Chasing Rainbows Read online

  CHASING

  RAINBOWS

  BY

  Victoria Lynne

  Copyright © 1997 by Victoria Burgess

  Digital editions copyright © 2011 by Victoria Burgess

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. For copyright information, contact Victoria Burgess: [email protected]

  Originally Published October 1997 by Dell Publishing, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.

  Digital editions by eBooks by Barb for booknook.biz

  High Praise for Ms. Lynne’s Novels

  With This Kiss

  A Romantic Times ‘Top Pick’

  “Ms. Lynne weaves her magic to bring the reader a bit of poignancy along with a sexually charges romance in this very satisfying historical romantic suspense. Find a place for this one on your special shelf.” —Romantic Times

  “With This Kiss is a delightful read. Full of strong imagery, slow burning passion, and lots of quick-witted dialogue, Morgan and Julia are an odd match which grows into a seamless, perfect fit. Ms. Lynne is a fabulous storyteller!” —Rendezvous

  “The unexpected twists and turns in Ms. Lynne’s newest historical entertain and satisfy.” —Publisher’s Weekly

  “A smoldering Victorian era romance.” —Booklist

  What Wild Moonlight

  “From the mesmerizing beginning to the surprising climax, What Wild Moonlight is a wild ride of an adventure romance, destined to keep you reading all night. Simmering with sexual tension and the perfect amount of suspense, Victoria Lynne secures a place on readers’ bookshelves” –Romantic Times

  “Ms. Lynne combines adventure, suspense, and romance in a tale that will delight any reader.” —Rendezvous

  “Readers need to provide themselves adequate time when they begin What Wild Moonlight in order to avoid sleep deprivation, because this is a one-sitting tale. The action-packed storyline is suspense at it’s most intense. The characters are charming, and placing this Victorian couple in the new aristocratic playpen of Monaco adds freshness to the novel.” –Harriet Clausner

  Romantic Times Reviewers Choice Finalist: Best Historical Romantic Adventure

  Chasing Rainbows

  "Extremely well-written, fast-paced and funny, Chasing Rainbows is a pot of gold from this talented, up-and-coming author. One for your keeper shelf." —Romantic Times

  "A feisty yet vulnerable heroine who's had her share of pain and a sexy hero who pretends to have a hard heart come together in this warmly tender love story filled with perils and excitement." —Rendezvous

  Romantic Times Reviewers Choice Finalist: Best Western Romance of the Year

  Captured

  “This book is a pure delight!” —Rendezvous

  “A wonderful, madcap adventure from beginning to end.” —Affaire de Coeur

  RITA Award Finalist: Best Short Historical Romance and Best First Book

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  High Praise…

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  Colorado Territory

  October, 1868

  A hanging was never an easy thing to watch. If a man was lucky, his neck snapped on the drop, killing him instantly. Jerked to Jesus, as the saying went. But not all men had that kind of luck. Plenty of victims slowly choked to death at the end of a poorly strung noose. They died gasping for air as their tongues turned black, their bodies jerking and heaving until the bitter end. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t pretty, but that was the way life worked. Some men died quick and some men died hard.

  Jake Moran reined in at the outskirts of Stony Gulch, Colorado. He hadn’t intended to stop, but the spectacle unfolding before him seemed to demand acknowledgment. An ancient oak — the hanging tree — stood silhouetted against a brilliant autumn sky. As a crisp breeze lifted the rich carpet of red and gold leaves scattered beneath its limbs, a minister droned on over an open Bible, reading last rights. The sheriff stood guard with a group of deputies. The condemned man, visibly trembling, awaited his fate with his head meekly bowed in prayer.

  Jake’s dark bay tossed his head and sidestepped skittishly. Jake stilled the motion with the gentle pressure of his thighs. “Easy, Weed,” he soothed, stroking the bay’s silken neck. Glancing back at the proceedings, he noted that his action had drawn the attention of the town sheriff. After a brief word to one of his deputies, the sheriff edged his mount toward him.

  “Afternoon, Jake.”

  “Sheriff.”

  Sheriff Roy Cayne was large and rawboned; his ruddy complexion appeared wind-whipped. He matched Jake in height for they were both tall men, but that was where the similarity ended. The sheriffs blond hair had long since gone gray, and he moved with the lumbering stride of a man whose girth had settled around his belly.

  The two men sat for a moment in companionable silence. “Ain’t seen you around these parts in quite a while,” the sheriff finally commented.

  “Been working the tables out in Haggerty.”

  “Any luck?”

  A grim smile crossed Jake’s lips. “I’ve had better.”

  He returned his attention to the hanging, scanning the crowd that had gathered on the grassy knoll beneath the ancient oak. Women, dressed in their best calicoes and sunbonnets, strolled arm in arm with their husbands and sweethearts. The succulent aroma of salt pork and roasted sage hen drifted from open campfires. High-spirited children scampered between the wagons, laughing and shouting as they conducted mock hangings among themselves.

  “Looks like quite a party you’re throwing here,” Jake commented.

  Sheriff Cayne scowled in response, regarding the citizens of Stony Gulch with the pained air of a parent whose offspring were misbehaving. “Folks just couldn’t stay home, could they?” Shaking his head in disgust, he leaned over and released a long, dark stream of tobacco. He wiped the juice from his chin and continued, “You’d think this was some fancy shindig the way folks are carrying on. Hell, we’ve even got some big-shot reporter from back East here taking notes, interviewing folks and whatnot. Says he’s gonna write a story on the hanging.”

  Jake followed the sheriff’s gaze toward a dapperly dressed man who moved through the crowd with a notepad and pencil in his hand. He looked the reporter over without much interest, then returned his attention to the prisoner. “Who is he?”

  “Part of the Pete Mundy Gang that holes up in Blackwater Canyon. Gang robbed the stage a couple of weeks back, shot up the driver and his men pretty bad.”

  The Mundy Gang. That explained the celebratory mood of the crowd, as well as the presence of an East Coast reporter. Jake carefully eyed the condemned man. He was short and scrawny, and Jake realized that the prisoner wasn’t the man he’d been hunting. Jake sized him up anyway, looking for traits that would identif
y him as a member of the gang.

  He was dressed in an oversized, faded flannel shirt that had been tucked into rough denim pants that had seen better days. His face was shadowed by a sloppy felt cap that had been pulled down tight over his brow. The man’s head was no longer meekly bowed. Instead he stared boldly out into the crowd, as though trying to face them down. The result was neither menacing nor intimidating but a rather pitiable mixture of both anger and bravado. The prisoner looked more like a skinny, worn-out miner than a hardened criminal.

  Jake silently cursed his luck and timing. Had he arrived in town just a few hours earlier, Sheriff Cayne might have let him question the man. Clearly it was too late for that now. “What about the rest of the gang?” he asked.

  “Got away. Posse tracked them a bit, then lost their trail.”

  “Any idea which way they headed?”

  “Nope.”

  Damn. Jake bit back an impatient sigh and tightened his grip on Weed’s reins.

  Sheriff Cayne eyed him speculatively. “You interested in the Mundy boys?”

  “I’m interested.”

  “That a fact?” The sheriff mulled that over in contemplative silence. “So are a lot of folks. A lot of folks. ’Specially since the money from that stage robbery was never recovered. Twenty-five thousand dollars in federal greenbacks just sitting out there, buried somewhere in those hills.” He shook his shaggy head and let out a deep sigh. “No telling where them boys stashed that money.”

  Jake nodded toward the prisoner. “Wouldn’t talk, huh?”

  “Not much. Admitted to being part of the Mundy Gang but claimed not to have had anything to do with the robbery or the killings. Claimed to be just riding by when it happened.”

  “Now, there’s a fresh alibi.”

  Sheriff Cayne shrugged. “Things ain’t always what they seem.”

  Jake arched a brow, mildly surprised by the sheriff’s apparent defense of a convicted felon. “You think he might have been telling the truth? He might be innocent?”

  “Guess it don’t matter what I think. Jury voted guilty, that’s good enough for me.”

  The reply took Jake completely off guard. Sheriff Roy Cayne had ruled Stony Gulch with an iron fist for nearly twenty years. He was tough but fair; Jake would have bet his last cent that the sheriff wasn’t someone who would sit idly by and watch an innocent man hang. Looked like he’d have lost his money.

  As though reading his thoughts, the sheriff raised his shoulders in an indifferent shrug. “Just doing my job, Jake, upholding the law. Jury wants a hanging, they’ll get a hanging. Can’t say I like it much, but the people in this town don’t pay me to like it. They pay me to keep the streets safe and obey the rules of the court. That’s what I aim to do.”

  “Can’t ask a man to do more than that.”

  Sheriff Cayne nodded in agreement, but his expression remained troubled.

  Jake tilted his head toward the prisoner and made a guess. “Young?”

  “Too young.” The sheriff looked as though he wanted to say more but resolutely tightened his lips instead. “Hell, maybe I’m just getting’ old.” He pulled his watch from his pocket, flipped open the case, and glanced at the dial. “Reckon I oughta get on with it,” he said, raising his arm to signal his deputy.

  The deputy stepped forward, bringing the condemned man with him. In Jake’s estimation, the sheriff couldn’t have picked a worse man for the job. Despite the desperate air of self-importance he tried to project, it was obvious that the deputy was little more than a store clerk with a tin badge. He was stoop-shouldered and rail thin, and clearly unnerved at being the sole focus of the crowd’s attention. The deputy fumbled with the rope, barely managing to fashion it into a noose before he tossed it over a sturdy limb of the hanging tree. That accomplished, he assisted the prisoner into the saddle. With shaking hands, he caught the noose and adjusted it around the condemned man’s throat.

  A hushed, anticipatory silence fell over the crowd.

  The deputy wavered for a moment, as though paralyzed by the enormity of his task. Visible beads of sweat glistened on his forehead despite the cool air. He swallowed hard and set his hand on the horse’s withers, only to have the animal skittishly shy away from him. As the animal moved, the rope jerked hard around the prisoner’s neck and forced a strangled moan from his throat.

  The gruesome sound was enough to goad the deputy into action. Resigned to his duty, or perhaps just anxious to have it ended, he tried again. He raised his hand and brought it down hard against the horse’s hindquarters. The horse shot out from beneath the condemned man.

  Jake held his breath, waiting for the bone-shattering crack that indicated the man’s neck had snapped on the drop.

  Nothing.

  The rope ran taut as the prisoner plummeted toward the ground, and then sprang back. Instinctively the man began to thrash about in a vain struggle against the noose. Frantic gagging sounds emerged from his throat.

  He was still alive.

  A collective gasp rose from the crowd and filled the air. The deputy turned an unnatural shade of green and backed away, clearly horrified at the consequence of his botched job with the rope.

  Anger tightened Jake’s gut. He had been to hangings where it took over twenty minutes for the life to run out of a body, and had hoped to never see it again. “You might have shown your deputy how to tie a noose,” he said.

  The sheriff shrugged. “I did show him. Maybe next time the damned fool’ll pay attention and get it right.”

  Jake shifted in his saddle, disgusted by both the spectacle and Sheriff Cayne’s stony indifference. The prisoner was a member of the Mundy Gang, and perhaps, for that reason alone, he deserved to die. But not like this. Not gasping and choking for air before a titillated crowd. As for Jake’s own interest in the proceedings — well, that had expired the second the noose had dropped. Since it was too late for him to question the man, he figured he might as well ride on. He’d seen enough death in his time for it to limit its hold on him as pure entertainment.

  Just as he urged Weed forward, the prisoner writhed in a violent, painful spasm against the rope. The man’s hat tumbled from his head…releasing a long mane of pale-brown hair.

  Jake Moran had spent a lifetime reading other people’s faces, judging the cards they held by the expression in their eyes. The vital necessity of that skill was matched only by the importance of keeping his own features carefully neutral. He’d become a master at hiding his emotions, for his profession demanded it. But at that moment, astonishment struck and left its mark on his face.

  The condemned man was a woman.

  Without any clear goal in mind, he urged his mount forward, but the sheriff caught his reins before he could move. “Easy,” he murmured, his eyes focused intently on the prisoner.

  “Hell, Roy, you’re hanging a woman?”

  “I’m doing what the court says I gotta do. Now, you just stay easy, Jake.”

  Jake shook his head, sickened. This certainly wasn’t the first woman to be hanged in the Colorado Territory, but such hangings were rare indeed. They generally only took place if the crime was exceptionally violent — or the woman exceptionally notorious. Jake pieced together the information he had collected on the Mundy Gang of Blackwater Canyon. They were infamous for their sharp-shooting, their ruthless brutality, their contempt for the law… and for Outlaw Annie, who rode with the gang.

  Outlaw Annie.

  A woman with a reputation nearly as wild and wicked as that of Calamity Jane. A woman who had faced down savage Indians and angry lawmen with equal aplomb. A woman so good with a knife she could skin the belly off a rattler before the snake ever felt the blade; so good with a gun she could knock the feathers off a migrating goose with a single shot. A woman who liked her whiskey rotgut, her bear meat raw, and who could bed the devil himself without even scorching the sheets.

  Jake had never really believed she existed. To him, the legend of Outlaw Annie had merely been one of many tall tal
es of the frontier, stories that were swapped from trader to trader at night as a way to pass time in front of a lonesome campfire. But she was real all right, and now he’d seen her — choking at the end of a noose.

  Annie continued to thrash against the rope, but her motions were getting weaker. It wouldn’t be long now, he thought. But just as that notion formed in his mind, the noose, poorly tied as it had been, began to pull apart under the combined strain of the woman’s weight and her desperate struggles.

  The buzzing whir of fraying jute was immediately followed by the dull thud of a body hitting dirt. Outlaw Annie collapsed in a motionless heap at the base of the ancient oak.

  The crowd strained forward, breathless and excited, transfixed by the grisly spell death holds over those who get to stand back and watch it descend upon somebody else. Jake tensed, waiting. Was she alive or dead? Sheriff Cayne peered anxiously at his prisoner, clearly absorbed by the same question.

  Finally, after endless seconds of agonizing suspense, Annie moved. She was still alive. Jake felt his muscles slowly unclench. Beside him, Sheriff Cayne let out an audible sigh of relief. Jake glanced at him sharply.

  The deputy who had tied the noose reluctantly stepped forward and helped Annie to her feet. A chorus of boos and hisses greeted her.

  “String her up again!” shouted a voice from the crowd. The bloodthirsty cry was immediately taken up by the rest of the assembly. “String her up! String her up!”

  Sheriff Roy Cayne waited, indulging his taste for drama. Once the shouting had reached nearly a fever pitch, he raised his pistol and fired off a round. As the echoing blast ripped through the air, a hushed silence fell over the mob. The sheriff wordlessly nudged his horse forward. The crowd parted as seamlessly as a river around a rock, allowing the big man and his mount to glide through the masses.