Prologue

Jericho, Wyoming, 1870

“Train should be coming soon,” Peter Cole said as he checked his revolver. He shifted in the saddle, and his big chestnut horse shook his head.

His pulse rate quickened, and he strained to see any movement below them. But it was still as a grave. Not even a bird circled overhead.

Manfred Braun, the sheriff from the next town over grunted in agreement.

The other three sheriffs, James May, Al Longworth, and Marcus Wittner, who’d joined them to apprehend Silas “Snake” Forbes and his men, waited for the outlaws’ arrival.

Peter was pretty sure Forbes had been given the moniker Snake because the man was meaner than a stepped-on rattlesnake, and slippery as an eel. Though Forbs had spread around word that he’d earned the name for his gift of hiding, stealth of movement, and striking when no one expected it.

Regardless of where the name came from, justice would come for the man. Hopefully, in the next few minutes.

A cluster of boulders with scraggly brush growing on either side provided a decent position to stage an ambush. It was the best cover they were going to find close to where they expected the gang of outlaws to hold up the train. It always started slowing around there because they were approaching a long incline with a fairly nasty curve at the top.

James scratched his chin. “I hate waiting.”

“Part of the job,” Peter said. “They’ll show up soon enough. Then the fun starts.”

He was positive they would stage a holdup. It wasn’t publicly known, but the train was carrying a shipment of gold. All of the nearby town sheriffs had been notified.

Al snorted. “If this is your idea of fun, you ain’t learnt ta live yet.”

“This is my idea of living,” Peter said. Exhilaration thrummed through him. Bringing this band of criminals to heel was long overdue. Now it was within their grasp. A perfect opportunity to seek justice. He was pretty sure about something else, too.

Peter swiped at the sweat accumulating on his brow. “If they show up, it proves what we’ve suspected for a while— that there’s a rat tipping them off.” It was the only way they could have known about this gold shipment, along with several other targets they’d robbed.

“We catch some of these boys, at least one of them will be willing to give up the rat,” he continued. “Then we can catch it and skin it.”

“You’re takin’ this sheriffin’ job much too serious,” Al said, spitting tobacco juice on a large rock that jutted up like an accusatory finger.

“I hope you’re joking.”

“I’m not,” Al said. “The pay’s lousy. It’s dangerous. No one wants ta help when ya need it. An’ no one ever appreciates what we do for ‘em.”

“Not in Jericho,” Peter said. “Other than my faith in God, keeping my people safe is what I live for.”

It was his single mission in life. And he was good at it. Better than good. No one could honestly say he wasn’t.

“The folk treat me good and show their appreciation all the time,” he continued. He reached to straighten the star pinned on his vest, but his left hand refused to close over the badge.

He clenched his jaw. Some days he would thoroughly enjoy taking his hunting knife and cutting the scars out of his flesh. Except, of course, it would just scar over again from excising the original mangled flesh.

“Ver are they?” Manfred said.

“Be patient,” Peter told him and rubbed his horse’s neck, stroking the red hair in long sweeps in an attempt to loosen up his near-paralyzed fingers. He needed the hand to work enough that he could hold the reins. His right hand had to be free to hold and fire his revolver.

Peter’s gaze swept across the powder-dry landscape below them where, in the distance, heat shimmered above the hard-packed ground. His shirt had plastered to his back from sweat. He took his hat off, wiped his forehead, then stuffed the hat back in place. “It’s hotter than blazes today.”

“Ya’ll got that right, Marcus said. “Shame you Yankees can’t take heat like us southern boys.”

Peter caught himself before he rolled his eyes. Marcus enjoyed poking at them with every Yankee jab he could get in. But he was a good lawman and cared about the people in his town. No matter how many cracks he shot off, there was a good heart beating in his chest.

The train grew closer.

“They have to make a move soon,” Peter said.

“Dey vill,” Manfred said.

They spent another twenty minutes or so watching the sun creep across the sky at a snail’s pace before a dust cloud appeared below.

“Here they come. They’re riding hard,” Peter warned.

The train whistle blasted. The train was barreling down the tracks, but it began slowing as it neared them. The riders in the distance cut across the open land, racing hard to intercept the train as it reached the bottom of the incline and slowed.

Peter could visualize what was about to happen. “Let’s go!” he yelled and urged his horse into motion. The horses of the others leapt forward, hooves thundering over hard ground, dirt flying up from iron horseshoes and peppering the air with sod.

They rode hard toward the gang of outlaws.

But the riders were coming on faster than he’d expected. The bandits were going to reach the train before they were intercepted. He didn’t have a single doubt about it.

His hand tightened on the reins, but he didn’t pull back. His eyes narrowed to slits and he bared his teeth.

The other men rode beside him, urging their horses to run faster.

The train whistle blew again.

And then, below them, outlaws and train collided.

As Peter watched, the horses came in from the side at a hard gallop. They reached the train and raced along beside it. First one rider, then another, and another, grabbed hold of the train and let it pull them off their horses, until all of the men had boarded the train.

The men swarmed the cars they’d climbed up on.

At that moment, one of them glanced in their direction. The men disappeared inside the cars and a moment later, the train started slowing rapidly while the breaks squalled against the rails.

Peter urged his horse faster as they blazed toward the train. His horse lurched forward, eating up the ground in seconds. But to Peter, it was as if time slowed.

The train ground to a halt and the lawmen raced for the car carrying the gold.. They brought their horses to a sharp halt as they reached it, drawing their guns as their horses snorted.

“Come out of there with your hands up,” Peter yelled with barely concealed elation. “You can’t escape!”

Silas Forbes emerged from one of the passenger cars, a screaming woman in a blue dress pinned against him like a shield.

Oh, no. He didn’t need a hostage situation. Especially not with a woman.

Forbes’ men swarmed out of the gold car empty handed. They had caught them unawares this time, but their leader wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Stay back!” Forbes shouted, pressing his pistol against the woman, who, justifiably, looked terrified. “You make one dumb move and this woman’s head gets vaporized. Now back off!”

Before anyone could move, a passenger popped up between two cars and fired toward the bandits. Bullets started flying in both directions.

“Stop!” Forbes yelled in a commanding voice, and shockingly, the firing ceased.

“Now,” he said, seeming to enjoy the power he held at the moment. “You,” he motioned his revolved at Peter, “take your little pals and back away. We’re going to ride out of here. And you’re going to let us, or she’ll wish you had.”

“Stay back everyone,” Peter said as heat burned through him. The tiny muscles at the corner of his right eye twitched, but there was nothing he could do. Not unless he was willing to let the woman serve as a sacrifice. And he wouldn’t do that.

As Peter watched, his hand clenched on the reins, Forbes dragged the woman to his horse which stood a little way from the gold car. He swung into the saddle and hauled the woman up in front of him. Her eyes sought out the sheriffs, silently begging them to help her.

Forbes looked Peter in the eyes and smirked. “Her pretty blue dress wouldn’t look very nice with blood all over it. So, you want to stay back. You get too close to me, and Bluebell gets some new air holes. Understand? You do what I say, and I’ll leave her on the trail. You don’t do what I say, and I’ll leave what’s left of her on the trail. You don’t chase after us. Got it?”

With gritted teeth, Peter nodded.

Forbes’ men were getting on their horses.

“I asked you a question?” Forbes pressed.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I got it.” He narrowed his eyes. Forbes wasn’t going to get away with this.

“You know what to do,” Forbes said in a booming voice to his men.

The bandits took off, fanning out so that even if the sheriffs didn’t do as Forbes demanded, they could never catch all of them.

Forbes tipped his hat in an insulting gesture and took off in a direction away from his men.

Peter and the other lawmen sat on their horses and watched until Forbes rode out of sight, obscured by scraggly trees.

“Now what?” Al asked.

“You all go after his men. I’m going after Forbes to get the woman. I have to assume he’ll keep his word as a bargaining chip in case he needs one later and leave her on the trail.”

With that, Peter took off after Forbes. He leaned over the horse’s neck, giving him his head, urging him to run harder. Dirt flew up from iron-shod, pounding hooves and the wind generated from the break-neck ride blew his hair back and nearly dislodged his hat.

Far ahead, Forbes charged up a steep incline and disappeared behind a thick stand of shrubs.

Peter pushed the horse to run even faster. If Forbes vanished without leaving the woman, who knew what might happen to her?

He crested the hill and plunged into the bushes. Just ahead he spotted a patch of blue on the ground.

Oh, no. It was the woman’s dress. Had Forbes killed her? He charged forward. But before he got there, the woman pushed herself into a sitting position.

Thank the good Lord, Forbes had left her. And she looked unharmed. He reached her and leapt from the saddle. Squatting down beside her, he said, “Miss, are you okay?”

Her brow creased and she rubbed her forehead. Then she looked at her hand and furrowed her brow even more.

“Miss, can you hear me?” Worry shot through him.

She turned her head and looked at him. “I’m okay, I got the wind knocked out of me when he threw me off his horse.”

Relief filled him. Thank heavens she was unhurt. The last thing he’d wanted was to see a woman harmed. She was delicate-looking. A city girl? He noticed how pretty her hair was, clean and fancy. It had been done up in some complicated hair-do, but now long chestnut-brown strands had escaped and hung around her face. And she had lovely, mesmerizing gray eyes.

She wiped at her dress, and despite her words of assurance, her hand shook. “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know what that man had in mind. But I’m glad he let me go.”

He was, too.

She got to her feet unaided, but she was trembling and it was getting worse by the moment. The color drained from her face and she started breathing hard. She clamped a hand to her chest.

Alarm shot through him. “Are you okay? Miss? Do you need to sit down?” Was she having some kind of nervous attack?

She nodded and he slung his arm around her waist, easing her back down to the packed ground.

He knelt beside her, but he didn’t know what to do for her as she sucked in deep breaths that didn’t seem to help.

He had never felt more helpless.

Finally, it seemed to ease a bit and she put her hand to her forehead. Eventually, she breathed easier.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a shaky voice. “I’m not one prone to anxiety attacks. But that man scared the living daylights out of me.”

“It’s okay, and understandable.” He was just glad she was doing better. “What’s your name?”

She pushed some escaped tendrils of hair back from her face. “I’m Melissa Greenwood, but I go by Misty.”

Wanting to distract her from the ordeal, he asked, “Where do you hail from?”

“Chicago.” She fanned her face with her hand.

“Are you doing okay? You aren’t going to pass out, are you?”

She kept fanning herself as she shook her head. “I’m okay, just overly hot.”

“I have a canteen. Would you like a drink?”

“From your canteen?” she asked, looking shocked. “I mean, thank you, but it’s all right,” she said.

“Are you sure?” He knew he was insisting, but her fit before had frightened him. What was he supposed to do if she fainted out here?

“Yes, it’s passing. It was just a shocking experience. I’ve never been kidnapped before.” She laughed but it sounded forced.

“Is this the first time you’ve been West?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m sorry your journey had such a frightening start. I’m Sheriff Peter Cole. Were you headed to Jericho?”

“Yes, I’m the new nurse.”

“I’ve never seen a nurse as young and pretty as you,” he said, looking her up and down. “Or wearing such frilly, fancy clothes.”

“Are you insinuating something?” she asked sharply, eyes narrowing.

“Not exactly, just…” He looked down at her as she continued to fan herself with a delicate, white hand. “I hope you don’t get this way around blood.”

Her hand dropped sharply to her lap and she glared up at him. “How is that any of your business? Last I checked, sheriffs weren’t in charge of nurses. I’ll be fine once I recover from being kidnapped.”

He cleared his throat. “Miss Greenwood, maybe you should get right back on that train and leave before you become more trouble than help.”

Her jaw dropped, but she clamped it shut as her eyes narrowed back at him. “Sheriff Cole, I’m here and I’m staying.”

And she was stubborn. This woman was going to cause him difficulties. He just knew it.

“Well, come on,” Peter said. “I’ll take you to town.”

“I’m not riding with you. That would be improper.” Misty crossed her arms, staying firmly seated on the dirt ground.

Yep, she was a feisty one, all right.

“Well, I can’t very well leave you out here among the scorpions and buzzards.” He rubbed his temple, feeling a headache coming on. Whether it was from the heat or the conversation, he wasn’t sure.

“Scorpions?”

“Yes, they’re about the size of a small calf around here. And the buzzards can practically haul off a dear carcass.”

“You’re lying,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Maybe about the size, but we do have scorpions. And buzzards who are always looking for women who get lost and keel over out here.” Perhaps feisty was the wrong term. A pain might be closer to the mark. His head was starting to throb, and he’d only just met the woman.

I’m only offering advice for your own good,” he went on. “Clearly, you have no idea what the West is like. It isn’t for city ladies.”

“I assure you, I’m quite adaptable,” she said in an amused tone.

She was definitely going to be difficult. Well, maybe that would help her get along in a less than friendly land. He couldn’t force her to return to the city.

“Regardless of your intentions, you need to climb up here so we can be on our way,” he said.

She shot him a suspicious glare, looking on the verge of protesting.

“No, you can’t walk all the way to town,” he said before she could suggest it.

“You could be a gentleman and let me ride the horse.”

He snorted. “And I take it that I’m supposed to walk back?”

“Well…”

“Not a chance,” he said. “We’re both riding.”

The West definitely wasn’t a place for a woman who looked as delicate as her. She would probably faint clear away at the first person who had a gunshot wound, or a goring from a bull. Anything could happen to a person living there. She was probably used to treating ladies with hangnails and the vapors.

Misty snorted. “I assure you, I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t think I was capable of living here.”

He mounted his horse and kicked his foot out of the stirrup. “Climb up behind me,” he ordered smugly, confident she wouldn’t be able to and would be forced to ask for his help.

But she stuck her shoe in the stirrup, grabbed the saddle, and pulled herself up until she could swing her leg over the back of the horse. She sat behind him and put her arms behind her to grasp the back of the saddle. He was sure she didn’t want to put her hands on his waist. Well, that was fine with him if she wanted to take a chance on falling off.

“Hang on tight.” She couldn’t say she wasn’t forewarned.

He turned his horse and set off at a trot back toward town. She clung steadfast to the back of the saddle until he headed up an incline and the horse broke into a canter.

With a little squeak she grabbed his sides and hung on. She used the least amount of contact and pressure she could to stay on the horse. She muttered something under her breath, but he wasn’t able to determine what she’d said. He didn’t ask either.

He couldn’t stop a grin, though he wasn’t sure why. Sure, she didn’t belong there. But she would have to figure that out for herself. And she would. City people never lasted when things got difficult out here.

The horse’s shoes clattered over rock and hot wind blew in his face as they cantered toward Jericho. Hopefully, he could just deliver her to the train station, and she would get on the train and head back to whatever place she’d come from. Because her home wasn’t Jericho.

Chapter One

“You hanging on okay back there?” he asked loud enough for her to hear.

She could practically see the smirk on his face. She glared at the thick reddish-brown hair peeking out from beneath his hat.

Who did this sheriff think he was anyway? The least he could do was be nice to her after the ordeal she’d just gone through. For heaven’s sake, she’d been at the mercy of an outlaw who’d kidnapped her as a human shield. And this… sheriff, was more interested in dissuading her from the community than welcoming her. She was there to help people. And he was acting like she should leave.

“I’m doing just fine, thank you,” she said, shifting her hands off his waist and back to the saddle.

Of course, he had no idea she had a history, of sorts, with Jericho. She didn’t expect things to be easy there. Not once people realized who she was. She was well aware of how the people there had treated her mother. They wouldn’t be any more charitable toward her. Of that, she was sure. She wanted to believe it wouldn’t be like that, but she knew human nature too well.

She tried to get a more secure grip on the saddle and leaned toward the sheriff. He smelled sweaty, and horsey, and very manly. And strangely, it didn’t bother her at all.

They rode without speaking until they came to the outskirts of Jericho.

Finally, he slowed the horse to a walk and asked, “Where were you heading?”

She sighed. “My Aunt Clara’s house. Clara Chambers.”

“I know where she lives,” he said, head turned to her in sharp profile. “It isn’t far. She lives close to the church.”

Misty was aware that her aunt was very active in the church, so it made sense that she lived close by.

But when they finally arrived in town she couldn’t believe what she saw, or rather didn’t see. She’d traveled from Chicago, a large, bustling city. And now… they had just ridden into a void of nothing. A couple men ambled down the street. There wasn’t a wagon in sight, and no one else on the sidewalks.

There was also distinct lack of cooking smells. There had to be a place or two to eat in town, hadn’t there? But no delicious scent of a daily special floated on the air. There wasn’t even much noise in this town. A dog barked somewhere. A couple young boys ran down the street with their laughter trailing them. But there wasn’t any boisterous activity in the streets.

She saw a pharmacy, a barber, a small general store, a couple of trade shops, and the church. There had to be a bank, the sheriff’s office, a blacksmith, and a saloon somewhere. No town was complete without them. But, she realized, that would probably account for every building in town that wasn’t a house.

It wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d expected a small town… but this wasn’t even a town as far as she was concerned.

“This is awful,” she said.

“Awful? You can’t be serious,” he scoffed. He sounded incredulous that someone might not like his town.

And she was pretty sure he was the kind of man who would see Jericho as his town.

“I am serious,” Misty said. “Where’s the clinic?”

“Far end of the street. Close to the bank,” he said. “It’s small, too. Like the town.” He sounded scornful.

She had definitely made him angry with her assessment of his town. Well, he could just get over it in the same clothes he got mad in. What was she supposed to think? That she’d arrived in paradise? She’d never lived in such a small town where, most likely, everyone had their nose crammed in everyone else’s business.

But in her heart, she acknowledged that her dislike was influenced by more than its size. The knowledge of what they’d done to her mother, the way they’d treated her, hung heavy over Misty as the horse trotted down the dusty street. And her mother hadn’t even done wrong. ]

The more she looked around, the more her chest and stomach tightened. It even smelled bad, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust. “What in the world is that smell?”

Sheriff Peter snorted. “That’s Jasper Hanson’s farm.”

“What? What kind of farm?”

“He raises hogs. When the wind blows this way and it’s real hot, we sometimes catch a whiff here and there.”

A hog farm? Seriously, she had to smell hogs?

She felt the first indication of a headache coming on. Couldn’t anything go right for her? Hadn’t she been through enough? Apparently not.

She hadn’t even made it to her aunt’s place and it was already feeling like she’d made a terrible mistake. It was bad enough to have doubts about her career, but Jericho made everything worse.

Why hadn’t Aunt Clara warned her? Perhaps because she’d suspected Misty wouldn’t make the journey there if she knew how bad it was? Most likely.

“Your aunt’s place is right down there. The one with the picket fence,” he said.

She noted that the house was small but it looked perfectly maintained. The yard was tidy and flowers grew along the fence, giving it a homey look. At least it looked nice.

If the outside looked nice, the inside probably was, too. She was at least thankful she wasn’t being delivered to a rundown house.

She wished Aunt Clara had been more honest in her letters.

They rode up to the house and he stopped the horse.

“Here, let me help you down,” he said. “It’s slick.”

“No thank you. I can get myself down,” she said.

Somehow, she managed to swing her leg over the horse’s rump and not get hung up with her dress. She grabbed the saddle again and dropped off the side of the horse.

She landed in mud and her feet slipped, nearly sending her under the horse. His hand shot out, grabbing her arm and stopping her fall and when she looked up, their faces were very close. He was very clearly wearing an expression that said, I told you so.

She found herself staring into the most unusual pale-green eyes she’d ever seen. Little flecks of gold glinted in the green irises. She couldn’t pull her gaze from them.

He grinned.

Her cheeks grew hot.

He released her.

She controlled the urge to stomp her foot in frustration. She was not going to prove this man right. No matter how dreadful she might find the town. No matter how much she might want to get back on the next train heading east, she wouldn’t do it.

Intentionally, she thought of one of her favorite Bible verses.

Isaiah 40:31 But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.

She would not be faint. And eventually, she would soar like an eagle.

She would make it here. She wasn’t going to give that man the satisfaction of being right.

But more importantly, she needed to prove it to herself. Maybe the good Lord had sent her to this little place for a reason.

Maybe this was what she needed, even if she didn’t want it to be.

She straightened her back and squared her shoulders. No matter what it took, she would get her life in order.

And show this man she wouldn’t be done in by less than ideal circumstances.