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PROLOGUE
South of Dodge City, Kansas—May 1876
The cattle were destroying everything: the apple tree she’d sheltered in the back of the wagon during the long journey from Virginia; the fence she’d devoted weeks to repairing over the winter, patching its haphazard frame with scraps of deadwood; the vegetable garden she’d sown during the first whisper of spring and painstakingly coaxed to life every heartbeat since. All trampled, devoured, gone.
Sadie glared at the beasts, eyes burning with tears of hopeless rage. They were thin, ugly creatures, their spindly legs culminating in cloven hooves, their heads wielding heavy horns that twisted out of their skulls in long spikes. Texas longhorns, the Devil’s helpers. In the middle of them rode Lucifer himself, sent straight up from Hell to torment her and tear away everything she’d slaved to build.
She tracked the long-legged, solid-built cowboy as he steered his horse through the milling beasts, angling toward her and her father…and their sod house which, she conceded with another burst of fury, was also in danger of being leveled by the heaving mass of cattle. The intruder, like all the other Texas drovers, was covered in a layer of trail dust so thick it hung on him like a second skin. But it was one of the few things he and the other men had in common. While the rest hollered and cracked whips over the backs of the beasts in their charge—trying to persuade them to return to the trail—this man urged his mount through the river of hide and horn, making a beeline for her.
It infuriated her that this stranger was so silent, guiding his horse with so little effort. As the distance between them shortened, unease crept up her spine. His gaze was unwavering, never leaving her.
She swallowed, tightened her fingers around the ancient shotgun clutched at her side, and concentrated on her anger and frustration, transferring them from the longhorns to settle solely on him. She did not want him to come any closer. Yanking the shotgun up to her shoulder, she took aim. The cowboy straightened in his saddle but otherwise did not acknowledge her hostile action. Nor did he slacken his pace; if anything he bore down on her even faster.
Damn him to hell. Her finger tightened on the trigger.
Something slammed down on her shotgun, pitching the rusted barrel earthward. The buckshot tore a savage gouge out of the clay in front of her, kicking up a cloud of dirt. The blast rocked her and forced her stumble back.
Her father’s red face inserted itself between her and the cowboy. With a curse, he jerked the weapon from her numb hands.
As she stood gawking at him the cattle, spooked by the shotgun blast, bolted—fast and in every direction. And her father sprinted toward their lone plow horse, vaulted onto its back and galloped off.
Typical. She shouldn’t have expected anything different from him. She was alone and unarmed in the center of the herd.
I’m going to be trampled. I’m going to die.
Time suspended as she contemplated her life ending. She felt nothing. All her hard work had been obliterated in a blink and she could not summon the will to fight back, to face the prospect of starting over. If this was the end, so be it.
The bawling cattle and thundering hooves were deafening. The heat of their breaths hit her first, then their bodies. Walloped square in the chest, her lungs compressed and she was knocked off her feet. The surge did not wash over her. Instead, a solid hand caught her about the waist, jerking her up until she crashed into an immovable wall.
She sucked in air and immediately wished she hadn’t. Pain pierced her ribs, making her groan. Dust billowed, shrouding the air, blinding her. Through slitted eyes she realized her leather-clad perch was already covered in a thick blanket of dust…and she was being pressed tightly against it. Frowning, she struggled to raise her head and discovered a square, beard-stubbled jaw directly above her.
Lucifer—in the disguise of a Texan cowboy—held her in his lap as waves of cattle buffeted his mount, his grip on her solid but not bruising as he guided them to safety. When they had cleared the beasts and the noise level dropped a notch, he peered down at her. Eyes like warm whiskey stared at her from an angular face etched with concern.
“Are you hurt?” His voice was low and ragged; his breath fanned out in bursts, caressing her face.
Her world tilted and the air once more left her lungs. She forced herself to remember he was responsible for destroying everything she held dear. Anger flooded her, pushing away all other thought, the same way his herd had crushed her dreams.
She curled her fingers into a fist and hit him as hard as she could in the stomach. Pain ricocheted up her arm. He did not budge. He merely blinked, his brows lowering. Infuriated by his lack of response, she unleashed a flurry of hits, striking him with her fists, elbows and feet.
Beneath them, his horse spooked, whinnied shrilly and reared up.
Blind to everything but her need to make him hurt as much as she did, she launched her entire body at him. They tumbled from the horse and struck the ground hard, him landing first on his back, her on top of him. His breath left him in a grunt of surprise, but his hands remained locked around her waist. She scrambled to her knees before he pulled her back down. Twisting and turning, she tried in vain to break free of his grip.
“Hold still. I’m trying to help you. You’re gonna get us both killed.”
His voice caught her off guard, stilling her. The tone was rough and demanding, edged with a husky note of pleading. Its undercurrent tugged at her. She'd thought he'd destroyed all she had, but she was wrong. He'd take her heart, too, if she let him. Bewildered, she shook her head and vowed to never give it to him.
“Trying to help?” she yelled, slamming a fist down on his chest. “Do you know how long it took me to plant that garden?” She hit him with her other hand. Exhausted, she wondered if he even felt her punches, which angered her beyond reason. “You’ve destroyed my entire life!”
She pounded out her fury on him until she couldn’t lift her arms. When she stilled he shocked her by gathering her close, drawing her into the curve of his body, pulling her head down onto his shoulder. His touch was gentle and reassuring; his palm cradled the back of her head while his fingers smoothed the wild tangle of her hair.
His tenderness was her undoing. No one had held her with such care in a long time. Not since her mother had died. Great sobs shook her and she hid her face in his shoulder, unable to stop her tears.
He remained motionless until her shoulders ceased shaking, then stroked the rough pads of his thumbs across her cheeks and tucked her snarled tresses behind her ears. Her stomach squeezed into a knot and she hunched her shoulders, burrowing her nose into the tear-dampened wool of his jacket. The smell of him—masculine and earthy—infused her senses with longing.
“If I could undo the damage, I would,” he whispered against her ear, his voice soft and husky; silk and sand. Together with his breath, hot against her skin, it unleashed a storm in her belly, like a herd of pronghorn antelopes suddenly spying a mountain lion.
She jerked away, scrambling off him. This time he didn't move to stop her. She didn’t go far, though. She didn’t have the energy. Sitting stiff-backed beside him, she stared blankly at the rubble that had once formed her home. The salt of her tears stung her skin and her eyes ached, mirroring the pain in her soul.
His stiff leather chaps creaked as he stood up and stepped closer. The din associated with the longhorn herd had faded, the cattle having returned to the trail, once again heading north toward Dodge. The drover didn't follow them, nor did he touch her. The heat of his body did, though, intensifying the strange fluttering in her stomach.
“It can be rebuilt.” The words were spoken plainly, without a trace of doubt. Maybe such things were possible in his world but not in hers.
A harsh, bitter bubble of laughter burst from her, and she bit down on her bottom lip. She wouldn’t let him see how much he’d hurt her. See that a scream was building inside her. One so big that, if she let it out, she was certain she would shatter.
“Easy for you to say,” she replied between clenched teeth.
He sighed. “I know it won’t be easy, but I can’t undo what’s happened.”
You have no idea! her mind screamed as she watched her father steer the aging swayback mare toward them.
She lurched to her feet. Behind her the cowboy placed a callused hand under her elbow but she shrugged off his hand, refusing to look at him. She glared at her father instead, dreading what was certain to come. She knew him too well—his manipulative mind, his greed and his lack of love for her, his own flesh and blood.
But when her father reached them it was the cowboy who spoke first. “It’s a right shame, my herd moving through your homestead like that, Mr.—?”
“Sullivan. Timothy Sullivan. And yes, it is.”
What her father lacked in stature he made up for with a classically boned face and thick silver hair. With looks like that and his smooth talking tongue, he really should have pursued a career in the theater. Then maybe he could have made a contribution to their meager funds instead of being a drain on whatever she earned. Unfortunately, he was more interested in drinking and gambling.
He eyed Sadie briefly, then turned to the man standing next to her, his familiar features settling into a look of mournful loss. “Me and my daughter worked hard building the place.”
Liar!
He hadn’t expended a single minute on their farm. He’d left that all up to her. She cringed at his charlatan nature, knowing he would ply the cowboy with a consummate actor’s skills, trying to extract as much compensation as he could for something he had no part in creating.
The cowboy surprised her again. “I’ll compensate you fairly for your loss, Mr. Sullivan. It’s the least I can do for you…and your daughter.”
Not wanting to see any more, she turned away, but couldn’t block out the scrape of his footsteps, the jingle of his spurs, as he approached her father. They rang harsh and brass against the tender earth of her home. He murmured something, deep and gravelly, that she couldn’t catch. But she heard the shock and surprise in her father’s gasp.
“You are most generous, sir!”
She spun around, saw the stack of greenbacks in her father’s soft, white hands. Her heart plummeted and the starch went out of her spine. She looked at the cowboy, her eyes burning with unshed tears.
His brows drew together and he took a step toward her. She took one back, shaking her head, forcing all the emotion from her heart and, she hoped, from her face. She turned and kept moving, away from him, to where her home had once stood.
Giving that much money to a compulsive gambler was a sure-fire recipe for disaster. It would be gone come morning…and so would her future.
CHAPTER ONE
One year later…
“Here they come, ladies,” announced Gertie Garrett, madam and sole proprietor of the Northern Star Saloon.
Sadie didn’t bother to reply. None of the women beside her did either, though they pushed forward, crowding the balcony railing, eager for a closer look. Sadie stayed where she was, folding her arms and leaning back against the rough-hewn wallboards of the Northern Star’s second floor.
Yes, once again here comes the Devil and his pointy-horned associates.
It still amazed her that one of God’s simple creatures, a longhorn steer, could be the root of all of her woes. It wasn’t just one animal that had put her on the road to ruin, it was thousands of them...and the men who drove them up the Chisholm and Western Trails from Texas. Within days the cattle would be shipped off to Chicago, but the men would stay, intent on whooping it up and spending their wages. Soon there would be more Texans in town than locals.
But right now the first herd of the season was being driven straight up Dodge’s Front Street to the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe rail station.
Tradition.
More like hogwash.
The town founders indulged the Texas drovers in every way possible. If questioned about any disturbance, they staunchly recited the settlement’s motto of “live and let live.”
Sadie stared at the mass of animals being squeezed up the street by the fifty or so cowhands. The hickory planks beneath her feet shook with the beasts’ pounding steps, causing a dull vibration to take up residence in her bones, while their bawling calls made her ears ring. She struggled to compose herself, to fight down the urge to scream, Go back to where you came from!
The other women on the balcony were aflutter by all the fresh meat—the two-legged kind. Sadie may not have shared the enthusiasm of the ladies working at the Northern Star, but that’s where her rebellion ended.
After all, she reminded herself, they were the same.
They were whores.
***
“I’m glad you saw fit to return to our fair city, Mr. Ballantyne.”
Robert Wardell's simpering words grated on Noah. He had no interest in what the rich cattle baron thought or didn’t think.
“Only here as a favor. Mr. Adams owns the herd,” Noah muttered, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at his friend, Lewis Adams. “If you want to buy the cattle, talk to him. This time ’round, I’m only a trail boss.”
Noah hoped that would be enough to discourage Wardell. He didn’t like him, didn’t want to talk to him. The man was too full of himself, loud and brash as a jaybird. There was nothing overstated about Wardell’s countenance, though. His eyes were a watery blue, his chin non-existent, the flesh of his neck loose and sagging, like the wattle of a turkey.
Luckily, Noah’s words had the desired effect. Wardell dismissed him, turning eager eyes and a wide smile toward Lewis. “Welcome to our town, good sir,” he warbled. “We’re glad you chose our humble rail stop for shipping your herd. It’s an honor.”
Lewis laughed. He was an unflappable, easy-going man. He hadn’t lost his temper once during the two months it had taken them to inch up the six hundred miles of the Western Trail. Noah couldn’t say the same for himself.
“How could I resist, after your trail agents arrived in Kerr County enticing us with tales of Dodge City’s unrestrained hospitality?” Lewis responded.
Wardell beamed, thrusting his chest out like a bantam rooster. “Did they exaggerate?”
The town hadn’t changed much in the year since Noah had last seen it, only gotten more crowded. Its dusty corridors swarmed with life: a handful of bankers, blacksmiths, merchants, grocers…and a horde of Texas drovers with their wide-brimmed hats and stack-heeled boots inlaid with a lone star. Fresh-faced youths, hardened trail bosses, dandified cattle barons. Men of all sorts but mostly that—men.
Since their arrival, Noah had been searching Dodge’s streets, but he hadn't found her. No elfin redhead with blazing emerald eyes.
In the last miles before Dodge they’d ridden right by her farm and he hadn’t been surprised to find it abandoned and sinking back into the earth. Last year, he’d had no idea how hard the cattle drives could be on the small farms between Texas and Kansas. Many a farm went under when their crops were trampled and their cattle fell ill with fever from the longhorn tick. It ate at his conscience that he'd been the reason for her farm's demise.
Hoping to find Timothy Sullivan’s daughter in Dodge was a long shot, but he couldn’t stop himself from searching.
He cleared his throat, reluctant to engage Wardell in further conversation now that he’d shifted the man’s focus to Lewis. “How’re your local folk holding up?” he asked, continuing to scan the crowd.
“As you can see, the town’s prospering.”
“Was wondering more about those outside of town.”
“The sod busters?” Wardell’s voice overflowed with scorn. “Don’t concern yourself with them. They’re a dying breed in these parts. I’d much rather do business with a free-thinking Texas rancher than an uncouth Kansas farmer.”
“Free-spending, don’t you mean?” Noah remarked without any real interest in the answer. Then he grimaced. Leave it alone, he told himself, hoping he’d find enough sense to say no more.
Wardell shrugged. “One has to make a living. I buy and sell cattle. I also helped build this town and I don’t want to see it go to ruin. I’m a businessman first and foremost and there’s no business to be gotten from a farmer. They’re a worthless lot, Mr. Ballantyne. Clear your mind of them and turn it to our saloons. I’m sure after those long months on the trail you and Mr. Adams could use a little comfort, yes?”
Lewis looped an arm across Noah’s shoulders. “Mr. Wardell makes an excellent suggestion. Let’s get off this hot dirty street. Whatever you’re searching for can surely wait a few hours.”
Noah shrugged off his arm. “I’m not searching for anything.”
Lewis snorted good-naturedly, then he leaned closer and his voice lowered. “Noah, save the bullshit for someone who hasn’t known you half your life. You haven’t been the same since you came home from Dodge last year. I was surprised when you agreed to help drive my herd up. Whatever your reasons, I’m grateful and I’m not complaining. You don’t have to tell me what you’re looking for, but how about taking a short break?” Lewis grinned. “Who knows, maybe we’ll find what you’re searching for in one of the saloons.”
Noah shook his head. “Not a chance in hell.”
He was looking for a farm girl, not a strumpet.
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