The Bounty Hunter’s Surrender Book Excerpt

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An expecting widow, a rugged bounty hunter, and a set of secrets that might shatter her fragile heart.

The death of Aubrey Willot’s wealthy but abusive husband left her with an unborn child, an empty chateau, and the last name of a criminal. When she learns he double-crossed a ruthless business associate, she’s forced to accept the protection of the handsome and daring bounty hunter tasked with finding her late husband’s fortune. Though Aubrey swore never to trust another man, she can’t help but be drawn to the bounty hunter’s rugged charm.

After a tragic mistake cost him everything, Nathan Reed spent years running from his past. Now, he needs funds to care for his orphaned niece, and quickly. The chance to retrieve a set of stolen documents offers an opportunity he can’t resist. He’ll find those papers and claim the reward, even if it means deceiving the alluring young widow.

As danger rises, Aubrey’s strength, honesty, and compassion break down Nathan’s defenses, daring him to embrace a future he never imagined—a loving wife and a family of his own. But when his secrets are exposed, will his chance at redemption and Aubrey’s heart slip through his fingers?

KyLee Woodley teaches preschool at a lab school in Texas where she lives with her husband of 18 years and their three teenage children. Having been raised in the Pacific Northwest and spent part of her adult life in Texas, she has a deep respect for American values. She grew up in an impoverished area and began ministering to homeless, drug addicted, and desperate people while in her teens. As a result, she feels a deep sense of concern for society’s unloved. This comes through in her stories, enriched with historical detail that shows how loving the unlovely is a timeless need. On weekends, KyLee cohosts and produces the Historical Bookworm Show—a steadily growing author interview podcast for history lovers and readers of historical fiction.

CHAPTER TWO

May 1875 
Cariboo Mountain, Idaho

Two months later Cariboo Mountain, Idaho Lorraine Durand dropped another sliver of meat into the claw-marked dirt. A sagebrush lizard bit off a portion of the jerky and raced with it across the dusty earth on the banks of Tin Cup Creek. Cariboo Mountain offered a reprieve. Here the cool air invigorated, the wild grouse picked its way along, and the creeks ran in sparkling streams. Ah, yes, a glimmer of peace…despite her nefarious reason for being here. 

The other gang members were stationed away from the road but close enough to see the shipment when it came by. 

In the shade of pines that grew along the stream, Beau Fox stood in the nearby creek, water up to his knees, his gun belt hanging around his thin hips and shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows. 

“I got one! A gold nugget.” He grinned and switched to their native language. “Pépite d’or.”

Lorraine raised her eyebrows in response.

Beau sloshed forward, and the men waiting by the road hurried to see the treasure. The two Baker brothers were Americans, but even if they had been French, she would still keep her distance. It was better that way. Easier. Though clad in her work clothes—canvas britches, chaps, boots, a denim shirt, and a gun belt—she knew better than to get too close. She was female and, to make matters worse, she was in charge. 

Of course, Beau made his way over, smashing the lizard’s jerky under his large boot when he plopped down on the log beside her. “Look here, Lorrie.” He spoke French again, as he pinched a golden pea-sized nugget between forefinger and thumb. 

“You are a rich man.” She gulped from her canteen, then offered it to him. Sure, it was a mite familiar, but in the wild, some notions of politeness were left alone. One always shared their food and drink with their fellows.

“Nothing compared to what’s gonna be coming around that there bend any time now.” One of the brothers pointed to the curve in the nearby dirt road. 

Lorraine wiped sweat from her eyes, her hands shaking.

“You are nervous.” Beau hunched his shoulders, not looking a bit uneasy himself. “Yes, if someone gets hurt…” All she could do was shake her head. 

“That is what you are here for.” He nudged her, and she swayed to the side, then came back to center.

“I don’t want him to think he can just call me in on a job. This is not the life for me. I refused to come west years ago for that very reason. If it weren’t for the people in New Caledonia?—”

“You don’t have to worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.” He gave her a serious nod.

Lorraine made sure not to meet his gaze too long. Though sometimes Beau focused on her with care that could be more, she knew better than to compromise their friendship. They had seen too much war together, too much suffering. More importantly, he’d chosen the life of a marauder. That wasn’t for her. She just needed to finish this job and head back East.

The lizard she’d been entertaining before Beau joined her crept from between two rocks, his scales casting a pattern of browns and tans. The pounding of a horse’s hooves silenced the company. The brothers, a pair nearly identical with cowhide vests and double pistol belts, withdrew farther into the trees.

Lorraine tossed her jerky toward her four-legged visitor and tucked her hair up into her tan Stetson. The last of their gang, Pierre Martin, rode through the trees. He was a slender Frenchman with a mean squint, whom Lorraine had never liked, but her boss said he had to be there, so she made sure he put her in charge.

“It’s on its way.” He swung down off his horse, flashing large square teeth and clutching his gun.

“No killing.” She spoke to all the men, narrowing her eyes on those new to their company. “We are not here to murder. If you are fast enough and smart enough, you don’t need to kill.”

Beau interpreted for the newcomers as he checked the straps of his saddle.

Annoyance flickered in Pierre’s face. “There was trouble with the wagon. At least that’s what I heard at the camp. Should come around that bend any minute.”

“Good. Emil wants us back by May twenty-first.” At the thought of the date, a cold shiver passed through Lorraine. The shadows of her past crept into her mind, but she forced them away. She could not risk distraction at this moment.

Lorraine swung onto her horse. “In position?” 

Already, the brothers had slingshots ready. Beau had the extra horses by the reins, and Lorraine patted her own mount’s neck. Silvia was tense, the muscles beneath her black coat rippling, as though she, too, was excited for the race ahead.

“No killing.” She aimed the direction of her glare at Pierre, who chuckled.

“A saintly bandit? You know, when you get to the pearly gates, they’re still not going to let you in.”

The rumble of iron wheels on the dirt road sounded. Beau hunched down, and Pierre inspected his nails while the Americans positioned themselves, one behind a boulder and the other around a large pine.

The horses came up the road at a swift clip, probably to recover lost time. The driver held four sets of reins, and at his side, a tall young man of about twenty gripped a rifle. The wagon was weighted down, and though she couldn’t see the cargo, there were two more men with sawed-off shotguns riding rear guard.

Pierre whistled low. “Three guards and the driver. You better hope them boys are good shots.” He drew his sidearm. “Don’t worry. I’ll be ready.”

She shook her head. At least she didn’t have to see him after this job.

The transport rolled by with a racket of rumbling wood and horses’ hooves. A rock flew through the air, then another, dropping one rear guard, followed by the next. Neither one landed badly, so both men should recover.

Lorraine pressed her heels into Silvia’s sides, and the horse bounded forward. The ground rushed beneath her, the scene ahead blurred by clouds of dust. The driver and last remaining guard sat on the seat, not noticing their incapacitated comrades. The rocks that flew next missed, hitting the wagon with a loud thump. So much for the Baker brothers being so handy with their slings as promised. Should she pull off? No, if she did, Pierre might put his pistol to use. 

Lorraine rode closer, and her mount—less burdened than the team—caught up quickly. She stabilized her feet on the seat of the saddle, as she often did as part of her equestrian act for the circus, then leapt into the back of the wagon.

The guard whirled, bringing his weapon with him as Lorraine drew her Colt revolver. An explosion of gunpowder from the man’s weapon racked her ears. She looked down expecting to see blood, but he’d fired past her. She brought the butt of her weapon down on his head, knocking him senseless. Lorraine dragged him back over the seat, only to receive a fist to the gut. The driver held the reins with one hand and swung wildly with the other.

She cracked him over the head and grasped for the reins before they could slip away. His dead weight shifted toward the edge of the wagon, the wheel below a blur of spinning iron. Pulling hard, Lorraine flipped him into the wagon bed and climbed into the seat. Feet staked apart, she jerked on the reins, shouting for the team to slow.

Finally, the team stopped, huffing and grumbling as though she had targeted them and not their masters. Dust floated around her. Beau rode up, yipping and laughing. Next, the brothers arrived and went straight for the gold.

Lorraine hooked the reins around the holder and set the brake. She went to the horses, calming the poor beasts with her voice and rubbing down their backs. Silvia came trotting up, whinnying at Lorraine as though she were celebrating.

Pierre, an expert at knots and binding of ropes, secured the driver first. “Good work, Lorraine. I checked the two that fell. Out cold.”

“Alive?”

“Yes, blast it. Oh, but look.” He rolled the young guard onto his back. “This one is dead.” 

“Non!” She jerked her head around, though Pierre laughed. He was always baiting her. 

“You are one dangerous female. Look at all the blood.” He hefted the man aside to reach the gold. 

The front guard lay at an odd angle. She checked his pulse. Fast but steady. A paste of sweat and blood matted the hair to his temples. The cut was not deep. Still, the red turned her stomach. He looked to be in his twenties like her, tall and strong, yet somehow he seemed younger. The poor fool probably didn’t know what troubles life could bring him.

The Baker brothers laughed and grunted as they transferred bags of gold into saddlebags. 

Squatting in the bed, Pierre withdrew a bag and unsheathed his knife.

“We do not have time for that.” Lorraine strode to the tailgate.

“What, a woman who does not enjoy riches?” Pierre laughed, threads shredding against his blade.

Sweat pouring down the side of her scalp, Lorraine removed her hat for a moment. Her associate drew out a measure of gold. It glittered in the breeze, sweeping toward her. The flecks coated her skin like the sheen of satin. Beautiful, yes, but far more importantly, funds that would be spent on those who, unlike her, had not been so fortunate to escape to America.

“What is this?” One of the Baker brothers hefted a crate but swore at its contents. He sounded out the English words on a mahogany box. “‘American…Opti-cal Compact View Camera.’” He looked up, toothless and bright-eyed. “What’s a camera doing here?”

After shoving in the last of the bags that would fit, Lorraine buckled her saddlebags while the men loaded up the extra horses she and Beau would take when the gang split up. “There is still so much gold left. We should have brought a wagon.” She frowned at Pierre, who had been in contact with someone associated with the mine.

He shrugged and rolled the driver over to loot his pockets.

“Pierre, think of how much good could be done, the people…”

He shot her a glare, as though warning her. Revealing too much in front of the Bakers was unwise. Except they could not understand French. At least she assumed so. Still, she frowned at Pierre. “Did you know there would be so much?”

“No. If it was up to me, we’d be taking the lot.”

Imbecile. With funds like this, Emil could fund a rescue or ransom those imprisoned. Didn’t Pierre care about their cause?

When one of the men nearly fell under the weight of the gold, Pierre laughed. Nothing of what had happened in Paris seemed to affect him, even though he had kin there during the Bloody Week. How could he just go on with his life? Selfish man.

At last the gold was loaded, and Lorraine and Beau went in the opposite direction of the men, heading toward a neighboring mine. The gold would be shipped out as though it were dug there, not in the Alexander mine.

She glanced back, a strange prickling at her neck, only to see Pierre and the brothers still near the wagon. One man unhitched a horse while another lifted the handsome young guard. Pierre was motioning back toward the fallen guards down the road. What were they up to?