The Outrider (Redbourne Series #5 - Will's Story) (3 page)

Several of the would-be spectators pushed their
way through the crowd and headed toward the now open barn door.

“Sorry, Will,” Mr. Jenkins, the shopkeep called
back over his shoulder. “My wife’ll have my hide if I don’t get back soon,” he
said apologetically as he rushed out of the building.

“I can’t be sure,” his mama continued, “but last
I heard, organized bare-knuckled brawls are illegal in Kansas.”

Will hoped his mother wouldn’t notice the quick
exchange of monies between the rest of the men in attendance as they hurriedly
made their way out of the barn, but he knew better. His mother didn’t miss a
thing.

He caught sight of the Norwegian just as he reached
the edge of the barn. Sven stopped near the entrance, his mouth opening and
closing in conversation with someone obscured by a tall stack of hay bales.
Will shifted his balance and twisted his head to see to whom the man was
speaking. After a moment, his little sister, Hannah, stepped into sight, a
smile touching her face.

Women.
He shook his head.
Fickle. The lot of them.

He’d seen it hundreds of times—women who changed
their minds like a leaf on the wind. How could he defend her honor when she
smiled at Sven like that? Encouraged him? She was too pretty for her own good.

At least, it seemed, his outriding partner had
apologized for his actions. As he disappeared from sight, Hannah caught her
brother’s eye and nodded at him with a grateful smile. He shook his head,
realizing that it didn’t matter what trouble she got herself into, he’d do most
anything for his little sister.

After Hannah retreated toward the house, Will’s
focus returned to his mother.  “Which marshal?” he asked, walking over to his
bench and reaching for his towel.

“Does it matter?” His mother followed.

“Yes, it matters.”

The last time Will had encountered a marshal, it
had been a few counties over and he’d embarrassed the man in front of a roomful
of young, eligible women—on one of whom the lawman had been sweet.

If a marshal really was on his way, and it was
the same man, Will might be in for a whole lot more trouble than anyone
suspected. Not all lawmen were as respectable as his brother, Raine. Or even
Rafe, who’d turned to bounty hunting after a woman broke his heart just a
couple of years back. And Will didn’t know enough about Marshal Fenton to know what
kind of man he was or if he could be trusted. He only knew he wouldn’t blame
the man for holding a grudge.

Will raised a brow, pain stabbing against the
back of his eye.

“All right, well, let me look at you,” Leah said
as she reached up and placed her hands on his shoulders, pushing him into a
seated position on the bench where he’d lain his clothes.

Will sat down, knowing what he must look like,
especially after taking that last hit. She would worry too much. He was sure
he’d looked worse.

“Oh, William,” she exclaimed, “your beautiful face.”
His mother tsked as she reached out and cradled the air beneath his chin before
gingerly placing two fingers against his jaw and lifted it upward. “Cole,” she
called to her youngest son, “go into the house and retrieve my poultice.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Cole and his friend, Alaric, both
jumped down off the bales of hay that had acted as seating for the unauthorized
event and headed for the house.

Will hadn’t intended to have a prize fight in the
barn, but somebody had needed to teach the scoundrel a lesson after he’d been
clumsy enough to knock Hannah into the pond, and then laugh at her. He figured fighting
in the barn would be better than a brawl in a saloon, but the disappointed look
on his mother’s face told him otherwise.

“Mama, I…”

“Shhhh…” she said quietly, sitting down next to
him on the bench, patting his leg. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

It wasn’t the first time Leah Redbourne had said
those words to him after a scuffle and he sighed as his mother fussed over his
injury. Will knew how hard it must be for her to try and understand his desire
to fight. Hell,
he
barely understood what drove him to fight—other than
he was good at it. And Redbournes loved doing what they were good at.

Will had been home just a few months shy of a
year from his studies at Oxford University in England, and had done nothing to
utilize his education. He’d had a taste of life outside the ranch and he wanted
more. Needed more. And that was precisely why he was leaving again. He’d been
taught from a very young age to take advantage of every worthwhile opportunity
and his next adventure was more than worthwhile.

He wanted to see the world. To explore. He’d
finally found the right ship for the right price. Soon, he’d make a name for
himself outside of the ranching community and he would make his parents proud
instead of constantly worried.

“Darius Fenton,” his mother finally told him,
pulling a cloth from her pocket and dabbing at his wounds.

Will’s brows scrunched together.

“That was his name. The marshal. Darius Fenton.”

Will winced.

“Sorry. Mrs. Jenkins sent her young Phillip with
a message as soon as the lawman stepped foot inside her store. We’re lucky the
man didn’t stop at the telegraph office first. Mrs. Hendersen would have
marched him out to the ranch herself.”

They both laughed. Will’s chuckle mixed with a
pained groan.

If Fenton was sniffing around, it didn’t bode
well. Of course, there weren’t many men who could go up against the Redbourne
clan unscathed. And other than Levi, all of his siblings were living in one
place or another on Redbourne Ranch.

Technically, he hadn’t broken the law. He was
settling a score with a man who’d disrespected his family. It wasn’t his fault
the fight had drawn the attention of many of the men from town and the
surrounding ranches who’d wanted to watch.

Will scoffed at his ability to rationalize. If
the marshal needed something from him, he would stand up and take
responsibility for any of his own actions.

Cole stepped back into the barn, breathing heavily
from running from the house. He twisted the lid from the small clear jar filled
with their mother’s special healing concoction and held it out for her, along
with a freshly filled bucket of water and a rag.

“Thank you, dear,” Leah said with a warm smile,
dipping her fingertips into the creamy substance. She stood and turned to face
Will, shaking her head and gently placing her hands over the wounds on his
face.

He clenched his teeth as she grazed over the cuts
and bruises on his jaw, cheek, and the sensitive area just below his eye, but
he refused to show discomfort—suddenly grateful his mother had not been in
England to witness the aftermath of some of his most brutal fights there. Some
of which even
he
wanted to forget.

Especially his last one.

Three
weeks later, Saturday

Glass broke.

The faint echo of Caspar’s bark penetrated the
barrier of Elizabeth’s restless dreams.

“What is it, girl?” she managed groggily, still
unsure if the sound had been real or imagined.

The barks grew louder and more frequent. She slowly
opened one eyelid, but quickly closed it again. The sun hadn’t risen yet, so
why should she?

The weight of Caspar’s body as the pup pounced on
top of her jolted her awake. Elizabeth’s eyes drew wide and the sweet stench of
wood-smoke filled her nostrils. She sat bolt-upright in bed. Thick grey swirls
of haze filled the room, lit only by the faint light of the moon. She coughed,
the smoky air burning her lungs as she drew breath. She threw back the covers
and jumped out of the bed and onto the chilly floor, pushing her way through
the haze toward the door.

Flames licked at the frame of the house, but the
stairs had yet to be touched. Elizabeth slipped down to the main floor, ran
into the kitchen, and grabbed her bucket of soapy water and a woven rug. After
several attempts to beat the flames down, Caspar barked a warning, grabbing
onto the bottom of her nightshift with her teeth, coaxing her from the burning
house.

“Oh, no,” she exclaimed, waving a hand in front
of her face. “My books.” An entire bookcase, full of her most prized works of
literature and study, was ablaze, scorched pages turned to ash and floated
menacingly through the air.

After a few more unsuccessful slashes at the
fire, Elizabeth dropped the singed rug and relented, coughing heavily as she
fought her way through the smoke into the kitchen. Caspar’s pups whimpered,
their high-pitched barks calling out to her. She swooped their basket into her
arms, grabbed a few of her favorite books off the shelf, an old pair of shoes,
and a shawl, then headed out to the edge of the front lawn with Caspar at her
side.

The coonhound barked again and ran back into the
house.

“Caspar!” Elizabeth yelled, the gesture like a
burning match against the back of her throat. Why would she go back into the
house?

A loud crack focused her attention to the spot
where her dog had disappeared inside the building.

Crash!

The greater portion of the roof over the living
area caved.

“Yelp!” the dog cried out in pain.

Then…nothing.

Elizabeth set the basket on the ground and leapt
toward the house, but the heat from the fire was too great. She waited, her
hands twisting in front of her as she listened for any sign that her only
friend may have survived the collapsed roof.

Still nothing.

Elizabeth dropped to her knees, unable to hold
herself up any longer as the building she’d worked day and night to turn into a
beautiful place she could call home was now consumed in flames. The heat from
the fire stretched the skin of her face. Her arms, covered in soot and grime,
her hands red and blistered, folded in her lap. She sat back onto the heels of her
feet and dropped her head, squeezing her eyes shut, pushing the tears that had
welled there to slip down her cheeks.

Caspar!
she grieved silently.

Her shoulders shook as sadness racked through her
at the tremendous loss before her. Her home. Her loyal companion and friend.
She opened her eyes and lifted her chin, staring helplessly into the rage of
devastation as it rose into the darkness of the night sky, etching her pain on
the black canvas with a pulsing orange haze.

Lord, help me. What am I going to do now?

She’d spent most of the money she’d brought with
her from England in buying supplies and materials to fix up the house and make
it her own, and the rest was now going up in flames, hidden inside a small box
of her mother’s with all evidence of her life in England. Everything she had in
the world would soon be nothing but embers on a plot of land in the middle of
nowhere.

A horse neighed nervously in the fire-lit night
air.

Luckily, the barn was far enough away from the
house that the animals would be safe. At least she’d have the buckboard that
she could sell in town. But, other than the few books she’d been able to
salvage, everything else she owned was in that house. She lay down against the
earth on her side, watching the flames from the fire burn her home until the
weight of her lids could no longer bear to remain open.

Voices soon filled her head and Elizabeth fought
to distinguish whether they were part of a dream or reality and strained to listen
to what was being said. Someone lifted her from the ground and she willed her
eyes open. A light fog blurred her vision, but in her exhaustion she saw the
impossible. The face of William Redbourne.

“Wi—
” she tried, but she could not get his name to
sound through her scratchy, dry throat.

“She needs water,” a woman’s voice finally broke
the haze of Elizabeth’s exhaustion. “Lie her down here.”

Elizabeth didn’t want to leave the comfort of
Will’s embrace. His strength. And she clung to him as best she could, but to no
avail.

“It’ll be all right,” he assured with a voice a
little deeper than she remembered. He gently laid her down against a wagon’s
hard wood back, his sudden absence causing a chill to pass over her.

Elizabeth’s lashes fluttered open again and she
looked up into the kindest green eyes she’d seen in a long time. She tried to
sit up.

“Welcome back,” a young woman said as she placed
a hand behind Elizabeth’s back to help. “I’m Grace.” She appeared to be about Elizabeth’s
age, her nightshift peering out from beneath her thick woolen coat. She wrapped
a large, heavy blanket around Elizabeth’s shoulders and sat down next to her in
the back of the buckboard.

Elizabeth glanced around, but it seemed that
Will’s face had been nothing but a mirage, a vision of her past catching up
with her. Haunting her. She tried to smile at the woman, but fearing she’d fail
completely, she simply nodded. “Thank you,” she finally managed with the best
American accent she could muster. She shivered against the cold of the unusually
crisp April night and snuggled deeper into the warmth of the blanket, breathing
deeply to help keep her calm.

“What’s your name, honey?” Grace asked quietly.

“El…” the rest of her name danced on the tip of
her tongue, but she wanted to rid herself of her father’s reputation and
everything he stood for. When she’d come to America, she hadn’t wanted to be
Elizabeth Archer, daughter of Sterling Archer, wealthy and distinguished fraud and
master crook. “Eliza Beth,” she offered instead. “Eliza Beth Jessup.” Jessup
had been the name she had used to purchase the home and it fell off her tongue
more easily than she would have expected.

“Did Ferg get out all right?” Grace asked, a
worry line appearing on her young forehead.

“Mr. Ferguson?” She needed to explain, but her
head still seemed a bit groggy. “Um, well, Mr. Ferguson sold me…us…me—Mr.
Ferguson sold
me
the house just a week or so ago. I haven’t seen him
since.”

“Were you alone?”

Elizabeth had a choice to make. She’d lied about
being married to buy the property and then again in an attempt to scare off
some ruffians, but somehow it didn’t seem right to keep pretending with this
woman who had been so kind. Lying about her name was one thing, but to pretend
she had or lost a husband was another entirely and she breathed out deeply with
a nod.

“It was just me and the dogs.” Relief washed over
her as she spoke the truth. It was as if the husband lie had been consumed in
the blaze.

“Do you have any family close by?”

What could she say?

“I…I don’t have a family…anymore. It…it’s just
me.” It wasn’t a lie, was it? She’d left. Hadn’t looked back. She hated the
stutter that accompanied her words.
You are stronger than this, Elizabeth Archer!

She reached up to the small gold pendant that
dangled from a chain around her neck. It had once belonged to her grandmother
and now served as a reminder of how strong she could be in the face of
adversity. She rubbed it between her fingers for strength.

“I’m so sorry, Eliza Beth,” Grace said, picking
up the corner of the blanket that had fallen from her shoulders and tucked it
tight up around her neck.

“How did you know that I was out here? That I was
in trouble?”

“My husband,” Grace answered with a smile. “He
said he had a feeling that something was wrong and I learned a long time ago to
never ignore a Redbourne gut.”

Redbourne?
Elizabeth gulped.
Husband?

“As soon as we stepped outside, we could smell
the fire. The blaze was big enough that it wasn’t hard to see it in the dark.”
She twisted enough to look Elizabeth in the eyes. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Elizabeth barely heard what Grace was saying as
she marveled over the revelation that it had been real. He
was
here.
Will Redbourne had indeed carried her to the wagon and he was…

Married.

Her heart dropped into her stomach and a fresh
wave of tears welled up inside of her—though she refused to let them spill in
front of a stranger, no matter how sweet she had been to her. Elizabeth could
not explain why the thought had affected her so. It wasn’t like she had a claim
on the man. She had never even met him in person. But, still, he’d inspired her
to be a better person and to stand up for what was right.

She stole a quick glance at Grace. Will had done
well for himself. Grace was beautiful. And kind.

“He’s just gone around back to get you some
water,” Grace said, pointing toward the back of the house. “My husband,” she
clarified. “He knows his way around this place. Helped Ferg out quite a bit.”

“Look who I found whimpering around back by the
pump.” The tall, blond man made his way to the back of the wagon.

Elizabeth’s focus fell to the animal clasped in
the man’s arms and not on the man himself. She didn’t know if she could bear to
look at William Redbourne, knowing he was now a married man. Regret clenched at
her chest. She’d had her chance to meet him and had walked away from it out of
fear.

“Caspar!” she gasped when she realized the
soot-stained leathery flaps hanging over Will’s arms were the coonhound’s ears.
She was alive!

Elizabeth jumped down from the back of the wagon,
her legs barely able to support her weight. As she stumbled, the man caught
ahold of her elbow and lifted until she was able to stand sturdy.

A welcoming bark tugged at her heart strings and
she rushed forward, wrapping her arms around the injured dog, ignoring the pain
in her hands as they rubbed against the man’s thick jacket. Caspar happily
licked her face in greeting. Despite her best intentions, Elizabeth fell on the
animal’s neck and began to sob, hiding her face from immediate view.

“Careful now,” his deep voice cautioned. “She’s
hurt. We’ll need to get these burns tended to quickly or they could become
infected. We’ll take her into Stone Creek tomorrow. The doc is not only good
with people.”

Reluctantly, Elizabeth pulled away and forced herself
to look up into Will’s face. An unsettling anxiousness filling the pit of her
stomach like a quarry of rocks.

“Thank you for finding her,” she said quietly.
“And for finding me.”

When the man looked down at her and smiled warmly,
Elizabeth was taken aback. This man was not William Redbourne. While they had
similar features and stature, Will’s eyes were a rich, dark brown with amber
hues and his jawline square. This man’s eyes were light—though hard to tell the
exact color in the dim light, and his face much narrower.

She breathed out a sigh of relief, though she
wasn’t sure why. She hadn’t seen Will since he’d returned home from England and
was not sure how he would react if he discovered who she was. After all, he was
not exactly on the best terms with her father after everything that had
happened. Not after the way he’d left things.

“Are you all right?” the stranger asked.