Redemption's Edge: Book 1, Redemption Mountain Historical Western Romance Read online

  The pleading look she trained on him broke her father’s last thread of defense.

  “Oh, Rachel. What are your mother and I to do without you?” He pulled her to him and into the type of hug he’d offered as a child. It didn’t last more than a few seconds before he turned her loose and stepped back. “You will write to us every week, even while traveling. Don’t miss a week, or your mother will demand I go after you.”

  “Would that be so bad, Father? To come visit me in Montana?” Rachel hoped he hadn’t heard the slight quiver in her voice. As strong and determined as Rachel appeared, she still anxious about making the journey alone. But something drew her. An unfamiliar calling that almost demanded she leave the comforts of Boston for the unknowns of the West.

  “No, it’s not a bad idea. All I need is time to persuade your mother there is life beyond the Mississippi.” He waved to their driver, who jumped down from the carriage and began loading the three trunks packed with almost everything Rachel owned.

  “Are we ready, James?” Rachel’s mother joined them on the front step.

  “It appears so, dear.” He checked his pocket watch.

  James helped Harriet and Rachel into their carriage, then signaled to the driver. He sat across from the two most important women in his life, sobered at the thought this might be the last time the three of them enjoyed a ride through the city, past the park where they’d taken family picnics, and the theatre, which had been a focal point of their life before the war. A tightness formed in his chest as they approached the train station, while pride in his daughter held him together. In his heart, he knew she’d do well, and prayed she’d come back to them soon.

  “I see.” Luke sat in the old rocker on the porch of the Yancey home, rocking back and forth, holding a cheroot and listening as Dax attempted to justify his decision to leave. “So you’ll leave it all, turn your back on what our family built, and find a new life.” His voice held a calm understanding, quite unlike the temper he’d often displayed in his youth. “You’ll leave me behind?”

  Dax knew his decision would appear harsh, even selfish, given he’d fought five long years to preserve their way of life. They’d owned eight slaves, descendants of a family who’d been with their great-grandfather when he’d built the home that now lay in ruin. All had lived through the war, yet they now made their home in an abandoned warehouse owned by the Pelletier family. No one understood how it had been spared when the buildings around it had been reduced to rubble.

  “There’s money. More than enough to rebuild both the house and business. Although free, our people have stayed. You know Polly and George will keep everyone together and help you rebuild. I doubt much will change, except they will be free to leave if they choose.”

  “And the shipping business?”

  “It can be rebuilt, if it’s what you want.”

  Luke blew out smoke and tapped ash from the end of his thin cigar. “I was never the captain you were, and don’t know anything about rebuilding a shipping empire.” He looked away, toward the setting sun. “I had other interests at that time.”

  They both knew to what Luke referred. Although he had a better head for business than Dax, he’d been considered the golden boy, the one who could charm anyone. Their father had once called him an aspiring rake. Had the war not interrupted him, Dax felt certain his brother would have risen to fame within the female circles of Savannah.

  “What are your interests now?” Dax stood and placed his hands on the porch rail, looking out into the western sky as the sun finished its descent.

  “Guess I’ll need to think on it a bit. If your decision is firm—”

  “It is,” Dax cut in.

  “Then it changes everything.” He threw the spent cheroot toward the yard. “When do you leave?”

  “Four days from now, at dawn.”

  Luke used his cane to stand, then joined his brother at the railing. “That gives me four days to figure out what I’ll do once you leave. Guess I’d better visit George and Polly tomorrow.”

  “I’ll deed my interest in everything to you. It will all be yours.”

  “No. I won’t take what is rightfully yours, what you worked years to build and then defended during the war.” His fierce words surprised Dax.

  “I don’t want it, Luke.”

  “What you want means little to me right now. No matter what I decide to do, I will not take your half. Besides, you may change your mind and come back.”

  Dax shook his head, a feeling deep in his gut telling him he’d never set foot in Savannah again. “All right, if that’s what you want.”

  Luke started to turn, then glanced back at his brother. “Come on. Miss Rue still has her place open. I’ll buy the drinks, you decide on the women.”

  “Hello, ma’am. Mind if I join you?”

  The soft southern drawl had Rachel looking up to see an incredibly good-looking man staring down at her, a hat in his hand. “Please.” She nodded to the seat beside her and watched as he tried to fit his long legs into the small space. She guessed him to be well over six feet tall. “Not quite built for large men, is it?”

  “No, ma’am. Most trains aren’t. I’m Cash Coulter.”

  “Rachel Davenport, Mr. Coulter. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “A city girl?”

  “Yes. From Boston. And you, Mr. Coulter? Where are you from?”

  “The South, ma’am.” Cash set his well-worn hat on his head and tipped it down, hiding his face and shutting Rachel out.

  It had been three months since the war ended and animosity between those from the Northern and Southern states remained high. Rachel had worked in Union field hospitals, moving from one battlefield to the next as the war progressed. Within a few short weeks with work days stretching to thirty hours at times, the sight of injured men had become normal. During the two years Rachel had worked in the field, she’d treated soldiers from both sides of the line—gray or blue, it didn’t matter. If they were injured, the medical staff treated them.

  She watched Cash’s features as he settled into a light snore. He had what her mother would call patrician features—a straight nose, blond hair, piercing clear blue eyes, and a regal bearing. Something about his attitude, although cultured and polite, warned her away from the man.

  The whistle blew as the train approached the final stop in Missouri, pulling toward the station. Cash’s head snapped up, his hand moving with lightning speed to the holstered gun as his eyes shifted to the woman beside him. He scrubbed a hand over his face and sat up.

  “I believe this is our stop, Mr. Coulter.” Rachel’s tired voice underscored how exhausting her trip had been, and she still had many miles to go.

  Cash stood, signaling for her to step in front of him into the aisle. He helped her to the railroad platform before tipping his hat.

  “Guess I’ll be on my way, Miss Davenport. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Coulter. I wish you a safe journey.”

  Cash glanced back over his shoulder at her words, nodded, then continued on.

  She watched him walk toward the back of the train and wait while a worker drew open the sliding door and set up a ramp. He strode into the open car and, a minute later, led out a beautiful buckskin horse with a dark mane and tail. He tied the horse to a nearby post and stepped into the car once more. This time, he emerged holding a saddle and tack.

  “Miss Davenport?”

  Rachel swiveled to see a boy several feet away, her trunks stacked next to him.

  “Yes, I’m Miss Davenport.” She glanced behind her once more to see Cash ride away, back straight, head held high, and hoped life would be good to the battle hardened southerner.

  “Where do you want these?”

  She gave the boy directions to the hotel where she’d be staying until the stagecoach left for Nebraska. From there, she’d travel to a settlement at the southern edge of the Montana Territory to meet her uncle in the territorial capital of Big Pine. His message in
dicated they’d obtain supplies, then begin the final part of her journey to Splendor, Montana, her new home. Tonight, she looked forward to a hot bath, a good meal, and sleeping in a regular bed.

  “What may I do for you, Miss?” The hotel clerk stood erect behind the counter, spectacles perched low on his nose, focused on the paper in front of him.

  “There should be a room for me. Miss Rachel Davenport.”

  He reached below the counter to check a ledger, found her name, then handed her a key.

  “Best place for supper is next door. Same for breakfast. Will you be traveling on?”

  “I’m taking the stagecoach to Nebraska.” She looked around at the quaint, clean hotel, and wondered how her father had found it.

  “The stage leaves at dawn day after tomorrow. I’ll have someone get your trunks to the station early that morning. Very early.” He squinted over the rims of his glasses as if to emphasize the point.

  “I’d like a bath.”

  “Make that two.”

  Rachel jumped at the sound of the deep, southern drawl behind her. She turned to see Cash Coulter, saddlebags slung over his shoulder.

  “So we meet again, Miss Davenport.” Cash took off his hat and nodded at the clerk, who had stopped his work to stare at the newcomer.

  “It appears so, Mr. Coulter. You’re staying here, I take it?”

  “Yes. A night, maybe two, then I’ll be off.”

  “Anything else, Miss Davenport?” the clerk asked.

  “No, just the bath. Oh, and I’d like you to store my trunks. I won’t need them before I leave.” She turned to leave as Cash stepped up to the counter. “I guess it’s goodbye again, Mr. Coulter. Enjoy your evening.”

  “Ma’am,” he nodded before turning away.

  The bath felt wonderful. She had to fight the temptation to fall into bed without a meal, but her need for a decent meal overpowered her need for sleep. Rachel replaced her dirty traveling clothes with clean ones and walked to the restaurant next door.

  “Be right with you.” A rotund woman set down plates heaped with steaming food in front of a young couple, then walked toward Rachel. “All right. Just you, dear?”

  “Yes.” She followed the woman toward a table, surprised at the number of people.

  “Miss Davenport?”

  Rachel’s gaze darted to Cash, who stood next to a table near the window. “Good evening, Mr. Coulter.”

  “Join me, please. It’d enjoy not eating alone.” He gestured to an empty seat.

  “Thank you. That’s quite nice of you.”

  Cash looked at the server. “Bring her what I’m having, including the pie and coffee.”

  Rachel set her reticule on the table while Cash pulled out her chair.

  “So, you’ve come out west from Boston?” His clear blue eyes focused on hers.

  “Yes. I’m meeting my uncle in Montana. He’s a doctor and needs help. I’m a nurse, so it seemed like the right decision.”

  “Montana. Harsh country. Bitter cold winters, high winds, Indians. A far cry from the life you left behind.” He sipped his coffee while they waited for her meal.

  “Yes and no. I was a nurse during the war.”

  She didn’t need to say more. Rachel could see the haunted look in his eyes, telling her he’d seen many of the same things she had—maybe worse.

  “And you? Where are you headed?”

  “A job in Denver.”

  “I hope to travel there some day. What kind of work are you in?”

  Cash watched her, wondering about her knowledge of the west and how much he should say. “I locate people.” He glanced up as the server set Rachel’s meal down.

  “Thank you. This looks wonderful.” She smiled at the woman, while inhaling the scent of cooked meat, then looked up at Cash. “This is perfect.” She didn’t wait a moment longer. Within minutes, half her steak and most of the potatoes were gone. Rachel picked up the coffee cup and took a sip. That’s when she noticed Cash had stopped eating, and sat, staring, with a look of grim amusement in his eyes. “What is it?”

  “I’ve never seen a woman eat with such intensity.”

  Rachel set down her cup. “During the war, I learned to take food when offered and eat as fast as possible. Same with sleep. There never seemed to be enough of either.” A vague smile crossed her face. “Guess I should learn to slow down.”

  “Nothing wrong with a strong appetite.” He picked up his fork and finished the last of his supper.

  “I saw you unload a beautiful horse from the train. Will you be riding him to Denver?”

  “That’s right. I need a horse I can depend on for my work.”

  “I’m sorry, but tell me again what kind of work you do.”

  This time Cash didn’t hesitate. “I hunt people, Miss Davenport. For money.”

  Chapter Two

  Savannah, Georgia

  “Guess I’m ready.” Dax took one last look around. “Thank you for allowing me to stay with you. Your hospitality means a lot, sir.”

  “No need for thanks. You’re welcome anytime.” Mr. Yancey stood on the street next to Dax, feeling sorrow that the ex-soldier felt it necessary to leave his home. “I thought Luke would be here to see you off.”

  Dax glanced up, then down the street, hoping to see Luke. “He’s not too pleased with my decision. Perhaps he’ll come around.” He mounted Hannibal, tipped his hat to Yancey, then turned toward the west.

  “God watch over you, Dax,” Yancey murmured as he watched him ride away.

  Dax kept turning in his saddle, checking to see if Luke would appear. He didn’t think it would matter, his brother not showing up to see him off, but it did. They often didn’t agree, had argued as much as any two brothers, yet they’d remained close. He swallowed a lump of regret at the thought Luke believed Dax had abandoned him. How could one explain an action they couldn’t describe to themselves?

  As the miles continued, the sky turned an angry black and rain began to fall. Dax pulled his great coat from behind the saddle and slipped it on as the sound of pounding hooves came from behind. He reached for his gun. Although the war had officially ended, many still fought out of ignorance of the surrender, pride, or bitterness. Dax meant to be prepared.

  “General! General, wait up!”

  Dax reined in Hannibal and turned toward the shouts, then watched as the rider pulled alongside him. Luke.

  “What are you doing here?” Dax’s voice held an edge, although the sight of his brother warmed him clear through.

  “I had a few business dealings that needed to be completed before I could leave. They’re done and I’m here.” Luke pushed his old hat further down on his head and looked at the storm rolling in. “Best we get moving.”

  Luke watched as surprise crossed his brother’s face, followed by understanding. “What? You thought you could get rid of me? Not a chance. I may not agree with the idea of riding away from our life in Savannah, but I’m sure as hell not letting you find adventure on your own. I’m going with you.”

  Dax stayed silent. He didn’t know where his next stop would be, or if he’d even make it across the Georgia border to Alabama before some stray bullet found him. He only had a vague sense of where he wanted to end up. Now he had a brother to worry about. The thought passed as Dax realized he felt more relief than a sense of burden as Luke rode by his side. He nudged Hannibal on, still not saying a word.

  Luke kept pace, finally turning to Dax after several minutes. “Where we headed?”

  “Texas.”

  “What’s in Texas?”

  “Hell if I know. Guess we’re going to find out.”

  Texas, several months later

  “You sure this is the right trail, Pat?” Luke rode behind Dax and their fellow Texas Ranger, Pat Hanes. For days, they’d been hunting a gang of bank robbers. The two Pelletier brothers had been teamed with the older, well-regarded Ranger. Both had as much experience in combat as Hanes, yet he offered superior tracking skills and a history of br
inging in outlaws when others had given up.

  “Yep, it’s the right way.” Pat’s drawl indicated a mixed history of his long years in Alabama, plus his time in Texas. His slow, easy manner hid a quick wit and incredible instincts. Dax and Luke had learned to appreciate the first and rely on the second. “I know it’s hard for you city boys to follow how the ground changes when horses move over it. Pay attention and I might decide to show you someday.”

  He leaned over his horse and scanned the damp ground again. The rolling hills, woodlands, and drop-off canyons could conceal almost anything or anybody, but the soft soil made it hard to hide horse hooves and human steps.

  “I got a feeling it won’t be long now.” Pat pointed toward a series of hills covered in live oak and other brush.

  “Isn’t that what you told us two days ago?” Dax sat easy in his saddle, while keeping a watchful eye for any movement around them. He had no intention of being caught unawares.

  Pat turned to look at him. “Two days isn’t long, at least not by my measure.”

  They rode another three hours, tracking the group who’d killed a bank clerk and injured a customer in the small town of Red Gulch. The haul hadn’t been large, but the war had created a new breed of outlaw—homeless, hungry, destitute, and eager to take advantage of any opportunity.

  Luke scanned the countryside once more, fidgeting in his saddle and trying to alleviate the boredom. “Tell us more about your ranch.”

  “Not much to tell.” Pat didn’t take his eyes off the trail as he spoke just loud enough for his companions to hear. “It’s a decent amount of acreage at the base of Redemption Mountain. That’s part of the Territory Range in Montana. Finally paid it off last year. I’ll be moving that way when I retire.”

  “How long are you going to keep up this life?” Luke asked, knowing Pat to be a good ten or fifteen years older than Dax.

  “Another year, maybe. I’ve got a couple watching over the place, keeping it up. The area’s growing, lots of people moving in after the war. Some are good, some aren’t. It doesn’t take much to steal a man’s land away and I don’t intend to have that happen.”