a thud. The other bandits whirled to check out their danger, but not in time to prevent two more from taking lethal rifle bullets.

The rescuer, who was galloping toward them without fear or hesitation, nearly concealed behind his horse’s head, shoved his rifle into its saddle holster and drew two pistols. The remaining two outlaws fired at the lone gunman who rode to the side of his horse Indian-style and fired guns from either side of the animal’s neck. One bandit yelled in pain as his chest accepted two deadly shots.

The last man grabbed Carrie Sue’s wrist and yanked her to him to use as a shield and hostage. Wanting to protect herself and to aid her defender, she fought the cowardly villain like an unleashed wildcat as he struggled to control her while defending himself. Their actions caused her braid to fall. He cursed her and threatened her, but she did not let up on her attack of nails, fists, and kicks. As his hand tried to band her chest to imprison her, his rough fingers snagged the edge of her bodice and, as she attempted to escape his grasp, popped off several buttons and scratched her tender flesh. Provoked further, she whirled on him and landed a fisted blow to his mouth. “The Devil take you, you bastard!” she screamed.

Carrie Sue broke free and scrambled beneath the stage to give her rescuer a clear shot at him. She knew the bandit didn’t have many more bullets in his two revolvers and he was winded from his fight with her. As he damned her to hell and scurried behind the coach for cover, she saw him shove an emptied weapon into one holster.

She kept her gaze on the nearby bandit and shifted her position as he did. Hurriedly her mind plotted how to help defeat this killer. She risked a quick glance at her rescuer, but he had dismounted and rushed behind a tree which was too small to offer much protection. Yet, the faded gray shirt and ebony head were familiar. Excitement traveled through her. She saw him duck a bullet, and knew she could not allow the bandit time to reload his weapons. She looked about for a rock or stick; none were available. If she tried to climb on the driver’s box or into the coach to get a weapon, the outlaw would hear and feel her movements. Then, she spotted a dead outlaw’s pistol not far away.

Carrie Sue checked the bandit’s stance which said he was peering around the back of the stage. Rapidly she scooted toward it. Her rescuer fired several times. Obviously he had seen her action and was giving her time and cover by distracting the ruffian. Seizing the weapon, she turned and fired beneath the coach at the man’s legs.

He yelped in pain and staggered into the handsome stranger’s view. The raven-haired man jumped into the open. His right hand cocked the hammer and his left hand pulled the trigger in one fluid motion which required no more than a split-second. The last bandit was slain.

The smokey-eyed gunslinger with whom she had eaten breakfast shoved his revolvers into their holsters and stalked forward in a purposeful stride, a black stallion trailing him out of love and protection. He glared at her and shouted, “That was a stupid thing to do! You could have gotten killed! Why didn’t you stay under the stage?”

Distressed by the mayhem of the day, and angered by his ridiculous attitude, she shouted back, “If you had gotten yourself shot playing the hero, I would have been in deep trouble by now! I couldn’t take a chance on your being killed for helping me! I wasn’t about to let that ba…beast get his hands on me again!”

The man glared at her as if no female had ever dared to argue with him, and she glared back. His left thumb tipped up his hat and that obstinate ebony lock fell over his forehead once more. He sighed loudly in annoyance and shook his head. “What about the others?” he finally asked.

Carrie Sue knew he meant the people inside the coach. “All dead.”

He rubbed his jawline as if saving her l. . .