The Wagon Train Fugitive (Preview)

Chapter One

Sam Morrison shot straight up in bed. He caught his breath as he looked around the room, illuminated only by the pale swath of moonlight that swept in through the window. The shadows and humps that denoted his furniture were the same as they’d always been. 

He listened, sure that something had awoken him. The faint ticking of the mantel clock from the living room managed to creep through the walls, but all else was silent.

Then he heard it. The long, low, mournful wail of a cow who’d had her sleep disturbed.

His hands needed no guidance as he got dressed, yanking on the trousers that were always waiting on the chair by the door.

“Thomas!” he called down the hall as he turned around to put on his boots.

“I heard it!” His older brother’s footsteps went thundering by, along with a lumbering silhouette. 

Sam raced after him, grabbing his rifle from the hanger near the door before they emerged into the night and hustled down the porch stairs. The barnyard was bathed in silvery blue, the shadows deep and crisp. 

Thomas jerked open the pasture gate. “Hey!” His voice shattered through the night.

The gate clanged shut behind Sam with a bang as he spotted the figures on the next hilltop. He raised his rifle, his hands sure and his eyes sharp. He exhaled and squeezed the trigger.

His target fell from his horse, a dark figure tumbling to the ground.

Sam flicked the lever forward, loading the next bullet into the chamber. The spent casing tapped him lightly on the forearm, still hot. He lined up his next target.

That first bullet was just the beginning. The two brothers marched steadily forward, side by side, as gunpowder flashed all around them. The intruders were firing back. 

The ground rumbled. Disturbed and confused, the cattle stampeded. They raced down the hill, straight toward Sam and Thomas. The hulking figures had no sense of direction. They only wanted to get away from danger, and they would go through anything to make that happen.

“Shit,” Sam swore as they dodged to the shelter of a nearby tree. They huddled against the rough bark as the herd went by, their hooves carving the ground and their horns swinging. 

Thomas dared to look around the tree. “There’s got to be at least six of them.” He had his revolver, something he’d always preferred over a rifle. He fired, but it was an unlikely shot over the heads of the cattle, and he missed. “They’ve got the advantage on us.”

The last of the livestock streamed past, gathering near the gate behind them. Hitting a dead end, they swirled like an eddy in a river and spread out through the pasture. No longer a concentrated herd, the cattle were now everywhere. 

A flash of movement to the left caught Sam’s eye. He swiveled, readjusted his aim, and privately sent up a prayer of thanks for how full the moon was tonight. With one squeeze of his finger, another man was down. 

“They didn’t break the fence yet. I got him before he could.” Sam reloaded.

His heart was racing. Thomas was right. They could shoot, but they were outnumbered and on foot. Their only advantage was in knowing the pasture better than the intruders, but that was only a slim edge.

The zing of a bullet whizzed nearby, just missing Thomas’s head. “Son of a bitch!” He fired back.

A grunt echoed across the field. Someone had been hit.

Sam and Thomas were pushing them, but their efforts still weren’t enough to drive the rustlers away. They were getting bolder. Sam found his next target, but he just as quickly lost it behind a large, dark figure.

Hooves pounded the earth as a riderless horse went flying past them. The whites of its eyes and the foam on its chest stood out bright against its dark hide. It snorted and stomped, crow-hopping to the side when it spotted the brothers. 

“Look. They’re leaving,” Thomas noted as the invaders gathered themselves up in the center of the pasture. 

The first man Sam had shot was limping to his feet now, and another one yanked him up on his horse. It looked good, but Sam wasn’t going to breathe a sigh of relief just yet. 

The rustlers rounded themselves up and headed straight for Sam and Thomas. They fired as they thundered forward.

Sam’s hands moved quickly, firing off rounds and loading new ones. They were too close for his aim to matter. Anger and frustration boiled in his blood. This was their property. How could these men do this? 

His shoulders burned from holding up the rifle for so long, and he spent the last of his bullets as the rustlers went by. 

They carved a path through the terrified cattle and then took off, their mounts easily flying over the low spot in the fence they’d created with a heavy piece of wood.

Sam gritted his teeth, seething with irritation. “I’m getting my bullets and my horse.”

“Don’t bother. They’re long gone, and we’ll never catch them. At least we got out here before they could get any of the cattle.” Thomas heaved the timber off the fence, letting the barbed wire bounce back up to its normal height. “Our time would be better spent reinforcing our fences.”

“At least a couple of them were shot,” Sam pointed out as he went back through the pasture gate. “We can head for Doc Murray’s place and see if they show up.”

“They’re not the only ones who’ve been shot.” Thomas grabbed Sam’s elbow and squinted at his shoulder. “We’d better get you inside.”

Sam craned his head to see the splotch of darkness on his pale shirt. Reluctantly, he returned to the house.

Thomas knocked on the door. “Sadie! It’s us!”

Muffled sounds came through the thick wood as the heavy board that barricaded the door in such situations was slowly removed. Thomas’s wife opened the door, sending light from the oil lamp spilling out onto the porch. 

“Are you all right? I heard so many shots.”

“We’re fine,” Thomas assured her with a peck on the cheek. His hand grazed across her round belly. “There were rustlers in the pasture, but they didn’t get any of the cattle.”

“Bastards,” wheezed Daniel Morrison. He was leaning on the back of a chair, looking thin and frail in his nightclothes. “I should’ve come out there.”

“Dad, you shouldn’t be out of bed,” Sam cautioned. 

“I’m fine,” the old man insisted, the words choking out in a fit of coughs.

Sam shot Thomas a look, but his older brother just shrugged. They couldn’t keep the old man down.

“What’s this?” Daniel plucked at Sam’s shirt. “The bastards got you.”

“I’m fine,” Sam said.

Thomas laughed. “The two of you are just alike.”

“Come on.” Daniel shuffled toward the living room, where the banked fire had been resurrected in their absence. He bent slowly to fetch the medical box.

“You don’t have to do that, Dad. I can take care of it.” Though Sam’s body was much younger and stronger, he could feel every ache and pain that must be grinding through his father’s body. 

“Sit down and shut up,” Daniel said, gesturing at a nearby chair.

Sam pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. At one point in his life, he’d have been terrified to hear his father say that. These days, though, the admonition in that shaky old voice wasn’t very threatening at all.

“Maybe I should make some tea.” Sadie wrung her hands in front of her swollen belly as she studied the blood on Sam’s shirt. “Or are you hungry?”

“You don’t need to do anything,” Thomas soothed, putting his arm around her waist. “You go rest. We’ll take care of this.”

Her brow creased, but she nodded. “Wake me if you need anything.”

“We will.” Thomas kissed her forehead and watched her retreat to their room.

“She’s a good woman,” Daniel said. “You’re lucky, Thomas.”

“Don’t I know it?” Thomas grinned a little as he took a seat by the hearth, but the smile faded as he swiped his hair off his face. “The baby worries me, though. Childbirth is dangerous business for a woman.”

Sam unbuttoned his ruined shirt and stripped it off. “She’s strong. She’ll be all right.”

“Easy for you to say.” Thomas pulled in a deep breath and leaned forward. “How’s the patient look, Dad?”

“Stubborn as a mule and twice as smelly.” Daniel’s wheezing laugh ended in another cough. “It just grazed you. Bleeding like hell, but I don’t think you need it stitched up.”

“Good, although if it did need stitches, maybe I’d find a couple of rustlers there at the doc’s place.” Sam gave Thomas a pointed look.

“This is what I meant, Dad. He’s just like you. I think he’d have run after them with no horse and an empty gun if he thought he had half a chance in hell of catching them. He doesn’t know when to quit.” Thomas got up and went to the sideboard, fetching a small bottle of good whiskey. 

Daniel’s hands shook as he washed the wound. His cloudy eyes looked distant and sad. “Maybe I’ll be quitting sometime soon after all.”

Sam turned to him. “What are you going on about?”

“Sit still. You’ll start bleeding again,” the old man reprimanded. He sighed as he slowly wrapped a long scrap of fabric around the wound.

His fingers were warm against Sam’s skin. Too warm, really. Sam’s stomach clenched as he realized the fever must’ve returned. His father had been fighting illness for a while now. His fevers came and went, and his breathing was much more labored than it used to be. 

As Sam studied his father, he realized just how old he’d become over the last few years. He’d been a strong, smart rancher, but now he was practically an invalid. It was only because of Daniel’s obstinate nature that he continued to contribute to the household in whatever meager ways he could.

“I’m not doing well,” Daniel said, a wisp of his gray hair flopping down over his forehead as he tied the rag in place. “I know that, and it’s time to start admitting it to myself.”

“Maybe Doc Murray could—”

“No,” Daniel cut Thomas off. “He can’t do anything for me. We know that. It means it’s time for me to take care of other business.”

“Such as?” Sam didn’t like the way this sounded.

Daniel sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. The oil lamp deepened the recesses around his eyes and highlighted the bones of his thin frame. “I have a daughter.”

“Maybe we should go ahead and get Doc Murray,” Thomas suggested cautiously.

Daniel’s eyes flew open with surprising speed. “I’m not talking crazy, son. I’m telling you the truth. I have a daughter. I abandoned her and her mother long ago. I did what I thought I had to do at the time, but I’ve been carrying this secret around for decades. I can’t carry it anymore.”

Sam touched the back of his father’s hand. He wasn’t sure he should believe the tale, but he had to know more. “Tell us.”

The old man’s chest heaved as he took in a deep breath. “It was a long time ago, before I met your mother. I met another woman. We weren’t very careful, you could say, and she ended up with child. I was going to marry her.”

Their mother had been gone for a long time now, but it was still hard to imagine Daniel with anyone else.

“Her parents didn’t approve,” he continued, “and the baby wasn’t enough to change their minds. I should’ve fought for her. I should’ve done more to stay in her life. I didn’t think it would make a difference, and I gave up. I’ve regretted it ever since.”

Thomas came to sit on Daniel’s other side. His face was full of emotion. “I can only imagine.”

“Yes,” Daniel said with a slight nod. “You have a little one on the way. Whatever love you think you have right now for that child is nothing compared to what you’ll feel when it’s born. I never got to be there like that for Rebecca.”

Sam sat in silence. The confession was a shocking one, and no words seemed to be enough. He lowered his head, trying to absorb this.

“I want you to find her.”

He brought his head back up. 

“I’ve been writing some letters over the last few years,” their father explained. “Her name is Rebecca. She’s in California. Everything I know about her is in my desk drawer, including a letter for her from me. I want her to know how sorry I am.”

Thomas rubbed his jaw uncertainly. “California is a long way from Missouri.”

If Daniel heard this concern, he didn’t reply to it. “I want her to have her share of her inheritance when I go to Heaven.”

“We don’t need to talk about that,” Sam said uncertainly.

“Yes, we do. We’re running out of time. I’m not going to be here much longer. I can feel Heaven calling me home.” Daniel’s breath rattled in his lungs, and he seemed to sink down into the cushions of the chair.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Thomas suggested. “We can talk about it some more tomorrow.”

Sam agreed, and they walked their father to bed. 

“What do you think about all of that?” Sam asked his brother a short time later.

Thomas pressed his lips together. “I don’t want to think about it at all right now. I just want to lay down next to my wife and get some sleep.”

“See you in the morning.” 

Sam went to his room and undressed. He slipped back underneath the covers. The sheets had gone cold in his absence. 

It was late. He needed his rest if he was going to get a full day of work in, but his mind was far too busy.

Chapter Two

“Stand up straight, Eliza. Put your shoulders back. Lift your chin. Honestly, I shouldn’t have to tell you these things on your wedding day.”

Eliza Blake looked at her pale reflection. The full-length mirror revealed yards of silk that had been embellished with pounds of beads and lace. “I think my corset is too tight.”

“Don’t be silly,” Josephine Blake, her stepmother, admonished.

“I can barely breathe,” Eliza insisted. Her knees were starting to get weak.

“Perhaps I should bring Miss Eliza some water,” Bertie suggested as she finished tying on the final layer of skirting. The plump maid peeked around from behind Eliza and lifted her brows questioningly in the mirror.

“She doesn’t need water,” Josephine snapped. “She doesn’t really need to be able to breathe. All she needs to do is nod, smile, and say ‘I do’ when the moment comes. Get the bodice on, Bertie.”

Eliza pressed her lips together. Her heart was racing. She could feel sweat soaking into her corset, although it hardly seemed there was room for even a drop of water between the fabric and her skin. 

“Don’t do that with your mouth.” Josephine came around in front of Eliza and studied her face. “It took long enough to get you this presentable, so don’t ruin it. What will they think if you come into the church looking like a corpse? Hold out your arms.”

Eliza obediently did so as Bertie put on the bodice. With every piece of her gown, she was one step closer to walking down the aisle toward Silas Wilder. “Josephine, I don’t want to do this.”

“Don’t you start that up again,” her stepmother warned, face twisted into an angry scowl. “This is your duty to your family. This marriage will settle your father’s debts and ensure that his business thrives. It’s the one useful thing you can finally do for us!”

Eliza had been treated like a burden ever since Josephine had come into her life. Roland Blake, a powerful Boston merchant, was too busy poring over his account books to notice. “I understand, but—”

“You should also understand just what this marriage is doing for your own future, not that you deserve it,” Josephine barked. “There are plenty of women who’d be grateful to marry someone with that kind of money and prestige. Why, just come and look.”

With little choice, Eliza followed her stepmother to the large window overlooking the front of the house. Carriages were already arriving, with wedding guests flooding out of them. Some milled in the yard, and others came into the house. 

A finely appointed carriage stopped, and a footman leaped off the back. He held the door for Silas himself. His graying hair and paunchy belly were enough to make Eliza wish for a different husband, but the rumors about him made her downright sick. 

“I’ve heard he was rather cruel to his previous wife.”

Josephine pulled in a breath and let it out slowly through her nose. “This wedding has already been arranged, down to the very last flower. I don’t want to hear any more of your whining. It’s a marriage, not a trip to the sea.”

Panic bloomed in Eliza’s chest. What could she do? Her father, her stepmother, and even her brother had been trying to figure out the best way to leverage wealth and social advancement out of Eliza’s marriage. She had no allies. Nobody would listen to her protests.

She lifted her chin and steeled herself. “You’re right.”

“Pardon?” It was rare to catch Josephine without something to say.

“You’re right,” Eliza repeated. “I’ve been letting my nerves get the best of me. I think I just need a moment to collect my thoughts and calm myself down. That way I can look and act my best for our esteemed guests. I’m sorry that I’ve been so silly.”

“That’s much better. Come, Bertie. I need you to fix my hair, and I think I’d like to change my gown.” Josephine headed out into the upstairs hallway.

“Yes, ma’am.” Bertie cast a quick, sympathetic glance over her shoulder and then followed.

The moment she was alone, Eliza raced to her wardrobe. She opened the door, digging past skirts and dresses until she found the small wooden box at the back. Eliza dumped the contents on her bed. There was no time to admire her mother’s jewelry, which had been safely tucked away from Josephine’s gaze, nor to count the coins that were her inheritance. She transferred them to two small bags.

When she turned toward the door, Eliza realized she had another problem. She couldn’t go anywhere in this dress! She’d be spotted instantly in all the white silk and lace. Not to mention the long train and the fitted skirt restricted her to short, mincing steps. 

Desperately, she reached behind her. The tiny buttons on the back of the bodice refused to cooperate. Her hands shook as she tried to force them back through the holes. How had Bertie done them up so quickly? Eliza’s breath was coming in short, shallow gasps.

She caught another look at herself in the mirror. She was done up as the bride to a wealthy man, but that wasn’t who Eliza Blake had always been. She’d once been a girl who could barely be kept indoors, and she’d been in trouble more than once for borrowing her brother’s trousers.

She grabbed the edges of the two back panels of the bodice. With a grunt, she yanked them apart. Buttons fell to the floor, and the silk ripped. Giddy at the prospect of freedom, Eliza pulled again and stripped the bodice off. The skirts were an easier matter. A few yanks of the ribbons and bows that tied them on, and they became a frothy puddle on the floor.

Elated and terrified, Eliza returned to her wardrobe. She flicked aside the fancy ballgowns that Josephine had insisted she wear in order to find a suitor. She found her simplest traveling outfit and quickly donned the long skirt, simple shirt, and plain jacket. 

A knock sounded on the door. “Eliza?” Bertie asked. “Mrs. Josephine sent me to see if you’re ready yet.”

Eliza froze. Was this even going to work? “I just need a few more moments,” she called, trying to sound happy. 

“Yes, miss.”

Her hair! She’d never get out of here with this auburn hair. Fortunately, there was a bonnet with a large brim that matched her jacket. She tied it on tightly, tucking in the few stray strands. 

The discarded wedding dress would give her away the moment someone came in looking for her. She harvested the massive dress from the floor and shoved it underneath her bed, giggling as she crammed the expensive dress into the darkest recesses. She was twenty-two, but she felt like a child.

With a small carpet bag to stow away her most precious belongings, Eliza crept to the door and listened. There were no footsteps in the hall. She carefully turned the doorknob and stepped out, keeping the knob turned until the door was fully closed again so the sound of the latch wouldn’t catch anyone’s attention. 

The servant’s stairs were steep and dark. Fortunately, Eliza had spent plenty of time on them in her youth. She lifted her skirt and leaned on the rail as she rattled down the narrow treads. 

The kitchen was busy. The sounds of clattering dishes and clanking pots carried up the stairs. Eliza paused at the bottom and peeked around the corner. Every servant in the household had been put to work preparing for the ceremony. Others had even been borrowed from other houses. 

It was a short dash to the servants’ cloakroom. Eliza had to time this correctly or all of her efforts would be for nothing. She waited until the cook had her back turned, and then she lifted her foot.

“Luella!” Josephine’s voice as she entered the kitchen was louder than all the clattering crockery.

Eliza ducked back into the stairwell. Of course her stepmother had come down here! She could leave it all to the housekeeper to manage, but Josephine needed to be in control. If she couldn’t be upstairs chastising Eliza, then she had to find someone else to hurl her insults at.

“Yes, ma’am?” Luella replied.

“Please tell me that the meal will be on time.” Josephine’s shoes clicked hard against the floor. “This is to be one of the biggest social events of the year. I can’t have any blunders! I can blame the staff all I want, but we know that everyone will be looking at me.”

Eliza trembled in the stairwell. 

“Everything is going smoothly,” the cook assured Josephine. “We’re ahead of schedule.”

“Don’t get too far ahead of schedule! I don’t want the soup to get cold.”

“Of course not, ma’am. Everything will be as you wish.”

“Good. Make sure that ugly girl doesn’t serve at the table. I don’t want anyone seeing her.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

How long was she going to stay in the kitchen? What if a servant came down behind Eliza, or else tried to come up the stairs? She’d be stuffed back into that wedding dress, torn or not. They’d drag her to the church if they had to.

“Good. Now I’ve got to go retrieve that obnoxious stepdaughter of mine. Make sure by the time we get back from the church that everything is as it should be!” She stomped out of the room.

Eliza dared to peek out. The servants were working even harder and faster now. The door on the other side of the kitchen was swinging closed, giving Eliza a glimpse of Josephine’s backside as she moved toward the main part of the house.

Taking her chance, Eliza dashed for the cloakroom and out the back door. She hurried into the alley and then forced herself to slow to a walk. She kept her head down and her bag tucked under her arm. Eliza slipped down the alley behind three other houses before she reemerged on the street. 

She didn’t look behind her as she headed for the train station. Her heartbeat matched the thud of her feet on the sidewalk as she nervously moved along, sure that someone would catch her at any moment. 

Josephine would’ve discovered her absence by now, and it would only be a matter of time before they found her dress and knew for certain that she’d run away. Her father could have men scouring Boston in no time, and so could Silas Wilder.

For once, she was grateful that her father lived so near the train station in order to facilitate his trade. Eliza stepped nervously up to the station master. 

“Where are you heading, ma’am?”

“Um…” She hesitated. She hadn’t thought about where she’d go. She only knew that she had to get away. 

Eliza dared to lift her head enough to check the schedule. It didn’t really matter where she went as long as she left quickly. “Missouri.” 

“Independence?” he verified.

“Yes, please.”

“It’s boarding right now. Sign the register, please.” He put a book in front of her as he took her money.

She hovered the pen over the page. If she put her name down, anyone who came looking for her would know exactly where she went. It might take them a few days to catch up to her, but they would. Making a quick decision, she put the pen to the paper and signed.

“Thank you, Mrs. Sullivan.” The station master handed her a ticket. “As I said, it’s boarding right now.”

“Thank you.” She hurried to the platform. It was crowded, though there were few passengers boarding at this point. Porters were stowing the last of the heavy luggage, and well-wishers had gathered to say goodbye to their loved ones. Eliza hurried to the conductor.

He punched her ticket, and as he handed it back his eyes slid down to her carpet bag. “No luggage?”

Her throat tightened. “It was sent ahead,” she said after a moment. 

“Very good, miss.” He touched the brim of his cap as she slipped past him and into the passenger car.

Eliza settled into an open seat. Her body thrummed with fear, and she clasped her hands around the handle of her bag to keep anyone from seeing how hard she was shaking. 

There was no question that Eliza had to get away from Boston. Josephine was eager to marry her off to the highest bidder. And her father and brother had helped in the negotiations. 

In fact, Eliza was fairly certain they’d all been vying for their own benefit with various marital possibilities, and Josephine’s stubbornness had won in the end.

Several more passengers boarded, and she wondered about their stories. Were they running away from something? Or to something, perhaps? Would they ever return to Boston?

The train lurched slightly underneath her, and Eliza dreamed up her own story. She couldn’t be Eliza Blake, daughter to the wealthy Roland Blake, betrothed to Silas Wilder. She couldn’t be, and she didn’t want to be.

Instead, she was Kate Sullivan. A widow after the loss of her dear husband, Kate was heading West to visit her brother. Yes, that was it! She was already on her way to Missouri, so why couldn’t she keep going after that?

Plenty of people were making new lives for themselves in Colorado, or Nevada, or even California. They left everything they’d ever known behind to start afresh, and that was exactly what she was doing, too.

Satisfied with her plan and smiling, Eliza looked out the window as the engine began to chug. The train slowly rolled forward, and those who remained on the platform were smiling and waving to their loved ones. For fun, Eliza began to lift her own hand.

Then she met the cold, calculating gaze of a man who stood on the very edge of the platform. He’d been scanning the departing train cars as everyone else had been, but he looked like he was hunting prey instead of searching for a friend. Those dark eyes met hers and held them. 

Eliza’s hand dropped back into her lap, and her stomach dropped into her feet. 

The train pulled out of the station and out into the world, leaving the city slowly behind. The other passengers were admiring the view, some of them exclaiming about how different Boston looked from this angle or speaking with hushed excitement about their new destination.

All the enthusiasm she’d felt a moment ago had completely vanished. 

Eliza knew that man. She couldn’t be certain of his name or exactly what he did, but she’d seen him speaking with her brother. Those dark eyes had met hers through a window before when he’d come to the house and Floyd had spoken with him outside.

Her disappearance had been discovered, and they were on her trail.