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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2019 by Rosanne Bittner

  Cover and internal design © 2019 by Sourcebooks

  Cover design by Dawn Adams

  Cover image © Tetra Images/Getty Images; Volka Vera/Shutterstock

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  sourcebooks.com

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Thirty-five

  Thirty-six

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  One

  August 1869

  Kate ducked into the tall grass as soon as she heard men’s voices. She slowly crawled to get close enough to listen, then parted the dense, yellow blades to see five rough-looking men gathered around a lonely, half-dead cottonwood tree. One of the men raised up in his stirrups and flung a rope over the biggest branch left on the leafless tree, while another, guarded at rifle point, sat astride his horse with his hands tied behind his back.

  Dear God, are they going to hang that man?

  In the distance, about twenty head of cattle and a pack horse grazed, unconcerned about the terrible event about to take place. All five men shouted at each other, but Kate could distinguish only bits and pieces of their conversation.

  “Hang…son of a bitch!”

  The man whose hands were tied was angrily and desperately yelling back at them. “I didn’t steal—”

  “Makes no difference—”

  “Murdering bastards!”

  If she were a man, with a weapon and a horse, Kate could at least ride down to the site to see what was going on and maybe talk the men out of the hanging, but whether what was happening below was lawful or lawless, what could a thirty-two-year-old woman, with nothing more than the clothes on her back, do against five men? She didn’t even dare show herself. This was pure outlaw country. There wasn’t a man around who could be trusted to help and not harm.

  Was the poor soul about to be hanged innocent or guilty? And did it really matter in this lost world of lawlessness? All around them, massive and endless mesas stood guard over a valley that stretched so far into the distance that she couldn’t even see the end of it. It would probably take a week of nonstop riding to escape this place. How many weeks would it take to flee on foot—her only way out?

  She’d never seen such big country, such endless horizons, nor had she ever felt so far removed from civilization…so dreadfully and completely alone. She’d read somewhere that canyons and strange rock formations like this were formed by water cutting a path through the land—probably a million years ago, when dinosaurs roamed the earth. She felt caught up in that past. Did civilization still exist beyond this vast chain of buttes and mesas?

  She watched with a sinking heart as one of the men led the man with his hands tied under the noose and placed the rope around his neck. Kate put her head down, unable to look. Strangely, the worst part of this was wondering how close she might be to food and water, to men who might be able to help her find her way out of this god-forsaken country and back to safety. But she’d rather die from thirst and hunger than to suffer the things four desperate, lonely men might decide to do with her if she showed herself. They might even kill her for witnessing what they were about to do.

  She heard more shouts and strained to hear the doomed man swear his innocence.

  “I paid for those cattle!”

  “Thief!”

  “Rustler!”

  “You’re the outlaws!” he snapped.

  Kate jumped and almost cried out when a gun was fired. A couple of horses whinnied, and she felt literal pain in her stomach at the thought of what had just happened. Everything grew quiet, until one man yelled loudly, “Goddamn it! He isn’t dead yet.”

  “He will be in a couple more minutes,” someone answered.

  “Let the son of a bitch suffer.”

  “Let’s go!”

  Kate hadn’t watched any of it. With her ear to the ground, she heard the pounding of horses’ hooves, a sound that seemed to carry like thunder for miles through the earth. She’d learned from the wagon train guide how to listen for oncoming horses or buffalo this way. That guide was dead now, along with all the others she’d traveled with—even two children. She would always remember the guide telling her that out in this land a man could hear the thunder of horses’ hooves from miles away. Too bad old Gus hadn’t listened to the ground the day of their attack. They would have had more time to circle the wagons and prepare for a fight.

  As the thundering began to fade, she raised her head slightly. She heard whistles and shouts that sounded more like war whoops, but they sounded far away.

  She dared to lift her head higher. Three men were charging after the cattle in the distance, while one kept trying to grab the hanged man’s horse. It kept rearing up and yanking itself away, until finally the fourth man rode off after the others, who’d already stolen their victim’s pack horse. Kate thanked God they were all riding away from her rather than toward her. She noticed then that the hanged man’s feet were still kicking, and she grasped her stomach at the awful sight. “God have mercy on his soul,” she said softly.

  She again looked into the horizon of dry, yellow grass. The four men we
re still riding hard behind the cattle. They headed around the bend of a mesa, and soon men and cattle all disappeared. When Kate turned her attention back to the hanged man, she noticed that his feet were still moving. “Oh my God!” she groaned.

  Did she dare get up? Outlaw or not, she couldn’t bear the fact that the man was suffering horribly as his last bit of oxygen left him. He couldn’t possibly be a danger to her at the moment. He was, after all, just one man, and he would likely die before she could reach him. Besides, she needed his horse and supplies. A canteen hung from his saddle horn, and she saw a rifle strapped to his gear. The saddlebags lying over the horse’s rump were surely full of needed supplies. A gun belt lay on the ground. The horse and its supplies were her only hope of staying alive and finding her way out of this cruel, unforgiving country.

  It was now or never. She couldn’t let the man suffer any longer, and she had to grab his horse before it decided to run off. She stood up, lifted the long skirt of her dress, and started running through the tall grass. The sole on her right shoe had loosened from so much walking, and she stumbled as she ran.

  Everything around her was rocky and steep and treacherous.

  Finally, she reached the horse, which had already wandered several yards from where its owner still hung. She grunted as she climbed into the saddle, so weak she barely had the strength to pull herself up. She didn’t bother to shorten the stirrups. She just let her legs dangle and kicked the horse into a hard run, heading for the hanged man. She reached his limp body and gasped when she heard a horrible gurgling sound come from his lips. His face had turned purple, but his feet jerked gently in a sickening signal of dwindling life.

  The man’s eyeballs rolled back. Kate desperately searched for a way to get him down, then noticed that though he wore no gun, there was a knife in his belt. She leaned over and yanked it out of its sheath, then reached as high as she could and grabbed the end of the rope near his head.

  She strained to vigorously cut at the rope, and finally the knife sliced through. The man’s body fell with a thud onto a sandy patch of ground.

  Two

  Kate dismounted the horse and quickly tied it to a low branch of the hanging tree. She knelt beside the suffering man, who was still choking and gasping for breath. She yanked the rope from around his neck and threw it aside, noticing he was a big man, tall and solid. Could he even breathe?

  He made a chilling gagging sound, and although she didn’t know him, she wished she could take away his misery. “Mister? I want to help you.”

  He couldn’t find his voice to reply.

  Kate scrambled to retrieve the knife she’d dropped and then hurried back to where the man lay. She rolled him to his side and cut the ropes that held his wrists together. She pulled one arm forward and gently rolled him onto his back, then pulled the other arm out from under him. She reached under his neck and helped him arch his head back to open his airway as much as possible.

  He gasped in ugly grunts, a deep, grating groan that made Kate ache for him. “Try to relax,” she urged. “You’re getting air, so relax and slowly breathe in, mister. Keep breathing and let your throat open back up.” She sat down and moved her legs under his head to keep it raised, then began massaging the sides and back of his neck, trying to relax his muscles while at the same time avoiding the scraped, blood-tinged skin where the rope had produced an ugly ring around his throat.

  He struggled to put one hand to his chest and dig the other into the sand. His chest heaved as he forced himself to breathe in, over and over.

  “That’s it,” Kate told him. “Just breathe.” She studied his face, noting the purplish hue had eased. His skin was tanned, and the outer corners of his eyes were creased from weeks, months, maybe years of sun exposure. Who was he, and why was he out here? Was he guilty of rustling cattle, or maybe something worse? Could she trust him once he reclaimed his breath and strength?

  As she wondered, she observed him still. Beyond what must be only a day-old beard, his features were strong: square jaw, straight nose, full lips, a prominent brow. The high plains were cool today, and he wore a wool jacket over his broad shoulders. His hair needed cutting, but what man out here didn’t need a haircut? Towns with barbers and bathhouses were hundreds of miles apart, and in between, there was little access to water. Even so, this man didn’t smell of someone who seldom washed. She’d encountered that nose-twisting odor too often during the trip out here, and now she wondered about herself. After walking for three days through dry, hot country, she had no business worrying about someone else’s hygiene.

  For the moment, her priority was to get this man back to normal breathing. His dark-brown hair was almost shoulder-length, and she brushed errant strands from his face, wondering if it was the thickness of his hair at the sides and back of his neck that had protected him from the rope. His hair and the collar of his jacket might have saved his life.

  She shivered, the air suddenly chilling her. She remembered others telling her that the weather could change in an instant in high country, and that sometimes it even snowed this time of year. She was afraid to leave the man on his own yet, so she just hunched closer and kept coaching him to breathing. As she bent closer to stay warm, he opened his eyes and looked straight into her eyes.

  They were inches apart. They just stared at each other a moment until Kate suddenly straightened, not sure just how aware the man was of his surroundings, or of her.

  “Do you know where you are?” she asked him. “Do you remember what just happened?”

  He kept staring at her as though she were a creature from another world, confusion and pain in his gaze. “You…an…angel?” He gasped the words in a deeply strained, grating voice.

  Kate rubbed the sides of his neck again. “No,” she replied. “You are indeed alive, mister, and I’m lost out here. My name is Kate. I came across that awful hanging and hid until those men left. I saw that you were still alive, so I cut you down.”

  The man gasped again and made a sickening choking sound, then turned sideways and coughed up blood before turning back and relaxing his head on her legs again. He swallowed. “Sorry.”

  “You can’t help it.”

  “Your…dress.”

  “It’s already torn and filthy. You can’t hurt it. Just relax and keep breathing. Don’t get up yet. What’s your name?”

  He gasped for his next breath and bent one knee, then opened his eyes again and just stared at her a moment, still looking confused. He was silent, as though he wasn’t sure of his name, then closed his eyes again. “Luke,” he grunted. “I…need…water.”

  “Oh, of course! Can you sit up?”

  “Try…”

  “See if you can help me scoot you against the tree,” Kate told him. “You’re too big for me to do this by myself.” She helped get him to a sitting position, then moved behind him and grasped him under the arms, pulling at him while he used one leg to help push himself backward until he could lean against the tree. He started gasping for breath again, and Kate hurried over to his horse, taking a canteen from where it hung around the pommel of the saddle. She knelt beside him and uncorked the canteen, holding it to his lips. “Here. Try to drink, but be careful. You don’t want to start coughing if you can help it. I imagine it would hurt to cough and might even injure your throat even worse.”

  She tipped the canteen a little and let some water dribble into his mouth. He took hold of it then himself and took a bigger swallow.

  “Be careful,” Kate warned.

  Luke lowered the canteen and closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath.

  “Mister, I have to drink some of this, too. I’ve gone all day without water. The one canteen I managed to salvage three days ago ran empty last night.”

  Luke watched her as she took a long swallow of water.

  “I hope you have more than just this one canteen,” she told him as she recorked it and w
iped at her lips.

  “One…more,” he managed to choke out. “Inside…that satchel…tied to my…horse. Don’t want…other men to see it. Out here…men steal…water…horses…money…cattle…anything.” He groaned with pain then, grasping at his throat and bending over to take more deep breaths.

  “Is that what those men were doing?” Kate asked him. “Stealing your cattle?”

  Luke nodded. “Bastards! I’ll…kill…every last…one of them!”

  Kate wondered just how many men Luke had already killed. He seemed to have no qualms about killing four more. Maybe he would have no qualms about hurting or killing her, too. “First you have to learn to breathe again and get your strength back,” she told him, hoping kindness would save her. “I saw another jacket tied to your supplies. Do you mind if I put it on? I’m cold.”

  He studied her a moment, looking her over in that way a man had of telling a woman he liked what he saw. Kate scooted away a little, wondering if she’d gotten herself into worse trouble by helping him.

  “Sure,” he answered. “You…saved…my life, lady.”

  Kate rose and walked to his horse, untying the sheepskin jacket and pulling it on. It was far too big, and its sleeves hung down over her hands, but the sheep’s wool lining brought welcome warmth. She walked over to where Luke’s gun belt lay and picked it up, taking it to the horse and hanging it over the pommel of the saddle. She hesitated then, wondering if she needed protection. She took out the heavy six-gun and dropped it into a pocket on the jacket.

  The gun weighed down that side of the jacket awkwardly, but she had no choice for the moment. This was dangerous country, full of dangerous men. She turned to see Luke watching her.

  “No need…for that,” he managed to tell her.

  Kate walked around to gather some pieces of dead wood from under the tree. We’ll see, she thought. “I’ll build a fire,” she said aloud. “It will be dark soon, and it looks like we have no choice but to camp here for the night.”

  “I’m…grateful,” Luke said. “I…owe you.”

  “You don’t owe me a thing. I might have saved your life, but you’ve saved mine just by being here. I’m hungry and worn to the bone from walking, and I was getting desperate and terrified. I’m completely lost, so you need to live in order to help me find my way out of this godforsaken country.”