The Maverick of Copper Creek

by R. C. Ryan

  Her remark broke some of the tension as the others laughed aloud.

  “Now I’m the cook,” Maddock said with a wry smile.

  “I’m sorry, Griff.” Struggling to pull herself together, Willow kept her hands tightly gripped at her waist. “I’m afraid I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed.”

  “You’re not the only one. I didn’t know about you—” he nodded to include all of them “—any of you, until I got the letter from your lawyer.”

  “Yes, well…that was a shock for all of us,” she admitted. “But seeing you…” She swallowed and tried again. “You see, you’re the image of Bear.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen him.” The words were as challenging as the look in his eyes.

  “Let me show you his portrait. It hangs in his office.” Willow opened the door that led down a hallway.

  As she walked along beside Griff, the others followed, more out of curiosity than out of welcome.

  Bear’s office was a purely masculine room, with a stone fireplace that dominated one wall. A bank of windows offered a view of the rolling hills beyond, which were dotted with cattle. A massive desk stood to one side, faced by several upholstered swivel chairs.

  Griff’s attention was arrested by the portrait hanging above the fireplace mantel.

  He couldn’t have been more stunned if he’d been shocked by a cattle prod. It was like looking in a mirror. The man staring back at him had the same dark, curly hair, the same shape of brow and stern, dark eyes. He even had the identical cleft in that strong, jutting jaw.

  While Griff studied the man in the portrait, the others were riveted by the man who could only be Bear’s son.

  Mad’s gruff voice broke the silence. “I think we could all use some coffee.”

  As they turned away, Ash stepped up beside his mother, who was struggling to think of something, anything, to say to this stranger.

  “On the way back to the kitchen, why don’t we show you the great room?” Ash led the way into a room filled with light from the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered an unbroken view of the hills in the distance. Another massive stone fireplace took up one entire wall.

  Griff paused to study the portrait that hung above this mantel.

  Ash followed the direction of his gaze, and the irony of the situation once again rendered him silent.

  In the portrait, Bear MacKenzie had his arm around his younger son, Whit, while Willow stood proudly with her hand on Ash’s shoulder.

  A happy moment, captured for all time, of a united family.

  It couldn’t be made any clearer that Griff Warren was the absent one. The outsider. The illegitimate son of a man no longer here to claim him as his own.

  “Something smells great.” Because the others had become so subdued, the ranch foreman made an effort to keep things light as they entered the kitchen.

  “Split pea soup with ham,” Maddock announced. “It’s been simmering since dawn. Sit.” He indicated the round wooden farmhouse table and high-backed wooden chairs that were the centerpiece of the kitchen.

  The table had been set with baskets of rolls and pitchers of foaming milk, as well glasses of water and a carafe of coffee.

  Maddock balanced a wide tray across his chair and proceeded to fill bowls with steaming soup.

  “What’s this?” Ash asked, pointing to the tray.

  “An invention of mine,” his grandfather said with a trace of pride. “I figure, since I’m stuck in this thing”—he indicated the hated wheelchair—“I’d invent ways to make it more useful.”

  “Pretty clever, Mad.”

  At Ash’s compliment, Myrna shot him a look. “Oh, yeah. Clever all right. Every time I look for something I’ve been using for years, I find it’s been cut down or cut up to make something ‘clever.’ And then I have to go to town and replace all the things I’m missing. Like my favorite serving tray.”

  That had Mad grinning. And even Myrna’s words held no sting. She nudged the old man’s elbow as she waddled about, distributing platters containing chunks of ham as well as boiled potatoes, carrots, and cabbage in the middle of the table, where everyone could serve themselves.

  At a wink from Mad, Ash stifled a grin. The friendly competition between Mad and Myrna had begun when the older man had moved in, and would no doubt continue until the day they were carried out. But, though Myrna’s words were strident, there was really no anger behind them. Nobody listening to her was inclined to believe she had anything but affection for the old man she’d spent a lifetime complaining about. It was evident in the way the two playfully contradicted one another, only to break into laughter whenever one or the other managed a really clever barb.

  When the others had staked their claim on their seats around the table, Griff held Willow’s chair before taking the chair beside her. “Do you usually eat this much for lunch?”

  Hearing him, Ash chuckled. “By noon, most ranchers have done more work than most businessmen would do in a week. There’s something about hard, physical work that makes a body hungry.”

  “And lean and mean,” Mad said with a grin. “You won’t see too many overweight ranchers. We’re too busy working off every calorie before it can turn into fat.”

  Griff nodded. “It’s that way in combat, too.”

  Brady passed him the basket of rolls. “I’d guess being a target for enemy fire would burn off a whole lot of calories.”

  “Yeah.” Griff helped himself to a roll and held out the basket to Willow. “I didn’t see any overweight Marines where I was stationed.” He glanced across the table at Ash. “So you’ve been up since dawn working?”

  Ash shook his head. “By dawn I was already on the road heading here.”

  Griff raised a brow. “You don’t live here?”

  “I have a spread in Wyoming.”

  “Have or had?” Maddock’s head came up sharply. “Mason’s son Lance figured you were about to lose it for back taxes.”

  “I managed to sell off enough cattle to pay the taxes, and I made a deal with my neighbor to do a land exchange for repair of my irrigation system. So, for now at least, I still own it.”

  The old man’s face relaxed into a smile. “Good for you.”

  Willow sat back and regarded her older son. “If you decide to settle here, there’s more than enough land for you.”

  “This was Pop’s. Now it’s yours, Mom.”

  “It’s ours, Ash. Your father wanted it to belong to all of us.” She glanced at Griff. “Once Bear learned about your existence, he added you to his will, too. He wanted this ranch to belong to the MacKenzie family for generations to come.”

  “That’s a nice dream.” Whit’s tone of anger, as well as his words, had everyone looking at him. “But we couldn’t even live together before Griff came along. What makes you think things are going to be any different now?”

  “Because everything’s changed.” Maddock slammed a hand down hard on the arm of his wheelchair. “Because we’ve lost my only son, and your father, and we suddenly see how quickly things can change. And if we don’t learn how to work together now, we won’t deserve a third chance.”

  A pall of frosty silence settled over the table.

  It was Myrna who broke the ice. “While the rest of you are choking on those loving sentiments, I’m starving. Please pass me the ham.”

  Griff fought back a grin before passing platter after platter to Willow, who passed them to Brady, who passed them to Whit, who held them while Myrna helped herself to a heaping portion of ham, potatoes, carrots, and cabbage from each.

  The rest of them followed suit, and soon they were too busy eating to argue.

  Willow seized the opportunity to tell them her news. “I heard from Chief Pettigrew…”

  Whit’s fork clattered on his plate. “They found the bastard who shot Pop?”

  Willow felt Griff bristle beside her and realized, too late, that Whit’s choice of words had just added another layer of insult to a fatherless man who had probab
ly suffered a lifetime of them. She fixed Whit with a look that every son recognized. “You will not use that word in my home again. Is that clear?”

  Whit’s gaze slid over Griff as the realization dawned. “Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean…” He changed the subject. “Did they identify the killer?”

  “No. But Ira wanted me to know that they’ve completed their autopsy, which proved what they already knew. Bear was shot by a single bullet from a long-range hunting rifle. They’ve identified the weapon as a Remington bolt-action.”

  “Great. That makes every rancher in the state of Montana a suspect,” Maddock muttered around a mouthful of ham.

  “Exactly.” Willow sipped coffee. “I was hoping they would at least find some exotic bullet and weapon, or something in the area that would reveal more.” She sighed. “He used a long-range sight, so Bear didn’t have a chance. He never would have suspected that he was being stalked by a killer.”

  “Enemies?” Griff asked.

  “Enough.” Ash’s lips thinned. “Pop had a hair-trigger temper. Anything could set him off, and once he lost it, he usually went into a full-blown rant.”

  “But they were only words.” Maddock was quick to defend his only son. “And once the tirade was over, Bear’s anger was gone as quickly as it started. He was always able to forgive and forget.”

  “Apparently his killer didn’t have the same capacity for forgiving or forgetting.” Brady clenched a hand at his side.

  Ash looked at the foreman. “You think the shooter was somebody who’s been holding a grudge?”

  “When somebody stalks his victim and waits to kill him, what would you call it if not a grudge?”

  Ash nodded thoughtfully.

  Willow glanced around the table. “Ira requested a list of possible suspects and reasons why we might suspect them of wanting to harm Bear. He specifically mentioned the recent spate of cattle rustling, as well as the names of people who owe Bear large sums of money. I’ve given him every name I can think of, but I’m sure I’ve overlooked any number of people. So I’d like each of you to make your own list and add it to mine.”

  “Cattle rustling?” Griff grinned. “As in those old Westerns on TV?”

  “This is high-tech rustling,” Whit was quick to explain. “They roll up in the night with a caravan of cattle-hauling trucks, and by the time a rancher learns that he’s lost hundreds of head of cattle overnight, the thieves have crossed several state lines, covered the brands with new ones, and have already sold the animals to a slaughterhouse.”

  Griff shook his head in wonder. “I guess that might be worth a man’s life.”

  “You’d be surprised what a man’s life could be worth.” Mad slapped the arm of his wheelchair in disgust. “Some ranchers have died just because they threatened to report a poacher of wolves.”

  “Wolves?” That had Griff’s attention.

  Whit told him, “Even though they’re protected by the government, some ranchers are willing to pay a bounty to keep the predators from their herds. Especially during spring calving.”

  “Ira even asked if there could be any old friends who might be jealous of Bear’s success.” Willow set aside her fork and pressed a hand to her stomach.

  Maddock, seeing the look of pain on his daughter-in-law’s face, was quick to say, “I think we’ve speculated enough about this for now. Why don’t we all make our lists and let the police chief do his job?” He turned to Willow. “When will they release Bear’s…the body?”

  “Ira told me to contact Mitch Weatherby to arrange a pickup tomorrow at the county morgue. Which means I can plan a funeral service as soon as I talk to Reverend Hamilton at Copper Creek Church. Depending on his schedule, we ought to be able to have something by the weekend. I thought I’d call the pastor today and see if I can arrange the service for this weekend. That way, more of the ranchers will be able to attend.”

  “Yeah. They’ll be in town anyway and can drop by church just before they pick up their feed and grain order, stock up on groceries, and lift a couple at Wylie’s,” Maddock muttered. “In Bear’s honor.”

  While the others flinched, Willow glanced at Ash and then Griff. “Do either of you have to leave sooner?”

  Ash shook his head. “My neighbor agreed to tend what’s left of my herd while I’m gone. I’m not on any kind of timetable.”

  “Griff?” Willow turned to him.

  “The Marines sent me home with a pocket full of money, and I’d just as soon spend it in Copper Creek as anywhere. Let me know the date and time of the service, and I’ll be there.” He thought a moment. “That is, if there’s a place in town where I can stay until then.”

  “You’re welcome to stay here, Griff.”

  He shot a glance at Whit. “I don’t want to intrude on your grief.”

  “You’re not intruding.” Willow put a hand on his arm. “I know this is awkward for all of us, but you’re family now. When Bear and I built this house, we’d designed it so that we could watch our children and grandchildren grow up here without feeling crowded. We have more than enough room for you.”

  “And half your Marine buddies,” Mad added with a laugh.

  Griff grinned at the old man’s joke before saying to Willow, “You’re sure?”

  “Positive. Ash, you can have your old rooms back. And you can show Griff the east wing.”

  To Griff she added, “You can have as much privacy as you want, and when you’re in the mood for company, some of us are always around.”

  “Especially here in the kitchen,” Maddock said with a chuckle. “You can almost always find me here.”

  “Inventing something that will cost a fortune to make and then won’t work anyway,” Myrna growled.

  Ignoring her, Mad continued as though she hadn’t said a word. “And when the rest of the family gets hungry enough, this is where they congregate.”

  “If I’m going to stay here, I expect to do my share of the work.”

  “Oh, you can count on that.” Brady gave him a knowing smile. “Ranch chores are never really done. By the time we get to the end of the list, it’s time to start over.”

  “Especially mucking stalls,” Whit added. “Pop always said it was good for building muscles.”

  “As well as character, as I recall,” Ash said with a quick glance at his grandfather.

  “Bear learned that from me. I raised him to believe that mucking stalls was one of the constants that a rancher can never walk away from. So, since you can’t beat it, you may as well learn to use it for some good.”

  “You’d know how good manure is, wouldn’t you, Mad?” At Whit’s remark, the others burst into gales of laughter.

  Griff shrugged. “Okay. What am I missing?”

  “I guess we could say that Mad was the butt of Pop’s joke. He loved to tell us about the time Pop and Mad got into a real knock-down, drag-out fistfight, and Mad shoved Pop off the hayloft. By the time Mad had climbed down the ladder, Pop was spitting flames and wound up shoving his own father into a mound of fresh manure he’d just shoveled from the stalls. Gram wouldn’t even allow Mad to come in and shower until he hosed himself off in the barn,” Ash said.

  Griff was laughing and shaking his head at the image. “I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t have let you in either, Mad.”

  The older man wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “What Ash didn’t tell you is that it was below zero that day, and by the time I’d hosed myself off and walked back to the house, my clothes were stiff as a board, and so was my hair. I looked like a damned scarecrow.”

  Around the table, the others joined in the laughter.

  Willow took in a deep breath, surprised at how much the sound of laughter lifted her spirits.

  “Your rooms are in there.” Ash led the way up the stairs and along a hallway until he and Griff paused in front of closed double doors. “If you need anything, just let Myrna know. Mad may claim to be in charge of the cooking, but Myrna runs the entire household.”

  “Thank
s.” Griff opened the doors and set aside his bags. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Ash continued along the hallway until he came to a second set of double doors. Inside, he dropped his bags and stared around with interest. This had been his room when he was growing up. Even though he’d been gone for almost a decade, little had changed. The bedroom had a huge walk-in closet and a king-sized bed. A desk and chair had been custom-built along one wall. Along another was a wood-burning fireplace. Atop a low, flat dresser something new had been added since he’d left home: a flat-screen TV.

  He was deep in thought as he set up his laptop on the desk before crossing the room to the wall of windows.

  Here was another thing he’d missed. This view. This land.

  His legacy.

  He’d been willing to leave it all behind in his eagerness to escape the constant battle of wills with his father. But now, seeing it all again, he felt an overwhelming sense of what he’d missed. Not just the land, the shared work, the comfort of his family. What he’d missed more than he ever realized was the presence of his father.

  He tried to remember those times before the anger. Before the constant butting of two heads that refused to soften.

  He’d loved his father. Had grown up wanting to be like him. And yet, each time Bear MacKenzie had started one of his tirades, something inside Ash’s heart had closed a bit more, until one day, it slammed shut, and there was no solution except to go. To make his own way, and hope that one day he and his father would make things right between them.

  Though he’d never given it too much thought, he’d always assumed that they would find a way to heal the wounds.

  That day would never come now. And he knew, with absolute certainty, that he would have to live with that gnawing regret for all his life. No chance to say he was sorry. No chance to mend the terrible, gaping wounds that had left his family bloody and bowed. His family.

  Though his mother and Brady seemed to have barely aged, the change in Whit was shocking. Ash had left behind a kid brother and had returned to find a man in Whit’s place. An angry man. And who could blame him? He must have felt completely abandoned by the big brother he’d shadowed for all his life. Ash could only imagine how much of his father’s temper had transferred to Whit, since there’d been no one else around to deflect all that anger.