The Outlaw's Second Chance

September 15, 1893

Aubrey Huxley rushed over when her father shoved his bony finger against the customer’s shoulder.

“You’re crossing a line there, boomer,” he threatened. Aubrey cringed as she approached the tense business negotiation. Of course, her brother was nowhere to be found. It was up to her to deal with Pa. Ed Huxley would try to sell a jar of the red Oklahoma dirt and label it “Gunpowder,” if it meant an easy profit. Just the same, the skinny horses with matted manes did nothing to live up to the sign tacked on the fence post: “Fastest in the West.” Yet he’d talked himself blue trying to convince any challenger that afternoon.

After all, it was the day before the land run. Thousands of settlers bustled around the sprawling camp, preparing for the next day’s race for free land. Each one had a flag, waiting to stake their claim at the precious markers dotted about the prairie. Leave it to her father to take advantage of the poor land-hungry boomers who’d need a horse to claim their own quarter section tomorrow.

She sucked in her dignity with a swallow of air. “Excuse me, sir.”

The disgruntled customer turned toward Aubrey, and her breath caught. Beneath his cowboy hat, green eyes squinted with cynicism—a handsome, stirring cynicism that made doubt look like a cool drink on a hot Oklahoma day. Aubrey doubted she’d change his opinion at all.

“Ma’am, this isn’t any concern of yours.” He smiled cordially then tipped his dusty hat. Her temptation to melt slid away with his smoldering look. She was not a pretty little fixture to be brushed off. This stubborn man, adorned with a shadow of stubble along his jaw and dark hair curling against a sunburned neck, had no idea he was dismissing the wrong girl.

Aubrey cleared her throat when he tried to turn his attention back to her father. “This is as much of my concern as it is my father’s.” But their reasons were as polarized as the sun to the moon. Her jaw ached from clamping her mouth shut day in and day out during this shady operation. Her mother would have never agreed to any of this. She was probably stomping around in Heaven knowing her beautiful horses had been sold to double Pa’s inventory with these pathetic creatures.

“Oh?” A grin hooked one corner of the man’s mouth. “Is it?” He leaned an elbow on the corral fence, which creaked beneath his weight.

“Yes, boomer.” She lifted her chin and ignored the flutter in her chest. Must he stare at her that way? She shoved her hand out for a shake. “I am Aubrey Huxley. If you have any questions, please direct them to me.” She spoke those last words through her teeth, trying to sift through the desperation in her voice. The last thing she wanted was to arouse Pa’s anger. Not when she was this close to completing her plan.

“Good day, Miss Huxley. I am Cort Stanton.” The cowboy’s grip was firm.

Aubrey tried to mimic his strength in her own grip instead of allowing it to distract her. Swooning at the first handsome man who crossed her path on the prairie would not add any courage to what she intended to accomplish.

“Mr. Stanton, please address your concerns with our horses—” she raised her voice over the yells of men pouring into the next-door tent set up as a temporary saloon “—to me.”

Mr. Stanton whistled a minty breath more pleasant than the mangy odor of her merchandise. “I’ve never been much of a businessman. But I know horses. And if you’d like to call that a horse...” He arched an eyebrow and wagged his head. “Then those pretty brown eyes of yours might need checking.”

Anger coursed through Aubrey’s veins, red-hot like the setting sun bleeding on the horizon beyond the myriad of tents. “I know horses just fine, thank you. You don’t know me, or the specimens we’ve sold before this.” Well, they were at least decent, anyway. Why was she fighting him? This would be her last day as an accomplice to her father’s schemes.

“Believe me, any specimen is finer than that one.” He threw another glance at the tawny mare and kicked his boot on the fence post.

Her father puffed out his chest, looking like he was ready for a duel, but then a holler from the saloon stole his attention. “Aubrey, take care of him.” He flung open the gate. “Got some business to take care of yonder.”

A heavy weight settled in her stomach as Pa abandoned their only customer in hours. He slipped into the pulsing tent. Exactly why she was leaving him. Just like Mama couldn’t trust him when she was alive, Aubrey couldn’t trust him to follow through, either. As much as she’d tried to revive her affection for the broken man, the ache of all he’d inflicted was too much to bear.

She’d had enough.

“So, Mr. Stanton, are you interested or not?” Aubrey folded her arms across her torso, the steam of the challenge changing its course with the wind of surrender. Her efforts to help Pa this one last time deflated, because he’d just walked out on her once more. Even if this cowboy, with his rich voice and gorgeous eyes, encouraged her to snap back, she just didn’t have it in her to continue this charade.

“Sorry, ma’am.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll have to look elsewhere.” His face softened with true regret as if he felt he owed her more. Her heart sped up at the small glimpse of compassion from the rugged man. It’d been a long time since someone showed concern for her feelings.

“Fine, then.” Why did his split-second glance of tenderness inflict such a fury of emotions deep within her? She brushed a strand of hair from her face and tucked it into her braid. “If you don’t mind, I’ve got to clean up before nightfall.” And get ready, myself.

Her nerves frenzied at the urgency of all she had to do.

First, she needed a horse. That was her only way to have a fighting chance tomorrow. The only fools who ran by foot in the last race ran the night before, even with the risk of getting shot for running early. Every time she spied the scouts guarding the line, she nearly buckled in fear.

“Are you running tomorrow?” Mr. Stanton seemed perfectly content to stay and chat awhile, even leaning up against the fence with one worn-out cowboy boot crossed over the other.

Aubrey tilted her head and studied his face for any sort of malice. While there were many good-hearted folk around, she’d met her share of scoundrels in these three long weeks. This cowboy had nothing but a kind smile.

She lifted her shoulders, arching her eyebrow.

“Just wondering.” He held his hands up like she’d threatened him. Perhaps she had. Aubrey didn’t have the restraint to control her emotions like she used to.

Mr. Stanton took out a handkerchief and wiped the back of his neck. “Just some friendly advice from one of the thousands of men running tomorrow.” He squinted into the crimson light beyond the camp then pushed away from the fence. “I think you’d do better running the race on foot.” He glanced at the horse, shook his head and then walked onto the crowded path. “Good evening, Miss Huxley.”

Aubrey rolled her eyes. Arrogant boomer.

Temptation to race the cowboy to a better horse deal pulled her toward the fence. She could cut through the tents, but she had to wait on a customer until seven. If Aubrey was any bit of her father, she’d do what was best for herself and forget the appointment. Yet she couldn’t follow Pa’s selfish way, could she?

Besides, she’d do nothing to hinder this chance to start over—to fill a dream at last, her mama’s dream. Provoking Pa to anger by shirking her duties was the last thing she wanted to do. If she did him wrong by leaving now, he’d make sure she’d pay for it. No matter how much money she’d leave behind.

Hiding among a hundred thousand men on wild horses would be her only chance to escape, whether on foot or on horseback. Either way, she would leave Pa in his misery and find land of her very own.

* * *

Cort inhaled the aroma of a mesquite campfire and tried to ignore the tug in his heart. If he’d allow his footsteps to follow his heartbeats, he’d turn himself around and insist Miss Huxley give him a chance to redeem himself. How could he treat a woman that way? Mock her mangy horses? Or worse, socializing as if he had any hint of a future to offer a woman? Her brief look of hurt after her father abandoned her had Cort almost consider a purchase of one of those miserable beasts. Perhaps then he’d see her smile. But that could be torture in itself. And between the unknown of when he’d get caught again, and the known of all that had happened, he had enough torment to contend with. His future was as bleak as the Texas Panhandle where trouble found him. No use daydreaming about a pretty smile. A woman would only complicate things.

Two boys scaled chests and furniture securely fastened to a wagon. Their creeping shadows crawled across Cort’s path. He watched the boys as they played a game of keep-away just like he’d seen his nephew do a hundred times. There was nobody more important than Trevor right now—because he was the first of a generation that could change the Stanton ways. To become noble and right. Kind. Pure. Everything the Good Book preached about that had only begun settling in Cort’s heart this past year. His brother, Charles, had promised to change, too, when Cort was arrested for that murder Charles had committed. Charles had said he’d raise his son right, and Cort had agreed to take the blame because of his nephew. A boy needed a father. The Stanton brothers knew that the hard way.

He flicked a glance over his shoulder before heading to make an offer on the stallion down by the land office. Miss Huxley busied about the corral, the burned orange light kissing her midnight hair. Cort sighed. He’d never met a woman with such a fighting spirit, yet brimming with softness beneath.

A man approached Aubrey from the many tents crowding around the makeshift corral, stalling Cort’s attempt to dismiss the lure of temptation. Perhaps Miss Huxley was taken, anyway? That’d help ease his gnawing interest.

Miss Huxley placed her hands on her hips and both she and the man focused on the mare. But before she turned toward the man, Cort saw it. The scouring look of a dangerous man.

The stranger inched closer to her, his teeth resting on his bottom lip. Words seemed to slip from his mouth, and Miss Huxley spun around. Her neck flushed crimson, and she spoke words no doubt sharpened with the same bite that Cort had witnessed earlier. The man snatched her waist, provoking a quick slap across his face.

Cort tunneled through the crammed tents and wagons. His heart pounded against his chest, and an angry heat crawled up his spine, invading his neck and ears with fire. The man, unable to keep his hands to himself, pathetically assaulted her, giving Cort the chance to redeem his own rude behavior to Miss Huxley.

“Hey now.” Cort grasped the man’s shoulder and yanked him around. The man’s surprised expression turned to one of vehemence.

“Are you her husband?” the culprit growled.

“No. But I know when a man has overstayed his welcome.” Cort returned the hateful stare, slowly moving his hand to his holster, just in case. “Leave the lady alone.”

A quick glance at Cort’s hand dimmed the spark in the man’s eyes, and he backed off. “She ain’t worth it,” he muttered and stumbled away.

Aubrey smoothed down her skirt and kept her eyes lowered.

Cort’s throat was tight. He shoved through the corral gate. The woman was a whole head shorter than him. Her ivory brow was framed by silky ebony hair gathered in a loose braid across her petite shoulder. A strand skimmed her lowered nose. Cort clenched his teeth. The desire to gather that rebellious hair between his fingers and tuck it behind her ear rattled his senses. He tried to take a step back, but her dainty aroma of lavender soap tempted him to stay close. He breathed deeply. His hand lifted regardless of the battle within him, and he reached out to tilt her chin up. Was she crying? Or, perhaps, humiliated by that man’s forwardness? Aubrey lifted her eyes and met his gaze.

He jerked his hand back to his cowboy hat and tipped it. “Are you okay?”

Her chocolate eyes were perfectly dry, and her mouth was set in a curt rosy smile. There was nothing unsure about this woman. She even held her shoulders in a soldier-straight line, her chin perfectly angled in confidence. Only a slight ripple across that ivory brow softened her cool demeanor. Cort swallowed hard. This woman intimidated him, no matter that he was nearly twice her size and towering over her.

“Thank you, Mr. Stanton. I do believe I could have handled him, though.” With a large grin, she patted her skirt pocket and eyed his holster.