Texas Hero
Ruth Ryan Langan
Texas Hero
Ruth Langan
About the Author
A high school honours student who wrote for the school paper and was editor of the yearbook, Ruth was awarded a full scholarship to college, where she hoped to pursue an English degree.
Her plans were changed, however, because of financial conditions, and she joined the workforce, becoming a secretary to the vice president of a large corporation.
Ruth Ryan Langan married her childhood sweetheart, Tom, and together they have raised five children. Avid travellers and sports enthusiasts, Ruth and her family enjoy bowling, golfing, skiing, and swimming. Along with her husband, Ruth jogs several miles each day (to get away from the word processor).
Ruth's writing career began when she gave a very special birthday present to herself. Her gift was an hour a day to pursue her writing. Soon she was a published novelist.
She says of her career, "The greatest reward for a writer is having someone say "I loved your book." These simple words make all the hours of writing worthwhile."
Ruth is co-founder and past treasurer of the Greater Detroit Chapter of Romance Writers of America, as well as a charter member of the national organization of Romance Writers of America, the Detroit Women Writers, Novelists, Inc., and Sisters in Crime.
In addition, Ruth has coscripted with Marianne Willman and Jan Greenberg, four original screenplays, one of which, Pendulum, is contemporary, and three of which are historical in nature. Ruth has also completed a children's book, which features illustrations by her daughter-in-law Patty Langan.
Synopsis:
MEXICO 1885
Thad Con way was certain the new schoolmarm was not the prim, bookish spinster she pretended to be.
"Miss Adams' played the part well enough but he had glimpsed the fire in her soul and the haunted look in her eyes.
Caroline Adams had a proper job in a respectable town, thousands of miles and a. lifetime away from her ugly past. Or so she thought. Until her nightmare came back to torment her. Now she had to call upon Thad to protect her the one man who could save. Or ruin her.
Ruth Ryan Langan 1993
ISBN 0-263-81797-0
To Bret Charles Shrader - Our newest treasure And to his big sister, Caitlin Bea And their parents, Mary and Dennis And, as always, to Tom, Who hung the moon.
Prologue
Texas , 1863
Drink this. Mama." The girl held the broth to her mother's lips and watched in frustration as, after only three sips, the cup was pushed weakly aside." You have to drink it if you're ever going to get stronger. Mama. " The woman's eyelids fluttered, then closed, as if even that small movement were too great an effort. For long minutes she lay, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath.
The Newborn baby lying in the wooden cradle began a pitiful bleating.
The woman's eyes opened and focused on the girl beside the bed.
"You're like him, you know."
"Pa?"
The frail head nodded once.
"You're tough, Jessie. Like Jack. And that one..." She nodded toward the baby, whose wailing had grown louder.
"He's going to be the toughest of all."
"How do you know. Mama?"
"Listen to him." She closed her eyes a moment, too weak to go on. When the feeling passed, she opened her eyes and continued as though there had been no interruption.
"He'll be a handful for you, Jessie. It's going to be hard raising a baby brother all alone."
"Hush now. Mama. Don't talk like that." The girl's brow furrowed.
Whenever her mother started talking about death, Jessie felt a knot in the pit of her stomach.
"You'll be here to help."
"I wish I could, Jessie. But it's never been like this before. I just know that something's gone all wrong."
"Danny's reading the doctor book. Mama. He'll find something that'll help you get your strength back."
Across the room, seven-year-old Danny squinted at the pages of the book in the nickering light of the fire. A few minutes later he closed the book and crossed the room. He exchanged a quick look with his sister before giving a sad shake of his head. Squeezing his mother's hand, he felt the thin, shallow pulse.
"Pa will be back soon. Mama," the girl said.
"He'll get you strong again."
The woman's voice was barely more than a whisper.
"I know you believe that your pa can do anything, Jessie. But there are some things even Big Jack Con way can't do."
"Stop it. Mama." In her grief the girl's tone became angry.
"You've got to stop talking about death and start fighting back."
"That's what you'd do, isn't it, Jessie? No matter what, you'd fight back."
She closed her eyes, and the two children could see the blue veins through the fine pale skin.
Olivia Barton Con way had endured her husband's dreams of conquering this wild frontier and had allowed herself to be led far from everything she knew and loved.
Her family farm; her brothers and sisters, who had settled in the rolling gentle countryside around Maryland; even her church, which had brought her such comfort through the years. The harsh weather, the inhospitable land and the loneliness here in the little sod shack fifty miles from her nearest neighbor had taken their toll. Her delicate health had become more fragile during the long and difficult third pregnancy. In the three weeks since the birth of her second son, she had not once left her bed. "You're a scrapper, you are, Jessie," she said, slurring the words.
"And so's the baby. He should have died. Everything about his birth was wrong, and still he fought for life." She gave a weak smile.
"Thaddeus Francis Con way. The first of the Con ways to be born in Texas.
He carries my father's name, and my grandfather's. See that he does them proud." Her eyes closed again and her son and daughter knelt beside the bed, their hands pressed to hers as though willing her their strength.
"Don't go. Mama," the little boy whispered.
His older sister said nothing. But when their mother's eyes suddenly opened and stared, unseeing, at the infant in the cradle, Jessie felt a cold shiver along her spine.
Picking up the squalling baby, she held him close to her heart and watched as her mother took a final breath, then went very still.
"Come on, Danny," she said.
"You know how it always soothed Mama to hear you read. Sit here by the fire and read, and let Mama rest awhile." The boy hunkered down beside the fireplace and began to read aloud. As she had since the baby's birth, his sister filled a glove with cow's milk and placed one of the fingers in the infant's mouth. The crying stopped abruptly as the baby sucked greedily.
She looked over at the still form in the bed and thought how right it was that Mama should finally get the rest she deserved. Her life had never been easy. Loving a man like Big Jack Con way probably hadn't been the smartest thing Mama had ever done. But, as she was fond of saying, at least she'd always known that she was loved.
Tears threatened, but Jessie blinked them away. At almost eleven, she was too old to cry. Besides, hadn't Mama j said she was just like Pa?
Too tough to cry. Or maybe just I too ornery. And now that all the work had fallen to Jessie, | there wasn't time to grieve. At least that was something Mama would have understood.
As if comprehending the solemnity of the occasion, the baby burped contentedly and drifted back to sleep. Jessie placed him in the cradle and recalled what her mother had said.
"I'm going to see that you grow big enough and strong enough so that this land will never do to you what it did to Mama," she whispered.
"You'll see, Thad. You're going to be the toughest Con way of all."
Chapter One
Mexico , 1885
In the darkness he heard the unmistakable click of a pistol being cocked.
It was a sound like no other. A sound he knew well. He braced himself for what was to come.
A glance at the slit in the upper wall revealed the glint of stars in a darkened sky. Midnight, he figured. Not a time for proper callers.
Even in a Mexican jail.
Rusty hinges protested as the inner door was swung wide. The light cast by a lantern momentarily blinded him before he made out two figures. The man holding the lantern was also holding a gun. The other man inserted a key into the lock and opened the cell door.
"You will forgive the delay, Senor Con way," said the raspy voice, heavily accented in Spanish.
"It took our rider two days to reach Don Esteban's land and two days to return with the news we sought."
Thad spoke not a word as he waited.
In the awkward silence that followed, the jailer cleared his throat and continued.
"Don Esteban confirmed that the mare in your possession was not stolen.
It is as you said-- you purchased the mare from him." Thad's only reaction was a slight narrowing of his eyes.
As if feeling the heat of his anger, the man took a step back.
"I hope you will understand our mistake. A man like you..." The jailer's voice trailed off for a moment before he shrugged and added,
"We have all heard of your reputation with a gun. It was a natural conclusion to assume that The Texan had stolen Don Esteban's prize mare."
Quelled by the look Thad had levelled on him, he turned to the man behind him, who handed over the pistol and a leather holster. "Your weapon, senor."
Without a word Thad strapped on the holster and slipped the gun into place.
When he was finished he picked up his hat from the bunk beside him. For the first time he broke his self-imposed silence.
"My horses?" The words were not so much a question as a challenge.
The jailer stared at the floor, afraid to meet his cold expression.
"They are outside."
Thad strode past him, past the man with the lantern and out into the cool night air. With infinite patience he examined the mare, assuring himself that she had been well taken care of in his absence. Then he turned to examine the stallion before checking his saddlebags.
Tightening the cinch, he pulled himself into the saddle and caught up the reins of the mare.
Without a backward glance at the jail that had confined him for the last four days, he headed for the border.
Behind him, the two men gave a sigh of relief that the fate of the infamous man known as The Texan was now out of their hands.
Texas "Better brace yourself, ma'am. The road's about to get pretty rough." The stage driver's voice strained to be heard above the din of creaking harness and thundering hooves.
Caroline Adams gripped the edge of the seat and swallowed back her fear. A rough road was nothing new to her. From the moment of her birth, nothing had been smooth or easy. But this was a far cry from the teeming streets of the city where she'd been born. There, at least, she'd taught herself the skills necessary to survive. But here in this untamed frontier, everything was new.
And frightening.
Struggling for composure, she reminded herself of the lesson for the day from her book of instructions. A lady must endure all of life's discomforts with grace and charm; that was precisely how she would endure the jostling of the stage. Grace and charm. She choked down the muttered oath that escaped her lips as the wheels flew over ruts and rocks in the road and dust swirled into her nose and mouth, causing her to gag.
She was grateful that the other passengers had disembarked at an earlier destination. At least now she was alone, with no one to see her if she made a mistake. She lifted her spectacles and rubbed the tender spot on the bridge of her nose. She wasn't yet accustomed to wearing the things.
Even though the round wire frames were fitted with plain glass, the spectacles restricted her vision. But the inconvenience was a small price to pay if she was able to enhance her prim, bookish appearance.
She glanced down at the plain, mud brown gown and matching jacket she'd chosen. As instructed, the seamstress had made the garments a size larger than necessary so that they wouldn't cling to any part of Caroline's anatomy.
In her valise was another gown in drab gray, with simple white collar and cuffs; it, too, was intentionally ill-fitting.
The high-top boots she wore were plain and serviceable.
Though her mass of thick black hair could never be tamed, it had been brushed into a neat knot at the hack of her head. The few tendrils that worked free of the pins were covered by an ugly, uninspired brown hat.
Though she hated the frumpish gown and hat, she wore them with pride; they were her ticket to respectability.
Despite the wild swaying of the stage, Caroline picked up the book she'd been reading and turned to a new chapter. By the time she reached Hope, Texas, she intended to know by heart every word of Dr. Harvey Hattinger's Rules for Headmistresses. She would be the best teacher the town of Hope had ever seen.
Over the rumble of wheels she heard another sound. Gunshots.
Unmistakably gunshots.
The stage lurched wildly, tossing her to the floor. By the time she'd managed to pull herself upright and peer out the window, she saw four horsemen riding toward the stage, their guns aimed at the driver. When she glanced out the other window she saw a body hurtle past her line of vision and realized that the armed guard who rode along on the stage had been shot.
Shot. And she carried no weapon with which to defend herself. Her heart thundered inside her chest.
She counted three more gunmen riding toward them on the opposite side, all aiming their rifles at the driver. Seven men in all--against a single driver.
"Pull up," one of them shouted, "or you'll join your partner in the dust!"
In response, there was a muttered curse and the sound of a gun's report.
Caroline was tossed around like a rag doll as the stage suddenly shifted direction and hurtled out of control.
Thad Con way ran a hand over his beard, then lifted his hat to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He had just spent the last six weeks in the saddle, all the way to Mexico and back for Don Esteban's finest mare, who trotted smartly on a lead rope behind his stallion. He was hot, tired and out of sorts, especially after those four nights in jail.
What he needed was a bath and supper. And a bottle of whiskey at Lilah's to wash away the dust of the trail.
He looked up sharply at the sound of gunshots. With a sigh he moved out at a fast pace. So much for the pleasant ending he'd been planning. Caroline clawed at the edge of the seat, trying to pull herself upright. At that moment the wheel of the coach hit a half-submerged boulder, causing the vehicle to become airborne. For long seconds, she was certain they were tipping over. But at the last moment the stage remained upright and continued on, pulled by the frantic team.
Dragging herself to the open window, she managed to peer out. What she saw caused her heart to stop. There was no driver. The crazed team raced across the flat stretch of ground at breakneck speed.
Caroline had no idea what lay ahead. She knew only that she had to attempt to leap from the stage or risk being carried to her death.
A sudden anger flared inside her. She had come so far, endured so much; she would not see it all snatched from her now, when a new life was within her reach. With the stage rocking and swaying wildly, she struggled to wrap her fingers around the handle of the door. Each time she got close, the horses would shift direction, throwing her to the floor. And each time she dragged her way back until, with a last desperate attempt, she managed to grasp the handle. Twisting it, the door flew open and Caroline was propelled through the air. She sailed across prickly
cacti and the sharp edges of rock, landing with a terrible thud against hard-packed earth. She lay, unable to move, struggling for breath, j The thunder of hoofbeats seemed to surround her, and she heard a man's voice. ; "Look at this, Luke!" the voice hooted.
"It's female."
The gunmen studied her with the hunger of a pack of wolves, then looked up suddenly as a lone man on horseback charged down the hill, guns blazing. In some distant part of her mind, Caroline found herself wondering how a single rider could stand a chance against seven armed men.
The man called Luke swore savagely.
"It's The Texan."
At his words, there was a collective gasp from the others. Their frightened reaction caused a shiver along Caroline's spine. Who must this stranger be, if even armed gunmen trembled in fear of him? She watched in amazement as two men fell and the others scattered for cover. But still the rider charged ahead, returning their gunfire without flinching.
As the stranger managed to bring down two more gunmen, Caroline saw blood spurt from his shoulder. His gun dropped to the ground and his arm fell uselessly to his side. In that instant, three men surrounded him and dragged him off his horse.
When one of the gunmen lifted his pistol to the stranger's temple, Luke growled,
"No. I want him awake to watch. Tie him up. Then, when we're finished with the woman, we can all have the pleasure of killing him."
Hearing that, Caroline struggled to get to her feet. She had no doubt of what these villains intended to do to her. She had to escape. But the leap from the moving stage had taken its toll. Her body would not respond to her commands. Her attempts to sit up were stiff and awkward. She looked up to see the stranger's eyes narrowed in fury.
And then her view of him was blocked as the three gunmen formed a circle around her. One of the three, with a cruel, twisted grin, had tucked the guard's pistol into the waistband of his pants. He was already wearing the stage driver's boots.
"You the only passenger?" Luke demanded.
Caroline watched them without responding. Her mind worked feverishly.
