Trapped by a Cunning Enemy (Preview)

Chapter One

Colorado, 1878

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, Brad? Or should I sit here and guess, lost as a bangtail?”

Brad looked up from his empty plate. It didn’t seem to matter that he had finished his food some time ago; he had continued to stare down at that empty crockery as if it would offer up some answers. Through the candlelight and across the table, he could see Ilsa’s amused features.

The dark blonde hair that was so usually coiffed neatly back from her head hung a little looser around her shoulders this evening. The effect was enchanting. The candlelight dazzled in those golden locks, making them appear almost orange. Brad could happily imagine himself running his fingers through those locks in a moment of weakness.

I shouldn’t think of such things.

He cleared his throat as if somehow that simple action could clear the blur of his mind. Ilsa’s bold green eyes were still staring at him, unblinkingly, in that rather intense way. She had a habit of doing such a thing, of pinning Brad to the spot with minimal effort.

“I suppose I should guess then,” she said with a smile of mischief, laying down her cutlery and leaning on the table. She rested her chin in the curve of her hand, allowing those green orbs to dance over Brad as she lost herself in thought. “You been at the ranch Scotch again?”

“Am I that easy to read?” he said in jest, already laughing. Her smile grew wider as he matched her stance, leaning on the table so that he closed the distance between them a little. It was always easy to laugh with Ilsa. Somehow, despite the darkness that could invade Brad’s mind at times, Ilsa had a habit of lightening it.

“Perhaps,” she continued the jest. “It seems I must endeavor to read you better, for you like to keep your cards close to your chest, Brad.”

“I am not that bad.”

In answer, she merely raised her eyebrows, showing what she thought of his words. He smiled a little more, holding back his chuckle.

“Well, perhaps I could be a little more forthcoming.”

“In that aim, let me get us another drink.” She stood eagerly to her feet and walked away from the table. “One thing is always guaranteed to make a man’s tongue loose.”

“I would say you are trying to seduce me, Ilsa.” Brad sat back in his chair and watched as Ilsa walked away to a cabinet in the corner of the kitchen. She glanced back at him over her shoulder, offering another one of those playful smiles. Yet again, Brad felt light. The world’s dangers were gone, and nothing mattered except that smile.

Yet when I leave this house, it will all matter again. The darkness … it will return.

It was always the way. His past came back to haunt him, even when he was trying to lose himself in happiness with Ilsa. He wanted to be here and was happy here, but the question was if he could let go of the past just yet.

“You are alone in my house, and not for the first time.” Ilsa reached into the cabinet and brought out a bottle of rum. She crossed back to the dining table they were using, the cascading gown of her dark green dress swaying with the movement, then she placed the bottle beside Brad. “If this was all about seduction, we could have been done a long time ago.” She winked with her words, making Brad chuckle again. “Care to pour?”

“Gladly, but just one tonight.” Brad poured out the rum, keeping his eyes down on the small glasses, aware Ilsa’s movements had become stilted. She was clearly staring at him, startled by his words.

“You are planning to leave so soon after dinner?” Her voice held a sincerity to it. She was no longer jesting. No, she was worried. Brad kept his eyes down on the glasses as he finished pouring.

He knew exactly what she would be looking at as she continued staring at him. She would be gazing at the unruly mass of black hair atop his head as if tousled freshly by wind seconds ago and the bristle upon his cheeks that he had been unable to shave very closely. His clothes betrayed his calling. He may have smartened up for their evening together with a fresh plaid shirt and jeans, but the holster was still at his hips, and the white cowboy hat was slung nearby. One glance would show he was a rancher, through and through.

“Brad, you do not have to leave so quickly, you know,” she whispered the words as if afraid to say them too loudly.

Brad lifted his eyes to meet hers and raised one of the glasses. Silently, he encouraged her to toast him. She sighed and picked up the other glass as she returned to her seat and chinked it with his own in the air.

“What are we toasting?” she murmured, holding his gaze.

“A better future.”

“You make the same toast every time.”

“Of course, I do.” He took the glass and downed the rum in one, feeling the burn down the back of his throat. It made the scents of the cooking beef that still hung in the air somehow stronger, before the burn settled down in his stomach. Ilsa didn’t drink her rum so quickly. She took a gulp, but plenty remained in her glass.

“You could stay a little later tonight,” she spoke softly again. Brad always knew when she was nervous to say something. Confident and bold Ilsa speaking quietly and delicately? No, it was so unlike her; it was plain she was saddened by something.

By my intention to leave.

Brad glanced around the room, trying to think quickly. Ilsa’s house was a small one. It was to be expected after being left a widow. On the little money her late husband had left her and the money she earned from working as a cook in the nearest hotel, she could keep the home warm. The fire in the hearth beside them had burnt down to ashes, leaving a subtle stench of smoke in the air. Now and then, those ashes would crack and spit, showing the burn was still there and quietly alive.

“Ilsa, I would love to, but …” Brad paused. He lowered his glass to the table and scratched his jaw, working up the courage to speak.

“You don’t need to say anymore.” Ilsa brought a smile to her face. It wasn’t difficult to see the falseness of it. She was trying to remain happy, despite the sadness he had brought her. “Here, have another drink. I’ll clear the plates.” She left him the rum bottle as she stood to her feet and collected his plate.

Brad sighed as one of his hands settled on the pocket of his jeans. Inside, he had a ring in a small velvet box. It was a new ring, bought from the local jeweler’s just a few weeks before. Now the time had come to ask Ilsa, though, something he was so certain he wanted, he found he struggled to do so.

I’ve been down this road before, haven’t I? Maybe it’s time to acknowledge the corn … maybe some people aren’t destined for happiness. I could be one of those people since that day everything changed.

Brad’s dark eyes traced Ilsa as she walked around the kitchen, moving the plates to a trough she used for a sink. She kept her back to him for a minute, apparently reluctant to speak at all. It was so unlike her. It showed he had hurt her with his words.

I cannot ask her. Not now.

He released the ring in his pocket, deciding the question would have to wait for another day. Instead, he topped up the rum glass and took another sip, waiting for Ilsa to return to the table. When she did, tidying the mess they had made with their dinner, he raised his hand and softly took her wrist, making her pause with her duties. Her skin was soft and warm beneath his touch, and the suddenness of his movements had surprised her, making her green eyes widen on him.

“Tell me something,” he whispered, despite the fact they were the only ones in the house. “Do you ever think of the past?”

She closed her eyes. It was abrupt as if he had brought despair to the room with those words.

I do. All the time.

He kept the thought to himself. For a second, he could have sworn a ghost walked between him and Ilsa. She was still there … The woman he had married before. She would always be there in his mind, even if she was not there in person. He could imagine Betty walking past her and Ilsa, with her floral dress practically rustling with each step she took. She’d be laughing at some nonsensical joke, as she always did, pointing out the folly of Brad’s ways.

I am happy here.

Brad knew the truth of the matter. Courting Ilsa, together, they had become whole again. Yet the more he thought of pulling that ring box out of his pocket, the more he wondered about the past. It brought it back to him, making him nervous.

“You know I do.” Ilsa’s words dragged Brad’s thoughts back to the moment. Ilsa was staring at him once again, and the thoughts of Betty faded away. “Yet I don’t believe I think about it as much as you do.”

“What do you mean?” Brad asked. Ilsa returned to her seat, yet she didn’t move her arm out of his grasp. Instead, she changed that hold so their hands were interconnected across the table. Brad clutched onto that hand, feeling the warmness of her fingers beneath his touch.

It stirred that same longing within his chest, that same devotion he had known for some time now.

Devotion leads to pain. I know that.

“I mean what happened to this town brought tragedy to all of us,” Ilsa spoke firmly, her voice resolute as she held Brad’s gaze. “It brought us both pain. Pain that is unspeakable as it is so great. Yet I’ve chosen not to dwell on it anymore. I’ve chosen to look to the future instead.”

“The future?” Brad repeated as if the notion were baffling to him.

Is she not afraid the past will repeat itself?

“I choose to hope, Brad.” Ilsa smiled a little. It was a genuine smile, showing her positivity in life. “There is no harm in that.”

“No. No harm at all.” Brad loved the feeling as Ilsa slid their hands together a little more. Their palms ended up pressed flat, and their fingers entwined. It was so intimate that they both gazed at that handhold.

This … this is how it should always feel.

That sense of breathlessness and excitement was back, but Brad was nervous to indulge in it. He was too conscious of the ring in his pocket and what it meant. He had to decide if he was prepared to take this risk all over again, if he was willing to risk giving Ilsa everything in case he lost her, the way he had lost Betty.

I cannot ask Ilsa tonight.

“I should be more like you.” Brad broke the silence eventually. “I should hold onto hope; I should not be thinking about … about the past.” He nearly said Betty’s name, but he managed to hold back. He rather thought that Ilsa could sense he had nearly uttered his late wife’s name, for Ilsa looked rather sad, staring down at their hands.

“Let me know when you are where I am, Brad,” she said softly. “I have no intention of going anywhere.”

Her words prompted him to lift her hand. He pressed it close to his lips, kissing the back. The way Ilsa gasped at that touch made that thrill pass through him again. His palms were clammy, and his hairs stood on end.

Not yet. I cannot ask her yet.

Still, the ring box felt significantly heavier in his pocket than it had done before.

“I should go,” he murmured, holding her hand back from his lips.

“Your ranch needs tucking into bed for the night?” Ilsa returned to her old jests. Brad rather thought she was forcing the matter, trying to seem upbeat, but he was thankful for it. The two of them stood to their feet, and he made his way to the door. “You keep good care of that ranch, Brad. Ain’t a soul in Fort Springs that would not want that land.”

“God knows why,” Brad scoffed as he took his cowboy hat off a sideboard and placed it on his head. Ilsa found his jacket, from where it was slung across the back of a chair, and helped him into it, one sleeve at a time. “Sometimes, I think that land isn’t just a blessing. It’s also a curse.” His words made all fall still between them.

Ilsa paused with her hands on his shoulders, from where she had helped him with that jacket. Her palms ran down the tops of his arms, sending a shiver of excitement through him.

“The past is not doomed to repeat itself, Brad,” she whispered as he turned round to face her.

Perhaps you’re right.

Yet he couldn’t be sure.

Brad tipped his hat back a little and stepped closer to Ilsa, unable to resist her. His lips found hers in a sweet kiss. It was chaste. There was nothing too fervent or vigorous about it, for he held himself back, despite the temptation. Still, her lips against his were a promise, of what else could happen, and it made that same stirring begin in his abdomen once again. Brad happily lost himself in that kiss, thinking only of Ilsa’s lips on his and how her hands curled around the lapels of his jacket before they parted.

At last, Ilsa had a full smile back on her lips.

“You sure you don’t want to stay?” she said playfully.

“Don’t tempt me.” He chuckled softly at her words. “I’ll see you soon, Ilsa.”

“Goodnight, Brad.” She kissed him one last time, a quick thing that made his lips meet hers again, then he stepped out of the house.

The air outside was cool. The day’s warmth had parted, replaced by a chill that would have made the animals run and hide in their burrows. As Brad stepped out, he turned up the collar of his jacket and walked on, only glancing back to Ilsa to make sure she went back inside to safety.

There’s danger in this town, I’m sure of it.

He always thought as much these days. Ilsa waved one last time, then closed the door, much to his relief. One more minute of standing there with her and Brad would have been tempted to go back to her and stay after all.

The wind picked up. The coldness grew sharp as Brad laid a hand on his hat, determined not to lose it in the vicious breeze. That same wind muffled the sounds of the trees rustling nearby and the caterwauling from the saloon. Only when Brad turned a corner in the street, heading back to his ranch on the other side of town, did he see the saloon. Much closer to it now, the sounds were audible above the wind.

Men had spilled outside. Some were smoking, others drinking, and one played with a gun, twirling it back and forth across his finger like the legendary cowboys were said to do. Brad scoffed, eager to go on until he saw two men he knew spilling out of the door.

“Brad? That you?” A tall man loped toward Brad. His dark auburn hair was slicked across his head tonight, with so much wax it seemed as if he had stuck his head in a bucket of water and combed his head back from his temple.

“Austin. You been drinking, I see,” Brad said, pointing to his friend, who began to stagger a little. “Woah, careful there.” Brad caught Austin’s arm and stopped the man from falling over.

“Perhaps I’ve had one or two drinks.”

“One or two? Pah!” His friend laughed beside him. This was Carter. A younger man full of gusto and bravery until the time for real bravery came. Brad had once seen Carter run and flee when a bull got loose in the town’s street. He was all mouth. “Old Austin here can’t count his drinks when he’s playing poker. He’s too busy counting the cards.”

“Hey. I’m not that bad.” Yet Austin began to slip in Brad’s grasp. Brad had to work doubly hard to keep the man on his feet. “Speaking of which, we need a fourth for our game.” As Austin returned to stand, he turned his focus on Brad and took his shoulder. “What do you say, Brad?”

“Me?” Brad glanced back up the road from which he had come. There was something infinitely more tempting about returning to Ilsa and forgetting his woes in her arms. Yet there was something tempting here too.

“You!” Austin confirmed, slapping Brad’s shoulder a little harder than he had clearly intended to do in his drunken state. “You want to go home yet? The night is young! Your lady tossed you out so soon tonight?”

“Ah, the changing heart of a young lady.” Carter placed a hand to his chest with the words dramatically. “Who knows when she’ll tip you out of her house.”

Brad did not have the heart to say he had gone willingly. He knew what his friends would have said to that. They would have scoffed and called him a fool. Ilsa was not only desired for her beauty, but she was also respected, and there was no other woman in town so astute and perceptive as she was. She could beat many a man in a game of wits if given the chance.

“What do you say, Brad?” Austin was already steering Brad toward the saloon doors swinging on their hinges in the breeze. “One round of poker to forget your lady?”

“Well …” Brad thought again. As much as he had wanted to escape Ilsa that night, to stop himself from thinking too much of the past, he didn’t particularly want to go home either.

There are too many demons there to haunt me.

“Maybe just one round.” Brad stepped through the saloon doors.

Chapter Two

The world has become a little blurry.

The thought made Brad laugh as he took another gulp of the Scotch the barkeeper had served him. Around him, the others were drinking. Each man was tossing an increased number of coins onto the table, upping the bet, though all were far too drunk to pay much attention to what was in each hand.

Perhaps this is what I needed tonight. The chance to forget for a short while.

The Scotch and the gambling had done its job. He may have been very aware of Ilsa, who he had left behind, and the ring box in his pocket, but he could no longer imagine Betty wandering through the saloon around him. He couldn’t think of the floral pattern of her dress nor the rose scent of her perfume. He only thought of the stench of smoke in the air and the taste of Scotch as he took another gulp.

“Deal me another.” Brad nodded his head at the dealer.

“Your last one.” The dealer nodded his head as he passed over the card.

Brad had to think hard in his addled state to think of the man’s name.

Tony, is it? Toby? Maybe Anthony?

He wasn’t quite sure. Brad shifted the focus to the cards in his hands, returning to think of the only thing that mattered at this moment. In his grasp, he now had three jacks. It was certainly a good hand, so he raised the stakes.

“Oh, too rich for my blood.” Carter folded, placing his cards down on the table. “Austin, if you can take your gaze out of your glass for one minute, it is your turn.”

“Is it?” Austin said in amazement as he lifted his head from the glass, leaning so far sideways that he nearly fell into Brad beside him. Brad chuckled as he righted Austin on his stool.

“Finish that glass and you’ll end up on the floor.” Brad smiled with his words.

“Is that a bet? I’ll take that wager, my friend.” Austin laid a crisp note on the table.

“Hey, I thought we were wagering on cards?” Carter asked, waving his money between the two of them.

“We are. This is just an additional bet.” Austin shrugged as if it was no big deal.

“I’ll take that wager.” Brad placed another note on the table. “This says you’ll be on the floor before you can walk out of the door.”

“Agreed.” Austin was so blootered that he couldn’t see to put their notes together. Brad had to do it for him, pushing them to the middle of the table.

“So, Austin, are you going to call or fold?”

“Call.” Austin matched the bet for the cards and showed his hand. Brad cursed under his breath, for Austin had a royal flush. Brad handed over his money, much to Austin’s delight. “It seems lady luck is in my favor tonight.” He hooted with laughter and collected his winnings, dragging it toward him the way a wild dog would kick up mud. As Austin picked up his glass, downing what remained of his drink, his chair began to tip backward.

“Oh, it looks like I am about to collect on my other wager,” Brad said quietly with a smile.

“What do you mean?” Carter asked, but before Brad could answer, Austin tipped too far back in his chair and fell off. The clatter ricocheted around the saloon, making many men jerk their heads in Austin’s direction.

Carter guffawed with laughter as Brad collected his winnings from the table, then Brad reached down and took Austin’s arm, heaving him back into a sitting position.

“I think you’ve had enough for one night, Austin, both gambling and drinking.”

“You could be right. I’ll call it.” Austin stumbled to his feet, staggering so much that Brad had to jump to his feet too, the better to keep the man standing.

“You’ll be plaiting your legs on your walk home.” Brad ushered Austin forward.

“I’ll be fine,” Austin mumbled, shrugging off his worry.

“You want someone to walk you back?”

“No need. I have something to keep me company.” Austin held up the money he had won before he staggered toward the saloon doors. “Night all!” He practically fell into the doors, swinging them outward, before disappearing into the darkness.

“I’ll wager he doesn’t make it home but ends up sleeping it off in a ditch,” Carter said as Brad returned to the table.

“I’m not taking that bet.”

“It looks like our betting could be over for the night, fellas,” the dealer said. “We need our fourth player now.”

“I’ll take that place, Antony.”

Antony, so that’s the dealer’s name.

Brad’s addled mind took a minute to realize just who had spoken. Leaning on the table, he lifted his gaze to see another man had approached the table, someone Brad would have happily stayed clear from that night.

Tall, lanky, and gaunt in build, the hollowness of his cheeks suggested he was a man who lived on hunger. His blue eyes were rather cold, even in the myriad dark orange candles filling the saloon. It was as if he had brought ice into the room with him. Tipping his cowboy hat back on his head, the fellow rancher eyed Brad closely.

“Don’t mind if I join, do you, Brad?”

Brad would have happily turned the man down, but he didn’t want to cause a scene, especially when he was this drunk. Unable to hold himself to any amount off decorum, he wouldn’t come out of it looking good.

“Don’t mind at all, Marcus.” Brad kept his thoughts to himself as he turned his focus back to the dealer. “Deal.”

Antony began to deal out the cards as Marcus took the chair beside Brad.

***

Marcus couldn’t believe his luck as the cards were dealt out. He had been so certain that his plan would go wrong after hearing where Brad was to spend the evening.

After all, who would turn their back on an evening with the lovely Ilsa for a night of gambling and drinking? Even more of a reason for Marcus to think Brad was a fool. Quite frankly, if Marcus had Ilsa on his arm, he would not have left that house. Wild horses wouldn’t have been able to drag him away.

Well, Brad is not like other men, is he? He doesn’t think straight.

As the barkeeper circled their round table, offering up more glasses of Scotch, Marcus was careful to slide his glass further away. He didn’t need another drink tonight. He needed to keep a clear head if all was going to go well.

Waiting for the perfect moment, he tapped his fingers restlessly on the table. All it took was for Brad and Carter to be drawn into conversation together, then Marcus subtly nodded at Antony. That nod was returned.

Now … we begin.

Antony shuffled the cards. Well, he made an appearance of shuffling the cards. With Brad and Carter so distracted by their conversation, only Marcus noticed his actions. Antony slipped away the deck they had been playing with, tucking it inside his sleeve, then he pulled out a second deck of cards, this one already ordered to play. Then, he began to deal out the cards.

Marcus smiled and took his hand. He had been waiting for this moment for so long, he would indulge in it. Lighting his cigar, he sat back in his chair, prepared to win a few hands and lose a few as long as they got him to the right moment.

“I’ll confess, I’m surprised to see you here tonight, Marcus.” Brad’s words startled Marcus enough to look up from his cards. “Your offer on my land suggested you were not doing too well for money as of late.”

“We all need a chance to forget our demons, don’t we, Brad?” Marcus took a heavy drag on the cigar, his gaze lingering. Something changed in the man. Brad tipped his head back a little, making the black hair at his temple dance before he returned his focus to the cards in his grasp. “A little distraction goes a long way. I’m drinking and gambling to forget the fact my ranch produces little these days. That is no secret.” Still, Marcus didn’t take the glass. He had no intention of really drinking. “What demons are you trying to forget?” Marcus couldn’t resist goading Brad.

The air around the table shifted. Brad was not the only one to glare Marcus’ way. Carter did too, and even Antony shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“The whole town knows my demons,” Brad said quietly, gesturing to Antony to give him one fresh card. “We don’t talk about that.”

“Fair enough.” Marcus hid his smile by taking another drag on the cigar. The matter of Brad’s past was why Brad was so stubborn in refusing to sell his land.

His late wife and child are buried there. It doesn’t seem to matter that their souls are no longer there. He won’t leave the land where they are buried.

“I thought perhaps another woe had brought you here tonight.” Marcus tipped the ash from his cigar into a plate in the center of the table. “Perhaps the lovely Ilsa has caused that frown?”

Once again, Brad’s eyes shot sharply to him.

“No.” Brad’s sharp answer tempted Marcus to chuckle again, but he hid it.

Nothing wrong with Ilsa, eh? There soon will be. What woman would stick by a man after what is to happen tonight?

If Marcus’ plan went well, then soon Brad’s perfect little life would shatter, rather like a glass window, into fractured shards.

“We having a church meeting, or are we gambling, eh?” Carter said, thumping the table rather jovially. “Come on. Let’s take our bets.” They all added their chips to the middle and revealed.

Carter won the first hand; then they were dealt out again. It was imperative for Marcus’ plan to work, that at first, Brad didn’t win a thing. Once more, Marcus shared a certain look with Antony. The subtle way Antony scratched his nose showed all was going well. So far, people had taken cards when they were supposed to.

“You’re running out of money there, Brad.” Marcus waited until they were a few rounds in, then pointed at the diminishing pile on Brad’s side of the table. “Care to wager something of more value?”

This is your last chance. Take it, Brad, you fool.

Yet Brad shook his head.

“I know what you want me to wager.” Brad added his last coins to the middle. “You want the ranch, eh? Well, you’re not having it. It’s my land. I could swear I have told you it a hundred times, but I’ll tell it to you a thousand times more if it needs to be said.” Brad held Marcus’ gaze. “My land is not for sale.”

“You must know men will keep offering to buy it, Brad,” Carter said conversationally, taking another card from Antony. “Since the flood, those changing riverbanks have altered the fortune of a lot of men in this town. Most for the worst. Somehow, yours came out for the better.”

---

“Trapped by a Cunning Enemy” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

The last few years have not been easy for Brad. After the floods that struck his land, he lost the only two people he loved that day; his wife, and his son. Years later, Brad is willing to give love another chance with Ilsa, the late sheriff’s widow. Fate has other plans though, and when he’s suddenly accused of murder, he’ll need to fight like hell to prove his innocence. Can Brad uncover who is behind all this? Or will he have to face the hangman’s noose?

The stakes have never been higher…

Elliot is Brad’s prison cellmate. When he hears the story of how he got into jail, he is convinced that the same evil man who plotted against him may be behind it again. Bringing the man who wronged him to justice has become his obsession, but to achieve it he has come up with a crazy plan…

He’ll have to fight to save both their lives…

A wild game of cat and mouse ensues as the two brave men attempt to escape prison and bring the man who framed them to justice. What they don’t expect, however, is that their common enemy is even more vicious than they thought. It’s about time they settled old debts with bullets…

“Trapped by a Cunning Enemy” is a historical adventure novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cliffhangers, only pure unadulterated action.

Get your copy from Amazon!