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  A Cowboy’s Temptation

  A Frontier Montana Romance

  Michelle Beattie

  A Cowboy’s Temptation

  Copyright © 2017 Michelle Beattie

  The Tule Publishing Group, LLC

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-945879-67-8

  Dedication

  This one is for Wilf and Mary Hartfelder. I love you guys. Many, many years ago I had the idea that I wanted a llama. Through that process I ended up at M & W Llamas and Donkeys. Best. Decision. Ever. I bought my first, a little gelding named Andy, from Wilf and Mary and I spent countless hours on their farm training and working with Andy, getting him ready for shows. Wilf and Mary did more than board him for me, they fed me, they loved me, they taught me and they welcomed me as one of their own. Over twenty years later and we may not see each other often (the llamas are all gone and sold) but we’ve kept the friendship and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Wilf and Mary, you are like a mom and dad to me, you know that. I’ve told you before. Thank you for being part of my life. Thank you for all the wonderful memories, for the love and support.

  2016 marked their 50th wedding anniversary and I was honored to attend.

  Cheers to you, Wilf and Mary. May you celebrate many more anniversaries together and continue to be an inspiration.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  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

  The Frontier Montana series

  More Montana Born Historicals

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Seems I keep repeating myself but I couldn’t have done this without Larry Uglem’s expertise with horses and branding and my sister in law, Susan Dixon for also contributing her horse knowledge. To the wonderful team at Tule Publishing for all its hard work, for believing in me and for being as excited about my books as I am. To Taryn Leigh Taylor for always taking my calls (maybe you should get call display, LOL) and to Fabiola Forcier for talking me off the ledge and reassuring me that I can do this. To all of you, my deepest, most sincere thanks.

  Chapter One

  Montana Territory

  1884

  Clearly indifferent to the comfort of his passengers, the stagecoach driver rolled over something that had to be the size of a dead, bloated bull. The vehicle tilted precariously to one side. Katie Matthews hissed and gritted her teeth, braced herself for the coach to tip over.

  The young mother in the front seat shrieked and held tight to her wailing daughter—the child had been whining for the good part of an hour—while her husband tucked his son close. The others, a circuit judge, a salesman, and a prospector, either reached for the leather straps hanging from the roof for such a purpose or did what Katie did, slapped one hand on the side of the coach while the other clenched firm to the seat.

  The stagecoach seemed to hang on the edges of the wheel, as though clinging to a precipice. It wouldn’t be the first one to topple over on her journey west but she’d rather not experience it again. Even though once she’d crawled out of the other and realized she’d survived unharmed, she’d grinned like a fool for having lived through such an adventure.

  However luck was in their favor and the coach slammed back onto the road before rattling on. Everything creaked and groaned. Including Katie. The mother blew out a heavy breath, tried to soothe her little girl though they’d all learned the hard way the only time the child was quiet was when she was asleep or when the driver stopped.

  “Goddamn driver is going to kill us yet.” This from the portly salesman sitting across from her in the middle row. It was difficult to say which stench poured out of his skin more, that of sweat or of whiskey.

  “Watch your language,” the father scolded. “I’ve asked you before not to curse in front of the women and children.”

  Katie could have told him the cussing didn’t bother her but she kept her tongue as she knew he was mostly referring to his own family.

  The bulky man turned, bumping knees with Katie, and replied, “Then tell the damned driver to stop driving as though the hounds of hell are after us and I will.” He wiped his brow with his grey, sodden handkerchief.

  Oblivious to what was going on in the coach, the driver continued his race across Paradise Valley. Unwilling to let any of the constant grumblings ruin what was—despite her cramped legs, flattened backside and gritty eyes—the grandest adventure she’d experienced in her twenty-one years, Katie ignored them all.

  Dust coated her clothes, her shoes, the inside of the coach. The back of her throat. With a full coach keeping the leather down to cover the windows proved stifling. But keeping them all open wasn’t possible with the amount of dust being stirred up. Therefore they alternated opening the curtains from one side of the coach to the other. Currently, hers was the one open to the rolling green foothills and the granite peaks rising behind them.

  Truth be told, Katie would rather suffer the dust than miss the view. She clung to her window seat, going so far as to refuse to get out when they changed the horses in case her seat was taken before she could reclaim it. The whole of her life she’d not been outside the city of Philadelphia and she’d dreamed, yearned, to see more. To do more. To have the same opportunities her sister had had. When finally there’d been nobody and nothing to stop her, she’d packed her bags and left.

  It would take more than cranky, sweaty passengers to ruin this experience for Katie.

  The coach banged into another rut. Katie’s head jarred and her teeth came down hard on her lip. She’d learned a substantial number of curses since leaving Pennsylvania and though a few rose to her tongue, she swallowed them. While she enjoyed the rebellious act of cursing, she usually reserved it for when she was alone or certain she wouldn’t be overheard. Unfortunately, the man across from her wasn’t as disciplined.

  Katie rolled her eyes as another argument ensued between the salesman and the father. This time, however, as they’d been underway for hours and were due a break, everyone’s tempers were shorter. Soon the coach throbbed with angry voices and colorful curses complemented by mother and children weeping.

  Even the rugged mountain range outside her window wasn’t enough of a distraction from the escalating ruckus. With eight of them crammed inside, knees practically touching and not an ounce of personal space between them, it wasn’t surprising tempers were flaring. And with the little girl’s constant whining, even Katie was beginning to have grumbling thoughts. Would it be so difficult to slow down a little? Surely the horses were exhausted. It seemed an especially long time since they’d stopped at the last swing station to switch to a fresh team. Even a ten-minute respite would go a long way to calm everyone’s raw nerves.

  Thinking to stick her head out and call for the driver to stop, Katie curled her fingers over the bottom ed
ge of the window frame and scooted forward on her seat.

  Before her head cleared the opening something to the right caught her eye. She turned to look behind the coach. Not something. Someone. And not just one someone. Katie’s fingers dug into the wood as the reality of what she was seeing washed over her. Four riders, dressed in black, with hats low and kerchiefs covering their faces, were riding hell for leather toward them.

  “What on earth are you doing?” the mother asked.

  Ignoring her, and hoping to see a town before them, Katie leaned out and looked forward. Dust choked her, burnt her eyes, but she forced them to stay open, blinked to see past the churning grit. But no amount of willing or praying showed anything but the green valley and the road cutting a meandering path through it.

  There wasn’t a town in sight.

  Katie ducked back inside, ran a shaking hand over her hair—it was too hot to bother with a bonnet—and absently tucked the pieces that the wind had whipped from her braid behind her ear.

  “Yah!” the driver shouted.

  On the other end of Katie’s seat, the judge—who’d spent most of his time sleeping, snoring, and drooling—woke himself enough to pull back the leather curtain.

  “We must be getting close,” he mumbled. “We just passed the swing station.”

  They’d passed the station without stopping to switch the horses? The little moisture the dust hadn’t stolen from Katie’s mouth evaporated like water in a hot skillet. Granted, they couldn’t stop while being chased but there was no doubt now about their chances of outrunning the outlaws.

  A team of six exhausted horses pulling a passenger-filled coach loaded with baggage, a treasure box, driver, and shotgun rider outrun men on horseback?

  They didn’t have a prayer.

  Katie’s heart pounded, giving competition to the horse’s thundering hooves. Her suddenly cold hands twisted together while her mind raced. The shotgun rider was armed and so was the driver. She hadn’t noticed any weapons on any of the men inside so she wouldn’t count on them, but why in tarnation wouldn’t they have brought a gun?

  Heck, when she’d packed her bags to come west even she had opted for a Remington derringer as it had two barrels. It was one thing to carry a regular, one-shot derringer in a civilized city like Philadelphia, but the untamed west demanded something more serious. She hugged her handbag closer taking comfort in knowing the gun was within it. But could she use it? Shooting a living person wasn’t the same as the bottles her friend Alex had her practice on.

  But if her life were on the line? Could she do it?

  Katie thought of everything she’d been through, how hard she’d fought to get to this point. To finally be out of her sister’s shadow. To finally have a chance to discover her own dreams and passions. Could she defend herself for the life she’d dreamed of living? Was she truly prepared to stand her ground? She sat up a little straighter.

  Hell, yes. She dug into her handbag and clasped the Remington.

  However, Katie wasn’t foolish. While prepared to defend herself, chances were all the bandits wanted was the treasure box underneath the driver’s seat. Gold bars, gold dust, checks, and bank notes would be worth far more than whatever money and jewels the passengers had. Still, she was glad she hadn’t brought any jewels with her, and as for money, Katie had been smart. It wasn’t all tucked into her handbag where it could easily be ripped from her fingers.

  By armed men.

  Tilting the bag so it hid what she was doing, Katie slid her hand and the gun out of the bag and into the right pocket of her skirt. With the derringer hidden but easier to grab, she closed her bag, wrapped her arms around it and breathed out a worried breath. How much longer until they were overtaken? Would the bandits shout a warning and demand they stop or would they simply start shooting? Her stomach knotted with possibilities.

  “Papa? Are we going to stop soon? I need to use the outhouse.”

  Katie’s head snapped up. The children. For a moment she’d forgotten there were children present.

  “What is it?” the father asked. He must have been watching her. His eyes were solemn and his face was tight. “You saw something out there, didn’t you? Is that why the driver raced past the swing station?”

  All eyes turned to her.

  The crack of a shotgun kept her from answering.

  Katie flinched, the mother and the children screamed. The men leaned toward the windows, trying to see what was happening.

  “Don’t!” she shouted to them.

  Then, with shaking hands, Katie unrolled the leather and covered her window. She doubted the leather covering would protect anyone from a bullet, but they certainly didn’t need to present themselves as easier targets than they already were.

  Someone above them returned fire. The shot pierced Katie’s ears.

  “You saw them. How many?” the father asked.

  He had his wife and daughter tucked close on one side of him and his son on the other. His voice was calm but fear darkened his eyes.

  “Four,” she answered.

  “Jesus Christ,” the salesman muttered.

  Two more shots fired. A loud thump followed as either the driver or the shotgun rider hit the ground. Cold terror gripped Katie’s heart and squeezed painfully. Only one shot had come from above which meant even if the shotgun rider had hit his mark, it was three to one at best and clearly these bandits weren’t above killing. Katie curled deeper into the corner of her seat.

  “Whoa!”

  The coach came to a neck-wrenching stop.

  “What’s happening?” the wife asked.

  “Surrendering, most likely,” her husband answered.

  “Are they going to shoot us, Papa?”

  He ruffled the boy’s head. “No, John. We’ll just give them what they want and they’ll be on their way.”

  Katie prayed it would be so easy. Back home, tales of stagecoach and train robberies were plentiful. She’d heard many a yarn ranging from gentleman robbers who wouldn’t even take a lady’s handbag clear up to the meanest, most cunning robbers who practically took everything but the shirt off one’s back. Katie had always suspected the truth lay somewhere in between.

  She pressed her lips together. She was about to find out.

  With the curtains closed they were blind to what was going on outside and frankly Katie was too afraid to look. She could hear the laboring breaths from the team of horses, the trampling of approaching hooves. The creak of the coach as it settled. Her heartbeat thumping in her ears.

  “You, get down!”

  The coach rocked as the man climbed off the seat. He hit the ground and then there was more rocking and grunting and scraping as the bandits removed the treasure box from under the seat. It landed with a heavy thud on the ground.

  “Gimme the key.”

  Not long after they heard the unmistakable click as the lock was opened.

  A long slow whistle filled the silence. “Well, lookee here.” Paper shuffled and coins clinked. “You two load it up,” the same man said. Clearly he was the leader. “You, come with me.”

  Footsteps marched toward the door opposite Katie.

  As one, everybody inside looked toward it. The mother mewled, cradled her little girl on her lap. The father shifted, moving so his family was hidden behind him. The judge sitting beside Katie slid further down the bench, nearly flattening her. While she didn’t mind the fact that he likely blocked her from view, she couldn’t breathe, jammed up against the side and she shoved until he scooted back. Barely. The salesman and the prospector watched silently. Sweat trickled down their temples though it was difficult to say if it was due to heat or fear.

  Katie didn’t have to wonder about her own perspiration. She knew the moisture dampening her palms was due to fright.

  The handle on the door turned. Dread tasted very much like blood.

  The barrel of a gun poked through the opening.

  Then a tall, bow-legged man stepped into view. A black bandana cover
ed his lower face. Within the shadow of his dusty hat, flinty eyes skimmed over Katie and the rest of the passengers.

  His voice was as hard and cold as the revolver he pointed. “Everybody out, nice and slow. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  For a moment Katie feared the loud salesman across from her would try something stupid. Of all of them, he was the only one Katie could envision doing so. Wringing her hands together, she silently willed him to do as they were told. She’d come west for a reason and it wasn’t to die in the middle of a dusty road.

  Clearly not willing to risk harm coming to his family, the father moved first. Hands up, he waited until the bandit stepped aside. Once the outlaw was out of the way, he climbed out. Then he lifted each of his children out before taking his wife’s hand and helping her to the ground. As they moved away and the others disembarked without incident Katie’s breathing came easier. When there was nobody left but her, she wiped her sweaty palms onto her skirt and scooted down the seat toward the door.

  Just as she was coming to her feet, the bandit poked his head inside. The scream ripped from Katie’s lungs before she had the presence of mind to bite it back. He grabbed her arm and dragged her from the coach. Katie stumbled as she hit the ground but managed to keep her feet. Saying nothing, he shoved her among the others, including the driver, before taking his position before them. He had one of his men next to him; the other two were still transferring the goods from the treasure box to their saddlebags.

  Besides shotguns, each villain had a six-shooter tucked into a holster tied to their leg. The leader nudged the stockier man next to him.

  “Go check the bags.”

  The man turned for the coach without another word.

  “As for the lot of you,” he continued, addressing the passengers, “we’re going to divest you of your valuables and I suggest you don’t hold back. We know all the usual hiding places and we won’t be shy about checking.”