Seduced By A Wrangler (Emerald Falls Book 2) Read online

  Seduced by a Wrangler

  Ivy McAdams

  Seduced by a Wrangler — Emerald Falls Book 2

  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

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Note to Reader

  Next in Series

  Captivated by a Gunslinger Sample

  Also by Ivy McAdams

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “You don’t think this stuff will kill anyone, do you?” Ginny Foster wrung her hands as she stared into the big black kettle.

  The gang’s normal cook Clara laughed and bumped her friend’s hip. “Of course not. It’ll be just fine.”

  Ginny dipped a ladle in and rolled the stew around with a grimace. “I hope you’re right.”

  Muted rays of a setting sun descended behind the trees encircling the clearing. A pheasant’s call and the flutter of wings cut through the cool evening air as people gathered around the fire pit. They settled on hay bales and other make-shift seats as Ginny gave her stew one last sir.

  “Smells good at least,” Clara said with a smile, handing over a stack of bowls.

  “I hope so,” Ginny muttered, leaning into the gang’s normal cook Clara. “There’s some hungry looking men out here.”

  A blonde ringlet fell over Clara’s face as she tilted her head with a grin. “There is every night. They’d probably eat a rabbit raw if you slapped it on their plate.”

  Ginny cast her eyes down into the first pot of stew she’d attempted in her life with lips pressed together, fingers squeezing into the metal ladle in her hand until they ached. “That does not make me feel any better.”

  Clara laughed and bumped her hip into her friend’s. “Oh, come on. I’m sure it’s just fine.”

  It was easy for Clara to say. She’d been cooking for the Van den Berg outlaw gang for the last six months. And she’d cooked at home for her husband for years before that. The girl’s food was good—a relief after the last lady who’d cooked for the gang had perfected her burnt mash and charred meat. Cooking wasn’t anything Ginny had ever learned properly, and as more of the gang gathered, she grew more anxious.

  “What do you mean we don’t have any more beer?” A slim man with a mop of black hair squawked as he stomped toward the fire.

  “Jack, I don’t think you need any alcohol after missing that target.” Clay, a sturdy outlaw with broad shoulders and a black cowboy hat, strode beside him. He clapped the distraught man on the back with a shake of his head.

  The young woman on the outlaw’s arm leaned into him as she lifted a hand to suppress a chuckle. Sadie’s green cotton dress swished in the dry dirt of the campsite and lifted high over her boots as she stepped into the fire pit circle.

  Jack’s shoulders slumped, and he fumbled over a hay bale to plop down in front of the fire. He looked like a lost puppy, and Ginny’s heart went out to him, as it always did.

  “Hey, Jack,” she called as she spooned stew into one of the bowls in her hand.

  He looked up at her, and his downtrodden face lifted. The corners of his eyes sparkled as she approached.

  “Hello, Ginny.”

  She crossed to his side of the circle and handed him a bowl. “The job go okay today?”

  His lips pinched as he accepted the stew. “It was okay.”

  She wasn’t sure whether to ask for more, as she was just trying to be nice, but the truth was, it wasn’t unusual for Jack to screw up his role in a mission. The man tried hard, but his lack of coordination and know-how often landed him in hot water. She was surprised he’d survived so long.

  “I’m sure you did excellently, Jackie.” She gave him a warm smile. She’d been just as lost and bumbling around before she’d come across the outlaw gang months ago, and they’d adopted her.

  Although Jack had been there for years.

  “He did fine,” Clay said as he settled in close to Sadie. “Just missed distracting a guard with his arrow, nearly took one of us out.”

  Jack’s head sunk a little more in between his shoulders, but the man gave him a firm squeeze on the shoulder.

  She’d always liked Clay. He was fair, and never gave Jack a hard time.

  “We took care of it,” Clay continued. “We’ve got enough cans of food to get ol’ Jack here through this winter and the next.”

  Jack grinned, the stress of the afternoon seeming to melt right out of his muscles. He turned bright eyes up to Ginny as he stuffed a spoonful of stew into his mouth.

  He paused for a moment, then crunched through a solid bite of carrot and swallowed it down. “Did you make this, Ginny?”

  She hesitated, eyes darting back to Clara who was happily serving others at the opposite end of the fire circle, then nodded. “I sure did. One of Clara’s best recipes. I’m no Clara McGowen over here, but I think it’s just fine.”

  He licked his lips and scooped up another spoonful. “It’s superb.”

  Her face fell into a relieved grin. “I’m glad you like it, Jack.”

  He poked a fingernail between his teeth and dug around. “It’d be even better with some beer.”

  She rolled her eyes as she returned to the kettle over the fire. Everything in Jack’s life would be better with beer.

  She knew the thirst for escape, clinging to a bottle when the inner turmoil was too great, but Jack’s need was even greater. He’d pick up a bottle morning or night, whenever the fancy struck him. Unfortunately, their stash had been depleted. Mostly by him if she had to guess.

  They’d be out until someone found a poorly-guarded load sitting outside the tavern or slipped a crate off a shipment wagon.

  “I’m proud of you for making dinner,” the woman in green called, pulling Ginny over.

  Sadie had joined them just two weeks prior, ditching a well-off fiancé to follow Clay into an unpredictable life on the less desirable side of the train tracks. Just the thought of it made Ginny smile. It was like the dramatic lovers in some of her favorite books.

  The opportunity for her finding love like that was as lost as all those books she missed so much: locked away in the bedroom cell she shared with three other prostitutes growing up.

  “Thank you,” Ginny said as she filled two more bowls with stew. “I used those carrots and onions you and Clara pulled up, some of that boar Clay nabbed this morning, and a little extra seasoning.” She bro
ught the bowls over to the couple leaning into each other on their hay bale. “I hope it tastes as good as it smells.”

  “I’m sure it’s fabulous,” Sadie said.

  A tad bit of jealousy aside, Ginny liked Sadie. She was real and strong and knew what she wanted.

  All Ginny knew was she wanted to survive day to day and perhaps learn to cook. It couldn’t be that hard, could it?

  Someone coughed across the circle. An older gentleman dropped his bowl on the stump next to him and got up to leave without a word. Ginny stared at his back before her gaze drifted to Clara. The blonde gave a short shrug.

  “I don’t think Nelson cares for onions.”

  An ill feeling stirred in Ginny’s stomach, and she looked down into the untouched bowl in Sadie’s hand.

  It looked like she was going to need a lot more practice.

  Jack cleared his throat, pulled a guitar from the back of the log he sat on, and set it in his lap. As he began to strum the strings, she tried to ignore the half-eaten bowl of stew he’d left on the ground at his feet.

  “I love this song,” Sadie called as she leaned over her lap to smile at Jack.

  He grinned as he strummed, and Ginny let the song sink into her and push out the negative thoughts. Her hips moved along as the tune captured her. She loved when Jack played. There was something about the freedom of music and song that spoke to her.

  She sat on the log next to him as he spun through another round of chords. Then she lifted her voice to sing along.

  “Cowboys on the prairie, bedding down for the night. Serenaded by ky’otes, beneath the moonlight.”

  Jack strummed harder, and Ginny hopped to her feet to dance as he picked up the chorus lyrics. His eyes shimmered in a way that warmed her, as he did many a night. She knew what he wanted, and it was something she could actually do.

  By the time the next verse came around, he dropped his guitar instead of continuing on and leapt up to grab her hand.

  “Dinner was lovely,” he called. “Goodnight, fellas.”

  Ginny threw her head back and laughed aloud as he stepped over the log and pulled her along. Apparently, Jack didn't need a beer every night after all. It only slowed him down.

  They were just passing into the growing shadows of the trees when a commotion rose in the fire pit. They stopped to look.

  Clara stood with firm hands on her hips, glaring at a man with a wicked scowl emanating from underneath the brim of his black hat. A broken bowl lay at his feet.

  “What is this shit?” he barked.

  “Don’t be an asshole, Tom,” Clara retorted. “We don’t serve steak and crumpets around here, so shut your mouth and eat what you’ve got.”

  Tom Pearson’s shoulders heaved as his dark eyes flared. “You’re slipping, woman,” he spat. “Did you wipe the bottom of your boot into that stew?”

  A small part of Ginny’s insides cracked at the comment. She hadn’t tried the stew yet, but surely it hadn’t been that bad.

  Clara pointed away from the fire pit and hissed. “Get out of here, Tom. Go bother someone else.”

  He snarled and stalked away, nearly colliding with Jack and Ginny.

  “Can’t get no food. Can’t get no space,” Tom huffed under his breath.

  When his sharp eyes met Ginny’s, however, the tension in his face eased, and he plastered on what she assumed he meant as an appealing grin.

  “But who needs space when you can cozy up to a warm lady?” His fingers trailed down her arm, and Jack’s grip tightened on her hand.

  “Piss off, Tom,” Jack growled.

  Tom’s eyes cut over to the smaller man. “Get a grip, Jack. Ain’t no one want to go to bed with you, you sulky pissant. You must weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet.”

  Something shifted in Jack’s eyes, and Ginny couldn’t quite tell if Tom had struck a nerve and saddened him, or if he was about to fly off the handle. Jack’s fingers tightened on her again—too much. It hurt. She wrung her hand a little in an attempt to slip away, but he tucked her arm behind his back as he stepped forward.

  “Fellas, there’s no need—” she started, but Tom’s eyes flashed.

  He reached for her. “You can’t have her every night, you selfish prick,” he barked.

  She yelped when Tom grabbed her free wrist and tugged her toward him. Jack drove his shoulder into Tom’s chest to push him away.

  Ginny had just managed to wrench her arms free when Tom threw the first punch. She shrieked as the blow struck with a sickening thud over her head. Her hands hit the dirt beneath her, and she crawled away as the men roared and slammed into one another. A few feet away she flipped over to watch as Jack hit Tom in the stomach, and he returned one to Jack’s face. By the look of it, it wasn’t the first hit to connect there.

  The people around the firepit came running, shouting and calling out for the fighters to stop.

  Jack tried to take a step away, wincing through a stream of blood from his nose and an already swelling welt beneath his eye. Tom refused to let up, connecting with Jack’s ear and drawing forth a yelp from the smaller man.

  Ginny put her hands to her mouth in surprise as Tom drew back for another hit.

  “That’s enough!” A booming voice shook them, and only then did Tom pause and look up.

  Ace Van den Berg, leader of the gang of outlaws and one of the few tough enough to get through to Tom, strode toward them. He wore a pressed violet vest, a dark hat, and a stern frown.

  “What the hell is all this?” Ace growled as he joined the group of spectators.

  Jack stumbled back a step, his eyelids heavy, and a painful scowl on his face. Ginny leapt to her feet to help him. He leaned on her shoulder heavier than she expected, and she braced her feet.

  “Tom beat the shit outta Jack,” one of the men standing around said with a shrug.

  Ace pursed his lips, looking at the others gathered there, then to Ginny. She drew in a sharp breath, chancing a glance at Tom. He stared at the dirt like it had something interesting written in it, refusing to lift his eyes. A small welt in the corner of his mouth was the only indication he’d participated in the scuffle.

  “Tom came out here angry,” Ginny murmured as Ace’s eyes continued to bore into her. “He bumped us and picked a fight with Jack.”

  “That ain’t how it was,” Tom snapped.

  Then Ace’s eyes were on him. The leader drew up to his full height, a few inches taller than most of the other men, and crossed his arms over his chest. His face had returned to its normal solid and stern frown. “Then what happened?”

  Tom's black eyes cut over to Jack and Ginny once more. "Jack's a hog. He takes that girl off to bed with him nearly every night. I think it's about high time she moves around, reminds herself what a real man can do."

  Ginny’s stomach cramped, and she looked away with a disgusted scowl. It was true that she spent many a night with Jack. She’d known most of the men in camp in more intimate ways than she’d like, but Jack was simple. He didn’t expect much from her, and he played music for her. It was men like Tom that she’d rather never visit again.

  The muscle in Ace’s jaw flexed, and he lifted his chin.

  “Tom, this is something we’ve spoken of before. Ginny is not a prostitute any longer.”

  An uncomfortable force pressed down on her chest. Ace discussing her old life made her feel ill. It was something she wanted to bury and never look back on.

  If only she could.

  She thought as little about her life back at the brothel as possible, but turning tricks was something still seared into her blood. Making the men around her happier made her feel better. It was at least something she could do. She might not be able to cook or shoot a gun properly, but she knew how to make a man howl.

  After escaping the brothel and joining up with the Van den Berg gang eight months before, she’d given her body a much-needed recovery. Unfortunately, it hadn’t taken her long to go back to entertaining men. It was what she did best, after all. r />
  “She sure looks like one to me,” Tom said as his eyes caught hers. He slid the tip of his tongue along the edge of his teeth, and Ginny recoiled in disgust.

  Her reaction only fueled the loathing flames in his eyes.

  Ace stepped forward and pressed a hand against Tom’s chest. “Go cool off.”

  The outlaw turned an eyebrow up at his leader. Ace’s jaw tightened, and he jerked his chin toward the lines of tents behind them.

  “Now.”

  Tom’s nose wrinkled defiantly, but he didn’t speak another word. He turned and stomped off into the evening shadows.

  Ace looked back to Jack and waved Clara over. “Take him to get cleaned up, would you?”

  “Of course,” the blonde whispered, putting a gentle hand on Jack’s arm and leading him away from Ginny.

  The crowd around them dispersed and returned to the fire to continue dinner.

  It took only a moment for Ginny to realize that she and Ace were the only two remaining as the others slipped away. He was watching her. Even in the cool evening air, a sheen of sweat broke out on the back of her neck and between her breasts. Ace had always been kind to her, but she’d also tried her hardest not to cause any problems in camp.

  Or for herself.

  Jack was sweet, but she hated walking into his tent nearly every night knowing that was all he wanted from her.

  Or the other men that gave her sultry eyes at dinner that meant they wanted a visit too.

  But Ace was different.

  He’d never made eyes at her, and he’d told her the first night she’d stayed with them, after he’d picked her up bloody and frightened on the outskirts of St. Aspen, that she would not be prostituting in his camp. She would be given her own tent and access to food. She didn’t need to pay her way.