Salvation in the Rancher's Arms
“HE HAD MORE THE EDGE OF AN OUTLAW THAN A SHINING KNIGHT.”
Rachel Sutter’s world is turned upside down when Caleb Beckett rides into Salvation Falls. He brings news of a poker game gone disastrously wrong—not only has her wastrel husband been killed, he’s also gambled away Rachel’s home!
Suddenly, Rachel is left with nothing but an unpaid debt, and Caleb is holding all the cards—not to mention the deed to her land! There’s something about the enigmatic drifter that she is instinctively drawn to, but how can she begin to trust him when so much of his past is shrouded in mystery?
Rachel forced her legs to move, a feat which took more will than she’d wished.
She walked to the open barn doors and stared unseeing into the yard beyond. She needed distance. She couldn’t think with him up close. He was like a strange poison that flooded her bloodstream and invaded her mind.
It was ridiculous, this unwarranted response to him. She didn’t know this man from Adam. He had barged into her life, a stranger she knew nothing about, bringing the worst news possible, and yet…yet he was the only lifeline she had at the moment.
Wasn’t that just her luck?
Chapter One
Colorado Territory, 1876
Salvation Falls was like a hundred other towns Caleb Beckett had ridden into over the years, with its faded storefronts and hopeful name, likely conjured up by settlers who had great things in mind, only to be disappointed by the harsh realities of life.
People mixed and mingled on the streets and planked sidewalks as the buckboard he rode jostled over the ruts in the dirt road. A few stopped to glance up at him. He could feel the shift in the air the further into town he went. It was subtle at first, but soon grew to a deep murmur that buzzed like a hive of angry bees.
He guessed that could happen when a stranger arrived in town with a coffin loaded in the back of his buckboard.
Caleb’s eyes scanned the storefront signs. They were all the same. Mercantile, hardware, footwear, sundries and saloons. He knew from experience that down near the end of the road he’d find a livery and the butcher, probably a blacksmith or two. It never changed.
He’d spent time in a town just like this, and drifted into even more after leaving it. And if there was one thing he’d noticed, as he moved on from one to the next, it was the similarity of it all. People all wanting the same thing: a decent place to call home, somewhere to belong, a sense of control over their destinies.
He had wanted that once, too. But he’d learned his lesson on that account.
The sheriff’s office loomed ahead on the corner where a side street intersected the main road. It wasn’t the smartest of choices. Left the jail too exposed, in his opinion. But he would keep his own counsel. It was none of his affair. He had other business here. Business he planned on concluding quickly before moving on. The body in the coffin behind him did not alter this plan in any way.
It simply added a few complications that needed to be dealt with first.
He touched a hand to his chest. Beneath his sheepskin, in the pocket of his wool jacket, a piece of paper crinkled under the pressure.
He never should have played the hand. He should have listened when his gut told him to get up and walk away from the table when the desperation in Robert Sutter’s eyes hit a fevered pitch.
But he hadn’t.
The price was always hefty when he ignored his instincts. He had the scars to prove it. Both inside and out.
“Whoa.” Caleb pulled back on the reins, squinting as the late afternoon sun poked over one of the low buildings and hit him square in the eye. He tipped the brim of his felt hat forward to block the blinding light.
He stopped the buckboard in front of the sheriff’s office. He set the brake and jumped down, his muscles protesting after endless hours in the seat. He’d driven straight from Laramie without stopping. He wanted this business over and done with.
Jasper nickered. His horse hadn’t much liked being hitched to the back of the wagon for the trip, replaced by a sturdy draft, but Caleb hadn’t wanted to tire the paint. He needed him fresh and ready for when he left town.
Caleb left the coffin where it was and, ignoring the stares of those who had stopped to gawk, walked into the sheriff’s office.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sudden dimness.
“Do somethin’ for you?”
Caleb blinked and shifted, moving his exposed back away from the open door. Slowly the shadows took shape. The sheriff sat behind a scarred desk, his feet propped up on top and a newspaper in his lap. The tin badge designating his position held a dull sheen in the pale light. Caleb judged the man’s age to be close to his own thirty years, though he lacked the hard-bitten look Caleb saw every time he looked in a mirror.
Rachel Sutter’s world is turned upside down when Caleb Beckett rides into Salvation Falls. He brings news of a poker game gone disastrously wrong—not only has her wastrel husband been killed, he’s also gambled away Rachel’s home!
Suddenly, Rachel is left with nothing but an unpaid debt, and Caleb is holding all the cards—not to mention the deed to her land! There’s something about the enigmatic drifter that she is instinctively drawn to, but how can she begin to trust him when so much of his past is shrouded in mystery?
Rachel forced her legs to move, a feat which took more will than she’d wished.
She walked to the open barn doors and stared unseeing into the yard beyond. She needed distance. She couldn’t think with him up close. He was like a strange poison that flooded her bloodstream and invaded her mind.
It was ridiculous, this unwarranted response to him. She didn’t know this man from Adam. He had barged into her life, a stranger she knew nothing about, bringing the worst news possible, and yet…yet he was the only lifeline she had at the moment.
Wasn’t that just her luck?
Chapter One
Colorado Territory, 1876
Salvation Falls was like a hundred other towns Caleb Beckett had ridden into over the years, with its faded storefronts and hopeful name, likely conjured up by settlers who had great things in mind, only to be disappointed by the harsh realities of life.
People mixed and mingled on the streets and planked sidewalks as the buckboard he rode jostled over the ruts in the dirt road. A few stopped to glance up at him. He could feel the shift in the air the further into town he went. It was subtle at first, but soon grew to a deep murmur that buzzed like a hive of angry bees.
He guessed that could happen when a stranger arrived in town with a coffin loaded in the back of his buckboard.
Caleb’s eyes scanned the storefront signs. They were all the same. Mercantile, hardware, footwear, sundries and saloons. He knew from experience that down near the end of the road he’d find a livery and the butcher, probably a blacksmith or two. It never changed.
He’d spent time in a town just like this, and drifted into even more after leaving it. And if there was one thing he’d noticed, as he moved on from one to the next, it was the similarity of it all. People all wanting the same thing: a decent place to call home, somewhere to belong, a sense of control over their destinies.
He had wanted that once, too. But he’d learned his lesson on that account.
The sheriff’s office loomed ahead on the corner where a side street intersected the main road. It wasn’t the smartest of choices. Left the jail too exposed, in his opinion. But he would keep his own counsel. It was none of his affair. He had other business here. Business he planned on concluding quickly before moving on. The body in the coffin behind him did not alter this plan in any way.
It simply added a few complications that needed to be dealt with first.
He touched a hand to his chest. Beneath his sheepskin, in the pocket of his wool jacket, a piece of paper crinkled under the pressure.
He never should have played the hand. He should have listened when his gut told him to get up and walk away from the table when the desperation in Robert Sutter’s eyes hit a fevered pitch.
But he hadn’t.
The price was always hefty when he ignored his instincts. He had the scars to prove it. Both inside and out.
“Whoa.” Caleb pulled back on the reins, squinting as the late afternoon sun poked over one of the low buildings and hit him square in the eye. He tipped the brim of his felt hat forward to block the blinding light.
He stopped the buckboard in front of the sheriff’s office. He set the brake and jumped down, his muscles protesting after endless hours in the seat. He’d driven straight from Laramie without stopping. He wanted this business over and done with.
Jasper nickered. His horse hadn’t much liked being hitched to the back of the wagon for the trip, replaced by a sturdy draft, but Caleb hadn’t wanted to tire the paint. He needed him fresh and ready for when he left town.
Caleb left the coffin where it was and, ignoring the stares of those who had stopped to gawk, walked into the sheriff’s office.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sudden dimness.
“Do somethin’ for you?”
Caleb blinked and shifted, moving his exposed back away from the open door. Slowly the shadows took shape. The sheriff sat behind a scarred desk, his feet propped up on top and a newspaper in his lap. The tin badge designating his position held a dull sheen in the pale light. Caleb judged the man’s age to be close to his own thirty years, though he lacked the hard-bitten look Caleb saw every time he looked in a mirror.