Give My Heart to Kaitlyn (2nd in Outlaw Series)

Give My Heart to Kaitlyn

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5 Years Later

January 1880

Damn but if there was one place where the wind could quite literally cut a man in two when it blew in January, it was in the Dakotas. Pete pulled his duster coat tighter around himself and lifted the collar to protect his neck as he pulled his hat down.

His vision was beginning to blur and he was leaving a trail of dark crimson blood in the snow as he stumbled along this barren empty road. The only positive thing about the cold was that it had numbed his body and he no longer could feel the pain from the bullet wounds in his abdomen and arm.

He should have known better than to get drunk in that town. He should have known better than to start playing poker and he should have known better than to pick a fight with a man who went by the name of 'Skinner' but good sense tended to leave Pete whenever whiskey or poker was involved.

He had low impulse control is what his mama had always said. His pa had always called it a stupidity problem and he assumed they both had been right. They were probably both watching him from heaven right now. His mama was probably wringing her hands and crying while his pa was shaking his head in utter disgust and disappointment.

Pete figured he'd probably die out here but he didn't really care and there wasn't a soul alive who would miss him. He was a wanted man in Louisiana now and hadn't been back home in five years. Funny how much life could change in an instant. One second you are an up and coming lawman with dreams and a bright future and the next you were running for your life from a bloodthirsty posse, hell-bent on stringing you up by your neck for something you didn't do.

The wind roared in his ears and took his hat off his head. He cursed as his greasy blond hair whipped around his face and he debated chasing after the hat. Good sense said to let the hat go but what kind of man abandoned his hat?

He stumbled off the road to where his hat had become hung on some long thistle sticking out of a snow bank. Of all the lawless territories he could have chosen to run to, he had to pick the Dakota's. He'd been up here for a long time... Five years by the best he could figure, though time didn't seem to matter much anymore.

At least he wasn't a wanted man all over the country and since the Dakota's weren't a state, there was no law here and he didn't have to worry about being captured at all. He plopped his hat back on his head and once again began to stumble along the road.

A buzzard flew overhead and cawed loudly and Pete quickly pulled his revolver and shot it dead. He snorted as it fell into a snow bank.

"Mock me again, you son of a bitch." he grumbled. Pete stumbled a couple of steps and fell to his knees. He tried to find the strength to push himself back up but his arms were shaking too bad.

His shirt and pants were drenched in blood and his brow was slick with sweat despite the frigid chill in the air. This was just great. He was going to die here on this snow covered road and with the snowflakes currently falling from the dreary gray sky, he'd be lucky if anyone found his body before the spring thaw.

He was twenty-four years old and hadn't been able to do half of what he'd wanted to in his life. He had wanted to be a lawman. A good lawman that helped the helpless. Thanks to Marston Jacobs and that no account Marshall Montgomery that dream had been thoroughly shot, stabbed and burned to death.

He wouldn't ever admit it to anyone but he had wanted to find love. A soft, caring woman all his own. They would have a small cozy house full of love and laughter, just the way his parents' house had been.

He collapsed on the snow and flipped onto his back so he could stare up at the group of buzzards still flying overhead. He ran his hand over his scarred cheek and scratched at his stubble covered jaw. Again he was thankful for the cold because he was sure if it wasn't for being nearly frozen solid, he would be in a lot of pain.

He decided that since he was dying it would be okay to reflect on how much he had changed in the last years of his life. Gone was that nineteen year old boy with beliefs that the world was black and white. Back then bad men had been bad and good men had been good.

Then he had met Marston Jacobs and he had learned about Marshall Montgomery and his views had been forever changed. Marston Jacobs was a 'bad' man. He was a murderer, a thief, a man who took what he wanted from women and left many children fatherless and yet he had spared Pete's life more than once. He had been kind and even trusted Pete with a message for his wife.

Marshall Montgomery had been a 'good' man. A man with a badge. A man who was sworn to serve and protect. But he had been a man with secrets. A man with an agenda. He didn't care about helping anyone(unless you counted the way he had kept his brother from getting justice from the law for all of his sickening crimes). He had only cared about furthering himself and he had threatened to kill a man's wife and children to get that done.

Pete had been changed by those two men. He had sworn that he would be different than the marshall and he would be a lawman people could count on. He had vowed that he would also be understanding to outlaws and treat them as men just the same as everyone else. He would never be cruel and heartless.

Then something else had happened that had changed him once again. Instead of believing that he had no idea what had happened to the marshall, the other deputies had blamed Pete. They hadn't thought he had done it but they knew he knew who had. They had tied him up and beaten him but he was not about to give up Marston's name. They had burnt his face with a heated pipe but still he had kept his mouth shut(except of course for his screams of pain).

He had managed to escape from them and he had run. He had wanted to go somewhere where there was no law, no crooked lawmen. No one to show him how wrong he'd been about life. How young, foolish and idealistic his beliefs and ideas had been. He had actually thought he could make a difference.

He snorted with laughter now at his own foolishness. Now his best friends were saloons, whiskey and poker tables. And now it only seemed fitting that he was going to die after getting shot doing what he loved the most. It wasn't his fault that the dealer had dealt him three aces but had Skinner listened to reason? Nope. He and his friends had beaten Pete, brought him out to the middle of nowhere, shot him up, stolen his horse and all his belongings(except for his revolver) and then had ridden off.

A quiet kind of calm settled over Pete as he lay there in the snow. Death wasn't so bad. He just felt a little sleepy is all. He wasn't afraid of death, after all what did he have to live for? He folded his hands behind his head, crossed his ankles and let his eyes drift closed.

A/N: I know it's short but it's a start! Tell me what you think :)