Chapter One
Fort Worth, Texas
May 1881
The first thing Jesse Lawton noticed when the train puffed
into the station was the girl standing on the platform.
She was the prettiest thing he'd seen in five years.
Her blond hair was tucked up neatly beneath a frilly
bonnet decorated with ribbons and bows. The tiny tips of
her black leather shoes peeked out from beneath the hem of
her spring-green dress.
He thought her eyes were blue, but he couldn't be certain -
- not from this distance, not peering through the dirty
train window.
The girl jutted her bottom lip into a little pout that
caused his insides to tighten. Her mouth reminded him of
the plump strawberries he'd tasted at the beginning of a
long-ago summer. He'd snitched them out of a garden that
grew beside a house with gingham curtains fluttering in
the windows and a white picker fence.
He'd convinced himself the pain in his gut was a result of
being hungry -- not the longing for all the comforts the
folks inside the house took for granted. He'd forced
himself to gobble down the juicy berries and not think
about soft beds or clean clothes or a warm bath.
The girl rocked back and forth on her heels, twirling her
little green reticule as if she were waiting on somebody.
He couldn't take his eyes off her -- which was a blessing.
Looking at her prevented him from having to acknowledge
the stares of the passengers making their way off the
train. He kept his hands tucked between his thighs, so the
shackles on his wrists weren't quite as visible.
But people noticed them anyway. He could tell when they
did, because he'd hear them gasp or whisperharshly to
their traveling companion that a criminal had been sitting
in their midst.
"Hey, mister, are you an outlaw?" a boy suddenly asked
loudly.
Flinching inwardly, Jesse focused his attention more
intently on the girl. She was tapping her foot now, her
growing impatience apparent.
"Run along, son," the man sitting beside him said.
Jesse didn't know his name. His guard hadn't bothered with
introductions when he'd slapped on the irons.
"Is he an outlaw?" the kid asked again, his
excitementechoing around the small compartment. "Is he?"
"Used to be," the man said. "Ain't no more. Now he's a
prisoner of the state."
Jesse felt as though he'd been a prisoner of the state for
most of his life. His mother had left him on somebody's
doorstep, wrapped in a tattered blanket with a note that
simply said, Please love him.
No one had bothered to comply with her request. He'd been
passed around from person to person, never feeling as
though anyone truly wanted him. At least not until he'd
joined up with the Nightriders gang. Under the leadership
of Sometimes-One-Eyed Pete, for a time, at least, he'd
thought he'd discovered where he belonged.
But the bungled bank robbery had found him sentenced to
spend ten years at Huntsville Prison. He'd already
survived five in that wretched hole. Now he had a chance
to serve his remaining time beneath the blue Texas sky. He
didn't intend to lose this opportunity -- no matter what
the cost.
The guard stood. "Let's go, boy."
Jesse unfolded his body, moved into the aisle, and headed
for the door. The guard traded behind him with his rifle
held at the ready in the crook of his arm. Jesse knew the
man would just as soon shoot him as see him get off the
train, so he kept his strides short, slow, nonthreatening.
He walked through the door and to the steps that led to
the platform. Placing one hand on the railing forced him
to put both there because of the way his hands were linked
together. He climbed down carefully, awkwardly.
He didn't dare look for the pretty girl now. He prayed
she'd moved on and wouldn't catch sight of him with the
humiliating chains jangling between his wrists.
With the butt of his rifle, the guard shoved him
forward. "Keep going. Judge Harper is standing right over
there."
Even if the guard hadn't pointed him out, Jesse would have
recognized judge Harper. He'd lost track of the number of
days that had passed since he'd been escorted to the
warden's office, where he'd met the judge for the first
time.
Judge Harper had only recently replaced Judge Gray, better
known as the Hanging judge -- the man who had sentenced
Jesse to ten years of hard time Jesse hadn't been able to
work up a spark of pity when word had traveled through the
prison that the Hanging Judge had met his maker.
Judge Harper had been reviewing Judge Gray's records.
Apparently the previous judge had kept detailed accounts
on every criminal who'd appeared in his courtroom and
every sentence he'd handed dawn.
"I don't like doubting my predecessor," Judge Harper had
said, "but I think he might have been a bit harsh when he
sentenced you."
A bit harsh? Jesse thought that was an understatement. The
man bad been downright mean, with a steely glare that had
made Jesse fear the Hanging judge was going to live up to
his reputation and sentence Jesse to dance in the wind
from the nearest oak tree.
"I'm not willing to commute your sentence," judge Harper
continued, "but I'm willing to let you serve out your time
under less desolate conditions."
So here Jesse was, his mouth suddenly as dry as a west
Texas wind, walking toward the man who held his freedom in
his hands. Judge Harper had looked imposing and ominous
when he'd met with Jesse at Huntsville.
He was even more so now, standing on the platform in black
trousers, a black jacket, and a black hat with his dark
eyes roaming over Jesse ...
© 2003-2026