Devils on Horseback: Lee, Book 4

When anger and tenacity collide, sparks are inevitable.

Devils on Horseback
, Book 4

The Civil War took more than Lee Blackwood’s arm. It took his confidence, his pride…and hope that any woman will see him as more than half a man. His friendships helped keep the demons at bay—until now. As each Devil has found happiness, Lee is left alone to cope with the darkness that claws at his soul.

Genevieve Blanchard has only one thing going for her: her no-good late husband’s run-down farm. That, and a fancy name no one can spell might get her a cup full of dirt in Tanger. Room, board and seamstress skills aren’t much, but it’s all she can offer any man willing to help her bring in her wheat crop.

Reluctantly Lee takes on the job, the widow’s smart-mouthed daughter and his growing attraction to a woman who stubbornly refuses to see him as anything less than whole. Slowly, his bitterness begins to fade under the light of their blooming love.

Then the truth of her past threatens to rip away everything: her farm, her child—and the man she loves. But this time, there’s a line of Devils between her and looming disaster.

This title has been revised for rerelease.

Warning: Look out for a one-armed Devil to meet the woman who will teach him to love, to give, and to fight for what he believes in. Make sure to include a crop of wheat and a lot of fighting and making up.

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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B

Cincinnati OH 45249

Devils on Horseback: Lee

Copyright © 2015 by Beth Williamson

ISBN: 978-1-61923-382-9

Edited by Sasha Knight

Cover by Kim Killion

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Original Publication: 2010

First
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
electronic publication: December 2015

www.samhainpublishing.com

Devils on Horseback: Lee

Beth Williamson

Dedication

To the Bradford babes, the most amazing, supportive, smart, talented and funny group of women I have ever had the privilege of knowing. Y’all rock.

Prologue

March 1867

Lee Blackwood frowned at his reflection in the window as the errant curl stuck up on his forehead for the tenth time that morning. He licked his fingers and smoothed it down again, yet the blond shock of hair had other ideas and sprang right back up.

“Damn.”

“Don’t you look beautiful?”

Lee whirled to find his cousin Gideon standing at the door, smirking, his arms folded across his chest.

“Shut up.”

“You’re sure all fancied up, Lee. And last time I checked, they hadn’t moved Sunday to Tuesday. That means you’re looking dapper for something other than the good reverend’s sermon.” Gideon stepped in, then walked around, assessing Lee’s appearance. “Even wearing clean britches.”

“I said shut up.” Lee turned back to the window. “There’s no call to tease me about it.”

“Oh but there is.” Gideon sounded amused. “Who else is gonna do it? Your brother is happily married and isn’t around to do the job. That only leaves me as the closest relative.”

Lee grumbled under his breath, but didn’t give Gideon the pleasure of hearing it.

“You know if you put a mirror in here, I wouldn’t have to fix your hair.” Gideon stepped over and reached for Lee’s head.

He couldn’t help flinching—even more than two years after the war ended. War changed a man, sometimes on the inside just as much as on the outside. Lee was no exception. His cousin stopped in mid-motion, waiting with concern evident on his face.

“Sorry.” Lee let out a huge breath, wishing like hell he could be someone who didn’t flinch away from people’s touch.

Gideon slowly lowered his hands to Lee’s head and fussed with his hair briefly, then stepped back. “God only knows why he put such a beautiful head of hair with such an ugly face.” With a grin he patted Lee on the shoulder.

Lee snorted and grabbed for Gideon’s brown curls. “At least I don’t have a moppet head.”

Gideon frowned and harrumphed. “I do not have a moppet head.”

“And I do not have an ugly face.” Lee moved what was left of his arm. “I do, however, have a hell of a scar to impress the girls with. Wish me luck, cousin.”

He was nervous as hell, but had finally found the balls to do what he’d wanted to for quite a while. With more than a little trepidation, Lee Blackwood headed out the door, brushing past Gideon.

Quite possibly the rest of his life waited for him, he only had to get there.

* * * * *

His heart beat steadily as he waited. Lee had never considered himself a coward, but staring into the brown eyes of the woman he’d just proposed to had him quaking in his boots.

The light from the sun began to fill the restaurant. It was early, just past dawn, and they were the only two people downstairs. Gideon was still upstairs, leaving Lee alone with Margaret.

He’d fallen in love with her over time. It wasn’t until his brother, Zeke, had pointed out the obvious affection that Lee realized what he was feeling was love. He’d been pushing people away for so long, what he experienced was foreign and scared him. After seeing the joy Zeke, Nate and Jake found with the women they loved, well, Lee thought it was time he acted on those unfamiliar feelings and maybe find a piece of that joy himself.

Margaret was a war widow, as were many women in Tanger, Texas. She’d been working for the restaurant co-owned by Lee, Zeke, Gideon and Cindy Cooley, who spent her days hiding in her now seemingly permanent room at the mill. The daily operations had been the Blackwoods’ responsibility since it reopened six months earlier.

When Margaret first started working for them, Lee didn’t want anything to do with her. Women had been scarce in his life, and since he’d lost most of his left arm in the war, they were even scarcer.

Yet she’d grown on him, the way she bossed him around, didn’t take any of his guff or rudeness. Margaret treated him as if he was normal, and for that he’d fallen head over heels for her. It just took him a while to figure it out.

“Did you just ask me to marry you?” Margaret tucked a wisp of hair behind her ears. He tried not to notice that her hand shook.

Lee resisted the urge to squirm in his seat. “Well, yeah, I did.” His cheeks felt warm and he knew he was probably blushing, but damn it, he couldn’t help it.

She nodded and picked up the mug in front of her. The steam from the rich brew curled around her delicate features. “Why me?”

“Why not? We rub along good together.” His stomach rolled into a ball at his cowardice. Lee could not tell her he loved her. Jesus, what a fool he was.

“Lee, you and I, we’re friends.” She shook her head slightly and his breath caught. “But I don’t think we should be husband and wife.”

At that moment, he couldn’t swallow even if he wanted to. His mouth had gone as dry as trail dust. “Lots of folks start off as friends when they first get married.” The words sounded thick and unnatural as his tongue tried to work properly.

When Margaret used the word “but”, Lee knew he’d made a big mistake. Possibly the stupidest mistake of his life. Anger bubbled up inside him at his own foolishness.

“Then get it over with and say no.” His head began to throb even as his hand clenched into a fist. “No woman wants a one-armed husband.”

Her eyebrows slammed together. “Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t care if you had one eye and a wooden leg. I don’t judge people by the way they look.”

“You’re still going to say no.” He stood and looked down at her. “I’m sorry I bothered you, Margaret. I wish— Damn, there’s not enough hours in the day for that list.”

As he walked away, he felt her gaze on his back and he nearly missed a step. Pain was not an unfamiliar emotion, but it sure as hell was an unwelcome one.

“Lee?”

He stopped, but didn’t turn around. He couldn’t. “What?”

“If I hadn’t fallen in love with Matthew, I would have said yes.”

Matthew Marchison owned the mercantile in town, and he had both arms. Lee couldn’t help the snort that burst from his throat. “Yeah, pardon me if I don’t believe you.”

She sighed softly. “Someday you’re going to have to let go of that anger. If you don’t, you’ll never be happy.”

This time he didn’t stop walking. Lee burst from the restaurant and ran. He didn’t know where he was running to, but he couldn’t stay there even one more minute. Hurt and confusion wrestled with fury at God and frustration that he hadn’t died on that battlefield.

No matter how far he ran though, he knew he’d never escape himself.

Chapter One

August 1867

Genevieve Blanchard had been blessed, or rather cursed, with a fancy name and not much else except an abundance of pride. It was that pride that kept her from asking for help for nearly six months after her no-account husband died.

Pride rode on her back as she made her way into town with a sullen Sophie beside her on the wagon seat. The seven-year-old took after her mama for sure.

“Now stop that bellyaching, Sophie. We need help and that’s all there is to it.” The words spilled out of her mouth, but they were hard to chew. Genny figured her daughter heard the doubt and latched onto it, like any stubborn female would.

“Not hardly. We can make do on our own. We have been since Pa died.” Sophie pooched out her lower lip and frowned so fiercely her small eyebrows nearly touched. She favored her grandmother, like it or not. The wavy brown hair, the light blue eyes, even the heart-shaped face all screamed Camille.

Genny shook off the memories of her mother and focused on getting the old workhorse into town. Ned was twenty years old if he was a day, and every morning Genny wondered if he’d be standing or lying hooves up in his stall when she went to feed him.

“Git up there.” She flicked the reins as they plodded along toward Tanger. Genny aimed to ask for a little help, only a week or two’s worth of work. She wasn’t a charity case and wouldn’t take help without something in return. If there was one thing she could do, it was sew really well. What she was hoping for was a single man who would trade some good hard work for new clothes. Much of Henry’s clothes were salvageable, and since he was such a big man, she could make them fit just about anyone with a bit of work with a sewing needle.

“I still don’t want to have a stranger at the farm.” Sophie folded her arms. “Pa wouldn’t like it.”

Genny swallowed a snort. It didn’t matter one whit what Henry would have thought of having a stranger help on the farm. As much as Genny loved Sophie, for certain there had been no love for the late Mr. Blanchard. He’d been a lazy man with three needs he constantly wanted satisfied. When Genny refused to provide one of those needs anymore, he went into town and found it at the whore’s saloon. For that, Genny had been grateful.

Sophie was a blessing in a life spent with a man twenty-five years older than she was. However, she didn’t want to have any more children. One was enough work considering Genny did the majority of the farm chores. Henry only worked when there were crops in the field. The other six months of the year, he sat on his ass and demanded to be serviced.

It was his laziness that convinced Genny she could manage the farm after his death. She had been doing everything herself already. She nearly laughed at the thought now. Little had she known just how wrong she’d be.

Shaking off the maudlin thoughts of her failures as a farm owner, Genny focused on Ned’s hindquarters. No need to be crying over spilled milk. What she needed was to stop whining and realize although she didn’t want help, she sure as hell needed it.

As they crested the last hill into Tanger, Genny’s courage tried its best to jump ship. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to keep going. What kind of example would she give Sophie if she gave up because of her pride?

Through conversations she’d had with neighbors at the last shindig in town a few months ago, she heard the men from Georgia were still doing work for folks who needed it. She hadn’t met any of those men except for the redheaded one who had married Gabby. It stood to reason that Genny could talk to Gabby about her needs at the farm. Asking for help would be a simple business transaction, nothing more.

Then why did Genny feel sick to her stomach?

Ignoring her breakfast churning around inside her, she headed straight for the mill. Although it wasn’t busy this time of year, she knew Gabby was usually there.

“Where are we going, Mama?”

“To see Miss Gabby and get some help for the farm.”

“But we don’t need—”

“That’s enough, young lady. Whether or not you realize it, we need help, and sometimes you have to accept the kindness of strangers even if it sticks in your craw.” Genny hadn’t meant to be so harsh, but judging by the look on Sophie’s face, perhaps the girl would finally accept the inevitable.

Genny wondered if she’d been talking to herself or Sophie.

“After we see Miss Gabby, can we go to the store for a peppermint?” Sophie turned her gaze up at Genny. The girl knew how to manipulate with those wide, innocent eyes, smart little booger.

“If you behave yourself, then maybe. Mr. Marchison might have a penny candy or two he could part with.” Genny was rewarded with a whoop of childish enthusiasm.

“Oh he always has peppermints, Mama. His little boy loved them so he gives them out to other young’uns. That way it reminds him of his own little boy.” Sophie’s explanation was simple, but the reasons for Matthew’s generosity were much more complex.

Genny knew the man was trying to make amends for his wife’s perfidy years ago when she had profited from kidnapping and selling the women in town. He also had lost his son in the war, and grief was a constant companion for the soft-spoken man.

When they pulled up to the mill, Genny realized her hands were shaking right along with the rest of her. She hadn’t considered the possibility that no one would be available to help her, which meant she would have to hire a farmhand. They could little afford to pay anyone. Hell, they could hardly afford to feed themselves. Thank God for a big garden and the apple orchard.

Her feet hit the ground and she pulled up her courage from somewhere near her toes. With each step she took, Genny’s throat grew tighter.

“Stay in the wagon while I find Miss Gabby.”

Wisely, Sophie nodded and clutched the rag doll Genny had made for her when she was born. Genny was blessed to have what she did, and she intended on keeping it all for Sophie. If they could hang on to the farm, she would inherit it and hopefully spend her life there with her own family.

Squaring her shoulders, Genny stepped up on the porch and walked into the mill.

Lee watched the wagon, pulled by the oldest horse he’d ever seen, stop in front of the mill with a woman and girl on the seat. He didn’t know either of them, but the girl looked vaguely familiar. Maybe he’d seen her at the Founder’s Day celebration in the spring.

He stood looking out the window waiting for Jake and Gabby to return. They had gone to see Doc Barham and asked him to keep an eye on her father. The man was bedbound and couldn’t speak, but Lee did what he could to help considering he was living at the mill without paying room and board.

It had been months since Lee had been in the restaurant. He spent his days doing accounts for businesses in town, including the restaurant, and his meager pay went into the bank. His friend Richard Newman assured him that within six months he’d have enough to buy his own place.

Lee craved the isolation of his own home, away from the noise and drama of other people. Each time Gideon brought the receipts to him, he asked when Lee would return to the restaurant. Of course, the answer was never. There was no need to live at the restaurant when he could do his accounting work anyplace.

This allowed him to stay away from Margaret and keep his sanity. Gideon accepted his decision, but that didn’t keep him from nagging at Lee almost every day.

The woman from the wagon stepped into the mill and Lee turned to face her. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but when she took off her hideous bonnet, her youth surprised him. She was younger than he was.

Her skin was the color of cream with a touch of honey mixed in. A smattering of freckles stood out on her long, thin nose. With reddish brown hair captured in a bun on the back of her head, she was average looking, almost plain. However, she had a forthrightness in her brown gaze that gave him pause. Not many women were able to do that.

“Is Gabby here?” Her voice was like whiskey, husky and throaty with a slight rasp that immediately made the small hairs on his body stand up.

What the hell was that about?

“No.”

She frowned and tried to peer into the depths of the mill. “Is she coming back soon?”

“Don’t know.”

“I have some business to talk with her about.” She scrunched the bonnet in her hands as she waited for Lee to respond.

He didn’t know why he was being rude. The woman had been polite and it wasn’t her fault that her voice did strange things to him. That didn’t stop him from being an ass, apparently. Lee brought his mother’s face to mind and tried to remember to be a gentleman, at least for his mama’s memory.

“She and Jake went to the doc’s. You can wait for her there.” Now that was a good suggestion. If he were lucky, she’d take it.

“No, I can’t do that. I’ll be right back.” She went back out the door and Lee wondered what she was doing.

When she came back inside with the little girl, he almost choked on his own spit. He wasn’t good around children, never was and likely never would be.

“My daughter and I will wait here for Gabby.”

The girl took after her mother a bit, but in an awkward knobby-kneed, buck-toothed way. Her hair was in two braids, but it was so thick, there were pieces sticking out every which way. She looked around the room, then at him and what was left of his arm.

“Mama, that’s the man who could shoot real good.”

Now the girl had surprised him too. He hadn’t even remembered the shooting contest at the Founder’s Day celebration. Too many things had happened since then, but she obviously remembered him.

The woman’s worried gaze dropped to his hips, likely expecting a gun to be hanging there. He almost snorted at the thought. It had been a long time since he carried a pistol every day.

“Hush. Don’t be rude now.” She nodded at him. “I’m Genevieve Blanchard, and this is my daughter, Sophie.”

Lee stared at her, consistently surprised by how much her voice affected him. If she had decided to be a whore, the men wouldn’t care what she looked like as long as she talked to them in bed. Not only that but she had a fancy French name too. Jesus, it was unnerving.

When she turned away to stand near the door, he realized he hadn’t introduced himself because he’d been staring at the woman like a fool.

“Sorry, ma’am, my mind wandered there. I’m Lee Blackwood.”

Genevieve reached out to shake his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Blackwood.” Her grip was as strong as expected for a woman who looked like she worked hard.

Lee didn’t know what to make of this woman. She was as plain as prairie grass, but she had bits and pieces that were extraordinary. All of it put together made him want to know more and at the same time, run the other direction.

“You can come sit in the kitchen if you’d like. I just made a fresh pot of coffee.” Now his mouth had taken over and invited her in. Just like that. Damn fool tongue had apparently made his decision already.

She stared at him for a few beats, peering into his eyes as if she could see into his soul and determine if he was lying. “I’d be much obliged. The ride in was long and dusty.”

Lee turned and walked toward the kitchen in the back right corner of the mill. It was the only living quarters downstairs and had a homey feel to it. The morning sun had warmed it up nicely and the smell of coffee permeated the air. It felt like a home to him, something he hadn’t experienced in some time.

Too bad it wasn’t his home.

The kitchen was as neat as a pin. Gabby was amazing—running a mill and keeping the house in order was no small task. The oblong table was covered in a green cloth Jake had given her for Christmas. Lee gestured to the woman and the girl.

“Please go ahead and sit. I can probably rustle up some milk for your daughter.”

For the last few months, Gabby had been on a milk binge. In fact, every other day, they got a milk delivery from a farmer just outside of town in exchange for one five-pound bag of flour a week. Jake had built a small milk shed right outside the back door. He’d diverted some of the river water into the bottom of the shed. The cold water then surrounded a metal tub where the milk cans sat. Ingenious really, and it kept the milk nice and cold.

Lee had never been one to drink milk much, but having it cold made a difference. Of course he only drank it around Jake and Gabby. Grown men just didn’t drink it like a baby. As he poured a glass, he considered taking a sip, but didn’t want a milk mustache or anything. The woman and her daughter were already watching him, he didn’t need to give them more ammunition.

By the time he stepped back into the kitchen, he felt calmer. He wasn’t used to strangers, and he sure as hell didn’t like to be around them more than absolutely necessary. Genevieve was sitting at the table talking quietly to the girl, who had her lower lip stuck out. He wondered what had set wrong with the little one, but not enough to task. It was bad enough he’d let them in and offered them a drink. He didn’t need to know anything else about the child.

He set the milk down and stepped toward the stove. “It’ll just take a minute to get the coffee.”

“I already did.”

Lee turned and saw two twin mugs of steaming coffee on the table. That was something he hadn’t expected at all.

“I’m used to doing chores and it didn’t seem right to make you wait on us, seeing as how we’re waiting on Gabby.” Genevieve shrugged. “I appreciate your hospitality.”

“So is it because I would have had to make two trips to bring the coffee to the table?” As soon as the words left his mouth like a black cloud, Lee could have kicked himself.

She blinked twice before she spoke. “I hadn’t thought about it. I was just doing what I always do.”

Hidden behind her brown eyes he spotted a wary honesty. Sometimes he let his mouth loose and it made him look like a huge ass. This was no exception.

“You could use a tray to carry things.” Genevieve pulled a cup toward her. “That way you don’t need to make two trips.”

Lee opened his mouth to speak then closed it again. She was right, of course, but the idea of using a tray had never occurred to him. Losing his left arm was not new, more than two years ago now, yet he still woke up at least once a week with an itch he could never scratch.