Devils on Horseback: Nate

Amidst the post-war chaos that rains down around them, a controlling man and a desperate woman must choose between life and love.

Devils on Horseback
, Book 1

Nate Marchand grew up as the only son of the town drunk. As a Confederate soldier, he found that order in the chaos was the only thing that kept him sane. Numbers, information, keeping everything in its proper place became second nature. The chaos of the war and its aftermath sent him into a rigid state that he couldn’t seem to overcome.

He and his friends, nicknamed Devils on Horseback, leave behind the aftermath of war to start fresh in the west. Their new business venture flounders and desperation drives them to take whatever work they can.

The Devils are hired to remove the Taggert family from land claimed by Samuel O’Shea, the largest landowner in Grayton, Texas. When he meets Elisa Taggert, his entire world shifts beneath him. Attracted, bewildered, and off-kilter, Nate ignores his conscience in favor of his wallet.

The simple task of removing a woman, a boy, and an old man, along with a small herd of cattle, resembles a Medieval siege. Nate wrestles with what he knows is right with what he must do. Will his love for Elisa overcome his need for survival?

This book has been revised for rerelease.

Warning: Hold onto your hats and prepare for a wild ride with a stubborn, trouser-wearing, gun-toting female in the battle of her life with a handsome ex-soldier with hidden wounds and a need for order.

Devils on Horseback: Nate

Beth Williamson

Dedication

To my wonderful, fabulous, amazing editor, Sasha, a woman who gave me the opportunity to fly on the wings of words. Hugs and smooches.

Prologue

April 1865

Nate couldn’t hear over the roaring in his ears. The acrid stench of charred wood wafted toward him and he tried not to breathe too deeply.

Gone.

Everything was gone.

The five men sat atop their horses on the rise overlooking their hometown of Briar Creek, still as statues. Nate was certain everyone felt the same kick to the chest. Their town, their homes, their lives. Gone. They’d come so damn far to get back home, had cheated death, even survived a trip into the bowels of hell.

Home was simply gone.

Not only was the Blackwood Plantation house in rubble, but the fields around it completely destroyed, and likely salted. Miles and miles of devastation with decaying carcasses of cows, goats, hell, even looked like the chickens had been slaughtered.

“Jesus Christ.” The words burst from his chest like a gunshot.

He spurred his horse into a gallop, ignoring Gideon’s shouts. He flew over the ashes and soot, sending clouds of dark death around him. At that moment, he didn’t give a shit if it killed him. He had to see what had happened to his own home, especially if the mighty Blackwood home had suffered so greatly.

Leaning over the horse’s neck, he urged Bonne Chance on, keeping himself as small as possible on the gelding’s back. The warm spring wind whipped past him, a few insects slammed into his face, but he kept going. He knew he looked like a madman, but it just didn’t matter. The sound of the hoofbeats echoed through his heart.

God, please, let the house still be there.

As he rounded the curve in the trail that led to his father’s house, in his heart he knew he’d find nothing. Or worse.

What he didn’t expect was to find a mummified body hanging from the magnolia tree he played on as a boy, nor the blackened pit that had been his childhood home.

Nate didn’t remember getting off the horse, or falling to his knees. He belatedly realized the howling he heard was coming from his throat. Long, gut-wrenching sobs that wracked him to his core. His stomach roiled and what little food he’d eaten in the last day came back with a vengeance. A wet handkerchief was placed in his trembling fingers and a hand landed on his back.

“Easy there, Lieutenant, easy.” Gideon’s voice broke through the blackness that surrounded him.

“Is he all right?” Zeke asked.

“Hell no, he’s not all right. Can’t you see he’s puking his guts out?” Lee shot back. “Probably upset he’s ruining his fancy britches too.”

“Shut up, Lee,” Jake interjected. “That’s his daddy hanging there. Have a little respect.”

A snort was Lee’s only response.

Gideon leaned down close and spoke in Nate’s ear. “We’ll cut him down and bury him proper. You just get your breath back.”

His former captain left him on his knees in the dirt and directed the rest of the men to take care of the body.

Nate struggled to his feet. “I’ll be all right. I-I can’t let you do this for me.”

“We’ll just help you get the hole dug then.” Gideon nodded at the others and they all got to work.

Briar Creek’s famous sons had finally come home.

Chapter One

June 1865

Nate Marchand was so hungry he seriously considered cutting up his belt and boiling it to make soup. There had to be at least something left of the cow in it. The only thing stopping him was the fact that without the damn belt, his trousers would be down around his ankles. He refused to face starvation with a bare ass.

So far, D.H. Enterprises had amounted to a load of shit. When Gideon suggested they start their own business, D.H. Enterprises, it had seemed like a wonderful idea. However, after a month, not one job had come their way. Oh, they worked their asses off, mostly mucking out barns, or digging new holes for outhouses. Jobs that would have been beneath them before the war. Gideon tried to keep everyone positive, but the truth was, they weren’t far from begging for food. More than once, they’d had to share a fish or a squirrel they caught between five of them. Some days, there wasn’t any food at all.

The five of them had headed west to rebuild their lives, to find what was taken from them, to regain what they’d lost. Pick a reason. It didn’t matter exactly why, just that they’d left Georgia to never return. After two weeks, their bellies were as empty as their pockets. They were desperate and they had all turned to Gideon for guidance.

They’d all jumped at the idea of D.H. Enterprises. D.H. stood for Devils on Horseback, their nickname during the war. Their business hadn’t earned them much except sore backs and short tempers.

Nate didn’t like the feeling of not being in control. He was determined to find them work and he vowed to end their losing streak. Now that they’d landed in the small town of Grayton, and had set up camp in a clearing with a stream and some shade from the hot Texas sun, Nate wanted to get right off to town to sniff around. He was itchy and restless to do something.

“Where are you going, Nate?” Gideon asked as he unsaddled his horse.

Nate met his blue gaze. “I’m heading into town to find out if there are any jobs hereabouts. My stomach’s about to touch my backbone, Gid.”

Lee laughed. “No news, Frenchie. You’re already as skinny as a rail.”

“Shut up, idiot.” Nate headed for the stream to refill his canteen. It never failed. Lee always had a smart remark ready for him. Nate tried to ignore him, but it was hard. What he really wanted to do was pop Lee in the nose, but he didn’t want to start a war. He’d had enough of brothers fighting already.

Nate washed his hands and splashed water on his face. After rinsing the dust off, he stood and wiped his wet hands on his pants. He grimaced at the condition of his clothes, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d have to rely on his brains and charm, he thought with a wry grin.

He walked back to the camp and took his gelding back to the stream. Bonne Chance was a sorrel that he won in a poker game right before the war. He was an even-tempered horse that had the endurance of a thoroughbred. Nate knew the horse was tired, but hunger came before comfort. After the horse drank his fill, Nate swung up into the saddle and headed toward town.

Grayton was a typical small town, with a few permanent buildings and a lot of wood-front buildings in sore need of repair. He was happy to note a church and a stone jail. That meant the townspeople had money to spend. If they were lucky, they had some to spend on D.H. Enterprises.

Nate headed straight for the building marked General Store. As he dismounted, he nodded and tipped his hat at two older women walking down the wood-planked sidewalk. They nodded back and continued on. Since the townsfolk weren’t snubbing him, it was another good sign for D.H. Enterprises. He could almost taste a ham dinner. With potatoes and greens.

The front door opened, a bell tinkled and a man walked, no, swaggered out. He was in his fifties, with steel-grey hair, a black hat and a suit that was obviously not purchased in this general store. Nate knew instinctively this was a man with deep pockets. He stepped toward the man and held out his hand.

“Good afternoon, sir. Nate Marchand at your service.”

The man’s blue eyes were nearly colorless and as sharp as the knife resting in Nate’s boot. “Afternoon, stranger. What do you want?” He did not offer his name and ignored Nate’s proffered hand.

“I noticed you leaving the store and I wondered if I could ask you a question about Grayton.”

The man crossed his arms over his well-fed belly. “Go right ahead.”

Nate prayed his instincts and his silver tongue were working today. “I represent a group, D.H. Enterprises, and we are new to the town. We are looking for upstanding citizens like you to offer our services to.”

One silver eyebrow arched. “Services?”

“Anything that needs to be done, we can do. Our skills run far and wide and our willingness knows no bounds.”

Nate’s stomach cramped and he knew it was about to yowl like an old hound dog. He tightened his muscles and willed it to shut up.

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely. I was on my way into the store to ask the proprietor if he wouldn’t mind posting an advertisement for us.”

“What do you want from me?” The stranger’s gaze hadn’t changed from icy. Nate hoped he could melt at least a drop or two off.

“Do you know if there are any ranchers or citizens like yourself who might be in need of…services?”

Oh, hell, I sound desperate, even to my ears.

The man, Nate still didn’t know his name dammit, stroked his chin with one hand. “I’ll keep it in mind. You go on in and tell Marvin I told you it was all right to post your advertisement in the store.”

He started to walk past Nate with a nod. It was now or never.

“It was a pleasure to meet you…”

“Persistent little shit, ain’t ya?” He threw back his head and laughed a loud booming guffaw that nearly made the bell ring in the store. “I like that. Samuel O’Shea.” He finally held out his hand and Nate shook it, surprised to find the older man had a grip like a bear trap.

“Thank you, sir. I hope we can do business together.”

“We just might,” O’Shea said and walked away toward the saloon Nate had spotted on the way into town.

Nate’s stomach grumbled, but he ignored it and with a grin, headed into the store.

* * * * *

Elisa Taggert stood in the corner of the store with her fists clenched. She told herself to relax and take a breath, but it was hard. So hard. What she really wanted to do was follow Samuel O’Shea out that door and put a bullet in him. Or two.

Bastard.

He dared pretend he hardly knew her, or that he hadn’t stolen her father’s land right out from under him. O’Shea treated her like a goddamn stranger!

The bell tinkled over the door and a man walked in. Elisa judged him to be in his mid-twenties, with dark hair settled under a dark brown hat. Gray trousers marked him as an ex-Confederate soldier, although his jacket was of good quality. Elisa noted the bulge of a gun on his left hip. Wide shoulders filled out the jacket nicely. His fingers were long and twitched as if he needed to be moving constantly.

His gaze swung to hers and she could see the hunter within him. The moment his dark eyes touched hers, she felt a jolt go through her from top to bottom. Her heart started pounding and her palms grew moist. Actually, to her shame, they weren’t the only moist part of her body.

Sweet Mary, he was beautiful. A sharp chin with an outline of whiskers framing the deep cleft in the middle. A long, aristocratic nose sat between the darkest, deepest eyes she’d ever seen. Eyes that knew pain, misery and perhaps joy. Elisa’s entire world shifted slightly under her booted feet and she knew an eternal moment of uncertainty.

Who was he?

He blinked and the spell between them snapped. She stepped further into the shadows of the corner and he paused before walking to the counter to talk to Marvin. Elisa pressed her hand to her chest to push on her racing heart. What the hell was wrong with her? A handsome stranger glanced at her and she turned into a blithering, foolish woman?

“Good afternoon, sir. Nate Marchand at your service. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind posting this advertisement in your store.”

His voice was like hot honey on a biscuit, warm and smooth. A shiver licked up her spine at the southern drawl and the gentlemanly tone. Most definitely a southerner, likely from Alabama or Georgia. There were plenty of them in Texas—like ragweed, they just kept popping up.

“Advertisement for what?” Marvin asked. He was one of those people she wasn’t sure was for her or against her. She’d known Marvin nearly all her life, but he refused to take a side in the battle for her father’s land. That landed him square in her suspicious group of folks.

Elisa walked toward the shelf of canned peaches to peek through at the two men. The stranger stood at least a head taller than Marvin, who was a short, balding man with barely enough shoulder to shrug. His watery eyes hid behind thick spectacles. Then he did the one thing that really irked her—he licked his finger to wipe down his eyebrows, which seemed to have a life of their own, wiry little buggers.

“D.H. Enterprises. We’re new to town and we’d like to advertise our services.”

Oh, God, that voice. It was wreaking havoc on Elisa’s equilibrium. Every time he spoke, another bolt of awareness ripped through her. It was disconcerting and downright annoying. She didn’t know this stranger from a hole in the ground. Why should he affect her so strongly?

“What kind of services?”

A minute sigh drifted from the stranger’s mouth and she sensed his frustration at repeating the same information. Likely in every town he and his “Enterprises” had passed through.

“Anything that needs to be done. My colleagues and I are available immediately.”

“Well, I dunno, stranger,” Marvin hedged. “Sounds a mite bit shady to me.”

“Mr. O’Shea told me to tell you it was all right to post it.”

The stranger’s words rippled around her and anger replaced her fascination with him.

“What business do you have with Mr. O’Shea?” she snapped as she stepped out into full view.

Marvin’s eyebrows went clear to his hairline and he skittered backwards like a bug.

The stranger turned toward her and his dark gaze swept her up and down. Noted the trousers, the old, faded calico shirt, the dirty neckerchief and scuffed chaps. Not to mention the battered hat that sat on her head with a big hole through the center of it. Her damned body betrayed her by warming to the touch of his gaze. She tried to clench her muscles and will away the feelings, but it was no use. She was aroused, dammit to hell.

“Ma’am.” He tipped his hat. Elisa caught a glimpse of dark, wavy hair that looked as soft as satin. “Mr. O’Shea is a prospective client.”

That did it. She stomped forward until she was nearly nose to nose with him, well, nose to chin anyway.

“That makes you an enemy of mine. Anyone who does business with that son of a bitch deserves what they get. More than likely a bullet in the back and empty pockets.” Elisa glanced at Marvin. “Let me know when that new tack comes in, Marvin.”

The older man nodded, his gaze swinging back and forth like a clock pendulum between Elisa and the stranger.

“Strong words, ma’am,” the stranger said. “I don’t rightly know what put the bee in your bonnet, but I don’t believe I am anyone’s enemy in Grayton.”

Grayton. A town named after her grandfather. A town that allowed the largest landowner in the county to steal the land her grandfather had rightly claimed fifty years ago.

“Wrong.” Elisa turned and headed toward the door. One strong hand clamped on her arm, stopping her exit, and almost stopping her heart. She thought meeting his gaze gave her body a shock. Touching him nearly gave her apoplexy.

“Let go of me,” she ground out through clenched teeth, hoping the baggy shirt hid the telltale peaks of her nipples. She had the crazy notion of grabbing him and kissing him until neither one of them could see straight.

“Pardon me,” he said as he released her arm. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry you believe I’m your enemy. Far from it. My name is Nathaniel Marchand. My friends call me Nate.”

Nathaniel Marchand. Nate.

“And you are?”

Elisa realized she stood there staring into his bottomless black eyes and hadn’t responded to his introduction or his apology. She cursed her freckled complexion and hoped a flush hadn’t crept up her cheeks.

“No friend of that bastard O’Shea. I’ll tell you this, Mr. Marchand. If you do business with him, you are definitely my enemy.”

With that, she forced her feet to keep walking out the door and back to the ranch. She didn’t trust herself. Mr. Marchand was like a box of chocolates she wanted to savor, bite by bite, but if he was in business with O’Shea, she’d do well to keep her mouth to herself.

* * * * *

Nate watched the young woman leave the store and with great effort resisted the urge to chase after her. Holy hell, just the sight of her had affected him like nothing he’d ever felt before. She wasn’t classically beautiful, or even clean for that matter, but there was something…elemental about her that made his dick stand at attention and his balls heavy with need. Her intelligence and wit were obvious, and as sharp as that tongue of hers.

“Who was that?” he asked the older man.

“Elisa Taggert. ’Twas her granddaddy, Jed Grayton, who started this town from a patch of dirt in the middle of nowhere. He brought the first head of cattle out here and set up his ranch.”

Elisa. The name fit her Irish beauty perfectly. The pert freckled nose, the deep blue eyes that practically shot sparks at him, and those lips. Hell, he was going to dream about those pink lips for the rest of his life. They were plump and pouty by nature—the kind that made him want to nibble and lick for hours. He shifted in his trousers, hoping Marvin didn’t notice the erection currently pulsing between his legs. Damn that little hellion.

“O’Shea said you could set up that advertisement?”

Nate shook his head to clear it. The fiery woman in the trousers had not only confused his body, she’d confused his mind. He’d even forgotten he was hungry.

“Yes, he did. Would it be acceptable to hang it in the window?”