Woody Smith slid off his horse, his knees buckling, landing him face down in the dirt. Bracing one meaty hand on the side of his horse, he cussed and climbed to his feet. He lurched to one side, then the other, until he tripped up the steps and tumbled into his house, his eyes bleary from too much liquor and not enough sleep.

“Pa?” He squinted in the dark. “Why the hell ain’t there any lamps lit?” He made his way through the dark house to the kitchen where he collapsed onto a rickety chair, the weight of his body daring the chair to hold him. “Miranda?”

No answer. Where was the bitch? She was supposed to be here, taking care of him. He could get up and find the whiskey himself or fix a sandwich. Maybe make some coffee. He shook his head to clear it. The thought of food soured his stomach. He didn’t hear his pa snoring from the bedroom, which was odd.

His brain spinning with questions, he crossed his arms on the table, laid his head down, and fell into a sound sleep.

Hours later, bathed in warmth from the sun coming through the kitchen window, Woody awoke, his head pounding. Damn! For the way he felt, he better have had a good time the night before. He rubbed his eyes with his fists and looked around. Where the hell was everybody?

“A man leaves for a few weeks and everyone scatters.” He ambled to the sink and stuck his head under the water pump and worked it until his hair was saturated and his head cleared. Pulling his shirt off, he used it to dry his face and hair then tossed the garment in the corner.

“Miranda?” He searched from room to room, but she wasn’t there. Then a smile graced his lips. He remembered Pa saying he was thinking about taking the bitch to Margie’s place to put her to work. Bring some money in instead of freeloading off them. The old man must’ve done it.

Instantly cheered, he decided to make a visit there immediately and avail himself of her services. She’d always looked at him as if he’d crawled out from under a rock. Well, Miss High-and-Mighty couldn’t say no to him anymore. His money was as good as anyone else’s.

Aroused by the thought of looking down at her blond head while she knelt naked in front of him, servicing him just fine with her warm mouth, he grabbed the coffeepot and dumped in water and coffee beans. Striking a match against the wall, he lit the kindling in the stove then threw a small log in. He’d make himself breakfast then head into town.

Maybe he would even take a bath before he visited her. Nah, let her suffer with the road dirt and smell he’d collected on his recent trip. And it had been a good trip. He and his boys had held up four stagecoaches and pulled in a lot of cash and jewels. It amazed him how easy it had become to relieve passengers of their money.

As he twisted open a jar of peaches from the pantry, he was still confused on where his pa was. The man rarely left the house, choosing instead to have Woody keep him supplied with whiskey to drink at home. Now and again, he would ride into town to spend his money at the poker table, but most times he was planted here in the kitchen like a long-forgotten guest.

A breakfast of plump sweet peaches and a few swigs of whiskey restored his spirits. Leaving the dirty dishes on the table, he pulled on a wrinkled shirt and left the house. His horse, Red, the chestnut he’d won in a poker game, stood in front of the house, still saddled, his head hanging down, looking forlorn. It wasn’t the first time Woody had arrived home too drunk to take care of the animal.

“Sorry, old boy, but you’ll have to take me into town before I can rub you down and feed you. Important business, ya know.”

As he got closer to town, he checked the gold timepiece he’d relieved one of the passengers of. A few minutes past ten o’clock. Margie’s was open, but she generally didn’t allow the men to avail themselves of the girls’ services until after two. He was sure if he waved a large enough bill under the madam’s face, the greedy bitch would agree to let him have his tumble with Miranda now. He’d been waiting for this for months. Hell, for years.

Damn, he might even pay enough to have the bitch flat on her back or on her knees for the rest of the day. His heartbeat sped up at the thought as he pulled Red’s reins to a stop in front of The Wild Cat. He almost tripped up the boardwalk in his haste, practically drooling at the vision of Miranda naked.

“Well, ain’t you the early bird. I haven’t seen you around for weeks.” Margie eyed him curiously.

“Yeah, well, I had business out of town.” He brushed past Margie and headed to the bar. “Whiskey.”

Margie strolled up to him and leaned on the bar. “Smells like you’ve been rolling in pig shit. And what are you all fired up about?”

“Gonna have me a couple of these”—he held the glass up before tossing the liquid down—“then I’m gonna wave enough bills under your nose to get Miranda up out of her cozy bed and into a working one.”

“Miranda? Miranda who?”

“Oh, did she pick a different name so no one would know her? Just like that sneaky little slut.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Woody, but Miranda ain’t here.”

He slammed the glass on the bar. “Don’t mess with me, Margie. I know my pa brought Miranda in. He said he was gonna do it, and they’re both gone.”

“Watch your mouth, mister. I know who I have upstairs and who I don’t. And your stepsister ain’t one of them. Not that I’d mind having her here. She’d bring in a nice penny to be sure, with all that innocence, but you’re mistaken.”

“Well then, where the hell is she?”

Two burly men who had been watching the exchange moved closer to the bar. One of them wedged himself between Woody and Margie. “I suggest you finish your drink, friend, and head on out. Margie’s already said what she needed to say.”

As much as he’d like to slam his fist into the bodyguard’s grinning face, he wasn’t in the mood to be beaten up by two brawlers. He downed another drink, threw a few bills on the bar, and strode from the building, feeling the men’s eyes on his back.

He fisted his hands on his hips and stared at the street. Shoppers were busy going in and out of stores. Mel from the barbershop stood in front of his store, jawing with the marshal. He snorted. Maybe he should stroll over to Jones and report his stepsister and pa missing. Wouldn’t that be a hoot? Get the law working for him for a change.

If this was the way the day was going, he might as well go back home and grab some more sleep. Then he’d be ready to do some serious gambling, drinking, and whoring tonight. A surge of anger rushed through him that the sweet white thighs he would settle between later today wouldn’t be Miranda’s.

He’d wanted her from the time she and her pathetic mother came to live with him and Pa. Just to keep the old lady happy, Pa had married her. A preacher’s wife, he’d told him. They’d had a good laugh over that one.

But little Miranda had just been growing tiny buds on her chest, and Woody was determined to get her into his bed. Except for some reason, Pa had forbidden him to touch the girl. So for five years, he watched her with hunger, knowing one day he’d have her. And here he thought today was the day.

The marshal waved him down as he rode past him and Mel. “Got a minute, Woody?”

“Yeah, sure, Marshal. You know me. Got lots of minutes for the law.”

Ignoring his sarcasm, the marshal waved toward his office. “Meet me at the jail.”

Woody shrugged and continued on his way. He stopped in front of the jailhouse and tied the horse’s reins over the post then followed the marshal into the office.

“Take a seat,” the marshal said as he rounded his desk and settled in.

“Whadda ya want?” He began to feel a bit squirmy at the look on Jones’s face. Serious, like he was about to deliver bad news. Woody had kept his face pretty well covered up on their stagecoach robberies, but could one of the boys have spilled his guts to the law? He slowly eased his hand toward the Colt strapped to his thigh. He wasn’t going into any jail cell.

Jones took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you, Woody. While you were gone, your pa passed away.”

A sick feeling rose in Woody’s stomach, forcing him to swallow the peaches that tried to climb up his throat. “What happened?”

“He was shot about a month ago. I tried to contact you. I sent a few wires to towns in the area, but since you’re only just back in town now, I assume you never got word?”

Woody shook his head. “Who shot him?”

The marshal leaned back in his chair. “There’s no need for you to know that.”

Enraged, Woody leaned over the marshal’s desk. “I have the right to know who killed my pa.”

The marshal ran his fingers through is hair. “Now, I don’t want you to go storming from here set on vengeance.”

“Never mind that, Marshal.” Woody’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “Who the hell murdered Frankie?”

Jones took a deep breath. “Miranda.”

His blood raced to his head which pounded even worse than when he’d woken up. “Where is she?”

The marshal didn’t look him in the eye. “I don’t rightly know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? Why ain’t her pretty little ass sitting in jail? Or has she already been hanged?”

“It was self-defense, Woody. I know how you and Frankie treated the girl. Your pa tried to force her to work at Margie’s place, and when he reached to grab her, she shot him. Miranda arrived to give herself up with a black eye.”

“So why ain’t she in jail?”

“After questioning her, I determined it was self-defense and I let her go.”

He would kill the bitch. Woody jumped up from the seat and headed to the door.

“Don’t you go takin’ the law into your own hands, boy.” Jones shouted his words to the slammed door.

* * *

Preston took one final look in the mirror and shrugged into his jacket. “You ready, darlin’?”

Miranda nodded, taking a deep breath. With the new clothes he’d bought her, she looked just like he’d always imagined his future wife to be. Her deep-blue wool dress with the matching jacket, trimmed in black piping, along with a high-collar starched white blouse and a cameo brooch she’d said her mother had given her, was perfect and everything a respectable woman would wear.

He and Miranda had said their vows a mere three hours before, followed by a fancy breakfast at his gambling house. All his staff had attended the breakfast, but not the wedding itself, for which he knew Miranda would be grateful. The woman who had chaperoned the young ladies on the wagon train, Miss Nellie, stood up for Miranda and attended the breakfast.

He doubted Miranda held anything against the people who worked for him, but from his point of view, they wouldn’t look quite proper in church. If they even owned suitable clothes to begin with. He paid the clerk at the town hall extra for a quick marriage license and then the preacher extra to provide the second witness for the ceremony.

“Yes. I guess so. What is it you want me to say to these people?” She tucked a loose hair into her bonnet. “I must admit being a bit nervous about this.”

“Don’t be nervous, and I don’t want you to say anything in particular. We are just going to meet them and have them see I married a very proper and upstanding woman and am serious about following the road to respectability.”

She pulled on her gloves and followed him down the stairs from his rooms on the top floor of the gambling house to the front steps. He took her hand and tucked it under his arm as they walked away from the building. Miranda hurried to keep up with his lengthy stride, forcing him to slow down.

“How do you even know I am proper and upstanding? The only thing I told you about myself was I know math quite well and wanted a job as a bookkeeper. Then you up and offered me the job, based on marrying you.”

He smirked. “Darlin’, I only had to take one look at you, and I knew you were of the proper and upstanding ilk.”

She looked up at him, her head tilted in confusion. “I’m not sure if I’ve been complimented or insulted.”

He tugged her close. “For my purposes, complimented.”

She huffed, and they continued on until they reached Judge Medford’s offices at the courthouse. Preston had requested the members of the town council gather there for an announcement he wanted to make. He didn’t prepare them ahead of time because he knew just one look at his new wife would convince them more than mere words that he was serious about this changing-his-life campaign.

Preston held the courthouse door open, and Miranda passed through. “Mr. and Mrs. Stone to see Judge Medford,” he said to the young man seated behind the desk in front of the door marked Honorable Martin Medford, Judge, Santa Fe County.

“Yes, sir.” The clerk stood and entered the judge’s office. He returned within seconds. “Please follow me. His secretary said he is awaiting you with the others.”

They walked down the hallway, the soles of their shoes clicking on the polished wooden floor. They stopped at a wooden door with a glass panel labeled “Conference Room.”

“The town council is gathered in here, Mr. Stone.” The young man swung the door opened, and Preston and Miranda entered the room.

The gentlemen seated around the lengthy table in the room stood. “Good afternoon, Stone.”

“Gentlemen.” He moved Miranda forward. “I would like to introduce you to my wife, Mrs. Miranda Stone.”