The Renegade's Redemption

Refuge for the Outlaw

When Tex Beckett arrives at Ravena Reid’s farm, he’s eight years too late for the elopement they’d once planned—and it’s far too early to win her forgiveness. He’s seriously wounded, though, and she can’t turn him away, though she knows better than to trust him. Yes, it’s wonderful having help with the farm, and with the orphans she fosters, but if she opens her heart, she’ll get hurt again when he leaves. And Tex always leaves.

As a notorious bank robber, Tex is used to danger. Yet reuniting with the only woman he’s ever loved is the riskiest thing he’s ever done. All he wants is to stay with Ravena and the children. But can he build a new start before his past catches up with him?

“Try to get some more rest. You need it.”

“Ravena,” Tex called as she reached the door.

She blew out a sigh and turned to face him. “Yes?”

“Thank you for this. But you said one night, and I won’t stay longer than that.”

Gripping the edges of the tray until they dug into her palms, she willed the words she wanted to say to reach her lips. Yes, Tex, you have to leave. I have enough concerns right now without worrying about you and the fragility of my heart.

Whatever she said, there was no going back after this moment. She didn’t understand why he’d come to the farm after all these years. But he was here—and she had the power to hold him to his word and make him leave, or extend his time.

She shut her eyes for a brief moment, praying for guidance. The smallest seed of peace germinated inside her. A whisper that everything would be all right.

Please help me trust You, God.

Opening her eyes, she peered straight at Tex. “I’m changing our agreement. You may stay until you’re well.”

STACY HENRIE has always had a love for history, fiction and chocolate. She earned her BA in public relations before turning her attentions to raising a family and writing inspirational historical romances. The wife of an entrepreneur husband and a mother of three, Stacy loves to live out history through her fictional characters. In addition to being an author, she is also a reader, a road-trip enthusiast and a novice interior decorator.

The Renegade’s Redemption

Stacy Henrie

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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And ye shall know the truth,

and the truth shall make you free.

—John 8:32

For T & G

A real man is honest, humble and responsible—as Tex learns to be. And these same qualities are exemplified in the young men you are both becoming.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

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

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Casper, Wyoming, April 1892

Tex Beckett twirled the gold coin back and forth between his fingers, its shiny surface catching the lamplight in the saloon. “Much obliged, Quincy,” he said with a grin.

The barrel-chested cattle rustler visibly swallowed and inclined his head in somber acquiescence. His skin more closely matched the gray of his trimmed beard now that their poker game had come to an end.

Scooting the rest of his winnings toward himself, Tex picked up the weathered piece of parchment lying on top. “So this map shows the whereabouts of more gold coins like this one?”

One of Kip Quincy’s partners piped up. “Not just gold but silver ones too.” Tex blew out a whistle of appreciation at the potential wealth.

“Shut up, Lester,” Quincy ground out, clearly sore over losing the treasure map after only having it in his possession a few weeks.

“When were you planning to head to Texas to search for the loot?” Tex asked.

Quincy’s thunderous look flicked from Lester to Tex. “Planned to head south this week. What I hadn’t planned on was losing tonight.”

In all honesty, Tex hadn’t really planned on winning; he’d never gambled before. And he wasn’t entirely sure what had compelled him to accept Quincy’s invitation this evening.

Maybe it was the loneliness that had been eating at his gut the last six months. Or maybe it was because he was closer to his home state of Idaho than he’d been in eight years. Or maybe it was staying this past week on the ranch of a family friendly to outlaws and rustlers that had him missing the company of would-be friends. Even the continued company of Quincy and his three henchmen, who’d also sought refuge at the ranch during Tex’s time there, seemed a better substitute for friends than no friends at all. Spending the evening around the card table with them had seemed like a better prospect than spending it in his hotel room, alone.

Whatever the reason, Tex hadn’t lost the game and he was grateful. Maybe he had his father’s touch. Though more times than Tex could count, that “touch” had been as elusive to his father as rain in a drought. His jaw tightened just thinking of how he, his mother and his twin brother, Tate, had been forced to eek by for years, barely scraping together enough to live on, after his father had finally chosen the gambling life over a family life.

And that’s why this would be his one and only game of poker.

“Thanks again for playing, boys,” he said, scraping back his chair. The other four men did the same. Tex leaned forward to pocket his winnings, but Quincy reached out and clapped a hand onto a corner of the map.

“I’m thinking you don’t need this old paper after all,” the older man said, his expression no longer full of disbelief but anger.

Tex set his hand on the map as well, his other rising to the gun in his holster. “Now, Quincy,” he crooned as if talking to a child. “You threw that map into the pile of your own volition and I won it fair and square.” No one in the saloon would contest that.

Quincy’s scowl deepened, but he lifted his hand and backed away from the table. “Should’ve known not to play poker with the Texas Titan.” He hissed the words, though to Tex they sounded as loud as a train whistle. “How much did you tell us that Wanted poster said you were worth? Dead or alive.”

Arranging his face so as not to show his alarm, Tex didn’t answer. Instead he made a show of slowly pocketing the gold coin, the pile of cash in the center of the table and the map.

He’d known his acquaintance with Quincy came with the risk of having the man reveal Tex’s outlaw identity. Prior to this, Tex had been enjoying going unrecognized, since folks this far north hadn’t seemed to have heard of his heists. But they certainly would if Quincy started flapping his jaw about it. And it only took one person wanting to collect on the reward to send a telegram...or maybe Quincy was intending to double-cross him and turn Tex in himself.

That was the way with thieves, Tex supposed. They couldn’t be trusted.

“As I said it’s been a pleasure, gentlemen.” He hardened his look as he gazed at Quincy. “Sounds a lot more polite and civil than calling you cattle rustlers, don’t it?” Quincy’s eyes narrowed, but Tex could tell the man understood the message. If Quincy ratted him out as an outlaw, he’d do the same, naming the man and his partners as cattle thieves.

Tipping his hat to the men, he exited the saloon. A brisk wind followed him up the twilight-lit street to the hotel where “Mr. Chancy” was greeted by the desk clerk on his way to his room. Once inside Tex locked his door and set his gun on the nearby table. He wouldn’t put it past Quincy to try to get back the map. The man was that stubborn, but then again, so was Tex.

After slipping into bed, fully dressed, he linked his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Where did he want to go next? He’d been working the last eight years in Texas and most recently in Utah Territory. Maybe he’d keep heading north to Buffalo or into Montana. But the thought of a new place, a new robbery didn’t fill him with the usual rush of excitement.

Tex slid his hand into his vest pocket and pulled out the earrings he always kept there. They had been his mother’s, the only memento he and Tate had been able to hold on to of hers after her death.

They weren’t just a keepsake to Tex though. They were a symbol, a reminder, of why he’d left his brother and the farm behind, nearly a decade ago.

His plan had been to sell the earrings, but when it had come time to do so, Tex couldn’t part with them. He kept seeing Tate’s face, twisted with outrage and hurt, when he’d caught Tex preparing to leave. The realization that Tex intended to sell the earrings had led to a blazing row. How could he get rid of something their mother had so diligently cherished and hidden time and again from their gambler father?

In the end, the fight had turned violent. Tex had struck his brother, hard enough to knock him out, and then left him behind—sneaking away like the thief he hadn’t yet been...but would soon become.

He and Tate hadn’t spoken since. No visits. No letters. Nothing to remember his brother by except the earrings they’d fought over.

Each time he pulled them out, he was reminded of his mother, of his brother’s cutting words that fateful night, and what Tex had been forced to do to survive these last eight years.

Feeling resolved once more, he secured the earrings back inside his pocket and turned over. Tomorrow he’d ride out of Casper, after he conducted a few matters of business, and then he’d move on to his next outlawing adventure.

* * *

Tex impatiently tapped his foot against the polished floor of the bank. The woman at the clerk’s window had been there for seven minutes, according to his pocket watch. A gift from his mother, which she’d saved for months to buy, a watch for him and one for Tate. It wasn’t the only thing the brothers had that was identical. Looking at Tate through the years had been like looking at Tex’s own reflection.

Tamping down thoughts of his twin, Tex crossed his arms and glared at the back of the woman’s head. He needed to hurry and cash in his gold coin for money so he could send some more anonymous funds to Ravena Reid and her grandfather back in Idaho and slip out of town as soon as possible. For all he knew, Quincy was still around, and that meant it was time for Tex to leave. He didn’t trust the cattle rustler. Especially not after seeing the desperate glint in Quincy’s eyes last night when the man had realized he’d lost not only his coin and his cash but his precious map too. The older man had been boasting all week about how he’d won it himself from another outlaw in a card game in Colorado.

At last the woman thanked the clerk and walked away. Tex blew out a breath of relief. Stepping to the counter, he smiled at the clerk through the bars on the inner window. “Morning. Busy day at the bank, huh?”

He brought his hand to his pocket, intent on extracting the gold coin. But the sudden click of a gun from behind and the wide eyes of the clerk in front of him made Tex freeze.

“Caught you right in the act of robbing our bank,” a firm voice intoned. “Didn’t I, Mr. Texas Titan?”

Terror he hadn’t felt since his first robbery coursed through Tex and robbed his mouth of moisture. He cautiously lifted his hands in surrender and turned to face the triumphant expression of the local sheriff. “There’s been some mistake. I was simply conducting my banking affairs like everyone else.”

The sheriff barked a humorless laugh. “I ain’t a fool. The jig’s up. Someone in town recognized you and I’ve been tracking you since you left the hotel ten minutes ago.”

It had to be Quincy who had turned him in. Tex frowned, his stomach still lurching with panic. “Why don’t we talk about this outside, Sheriff?”

“Not unless you’re in handcuffs first.”

Tex feigned a look of contrition as he fell back a small step, edging toward the wall that had a plateglass window. It stretched from waist high all the way up to the ceiling and looked out on an alley. “I can see how committed you are, Sheriff. And I applaud that.”

His words seemed to confuse the man, just as Tex had hoped. “But I’m afraid...” He moved another tiny step backward. “That I’m going to have to pass on the suggestion.”

With that he covered his face with his arm and dove for the window. The shatter of glass filled his ears and he felt it cut into the exposed skin along his jaw and hands. But better to deal with broken glass than a bullet.

He landed with a hard thud on the ground in the alley. Gulping for breath, he lumbered to his feet and started for the front of the building. The sheriff fired a shot through the window, but Tex ducked out of the way. Jerking his horse’s reins free, he threw himself into the saddle. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sheriff barrel out of the bank, his face red with fury.

“You won’t get away so easily,” the man shouted.

Tex kicked his horse, his mind intent on fleeing. The horse leapt forward, and for one moment, Tex knew the familiar thrill of a clean escape. Then the sheriff shot at him again. This time the bullet found purchase. It struck Tex in his right side, and his body jerked hard to the left in reflexive response. He clung to the horse with trembling arms to keep from falling as searing fire registered through his shock.

Half blind with pain, he guided his horse down the alley and out the other side. As if from the end of a long train tunnel, he heard the sheriff hollering at him, but Tex couldn’t make out the words over the roaring in his ears.

He urged his horse into a gallop, heedless of the outbursts from those leaping out of his way. Pressing a hand to his side, Tex fought off the blackness stealing onto the edges of his vision. If he lost consciousness and fell off his horse, he would lose his freedom too. He had to get away from Casper before he passed out. His few belongings, including his money and a dwindling supply of hardtack and jerky, were thankfully already ensconced inside his saddlebags.

As he reached the end of the street, he dizzily looked back over his shoulder. The sheriff was running hard after him and the man wasn’t alone. Quincy and his friends were right behind him.

So it had been Quincy who’d revealed Tex’s identity to the sheriff. Likely in an effort to get back the map.

Tex scowled as much from the pain of being shot as the realization he’d been framed. He wasn’t giving up the map. Not when he’d won it fair and square. Quincy would have to pry it from Tex’s dead hands...though his demise might be sooner than he anticipated with his side bleeding out all over.

He pushed his horse faster, though the increased speed jarred his injury even further. The stabbing in his side pierced his every thought and sense. He ground his teeth against it, refusing to falter. He’d need to stop soon and bandage the gunshot wound as best he could, but right now he had to focus his little remaining energy and awareness on escaping.

And Tex knew where he had to go.

There was only one place Quincy wouldn’t think to look for him. One place he could convalesce in peace. One place where his outlaw past hadn’t yet caught up to him.

The Texas Titan was headed home.

Idaho, five days later

“Mr. Grady, please.” Ravena Reid tossed her dish towel on the porch rocker and trailed the middle-aged man into the yard. “You can’t quit now. There are still two more fields to plow and the planting needs to be done.”

He whirled on her, his face as red as his hair. “I ain’t staying another day. Them rascally boys spooked the horses with their snake. And that’s the second time they’ve made trouble for me in five days.” Marching forward again, he tossed over his shoulder, “’Sides, I can earn far better wages somewhere else.”

Desperation, in the form of a tight lump, lodged in Ravena’s throat and slowed her steps. Not for the first time she wished her grandfather were still alive. The last three months of running the farm and caring for the orphan children by herself had taxed her to capacity. She felt twice as old as her twenty-seven years.

Without their two older orphans, who’d left the previous autumn to make their way into the world, she’d had to part with some of her precious savings to hire someone to help with the plowing and the planting. Mr. Grady was the second man she’d employed—and just like the first, he’d quit after less than a fortnight. In Mr. Grady’s case it was less than a week. Clearly she wasn’t as adept at keeping a hired hand or disciplining the children to leave them alone as her grandfather had been. The knowledge brought the hot press of tears that she barely managed to blink back.

They couldn’t afford a delay in the planting. Not when she needed a good crop in order to provide for the children under her care and the other four orphans she and her grandfather had planned to bring to the farm this summer. There was also the matter of housing. She still needed to find a way to pay a carpenter to complete the lovely new house her grandfather had envisioned building. A house that would easily provide shelter for nine orphans and herself. And she owed it to Grandfather’s memory to fulfill the plans he’d made. The thought of letting him down increased her heartache and fear.

“Will you at least finish plowing the field you were working on?” she urged.

Mr. Grady didn’t answer. Instead he increased his agitated retreat to the barn. But Ravena wasn’t giving up.

Before she reached the barn doors, the man came barreling out on his horse. Which meant he’d made up his mind and had the mount already saddled before he’d come into the kitchen to tell her that he’d quit and wanted his wages.

“I’ll be takin’ what I earned this week,” he said, jerking his horse to a stop beside her.

Straightening her shoulders, Ravena leveled him with her firmest look. She might be a lone woman running the place now, but she wouldn’t be cowed or swindled. “I’ll pay you for five days of work, not six.” She let the declaration hang in the air a moment before adding with a more entreating tone, “Unless you’re willing to work the rest of the day. Then I’ll pay you for six days.”

He glared down at her. “I already done told you, I ain’t staying.”

She clenched her teeth, frustrated by his decision and his barnyard vernacular. “Very well.” After fishing the required cash and coin from her apron pocket, she dropped them into his outstretched hand. “Good day, Mr. Grady.”

He sniffed with disapproval as he pocketed the money, then dug his heels into his horse’s flanks. Head held high, Ravena stepped back to avoid the kick of dirt from the animal’s hooves. But her bravado ran out before the pair disappeared down the road.

Now that she’d lost another hired hand, the contents of the letter in her other pocket weighed heavier than a steer on her mind and heart. She moved to the porch and sat on the step. Pulling out the letter, she smoothed the wrinkles from it. If only she could smooth the troubled ripples in her life as easily.

Dear Miss Reid,

First let me offer my condolences at the loss of your grandfather. I never met a more gentle man and I’m grateful for my association with him these past few years.

Regarding the four brothers he planned to bring to your farm this summer, I’m afraid I do not have the most comforting of news. After I received your letter sharing the sad tidings of your grandfather’s passing and your limitation in providing any additional orphans with necessary housing, I felt it best to conduct a search for a permanent placement for the boys here in Boise but to no avail.

Here at the orphanage, we are quite at capacity at present. And unfortunately these boys, along with several of our older orphans, who have not found permanent homes either, will be joining the Orphan Train when it comes through on the first of July. As you are no doubt aware, the likelihood of the boys staying together once they leave here is quite low.

If you wish to follow through with your grandfather’s wishes to provide a home for these four brothers, I would urge you to make the necessary plans posthaste. I will not be able to detain their departure. I eagerly await your response.

Sincerely,

Miss Gretchen Morley

Tears succeeded in blurring her vision this time as Ravena repocketed the letter. Those poor boys. Of course she wanted to honor her grandfather’s wishes to bring them to the farm. As much for them as for herself. If she could fulfill Grandfather’s wishes in these last plans he’d made before his death, then perhaps she could finally feel she had done enough to atone for nearly turning her back on him and the farm all those years ago.

Wiping the back of her hand at the useless moisture in her eyes, she shifted her gaze beyond the barn to the unfinished structure that sat there. Her grandfather, a skilled craftsman as well as farmer, had framed the outer walls of the ground floor. But his death had robbed the incomplete edifice of its talented creator, leaving the posts to look like leafless trees eyeing the distant sky.

How was she to provide a home for four more children without a bigger house? How could she feed and clothe the children she already had if a large portion of her money went to hiring workers? And that was if she could find someone to hire who’d be willing to stay until the plowing and planting were done. Otherwise, she wasn’t sure what she’d do.

Even with the help of thirteen-year-old Jacob, the oldest of the orphans currently living at the farm, the two of them couldn’t finish the plowing and planting on time. She needed an able-bodied man willing to work for little wages. One skilled in house building as well as farming would be even better. It was a rather tall order.

Movement by the barn drew her attention. Nine-year-old Mark and his seven-year-old brother, Luke, peered around the corner. No doubt they were the owners of the offending snake Mr. Grady had been complaining about. “Mark, Luke, come here, please.”

The towheaded boys walked toward her, their chins dipped low to their chests. Sure enough, Mark carried a snake in his hand.

Though two years separated their ages, they looked as if they could be twins with their matching blond hair and brown eyes. They reminded her of a set of twins she’d known growing up—Tex and Tate Beckett. Even just the memory of the Beckett brothers caused a physical ache to lodge in her chest, especially any thought connected to Tex. He was the man she’d loved fully and agreed to elope with eight years earlier. Only Tex never came for her.