Outlaw Bride #7
TRAIL BLAZERS series
She’ll do anything to save her family … Even breaking an outlaw out of prison.
When Bridget Callahan’s family is stranded in the Sierra Nevada mountains by early snows, she seeks the help of the one man capable of taking on such a perilous rescue. Unfortunately, he is a condemned killer — sentenced to hang.
Cole Ellis has vowed never to return to the mountains but, facing the hangman’s noose, he agrees to help Bridget rescue her family in return for his freedom. Now he wonders if he has traded a quick death for a slow one.
But, as they set out with a posse in pursuit and the menacing mountains ahead, she wonders if trusting this dangerous, enigmatic man might be the biggest risk of all.
“Merging conventional western themes with an usual backdrop and plot, Kernan creates an engaging and fascinating story with strong characters that will provide readers with a real understanding of the western mentality.”
~Romantic Times Book Reviews on High Plains Bride~
Excerpt - Outlaw Bride #7
Trailblazers series
Chapter One
Sacramento, California
November 1850
The jailer eyed Bridget Callahan with sterile blue eyes. “You carrying a weapon?”
“What?” she asked.
“Or anything else that would help him escape?”
“I just want to speak to the man, not hang beside him.”
The jailer nodded and led her across the deck of the prison brig Stafford, moored on the eastern bank of the American River. Stripped of all rope and sail, the ship wallowed in the mud like a sow, left to rot along with those poor souls locked belowdecks.
Bridget’s nose wrinkled at the stench. Stone or wood, the housing didn’t matter. Unwashed bodies, urine and filth smelled the same, both sides of the Atlantic.
Keep your family together, and the rest of the world can take care of itself. Her father always said as much. Bridget set her jaw. Mary and Chloe were all she had left of her family. She would not lose them, as well.
The jailer descended the galley stairs, disappearing into the gloom. Bridget paused on deck as apprehension prickled her neck. Nothing on God’s green earth could convince her to go down those stairs. Nothing, she thought, except her family dying by inches in the freezing cold.
She shifted her attention from the decking to the long, straight street leading east to the rolling hills she had crossed alone. Beyond stood the jagged ridge of mountains. Low clouds hung over the peaks. She knew what that meant. The granite teeth devoured her family and the snow buried them alive.
“What’s keeping you?” called the jailer.
Perspiration erupted on her face and neck as she lowered one foot and then the next to the steep stairs. Below, small pinpoints of sunlight broke through the green deck, glass prisms set in the deck, casting the narrow hall in eerie shadow.
“He’s got his own cell. Moved him aft from the brig to the second mate’s quarters, just till the hanging.”
She followed him down the corridor. He halted before a sturdy wooden door with bars set in a square opening at eye level.
“Where’s me keys?” He fished in his overcoat for his ring and then fanned them to locate the right one.
She peered into the darkness beyond the bars.
“Keep back. He’s had some to drink.”
“You let your prisoners drink?”
“Started his last meal early. Asked for four bottles of whiskey and the mayor says he’s to have them. Wants him to go to his Maker in this sorry state.” The jailer turned to the darkness beyond the door. “Ellis, you awake?”
“Time already?”
Bridget thought he sounded eager, but that made no sense. No one was anxious to die.
“No, you stupid bastard, you got a whole day left.”
The condemned man cursed.
“Got a visitor. Miss Callahan. She got trapped in your mountains. Her family’s still up there.”
Another curse. “Go away.”
The jailer leaned closer, letting her know without words that Ellis was not the only one drinking on board. “He don’t like to talk about it.”
She stepped forward and spoke into the gloom. “I’ve some questions.”
“Go away, damn you.”
The jailer grinned. “Ellis knows all about them mountains. Rescued some, but not all.” He raked his keys across the bars. “Right, Ellis? Couldn’t save your own kin?”
He’d lost his family to the Sierras. Her worst nightmare had happened to him. Is that why he had fallen so far?
The jailer banged on the bars with the iron ring. “But you made it, all right. Didn’t you, Ellis?”
His captive muttered something unintelligible and the jailor chuckled as he retraced his steps, pausing before the narrow stairs.
“Enjoy your visit,” he called, and disappeared up the ladder.
Cole heard Meredith’s heavy step on the stairs. Was the woman gone, as well?
He clutched the smooth neck of the whiskey bottle and tipped it back, longing for the burn in his throat and the fire in his belly.
Nothing.
He released his grip and the bottle clunked against the bunk, then the floor, rolling in a circle before coming to rest.
Three left.
Her voice drifted in from the cell door. She sounded young and Irish. His wife’s people had come from the old country.
He squeezed his eyes closed tight as the guilt overcame him. His wife—dead and gone while he still lived. Never should it be so.
Angela.
Why had she left him? He should have died with her that day, but then he thought he might still save their daughter. He hadn’t. The rage billowed inside him. Twenty-three-year-olds should not die in the snow.
“Mr. Ellis, my family is still up there.”
“So’s mine,” he muttered.
What did she want from him? He was in here and she, out there. What month was it? Every damn day was the same in this miserable land—no seasons, just mild days and warm nights. Angela would have loved it here.
“Can’t tell winter from spring,” he muttered.
“What was that?” she asked.
He didn’t answer.
“Mr. Ellis, they say they can’t make a rescue until February at the earliest. The food won’t last that long. You’ve been there. You rescued fifteen people in November.”
“I left more than I saved.”
“But you saved some, Mr. Ellis. There are three more souls waiting.”
“Not for me.”
“You know how to reach them.”
“Ah, is that all? Just wait until April and then walk straight up the trail. They’ll be there, unless the wolves get at them.”
He heard a small sound. Did she gasp? “They’ve only one ox and no flour. Mr. Ellis, do you understand?”
He did and his gut coiled in tight knots. He wanted to tell her to forget them, but he could not muster the words.
“Can you give me some notion on how to proceed?” asked the woman.
She made him remember. He reached for the whiskey.
“Please, Mr. Ellis.”
He paused before pulling the cork with his teeth. “If I tell you, will you go away?”
Silence. The little bit of baggage was considering his offer.
“If you answer all my questions.”
A counteroffer. She was used to barter. He smiled, intrigued enough to lower the bottle.
“No man living can answer all a woman’s questions, especially a man who’s fall-down drunk. I’ll give you five, then you scat.”
She was quiet again, but finally, just when he had nearly forgotten she was there, she piped up again.
“Should I hire horses or mules?”
“Neither,” he said.
Her small face pressed to the space between the bars of his door, showing him a sharp nose centered between two large eyes.
“I’m not following you,” she said.
He hoped not, as he was traveling to the gallows. He bit back the sarcasm. His wife had never approved of that side of him.
“Pack animals mire in deep snow. Get snowshoes.”
Her fingers clutched the bars. He glimpsed thin, pale appendages and staggered to his feet. Since the prison ship didn’t move, he assumed the rocking was entirely internal.
He lost his tenuous hold on his equilibrium and stumbled against the door. His hand gripped hers. The heat of her skin registered first, and then, the sweet fruity scent of her drifted into his world like a soft breeze through an orchard. Had she been eating oranges?
She didn’t draw back at his touch and that surprised him, but not half so much as her next action—she reached through the bars to capture his wrist. Her strong grip showed her vitality. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she meant to drag him through that narrow gap and force him along on her mission. He could see the determination glowing in her green eyes and something else, something familiar—grief. She mourned them already.
“I didn’t think of snowshoes.”
The woman leaned in to catch his next words.
“And stay clear of the avalanche plane,” he added.
“How shall I know it?”
Cole couldn’t keep his jaw from dropping. Had she walked right through it, unknowing?
The woman blinked at him, her brow wrinkled in concentration. She’d been up there—on his mountain. How had she escaped? What quality did she have that his wife had lacked?
Was it all luck? Was that what decided who lived and who died?
It was a question he’d asked himself more times than he could remember. Why had they died? Why had he lived?
Bridget tried to regain Ellis’s attention. “I thought canned fruit might do them the most good.” It was, in fact, what she most craved, along with bread, but she could think of no way to bring that.
“No, no. Jerked meat and dried fruit.”
“But coffee and…”
“Too heavy. Melt snow for drinking and bring a buffalo robe.”
She would not have thought of that, either.
Bridget needed to learn all he knew, but minutes slipped by. This time tomorrow, he’d be dead and she’d be alone again.
It was a miracle she had survived her descent. She could not rely on luck on the return. This man had been there and back—twice. He knew things, things that she must understand if she was to succeed.
She needed more than words. She needed…him.
Her next idea so shocked her that it took her breath away. She stood frozen in horror as the idea took hold. Her heart beat against her ribs with such force she needed to grit her teeth against the pain of it. Part of her wanted to turn tail and run. The coward, she thought, the side of her that always sought to save its skin. Instead, she stood silently, battling for the courage to speak.
Her whispered voice rang with desperation. “Would you take me?”
His eyes narrowed as if she mocked him. His smile was sardonic. “I’ve a previous engagement.”
She felt the noose tightening around her own neck. If he died, her only chance to rescue her family died with him. She knew it without question. “If I get you out, will you promise to come?”
Cole measured the woman. She looked that desperate. He was tempted to say yes, just to be rid of her. It was an easy lie, since the woman’s chances of gaining his release were about the same as those of anyone reaching her family in time.
Still he hesitated. He didn’t want to struggle any longer. That’s why he’d stolen that pretty little mare. Jabbing his finger so far into the mayor’s eye, not even he could overlook it. Too bad about the horse’s broken leg. He had never intended that. His jaw clenched. Mark it down with his other sins, he thought.
“Please, Mr. Ellis. I need you.”
He saw her face clearly now, earnest, thin and as pale as ivory. How long had it been since anyone had needed him?
Cole pulled free of the woman’s hand. The heat of her still clung to him, as did the lush scent of orange peels.
“My family’s lives, Mr. Ellis, for your liberty.”
As if he wanted that. She couldn’t provide him the release he sought and neither could he. He glanced at the three full whiskey bottles. Their respite was all too brief, so he’d taken the coward’s way.
“No.”
“Mr. Ellis, you are the only one who has been there.”
He just wanted her to go away. A lie would make that happen, and what harm would it do? They’d both have what they sought. She’d have hope and he’d have peace. Likely she’d push off to plead with some judge. What was she willing to bargain for his freedom?
The first thing that sprang to his mind made him grimace, though he could not fathom why he cared what the girl did, so long as she did it elsewhere.
Let her weep and plead for his freedom. Then there might be one person in the world who would mourn his passing.
“All right,” he whispered.
“Swear.”
He didn’t want to.
“I do.”
“Swear on the soul of your wife.”
He drew back.
“Mr. Ellis?”
He just wanted to lie down and rest, sleep. But she kept picking at him like a crow on a carcass.
“I’ll not go until I hear you say it.”
He could feel his wife’s disappointment in him, knew she would not approve of what he was about to do. But she had left him long ago. He clenched his jaw against the anger that glowed brightly for an instant before drowning in guilt. How could he hate her for dying?
“Mr. Ellis. Your vow?”
Oh, would this woman ever go away?
“Yes, on her soul, then.”
The instant he said it, the fog of whiskey lifted and he understood what he had done. A cold chill seeped into his bones.
Pray to God, she can’t do it. Please, God, don’t let her succeed.
She shouted, “Mr. Meredith!” On the second call she heard his heavy step as he descended the stairs.
“What is it? Did the mongrel grab you?”
Bridget stood with her hands in tight fists. She couldn’t believe what she was thinking, couldn’t breathe past the enormity of it. She was risking all on the promise of a man who stank of whiskey.
Small hope is better than none.
“I…I…the heat.” She lifted her hand to her brow for effect as the jailer drew closer, and then she stumbled against him.
“It’s the smell what does it.”
It was nothing to reach into his coat. The difficult part was doing it so that the keys came away soundlessly. But she’d had practice, years and years of it. Some skills stuck like tar on flesh. She threaded her fingers through the individual pieces and squeezed. The jailor held her now, supporting her weight.
“I’ll get you out.”
“No,” she whispered, regaining her footing. “Some water.”
He released her, but stood near, ready to catch her. He didn’t appear to note the hand she kept behind her back.
“Water?” she whispered.
He dragged a stool from beneath the stairs. “Sit there.”
She did and he rushed away. Bridget turned to the lock, now at eye level. She could feel Ellis standing above her, just inches away as she tried one key after another.
“Don’t,” he whispered.
You’d think the man wanted to hang. She stiffened as realization dawned and she shot to her feet, staring hard into his eyes. Yes, he looked that hopeless.
“Now, you listen to me, Mr. Ellis. You made a pledge.”
“You tricked me.”
“You’ll be seeing it through. After that, what you do is your own damn business.”
He looked surprised—at her language, she wondered, or something else?
“I won’t lead you to that icy hell.”
“You will. You vowed on her soul.”
She slipped another key into the lock and this time the tumbler caught. The click brought them both to stillness, she on her side and he on his.
He glared at Bridget, but his face had gone pale.
“Damn you,” he muttered.
“As long as you don’t damn her. I’ve only seen Meredith—are there others?”
“Sometimes. Best lock the door or you’ll be sharing my lodgings.”
She couldn’t help but flinch. He noted it and smiled. How quickly had he found her soft spot.
“Why, Miss Callahan, have you already been a guest here?”
She managed only to shake her head.
“Still time to change your mind, turn that key and walk away.”
Oh, how she wanted to. Instead, she pulled the key clear of the open lock, flashing a challenge with her eyes. “I’ll see Meredith is occupied.”
His eyebrows rose. No doubt he assumed the worst of her, and why not, after what he had already witnessed? Well, let him. What did it matter what a horse thief thought of her?
But it did matter. The whys of it, she would not consider.
Above them, Meredith’s footsteps marked his return.
Bridget aimed a finger at Cole Ellis. “You vowed on her soul. Mark that.”
She met Meredith by the stairs, allowing him to assist her up as she slipped the keys back into his pocket. Above deck, she drank the water he offered, keeping her attention on the galley door as Meredith kept his attentions on her. She didn’t like the way his glance slid over her like oil, lingering on her bosom before traveling back up to meet her gaze.
She allowed him to aid her down the gangplank to Front Street, where she sat upon a barrel with a clear view of the ship. She waited there, busying Meredith with a performance worthy of the stage. But Mr. Ellis did not emerge. Damn the man. Had he passed out in his cell?
At last she gave up. “Thank you, Mr. Meredith. I am feeling recovered.”
“I can send for a doctor. We have a hospital in town, right next to the cemetery.”
“How convenient.” She rose. “Thank you for your kindness.”
“You aren’t going up the mountain again, are you?”
She smiled. “Don’t be silly.”
His grin was hesitant, but it came at last, a confident smile that said he fully believed a woman would not be so impractical.
She gave the brig one last furious glare and then rose. “Good day to you.”
He doffed his hat, showing greasy hair. She headed directly up J Street, past the mercantile shops and eateries. Should she stop and buy supplies? Bridget hesitated in the street. But what to purchase? The task seemed so overwhelming. At least she had money. Her sister had given her all that was left from the sale of George’s shop. As a wheelwright, he’d been in high demand, both in Kentucky and as a member of the wagon train.
She had been in this city two weeks already, recovering her strength and trying in vain to rally a rescue party. How much salted oxen had her family consumed already?
She stopped at Ned’s Kitchen, knowing from experience that the food was hearty and fairly priced. She settled on the elk stew, knowing it was bound to taste better than the last elk she’d eaten. But that one had saved her life.
The meal arrived with a generous biscuit still steaming from the pan. She savored the first spoonful of stew, holding it in her mouth as the thick concoction coated her tongue. How Mary would love this.
She opened her eyes and noted two men taking more interest in her than in their meals, so she reached in her pocket and removed the Colt revolver, laying it by her coffee. The men returned their attention to their food, allowing her to do the same.
After she settled her bill and was once more on the street, she had to resist the urge to march back down to the river and throttle Mr. Ellis herself. Why should the hangman have the satisfaction? Instead, she headed back to Mrs. Dickerson’s hotel. Mr. Giles, of the Sacramento Transcript, had kindly paid for her room, in exchange for her giving him an exclusive story of her ordeal. She’d thought it a fine bargain until he accepted without haggling, making her wish she had asked for board, as well.
Bridget mounted the second flight of carpeted stairs, her slow tread reflecting her mood. At the top she passed the little table and flanking chairs, noticing that the flowers in the vase were starting to drop their petals, making them look as tired as she felt. One chair was askew, so she righted it.
It must have been ten degrees hotter on this level. No wonder her room was stifling. She would leave the transom open again tonight, hoping to entice the cooler evening air. She glanced up, noting that she’d failed to pull it shut before leaving this morning. Not that it mattered. Everything of value, save her coat, was on her person.
She fished in her pocket for her key and slipped it into the lock. The click sounded and she turned the knob, swinging the door inward.
Catching movement across the room, she hesitated on the threshold.
There, making use of her pitcher and washbowl, stood Cole Ellis, stripped to the waist, his skin glistening wet.
Excerpt Outlaw Bride ©2020 – Jenna Kernan