Seven Brides for Seven Texas Rangers Romance Collection

SEVEN Brides for SEVEN

Texas Rangers ROMANCE COLLECTION

7 Rangers Find Love and Justice on the Texas Frontier

SEVEN Brides for SEVEN

Texas Rangers ROMANCE COLLECTION

Erica Vetsch,

Amanda Barratt, Susan Page Davis, Vickie McDonough, Gabrielle Meyer, Lorna Seilstad, Kathleen Y’Barbo

A n Impr int of Bar bour Publishing, Inc.

Prologue ©2018 by Erica Vetsch The Ranger’s Reward ©2018 by Gabrielle Meyer More Precious than Rubies ©2018 by Lorna Seilstad Jesse’s Sparrow ©2018 by Amanda Barratt The Countess and the Cowboy ©2018 by Kathleen Y’Barbo Simple Interest ©2018 by Susan Page Davis Partners in Crime ©2018 by Vickie McDonough Guard Your Heart ©2018 by Erica Vetsch Epilogue ©2018 by Erica Vetsch Print ISBN 978-1-68322-494-5 eBook Editions: Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-68322-496-9 Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-68322-495-2 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.

All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., 1810 Barbour Drive, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com Our mission is to inspire the world with the life-changing message of the Bible.

Member of the

Evangelical Christian Publishers Association

Printed in Canada.

Contents Prologue by Erica Vetsch . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 The Ranger’s Reward by Gabrielle Meyer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 More Precious than Rubies by Lorna Seilstad. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77 Jesse’s Sparrow by Amanda Barratt. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141 The Countess and the Cowboy by Kathleen Y’Barbo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203 Simple Interest by Susan Page Davis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 257 Partners in Crime by Vickie McDonough . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 315 Guard Your Heart by Erica Vetsch. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 379 Epilogue by Erica Vetsch. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 441

Prologue

by Erica Vetsch

Hartville, Texas 1886

H

ugh Sterling hopped off the train, hand on his sidearm, ready for trouble. He squinted against the sun and the fine grit blown up by a stiff south wind, studying each face on the platform, checking for weapons, on the alert for an

ambush.

“We’re not in Comanche country, Hugh. Hartville is a perfectly respectable town.”

Etta, his wife, standing on the top step of the railcar, raised one eyebrow as he reached up to help her. “I doubt any outlaws are lurking behind mercantile windows.”

You never could tell. Satisfied that there was no immediate danger, Hugh swung his petite wife down, smiling as she adjusted her hat and smoothed her skirts. The breeze teased her hair, and even though the reddish-brown strands were now streaked with gray, he still thought her the prettiest gal in Texas or any other state you could name.

“Old habits.” Hugh shrugged and took her valise from the conductor. Placing his hand under his wife’s elbow, he directed her toward the shade of the depot’s overhang.

Though it was the first day of the new year, the sun was unseasonably warm even for south central Texas.

Etta watched the passengers leave the train, no doubt looking for the men under his command—“her boys,” she called them. “Whit should be here, shouldn’t he?”

“He’ll show.” Etta would be in nonstop motion until she had everything arranged, including her boys, the way she wanted. It was the same every time they came to a new posting. A tornado in petticoats, he’d heard one of his men call her—though not to her face.

“Captain Sterling.” Griff Sommer, the youngest of his troop of Texas Rangers, rested his hands on his hips. “Branch and Jesse said they’d wrangle the horses, and Ezra and O’Neal are bringing the baggage. What should I do?”

Griff was the only one of his rangers who still called him by his full rank and last name. Most of the company called him Cap, and some had been with him long enough to call him by his first name, but Griff was new. Hugh hadn’t encountered such an eager recruit since—well, since the last new recruit they’d had. What was it about the young ones, so full of energy, and even right out of the chute ready to whip their weight in wildcats and outlaws? And as with every new man who came under his command, Hugh only hoped Griff would live long enough to get the seasoning he needed.

“Find the telegraph office and see if there’s anything waiting for us. I’m expecting a wire from the governor.”

Griff frowned for an instant before nodding and smoothing out his expression.

No doubt fetching telegrams wasn’t quite the assignment he’d been hoping for, but one thing Griff would learn was that a ranger did the job in front of him, no matter how 9

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menial. And when he’d proven himself in the small things, he’d be trusted with bigger and more dangerous assignments.

Whit Murray strolled out of the depot, his strides as long and easy as his personality.

“Howdy, Cap, Miss Etta.”

“Ah, Whit, did you find us a place?” Etta asked. She tilted her cheek up, and Whit dutifully dropped a kiss onto it. She was usually all business, but her boys had better take the time to show the proper respect. Which they invariably did.

“Yes, ma’am. Right at the end of Main Street. Not far from the courthouse. Office downstairs, barracks up.” Whit pulled a toothpick from his pocket and stuck it into the corner of his mouth. “There’s a little house on the street behind that I rented for you and Cap. Far enough away so you can have some privacy, close enough that you can still keep an eye on us.” He grinned, familiar with Etta’s motherliness.

“Good work.” Hugh hitched up the saddlebags he had slung over his shoulder.

“Have you met the local sheriff ? Is he the same one as when you were here before?” Last week Hugh had sent Whit on ahead because Whit had been to Hartville in the past and was his best man for procuring things the company needed.

“I did. Same man.” Whit pulled off his hat and scrubbed his hand over his wiry blond hair. “Name’s Watson, and he’s an old-timer. Said he’d appreciate having a company of Texas Rangers stationed in Hartville. Didn’t seem to think we were horning in on his territory. I saw my old partner, Chisholm Hart too. Sure wish he hadn’t retired.

But he’s up to his eyes in ranching and kids now.”

“He’s a wise man.” Etta poked Whit in the shoulder. “It’s beyond time all of you boys were thinking along those lines. Not necessarily the retiring but the finding nice girls and settling down to raise some families.”

“Aw, Miss Etta, you know we’re all secretly in love with you. No other gal could compare.” Whit flashed her a smile, and she rolled her eyes, swatting his forearm.

Several cars back from the passenger platform, a horse whinnied, drawing their attention. A cloud of dust swirled high as a big blood bay clattered down the wooden ramp from the boxcar, wheeling on the end of his lead rope. Branch Kilborn circled with him, one hand on the rope, one hand held high to calm the animal. The horse rose on his hind feet, hooves pawing the air.

“Looks like Charger enjoyed his train ride as much as always.” Whit chuckled.

“Good thing Branch is dealing with the horses. He’s the only one that knothead will let near him. I don’t know why Branch insists on keeping him. He can be more trouble than a wagonload of barbed wire.”

Etta smiled. “I think it’s because when they get riled, they’re so much alike.”

Hugh shook his head. “Charger’s too stubborn to know when he should quit. I’ve never seen a horse that can cover more ground.”

“Like I said. They’re very much alike.” Etta gave Hugh’s elbow a little shake. “We need to move out. I want to be settled before nightfall.”

O’Neal Brewster pulled a baggage cart laden with bags and boxes of ranger equipment and belongings. Ezra Creed, pushing on the other end, called out, “Where to, Cap?” 10

Prologue “Follow Whit. We’ll be right behind you.”

Heading north, Whit turned onto Main Street, a wide road flanked by businesses.

Etta walked quickly, but Hugh knew by the time they got to where they were going, she would be able to name and locate every shop and store and business on either side of the street. She missed very little, and Hugh had come to rely on her powers of observation.

They came in especially helpful when dealing with his men.

Hartville was bigger than he’d expected, more settled. Hugh was glad. His job had taken him, and thus Etta because she refused to be left behind, to some pretty rustic places. At least in this posting she would be able to enjoy some of the benefits of civilization.

They passed a newspaper office and then a dress shop, and for the first time, Etta paused in her march to their new quarters. The front window of the shop held bolts of cloth, draped and billowed and tucked all fussy. There were ribbons and buttons and laces, and hanging dead center of the display area, a pink dress sprinkled with tiny yellow flowers.

“You’d look pretty as a rose in that one, Etta.”

She shook her head, giving him a pitying look. “That dress is a few decades too young for me. Can you imagine a woman my age in pink? You’re sweet, but you don’t know the first thing about women’s fashion.” She cast a longing eye at the ribboned and ruffled creation before turning away.

“You won’t get an argument from me there.” Hugh resettled his hat, taking note of the law office and the Hartville Hotel across the street. The hotel boasted a restaurant proclaiming “The Finest Grub North of the Big River.” A good place to eat tonight so Etta didn’t have to cook for all of them.

A few doors down, Main Street took a slight curve, and in the bend of the curve, between Giles Brown: Carpenter and a stagecoach company, Whit stopped in front of a two-story wooden building. From the looks of it, the place had been a store of some kind with wide windows flanking the double front door. But also from the looks of it, nothing had occupied the space for a good while.

Etta surveyed her new kingdom, a gleam in her brown eyes. “Whit, head to C&H Hardware and get me three galvanized buckets and a pair of washtubs, then head over to Mortenson’s Mercantile and get a broom, a mop, some scrub brushes, and soap.”

By evening, Etta had the office swept out, the bunks assembled and made up on the second floor, and most of her belongings unpacked in the little house on the street behind their new headquarters. Every man pitched in, following her orders. Branch took charge of the stable, Jesse the arsenal, and Griff ran errands to various shops. The others moved furniture, hauled wood and water, and stowed bags and supplies.

“Men, get cleaned up, and we’ll head over to the Hartville Hotel for dinner.” Hugh gathered a fat envelope of papers and dug in his saddlebag for a velvet pouch. “Meet us over there in a quarter hour.”

He and Etta went ahead, and he was pleased to procure a private dining room for him and his men.

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SEVEN Brides for SEVEN Texas Rangers ROMANCE COLLECTION

Jesse and Branch came in together a moment later, Jesse telling a joke, grinning and talking with his hands, while Branch listened, impassive. Branch’s dog, Jack, stuck

by Branch, observing the room, lifting his nose to smell the aromas coming from the kitchen next door.

“So I told him, ‘That’s what you get for aiming at his knee.’ ” Jesse’s laughter filled the room, and Branch’s mouth quirked into a brief smile, a rarity that only Jesse Rawlings could coax out of him with any regularity.

Ezra shouldered through the door with Griff on his heels. O’Neal, Whit, and Micah found their places around the table. Hugh seated Etta at the foot and took his place at the head. Branch sat at his right, as his second-in-command, but even he didn’t know their assignment just yet. Hugh hadn’t told anyone, not even Etta.

A large, aproned woman bustled through the door, her fire-red hair a tangled cloud around her face, though she’d scraped most of it back into a knot atop her head. “Howdy.

I’m Tillie, and I’ll be serving you. We’ve got roast, steak, chops, and stew. Everything comes with taters and beans, and there’s pie, both apple and sour cream with raisin.”

Each man around the table voiced their preference, and Tillie, hands on hips, wrote nothing down. Hugh had doubts about what they would receive, but Tillie surprised him. She was back within five minutes, carrying a large tray on her shoulder. Two other waitresses followed her in, carrying their own trays, and before the dust could settle, Tillie had flung orders onto the table, every man getting exactly what he’d asked for.

“Thank you, ma’am. Could you close the door on your way out? If we need anything more, we’ll send someone running.” Hugh nodded, and with a final sweep of the room with her bright blue eyes, Tillie herded her wait staff ahead of her and left them alone.

Hugh gave the men time to eat, not that they lingered over their food. Each ranger tucked in, following the unwritten rule of eating and resting when you could, because you never knew when the next opportunity for either would arise.

When they had their pie and coffee before them, Hugh reached down and picked up the fat envelope and bag from the floor by his chair. “Gentlemen, it’s time to get down to brass tacks.” He unrolled the thick wad of pages. “We’ve been reassigned to Hartville by the governor himself. Our top priority is to rid Texas, through capture or death, of Cass Markham and his gang of outlaws.”

Hugh paused as his words sank in. No one spoke, though some of the men looked from one to another. Griff ’s gaze sharpened, and he sat up a little straighter.

Cass Markham.

In the annals of American history, some names would be synonymous with villainy.

Jesse James, Sam Bass, Billy the Kid, and Cass Markham.

And for the past five years or so, he’d committed his depredations on the citizens of Texas from the Red River to the Rio Grande, eluding capture and mocking peace officers at every chance.

And he had a special fondness for killing rangers.

More than a decade ago, when the Texas Rangers had been reinstated after Reconstruction, Cass had tried to join up but had been refused, though Hugh never heard why.

12

Prologue Cass had borne a grudge against rangers ever since. To Hugh’s knowledge, three ranger deaths could be attributed directly to the Markham Gang, and probably more.

Hugh handed the bulk of the bundle of papers to Branch, nodding for him to look through them and pass them along.

“The governor chose Hartville because this seems to be the area most affected by Markham lately. I’m handing around the wanted posters of the outlaws we believe have joined Markham’s gang, though we know there are others. He’s recruited the best in several fields. Spyder Jackson, safe cracker. Arch Russell, powder man. Bass Tomkins, horse thief. And Markham’s got friends all over the state, cronies of his pa, Charlie Markham, who fought in the war with General Hood. He won a lot of regard by stirring things up with the carpetbaggers for a lot of years, and Markham trades on those old friendships for hideouts and supplies.”

Pages rustled as the wanted posters made their rounds.

Holding up the letter he had retained, Hugh scanned it. “There’s extra urgency behind the governor’s request. Two weeks ago, near Austin, a rancher was gunned down by some horse thieves trying to make off with his remuda.” Hugh paused. “The outlaws terrorized the man’s wife, bold enough to tell her who they were and boasting that no one would ever catch the Markham Gang. That woman is the governor’s younger sister.

The rancher who was killed was his brother-in-law. The governor is understandably riled. He wants regular updates, and he wants results.”

Branch glanced up, holding Hugh’s look. They’d been rangers so long together, Hugh often wondered if Branch could read his mind. The governor being involved in an investigation would be a mixed blessing at best. While he could open doors and bestow powers, he could also delay and hamper their efforts with his interference. Not to mention what the people of Texas might think if and when they found out that catching Cass Markham had only jumped to the top of the governor’s agenda when his own family was harmed. Branch raised one eyebrow and stroked his bearded cheek, eyes thoughtful.

“Tomorrow we’ll spend some time going over the reports of crimes we know can be attributed to Markham, and we’ll put together a battle plan. But for tonight, I have a little gift for you.” Hugh picked up the velvet drawstring bag and opened it. “I had these made for us before we left Austin.”

He flipped the first one over, read the name, and tossed it down the table to Griff.

“Silver ranger badges. You’ll see our name on the front, Company B, Frontier Battalion, and Texas Rangers, but if you look on the back, you’ll see your name.”

The next one went to Ezra Creed, who caught it deftly. “Thanks, Cap.” Hugh passed out the rest of the badges, noting that while Griff pinned his prominently on his chest, the others held theirs, turning them over in their hands, as if feeling the weight of the responsibility they represented more than the silver coin from which they were constructed.

“They’re made from Mexican cinco pesos. I know it’s a fairly new idea for rangers to wear badges, but I wanted you each to have them as we set out on this new assignment.

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And remember”—Hugh looked from one man to the next, brothers by choice and history if not blood—“if you are ever in trouble, all you have to do is send your badge to one of us, and we’ll come running.”

Hugh tapped his papers together, looking down the table at Etta. She hadn’t said anything, but then again, she didn’t need to. She knew the danger they were heading into, and that there was a real possibility that some of them might not come out on the other side.

14

The Ranger’s Reward

by Gabrielle Meyer

Dedication To my brothers-in-law and their beautiful brides.

Matthew and Hannah Meyer Michael and Katie Meyer

Acknowledgments Writing is often called a solitary pursuit, yet I find myself surrounded by friends and family who cheer me on every day. I’d like to thank my lovely agent, Wendy Lawton, of Books & Such Literary Management; my editors at Barbour Publishing; my talented writing friends Erica Vetsch, Alena Tauriainen, Lindsay Harrel, and Melissa Tagg who have words of encouragement the moment I need them; my priceless Street Team members; my writing group, MN N.I.C.E. ACFW; my parents, George and Cathy VanRisseghem; my husband’s parents, Virgil and Carol Meyer; and my church community who inspire me to write stories that glorify God. A very special thank you is always reserved for my husband, David, and our four children, Ellis, Maryn, Judah, and Asher.

Thank you for being my biggest fans and my greatest joy.

Chapter One Monday, January 25, 1886

G

riffin Sommer sat on his bay gelding at the crossroads outside Hartville, Texas, leaning on the saddle horn and looking long and hard down the road that would lead him away from town. He squinted as he glanced at the setting sun, guessing it to be past suppertime, trusting his growling stomach, which never lied. It had been a hard three-day trip to San Antonio and back. He’d left Ezra and O’Neal there to investigate a burglary that Captain Sterling suspected was tied to the Markham Gang.

Though Griff had wanted to stay and help, the captain had other ideas. He’d asked Griff to hurry back and check on Widow Prentis instead.

With a groan, Griff clicked his tongue and pulled on the reins to turn Bolt away from Hartville and all the comforts he’d been longing for. He just wanted a fresh shave, one of Miss Etta’s warm meals, and his narrow bunk. But Captain Sterling had asked this favor, and he suspected the captain would be disappointed if Griff didn’t oblige.

“I thought I’d be doing something that mattered once I joined Captain Sterling’s company,” Griff groused to Bolt. “Prisoner transfers, checking on old widows, and running a few errands to the post office aren’t what I had in mind when I planned on becoming a ranger.”

Bolt shook his head and snorted in understanding, twitching his tail for emphasis.

Griff smiled and leaned down to pat Bolt’s neck. “I suppose you haven’t seen much action either.”

They plodded toward the Prentis farm and Griff ’s tasteless errand. He’d worked long and hard to finally make it to Texas to learn, once and for all, if his father was the hero his mother proclaimed or the coward his stepfather despised. But the only man who could answer his question was the man who took Father’s life—Charlie Markham.

On old-time outlaw who hadn’t been seen in nearly a decade, though Captain Sterling believed he was still running with his son Cass.

It didn’t take Griff long to find the Prentis farm. He scanned the property as he made his way up the long driveway, surprised to find it well maintained and clean.

Maybe Old Widow Prentis had a grown son or two looking after the place—but if she did, why would Captain Sterling ask Griff to check on her?

The driveway led to the spacious farmyard, complete with a large white clapboard house on his left and a two-story barn on his right. A pigpen took up space near the barn, with a large sow lying in the mud looking at Griff with deep disinterest. Beyond the red barn, a corral held a pair of beautiful mahogany Morgans nibbling on the grass, 17

SEVEN Brides for SEVEN Texas Rangers ROMANCE COLLECTION

though their ears perked up when Griff and Bolt drew near the house.

From his initial impression, the place looked good—better than good. The paint on the buildings was fresh, all the fences were secure, and the roof of the house and barn were in nice shape. It was one of the finest farms Griff had seen, and he’d seen plenty.

He almost felt foolish coming to check on the widow. What could she possibly need help with?

The screen door opened and a young woman stepped onto the covered porch. Her blond hair was pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck with soft tendrils of hair dancing in the wind. She wore a white apron over a blue dress, which made her blue eyes stand out. The sun glinted off a gold band on the ring finger of her left hand, sending a twinge of disappointment through Griff.

“May I help you?” She spoke with a sweet southern drawl, different than the Texas drawl he’d been getting used to since leaving Minnesota behind.

Griff sat a little straighter in his creaking saddle and reached into his vest pocket to remove the badge Captain Sterling had recently given to him and the other members of Company B. The lady’s face became wary when he reached into his vest. She took a step toward the house, reaching for the door.

“No need for alarm, ma’am.” He dismounted and held Bolt’s reins as he walked toward the house, his badge displayed in his hand. “My name is Griffin Sommer. I’m with the Frontier Battalion of the Texas Rangers, Company B.” He slipped the badge back into his vest pocket and took off his Stetson, feeling a bit of pride at the title he’d finally earned. “Captain Hugh Sterling asked me to stop by and check on Old Widow Prentis, see if she’s in need of assistance.”

The young lady raised her delicate brows. “Old Widow Prentis?”

He didn’t like how she said old, but he nodded as he put his hat back on. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Mama!” A little boy ran out of the house and let the screen door slam as he stood on the porch, his hands on his hips. “Is this man botherin’ you, Mama?”

The young’un couldn’t be more than five or six years old, yet he glared at Griff with a scowl meant to intimidate. He’d be lucky to scare off a jackrabbit, with those big blue eyes and mop of hair. Griff tried to hide his amusement at the boy’s greeting, suspecting that he was trying to protect his mama, just as Griff had done a hundred times with his own mother.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Griff said to the lady on the porch. “I don’t mean to alarm anyone.

Just here doing my job.”

“And what is that?” she asked, putting her hands on the boy’s shoulders. “I don’t believe I asked for Captain Sterling to interfere in my business.”

“Your business?” Griff scratched the back of his head, causing his Stetson to tip forward over his brow.

“I am Old Widow Prentis, after all.”

18

The Ranger’s Reward She was the widow? Suddenly he suspected Miss Etta had more to do with this errand than the captain.

“And I’m Harrison Prentis,” the boy said, crossing his arms. “And we don’t need no help.”

“Harrison.” His mama shook her head. “Mr. Sommer was misinformed; no harm done.” She inspected Griff with the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen. “I’m just setting supper on the table. I’ll be happy to offer you something to eat, and then I’ll be just as happy to send you on your way.” She indicated her farm with a nod of her head. “As you can see, we have everything under control here.”

Her tone was confident as she lifted her stubborn jaw.

Griff ’s stomach rumbled again, and he nodded. “I’m much obliged at the offer, ma’am.” He was eager to return to Hartville, but he rarely passed up a home-cooked meal—or an invitation from a nice-looking lady.

Branch Kilborn’s warning sounded in Griff ’s mind. Women and rangering didn’t mix. How many times had he heard the seasoned ranger tell him that in the short month they’d been in Hartville? Griff would be smart to head back the way he’d come, yet what was the harm in one meal?

“Harrison,” Mrs. Prentis said, “please show Mr. Sommer and his horse to the barn while I finish setting the table.” She paused on her way back into the house. “Your horse appears as trail weary as you, Mr. Sommer. Why don’t you rub him down and give him some oats, let him rest up a bit before taking him back to Hartville.”

“That’s mighty generous of you, ma’am.”

She didn’t respond but stepped into the house and closed the door gently.

“This way,” Harrison said, tilting his head toward the barn like a grown-up might do and shoving his thumbs in his denim trouser pockets.

Griff turned toward the barn and slowed his stride so the little chap could keep up with him. He wasn’t used to walking so slowly. Almost everywhere Griff went, he went with purpose and drive, getting the job done as quickly and efficiently as possible. He sensed things were different with a child underfoot.

“So, it’s just you and your ma on the farm?” Griff asked nonchalantly.

“Yep. But we got us a tenant farmer who lives over yonder.” Again, he didn’t bother to point but simply tilted his head toward the north. “Mr. Griswold’s his name.”

It was clear the child spent his time with adults. Made Griff think of himself at that age. He’d always wished he had a brother or two, but it had only been him and his ma, then just him and his stepfather. No one else.

Griff unsaddled Bolt and rubbed him down, allowing Harrison to help—though Griff rarely let anyone near his horse. The animal could be temperamental around strangers, but the gelding simply looked at Harrison with curiosity instead of irritation.

After feeding Bolt, they left the barn and returned to the house. Harrison led Griff inside, and his mouth began to water at the aromas wafting out of the kitchen.

A fancy parlor sat to the left and a dining room to the right. Straight ahead was a set of stairs.

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Mrs. Prentis came through a swinging door, holding a platter of steaming meat. She must not have heard their arrival, because she paused in surprise on the way to the table, taking Griff in again.

It didn’t take long for her to find her voice. “If you’d like to wash up first, there’s a pitcher of water in the kitch—” Her words were cut off by the sound of pounding hooves on the road out front.

“Now, who could that be?” She set down the platter and wiped her hands on her apron. “I declare, we’ve had more visitors in one day than we’ve had all month.”

Griff followed her line of sight out the window just as a group of riders pulled into her drive. Windblown and dusty, they wore bandanas over the lower half of their faces and looked like trouble.

Lifting his Colt .45 from his holster, he spoke calmly to Mrs. Prentis. “Do you know them?”

She shook her head but didn’t answer as she pulled her son to her side.

Four rough-looking men came to a halt in front of the house. One was bent over, almost falling off his horse, while the other three dismounted.

“Stay inside,” Griff said to Mrs. Prentis. “And keep the boy with you.”

Mrs. Prentis seemed to dither for a moment, as if she wasn’t about to let Griff tell her what to do, but then thought better of it and nodded once.

Griff stepped toward the door, but before he could grab the knob, it swung open and one of the men stepped over the threshold. He tugged his bandana off his face, smoothing the curled tips of his handlebar mustache. He looked from Griff to Mrs. Prentis in one calculated glance.

“We have an injured man. Where can we put him?”

“Put him?” Mrs. Prentis bristled. “You can put him back on his horse.”

Griff lifted his pistol, but before he could aim it, the other man grabbed Harrison with one hand and pulled a gun from his holster and pointed it at Mrs. Prentis with the other.

“Hand over your weapon slowly, farmer,” he snarled at Griff, “or your wife and kid die.”

“He’s not—” Mrs. Prentis began to speak, but Griff shook his head to silence her.

The last thing he needed was for them to know he was a Texas Ranger. The longer they believed him to be a simple farmer, the better.

Slowly he lowered his Colt to the floor, never taking his eyes off the desperado.

With a gun pointed at Mrs. Prentis, and Harrison in the stranger’s grasp, Griff couldn’t start any trouble. Better to do what they wanted for now and find a way to get the widow and her son to safety later.

“Now walk away,” the outlaw said, “and stand by your wife.”

Two other riders hauled in the injured man. His eyes were closed, and blood dripped from a wound in his left shoulder. One of the men carrying him was also wounded, just beneath his eye on his right cheek, though it didn’t look as serious.

“Where should we put Red?” the man with the wounded cheek asked.

The leader looked at Mrs. Prentis. “Well?”

“Turn my son loose and I’ll tell you.”

20

The Ranger’s Reward He didn’t hesitate but pushed Harrison away, causing the boy to fall to his knees in front of Mrs. Prentis. She gasped and reached down to pick him up, a scowl on her face as she clutched her son close and started toward the stairs without another word.

“Do what she says,” the leader told them. “And keep a gun on her. She looks like a firecracker.”

They hauled Red up the stairs and out of sight. The leader kept his gun pointed at Griff while he reached down and lifted Griff ’s Colt off the floor. He put it in his holster and moved toward the table where the food was still steaming hot. “Looks like we’ve come to the right place.” Griff clenched his fists as the man dug in his pocket and pulled out a coin. He tossed it to Griff, a sneer on his face. “Payment for services rendered.”

The coin flipped through the air, and Griff caught it on instinct.

A cinco peso with a hole shot through the middle.

Griff ’s insides went cold.

He was holding the calling card of the Cass Markham Gang.

5 Evelyn held Harrison tight as she directed the outlaws to put the wounded man in the guest bed. She tried not to think about the bedsheets her grandmother had sewn for her when she had married, which would now be ruined from the blood. She tried not to think about four dangerous men in her home, one of them on the brink of death.

And she tried not to think about the Texas Ranger in her dining room, who had been mistaken for her husband.

All she should think about was how to get Harrison out of the house and to safety.

The outlaws had their back to Evelyn, and she used the opportunity to move toward the door, her son at her side.

“Where do you think you’re going, pretty lady?” The only man who wasn’t wounded stepped into her path, a half-smile on his wide face. He wasn’t very tall, but he was muscular, with a square torso and thick neck, making her think of a prizefighter.

Evelyn didn’t say anything as she stared back at the strange man. She didn’t owe him an explanation. This was her house.

“You need to take care of Red,” he told her. “He’s been shot.”

It was clear how the man on the bed had gotten his name. Thick, wavy red hair covered his head, with a matching red goatee. He didn’t appear much older than Evelyn, at the age of twenty-nine, but at the moment his face was drained of all color and he lay limp upon her bedding.

“Dusty,” the man with the cheek wound pointed at Red’s feet. “Take off his boots.”

“Who’s gonna watch the pretty lady, Willie?” Dusty’s smile was still trained on Evelyn.

Willie ran his sleeved arm over his cheek to wipe away the blood. He was a handsome man, with brilliant blue eyes and a baby-face complexion. Under other circumstances, he looked like he would be at the center of every good time—but not now.

Worry lined his face. “My pa’s not here, so you’ll need to take care of Red,” he said to 21

SEVEN Brides for SEVEN Texas Rangers ROMANCE COLLECTION

Evelyn. “It’s real important he don’t die.”

Evelyn bit the inside of her lip as she surveyed Red’s motionless form. Where did she begin? The only experience she had with the sick and dying was during the war when their plantation had become a hospital for the Confederate soldiers. But she’d been so young, she didn’t know how to treat a gun wound.

“Now.” Willie grabbed her arm and shoved her to the bed. “The man’s dying.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs as she pulled Harrison closer, almost losing her step.

“I don’t much care if I have to hurt you to get what I want,” Willie said with steel in his voice. “I won’t let Red die.”

Harrison began to cry, and she put her hand up to shelter him from the gruesome site. Her son had already lost his father—he couldn’t lose his mother, as well.

She spoke calmly for Harrison’s benefit and no other. “I want you to go to your room and stay there, do you hear?”

Fear filled Harrison’s beautiful eyes, but his face screwed up in anger and he fisted his hands, turning to the outlaws.

“Go.” She spoke in a stern voice before he could stand up to Willie and Dusty.

He hesitated for only a moment before leaving the room, first with a backward glance, and then at a run.

After she heard his bedroom door click shut, she unbuttoned her cuffs and rolled up her sleeves. If she was going to be in charge, then these men would have to listen to her.

She directed her attention to Dusty. “Do as Mr. Willie says and take off Red’s boots.”

Without waiting to see if he’d comply, she went to the head of the bed to examine the patient. One thing she recalled the surgeon doing when a soldier came in with a gunshot wound was to check if it had gone all the way through. If it hadn’t, he’d have to try to remove it, or it would cause infection for sure. Just the thought of trying to extricate a bullet from inside a man made her head swim.

“Here.” Willie tore Red’s shirt off his shoulder, revealing a bloody shoulder.

Evelyn grimaced as she put her hand behind his shoulder and felt around for an exit wound. His skin was slippery with blood, and she had to force herself not to gag.

But there! She felt another hole.

Quickly she pulled away and grabbed a towel from the washbasin, wiping her hand clean.

“Well?” Willie asked as he watched her closely.

“It went through.”

The look of relief on Willie’s face was plain. “He took the bullet while breaking me out of jail in Bendera.”

“You’re lucky we got you out before the rangers heard you were there,” Dusty laughed. “They would’ve been on you like a coyote on a rabbit.”

Willie seemed to ignore Dusty as he pushed his wideawake cowboy hat off his forehead. “I’d hate to see Red lose his life doing something for me.”

22

The Ranger’s Reward “He wouldn’t be the first.” Dusty tossed Red’s dirty boot onto Evelyn’s clean rug.

“Remember Gus? He took a bullet when we broke you out of jail in San Antone a couple years back.”

Willie scratched his whiskers. “Gus?” Evelyn used the towel to wipe the excess blood off Red’s chest, trying to ignore the conversation.

“And what about Mitch?” Dusty asked, sitting in the chair, propping his feet up on the bureau, apparently finished with his help. “He died near Waco after we broke you out there.”

“Why was I in Waco?” Willie asked, his arms crossed as he seemed to have forgotten about Red. “A woman, remember?”

“Woman?” Willie leaned against the bureau, wiping at the blood on his cheek again.

“What woman?”

“You was dallying with her, and her husband caught you. You shot her husband, and they was gonna hang you for it—but we got you out in time.”

Willie still frowned, but he nodded. “I think I remember that one.”

“You always end up in jail when you get too drunk.”

Evelyn’s pulse ticked higher with each report. These men were dangerous and reckless—and careless with the lives they took. They wouldn’t think twice about hurting her or Harrison—and that thought alone made her work faster on the man in the bed.

The sooner she was done, the sooner she could find a way to escape with her son.

The only thing she had in her medicine cabinet was headache powder and cough syrup. She didn’t even keep whiskey on hand. All she had to clean the wound was water, so she sent Dusty to get some from the pump outside. She found an old sheet and had Willie tear it into strips, which they used to bandage the shoulder.

The whole while, Red remained unconscious.

When she was done, she washed her hands as best as she could in the basin, and walked toward the door.

“Where you goin’ now?” Dusty asked her.

“I’m going to speak with that man downstairs and tell him Mr. Red is ready to leave.”

“His name’s Cass,” Willie said, a bit of pride in his voice. “My big brother.”

Evelyn stepped into the hallway with Dusty and Willie on her heels. She descended the stairs with as much decorum as she could manage and found Mr. Sommer standing in the dining room with Cass seated at the table, his gun pointed at the ranger, eating the food Evelyn had prepared for her and Harrison’s supper.

She and Mr. Sommer shared a glance, but then she turned her full attention on Willie’s brother, who seemed to be the one in charge.

“Mr. Red will live,” she said. “I’ve cleaned and bandaged his wound.”

Willie and Dusty went to the table, eating right out of the serving dishes with their hands.

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SEVEN Brides for SEVEN Texas Rangers ROMANCE COLLECTION

Evelyn tightened her lips as they devoured her food. What gave these men the right to take what wasn’t theirs and come into a home they didn’t own? She couldn’t fathom their behavior.

“I’ve seen men stronger than Red bleed to death if they’re moved too soon.” Cass stood and lifted his Stetson off the table. His eyes were cold and calculating as he looked between Mr. Sommer and Evelyn. “I’m going to leave Willie and Dusty here with you until I get back from Laredo. That should give Red some time to recover so we can move him.”

“Leave him here?” Evelyn gripped her apron in her hands. “You can’t leave him.”

Mr. Sommer walked around the table and put his arm around Evelyn’s shoulder, as if he’d done it a hundred times before. She stiffened under his hold. Her first instinct was to pull away from the stranger, but she forced herself to stay in place.

“Don’t worry,” Mr. Sommer said in a soothing voice. “We’ll be fine.”

She wanted to protest. How would they be fine?

“Dusty and Willie will guard every step you take,” Cass continued. “They won’t hesitate to shoot if you try to escape and warn the authorities.”

“Cass heard there’s a company of Texas Rangers in Hartville who aim to get him hanged.” Willie laughed as he took another slice of roast beef. “I think he’s scared.”

“Shut your mouth, Willie.” Cass narrowed his eyes on his brother. “Or next time you’re in jail, I’ll leave you there.”

Willie’s eyes sparkled with humor, but he didn’t goad his brother anymore. Instead, respect and maybe a little fear played just under the surface of his countenance.

Cass started toward the door, and Dusty turned to him. “When will you be back?”

“I’m heading to Laredo to meet up with Maggie and the others, and then I’ll come back and pick up Pa on the way. He’ll know if Red’s healed enough to move.”

Mr. Sommer’s arm tightened around Evelyn at the mention of Pa. “Don’t do anything foolish, farmer.” Cass must have noticed Griff tense. “Or you’ll end up like Red.” “What’s wrong with that?” Dusty asked, eyeing Evelyn from head to toe. “It’d be easier if the farmer was out of the way.”

Cass leveled a cool gaze on Dusty. “Last time you messed with a woman, you got the governor breathing down our necks.”

Prickles of fear ran up the back of Evelyn’s arms and neck. What would she have done if Mr. Sommer hadn’t shown up when he did? She’d be here alone with the outlaws.

“We don’t need more trouble than we already have,” Cass said to Willie and Dusty.

“Guard the farmer and his wife and make sure they take care of Red. That’s the only thing I want, understand?”

Dusty reached for another handful of food. “Yep.” “After you two eat,” Cass continued, “one of you take the farmer out to the barn and see to the horses.”

“How long we gotta wait?” Willie asked again, shoving a piece of roast beef into his mouth.

“I’ll be back in about a week.” Cass walked toward the door—but he turned and 24

The Ranger’s Reward pointed at Dusty one more time. “No trouble, you got that?”

Dusty didn’t even bother to respond this time.

Cass opened the door but addressed his brother. “And take care of that wound. You wouldn’t want it to scar.”

Willie nodded as he took another piece of beef.

As Cass left the house, Evelyn could feel Mr. Sommer’s muscles ripple with tension.

No doubt he wanted to ride after the ringleader, but he couldn’t very well leave her alone with these two, could he?

As soon as the hoofbeats disappeared into the distance, Dusty gave Evelyn a sickly smile.

How would she ever escape with his watchful eye on her?

Evelyn and Harrison’s only hope was in Mr. Sommer now, keeping up the charade that he was her husband.

But how would she convince her five-year-old son to call this stranger Pa?

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