Bound and Determined Read online

  © 2018 by Regina Jennings

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4934-1204-4

  This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearances of certain historical figures are therefore inevitable. All other characters, however, are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Dan Thornberg, Design Source Creative Services

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  Excerpt from The Lieutenant’s Bargain

  About the Author

  Other Books by Regina Jennings

  Back Ads

  Chapter

  1

  AUGUST 1885

  EAST OF FORT RENO, INDIAN TERRITORY

  I don’t want to die on an empty stomach. Oh, please, don’t let me die hungry.” Private Morris smashed his hat down flat as he leveled his pistol against a shelf of rock.

  “I have some jerky in my saddlebag. As soon as they’ve passed us, I’ll get you some. Then you can leave this earth fulfilled.” Private Bradley Willis mopped the sweat away from his eyes with his bandanna.

  Captain Chandler lowered his field glasses. “They’re headed this way. Any word on that gully? Where does it lead?”

  Bradley looked over his shoulder at Private Krebs, who was climbing up the bank to join them. The red dust had mixed with his sweat, coating his face in orange.

  “It don’t go nowhere. We can’t get out that way, but at least it’ll get the horses out of sight.”

  Three horses. Not enough for four men to outrun the outlaws, especially with one man injured. And with hiding places scarce in the wide plains of Indian Territory, if you couldn’t outrun your foe, you were in a heap of trouble.

  “The horses are in the gully? When are you getting me some jerky?” Morris asked. The blood seeping from the bandage on Morris’s leg was drawing flies in the heat.

  “Can’t just now,” Bradley said. His throat caught as he tried to swallow. He wasn’t partial to being stationed next to an injured man. Fight and win, or die in a blaze of glory—that was Bradley’s plan. It wasn’t that he was afraid. He just couldn’t stand to sit and wait for his fate. They needed to get a jump on these outlaws, and quickly.

  “Keep steady. If we’re lucky, they’ll pass on by.” That was Chandler. Avoid a fight if the odds were against you. If the captain had known that the Gunther gang had picked up four more men, he wouldn’t have followed them in the first place. Turned out it was an ambush. Now they had to limp back to Fort Reno with a strong gang on their trail, and their odds didn’t look good.

  Private Krebs took up his rifle on the other side of Bradley. “Do they know we’re here?” he whispered.

  “Not yet.” Bradley squinted against the waving heat rising off the packed ground. “There’s still eight of them? I thought we took down two.”

  “Have mercy,” Private Krebs replied. “We fired ’most all our rounds. How’d we not hit more?”

  The Gunthers galloped at a diagonal toward them, in plain sight. If they kept to their path, they’d overshoot the hidden cavalrymen by about a quarter of a mile. As Bradley lay on his stomach, propped up by his arms, the ground vibrated beneath him.

  “I’m shaky,” Morris said. He dropped his pistol and rested his head against the ground. “Tell me when they get closer. I’ll save my strength.”

  The outlaws closed the distance until they were close enough that Bradley could make out the sweat on the flanks of their horses. Pete Gunther’s paint trotted past them without pausing. If the rest of the outlaws would just follow him . . .

  The younger Gunther boy turned in their direction. With the heat swerving up and the shadow of his hat, Bradley couldn’t make out his expression, but his palomino dropped out of the pack as he studied a patch of dried grass that the cavalrymen had ridden through.

  No one lying behind the crest breathed a word. The flies buzzed around Morris’s leg, but that was the only sound as the gunslinger studied their position.

  “Ho!” the outlaw called. With his outstretched arm, he motioned to the path that led directly to the cavalrymen.

  His older brother raised his hand, and the galloping outlaws wheeled around.

  “That gully might not be a bad idea,” Private Krebs said.

  “And have them shooting down on us?” Chandler replied. “I’d rather take my chances on flat land.”

  And Bradley would rather be on his horse, not lying in the dirt like a worm. He looked over at Morris, who’d turned clammy and pale.

  If Bradley were in charge, he would’ve hidden Morris in the gully and ridden for reinforcements. Instead, three able-bodied men were hiding because of one injured. It didn’t make any sense at all, but there was no more time for reckoning. They were coming.

  “Morris?” Bradley nudged him with his elbow, but the private was out cold.

  Chandler caught his eye. “We’ll be fine,” he said.

  Not necessarily.

  The calls of the outlaws were getting more excited as they became convinced they’d found their foe. Bradley sighted along his Sharps rifle. “Just tell me when,” he said. And then it was time.

  With the first volley they unseated two of them, then the ground before them exploded. Bradley fired his rifle twice more. By then, his targets had found cover. Evidently they weren’t of a mind to run away.

  “We’re pinned down,” Bradley said to his commander. “What are we supposed to do? Just wait?”

  Chandler rubbed the sweat from his eyes, leaving a muddy swipe on his forehead. “They’re the ones on the run, not us. They’ll move out as soon as they can.”

  “Doubt it,” Bradley said. “They came back for us, didn’t they?”

  Chandler shoved his field glasses out of his way as he burrowed farther into the ground. “No more of that talk, Private Willis. If Major Adams wasn’t family to you, I would have turned you in for insubordination already.”

  For that remark? Bradley had done much worse. Besides, Major Adams wasn’t his kin. Not until he married Bradley’s sister, Louisa. And Chandler knew good and well that Major Adams didn’t cut Bradley any slack.

  Private Krebs fired off a round. “They’re coming closer,” he said. “See that scrub brush over there? It’s got someone in it.”

  It was only a matter of time. Bradley looked at Captain Chandler, who had grim determination painted on his face. Then there was Private Krebs, whose nervous energy Bradley understood better. And Private Morris, who was resting fitfully and might never know what hit him if they failed.

  The noose was tightening around their necks. Good men would be lost if someone didn’t do something.

  “I’m taking it to them,” Bradley said.

  Private Krebs gasped. “Are you crazy?”

  “Private Willis, y
ou will not abandon your—”

  But Bradley wasn’t staying to argue. He rolled away and crawled over the rocky ground until he reached the steep bank of the gully. Sliding down it, he reached his horse. Excitement flooded through him at being in the saddle again. Boots in the stirrups—that was how Bradley would meet his destiny. He hadn’t joined the cavalry to be killed on the ground. He reached back for his saddlebag and got everything arranged, including his pistol. Taking a deep breath, he spurred his horse. It scrambled for its footing as it rose over the bank, but once it emerged, he charged ahead.

  Flying over his enraged captain, Bradley dropped a sack of jerky for Morris and plowed toward the band of outlaws waiting for him.

  GARBER, TEXAS

  The saber glinted in the morning sun as it swooped through the air. Ambrosia Herald gripped it in both hands and made another daring slice through the dust motes of her father’s library. When she and her mother had designed the floor plan of the new house, they’d made sure to include ample room for her father’s cavalry memorabilia, but now the medals, spurs, and letters of commendation only seemed to agitate him.

  It had been months since she’d heard her father’s laugh. Months since he’d felt well enough to take her riding or to work in Mother’s rose garden. When he felt well, he sat at his desk and wrote letter after letter, compelled by forces that the rest of the family didn’t understand, but most days he wandered aimlessly about the house as if looking for something he’d misplaced.

  “You absolutely cannot go.” Her mother’s voice grew clearer as she descended the stairs, speaking, no doubt, to Father’s back. “Why don’t you stay home and enjoy your retirement? You’ve earned a rest.”

  They were coming her way. Ambrosia barely had time to set the saber back on its stand over the fireplace before her parents entered.

  “I’ve done nothing but rest since winter.” And yet his voice sounded weak, strained. “It’s time I was out.”

  “But your health,” her mother said. “It’s delicate.”

  That word never failed to annoy her father. “It’s not getting any better sitting around here. I’ve received the letters I was waiting for. Help is meeting me in Kansas.”

  “What kind of help?” her mother asked.

  “A handful of cowboys and a promising young cavalryman from Fort Reno. No reason to delay any longer.”

  “What are you doing in Kansas?” Ambrosia jumped out of the way as her father went to his desk. She’d always been jealous of his stories, especially now that she was grown and had no such adventures before her.

  “It’s those camels again.” Her mother tried to arrange a blanket over Father’s shoulders as he rummaged through his desk drawer, but he shrugged it off. “They’ll be the death of him.” Never one for understatement, Ambrosia’s mother continued. “The last thing he needs is to take on more responsibility. It’s not as if we need the money, and I’m not sure what kind of money those animals are supposed to make anyway. Besides, a trip in this heat will probably dry him up like a raisin.”

  The last time they’d had this conversation, he was doomed to be shoe leather. Ambrosia assumed that was progress.

  “We don’t need the camels,” he said, “but they need us. It’s time they come home.”

  All her childhood, Captain Herald had told Ambrosia stories about the gallant camel cavalry and the Big Bend expedition. He’d always included the names of the camels—Omar, Ruby, and Esmeralda—right along with Lieutenants Echols, Hartz, and Beale, as if they were equals. But however fond he might have been of his long-lost mounts, Ambrosia and her mother couldn’t understand his fascination with the beasts.

  “Found it.” He held up a small leather journal. “Now I can calculate the supplies I’ll need and be ready for the train tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Her mother gave a sorrowful look out the French doors at her garden. With a determined glint in her eyes, she said, “Ambrosia is going with you.”

  Ambrosia bounced on her toes. “Really?”

  “I wish she could,” he said, “because until a person travels with the camels in the summer, they can’t truly appreciate them. But this journey will be too strenuous. She’d be miserable.”

  “No, I won’t. It will be an adventure, just like those you’re always telling me about.” Certainly Ambrosia would miss their new home, the scent of the fresh woodwork and wallpaper, but she couldn’t wait to be tested. To see if she had what it took. Swinging a sword through dust motes was a far cry from making a journey on horseback. Or camelback, as it were.

  “Once we get started, there’ll be no going back,” he said. “No matter how rough the going is, Amber, you can’t quit.”

  She’d rarely seen her father so stern. Ambrosia looked to her mother, unsure of her support. But her mother nodded as she nudged her forward with an elbow. For whatever reason, her mother and her father were in agreement. Something was amiss.

  “I can keep up,” she said finally. “I won’t slow you down.”

  “Fine, but you’d better be ready by tomorrow, or I’m leaving you behind. Now excuse me, as I plan my corral.” He headed to the only space they had available, her mother’s freshly planted rose garden, and began walking off the length of the north side.

  Had her father just agreed? Had that been too easy? She looked to her mother, but she was mourning her roses.

  “When I think of all those years spent in army camps, without any permanent home, without a place to plant, and now . . .” She turned to Ambrosia, her eyes alive with purpose. “This is perfect. It’s a tall order for someone so young, and your father has already called in reinforcements, but I have full confidence that you can thwart him, the cowboys, and this young trooper he hired.”

  “Thwart him? He’s not even sure I can survive the trip home.”

  “That’s the beauty of my plan. You aren’t coming home on camel. You are going to put an end to this madness. If you succeed, you’ll come back on the train within the week, and the camel topic will be retired permanently.”

  Ambrosia might be only eighteen, but she had determination in spades. This was her chance to be just as brave as a cavalryman, and to help her family while she was at it.

  “Tell me what you need,” she said. “I won’t let you down.”

  Chapter

  2

  ONE WEEK LATER

  OUTSIDE OF ANTHONY, KANSAS

  He was still wearing the cavalry blue, but if Bradley didn’t complete this mission, he wouldn’t be for long.

  Instead of congratulating him on escaping the Gunther gang and getting his men home safely, Major Adams had applied harsh words. The major appeared to be of the mind that a private should obey a captain, even if that captain was Captain Chandler. Even if everyone survived. Even if the only damage done was a dent to Bradley’s canteen when a bullet ricocheted off it.

  Only in the government did you get written up for saving people.

  When Bradley had charged straight at the Gunthers, they’d turned tail and run. True, he should’ve remembered that his saddlebags held the unit’s extra ammunition, but by the time he’d seen it, it was too late. Had he gotten shot while making his charge, Chandler and the others would have been left high and dry. But he hadn’t been shot, and that made all the difference.

  Following the wagon ruts, Bradley guided a wagon full of crates and kegs that he’d picked up in town out to a farm. Major Adams had assigned him to help a retired cavalry buddy who needed an escort across Indian Territory. As far as punishments went, it wasn’t bad. Better than being locked in the guardhouse again. If the retired captain gave a good report, Bradley would be forgiven, and his record would be cleared. He owed it to his sister to try. She’d sacrificed too much for his career for him to lose it.

  Besides, Bradley loved being in the cavalry. Though if he had his druthers, he’d druther not go traipsing across the prairie in August. No water, grass all burnt to a crisp, and the sun acting like it had a personal vendetta against y
ou and all your kin. But if anyone could do it, Bradley Willis could.

  A slow trip up to Kansas in a stagecoach—why Major Adams hadn’t let him bring his horse, he’d never understand—and a slow trip back with the herd. When he’d reached the town of Anthony, he’d been given instructions to bring the wagon of supplies to a Mr. Switcher’s farm. Judging from the storekeeper’s comments, the old farmer had a reputation for being an eccentric. Judging from the supplies Bradley had on his buckboard, Captain Herald might be, too. Standard chuck wagon fare didn’t include fresh apples, horehound candy, and a feather mattress.

  Bradley had many questions as he approached the farm, but he’d know everything soon enough. There was always time to worry later.

  In this flat, treeless land, the farm was visible for miles, but finally they were close enough to hear the squeaking of the windmill. As they drew nearer, his team slowed. The sorrel’s ears pricked. The skin on its hindquarters shuddered in ripples. Bradley loosened the reins. They weren’t afraid of a windmill, were they? The sorrel abruptly swerved, pulling the dun with it, and the wagon wheels left the path and rolled into the stubble of the recently harvested wheat field.

  “Whoa,” Bradley ordered. He directed the horses back onto the trail. Now it wasn’t just the sorrel acting up, but the dun, too. What was wrong with them? They were acting like something at the farm ahead was fixing to ambush them.

  It was a nice enough farm. A green roof capped the tidy house. The barn doors yawned open as if so full they couldn’t be fastened. A cattle dog dozed on the porch. Nothing amiss, but the horses had stopped. The sorrel’s sides heaved. They were spooked, sure enough. Bradley hopped down from his seat and looked over the traces for anything that could be goosing them.

  “We’re almost there,” he said. “Just get these supplies over to the barn.”

  Wild equine eyes met his. Flared nostrils dripped.

  “What is it?” he asked as he stroked the sorrel’s neck. “Wolves? Coyotes?”

  But the dog on the porch hadn’t scented anything. Taking the reins around to the front, Bradley drew the horses forward against their will. Just a walk across the property to the barnyard, and then someone from the house would surely come out.