A Man of Legend, page 1
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Books. Change. Lives.
Copyright © 2022 by Linda Broday
Cover and internal design © 2022 by Sourcebooks
Cover illustration by Alan Ayers/Lott Reps
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Apart from well-known historical figures, any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
(630) 961-3900
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Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Epilogue
Excerpt from To Love a Texas Ranger
One
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Cover
Dear Reader,
When I was a young high school girl, I had no idea at all what I wanted to be. I loved books but I didn’t think I was smart enough to write one. I thought only college graduates wrote books, not someone with a high school education. When a counselor pressured me to choose a path, I told her I wanted to be a lawyer, heaven forbid, just to shut her up. A good portion of graduating seniors haven’t a clue either. It takes getting out into the world and aging some to choose a direction.
The theme of this story is dreaming. Some characters’ dreams are quite lofty and others more down-to-earth. While one girl sets her sights on traveling to Stockholm, Sweden, one young man’s goal is altered by an accident.
There is magic in dreaming and sometimes, if you’re lucky, you dare to reach for the impossible. I hope you’ll nurture your own goal and never give up on it.
It’s been a lot of fun writing about the Legend family, but it’s time to say goodbye. Fear not, though. We have many exciting adventures awaiting with new people and places. Stay tuned.
Happy Reading,
Linda Broday
To everyone who’s harbored a secret dream deep inside and is afraid to speak of it because it might vanish. I hope this story will give you courage to reach for whatever will bring the greatest joy to your life. The size of the dream isn’t important. It’s the striving for it that makes the difference. You matter. You are good enough.
One
North Texas
Spring 1908
Just because trouble has come visiting doesn’t mean you have to offer it a place to sit down. That had always been Crockett Legend’s motto, and it had served him well. Until now. Looked like it might be too late at this point for any type of homespun cowboy wisdom. The die had been cast.
Rays of an apricot sky through the idling train’s window sent a reminder that his early-morning travel could yield yet more surprises, and it was best to be prepared.
If possible.
He rubbed his face with his hands and glanced around at the people still filling the car. A group of men in rough work clothes were talking about going to the oil fields, hoping to find work in the Texas boomtowns that had recently sprung up overnight. In fact, the black gold and talk of getting rich seemed on everyone’s minds these days.
A swish of delicate fabric brushing his legs interrupted his thoughts as a woman hesitated, probably scanning the car for a choice of empty seats. Finally, she mumbled something under her breath and took the seat across the narrow aisle from him. The faint scent of sage and wildflowers wafted around him. He glanced up with idle curiosity, and jolts of the familiar rushed through him.
Paisley Mahone.
He sat up straighter. He’d not spoken to her in three years, ever since her father and oldest brother had launched an all-out war with the Legends over a section of land. Joseph Mahone accused Stoker Legend of cheating him out of it. But the truth was, Mahone had lost the land outright in a poker game to Stoker. Now the situation had become a powder keg.
Crockett took in Paisley from beneath the brim of his Stetson. Three years hadn’t made a lot of difference. Her hair, still the color of ripe sunflowers, was swept into a low knot on the back of her neck. She stared straight ahead, her light-green eyes glistening. A little plum hat perched on the crown of her head matched the color of her simple dress.
A stir raced along Crockett’s body, telling him he’d not spent enough time erasing Paisley from his mind.
Dammit! She was still so beautiful—still so unreachable. Still so forbidden.
A long sigh escaped his lips.
As the iron wheels began to turn and gather speed, carrying him away from Fort Worth, Texas, and the business he’d tended to, his mind took him back to a sweltering summer day when they were kids. The ride to the swimming hole to cool off.
One corner of his mouth quirked up. He’d dared Paisley to go in naked with him.
Back then, she’d always been quick to take a dare. Memories piled up. The pointed tips of her breasts tight against his chest. Her wet, silken body sliding over his in the warm water. Sultry kisses of fire. Everything about her was branded in his brain.
Then came the damn feud when she’d chosen her father’s side.
In those days, he’d called her Firefly, and the pet name had fit. Now, she’d likely slap him good. As angry as she was, he didn’t want to press his luck.
Outside, a horseless carriage raced alongside the train in an apparent attempt to outrun it.
Crockett snorted. Another fool short on brains. Texas had long reached its quota of stupidity.
A bit of the devil got into Crockett. He leaned across the aisle and touched a forefinger to his hat brim. “Morning, Paisley. Nice to see you.”
She slowly raised her long lashes, her mouth in a tight line. “Crockett,” she hissed.
After the single word, she turned to the window, clearly dismissing him. But he was like a bull charging an interloper, not content to share a pasture or a train ride without more.
“How’ve you been?” he asked quietly.
Swinging back around, she spat, “I might have no choice but to be on this train with you, but don’t expect me to carry on a conversation.”
He tried to block out her beautiful features—so close and yet so far. Tried to maintain some semblance of composure. But the little freckle at the corner of her mouth stole his focus. He’d especially loved how that freckle had seemed to wink at him when he kissed her.
She could deny their close friendship, the times they’d spent together, and the secrets they’d shared beneath a moonlit sky, but that damnable freckle made her the same girl she’d always been.
“I’m sorry about—”
“Who? Daddy? My baby brother? Mama?” Her chest heaved, and she shot him a look of contempt. Her voice dripped ice. “If not for your family, they’d all be alive. Before this is over, you Legends will probably send us all to our deaths. Don’t pretend we’re friends. Or that you care.”
The stinging rebuke let him know how far they actually were from friendship. Hell!
However, blaming him for Braxton’s death was unreasonable. If her baby brother hadn’t run afoul of the law and ended up in Crockett’s court, he wouldn’t have been sent to prison, where a group of inmates beat him to death.
As for her father, Old Man Mahone had died a few days ago of what his short-fused oldest son, Farrel, claimed was poisoned water. He accused the Legends, vowing to see them pay.
Colleagues had cautioned Crockett about getting involved, but he had a family obligation to figure out if the water h ad been treated with arsenic and, if so, who’d done it. He knew damned well his family hadn’t.
If he could prove it and end this feud…
“Believe it or not, I am sorry,” he said softly. “Help me prove we had nothing to do with that.”
“You Legends, with more money than God, always twist the facts to make them show what you want. Excuse me.” Paisley rose. Clutching her skirt, she hurried down the narrow aisle toward the next car, her spine stiff.
Dammit! How could he fix things if he got no cooperation?
A year and a half ago, upon entering the bar, he’d been appointed judge of the 46th Judicial District in Quanah, Texas. Shortly after, Braxton Mahone stood in his courtroom charged with manslaughter.
The facts were indisputable. Braxton had fought with a man in a saloon, pummeling the guy with his fists until he’d gone down, where he’d struck his head on an iron footrest and died.
Crockett released a weary sigh. He’d been over this a million times.
The resulting sentence had been appropriate. He still stood by his decision, even though it poured kerosene on the fire already started between his grandpa and Paisley’s father. The two neighbors had been going at it for years. In the beginning, it had been the land, then fence cutting and missing cattle, each time gradually progressing.
Now they were facing a murder charge. Couldn’t get more serious than that. He wasn’t about to let the family name get dragged through the mud. Everything they’d worked for, their hard-earned reputation of being fair and honest, had been for the good of their neighbors, the community, and Texas.
Paisley’s wild accusation that the Legends had caused Caroline Mahone’s death was beyond ludicrous. The woman had died on her own property after an accidental fall from a horse.
Now it seemed nothing would settle the dispute—certainly not Joe’s death. Far from it.
The door at the end of the car flung open, and a passenger screamed. Crockett glanced up to see a masked gunman clutching Paisley flush against him as a shield. Anger and a healthy dose of fear widened her green eyes, but she appeared calm otherwise.
He sucked in a quick breath, his jaw tightening. Through narrowed eyes, he watched every twitch the gunman made. He had to find an opening.
“Folks, put your money and jewelry in the bag when my compadre comes around. Any trouble and this pretty little lady will get hurt!” the robber yelled.
Women gasped, stifling screams with their handkerchiefs. One lady fainted. Fabric rustled as men reached into their pockets. Children sobbed, sensing something terrible.
If the piece of horse dung hurt Paisley, there wouldn’t be a safe place left in all of Texas.
Crockett eyed the train robber’s accomplice weaving toward him with a burlap sack, collecting the passengers’ valuables. He noted a slight limp and young, frightened eyes. This was the robber’s son or he’d eat his hat. Crockett slipped a hand into his boot for the piece of steel he always traveled with and waited.
He turned his attention back to Paisley. Her calm exterior was beginning to crack around the edges. Crockett hoped she’d be ready when he made his move.
Just a few more feet.
But before the kid with the sack made it to him, a potbellied man in a bowler hat jumped to his feet, weapon drawn.
“I ain’t giving you one red cent!” Bowler fired directly into the kid, who went down screaming, then swung the gun on the older robber.
Paisley let out a loud cry as Crockett stood, his Colt in hand. “Don’t shoot!” he yelled.
Bowler whirled. “Don’t tell me what to do. I’m protecting my valuables.”
The train robber raised his gun and fired into the ceiling of the passenger car to an abundance of yelling and shrieking. “Put down those weapons or I will shoot the lady.”
Thankfully, Bowler obliged, then stepped over the kid, who was curled up in pain, and took his seat.
Crockett faced the robber. He moved out into the aisle and held up the Colt. “I’m laying it down. Don’t do anything foolish.” He met Paisley’s eyes and nodded slightly. She nodded back.
Good. At least they’d work together on this one thing.
As he started to place the gun on the floor, she stomped on the robber’s foot with her heel and jabbed him with her elbow. The man yelped in pain, releasing her. Paisley leaped aside, giving Crockett a clear target. Taking advantage, Crockett took the shot and sent a bullet slamming into the robber’s chest. He slumped to the floor in a pool of blood.
Paisley immediately yanked off her jacket and ran to the kid, applying pressure to his stomach wound. “Can someone hand me whatever you have? I’ll try to save him.”
Not wasting a moment, Crockett jerked off his light coat and put it under the boy’s head, then went to check on the older robber. No use. He was dead. Grabbing the robber’s arms, he pulled the man to a row of vacant seats, then went to help Paisley.
“Does anyone have a blanket?” he yelled.
“I do,” a woman answered, handing him one.
Another passenger offered up a second one.
With murmured thanks, Crockett spread them over the boy. Paisley never glanced up. Her bloodstained hands didn’t slow their movements. She stuffed the wound with as much cloth as she could and wrapped torn petticoats around the boy’s midsection to hold everything in place. Once, she forced his eyelids open to look. Paisley Mahone oozed confidence and appeared to know what she was doing.
Crockett squatted beside her. “Are you a doctor now?”
“A nurse. For the last year, I’ve worked with a doctor in Fort Worth.” She lifted her anguished gaze, and her chin trembled. “But now I have to go home to bury my father.”
“I wish—”
“Apply pressure to his stomach,” she said quietly. “Everything else can wait for later.”
Crockett nodded and did as requested, moving his fingers over hers.
For the next hour, he worked by her side, watching her, admiring her. Paisley was as dedicated to nursing as he was to the law. Maybe respect and admiration was a place to start rebuilding what they’d lost. But it would take both, and right now she wasn’t giving him the time of day.
Three years without speaking had been rough. One morning, he’d gone to the boarding house where she lived in Fort Worth and waited across the street for her to come out. He’d just needed to see her. He might’ve gotten the courage to speak, except when she emerged, a gentleman got off the trolley and kissed her cheek. Paisley smiled up at the stranger, and Crockett’s heart shattered.
It’d been easier to blame their parting of ways on the feud between their families than to take a hard look at himself. But the cold truth was he hadn’t supported her decision to seek something more than marriage. He winced. He’d discounted her desires because she was a woman, and women didn’t have careers. What an insufferable ass!
He deserved her scorn, her anger. And more. They’d had something special, and he’d thrown it away like it didn’t matter. Like she didn’t matter.
“Do you think he’ll make it?” Crockett asked.
“I don’t know. He’s in shock.” She put a red-stained hand to her forehead. “If we can get to a doctor, he might.”
“The nearest town is Decatur. They should have some kind of hospital.” Crockett got to his feet. “I’ll go up and speak to the engineer, see if he can get more speed out of this locomotive.”
“Thanks.” She gave him a grateful smile, a little of the frost seeming to thaw.
In a short time, he came back to report. “The engineer says he has this thing going at top speed, and he’s telegraphed the sheriff up ahead.” He glanced at the poor kid. “How is he?”
“The blood has slowed some, and he seems to be holding steady.” She got to her feet, grabbing hold of the back of a seat to keep from falling as they lurched around a corner. Her face reflected genuine caring. “He’s so young, with his whole life ahead of him. Why would he do this?” Her voice broke, and she seemed ready to collapse.
Without thinking or considering the ragged state of their relationship, Crockett tugged her against him. “I got you. Because of you, the kid might have a chance to mend his ways.”
The feel of her in his arms was almost more than he could bear. He closed his eyes to savor that short-lived moment before she pulled away. The coldness had returned. Nothing had changed between them. Suddenly weary, he dropped into the nearest seat.
