The Renegade's Redemption. Stacy Henrie

he hadn’t felt since his first robbery coursed through Tex and robbed his mouth of moisture. He cautiously lifted his hands in surrender and turned to face the triumphant expression of the local sheriff. “There’s been some mistake. I was simply conducting my banking affairs like everyone else.”

      The sheriff barked a humorless laugh. “I ain’t a fool. The jig’s up. Someone in town recognized you and I’ve been tracking you since you left the hotel ten minutes ago.”

      It had to be Quincy who had turned him in. Tex frowned, his stomach still lurching with panic. “Why don’t we talk about this outside, Sheriff?”

      “Not unless you’re in handcuffs first.”

      Tex feigned a look of contrition as he fell back a small step, edging toward the wall that had a plateglass window. It stretched from waist high all the way up to the ceiling and looked out on an alley. “I can see how committed you are, Sheriff. And I applaud that.”

      His words seemed to confuse the man, just as Tex had hoped. “But I’m afraid...” He moved another tiny step backward. “That I’m going to have to pass on the suggestion.”

      With that he covered his face with his arm and dove for the window. The shatter of glass filled his ears and he felt it cut into the exposed skin along his jaw and hands. But better to deal with broken glass than a bullet.

      He landed with a hard thud on the ground in the alley. Gulping for breath, he lumbered to his feet and started for the front of the building. The sheriff fired a shot through the window, but Tex ducked out of the way. Jerking his horse’s reins free, he threw himself into the saddle. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sheriff barrel out of the bank, his face red with fury.

      “You won’t get away so easily,” the man shouted.

      Tex kicked his horse, his mind intent on fleeing. The horse leapt forward, and for one moment, Tex knew the familiar thrill of a clean escape. Then the sheriff shot at him again. This time the bullet found purchase. It struck Tex in his right side, and his body jerked hard to the left in reflexive response. He clung to the horse with trembling arms to keep from falling as searing fire registered through his shock.

      Half blind with pain, he guided his horse down the alley and out the other side. As if from the end of a long train tunnel, he heard the sheriff hollering at him, but Tex couldn’t make out the words over the roaring in his ears.

      He urged his horse into a gallop, heedless of the outbursts from those leaping out of his way. Pressing a hand to his side, Tex fought off the blackness stealing onto the edges of his vision. If he lost consciousness and fell off his horse, he would lose his freedom too. He had to get away from Casper before he passed out. His few belongings, including his money and a dwindling supply of hardtack and jerky, were thankfully already ensconced inside his saddlebags.

      As he reached the end of the street, he dizzily looked back over his shoulder. The sheriff was running hard after him and the man wasn’t alone. Quincy and his friends were right behind him.

      So it had been Quincy who’d revealed Tex’s identity to the sheriff. Likely in an effort to get back the map.

      Tex scowled as much from the pain of being shot as the realization he’d been framed. He wasn’t giving up the map. Not when he’d won it fair and square. Quincy would have to pry it from Tex’s dead hands...though his demise might be sooner than he anticipated with his side bleeding out all over.

      He pushed his horse faster, though the increased speed jarred his injury even further. The stabbing in his side pierced his every thought and sense. He ground his teeth against it, refusing to falter. He’d need to stop soon and bandage the gunshot wound as best he could, but right now he had to focus his little remaining energy and awareness on escaping.

      And Tex knew where he had to go.

      There was only one place Quincy wouldn’t think to look for him. One place he could convalesce in peace. One place where his outlaw past hadn’t yet caught up to him.

      The Texas Titan was headed home.

      Idaho, five days later

      “Mr. Grady, please.” Ravena Reid tossed her dish towel on the porch rocker and trailed the middle-aged man into the yard. “You can’t quit now. There are still two more fields to plow and the planting needs to be done.”

      He whirled on her, his face as red as his hair. “I ain’t staying another day. Them rascally boys spooked the horses with their snake. And that’s the second time they’ve made trouble for me in five days.” Marching forward again, he tossed over his shoulder, “’Sides, I can earn far better wages somewhere else.”

      Desperation, in the form of a tight lump, lodged in Ravena’s throat and slowed her steps. Not for the first time she wished her grandfather were still alive. The last three months of running the farm and caring for the orphan children by herself had taxed her to capacity. She felt twice as old as her twenty-seven years.

      Without their two older orphans, who’d left the previous autumn to make their way into the world, she’d had to part with some of her precious savings to hire someone to help with the plowing and the planting. Mr. Grady was the second man she’d employed—and just like the first, he’d quit after less than a fortnight. In Mr. Grady’s case it was less than a week. Clearly she wasn’t as adept at keeping a hired hand or disciplining the children to leave them alone as her grandfather had been. The knowledge brought the hot press of tears that she barely managed to blink back.

      They couldn’t afford a delay in the planting. Not when she needed a good crop in order to provide for the children under her care and the other four orphans she and her grandfather had planned to bring to the farm this summer. There was also the matter of housing. She still needed to find a way to pay a carpenter to complete the lovely new house her grandfather had envisioned building. A house that would easily provide shelter for nine orphans and herself. And she owed it to Grandfather’s memory to fulfill the plans he’d made. The thought of letting him down increased her heartache and fear.

      “Will you at least finish plowing the field you were working on?” she urged.

      Mr. Grady didn’t answer. Instead he increased his agitated retreat to the barn. But Ravena wasn’t giving up.

      Before she reached the barn doors, the man came barreling out on his horse. Which meant he’d made up his mind and had the mount already saddled before he’d come into the kitchen to tell her that he’d quit and wanted his wages.

      “I’ll be takin’ what I earned this week,” he said, jerking his horse to a stop beside her.

      Straightening her shoulders, Ravena leveled him with her firmest look. She might be a lone woman running the place now, but she wouldn’t be cowed or swindled. “I’ll pay you for five days of work, not six.” She let the declaration hang in the air a moment before adding with a more entreating tone, “Unless you’re willing to work the rest of the day. Then I’ll pay you for six days.”

      He glared down at her. “I already done told you, I ain’t staying.”

      She clenched her teeth, frustrated by his decision and his barnyard vernacular. “Very well.” After fishing the required cash and coin from her apron pocket, she dropped them into his outstretched hand. “Good day, Mr. Grady.”

      He sniffed with disapproval as he pocketed the money, then dug his heels into his horse’s flanks. Head held high, Ravena stepped back to avoid the kick of dirt from the animal’s hooves. But her bravado ran out before the pair disappeared down the road.

      Now that she’d lost another hired hand, the contents of the letter in her other pocket weighed heavier than a steer on her mind and heart. She moved to the porch and sat on the step. Pulling out the letter, she smoothed the wrinkles from it. If only she could smooth the troubled ripples in her life as easily.

      Dear Miss Reid,

      First let me offer my condolences at the loss of your grandfather. I never met a more gentle man and I’m grateful for