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  Kisses With KC

  Jo Noelle

  Copyright © 2018 by Jo Noelle

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The events, names, and characters are fictitious, and any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or actual events are purely coincidental.

  Kisses With KC: A Cowboys & Angels Romance

  Visit Jo's site at http://JoNoelle.com or connect with us on Facebook @JoNoelle.

  Contents

  Kisses With KC: A Cowboys & Angels Romance

  Kisses With KC

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Cowboys & Angels

  Also by Jo Noelle

  Kisses With KC

  As a result of mounting numbers of homesteaders abandoning Creede, Colorado, Eliza Turley suspects foul play. She’s worried for her friends and family if the real reason people are missing isn’t solved. She sends a letter requesting a detective come look into the strange disappearances. She hadn’t thought an agent would respond so quickly. The last thing Eliza is looking for is love. That’s when it ambushes her and knocks her from her horse.

  Because lawlessness is rampant in the newly settled west, KC Murray became an agent of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency. He lives a solitary life but a satisfying one, apprehending criminals in the Rocky Mountain region. In Creede, he disguises his identity, pretending to be a newcomer looking to settle there. He knows better than to get personally involved with anyone because the results are deadly—they have been before. That vow is hard to keep when he meets Eliza and untangles a plot that threatens her home and her life.

  1

  KC Murray

  KC Murray ducked into the shadows behind the wagon parked halfway in the grove that bordered a small clearing. The full moon was high in the sky, providing light for surveillance. Three men, the Holman brothers, sat in the camp he watched—all three with bounties on their heads for robbing freight lines in southern Colorado and the northern part of the New Mexico Territory. Alive—they had to be delivered alive.

  He suspected that their posters would be updated soon, based on their last two heists. A man had been killed when they stole the military guns. And in this last one, they’d killed two men in the process of stealing dynamite that had been headed to nearby mining operations. KC considered that the outlaws were lucky he’d found them now. He’d take them alive—if he could. They were getting bolder and more ruthless.

  He’d followed them for the two previous nights and knew they would soon set their watch and go to sleep. A stray donkey brayed in the distance as KC tucked back into the shadows and waited.

  He had hoped that the watches would be assigned as they had been before. Marco, the tallest brother, limped out to the perimeter first while the other two spread their bedrolls on opposite sides of the dwindling campfire. KC would wait until they were sound asleep before moving in.

  He planned to take out the first, wake the second after the first was secured, then repeat the process with the third. The placement of their wagon would facilitate his plan. He’d cinch up each man and toss him in the back with their loot before taking the next man out. Energy coursed through him, but repeating his plan—imagining the steps in his mind—held him back from acting too soon.

  Half an hour later, one man slept on his back, his mouth slack open, while the other man snored loudly. KC leaned onto the balls of his feet. He’d move as soon as Marco came nearer. The man took three steps closer and looked out into the darkened landscape, then shuffled toward KC again.

  He was just about where KC needed him. Four more steps…three more steps . . . two more steps…

  Suddenly, a donkey brayed again—louder and much closer this time. The tall outlaw froze, kneelt down, and drew his gun not six feet from where KC crouched. KC didn’t move a muscle. Even shifting his weight could snap a twig, and the thief could put a bullet clean through him just from nerves.

  KC decided to act now before that darned animal ruined his plan. He was mostly sure the other two men were still sound asleep. On the far side of the outlaw, the bushes rustled, and a small donkey moseyed into camp, drawing Marco’s attention. At least that had helped instead of hurt.

  In a sudden move, KC leaped behind Marco, struck him on the side of the head with the butt of his rifle, and felled him to the ground—out cold. He stuffed his mouth with a bandana and tied him up. Then he drug him through the dirt and wrestled him into the wagon bed.

  The donkey seemed to be in no hurry to move on and nibbled on clumps of grass in camp. She didn’t appear to have had a pack or bridle on her in the recent past, as her straggly fur was matted all over with mud.

  KC continued to the next man, Evan Holman. Witnesses identified this brother as one of the killers. The other shooter was the third brother.

  Several more pieces of rope hung from KC’s belt. First, he tied one around the outlaw’s feet to keep him from getting up once KC began to gag him. He had to work quickly to subdue the man without waking the third brother. Then more rope was used to secure Evan before storing him in the wagon, too.

  As KC turned around, he heard a rifle cock. He froze in place, looking down the barrel of a loaded, probably stolen, military rifle.

  “Untie my brothers,” the third man spat out. “And don’t do nothing stupid.” This was the man the other brothers had called Itchy, whose name on the wanted poster was Kip Holman.

  KC nodded. Even if he untied the men, he doubted that they’d just let him walk out of camp. What was he going to do? The donkey continued to munch on grass just to his right. When KC moved toward the wagon, the donkey brayed and kicked her feet into the air, clubbing the outlaw in the jaw. Itchy dropped to the dirt—out cold, too. It took a minute, but KC hogtied him up tight. He lined the men up in the bed of the wagon and placed boxes of dynamite in rows between them.

  “MayBelle? MayBelle?” called a voice from the stand of trees.

  At the edge of the clearing, an old man stepped out into the clearing. “You needed our help, and we got here just in time. You remember that now,” he said to KC.

  The donkey brayed and swung her head from side to side.

  “Stop your caterwalin’,” the man said to the donkey. “I’ll get you cleaned up. I knowed you was mad about the mud, but it was your disguise.” He began moving his hand above the animal’s neck and back.

  KC blinked, then squinted and blinked again. The mud disappeared, and a shiny black coat took the place of the mangy fur.

  “I weren’t sure at all if we was going to get my MayBelle here in time.” The man stroked the donkey’s nose. “Was we, girl?”

  It seemed to KC that the donkey shook her head in reply.

  Then the man continued. “’Course, you’d of died, KC, and that don’t look good for no guardian angel.” He picked up silver reins and looped them across the back of the animal.

  This time, KC rubbed two fists into his eye sockets. He was sure there hadn’t been any tack on the donkey, but there it all was—reins, a pack saddle, and saddle bags off both sides. There was a mining pick and a sluicing pan tied together. And—guardian what? As he answered his own question, a chill ran from his scalp t
o his toes. He said guardian angel.

  The miner continued his story as he walked the donkey to the wagon and tied her to the back. “No, siree. I ain’t lost one person yet. Well—there was that one time the feller got roughed up a mite before we showed up. He was laid up for quite a spell, but he rallied eventually and got better.”

  The donkey brayed and pranced in place.

  The old miner turned back toward MayBelle and said, “I said better. I knowed he wasn’t fit as a fiddle, but he weren’t dead.”

  The donkey nodded her head at that.

  The old prospector jumped aboard the outlaws’ wagon. “And you won’t be the first to die, neither.” He pointed his aged finger toward KC. “Not on my watch, anyway.” He waved at KC to board the wagon, but KC stayed on the ground. “We gotta go get your horse. Then we’ve got some miles to travel. They’s a traveling judge expected in Del Norte tomorrow. Just in time to meet these boys, I’d say. A couple of witnesses are going to show up by chance, too.” He laughed loudly at that. “That’s a miracle, ain’t it?”

  KC could only nod, knowing that it sure would be if it happened that way.

  “Let’s get this load o’ scum to the sheriff in Del Norte.” He shook the reins and began moving the wagon backward into the clearing. “You just going to stand there, or are you gonna to get collecting on that reward money?”

  KC picked up the valuables left in the camp, arranging them in the wagon. He took out a notebook from his saddle bag and made a note of the inventory and the men’s condition. Then they moved out, turning back toward Del Norte. He wanted to be as far away from the route the Holmans had been on as possible just in case these robbers were intending to meet up with someone.

  Dense forest squeezed on each edge of the trail. KC watched warily off to the sides, at the ready for trouble. Rumor was that there were five Holman brothers, each looking so much alike that the wanted posters could apply to any one of them. And from the list of crimes the Holman gang was racking up, they were of the same mind about breaking the law. The three brothers in the buckboard had different builds and maybe different colors of brown hair—it was hard to tell in the dark. Their faces had slightly different features, but he could sure tell they were brothers right off. It seemed to make sense that there were more brothers since the gang was robbing a new freight line before they had time to ride there from the last.

  It took the rest of the night and until the next day at noon to reach Del Norte and deliver the bound men and stolen goods. It had been a good assignment all in all. The Western Rockies Freight Company had hired the Pinkerton Agency to investigate and put an end to the heists crippling their business. KC had received that assignment and would have a nice payday as a result. He also collected the reward for the return of the dynamite. The bonus had been that the criminals were “wanted,” so he could also collect three bounties. Yes, it was a good day. He made a few notes in his book about the money collected and the loot he’d delivered. He supposed he should wire Pinkerton and get a new assignment.

  KC stepped out of the sheriff’s office to a piercing heehaw from MayBelle.

  “I seen him,” the miner scolded the donkey. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a letter, handing it over to KC.

  “So, miners deliver the mail now?” he asked.

  “Sometimes, when the situation calls.” He tipped his hat up. “And I’m an angel, not a miner.”

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” KC waved the letter in the air.

  “Open it. Read it. That’s how mail works, De-tec-tive.”

  MayBelle kicked up her back feet and brayed.

  KC rolled his eyes, then noticed it was addressed to the Pinkerton National Detective Agency. He was sure it was against the law to open a letter intended for someone else. His finger slipped into the side anyway, but then he stopped.

  The angel watched him. He thought the donkey leaned around the angel’s side to get a better look. She nudged her nose in the air like she was encouraging him to read it.

  If he opened that mail, he’d be no better than the lawbreakers he’d spent his life chasing. If he opened it, he’d have no self-respect at all. How could he consider himself an honest man ever again?

  “If you don’t open it, folks will die,” the angel said as if reading his mind. The man’s face had never looked serious, but now it was grim, severe. “If you send that letter on to Chicago, we’ll wait for someone to decide that this is important enough to send an agent here. Which they might not—there’s no business backing the requested investigation, so no one will pay for an agent. But if they did send one, it would take time before they got to Creede to start an investigation.” The angel walked toe to toe with KC. “And in all that time, Death will be awfully busy ’cause many more will die.”

  KC looked at the letter in his hand. He had taken up as a detective to help people. There wasn’t any other reason. It was why he’d given up hope of home and family. The price had been high, but he knew in his heart it was the right choice. If there was a way to spare lives by acting on the contents of this letter, he’d do it. Sometimes “right” and “legal” weren’t the same thing.

  His finger ripped through the side and unfolded the paper.

  Pinkerton Detective Agency

  To Whom It May Concern,

  I live on a homestead just outside of Creede, Colorado, toward Lake City. Strange things are happening. People are leaving their homesteads—they just up and leave without warning.

  KC stopped reading and looked at the angel. Neither spoke for a moment, then KC said, “Homesteading is hard. It’s not unusual for someone to leave instead of doing what it takes to prove up on the land.”

  “Keep reading.”

  After they’re gone, their homesteads are purchased, but no one moves onto them. This doesn’t seem right. I believe there might be something sinister happening. Please send an agent to help.

  Signed,

  E. Turley

  KC folded the letter in half and looked at the angel. “That’s not much to go on.”

  The angel nodded. “It’s enough—E. Turley, between Creede and Lake City, homesteaders. You’ve got a hearing to attend, then you’d best get yourself on over there.” With those words, the angel faded from view.

  KC thought he’d seen some strange sights in his work, but nothing compared to having a man and his donkey vanish before his eyes.

  He stuck around Del Norte the next day for the hearing just like the angel said, then he went on into Creede, arriving at sundown. He rode up and down the main street and the two streets on each side of it to get the feel of the land as the sky darkened. It looked like most mining towns, he supposed—a little lawless and rough.

  Finally, he took the road in front of the train station west toward Lake City. He’d take a look around tonight then do some asking tomorrow. Even as his horse plodded along, he thought of the letter and the guardian angel. It seemed like a lot of trouble to go through for a handful of empty homesteads.

  He wondered what trouble might look like for the homesteaders. To his surprise, he saw a lone rider on a horse near a well-appointed cabin. The rider had a spyglass pointed toward the home. That wasn’t exactly sinister, but it wasn’t ordinary either. A little spark of suspicion flared in his gut. He figured it was probably nothing, but he’d see. He tied his horse in the trees off the side of the road to take a closer look.

  He stuck close to the trees whenever he could, then slid along next to the barn wall. When he looked around the corner, the horse and rider were only a few steps away. The door to the cabin opened a crack, but no one came out. The man put the spyglass into a bag that hung over the saddle horn. A rifle was in a scabbard beside it. KC reasoned that if this wasn’t trouble, the rifle would stay holstered, and the rider would leave, but if it was trouble, then that man would pull the rifle out.

  Though he hoped for the first, he was ready for the second. At that moment, the rider’s hand reached for the rifle. KC sprang forw
ard, knocking the rider from the saddle. In the tumble from the horse, KC landed on top of him. The man’s arms flailed out to the side. He pinned them. He continued forward with the momentum, unable to stop, his head coming to rest within an inch of—hers! The hat had fallen away, and wavy auburn hair splayed in the weeds around her head. He was grateful for the full moon that illuminated the angelic face.

  “Get off me,” she said and bucked her hips.

  Stunned at the bright eyes looking at him and the playful sprinkling of freckles, he hadn’t thought to roll off her. KC’s hand slipped from holding him up, and his lips brushed hers.

  In the distance, the braying of a donkey split the silence of the night—a sound suspiciously like hysterical laughing.

  “Who are you?” she asked at the same time he said, “Why are you here?”

  “I live here. You’re the one trespassing.” She planted her hands firmly on his chest. “Get off me.” She shoved.

  He rolled away and stood. When he reached to help her up, she slapped his hands out of the way and scrambled up, brushing off the seat of her trousers. Then she wrapped her hair in a twist, weeds and all, and stuffed it back into the cowboy hat.

  KC watched with rapt attention. Was the woman completely unaware of her appeal? And in pants? He had to clear his throat and concentrate to banish the admiration rising in his thoughts.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she said, her hands fisted on her hips.

  He thought she was of an age to be married, but his heart interrupted, saying he hoped she wasn’t. What was he doing? People died just being around his kind of work. He was on an assignment—of sorts. He knew he needed to leave—get out—stop looking at her eyes.