Love Finds You in Sundance, Wyoming

  BY MIRALEE FERRELL

  Summerside Press™

  Minneapolis 55337

  www.summersidepress.com

  Love Finds You in Sundance, Wyoming

  © 2011 by Miralee Ferrell

  ISBN 978-1-60936-277-5

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  The town depicted in this book is a real place, but all characters, other than known historical figures addressed in the Author’s Note, are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people or events are purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Garborg Design Works | www.garborgdesign.com

  Interior design by Mullerhaus Publishing Group | www.mullerhaus.net

  Scripture references are from The Holy Bible, King James Version (KJV).

  Summerside Press™ is an inspirational publisher offering fresh, irresistible books to uplift the heart and engage the mind.

  Printed in USA.

  Dedication

  This book is lovingly dedicated

  to my best friend

  and a horsewoman in her own right—

  my daughter, Marnee.

  I love you and am so blessed you’re my daughter.

  Acknowledgments

  So many people have contributed to making this story what it is today. Family, friends, editors, agent, critique partners, and prayer partners who offer an ongoing covering have all been such a help and blessing during the writing and editing process.

  Special thanks go to my critique group. Kimberly Johnson, Sherry Kyle, and Karen O’Connor made suggestions that helped strengthen my book from start to finish. Each one is a talented writer, and I’m blessed to be on the same team. To Kristy Gamet and Tammy Marks who both read my books in advance—I appreciate your valuable input. And special thanks to Debbie Fluit and Barb Dorscher, for their unwavering prayer support during the writing of this book.

  I especially want to thank my agent, Tamela Hancock Murray, for her help, encouragement, and prayer support throughout my growing career, and to the people at Summerside Press for giving me another opportunity to write for them. And thank you, Susan Lorher, for your help with the Italian and Spanish phrases I needed.

  My family has stood beside me through all the times I’ve pushed to make deadlines and struggled when the words wouldn’t come. Allen, thank you, dear husband, for loving me and understanding when I didn’t have time to cook. To my kids, Marnee and Steven, and their wonderful spouses, Brian and Hannah—I love you all. You are the joy of my life and make everything I do worthwhile. Mom, I love you. Thank you for believing in me.

  Special thanks go to Pam Halter, who serves on the board of the Sundance Museum. She was a wonderful asset in giving me information on the town as it was during the late 1800s.

  And, of course, all praise, honor, and glory must go to my Lord. For without His hand on my life, this journey would be useless. I pray that each story I write will point back to Him—then I’ll truly know I’ve accomplished what He put me on this earth to do.

  To my readers, whom I choose to think of as my friends, thank you. If it weren’t for you, there would be no more books. I love hearing from you and enjoy knowing what you think, feel, and experience as you read my stories. Drop me a note, or visit my website, www.miraleeferrell.com, or my Facebook page. I’d love to meet you there!

  LOCATED IN THE NORTHEAST CORNER OF THE STATE, SUNDANCE, Wyoming, is a picturesque small town nestled in the Black Hills, named after Sundance Mountain to honor the Native Americans and the sun dances they performed on the mountain south of the town site. Albert Hoge, who owned and operated the local hotel and store, founded Sundance in 1879 during the Black Hills’ gold rush. He carefully surveyed the land and in the beginning sold lots only to future businesses and county and city government, as well as eating establishments and saloons. His vision laid the foundation for what Sundance is today.

  Sundance is most famous for Harry Longabough, also known as the Sundance Kid, who later teamed up with Butch Cassidy. Harry took his infamous name after bragging about his stay in the Crook County jail located in the town. He’d stolen a horse from the VVV ranch and was captured by Sheriff Ryan, serving eighteen months in the local jail. Later he teamed up with Cassidy and the Wild Bunch, and their fame grew as they robbed trains and banks. The name Wild Bunch was misleading, as Butch Cassidy always tried to avoid hurting people during robberies. He ordered his gang to shoot at the horses, rather than the riders, when being pursued by posses. Cassidy always proudly bragged that he had never killed a man.

  With a population of just over 1,100, the small community of Sundance boasts unparalleled scenery, adventure, and history. Nestled between Devils Tower and Mount Rushmore in the heart of the Black Hills, Sundance offers natural beauty, breathtaking monuments, and many recreational activities.

  Miralee Ferrell

  Chapter One

  Texas Panhandle, 1887

  Angel Ramirez woke with a start, her heart pounding a rolling beat in her chest. Someone was in her room.

  Inching her fingers under the edge of her pillow, her hand brushed against the cold steel of her Colt revolver. She eased the gun out and waited, allowing her vision to adjust to the partial darkness of the muggy August night. Uncle José had taught her to wait, never to rush when confronting an intruder—the first shot might be her only one.

  Rolling over onto her side, she pointed the gun at the door. “Who’s there?”

  A half moon sent tentative fingers of light through the small window near the foot of her bed, and a dark form stepped forward. “It’s José. Put your gun down, m’ija.” Her uncle’s accented drawl was absent—the words short and clipped. “Get dressed and meet me outside. Hurry now.” He slipped out the door and closed it carefully behind him.

  Angel drew on her trousers and long-sleeved shirt, tugged on her boots, and shoved her sombrero onto her close-cropped curls. After a quick look around the room, she grabbed her rifle and headed outside. José raised his hand for silence and drew her into the nearby stand of trees, not far from their small, three-room cabin. “Keep your voice down. I don’t want any of the men in the banda to hear.”

  The hair on the back of Angel’s arms stood on end. “What’s wrong?”

  “Another cattle raid. I won’t leave you behind. It’s not safe for you here.”

  “With the men?”

  “Yes. Bart Hinson’s up to something.”

  Angel sucked in a breath between her teeth. “Hinson. He’s the worst of this bunch. I don’t like the way he looks at me.”

  José stifled what sounded like a curse and gripped her arm. “If anything happens to me tonight, promise you’ll ride out of here and never come back.”

  Her heart rate accelerated, but she patted his hand. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

  He swung her toward him and leaned close, dropping his voice. “I don’t trust Hinson. An outlaw banda is no place for a girl, even if you were raised here. You’re eighteen and can take care of yourself away from this place.” Her uncle pointed to the rifle near her knee. “That rifle will take you far—you shoot better than most men. Keep dressing like a boy and get work on ranches as a hunter or horse wrangler.”

  She tried to laugh off his concern, but the effort nearly choked her. “This is my home. You’ve had these feelings before, and you’ve always come back safely.”

  José placed his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “I wish I’d made other choices years ago, m’ija. If your parents were alive, they wouldn’t have chosen this life for you. I should have sent you back to your mothe
r’s people in Italy.” He dug into the pocket of his denim jacket and removed a small bag. “There’s gold in there—enough to keep you a couple of years, if you’re careful and work when you can.”

  She drew back, hating the thought of taking it. She’d never considered where José’s money came from, but accepting a bag of gold procured from other people’s loss didn’t sit right. Besides, her uncle’s words implied he might not be along. “You’re scaring me.”

  He closed her fingers over the handful of gold. “I plan on living for a long time, m’ija, but you must be ready.” He swung away from her and called softly over his shoulder. “Saddle Bella, bring a bedroll, and put whatever you value most in your saddlebags—quick. And whatever you do, stay close to me on the trail.”

  Angel swung into the saddle and picked up Bella’s reins, her black Spanish-Arabian mare. She shoved the Winchester lever-action rifle into the saddle scabbard and tugged her hat over her forehead.

  The pale moon shone over the encampment, offering little in the way of light, but the deep reaches of the sky were lit by myriad stars sparkling against the dark backdrop. Dust rose as the outlaws’ horses stamped their hooves and pawed at the churned-up ground. Sweat trickled down between Angel’s shoulder blades. A horse bumped against Bella. Angel tightened her reins and turned sideways in her saddle.

  Bart Hinson swiveled toward her and leered, his narrow lips tipping up the corners of his sun-baked, flat face. “Finally gonna become a true outlaw and help us rustle some cattle, hey, Angel?”

  She raised her chin and backed her mare a couple of steps. “I rustle nothing. José asked me to come, but I’ll not take part.” Deliberately she touched her spur to the mare’s flank and swung away from the man.

  “Think you’re too good for us, do you?” He laughed, and a shiver of apprehension ran across Angel’s skin. “Once you ride with us, you’ll share all that we stand for.”

  She’d lived among these men and their wives since she was eight years old, and had never been on a cattle raid before—for that matter, she’d never felt fear until recently—and then, only around a handful of the outlaws. Hinson’s attentions had increased over the past couple of months, and she’d done her best to stay clear of the man. A sudden understanding of her uncle’s concern coursed through her. Hinson wasn’t a typical outlaw. He emanated something dark—a hint of evil deep at his core.

  José moved up alongside her, inserting his sorrel gelding between Bella and Hinson’s mount, effectively blocking the man’s view of Angel. She was glad to have Bart’s hawk-like scrutiny removed. She wanted to sink into a washtub and scrub the evil away.

  José pressed his horse closer. “You all right, pequeña?”

  Angel nodded. “Sí.” She kept her gaze averted from Hinson as he spurred his horse the opposite direction.

  José dropped his hand to the butt of his rifle. “Good. Let’s pray this night will go well and we’ll be back in our beds by nightfall tomorrow.”

  “Pray, Uncle? You think God in heaven smiles on what we do tonight?”

  “Maybe not, but we pray just the same, sí?”

  An hour later Bella snorted, sidestepped, and shook her head. Angel stroked the neck of her jigging black mare and stared out over the herd of restless cattle. José had insisted she stay back in the brush line, within sight of the men moving close to the herd but not near enough to be in danger.

  Dust rose from the milling cattle. Calves bawled and their anxious mamas lowed as they searched for their young among the constantly moving melee. Angel struggled to see her uncle through the gloom as the approaching dawn withheld its gift of light. Ghostlike figures rode shadowy horses along the edge of the scrub brush, circling around and returning strays to the herd.

  A shout rang out. A rider spurred his mount and charged after a bull racing away from the perimeter with three longhorn cows following close on his heels. The bay gelding stretched his neck and lengthened his stride, his one white stocking flashing against the dark background. His rider pushed the horse harder, leaning forward in his saddle. The pair leapt ahead of the bull, and the man swung his mount ever closer to the wicked horns, pushing the animals in a wide arc toward the rest of the cattle.

  José reined in beside Angel, pushed his sombrero back, and wiped his sleeve across his forehead. “It’s warm, and the dust makes it worse.”

  Angel rested her hands on the pommel of her saddle, her reins draped loosely against Bella’s neck. “What now?”

  “We move the herd north into New Mexico.” José dropped his voice. “You must leave tonight.”

  “Leave? I don’t understand.” She’d never known anyone to leave the outlaw band. “What about you?”

  “This is my life.” He shrugged. “And I must stay here to make sure you can get away.”

  “It’s gotten so bad?”

  “Sí.”

  “I won’t go without you.”

  “You must promise me, little one.”

  She hesitated, but the determination bathing his face left her no room to argue. “I promise.”

  A shout went up from the fringe of the herd, and José swung his horse. “Stay out of sight, and don’t return to the cabin.” He peered back over his shoulder. “Angel?”

  “Yes. I hear. Nothing will happen. Now go, before the men get angry at your absence.”

  He laid the big rowels of his California spurs to the flank of his gelding and cantered across the clearing, rejoining the evershifting herd.

  Angel turned Bella and followed along parallel with the apex of the jostling cattle, watching the swift riders with grudging respect. These men were some of the best riders and ropers in Texas, and most of them were excellent shots. They had to be—their lives, not to mention their livelihood—depended on their horsemanship and speed with a gun.

  The hours dragged as the men, horses, and cattle moved north and glimmering predawn colors appeared in the eastern sky, heralding a clear, hot day. Angel dropped back along the flank of the herd. She slipped her bandana over her nose to block the billows of dust rising from the dry streambed. She’d spoken to her uncle not long ago and knew the men were concerned about the lack of water.

  The thirsty cattle bellowed, and restlessness crept through their numbers. A dozen cows and calves raced for freedom on the far side, seeming intent on returning the way they’d come. The animals had been traveling for over six hours now with no water, and the youngest started to lag. She wanted to urge Bella forward and help the men tighten the herd, but José wouldn’t approve.

  A glance over the heads of the jostling cattle showed her uncle riding not far from Hinson, with Junior Bailey just ahead.

  Dust drifted on a light breeze, bringing with it the scent of sweat, manure, and fear. Angel drew Bella to a walk and moved off to the side. Tension knotted her stomach, and unease seemed to wrap itself over the atmosphere like a dark, looming thundercloud.

  The other five men were spread from the point of the herd to the rear, hats drawn low and bandanas snugged up over their noses. All were alert, their posture in the saddle tense, and at least two had their rifles out of their scabbards.

  She could see nothing moving in the rear. No. Wait. A dust trail rising in the east in the morning sun. Was that what had the men spooked?

  José waved his arm and shouted. “Angel. Go. Hurry!” He reined his horse away from his position along the far edge of the cattle and broke into a hard trot. “Remember—“

  An explosion of rifle fire severed his warning.

  Five men rode into sight a hundred yards back on the cattle’s flanks. They leaned low over their horse’s necks, rifles extended in front of them, and Angel could see a flame erupt from the muzzle of the one in the lead.

  Hinson let out a war whoop. “Rangers!” He aimed his six-shooter off to the side and let loose, firing a steady stream at the men approaching them at a ground-covering gallop. “Get the herd moving.” Hinson turned his head and stared at José racing his gelding along the flank of
the herd toward Angel. “Ramirez, get back to your post!”

  José dug in his spurs and lashed his horse with the end of his reins, his attention fixed on Angel. “Get into the mesquite, pequeña. Hide!” He closed the gap to within ten yards of Angel and pointed toward a thick stand of brush. “Go, now!”

  Angel hesitated, but her uncle’s expression brooked no disobedience. Gripping Bella’s reins, she leaned forward in the saddle and grazed the mare’s side with her spurs. Bella leapt forward, digging in her haunches and catapulting over the ground.

  Another shot sounded and Angel turned her head, gazing back toward Hinson. He’d holstered his pistol and removed his rifle, aiming toward the Ranger and the posse. She ducked into the brush, reined Bella to a halt, and turned back toward the action unfolding before her.

  Hinson sighted down the length of his rifle and squeezed the trigger. A loud report echoed across the hills, and Angel swung in the direction he’d aimed. She froze. Her uncle lurched in the saddle, blood soaking his arm. He gripped the saddle horn with the other; the reins lay useless on his horse’s neck.

  Another report erupted from Hinson’s rifle and an explosion of sound followed, as Rangers, posse, and outlaws emptied their guns across the expanse. The rifle in Hinson’s hands bucked, and the lead Texas Ranger tumbled from his horse’s back, disappearing under the hooves of the stampeding cattle.

  Angel sat frozen as her uncle’s horse made his way toward her, seeming intent on reaching his pasture mate. Bella neighed, and Angel broke from her stupor. She dismounted, tossed her reins over her horse’s neck, and stepped to José’s side as Rio drew to a stop.

  “Uncle! How hard are you hit?” She caught Rio’s reins.

  “Not bad. Leave now, while they are busy with the posse.” Blood oozed from between his fingers.

  Angel yanked open her saddlebag. She withdrew a clean shirt and moved close to Rio. “Let me tie this around your arm. You’re losing too much blood.”