Chapter 1

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Chapter 1

Central Texas, late 1860's

What I need is a disguise.

Amos Taylor hooked a leg across his saddle-horn as he looked across the field at the little country church, a small, white building with a steep-pitched roof that led up to the spire on the front. An idea formed in his head, and the more he thought on it the more he liked it. In back of the church a black-frocked suit and a white clerical collar and shirt, the standard uniform of a country parson, hung on the clothesline. How’s that for timing? Amos thought.

Amos rode over to a young boy skipping rocks across a small stream. "Where ya live, boy?" It wouldn't do for the boy to live at the parsonage.

The tow-headed youngster looked up, all freckles and grin. He had a rag tied on his big toe to cover some recent scrape. "Over yonder." He pointed across the field.

Excellent. "You wanna make a dime?"

The boy looked at him appraisingly. "Do frogs bump their bottom when they jump?"

"Is that a yes?"

The boy nodded vigorously, and Amos fished the promised coin out of his pocket. He held it, his hand resting on his saddle horn. The youngster devoured it with his eyes. "I want to surprise a friend of mine. You know the lady that lives in that house over there?"

The boy fidgeted, not liking having to stand still, but his eyes never left the coin. "The preacher’s wife? We don't go to that church, but I know her."

"If I give you the money, will you go over there, pluck a handful of those wild flowers, and take them to her? Tell her a friend sent you with them."

"Who should I say?"

"Just a friend."

"I can do that." A grubby hand stretched forth for the coin.

Amos tucked it into the boy's hand. "Take them to the front door, son. Flowers oughta be delivered to the front door."

He was talking to the boy's back. The youngster was already halfway to a growth of pretty wildflowers: reds, yellows, and blues in happy confusion.

Amos watched as the young man gathered and arranged a bunch of them, tried to slick down his unruly hair, straightened his rumpled clothing, and approached the door. He was taking his mission very seriously.

As the youngster knocked on the front door, Amos rode into the backyard to liberate the suit, shirt, and collar from the clothesline. It took but a minute to tuck the garments into his saddlebags and head out of town. The perfect disguise, he thought.

Judy Valentine held a delicately scented handkerchief to her nose. It helped keep the ever-present dust cloud inside the Wells Fargo coach bearable. The visit to see family in Boston had been pleasant, but it felt good to be going home again.

Home, she thought. They just don't understand. Her family had been very difficult when the time came to leave. They did not understand her desire to return to this untamed region, and certainly would not have understood her thinking of it as home.

They wouldn't have seen her life back in Boston as confining or regimented either. To them it was a proper, organized existence. She had felt exactly the same way until she came out West to visit her Aunt Helen and Uncle John. She was surprised to find that from the moment she stepped from the stagecoach, the wide-open land that stretched as far as she could see removed any boundaries in her mind, and freed her spirit. She loved it.

Now almost back to her adopted home, she looked out over the flowing grass of the prairie. Soon the coach would make the turn by Saddle Rock. From there it would be a relatively short trip on in to Quiet Valley. She smiled and smoothed some wrinkles from her skirt. I'll be home soon, she thought again.

Amos rode deep into the hill country before he determined it would be safe to pull a job. He watched the Wells Fargo coach round the turn chased by a cloud of dust. It would pass under Saddle Rock in a matter of minutes.

He had been careful in his approach, as it was hard to move secretly in this country. Any motion produced this cloud, a tan, highly visible marker that would remain in the air indicating the path of those who had made it. He removed his hat to peek gingerly over the top, watching the stage slow up to make the turn. He heard the shotgun guard yell, “You better rein ‘em in, Slim; you’re gonna slide us into that rock.”

Slim was equal to the task, and the bright red coach swung neatly around the turn, yellow wheels spraying gravel. As it passed underneath, Amos slipped a couple of pebbles into his mouth to disguise his voice and adjusted the red print bandanna over his face. Then he took a deep breath, coiled, and jumped. He hit and rolled on top of the coach, moccasined feet quickly finding purchase, then he slipped up behind the surprised pair at the front.

"You're doing right well handling that team, but you'd best pull 'em up now." Looking back over his shoulder in surprise at the Colt aimed at his back, Slim leaned back into the reins, and put his foot on the brake lever. He applied gentle pressure, then pushed harder. The rear wheels finally locked, and the coach slid to a stop. Inside the passengers bounced around like rocks in a washtub. The pair on top tossed their weapons to the ground.

There was little sound except the horses blowing, and stamping their impatience at being stopped at a place they knew was not proper. A couple of them voiced a shrill objection. Amos leaned over the side, “You people try anything, and you'll find you're looking smack dab into the sun. I’ll drop you like a bad habit before you get me spotted. Now come out of there.”

The pronouncement had its desired effect, and the passengers filed out as docile as lambs. A tall, distinguished man in a dark suit and frilly shirt that marked him as a gambler stepped out casually. He turned, but did not look up as he reached out to offer his hand to someone still inside the coach.

Amos got his first look at the lone female among the group. She had on a light blue traveling suit and hat and wore crisp white gloves. A light scent of lilac wafted up into Amos’s nostrils as she stood beneath him in the doorway. Without thinking, he inhaled as much of the sweet nectar as he could, leaning over and nearly losing his balance in the process. The heady aroma made him a little lightheaded. He shook it off as the gambler helped the young woman down and led her a half-dozen steps away from the coach.

She walked with a distinctly feminine sway and a light easy grace, not obvious or provocative, but Amos could tell she was a woman accustomed to being looked at. Still, he had no doubt she was a lady.

The pair stopped and turned to face the coach as the man released her hand. He opened his coat in an exaggerated gesture to show he wasn’t armed. They both raised their hands. The young woman tossed her head to get her long chestnut hair off her shoulder. All the while she regarded Amos with soft brown eyes, curious, but unafraid.

A short, mousy looking character in a loud brown and orange plaid suit emerged, lost his equilibrium on the step, flailing, and nearly falling. The smell of cheap whiskey and body odor replaced the delicate lilac scent as the little man fought for balance in the doorway. At the end of the clown-like run, he stumbled and would have gone down on his face if the gambler hadn't put out a hand to steady him. Amos shook his head in disgust, nobody but a drummer would wear an ugly suit like that.

“Fine, just fine,” Amos said. “Everybody is showing uncommon good sense.”

He turned his full attention back to the two still on top, motioned with his pistol barrel as he said, “Is that all of them?"

Slim glared at him. "Yes."

"If there's anybody hiding down there to take a pot shot at me, you better know I'm gonna shoot you first."

Slim’s face clouded up, insulted at his word being questioned. "There's nobody down there."

Amos motioned again with the pistol. "All right, you two get down.”

The two scrambled down. They stopped and looked up as he waved them over to the others. “Very good, now kindly come forward one at a time and toss your valuables through the window into the coach.”

“Dumbest holdup I ever saw,” the guard murmured as he complied, then said louder as he shaded his eyes to look into the sun at Amos, “You new at this?”

Amos didn’t hide his amusement. “I reckon I might not be doing it the usual way, but nobody's been shot, have they? Not yet anyway.”

One at a time they made the move to the coach. When the lady started forward, Amos stopped her with an uplifted hand. “Not you, ma'am. It ain't in me to rob anybody as pretty as you.”

Judy nodded her head slightly to accept the compliment, then held her place. She pursed her lips as she thought about the irony of it all. As much as she loved it out here, she had been compelled to accept the fact that there would be few with the manners she was accustomed to men having back East. But here she had finally met a man with some manners . . . and he was busy robbing them.

The shotgun guard broke into her thoughts by speaking to the masked man in a surly voice. “You better be almighty careful when you climb down to get that stuff outta the coach.”

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Amos slipped quickly into the driver’s seat and released the brake. “I’m taking coach and all.”

“What? You can’t leave us out here,” several of them yelled as they started toward the coach. His gun swung and covered them. They froze awkwardly in their tracks, looking like a set of poorly conceived statues.