Broddock-Black 05 - Force of Nature

by Susan Johnson

  She smiled.

  He took in a deep breath of restraint and smiled back, a tight, forced smile. “Thank you for coming to visit.” His voice was flat, controlled.

  “My pleasure,” she replied, as capable of cool politesse as he.

  “McFee will keep you safe.” He stepped away.

  “Thank you. You keep yourself safe, as well.”

  “Of course.” She couldn’t possibly understand the samurai’s resolute acceptance of death.

  Flynn glanced away, nodded at McFee and his foreman moved forward to take his place beside Jo.

  And it was over.

  A kind of brusque finality to the moment.

  Hazard offered some last words of warning and Jo listened closely, trying not to cry when she should have known better than to think she would get words of undying love. Trey added his cautions and advice; both men had spent years waging war with men like the Empire. And by the time they had said what needed to be said, Jo had composed her errant emotions.

  Moments later, she rode away, five men before and behind her, five on either flank, the extent of her guard, the closeness of their ranks, evidence of their hazardous journey ahead.

  Chapter 21

  While McFee led his party out on a rough convoluted track through deep arroyos and cut banks, Hazard, Trey and Flynn finalized their battle plan. With Jo out of danger by nightfall, they would begin their assault. If the Englishmen were recruiting in Wyoming, they could expect a stout defense.

  But a rider carrying a white flag and a message was brought into Flynn’s study late that afternoon by one of his patrols.

  Flynn opened the envelope and read the note. The Englishmen at the Empire wanted a parley in three days on a neutral site to be selected by Flynn. The message was couched in conciliatory language and signed by all three remittance men.

  When the envoy had been taken away, Hazard and Trey both scrutinized the communication.

  “Do you believe them?” Hazard was seated at Flynn’s desk, his expression skeptical. '

  “I don’t have any reason to.” Flynn stood at the window, his gaze on the messenger who waited under guard. “Given their great kindness to me in the past,” he sardonically observed.

  Trey shifted in his lounging pose enough to reach the whiskey bottle on a nearby table. “Is it possible they’re considering the vast amounts of money this war is costing them?”

  “Not to mention their pathetic lives.” Flynn squinted at the rider who’d brought the letter, as though he could decipher the authenticity of the offer by the look of the man.

  “I suppose there’s nothing to lose by going to a parley,” Hazard said, a faint disgruntled note in his voice.

  “Or an ambush,” Trey submitted, looking up from refilling his glass.

  “Well, that’s a given,” Hazard murmured. “One’s prepared for that.”

  Flynn turned back from the window. “My first instinct is to say no. A three-day wait sends up a lot of red flags in my mind. They could have heavy artillery brought in by then. And have any of the Sassenachs ever operated in good faith on anything?” he added, in cynical assessment.

  “Maybe someone’s papa in England received a nasty note from his banker and is putting a stop to the money drain,” Trey suggested. “Those remittance men live high and the price of cattle is dropping. Hell, I took ten thousand from stupid Hughie Mortimer last month at Satchell’s. He’s a bloody rotten gambler who shouldn’t be allowed near a deck of cards.”

  Hazard leaned back in his chair. “It’s up to you, Flynn. It’s your call.”

  “Do you ever get tired of this—of constantly defending yourself,” Flynn asked, grim-faced.

  “Always,” Hazard replied. “I tell myself it’s a matter of honor.” He shrugged, the greed of his enemies an unavoidable fact. “You do what you must to survive.”

  “And until the courts are effective against people like the Empire and the thieves in the territorial legislature,” Trey remarked, “someone has to remind them there are consequences to their venality.”

  Flynn blew out a breath. “So we’re the means of justice.”

  “The alternative appeals even less,” Hazard said with silken emphasis.

  “You need another drink,” Trey cheerfully proposed. “You’re thinking way too much. When they push, you shove back, that’s all. It’s simple.”

  “Maybe I’ve been doing this too long.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I’ve twenty years on you.” Hazard maintained a remarkable calm. “You’ll never regret doing what’s right. The Empire should stay on their own land. When they don’t, you have to see that they do.”

  “After this parley.”

  “If you wish. Ignore their offer, if you’d rather. I doubt it’s an honest proposal.”

  “And yet. . .” Flynn wouldn’t have even questioned replying to such an offer two weeks ago. Two weeks ago, he didn’t know Jo Attenborough. Two weeks ago, his life was familiar and focused, his future determined. Now because of a headstrong, audacious, hot-blooded woman who was raising havoc with his emotions, he was thinking about his future differently. Perhaps stupidly. Particularly so when he was considering parleying with scum like the Empire. “This is all so much shit,” he growled, frustrated and fractious.

  “But the Empire’s not going away, not with new hired guns arriving on the train,” Hazard pointed out.

  “I suppose a parley doesn’t mean we can’t attack afterward. Our defenses are in place. They can’t move onto my land without my knowing.” Flynn took a deep breath because he was going against every strategic principle he’d ever been taught. “Very well,” he said, exhaling. “I’ll agree to hear their proposal. We’ll meet them at the Sun River ford. It’s open ground.”

  Hazard nodded his approval; Trey shrugged, willing to go or stay.

  Restive, unsettled, his judgment mercurial, Flynn muttered, “I hope like hell I’m not going to regret this.”

  Chapter 22

  McFee and his troop rode into Great Falls midafternoon and immediately went to the stage office. He had his orders and he’d fulfill them efficiently and with dispatch.

  He was well mannered as he helped Jo dismount, but his gaze was businesslike and direct. “If you’ll wait in the stage office, ma’am, I’ll see about a ticket for you.”

  “I can buy my own ticket.”

  “The boss gave me orders, ma’am. Would you like something to eat before you leave?” He waved her forward.

  A glance at his face and she knew argument would be futile. “Is the stage leaving soon?”

  “I reckon it’ll leave when you’re ready, ma’am.”

  He spoke without inflection, but she understood no matter how understated his tone, that McFee and twenty of Flynn’s men positioned outside the stage office in defensive stances, commanded sufficient respect to set their own schedule. “Perhaps a sandwich to take along,” she murmured. “If you don’t mind.”

  “Whatever you want, ma’am.” After conveying her wishes to one of his men, McFee opened the office door for her and indicated an empty chair. “This will just take me a few minutes,” he said, politely.

  The waiting room had a handful of people seated with their luggage at their feet, and Jo navigated her way around several carpetbags and valises before taking a chair. Despite McFee’s courtesy, she felt oddly constrained to do his bidding. It wasn’t that he was intimidating in size; he was of middle height and lean. He didn’t give the impression of violence either; his face was usually without expression, his blue eyes almost innocent. He was perhaps forty, his skin weathered from the outdoors, but his strength wasn’t in dispute. She found him likeable even though she felt obliged to submit to his orders. Perhaps it was his quiet loyalty to Flynn that appealed.

  She watched him as he talked to the ticket agent, saw him scrutinize a sheet of paper the agent handed to him, wished she could have heard the agent’s lengthy responses to his queries. When he walked over to a man, bent down and spo
ke to him quietly, Jo watched the passenger turn red. But the heavyset man didn’t argue, he just got to his feet, picked up his luggage and hurried out of the office. The same scenario was repeated with another passenger and after that well-dressed man exited, McFee walked over to Jo. “The stage will be leaving in ten minutes,” he politely affirmed. “Charlie’s getting you a lunch to take along.”

  “Why did those passengers leave?” She couldn’t suppress her curiosity.

  “I told them they were on the wrong stage,” he replied, his voice mild.

  “How did you know?”

  “I recognized them.”

  His reply was deliberately ambiguous, she realized.

  “We’ll see that you get on the stage soon, ma’am, if you don’t mind.”

  What would he do if she said she minded? “Thank you,” she said instead, understanding she wasn’t in a position to take issue.

  “Sit tight, ma’am, and I’ll come back for you.”

  Which he did a few minutes later, after having thoroughly checked over the stage and talked to the driver, she noted, watching him through the window. He helped her step up into the stage before the other passengers were allowed outside and saw that she had the seat facing forward. “You’ll have the seat to yourself, ma’am, seein’ as how those other men changed their minds.”

  She noticed the slight shift in his explanation and knew he’d been assessing the occupants of the stage. Because of Flynn, she thought, and while she should have taken offense at Flynn’s high-handed authority, she found herself warmed by his concern. “Thank you, McFee, and thank Flynn as well. Tell him I enjoyed my stay at the ranch.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am,” he replied, putting his finger to his hat brim. “You take care now.” And then he stood like a guard at the door as the other passengers filed past him and entered the stage. Shutting the door after the last one was seated, he tipped the brim of his hat once again in Jo’s direction and gave the driver leave to depart.

  Flynn Ito had more power than she’d suspected, Jo decided.

  And the frightened stares of her fellow passengers further attested to that fact. But she was too tired to be concerned. Having slept very little last night, she leaned her head back against the seat and soon was fast asleep.

  Chapter 23

  When the messenger returned to the Empire ranch that evening, Hugh Mortimer, Langley Phellps, Nigel Breck— three honorables as younger sons of peers—perused Flynn’s reply with delight. All three men had come to the States three years ago after they’d been sent down from Cambridge, their carousing beyond even the extremely lax limits tolerated by the college. They had then proceeded to spend their allowances with undue speed in the fleshpots and gambling dens of London until their fathers interceded and shipped them west to gather a modicum of sense and fiscal responsibility. Or perhaps, they simply wanted them out of England for the duration to avoid any further scandal in their clubs.

  Whatever the reason, they were raising hell now in the wilds of Montana, offending everyone of reasonable sensibilities, flaunting their lordly antecedents, swaggering like vainglorious Caballeros in a land of hard-working cowboys.

  “He fell for the bait,” Hughie crowed, snapping his finger at the sheet of paper with Flynn’s response.

  “Which means we have three days to control the site,” Langley drawled, half in his cups.

  “Which also means we get to use our Maxim machine guns for the first time,” Hughie said with a nasty smile.

  “And a better use, I can’t imagine,” Langley murmured, lifting the silver stirrup cup he favored to his mouth and draining it. “The world will be a more civilized place without that colored rabble at the Sun River Ranch.”

  “I want Ito’s swords when he’s dead.” Hughie waggled his finger at his cohorts. “I said it first.”

  “We’ll cut for the spoils,” Nigel said, firmly. “I want his samurai swords myself. They’ll look extremely fine next to my pere’s tiger head from India.”

  And for the next several minutes, a drunken argument ensued apropos of the booty they expected to divide when Flynn and his men were all dead. Their voices were raised over the disposal of Flynn’s valuable paint horse that had won two large purses at the races last fall, when one of their valets entered with a note on a silver salver.

  Hughie grabbed it, ripped it open and cried, “Bring the darling boy in!”

  Their visitor must have been waiting in the hall because he appeared in the doorway at Hughie’s cry. “I have some news of great interest,” he said with a wicked smile.

  “Look, look!” Hughie waved the note before his two friends.

  “Can’t see, Hughie, when you’re waving it like a banshee,” Langley grumbled

  “Tell them, Alistair,” Hughie commanded. “Tell them what you saw.”

  “I need a drink after that long ride from town.”

  Hughie waved him to the liquor table.

  “It must have been cunt,” Nigel murmured. “That’s about the only thing that will bring a smile to Strathmore’s face.” “That and a good bottle of whiskey,” Langley drawled. “They go hand in hand, do they not,” their visitor murmured, pouring himself a healthy dose of Kentucky bourbon. “Now, then,” Alistair Strathmore cheerfully declared, “where should I begin?”

  “Tell us what this female looks like.” Nigel gesticulated in an undulating, downward rhythm. “Does she have big titties?”

  “They looked extremely fine beneath her white silk blouse, as did her legs in her split riding skirt. She had come a long way, you see, and wished to be comfortable on the trail.”

  “A long way from where, do tell,” Langley whispered, inching upward on his spine as his interest grew.

  “From the Sun River Ranch, escorted by McFee and twenty men.”

  “She must be a fucking queen with that kind of troop for a guard.”

  “Perhaps an Indian princess would be more apt.” Alistair’s eyes gleamed with delight.

  “There’s only two possibilities for Indian princesses in the territory and that bitch lawyer isn’t likely to catch Flynn’s eye,” Hughie said with a wink. “He likes his women hot.”

  “So ...” Alistair prompted, waving his liquor glass.

  “Don’t tell me you saw Hazard Black’s illegitimate daughter on her way back from Flynn’s ranch,” Langley murmured.

  “In the flesh.” The scandal of Hazard and Lucy Attenborough’s daughter was too delicious not to travel across the territory at record speed. And the Englishmen spent enough time in Helena at the brothels and gambling houses to be aware of the gossip.

  “What say we have a little taste of that half-breed pussy,” Hughie suggested.

  “And how the hell would we manage that if she’s guarded so well?”

  “Was guarded so well,” Alistair corrected, softly. “McFee put her on the stage to Helena and headed back up country. She’s not guarded at all now that she’s back in civilization, and I use the term loosely,” he sardonically murmured.

  “If she was put on the stage, she’s back in Helena or will be very soon.”

  “Don’t you have some more hired men coming in on the train?”

  “Several.”

  “Why couldn’t they bring her up north? Send a rider down with the message and that pretty cunt will be back here in no time. How hard can it be to pluck one woman from the streets of Helena?”

  “If that woman happens to be related to Hazard Black, I’d think twice,” Nigel warned.

  Hugh’s thin lips pursed in disdain. “Since when were you intimidated by a redskin?”

  “He’s not just any redskin.”

  “Good God, man. He lived in a lodge; he still does on occasion I hear. If an Englishman can’t get the better of a bloody, ignorant native, I don’t know what the world is coming to.”

  “He went to Harvard,” Nigel pointed out.

  “Really, Nigel,” Hugh returned peevishly. “As if a college in the colonies is of any consequence!”r />
  “Hear, hear, Rule Britannia!”

  Langley’s cheer was taken up by every drunken voice, the din rising to a crescendo. They were all inebriated; even Alistair had been well into his cups or he wouldn’t have ridden so far at night. And the remittance men were rarely sober, no matter what time of day or night.

  When they tired of their patriotic hurrah, Hugh turned his intoxicated gaze on his cohorts. “It would be rather fun to snatch Flynn’s little pussy from under his nose,” he gloated. “That knave has a good eye for females, you have to give him that. Why shouldn’t we enjoy the little tart? I’ve never fucked a half breed.”

  But when they called their foreman in and gave him orders to bring Hazard’s daughter back from Helena, he warned them off. “I’d leave her alone if I were you. It don’t pay to rile Hazard Black and that’s a fact.”

  Hugh gazed at him with the hauteur instilled in him from the cradle and augmented tonight by considerable drink. “I don’t recall asking you for your advice,” he said with overbearing arrogance. “I don’t care how many men it takes,” he snapped. “Bring the bitch back.”

  “Yes, sir.” The foreman knew better than to argue, but on his return to the bunkhouse, he chose to give the mission to several of the new hired guns. Since his drunken bosses hadn’t specifically assigned the duty, the new men would be less likely to be recognized as members of the Empire crew. “You’d best leave right now,” he told the new men. “Those English are in a damnable hurry.” And if Hazard decided to shoot them, it would save him the task of replacing working cowboys.