The Outlaw of Cedar Ridge. Lori Connelly
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The Outlaw of Cedar Ridge
Book One in The Men of Fir Mountain
Lori Connelly
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
www.harpercollins.co.uk
Contents
HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
77–85 Fulham Palace Road
Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2013
Copyright © Lori Connelly 2013
Cover Photographs © shutterstock.com
Lori Connelly asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © August 2013 ISBN: 9780007544486
Version 2014-10-03
Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.
In loving memory of my Grandma, Martha Evie, and for all those who believed; my Bear, my kids Jason, John, Michael, Sara, my granddaughter, Lily, my mom Judy, my aunts Kaye and Karen and my sister Teri.
The saloon doors slammed open. “That yellow-bellied, four-flusher,” a tall man complained loudly as he staggered out of the Bucking Pony, “needs to be taught a lesson.”
The breeze carried the sound of stomping feet and more raised voices through the night. Benjamin Rolfe, only a few yards away, took a prudent side step off the boarded sidewalk. From where he hid, in-between two dark, empty buildings, Ben could only make out snippets.
“Low down dirty cheater.”
“I warned the boss not to buy that horse from Rolfe.”
Curious, Ben peeked around the corner. Talbert’s men. He counted the figures of at least six men standing by the horses tied in front of the saloon.
“If the sheriff won’t do his job, then someone needs to do it for him.”
Ben moved back into the deeper shadows. He didn’t care what some drunken ranch hands thought of him and wasn’t about to risk his hide defending an already ruined reputation. With his back against a rough wood wall, he let their tirade drift past him, waiting for them to leave.
Minutes passed with aggravating slowness. His mouth dry, thirst nagged by the time the men finally mounted up and rode out of town. Ben lingered out of plain sight a short time to be certain they were gone then continued on his way to the saloon.
Inside the batwing doors, the place was almost full. Ignoring the brief lull in conversation as he walked in, Ben crossed the room to stand at the bar and dropped his saddlebag to the floor. The bartender stared at him for a couple of seconds before slapping down a glass and filling it with cheap whiskey.
His hand curled around the glass but instead of taking the long drink he’d been craving for hours, the cowboy stared down at the golden brown liquid. He should be happy, celebrating. His share of the take would at least half fill the jar he’d emptied at home. Evie wouldn’t even have to know he’d broken another promise.
Ben tilted the glass slightly from one side to the other, watching the alcohol flow. He should go home. It was late and he needed to talk to his wife. The image of blue eyes filled with disappointment flashed through his mind. A muscle worked along his jaw and he tossed back the drink.
The whiskey burned