The Outlaw's Second Chance. Angie Dicken

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СКАЧАТЬ did run out of saddle soap. That was a good excuse. A fine reason to visit that shoddy corral and its beautiful owner once more. But, as he went against the flow of settlers, away from the starting line, he knew his notorious Stanton bloodline would be the death of him. He was just drawn to making wayward decisions, it seemed.

      The Huxleys’ tents were all sealed up, but Mr. Huxley was outside, his feet propped up on a barrel as he snoozed in a rocking chair. Two old horses knocked around an empty pail with their dusty noses, and the gate of the corral swayed in the hot wind. Cort approached, closing the gate behind him. He pulled off his hat as he walked up to the old man.

      “Excuse me, sir?” he said, but the man kept snoring. Cort spied the saddle soap on a table under a small canopy. He went up to the closed-off tent and cleared his throat. “Uh, Miss Huxley?”

      He felt as ridiculous as a schoolboy trying to prove himself to be a man. He crammed his hat on his head. He could do without the saddle soap. As he turned, his boot crushed a piece of parchment.

      It was crumpled up in the red Oklahoma dirt. He blew it off. It was a letter, not addressed to him, yet he couldn’t help but read the elegant handwriting:

      Dear Pa,

      By the time you read this, I’ll be riding in the race, praying that I have the chance to find some land of my own. Ever since Mama passed, I’ve wanted to honor her with a proper horse ranch of her dreams. I know you weren’t able to give that to her, but as her daughter, I must try.

      Please don’t look for me. I am twenty-two years old and need to find my own way apart from you and Ben. I have left you the last of my savings from sewing, which should help with your expenses to get back home and even buy a couple decent horses for profit. That’s the last I can offer you, Father. I’ll send word once I am established. Take care of Ben. He needs you, and you need him. But right now, I just need to do this on my own.

      Your daughter,

      Aubrey.

      Cort let out a long whistle. Mr. Huxley slept in his rocker even though his daughter had just bidden him farewell forever?

      Cort and Aubrey had talked about their secrets last night. Aubrey’s was out in the open now. The hope Aubrey had kindled in him as they parted ways last night flooded him now. He wondered what it might feel like to have his secret out. Sure, it would clear his name. Give him a chance at freedom, but at what cost? If he told anyone the truth, he’d risk the chance of his brother being taken away from his young family forever. Cort would never forgive himself.

      No. His innocence would never be found out. It would jeopardize his brother’s freedom and his nephew’s future.

      He lifted his gaze from the letter to the distant horizon already shimmering in the heat.

      She was somewhere along the start line, ready to build a ranch of her own. Now that Cort was a praying man, he said a prayer for Aubrey’s safety. And then, against his own reasoning, he prayed that one day they’d meet again. He couldn’t look for her today, but one day. And he hoped it would be a day he wasn’t ruled by the fear of the law catching up with him. Perhaps when he was certain of his freedom, he might even share his life with a woman like Aubrey Huxley by his side.

      He shook his head. Dreaming was no pastime for a cowboy who’d run out of chances. He may be free now, thanks to his dear friend Sheriff Conway, who’d allowed him to escape that prison fire and run away. But now that the sheriff had died of typhoid, he didn’t stand a chance against the rest of the state of Texas. Cort Stanton could outrun his fellow land seekers, but he couldn’t outrun his past. If anything, he should pray that God would keep him far away from Miss Huxley.

      Before he left the corral, he crumpled up the paper again and threw it down where Mr. Huxley had tossed it. He would only focus on the race now.

      The swarm of settlers fled the camp, yanking their whole lives in wagons, carts and packs. Cort was blessed in that way. He had nothing but what was in his small pack. Once he untied his horse and led him to the start line, he swung himself on top of his saddle. The anticipation around him frenzied like a kicked beehive. It was a day of all days. The day where he would cling to living and leave everything else behind. Live in the moment and do what he did best. Work the land.

      “Whoa, boy.” He tried to calm the horse as he kept his place in the bulging line. It was tough to expect much from the animal amid the chaos, but talking to him was at least calming Cort’s own nerves.

      Was he really this close to possessing his own piece of land? His heart stuttered. Just two years ago he was content working someone else’s land clear up in Wyoming. But now?

      He loosened the bandanna around his neck. Either the heat was getting to him, or his conscience was starting early. Usually, he did well to not think about it until the quiet of nightfall. Perhaps the quieting mass as they neared noon gave him too much room to ponder. Ironic to think of this as a thought-provoking place. He was packed in between thousands of horses, hundreds of carts and sweating settlers hungry for what a fourteen-dollar registration fee bought them—a slim chance at acreage. A baby’s cry pierced the aggravated silence. Regret niggled in Cort’s core while he tightened the grip on his reins, leaning forward as most everyone did around him. He’d yet to have a family to provide for. Would he ever? His costly mistakes before now may have jeopardized any chance for that.

      Aubrey Huxley slipped across his mind again. How could one woman have such an effect on him in such a short amount of time? One thing was certain: he could not endanger her happiness by linking his future with hers. No, he couldn’t pull anyone else into his life now.

      His horse slung his head back and snorted.

      When an explosion coursed through the stifling heat and the line lurched forward, Cort kicked his horse to a roaring gallop. He left behind the billowing dust and toppling wagons, focusing only on one thing—staking his claim where God knew best.

       Chapter Three

      Aubrey woke up with a gasp. Ben was leaning most of his weight on her, blocking any view to the creek bed.

      She shoved him. “Wake up.” The air was hot and the light outside was a bold afternoon shine, not a weak morning glitter.

      What time was it?

      Ben stretched his arms, but Aubrey couldn’t wait. She scrambled over him, elbows and knees battering her brother in the process.

      “Ow!”

      “We overslept. I know it.” Her voice was as hoarse as the train whistle in the distance. She grabbed her sack and ran down the creek. “Come on, Ben. Look at the sun. Is it straight above?” She refused to consider that it was on more of a western crawl.

      Please, let there be time.

      She heaved the sack on the higher ground then pulled herself up. The clip-clop of hooves grew louder, louder still. Her heartbeat skipped ahead of the noisy gallop. Upon the horizon, a man appeared, racing straight toward the marker.

      “No!” She yanked out her stake from her sack and clambered to her feet. Her legs were weak from the marathon run last night. As she took her first stride, her knees buckled. The rocky ground met her splayed hands while the stake lay without purpose just beneath her.

      “Are СКАЧАТЬ