Rescued By A Desperado: Prequel Novella (Emerald Falls Book 0)
Rescued by a Desperado
Ivy McAdams
Rescued by a Desperado — Emerald Falls Prequel
by Ivy McAdams
Copyright © 2019 Ivy McAdams
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locals is entirely coincidental.
https://ivymcadams.com
Emerald Falls Series
Kidnapped by an Outlaw
Seduced by a Wrangler
Captivated by a Gunslinger
Emerald Falls Novella
Rescued by a Desperado (prequel)
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
Next in Series
Kidnapped by an Outlaw Sample
Note to Reader
Also by Ivy McAdams
About the Author
Chapter 1
The soft song of the morning birds had been replaced with the lone stray call of a blue jay in the hot afternoon sun. Bridget Steele trudged through the tall swaying grass to a nearby stream she’d spotted the day before. Even while her group was on the move, she made sure she knew where the closest water supply was.
A pair of jackrabbits startled as she walked over the green knoll above the water and shot along the stream’s edge, leaving tiny tracks and disappearing into a bush. She smiled at the paw marks as small as her thumbprint.
Her eyes rove over the other tracks that marred the soft silty bank. Deer, boar, bear, birds of all types. She enjoyed seeing the array of animals out on the Wyoming frontier. They were a good distraction from her imprisonment, and she’d seen nothing like them growing up in Boston.
“That looks like a good spot,” the woman next to her said.
Linda barely came up to Bridget’s shoulder, but she held herself high and wore a scowl hard enough to scare even the trees away.
The dark-headed woman had been her constant escort on the group’s week-long trip. Linda wore a revolver on her hip to protect them, but Bridget knew it was more to be sure she wasn’t trying to make a run for it than to ward off any strangers or stray animals.
Bridget lowered the wicker basket on her hip to the stream’s edge and settled herself on a flat rock on the bank. She slipped off her shoes and rolled the hem of her thin blue dress back to avoid the water. Then she set to work, pulling a dark long-sleeved shirt from her basket. She ignored the blood and grime smeared into the cotton and focused on the twinkling of summer sunlight peeking in through the leaves overhead.
“The boys got a little extra dirty yesterday, if you know what I mean.” Linda cracked a grin and winked.
Bridget tried to ignore what that implied and continued to scrub without focusing too much on the clothes in her hands.
“We’ve hit two of the four camps we’ve targeted over this way,” Linda said, resting her hands on the gunbelt strapped low over her hips. “We’ll be back home in a few days. Don’t be getting homesick on me now.”
Bridget swallowed the vile taste that rose in her mouth and nodded gingerly. “Looking forward to it.”
Linda’s long dress was ragged at the seams and stained along the bottom. It needed to be in the stream as well, but she didn’t often remove it.
Truthfully, all of Linda begged to be dunked in the water. She smelled of sweat and there was an ever-present smear of ash on her face.
“I’ve got some things to take care of at camp,” Linda said, casting a final look around. “You good out here by yourself?”
Bridget pushed the soapy shirt into the water and nodded. “I’m fine. I just have these clothes. It shouldn’t take long.”
Linda craned her neck to peer into the basket. “Maybe want to give ‘em twice a wash.” She wrinkled her nose and whispered. “Really dirty.”
Bridget grimaced and peered down at the newly rinsed shirt. Dull crimson and brown splatters marred the cotton. She plopped it back down in the water.
“I’ll take care of them,” she said, trying to hold back the ill feeling tickling up her throat and into her cheeks.
Linda marched back over the knoll and disappeared behind the ridge.
Bridget watched her go before slapping the soggy shirt up over a rock and getting to her feet. She stooped over to be sure her tall form wasn’t visible beyond the ridge and crept along the water’s edge.
Frogs and newts scurried into the shallow stream. Sunlight glinted off the fish that swam along the bankline. Bridget found solace in them. Creatures free to enjoy the wide-open world around them. She'd gone from feeling trapped in the cold, brick streets where she'd grown up to her new reality: being held prisoner by a dirty outlaw gang on the western frontier.
What she wouldn’t give for the true freedom she’d been searching for when she’d answered that stupid ad.
She slipped her toes into the water. The stream was cold but refreshing.
“Nothing like this in Boston,” she whispered, dragging her feet through the mud.
She paced a few steps downstream, sidestepping rocks and an occasional fish. A particularly muddy spot on the bank pushed silt up between her toes, and she giggled.
Something on the far side of the stream cracked, and she jerked her head up. A moment of panic seized her, and she wished she hadn’t dismissed Linda and her gun.
Then someone called out.
“Hello?” A man’s voice drifted through the trees.
Bridget’s insides clenched. The voice was muffled by the running water, so she couldn’t tell if it was Oscar or one of his boys, but she wasn’t about to wait around and find out. She scrambled back along the stream to her basket of clothes and planted herself on the rock next to it. Footsteps approached as she snatched the shirt she’d been working on and set to scrubbing it again.
The last thing she needed was for Oscar to catch her not working.
She built a heavy lather of soap, keeping her eyes on her task.
The footsteps drew closer and stopped. She held her breath. When he didn’t say anything, she glanced up.
The first thing she noticed was the smooth white cowboy hat.
It wasn’t Oscar. It wasn’t even any of his men.
It was a stranger.
The hat popped up when he caught sight of her. He froze on the far side of the stream, boots planted on the rocky bank. He wore a thin flannel shirt tucked in at the waist, open at the neck to expose his sun-kissed chest and the strong cords of his neck. Bridget's breath caught as her gaze rose higher, to his strong, smooth jaw and a face half-hidden beneath the brim of his hat. Bright eyes peered back at her, a curious but stern crease in his brow.
It’d been at least a month since she’d seen a man so clean and put together. Not to mention handsome.
She’d just begun to consider that she might have slipped in the mud before and hit her head, throwing out outrageous hallucinations, when he spoke.
“Oh,
hello. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” His voice was deep and pulled at her soul as if he had it at the end of a rope. “I heard someone laughing.”
Heat rose in her cheeks. She hadn’t realized anyone else was around when she went scampering through the water. She’d not only alerted someone to her whereabouts, but she’d been caught acting like a child, playing in the mud. Or at least she had if he’d seen her before she bolted back to her chores.
She licked her lips, trying her hardest to pull her eyes away and back to the shirt in her hands, but the darn things just wouldn’t budge.
The man rested his hands on his belt, and she realized he had a revolver strapped to each of his hips. An uncomfortable grunt slipped past her lips, and her cheeks burned hotter. She tore her gaze away from him and set back to rinsing the shirt in front of her.
She couldn’t speak to this man. Oscar would kill her if he found out she’d been talking to people.
The stranger cleared his throat as he took a step forward. “I, uh, don’t mean to intrude any, ma’am. But are you okay?”
Bridget’s fingers stopped on the shirt, pinching the fabric into the rocks under the water. Did he want the truth or a canned response? Was she okay at that moment, or in general?
She cursed herself for even allowing her brain to go in that direction. It didn’t matter what he meant. She couldn’t go blabbing her situation to some stranger. They’d kill her. Maybe him too. And he was only a kind stranger.
She glanced up at him, and beneath his lifted, curious brows, his mouth parted as he gave her a friendly smile.
A kind stranger with a beautiful smile that twinged something in her heart.
He needed the canned response. For his own sake.
“I’m fine. Thank you,” she murmured.
Instead of satisfying him enough to leave her be, his smile grew larger and he came closer.
Shoot. What was he doing? Her face grew taut as she stared at him, pushing as much energy as she could muster in his direction. Please leave!
“Glad to hear that, ma’am,” he said as he walked alongside the stream until he was directly in front of her. “I’ve never seen anyone out in these woods before. There’s no houses around here. I suppose you surprised me is all.”
She watched his long legs swing before coming to a stop. He moved so casually. As if he didn’t have a thing in the world tied to him.
She envied him.
He knelt on the bank across from her, and his gaze moved over her basket of clothes.
Near the water’s edge, the sunlight reflected into his face. Some soft edges and shadowed features that she hadn’t been able to see before lit up. The dancing rays caught his eyes, and she stared at the sparkling green with an open mouth.
After a moment, he grunted a chuckle, and she realized he was watching her. She jumped back to task, eyes on the shirt and cheeks burning all over again.
“What are you doing out here in the forest by yourself anyway?” he asked.
There was no beating around the bush or hidden questions. He got right to it.
She decided it was the best way to go.
"Doing chores."
She raised her gaze to him just in time to see his shoulders shake with a silent laugh.
“I see. As good a spot as any, I suppose. Though I think your side is better.”
She frowned, glancing at the rocks around her without complete comprehension.
“The sun’s in my eyes over here,” he said, lifting a hand to block the reflection on the water. “You chose the smarter side.”
His mouth cracked into a grin as he stood and strode into the stream.
Her insides clenched when she realized what he was doing and nearly pressed the soaking shirt into her chest in surprise. She wrung it in her hands as the cowboy walked over.
The stream was shallow and his boots a thick black leather. The water barely topped his ankles as he made his way across. Then, much to her surprise, he plopped down next to her basket and rested his arms on his drawn-up knees.
He smelled of leather and coffee, and she couldn’t help but pull in a deep breath of it.
“Yes, good spot. Cool. Shady. No wonder you’re working right here. My name’s Mason by the way,” he said with an outstretched hand. “Mason Kent.”
Bridget stared at his hand. It looked strong, as if he could squeeze the life out of her with it. She closed her eyes for a moment, disgusted by her new perception of people, and shook the thought away. His strong hand with long fingers and a tantalizing sinewy forearm was fit for horse-riding or other hard labor. Not for the dirty deeds of the men she'd met since coming to Wyoming.
She tossed the damp shirt onto the rocks again and wiped the moisture from her hand before placing it in his.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Bridget.”
His lips spread into a sly smile. “Pleasure. If I’d known I was going to meet an Irish princess in the woods today, I’d have gotten up a lot sooner.”
Chapter 2
Bridget pulled her long red ringlets around her neck, twisting them into a thick rope as he stared at her.
“Oh,” she whispered, warmed by his smile. Even the cool water at her feet was starting to feel a little steamy. “Well, you would have missed me. I just arrived.”
He laughed, a hearty sound that caught her by surprise and sent a thrill through her. She smiled at him, fueled by his good nature and the way his eyes twinkled at her.
"Then I'm glad I spilled coffee all over myself this morning. I'd hate to have missed you."
The twitch in his mouth and glimmer in his eye were unbelievably infectious, and she found herself grinning back at him. Then she noticed the matted section of his shirt, a light stain stretching across the lower quadrant of the flannel and some splatter marks dotting the top of his pants.
“You want me to wash that shirt for you?”
It was out of her mouth before she could register the words. Fighting back a horrified gasp, she bit the inside of her cheek.
He stared at her in silence for a breath, some of the mirth easing out of his face, replaced with a strong, stoic look she couldn’t quite read.
“I’d be much obliged if you’d like to, Miss Bridget.”
It was too late to deny him. She’d offered.
“I’d be happy to help, sir.”
He got back to his feet again, pulling his shirt free from his pants and lifting it over his head. She watched with wide eyes at his suddenly half-naked form. Tight muscles in his stomach, large ones that bulged in his chest and arms. It was difficult not to stare, but when he looked down at her, she managed to avert her eyes.
“I’ve smelled like coffee all day,” he chuckled as he dropped the shirt into the shallow water and sat next to her again.
She caught it with the tips of her fingers, bringing it over and rubbing her soapstone across it.
“That’s too bad. It’s a good smell,” she said as she scrubbed.
He tilted his head, the white hat catching the sun’s rays, and lifted an eyebrow at her. “Is that so?” He rubbed his fingers along his chin. “You think that’s too wet to get back?”
She held the soapy, sopping shirt out of the water and wrinkled her nose at him. His grin widened, and they both laughed.
Then a silence fell, sprinkled with the sound of the stream and scratch of soapstone on cotton. When she was finished, she set the rock aside and dunked the shirt in the water.
“Are you sure you’re not an angel?” he whispered. “Sweet beautiful women don’t often show up around here, you know.”
It pulled her lips into a shy smile. His eyes pierced into her like nothing she’d ever experienced. He wasn’t staring at her fiery hair or her unusual ocean-blue eyes like most strangers. He was looking straight into her, and it made her heart flutter.
“I’m pretty sure angels belong in heaven. Not this broken frontier.”
He pursed his lips as he leaned back on his hands. "This place ain't so bad. Wide-open and
free. It's full of possibilities."
She let out a long, low breath as she pulled the shirt free and wrung out the extra water. If only his words were true. She’d come out West to find freedom and dreams, but she’d only been met with nightmares.
When she didn’t answer, he leaned forward again and plucked a piece of clothing from the basket.
“Where are my manners?” he chuckled, shaking out the pair of pants. “Let me help you with some of these.”
She started to reach out to snatch them back―he didn’t need to see what awful things stained those clothes―but he’d already examined them and dipped them in the water. He hadn’t even flinched at the smear of blood across the pant leg.
She shut her mouth and grabbed another piece herself.
“You from around here, Miss Bridget?” he asked as he took the soapstone to the clothes.
She wasn’t really from anywhere anymore. She had no home. At least not one she cared to claim.
“No, I grew up in Boston.”
His eyebrows lifted as if impressed. “Boston, really? Big city girl here. No offense, Miss Bridget, but I knew you weren’t from around here.”
She studied him, curious. “How’s that?”
He shrugged. “You just have that air about you. Like you belong in a beautiful gown with the gloves and the umbrella, you know?”
She blinked, unsure whether his words were flattering or not. “Are you saying I’m stuffy?”
He dropped the pants he was washing in the water. “Oh, no ma’am.” He fumbled with the clothes as a tinge of red broke out over the tips of his ears and high cheekbones. “That’s not what I meant.”
She lowered her head to hide the small amused smirk on her lips. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a man get so flustered before.