The Outlaw's Second Chance

Renegade on the run

When Cort Stanton and Aubrey Huxley try to claim the same land in the Oklahoma Land Run, Cort offers a deal—one that could help him keep his freedom. After taking the blame for his brother’s crime, Cort needs to lie low, so he gives Aubrey the land for her horse ranch...if she’ll hire him. Now he just has to avoid growing too close to the gorgeous seamstress, who can never know his secret.

Aubrey refuses to depend on any man, even one as handsome and kind as Cort. Yet, as they work together to make her dream a reality, it’s impossible to imagine life on the prairie without him. And though Aubrey knows Cort has secrets that stand between them, she can’t help but wish she could stake a claim on his heart.

“It’s your land.” Aubrey’s voice cracked. “You can come and go as you wish.”

“What if it wasn’t my land? I mean, what if I let you...” Cort expected he would regret his next words. “What if I just worked a piece of it until I leave? What if you registered the land in your name?”

Miss Huxley narrowed her eyes. “What are you saying, Mr. Stanton?”

“One hundred and sixty acres is big enough for both of us, is all. What if you let me lease the land from you?”

Miss Huxley’s lips parted. She blinked several times before whispering, “You’d give it to me?”

“Sure. Doesn’t seem right that I keep it all to myself when I might—” Cort cleared his throat. “I’ll be away more than I’d be working it.” And sooner rather than later if that surveyor recognizes me.

“I—I don’t know what to say.” She clamped her mouth shut. Her lips grew thin as she frowned. “What’s in it for you, Mr. Stanton?”

ANGIE DICKEN credits her love of story to reading British literature during life as a military kid in Cambridgeshire, England. Now living in the American heartland, she blogs about author life along with her fellow Alley Cats on The Writer’s Alley blog. Besides writing, she is a busy mom of four and works in adult ministry. Angie enjoys eclectic new restaurants, authentic conversation with friends and date nights with her Texas-native husband. Connect with her online at www.angiedicken.com.

The Outlaw’s Second Chance

Angie Dicken

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them.

—Ephesians 2:10

To my dad, who raised me to dream big, and to my husband, whose support is unwavering.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

The Cherokee Strip

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.

Torture. The smile brought torture just as he’d expected.

He nearly shoved his hands in his pockets. “Good to know you’re not a woman to be messed with.” The horse behind her whinnied and stomped its knobby leg. “I’d better let you get back to your business, Miss Huxley.” He stepped back. Yes, that was the wise thing to do. Walk away.

He didn’t need any prospective distraction. If he gave himself an inch, the implications would be a mile long and would hurt more than the torturous smile that now burned in his memory. But as much as he tried to focus on the busyness of settlers around him, he couldn’t escape from the Aubrey-induced fog in his mind.

Could a woman clothed in such God-given beauty be so utterly content in her own skin, even in the face of strange men on the wild prairie? Perhaps Cort had been around too many women who used their looks only to gain advantage or a marriage proposal. But it didn’t seem that Miss Huxley depended on her outward beauty in any way, exuding only a strength he could hardly reckon with in his baffled state.

“Wait!” She rushed up to him and put a hand on his arm. “Are you on your way to buy a horse?”

Cort dared a look in her bright eyes. “I am heading over to the dealer by the land office.”

“Mind if I join you?” She glanced away and scrunched her nose. Her petite frame lifted with a deep sigh. “I mean, I’d like to see the competition.” The words came out as more of a question than a statement.

“You think you’ll have much more business out here?” He looked beyond her shoulder at the deep pink clouds painted with the setting sun. “I mean, the race is at noon tomorrow.”

“You haven’t found your horse yet, Mr. Stanton.” She crossed her arms, cocking her head to one side. “Who’s to say that there aren’t a few more negotiations left tonight?”

“You have quite an eye for business, don’t you, Miss Huxley?”

She looked over her shoulder. “One day I hope to use it for my own ranch.” When she looked up at him, there was a flush in her cheeks and her eyes brimmed with moisture. “May I join you, Mr. Stanton? Please. I...I just need to get away.” Her soft admission allowed him a glimpse of her vulnerability in that moment. Cort’s fierce desire to protect her was stronger than it had been just moments ago in the face of that rascally man. But now, he had no idea what he would protect her from. Just that there was something threatening her strength.

He held out his elbow and she placed her small hand in the crook of his arm.

“Thank you,” she said as they strolled forward.

When they arrived at her competitor’s corral, the owner rode up on a slightly older male horse. Cort worried that his own advice to Miss Huxley about it being too late to buy a horse was his own fate.

“Sir, didn’t you have a stallion earlier?”

Miss Huxley left his side and went up to the horse as the owner dismounted.

“Yes, sir. He’s out back. Got this one for sale, too. Just purchased him from a poor guy who’s been struck by the heat and won’t be racing tomorrow. Paid a pretty penny.”

“You have two horses for sale?” Miss Huxley’s voice cracked, and her face lit up like she’d stumbled across gold. When her gaze crossed Cort’s, she cleared her throat and brushed her fingers through the horse’s fine black mane.

“Yes, ma’am. He’s back behind the tent. Those boys over yonder were getting him all stirred up.” He began to jaunt across the dusty dirt. “Let me bring him ̓round.”

Miss Huxley stayed by the horse, stroking his nose. A loud whinny from behind turned Cort’s attention to the stallion being led by its owner.

After negotiating a price, they both paid for the horses. Aubrey was content with the older male, while Cort paid a little more for the stallion.

“You will do wonderful in the race with that horse,” she said over her shoulder as she led her own horse out of the gate. “Wish I could see him run.”

“Maybe you can come see me off.” Cort chuckled. A pain reached across his chest—something he’d much rather focus on than the dangerous trail of thought leading his senses astray. The good Lord may have softened this ranch hand, but his edges were still rough. Cort was certain if he let anyone get too close, they’d feel the sting. And he promised himself no more regret. He had enough already. It was too much to bear most days.

She stopped her horse and spun around. A mischievous grin appeared. “Don’t think I’ll be around to see you off. But I do wish you the best, Mr. Stanton.” She walked up to him and offered an awkward handshake. “I think I’ll cut through between the tents and head behind the corral. Don’t forget us if anyone needs a horse.”

“That one is sure to be gone soon,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow, and he did the same. What was she thinking? Or plotting? “We also have goods for sale like saddle soap.” She clutched her skirt, avoiding a puddle near a water trough, then briskly led her horse out of view. Not a trace of lavender left in his dim surroundings.

Good. Only good would come from widening the distance between himself and Miss Huxley. He tried wrapping his mind around the relief of avoiding heartache since his days of freedom might be limited. If she knew he was an outlaw, she wouldn’t stick around long anyway. They’d never see each other again, and that realization should be a salve for his wounded soul.

Then why did he feel like he was walking away from hope when Aubrey left him behind in the fading light of dusk?

Chapter Two

Aubrey couldn’t sleep. Pa had returned to his own tent clear after nightfall and was snoring loud and long. How did her brother, Ben, put up with it? How could he put up with many of Pa’s ways like he did? Ben was eighteen and a little puppet for their father.

She tried to breathe in rhythm with the snoring next door, but could only grimace with her effort. Her eyes caught the outline of her flag sticking out of her bag. She tried focusing on the waiting land and on staking her claim, but Cort Stanton crept into her mind. Even if she was offended by the cowboy at first, Cort had redeemed himself when he came to her rescue. She’d never let on what it meant to her.

But it meant something. It had been a long time since someone looked out for Aubrey Huxley. After Mama passed away, she’d never felt cared for. Not until this afternoon when that handsome cowboy threatened that horrible man at the corral did Aubrey realize how much she longed for such honorable attention.

The sound of nearing footsteps interrupted her thoughts. Who was about at this time of night? Maybe sooners? In past land races, they’d been known to steal into the night looking for land—would they take a horse also? As she dressed, she slipped her pistol into her pocket, ready to fight for her new horse.

The warm night air was coated in fire smoke and murmurs of folk preparing for tomorrow.

“Hey there, sis.” Ben startled her before she could look for a prowler. He held open the flap to his and Pa’s tent.

“Were you walking around just now?” She peeked about the corral, then quickly glanced behind her tent. Her horse was still tied to the hitch. She blew out her tension. “I thought you were asleep.”