Texas Hero

Texas Hero

Ruth Ryan Langan

Harlequin Books edition – 1993

Copyright 1993, 2014 Ruth Ryan Langan

Digital Publication 2014 by Ruth Ryan Langan

Cover design by Tammy Seidick Design

Digital formatting by A Thirsty Mind Book Design

Smashwords edition

All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

To Bret Charles Shrader

Our newest treasure

And to his big sister, Caitlin Bea

And their parents, Mary and Dennis

And, as always, to Tom,

Who hung the moon.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

Author’s Note

Samples

List of eBook Titles

About the Author

Ruth Ryan Langan

Historical Romance Classics

Now Available as EBooks:

Heart's Delight

Paradise Falls

Ashes of Dreams

Duchess of Fifth Avenue

Captive of Desire

Passage West

Nevada Nights

September’s Dream

The Heart’s Secrets

Destiny’s Daughter

Texas Heart

Texas Hero

Mistress of the Seas

Deception

Christmas Miracle

Angel

Exciting Highlander Series

Now Available as EBooks:

Highland Barbarian

Highland Heather

Highland Heart

The Highlander

Highland Heaven

Please click here for details of these books

or

Visit Ruth's website at www.RyanLangan.com for more information and to purchase.

Prologue

Texas, 1863

"Drink this, Mama."

The girl held the broth to her mother’s lips, and watched in frustration as, after only three sips, the cup was pushed weakly aside.

You have to drink it if you’re ever going to get stronger, Mama.

The woman’s eyelids fluttered, then closed, as if even that small movement were too great an effort. For long minutes she lay, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath.

The newborn baby lying in the wooden cradle began a pitiful bleating. The woman’s eyes opened and focused on the girl beside the bed.

You’re like him, you know.

Pa?

The frail head nodded once. You’re tough, Jessie. Like Jack. And that one... She nodded toward the baby, whose wailing had grown louder. He’s going to be the toughest of all.

How do you know, Mama?

Listen to him. She closed her eyes a moment, too weak to go on. When the feeling passed, she opened her eyes and continued as though there had been no interruption. He’ll be a handful for you, Jessie. It’s going to be hard raising a baby brother all alone.

Hush now, Mama. Don’t talk like that. The girl’s brow furrowed. Whenever her mother started talking about death, Jessie felt a knot in the pit of her stomach. You’ll be here to help.

I wish I could, Jessie. But it’s never been like this before. I just know that something’s gone all wrong.

Danny’s reading the doctor book, Mama. He’ll find something that’ll help you get your strength back.

Across the room, seven-year-old Danny squinted at the pages of the book in the flickering light of the fire. A few minutes later he closed the book and crossed the room. He exchanged a quick look with his sister before giving a sad shake of his head. Squeezing his mother’s hand, he felt the thin, shallow pulse.

Pa will be back soon, Mama, the girl said. He’ll get you strong again.

The woman’s voice was barely more than a whisper. I know you believe that your pa can do anything, Jessie. But there are some things even Big Jack Conway can’t do.

Stop it, Mama. In her grief the girl’s tone became angry. You’ve got to stop talking about death and start fighting back.

That’s what you’d do, isn’t it, Jessie? No matter what, you’d fight back. She closed her eyes, and the two children could see the blue veins through the fine pale skin.

Olivia Barton Conway had endured her husband’s dreams of conquering this wild frontier and had allowed herself to be led far from everything she knew and loved. Her family farm; her brothers and sisters, who had settled in the rolling gentle countryside around Maryland; even her church, which had brought her such comfort through the years. The harsh weather, the inhospitable land and the loneliness here in the little sod shack fifty miles from her nearest neighbor had taken their toll. Her delicate health had become more fragile during the long and difficult third pregnancy. In the three weeks since the birth of her second son, she had not once left her bed.

You’re a scrapper, you are, Jessie, she said, slurring the words. And so’s the baby. He should have died. Everything about his birth was wrong, and still he fought for life. She gave a weak smile. Thaddeus Francis Conway. The first of the Conways to be born in Texas. He carries my father’s name, and my grandfather’s. See that he does them proud.

Her eyes closed again and her son and daughter knelt beside the bed, their hands pressed to hers as though willing her their strength.

Don’t go, Mama, the little boy whispered.

His older sister said nothing. But when their mother’s eyes suddenly opened and stared, unseeing, at the infant in the cradle, Jessie felt a cold shiver along her spine.

Picking up the squalling baby, she held him close to her heart and watched as her mother took a final breath, then went very still.

Come on, Danny, she said. You know how it always soothed Mama to hear you read. Sit here by the fire and read, and let Mama rest awhile.

The boy hunkered down beside the fireplace and began to read aloud. As she had since the baby’s birth, his sister filled a glove with cow’s milk and placed one of the fingers in the infant’s mouth. The crying stopped abruptly as the baby sucked greedily.

She looked over at the still form in the bed and thought how right it was that Mama should finally get the rest she deserved. Her life had never been easy. Loving a man like Big Jack Conway probably hadn’t been the smartest thing Mama had ever done. But, as she was fond of saying, at least she’d always known that she was loved.

Tears threatened, but Jessie blinked them away. At almost eleven, she was too old to cry. Besides, hadn’t Mama said she was just like Pa? Too tough to cry. Or maybe just too ornery. And now that all the work had fallen to Jessie, there wasn’t time to grieve. At least that was something Mama would have understood.

As if comprehending the solemnity of the occasion, the baby burped contentedly and drifted back to sleep. Jessie placed him in the cradle and recalled what her mother had said.

I’m going to see that you grow big enough and strong enough so that this land will never do to you what it did to Mama, she whispered. You’ll see, Thad. You’re going to be the toughest Conway of all.

Chapter One

Mexico, 1885

Thad Conway heard the creak of the outer door of the jail. Out of habit his hand went to his hip, where a gun usually rested. This time he had no weapon with which to defend himself.

In the darkness he heard the unmistakable click of a pistol being cocked. It was a sound like no other. A sound he knew well. He braced himself for what was to come.

A glance at the slit in the upper wall revealed the glint of stars in a darkened sky. Midnight, he figured. Not a time for proper callers. Even in a Mexican jail.

Rusty hinges protested as the inner door was swung wide. The light cast by a lantern momentarily blinded him before he made out two figures. The man holding the lantern was also holding a gun. The other man inserted a key into the lock and opened the cell door.

You will forgive the delay, Senor Conway, said the raspy voice, heavily accented in Spanish. It took our rider two days to reach Don Esteban’s land and two days to return with the news we sought.

Thad spoke not a word as he waited.

In the awkward silence that followed, the jailer cleared his throat and continued. Don Esteban confirmed that the mare in your possession was not stolen. It is as you said—you purchased the mare from him.

Thad’s only reaction was a slight narrowing of his eyes.

As if feeling the heat of his anger, the man took a step back. I hope you will understand our mistake. A man like you... The jailer’s voice trailed off for a moment before he shrugged and added, We have all heard of your reputation with a gun. It was a natural conclusion to assume that The Texan had stolen Don Esteban’s prize mare.

Quelled by the look Thad had levelled on him, he turned to the man behind him, who handed over the pistol and a leather holster.

"Your weapon, señor."

Without a word Thad strapped on the holster and slipped the gun into place. When he was finished he picked up his hat from the bunk beside him. For the first time he broke his self-imposed silence. My horses?

The words were not so much a question as a challenge.

The jailer stared at the floor, afraid to meet his cold expression. They are outside.

Thad strode past him, past the man with the lantern and out into the cool night air. With infinite patience he examined the mare, assuring himself that she had been well taken care of in his absence. Then he turned to examine the stallion before checking his saddlebags. Tightening the cinch, he pulled himself into the saddle and caught up the reins of the mare.

Without a backward glance at the jail that had confined him for the last four days, he headed for the border.

Behind him, the two men gave a sigh of relief that the fate of the infamous man known as The Texan was now out of their hands.

* * *

Texas

Better brace yourself, ma’am. The road’s about to get pretty rough. The stage driver’s voice strained to be heard above the din of creaking harness and thundering hooves.

Caroline Adams gripped the edge of the seat and swallowed back her fear. A rough road was nothing new to her. From the moment of her birth, nothing had been smooth or easy. But this was a far cry from the teeming streets of the city where she’d been born. There, at least, she’d taught herself the skills necessary to survive. But here in this untamed frontier, everything was new. And frightening.

Struggling for composure, she reminded herself of the lesson for the day from her book of instructions. A lady must endure all of life’s discomforts with grace and charm; that was precisely how she would endure the jostling of the stage. Grace and charm. She choked down the muttered oath that escaped her lips as the wheels flew over ruts and rocks in the road and dust swirled into her nose and mouth, causing her to gag.

She was grateful that the other passengers had disembarked at an earlier destination. At least now she was alone, with no one to see her if she made a mistake. She lifted her spectacles and rubbed the tender spot on the bridge of her nose. She wasn’t yet accustomed to wearing the things. Even though the round wire frames were fitted with plain glass, the spectacles restricted her vision. But the inconvenience was a small price to pay if she was able to enhance her prim, bookish appearance.

She glanced down at the plain, mud brown gown and matching jacket she’d chosen. As instructed, the seamstress had made the garments a size larger than necessary so that they wouldn’t cling to any part of Caroline’s anatomy. In her valise was another gown in drab gray, with simple white collar and cuffs; it, too, was intentionally ill-fitting. The high-top boots she wore were plain and serviceable. Though her mass of thick black hair could never be tamed, it had been brushed into a neat knot at the back of her head. The few tendrils that worked free of the pins were covered by an ugly, uninspired brown hat. Though she hated the frumpish gown and hat, she wore them with pride; they were her ticket to respectability.

Despite the wild swaying of the stage, Caroline picked up the book she’d been reading and turned to a new chapter. By the time she reached Hope, Texas, she intended to know by heart every word of Dr. Harvey Hattinger’s Rules for Headmistresses. She would be the best teacher the town of Hope had ever seen.

Over the rumble of wheels she heard another sound. Gunshots. Unmistakably gunshots.

The stage lurched wildly, tossing her to the floor. By the time she’d managed to pull herself upright and peer out the window, she saw four horsemen riding toward the stage, their guns aimed at the driver. When she glanced out the other window she saw a body hurtle past her line of vision and realized that the armed guard who rode along on the stage had been shot. Shot. And she carried no weapon with which to defend herself. Her heart thundered inside her chest.

She counted three more gunmen riding toward them on the opposite side, all aiming their rifles at the driver. Seven men in all—against a single driver.

Pull up, one of them shouted, or you’ll join your partner in the dust!

In response, there was a muttered curse and the sound of a gun’s report.

Caroline was tossed around like a rag doll as the stage suddenly shifted direction and hurtled out of control.

* * *

Thad Conway ran a hand over his beard, then lifted his hat to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He had just spent the last six weeks in the saddle, all the way to Mexico and back for Don Esteban’s finest mare, who trotted smartly on a lead rope behind his stallion. He was hot, tired and out of sorts, especially after those four nights in jail. What he needed was a bath and supper. And a bottle of whiskey at Lilah’s to wash away the dust of the trail.

He looked up sharply at the sound of gunshots. With a sigh he moved out at a fast pace. So much for the pleasant ending he’d been planning.

* * *

Caroline clawed at the edge of the seat, trying to pull herself upright. At that moment the wheel of the coach hit a half-submerged boulder, causing the vehicle to become airborne. For long seconds, she was certain they were tipping over. But at the last moment the stage remained upright and continued on, pulled by the frantic team.

Dragging herself to the open window, she managed to peer out. What she saw caused her heart to stop. There was no driver. The crazed team raced across the flat stretch of ground at breakneck speed.

Caroline had no idea what lay ahead. She knew only that she had to attempt to leap from the stage or risk being carried to her death.

A sudden anger flared inside her. She had come so far, endured so much; she would not see it all snatched from her now, when a new life was within her reach. With the stage rocking and swaying wildly, she struggled to wrap her fingers around the handle of the door. Each time she got close, the horses would shift direction, throwing her to the floor. And each time she dragged her way back until, with a last desperate attempt, she managed to grasp the handle. Twisting it, the door flew open and Caroline was propelled through the air. She sailed across prickly cacti and the sharp edges of rock, landing with a terrible thud against hard-packed earth. She lay, unable to move, struggling for breath.

The thunder of hoofbeats seemed to surround her, and she heard a man’s voice.

Look at this, Luke! the voice hooted. It’s female.

The gunmen studied her with the hunger of a pack of wolves, then looked up suddenly as a lone man on horseback charged down the hill, guns blazing. In some distant part of her mind, Caroline found herself wondering how a single rider could stand a chance against seven armed men.

The man called Luke swore savagely. It’s The Texan.

At his words, there was a collective gasp from the others. Their frightened reaction caused a shiver along Caroline’s spine. Who must this stranger be, if even armed gunmen trembled in fear of him?

She watched in amazement as two men fell and the others scattered for cover. But still the rider charged ahead, returning their gunfire without flinching.

As the stranger managed to bring down two more gunmen, Caroline saw blood spurt from his shoulder. His gun dropped to the ground and his arm fell uselessly to his side. In that instant, three men surrounded him and dragged him off his horse.

When one of the gunmen lifted his pistol to the stranger’s temple, Luke growled, No. I want him awake to watch. Tie him up. Then, when we’re finished with the woman, we can all have the pleasure of killing him.

Hearing that, Caroline struggled to get to her feet. She had no doubt of what these villains intended to do to her. She had to escape. But the leap from the moving stage had taken its toll. Her body would not respond to her commands. Her attempts to sit up were stiff and awkward.

She looked up to see the stranger’s eyes narrowed in fury. And then her view of him was blocked as the three gunmen formed a circle around her. One of the three, with a cruel, twisted grin, had tucked the guard’s pistol into the waistband of his pants. He was already wearing the stage driver’s boots.

You the only passenger? Luke demanded.

Caroline watched them without responding. Her mind worked feverishly. She had to escape these madmen. But how?

I’ll bet she’s been knocked senseless. The other gunman took a step closer. With the toe of his boot he boldly lifted her skirt and kicked at her ankle. Can you talk, woman?

Caroline watched with a feeling of revulsion as he leered down at her.

Fox, check her hands for rings, Luke ordered.

The gunman grabbed her hands and, seeing nothing, turned them palms up to make certain she wasn’t hiding anything.

She’s not wearing any rings, Luke.

See if she’s wearing a locket or some other jewelry.

With pleasure. Laughing, the gunman caught the front of her dress in his hands and ripped it open, revealing a delicately embroidered chemise beneath. Caroline gasped, then fought back the cry that rose to her throat.

Though the gunman could see that she wore no chain around her neck, he was obviously enjoying the task given him. I’d better check this out more carefully, Luke. I’m going to have to strip her.

The other two gunmen joined in his laughter as he bent closer. Without warning he let out a shriek of pain as she raked her fingernails across his cheek.

Looks like you got a wildcat by the tail, Luke taunted.

Touching a hand to his face, Fox stared at the blood a moment, then slapped her so hard her head snapped to one side.

Biting her lip against the pain, she made not a sound.

You little witch, he cried. Now you’re going to pay for that.

Go ahead, Fox. It’s the least she should do for you, in fact, for all of us, if she isn’t going to have anything else of value. After all, we don’t rob stages for the fun of it.

Maybe you don’t. But this ought to prove to be more fun than I’ve had in years.

While the other two laughed, the gunman dug his fingers into her hair and yanked her head back until the pain brought tears to her eyes.

You know, he said, tossing her hat aside and pulling the spectacles from her face, if it weren’t for those ugly clothes and the fact that you don’t know how to treat a man, you might not be half-bad.

He started to press his lips to hers but she twisted away and gave him a vicious kick with the heel of her boot as she scrambled free.

The two men hooted with laughter as Fox groaned and doubled up with pain. But when she got to her feet and started running, the laughter died on their lips.

Luke fired into the air and she spun around to face him. With the bodice of her gown gaping open and her hair spilling around her face and shoulders in wild tangles, she no longer resembled the prim female they’d seen lying on the ground only minutes ago.

This woman has spirit, Luke said, eyeing her with new appreciation. He took several steps toward her, an evil smile splitting his lips. I think she’s going to be more rewarding than the gold we got paid for this.

You’ll have to kill me first. Caroline’s words were spoken through gritted teeth.

So, the woman has a voice after all. Luke threw back his head and gave a cruel laugh. Honey, that’s what they all say. But they don’t mean it. Nobody ever wants to die.

He was too busy talking to see the fire in her eyes. But The Texan had seen it. And he could hear the ice in her tone as she warned, Then you don’t know me very well. I’ll die before I’ll submit.

With that she turned and began to run. Though her movements were hampered by the clumsy skirt and petticoat, she was surprisingly swift. Luke soon overtook her. Flinging her roughly over his shoulder, he carried her back to where the others stood laughing and jeering.

He tossed her to the ground and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. As she lay there, her breath coming in painful gasps, the three men circled her.

Now, Luke said with a grin, we’re going to introduce you to pleasure, Texas-style.

He leaned down and ran the tip of his knife between her breasts, cutting open her chemise. Seeing the way she cringed, he said to the others, You don’t suppose she’s never done anything like this before, do you, boys? A virgin. Now wouldn’t that be better’n gold?

The other two laughed in agreement.

They were so busy, none of them took any notice of the man who had been working feverishly at his ropes. Now, as the strands began to unravel, he lifted his hands to his teeth and tore at the last of the bindings.

As Luke grabbed a fistful of the woman’s hair, he felt the cold steel of a revolver pressed to his temple and heard a savage voice directly behind him.

Unless you let go of her right now, there won’t be enough left of you to pleasure a woman ever again.

In one quick motion Luke dragged Caroline in front of him, holding her like a shield, and pressed his knife to her throat.

With a nervous laugh he cried, You wouldn’t want to risk hurting an innocent woman, would you, Texan?

Caroline’s eyes widened as the stranger calmly leveled his revolver. She could see, by the steely look in those eyes, that he