A Cowboy's Fate

Inc.

A Cowboy’s Fate

by

Gini Rifkin

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

A Cowboy’s Fate

COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Gini Rifkin

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Cactus Rose Edition, 2014

Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-388-9

Published in the United States of America

Praise for Gini Rifkin’s Books

VICTORIAN DREAM

Written with a rich depth of detail. Nicely spiced with an underlying sense of mystery and danger.

~Night Owl Reviews

SPECIAL DELIVERY

The chemistry between these two excellent characters is riveting. You won’t want to miss finding out what happens to them.

~Fall Into Reading Review (5 stars)

IRON HEART

...gives the classic epic adventures a run for their money.

~Sizzling Hot Books (5 Hearts)

~*~

A wonderfully captivating blend of medieval history and fantasy.

~The Medieval Chronicle

LADY GALLANT

Rifkin’s novel is epic in scope, meticulously researched and finely detailed. A genuinely sweet romance married to an exciting war/espionage story.

~Romantic Times Book Reviews

THE DRAGON AND THE ROSE

Rifkin is immensely knowledgeable about the story’s time period.

~Romantic Times Book Reviews

Dedication

For all the animals great and small, past and present.

Thank you for the love, laughter,

and life lessons learned.

With special thanks to The Wild Rose Press,

and Amanda Barnett, Editor Extraordinaire.

Chapter One

Denver, Colorado, 1880

Britania followed the maitre d’ to a table in the dining salon of the elegant hotel. Breathless with anticipation, eyes wide with appreciation, she sat down and studied the rich décor. This is how she would live some day. The cards said so.

Hands folded demurely in her lap, she quietly awaited the arrival of Mr. Cody James. Inside, she burned with intense curiosity while she studied the affluent patrons, especially the women—their manners, how they moved, what they wore. Learning to be a proper lady seemed a never-ending task.

Reaching up, she patted her hair, making sure each tendril remained in place. Then she smoothed the fabric of her bodice, knowing the dusty-rose color offered the perfect complement to her fair hair and complexion. She’d worn her best dress. Like it or not, appearance counted for a great deal, an axiom upon which she depended as she made her way in the world.

She’d also tweaked and polished her voice, eradicating her telltale East End London inflection. And her new and improved British accent proved quite helpful in accomplishing her charade. For some reason, people in America connected such speech with the upper class, and the farther west she traveled the more this phenomenon seemed to hold true.

Her gaze drifted over to the clock on the wall. The man hired to escort her to Leadville, the city of her fate, should be arriving any minute. She intended for Mr. James to assume she had spent the night here at the Palace Hotel. In reality, she’d slept down the street in a cheap rooming house, waking up late and making it to this grand establishment with but moments to spare.

Frequenting posh surroundings and passing herself off as a lady-of-good-standing helped to keep indecent proposals to a minimum. When men found out they were in the company of a barmaid and Tarot fortuneteller, they tended to assume she was illiterate and easy with her favors. Her ruse today would hopefully spare her from constantly defending her honor as she travel alone with Mr. James.

Sliding her right hand under the table and down her leg, she patted the reassuring bulk of a derringer strapped to her thigh beneath her skirts. If her deception didn’t work, she came prepared to ensure his gentlemanly cooperation by other means. The cards did not forewarn of any danger on her journey, but life had taught her to be prepared for all eventualities.

****

Britania Rule—what a hell of name for a female. It sounded like trouble to Cody, and another dose of adversity was the last thing he needed. Guess it didn’t matter much, since the first thing he needed was to get out of town.

Standing on the boardwalk, he re-read the tattered newspaper clipping.

Wanted: experienced guide to escort lady from Denver to Leadville.

Must be of good character, with sound body and mind. High moral ethics a must. Payment of $12.50 to be made upon completion of journey.

Apply P.O. Box 21, Denver. Attention: Miss Britania Rule.

Cody reckoned his body would pass muster, his character by western standards only slightly tarnished. Of course, his decision to answer the ad made the state of his mind questionable. He must be half-crazy to hire on with a woman.

As far as moral issues, live and let live worked for him. He tried not to interfere in other people’s pursuits, while still ensuring his own survival. Right now, honest gambling sustained him—barely.

He’d tried his hand at a few other jobs, but regular hours and regular pay didn’t appeal to his adventurous nature. And although in his reckless youth, he’d been tempted to run a scam or two, he always stopped this side of the law. No one would mistake him for a charity worker, mind you, but he didn’t rob widows and orphans either. What more could this woman want?

He’d fill the bill—had to—he needed the money, and a new town. His luck on the Front Range had run out, grown cold, just like the women he’d bothered to love. Oddly enough, he’d been pondering the idea of going to Leadville; maybe Lady Luck would be waiting for him there.

He eyed the building up the street where Miss Rule waited. She must think he could do the job, or she wouldn’t have suggested this meeting. Of course, the letter he’d sent in response to the ad had been pretty darn convincing, if he did say so himself.

Refolding the article, he tucked it in his back pocket and moseyed up the street toward the Palace Hotel. Time to meet the new boss.

****

Would madam care to order?

Startled by the voice, Britania jumped and glanced up at the stiff little waiter hovering at her side. Pencil poised over a tiny pad, he stood ready to scribe her request for breakfast.

I would prefer to wait for my guest, please. I’ve left my name at the front desk. I’m sure my companion will be joining me directly.

As madam wishes.

Disappointment shadowed the man’s expression as he gave a slight bow then wandered off to attend other patrons.

Her stomach rumbled, giving voice to her hunger. But unable to afford the prices here, she planned to put off ordering indefinitely. There had been a man selling baked potatoes on the boardwalk, she could buy one of those after completing the interview.

Returning to people watching, she noted a tall man enter the hotel lobby. Dressed in dark clothing, he walked as if to challenge anyone who got in his way, and a dangerous air lingered about his pensive eyes and solemn mouth. Her gaze slid lower across his broad chest and narrow hips, and a shiver of need washed over her, followed by a forgotten rush of desire replacing hunger for food, with hunger of another nature. She not only traveled alone, she felt lonely.

His stance suggested a well muscled yet trim physique, and when he removed his flat-brimmed hat, a swatch of hair, a bit long and rich-hued as mahogany, dipped forward over his brow. He raked it back with the fingers of one hand, the tousled results a relief to the otherwise serious demeanor.

With a sigh, she imagined what it would be like to be held in the arms of such a man. Down, girl—she mustn’t give in to such needy thoughts. She’d been in love once, and look how that had turned out. Her sweet, soulful lover had fallen victim to opium. He’d smoked away their grand dreams and minimal savings, and when he succumbed to fever, her faith in love died along with him. Since then, she only allowed solitude and common sense to court and occupy her time.

The stranger entered the dining area, his gaze sweeping the room, the width of his shoulders seeming to block out the world behind him. Well-heeled boots added to his already impressive height. They didn’t grow men like that in England.

Although his clothes were clean, on a more thorough inspection, he appeared a bit scruffy, with a faint stubble of beard shadowing the plains of his cheeks. When he turned in her direction, she glimpsed the gun and holster he wore beneath his jacket.

Mercy me. His persona appeared more outlaw than western hero. The provocative thought sent her heart racing. Then it picked up even greater speed as he headed straight for her table. Bloody bother. This handsome stranger must be Cody James.

The smell of leather and pine soap infused the air when he halted beside her chair. Tilting her head, she gazed up at him.

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