Carol Arens – Wed To The Texas Outlaw (страница 1)
She arched a delicately shaped brow.
“I am the woman who has a signed certificate of marriage. I’m also addressed as Mrs. Walker. I am the woman who has shared the loft with you, whose bosom you have slept upon.” She curled up her fists and pressed them against his chest. “That makes you my husband.”
“Not the one you deserve. I’m—”
“Mine.”
“No.”
But he was hers. Whether he ought to be or not didn’t change the reality.
Do you love stories of redemption? They are among my favourites.
To see our heroes and heroines face their demons and come out the better for it is deeply satisfying. To see them turn from an ugly past to walk in the light of love is at the heart and soul of courage.
In
May the spirited Melinda Winston charm you. May the outlaw Boone Walker steal your heart.
Wed to the Texas Outlaw
Carol Arens
CAROL ARENS delights in tossing fictional characters into hot water, watching them steam, and then giving them a happily-ever-after. When she’s not writing she enjoys spending time with her family, beach-camping or lounging about a mountain cabin. At home, she enjoys playing with her grandchildren and gardening. During rare spare moments you will find her snuggled up with a good book.
Carol enjoys hearing from readers at carolarens@yahoo.com or on Facebook.
In loving memory of Jim Reed, who never left home without his pocket full of dog treats. Brother, we will always remember you as a best friend to man’s best friend.
Contents
Buffalo Bend, Texas, October, 1883
In the courthouse of the Honorable Harlan J. Mathers, located at the rear of the Golden Buffalo Saloon
“Mr. Walker, do I have at least your partial attention?”
The edge of impatience in the judge’s voice snapped Boone Walker back to the here and now. He shifted his gaze from the woman seated beside his lawyer to the matter at hand.
“Beg pardon, Your Honor.” From his seat on the elevated defendant’s chair, Boone tried to direct his full attention to the proceedings but it wasn’t easy with the piano player on the other side of the thin wall practicing the tunes he, no doubt, intended to perform this evening.
To Boone’s mind it sounded jarring and cheap. Even though he’d lived a tawdry life on the run from the law, he didn’t care for the irritating sound.
“Keep in mind that we are determining your future,” the judge declared, glaring at him from under bushy gray brows. “The decisions made here might grant you your freedom.”
He doubted that. Even if Judge Mathers personally handed him the keys to his prison cell, he couldn’t imagine that he would ever really be free.
Public opinion had branded him an outlaw and that stigma would follow him forever; a dirty shadow that the brightest day would not diminish.
A gust of October wind blew a hail of yellow and red leaves past the courthouse window. Public opinion or not, he wouldn’t mind having these cuffs off his wrists so that he could gather a pile of autumn’s glory, toss it up and watch the leaves fly where they might and land where they pleased.
In spite of the judge’s admonition, his attention returned to the woman. The public at large had not been admitted to this hearing. Other than a few curious faces peeking through the dust-smeared window, there was only him, an armed guard, his tenderfoot lawyer and the lady.
And she was clearly a lady, as pretty as they came. She leaned forward in her chair, watching intently while Stanley Smythe paced and presented his case. Her eyes crinkled in concentration, a fine line creased her forehead nearly to her hairline. But it was the slight parting of her lips that intrigued him and kept his attention returning to her when it should be on the outcome of these proceedings.
Why was she here? He was certain he didn’t know her. The women he had been acquainted with his whole life had not been ladies—beginning with the wife of the man he had shot all those years ago.
“Let me present to you a boy, Your Honor.” His lawyer, Stanley Smythe, swept his arm dramatically toward Boone. The little man stood as proudly as his five-foot-and-about-three-inch frame would allow. “Imagine, if you will, the boy Boone Lantree used to be before he crossed paths with a certain kind of woman. What chance did he have against that cunning taker of innocence? A scarlet woman to the core? And she, along with a vagrant known to be intoxicated at the time, the only witnesses to the presumed crime, other than the defendant’s brother.”
“I’ve read your letter, Mr. Smythe, and might I point out that Mr. Walker is no longer a defendant but a convicted murderer?”
“Wrongly convicted, as you will see once I have presented the facts.”
The woman bobbed her head vigorously in agreement. A dislodged curl at her temple bounced with her nodding. Apparently the pretty stranger was aware of Smythe’s facts. He couldn’t imagine why she would be, though.
Couldn’t imagine why the young lawyer had taken a shine to his case, either.
He’d never even met the man until yesterday. But five months ago, the one-year anniversary of his conviction, he’d received a letter from Smythe asking to represent him in having his verdict overturned.
Since then they had corresponded by mail and he’d learned that the fellow wanted to make a name for himself.
Didn’t explain who the woman was, though. The lawyer’s wife maybe, but trying to picture them together...well, it didn’t seem likely.