A Fortune for the Outlaw's Daughter
Author
Lauri Robinson
Reads
15,9K
Chapters
17
Chapter One
Life had never been easy for Maddie Stockwell. Being the daughter of the outlaw Bass Mason, a man who’d changed his name more often than he’d changed his socks, had forced her to look out for herself at an early age. She was quick on her feet, too. Quicker than the man with the hands that had just seized her could possibly know.
The fingers digging into her waist sent curse words—things she’d never say aloud but had heard numerous times—running through her mind. They muffled the piano music and shouts of people filling the saloons on both sides of the alleyway. Furthermore, the hand over her mouth stank of fish, and the pressure of that hand pressed grit into her lips and cheeks, igniting her fury.
Whoever he was—this man who’d grabbed her as she left the community well—was big. Strong, too, given the way he hoisted her off the ground, dragging her backward.
Claws of fear dug into her throat, but it was the anger surging inside she focused on. Not again. Did every man think all they had to do was hover in the night darkness and snatch her up as if they were picking peaches or something?
They might be able to do that to other women, but not her.
With movements she’d acquired while fighting off those who had ridden with her father, Maddie kicked one heel backward into the man’s knee as she shot an elbow straight back, catching his ribs. She also flung her head back, connecting with what she assumed was his nose by the way he screeched.
She didn’t stop there, though. The frustration inside her hadn’t played out. As the arms around her went slack, she spun and brought the now half-full water bucket around at full speed. It met the side of his head with a solid thud, and her well-aimed kick targeted right below the belt buckle sent him the rest of the way to the ground.
He was no longer a threat, rolling on the ground as he was, but the names he was shouting, the things he was calling her—as if any of this was her fault—had her temper flaring.
Maddie swung the bucket again, cracking him upside the head. The last bits of water flew in all directions while the bucket splintered into pieces. She froze for a moment when the man went quiet. As swiftly as his hands had grabbed her moments ago, something she couldn’t describe gripped her from the inside.
Her entire being shook as if she stood in the center of a Rocky Mountain snowstorm instead of a warm, dark California night. Mad Dog had found her again. This wasn’t him, but it was one of his men.
Shouts, muffled by the throbbing in her ears, had her spinning about. Two men, as big as the one on the ground, barreled down the alley.
Instinct said run, but where?
She couldn’t go back to Hester’s. That would jeopardize the other girls, so Maddie leaped over the prone body and headed for the street at the end of the alley several buildings ahead. Her heart raced as fast as her feet. The ground rumbled from the weight of those chasing her, and the opening seemed to get farther away instead of closer.
A whoop or whistle had her chancing a glance over her shoulder.
Like the devil riding out of hell, a horse raced right between the two men, knocking them aside.
“Hold out your arm, darling,” the rider shouted. “Lucky will save you!”
The two men were scrambling to their feet. The horse getting closer. Her choices were clear: get run over and caught or leap on the horse behind the devil himself.
Instinct, again, had her choosing the latter.
Turning, she held out an arm, and as the man’s hand clamped her elbow, she jumped, flinging one leg over the back of the saddle. She’d leaped on behind her father more than once, way back when, before he’d left her with Smitty. He’d been the one man she could always count on, Smitty that was, right up until the end. God rest his soul. Unlike most men, he deserved a place behind the pearly gates.
“Hold on, darling,” the man in front of her shouted.
The clop of hooves echoed against the bricks as the horse rounded the corner, entering the street. Maddie wrapped both arms around the stranger to keep from sliding off, and caught a glimpse of her pursuers shaking their fists in the air.
Laughter from the rider in front of her filled the air, and feeling a touch of elation, Maddie shouted, “Are you?”
“Am I what?” the man asked in return.
“Lucky?” She could use some of that. Hers seemed to have run out weeks ago.
“Hold on, and you’ll find out.”
He took another corner, and then zigged and zagged down streets and up others, turning so many times she was dizzy, and lost, but Maddie kept her knees bent, legs out of his way as the man heeled the horse, keeping it at a full run.
Sea air—a mixture of dirty water, salt, dead fish and wet wood—stung her nose when he brought the horse to an abrupt halt. They dismounted at the same time, and he grabbed her by the back of one arm, propelling her in one direction while slapping the horse on the backside, sending it in the opposite way.
“In here,” he directed, hushed and hurried.
The tall building blocked the moonlight, making it impossible to see much of anything. He’d saved her from the other men, but that didn’t mean he was safe. Few men were. Life had taught her that. “What about your horse?” she asked, trying to buy time to figure out an escape on her own this time.
“It wasn’t mine,” he answered. “I stole it.”
She dug her heels into the dirt. “Stole it?”
His strength was no match as he pulled her forward. “Don’t give up on me now, darling.”
“Don’t call me darling,” she said. “And let go of me.”
“Can’t. Alan Ridge isn’t going to be happy when he learns you knocked out his henchman. I may have gotten his other men off our tail for a bit, but eventually they’ll learn where we went. At least the general direction.” He threw open a door. “You can trust Lucky, darling. You’re safe with me.”
A chill rippled through Maddie. Mad Dog Rodriquez and Alan Ridge were the same man; she’d discovered that in the first town she’d hightailed out of in the dead of the night. Smitty had heard Mad Dog was in Mexico, and that was why he’d sent her to California: to escape the outlaw for good. That plan had backfired and she’d been doing little more than avoiding capture since stepping off the train. Mad Dog had a penchant for stealing girls and selling them at high bounties, but that wasn’t the only reason he was pursing her.
“You know Alan Ridge?” she asked.
“I know of him.”
She didn’t like it, not one little bit, but Lucky, as he called himself, seemed her only alternative at this moment. Given her choices, Maddie followed him, vowing to escape the first chance she got.
He closed the door behind them and let go of her arm but took her hand as he spun around. It was even darker inside, completely black. “Hold on to my belt. I’ll never find you in here if we get separated.”
Maddie was contemplating that when he whispered again. “But Ridge’s men will. Have no doubt about that, darling. When that one comes to, he’s going to be looking harder than ever.”
“Are you one of Ridge’s men?” she asked point-blank, though not really sure what she’d do if he said yes.
“Aw, darling,” he drawled. “Would I be trying to save you if I was in cahoots with him?”
Men were a fickle bunch, and not a one of them was above lying, yet her instincts, which she hoped weren’t trying to fool her, said she could trust this man. However, her ire was still riding high. “Will you stop calling me that,” she hissed, while wrapping her fingers beneath his belt. Men who’d ridden with her father always called her darling. She’d hated it then, and hated it now. Along with everything else about her past.
Lucky started walking forward slowly, as if feeling his way. “I will if you tell me your name.”
“Maddie. Madeline Elizabeth Stockwell,” she answered. It was a good name. This one she’d settled on. No one could trace it back to Bass. That wasn’t likely, considering he’d been calling himself Boots Smith when he died, but she wanted to sever all ties to her former life. California was supposed to have been a fresh start, but since arriving, she’d found herself running more than when living with outlaws.
“Well, ain’t that a mouthful?”
Stung, she retorted, “It’s better than Lucky.”
“Lucky’s just my nickname, darling. Real one’s Cole. Cole DuMont.”
“Who gave you a nickname like that?”
“I did.”
“You gave yourself a nickname?” She’d given herself a full name, but that had been a necessity; giving yourself a nickname was just plain silly. Maddie was her real name, as far as she knew. Madeline as well as Elizabeth and Stockwell were ones she’d chosen. They sounded distinguished. Proper. That was what she wanted. A real, proper and distinguished life. She’d have it, too. If she ever got away from Mad Dog and his henchmen.
“Sure enough did.” Lucky paused to open a door. “Figured if I called myself that often enough, it would stick. Luck, that is.”
She followed him outside. The air was cool and it had started to rain. Mist really, since it was more as though the water just hung in the air rather than falling to the ground.
“Has it worked?” she asked, curious.
“Sure enough has.”
The moisture-filled air was darker, and she wondered how he’d found the next door he opened. Luck, maybe?
They did that several times, entered buildings, weaved around boxes and crates—at least she assumed that was what was on both sides of them, snagging her dress sleeves at times—and exited only to take a few steps before entering another one. Warehouses along the seashore were like that. Long lines of buildings storing the cargo shipped in and out of the bay. She’d explored them during the day in the town she’d first arrived in, but the men she’d encountered along the seashore made her not want to visit the docks again.
Mad Dog’s men.
“Was that Ridge’s horse you stole?” she asked.
“Don’t know,” he answered. “I’d just stepped out the back door when I saw you knock down Bubba.”
“Bubba?” This building had a sharp, almost sickeningly sweet scent filling it, like molasses, and she glanced around, but might as well have had a burlap bag over her head. She couldn’t make out anything in the darkness.
“Don’t rightly know if that was his name or not,” Lucky said, “but he was one of Ridge’s men. I saw the other two going after you, so I ran around front and jumped on the first horse I came to.”
They were still whispering, and it was making her voice burn. At least that had to be why her throat felt so thick. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why’d you steal the horse?”
“To rescue you.” He stopped suddenly and she bumped into his back before stilling her steps. “You do know what Alan Ridge does with the girls his men snatch off the streets, don’t you?”
“I’ve heard.” She refrained from admitting all she knew about the alias Mad Dog had taken on. It seemed the outlaw was now the leader of his own gang and had henchmen in every town lining the coast.
Lucky—she still thought that was a silly name—opened another door and scanned the area like he’d done at each one before.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “Ridge won’t catch us. Not tonight.”
Stepping into the wet night air once again, Maddie squinted, hoping to see something this time. Nothing but blackness, yet she could hear water sloshing. “You sound funny,” she said when he opened another door.
“That’s because I was born and raised down by New Orleans. A bayou boy. That’s what my granny always called me.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Shh,” he said. “Listen.”
She did, until her ears stung from the thundering of her own blood.
“Must’ve been a rat,” he said, moving forward.
Maddie quivered. Rats came in all shapes and sizes, and she knew firsthand how some walked on two legs, pretending to be human.
“Don’t worry, darling, rats don’t like us any more than we like them. It’s not much farther, either.”
“Maddie, the name’s Maddie.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, as cocky as every other statement he’d made.
After the last building, he led her along a series of docks. Thick fog had settled in, and so had her nerves. An escape route hadn’t presented itself. Lucky may have rescued her from that alley, but that was not to say he wasn’t as bad as Mad Dog. He could be taking her to a place no better than Mad Dog did the girls he captured. Long ago she’d figured out what happened to those girls before they were sold. She hadn’t let that happen back in Colorado, and wasn’t going to let it happen here, either. Not with Mad Dog or a man who called himself Lucky.
He stopped and started unlooping a thick rope from one of the posts lining the dock. “Climb down.”
She peered over the edge. A rowboat bounced in the water. “Into that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“So I can row you out to my uncle’s ship. The Mary Jane. It’s sailing for Seattle posthaste.”
Her heart skipped several beats. “Seattle?”
“Yep.”
That could be far enough away, but traveling cost money—something she didn’t have. The small chunk of gold sewn in the waistband of her petticoat was her seed gold. Smitty had given it to her when she’d left Colorado, along with all the cash he’d had. He’d said he wouldn’t need it where he was going, and Maddie had promised to make him proud. To become a woman he could smile down upon while he was busy filling the world with sunshine even on cloudy days. A smile tugged at her lips, remembering how Smitty had insisted if she ever needed him, all she had to do was look up. He’d brighten the sky for her.
“Come on,” Lucky said, as he turned around and started climbing down the wooden ladder. “Unless you want to stay here, become one of Ridge’s girls.”
Something changed, and Maddie glanced up. Strangely there was a momentary part in the clouds. The moon, as big, round and right as she’d ever seen, peeked through and shone down on her. Her heart skipped several more beats as she glanced back toward the rowboat. Still cautious, she asked, “How much will it cost me?”
“Nothing.”
It was the first time she got a good look at Lucky’s face. Kind of long, with a square, clean-shaven jaw. It was his eyes that caught her attention. Even in the fog they twinkled as if that was where the stars were, instead of high above the clouds where nobody could see them. She glanced up again. The moon was gone. No stars, either.
“Come on, Maddie,” Lucky coaxed. “I promise you’re safe with me. You’ll be safe all the way to Seattle.”
There were no others mingling around, no one to hear if she shouted, unless perhaps Mad Dog or his men—if they had followed. She wanted to believe Lucky, climb down and escape this town and all the dangers it held, yet caution had been her constant companion for years. “How do you know I don’t have family here?” she asked. “Someone looking for me. Right now, even. Who’ll hunt you down, along with Ridge.”
His smile made those eyes twinkle brighter. “If you had family, you wouldn’t have been fetching water for Hester.”
A splattering of hope rose inside her. “You know Hester?” The older woman had assisted Maddie in escaping Mad Dog’s clutches once before and had promised a permanent escape would happen soon.
“That’s why I was at the saloon,” he said.
The air left her lungs in a gush. “It is?”
“Yes. I’m the rescue Hester promised.”
Relief filled Maddie. That explained why Hester had sent her out to fetch water tonight. This was her chance, and she had to take it. “Why didn’t you say so?”
He made some kind of reply, but already swinging around, Maddie didn’t hear exactly what. She was too busy willing her heart to stay in her chest as she lowered closer to the water. Wet and slippery, the ladder wasn’t easy to navigate. A wave of reprieve rushed over her when a firm hold took her by the waist, lifting her the last few feet.
The boat rocked as Lucky guided Maddie to sit on one of the wide boards. Then he flipped a blanket over her head and shoulders before he sat down opposite her and grasped the handles of the oars.
Though already damp, the blanket didn’t offer warmth, but did block the wind, and Maddie repositioned it, grasping both corners beneath her chin. Her thoughts went to the two younger girls that Hester had ushered into the attic late last night. When Lucky started to row, she asked, “What about the others?”
“I was just sent after you, but don’t worry, if Hester promised them an escape, it’ll happen.” He made several more big circles with both arms at the same time, moving the boat through the water, before asking, “Are they friends?”
“No,” Maddie admitted. “I don’t even know their names.” Just as she hadn’t known the names of the other girls that had come and gone within hours the past few days. Hester had said it would take time to get her out of town, considering her previous encounters with Ridge’s men. They hadn’t been just run-ins, they’d been escapes. Maddie escaping, that was. Three times, in three different towns. She still didn’t know how Hester had learned about her or knew to meet her at the edge of town, but the woman had, and she’d done exactly as promised.
Maddie’s happiness faltered. As badly as she wanted to escape Mad Dog, she didn’t want to go as far as Seattle. There was no gold there. It was here. In California. That was what Maddie wanted. Gold. Enough so she’d never be hungry again. Never be cold or scared or homeless or penniless. And with enough gold, she could go someplace Mad Dog would never find her.
“Where are you from?”
Maddie lifted her head and questioned answering. The less anyone knew the better. “East of here.”
His laugh was quick. “Everything is east of California. Where were you born?”
Her memories didn’t start until Wyoming, then Montana, Texas, Arizona. She even remembered a hut down in Mexico. Thus was the life of an outlaw. Until Colorado, where they’d run across Smitty, prospecting high in the hills. Her father had left her with him instead of dragging her along to the next train, stagecoach or bank that Bass thought he needed to rob. That had been five years ago. “Kansas,” she said. At least that was what she’d been told.
Cole couldn’t say she was lying, and he couldn’t blame her for being evasive. She wasn’t the first girl he’d been assigned to collect from Hester. She was the last, though. He’d helped with several escapes and liked the adventure of it, but Ridge had caught sight of him last year, and that could jeopardize future rescues. The loss of this woman would bother the outlaw. Her black hair and mature figure, which Cole had tried to ignore since pulling her up behind the saddle, would bring a high price. That was what Ridge counted on. The lovelier, the more expensive.
It was a good thing this would be the last trip for the Mary Jane this far south for a while. Ridge had too many eyes on the shore to not put two and two together.
“How old are you?” Cole asked.
“Nineteen.”
She was certainly older than the thirteen-and fourteen-year-old ones he was used to moving north, but he’d guess her no more than sixteen. “There’s no need to lie to me.”
Pulling the corners of the blanket tighter beneath her chin, her blue eyes glistened as she snapped, “I’m not lying.”
It didn’t matter one way or the other, and Cole decided to let it go. “What brought you to California?”
“Gold.”
She hadn’t hesitated in her answer, but it was the gleam that instantly appeared in her eyes that he recognized. Knew exactly what it was like. There wasn’t another word that affected him like that one did. Gold. Just thinking about it got his blood racing, his heart pounding. He had the fever. Caught it last year, but he didn’t let it rule him. Instead, he let it drive him. And it had. All winter. He was now set, had everything lined up, and before long he’d be gathering up more gold than most men only dreamed about. He knew where to find it. Maybe that was why he told her, “There’s no gold in California, darling.”
“Yes, there is,” she argued.
“None a man can freely claim.” He wasn’t trying to disillusion her. It was something he knew for a fact. The money being made in California was off the miners, not by mining. It was that way other places, too. He just knew where the odds were better.
Her lips were pinched tight and her chin had jutted up a notch.
“Alaska,” he said, thinking of his destination. “That’s where the gold is.”
“That,” she said sternly, “is a wives’ tale. Alaska’s nothing but frozen tundra.”
“Now, who told you that?”
“No one in particular.”
“Well, go right on believing that, darling. You and the rest of the world.” It would leave more for him to find. Tales of discovering gold in Alaska had spread along the coast for years, and prospectors made their way there only to return saying the same thing she did—mainly because they didn’t know where to look. He, on the other hand, did. Those thoughts had him slowing the speed of which he rowed. The Mary Jane had to be close, and in this fog he might row smack-dab into her side.
“You’ve seen it?” she asked. “Alaska? Gold?”
“Yes, darling, I’ve seen it.” Something blocked the wind, and he had no doubt it was Uncle Trig’s ship. Paddling slow until he could make out the ropes hanging down, he said, “We’re here.”
The rowboat bumped the big hull of the Mary Jane. Cole caught a rope and pulled the little boat beneath the ladder. “You have to climb up first this time. But don’t fret, I’ll be right behind you.”
There was caution in her eyes, but not fear, and he liked that. He’d had to carry more than one young girl up the rope ladder, which wasn’t easy. She tucked the blanket under the bench seat and carefully maneuvered to the ladder. He waited until she was well on her way to the top before he tied the side ropes to the rowboat so it could be lifted out of the water by the pulleys once he arrived on the deck of the big ship.
Uncle Trig was at the top and two shipmates were already hoisting up the rowboat when Lucky climbed over the edge.
“Everything go all right?” his uncle asked.
“Yes,” Cole answered. “No problems at all.”
“Did you see Jasmine?” Trig wanted to know.
“Who do you think motioned me when the time was right?” Cole slapped his uncle on the shoulder. “She’s as lovely as ever.” Long ago Jasmine had been shanghaied from some foreign coastal town much like Ridge was doing to innocent girls, and though she was now the madam of a similar business, she believed girls should choose to work that profession, not be forced into it. Trig had once been a steady customer of Jasmine’s, and though Cole felt there was more—that his uncle had fallen in love with the woman—neither Jasmine nor Trig ever proclaimed anything but friendship. They were cohorts, though, in slipping girls out of town right under Ridge’s nose. Although neither of them would admit to that, either.
“I’m sure she is,” Trig answered.
“How’d you know about this one?” Cole asked. They’d barely arrived in port when his uncle told him of the mission. Usually there’d been cargo to load or unload and he’d always assumed word had been sent during that time. This time, glancing toward Maddie standing near the wheelhouse, he was curious to know how Trig knew Hester—Jasmine’s housekeeper—had this girl hidden and ready for an escape.
“Two lanterns.” Trig waved a hand in the general direction of Cole’s gaze. “I hung a hammock in my cabin for you to bunk with me until we get to Seattle.”
That wasn’t new, either. He often gave up his sleeping space for the girls, but not satisfied with his uncle’s answer, Cole questioned, “Two lanterns?”
“If there’s only one, all is well. If there’re two, we’re needed.”
“Where?”
“Warehouse number seven.” Trig, his skin wrinkled and weathered from the sun and sea, squinted thoughtfully. “You thinking about changing your plans?”
Cole shook his head. “You know I’m not. Sailing’s been profitable, but not enough to cover what the family needs now. Robbie’s waiting in Seattle. He’ll take over the rescues.” There was a fleeting ounce of regret inside Cole, for he had enjoyed the past four years with his uncle, sailing the seas, mainly the West Coast. They had gone around the cape once and back again. That had been his greatest adventure so far—and most profitable. The funds he’d acquired from buying and selling highly sought after merchandise had allowed him to send a considerable sum home. Yet as much as that had been, he’d heard the family needed a whole lot more. Trig had contributed, too, but the hurricane that had wiped out the family shipyard and warehouses west of New Orleans had done a number on the entire coast, and his uncles back home said Gran was struggling to rebuild the family empire to its former glory.
Cole had set his hope and goal on gold. It would show to his mother that following in his father’s and grandfather’s footsteps had been the right choice, and prove every man had his own fortune to seek. If his mother had her way, Cole and his brother would still be living under her roof, married to the women she’d handpicked.
He’d left, though, to his mother and Rachel’s dismay. So had Robbie. His younger brother by three years had escaped their mother’s clutches two years ago, just as Cole had three years before that. It wasn’t that they didn’t love their mother, just that a man has to live his own life. Gran knew that, and said it, though their mother never listened. Gran had seen through Rachel, too. Even before he had.
Cole let his thoughts skip right over Rachel, as he had for years now. He was glad Robbie had joined him and Trig. It was his brother’s turn now to learn the ins and outs of being a sea merchant. He’d stepped off the ship last fall to spend the winter in Seattle in order to drum up cargo he thought they could make a profit from. Trig had given instructions, just as he’d given Cole the first time he’d let him wander on his own, striking deals.
It had been then, when they’d dropped off Robbie, that they’d heard about the hurricane—a message had greeted them when they’d arrived in port. His father’s other two brothers, though neither had been overly involved in the shipping industry, had sent a wire saying everything had been lost, but Gran was insistent upon rebuilding.
That was the other reason he needed to find gold, and lots of it: Gran. She’d dedicated her life to the shipping industry and had used her profits to see her sons set up in businesses, and now, as life was catching up with her, she deserved to have her family come together in order for her to rebuild her one true love. DuMont Shipping.
As kids, he and Robbie had loved spending time at her place. They’d sneak away from the house to pretend they were sailors, maneuvering little rowboats around the bayou, both of them dreaming of the day they’d join their father or Uncle Trig on the seas. Their mother had been dead set against that and whipped them soundly the one time she’d discovered where they’d been and what they’d been doing. She’d forbidden them from spending nights at Gran’s after that. Even as a young child he’d been torn between the adventures calling him inside and the pain of seeing his mother cry, claiming the sea had stolen her husband. She’d cried when he’d left, too.
Cole sighed. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, but the calling had grown too strong, and now, well, now he had to save the family business. A man lucky enough could make money in Alaska—lots of it, and that was what he needed.
With another friendly slap to Trig’s shoulder, and more determined than ever that Alaska was where he needed to be, Cole took a step. “I’ll show our guest to her cabin.”
