by R. C. Ryan
Mad reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “It’s not your fault, either. It just is what it is.”
She nodded. “Still, his presence in Copper Creek will have tongues wagging.”
“No doubt about it. But there’s a toughness in that young man’s eyes that tells me he’s lived through a lifetime of gossip. Tonight will be nothing new for him.”
“But tonight he’ll be in Bear’s hometown. And everyone who sees Griff Warren will be looking at the ghost of Bear MacKenzie.”
Mad nodded thoughtfully. Willow sat back, her mood suddenly pensive. “I’ll be honest, Mad. When Mason gave us the news about Griff, I was shocked and saddened. But the deepest pain came not from the knowledge that Bear had a son with another woman, but from the fact that he hadn’t shared that fact with me when he learned the truth.”
Mad was relieved that she could finally speak of it. “I think he would have shared it with you, once Mason assured him that he’d located the lad.”
She shook her head. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because Bear had already directed Mason to add the lad’s name to the will. That’s not something he could keep secret from his own wife. He would have had to explain his reasons to you sooner or later. And I’m thinking that Bear wasn’t a man to put off something as important as that. It was only a matter of time before he’d have told you everything. But first, he wanted to have all his ducks in a row.”
She reached across the table once more and squeezed her father-in-law’s hand. “Thanks, Mad.”
“For what?”
“For giving me something to hold on to. It’s all been too much to wrap my mind around.”
The old man nodded. “That is has. Too much pain. Too many questions about who and what and why.”
Willow stared off into the distance. “I keep thinking that if only I’d ridden out to Copper Creek with Bear, this might not have happened.”
“Don’t you even think that way, lass.” Mad’s tone grew rough with passion. “Whoever did this didn’t have a care about taking a man’s life. If he’d had to add one more to the list, who’s to say he would have given it a single thought?”
Willow fought back tears. “But I’d have been there with Bear while he lay dying. And maybe, just maybe I would have had time to call for help, and Bear would still be alive.”
“Or you’d both be dead. Don’t play this game with yourself, lass.”
“But what if—?”
“I’ll not go there.” Maddock slapped his palm hard on the arm of his wheelchair and turned away from the table. Over his shoulder his burr thickened with passion. “Nor will you. Bear is gone, Willow. And if we’re to honor his life, we move ahead and make this ranch and this family a living testimony to all that he believed.”
Though he heard her crying softly, he didn’t turn back to her.
He waited until he heard her footsteps leaving the room.
Alone in the kitchen, the old man buried his face in his hands and wept bitter tears.
Chapter Seven
Here we are.” Brady Storm pulled up in front of the row of buildings, before driving around to the back to park.
Wylie’s Saloon looked like every other dingy bar in every small town. It sat on Main Street. An old wooden building that hadn’t seen a coat of paint in twenty years or more. A scarred heavy door that creaked and groaned every time it opened or closed. Inside, the smell of stale beer and greasy burgers hung like a cloud over a long wooden bar that bore the scratches of a thousand beer mugs. Tables and chairs were scattered around the room, with booths along the side and back walls. A small dance floor opened up the middle of the room, where two cowboys and their girlfriends danced to Tim McGraw singing about living like you were dying.
The room was crowded with ranchers and wranglers, cowboys and drifters.
“Got what he deserved,” Luther Culkin was saying. “My only question is how he managed to avoid being killed sooner.” Luther, tall, muscled, considered himself the toughest cowboy in a town full of tough cowboys. He wore his dark hair in a ponytail, not because of any need for fashion, but because he was too cheap to pay a barber. He’d rather spend his money on booze. The more he drank, the more he hungered for a good fight. “If I were to make up a list of men wanting Bear MacKenzie dead, I’d be here till midnight.”
“Who do they think killed Bear?” one of the cowboys asked.
Behind the bar, Wylie shrugged. “If Chief Pettigrew is to be believed, every man, woman, and child around these parts is a suspect.”
Over their beers and whiskeys, looks were exchanged.
And though everyone in the saloon knew everyone else, there was the nagging little thought that one of them just might be the vicious gunman who’d ended Bear MacKenzie’s fabled life. As soon as Whit and Ash stepped inside, the loud voices, the laughter died. For the space of several seconds, nobody made a sound as all eyes were fixed on the two men who had not only lost their father, but had lost him in the first murder most of this town could ever recall.
As the two MacKenzie brothers moved toward the bar, a few of the wranglers found their voices.
“Hey, Whit. I’m sorry about your pa.”
“Thanks, Marty.”
“Ash.” A cowboy stood and stuck out his hand. “Figured you’d come home for the funeral. Sorry about your loss.”
Wylie looked up from the bar, where he’d been pouring drinks. “Whit. Ash. We all heard the awful news. Sorry…” His gaze was arrested by Griff and his words faded. He did a double take before regaining his voice. “Who’s this with you?”
Ash had given some thought to how he’d handle the introductions to Griff. Wylie had just given him the perfect opening.
In a clear voice he said, “I’d like you all to meet Griff Warren.”
Nonie Claxton was staring at Griff as she sidled up beside Ash. “Since the bar’s nearly full, how about a booth?” She lowered her voice. “I’ve got a big one in the back. Away from the noise.”
Ash shot her a grateful smile. “Sounds fine, Nonie.”
“I think I’ll stay here at the bar.” Whit slapped the back of a young cowboy and leaned in to give Wylie his order.
“Me, too.” Brady paused to speak to a couple of local ranchers.
“Suit yourself.” Ash motioned for Griff to follow him and Nonie.
The waitress leaned close to touch a hand to Ash’s cheek. “I’m so glad you’re back, honey. You’ve been missed.”
“By you, Nonie?” He placed an arm around her shoulders.
“Of course. But there were…others, too.” She nodded toward a table, and Ash caught sight of Brenna and her fiancé talking in low tones.
As he and Griff threaded their way through the crowd toward the back booth, he was forced to pass directly by Brenna’s table.
He braced himself as he paused and forced a big smile. “Hey, Bren. Chris.”
Brenna’s cheeks were flushed, a sure sign that she was feeling conflicted. “Hi, Ash.”
Chris frowned, making no attempt at friendliness. “MacKenzie.”
“Good seeing you, Bren.” Ash turned to include the man with her. “Good seeing you both.”
As he moved on he could hear Chris saying, “…why I hate small towns. Everywhere we go, we’ll be running into him.”
So. Apparently Chris had heard about the history he and Brenna shared. For some strange reason that had Ash grinning as he took a seat in the booth.
From here he had a perfect view of Brenna and her guy.
Another reason why he loved being back in a small town.
His attention was suddenly drawn to the bar, and one voice in particular. “Griff Warren?” Luther Culken downed his beer in one long, noisy swallow before turning to share a grin with the cowboy beside him at the bar. “He sure looks like someone we all knew.” He winked at Brady, standing behind the others at the bar. “I thought for a minute or two I was seeing Bear.”
Ash watched as the
foreman fixed Luther with a challenging look that would have frozen most men’s blood. But Luther was apparently too drunk to care.
To break the tension, Wylie shouted, “The house is buying a drink for everyone.”
Nonie Claxton loaded her tray and started parceling out drinks to every table.
When everyone was served, Wylie shouted, “Lift your glasses to Bear MacKenzie.”
A roar went up from the crowd. “To Bear.”
At the bar, Whit and Brady joined the others in the toast before tilting their bottles and drinking.
Luther nudged the cowboy beside him as a signal that he was about to have some fun at the expense of the MacKenzie family. “So, this Griff fellow? He a long-lost relative, Whit?”
“That’s none of your business, Luther.” Whit walked to a seat at the far end of the bar, while Brady remained standing with a cluster of wranglers from a nearby ranch.
“Maybe I’m making it my business.” Seeing that he’d pushed Whit’s hot button, Luther’s voice lifted a notch so he could be heard above the din. “I figured I was seeing your daddy’s twin or—” he looked around, to make certain he had everyone’s attention before adding “—or maybe his long lost kid.”
“Shut up, Luther. Or—”
Luther cut him off. “Or what?” Whit’s scowl was exactly the reaction he’d been hoping for. “You calling me a liar?”
“I said shut up.”
“Uh-huh.” Now Luther could barely contain his excitement. “Know what I think, boys?” He looked around, enjoying the sizzle of anticipation he could feel rippling through the crowd. “I think when nobody was looking, old Bear was making whoopee behind the barn.”
At the rumble of laughter Whit was out of his seat and had his hands at Luther’s throat before anyone could react.
“I told you to shut your filthy mouth.”
Ash and Griff, hearing the commotion, were on their feet and crossing the room just as Luther clawed at the strong hands around his throat and managed to break free. Sucking in air he slid off his bar stool and threw a punch that landed directly in Whit’s face.
Blood spurted from Whit’s nose, though he took no notice through the haze of fury that had him returning the punch with one of his own.
The cowboy seated beside Luther tossed a mug of beer in Whit’s face, momentarily blinding him.
That had Brady locking an arm around the cowboy’s throat before he could pick up another drink to toss.
Against his ear Brady swore. “This is between Luther and Whit. You keep it a fair fight, or you’ll answer to me.”
Luther took that moment to bring his knee into Whit’s groin. “See how you like that, tough guy.”
As Whit crumpled to the floor, Luther stood over him with a sneer. “Maybe you’d better ask the bastard to come over and fight your battles for you.”
Griff fisted a hand, ready to jump in, but Ash held him back. “Let’s let my little brother fight his own battle, as long as it’s fair.”
While they watched, Whit caught Luther by the ankle and dragged him down.
When Luther fell, two of his buddies leaped into the fray.
Ash nodded at Griff. “Now it’s not fair. But we’ll even those odds.”
Ash threw his first punch, and it was all Griff and Brady needed to join him.
Fists were flying, and bodies dropping so quickly, it looked like half the town of Copper Creek had suddenly joined the free-for-all.
Above the din Griff shouted, “Anybody wants to take on the bastard, here I am. And in case any of you are still wondering, I am Bear MacKenzie’s son. And damned proud of it.”
Somebody threw a full bottle of beer at Griff’s head. He managed to duck, and it landed on the floor, sending shards of glass and foaming beer everywhere.
A table was overturned, and a chair went flying through the air.
Cowboys were hauling their women safely outside before joining the fight. Except for Brenna and Nonie, there weren’t any females left in the place.
Chris Revel caught Brenna’s hand and started leading her toward the door, hoping they could escape the brawl as quickly as possible.
They were nearly at the door when Brenna spotted Luther, bleeding from his head, picking up an empty bottle. He broke it on the edge of the bar and, with the lethal weapon in his hand, started across the room toward Ash, who was busy fighting off two of Luther’s drunken buddies.
“Ash!” Brenna was desperate to be heard above the roar.
As she started forward, Chris caught her roughly by the arm. “Don’t be stupid. We have to get out of here.”
“Oh, don’t you see? Ash can’t hear me.” She shook off the offending hand and dashed across the room just as Luther raised his arm.
“Ash. Behind you!”
At Brenna’s warning, Ash turned and landed a fist in Luther’s throat.
The bottle fell to the floor while Luther dropped to his knees, struggling for breath.
“Thanks, Bren…”
Out of the corner of his eye Ash saw a cowboy tossing a chair. Wrapping his arms around Brenna, Ash dragged her to the floor and fell on top of her, hoping to absorb the brunt of the blow.
The chair grazed his shoulder before slamming into the wall beside them.
For several moments they lay in a tangle of arms and legs, heartbeats thundering, their breaths shuddering.
Ash lifted his head just enough to brush his lips over her ear. “Seems to me we were in this same position earlier today.” Despite the pain that shot up his arm from the flying chair, he managed a quick, sexy grin. “I think we’ve got to quit meeting like this.”
“How can you make a joke when you were nearly knocked unconscious?” Brenna’s words were whispered against Ash’s cheek.
At the mere brush of her lips on his flesh he felt a sudden, shocking arousal. Instead of rolling aside, though, he remained where he was. His arms came around her, pinning her even more firmly against him. “Are you sure I’m conscious? I used to dream about having you here in my arms like this. Am I dreaming, Brenna?”
She’d gone very still and watchful.
“I have to find out.” He allowed his mouth to nuzzle her jaw. “Umm. So soft. Just the way I remember your skin. I guess you’re real and this isn’t a dream.”
“Ash…”
He continued nuzzling her jaw before moving his mouth closer to hers. “Why didn’t you run when you had the chance?”
She remained completely still for a moment longer. Then with a sigh she turned her face just enough that their lips were brushing. “I saw what Luther intended to do, and I had to warn you.”
“My sweet little avenging angel.” His hands roamed her back as he absorbed the most amazing rush of sexual energy.
Before he could return the kiss Chris was beside them, his voice thick with anger and concern.
“What in hell do you think you’re doing, MacKenzie? Brenna. Are you hurt? Here. Let me help you up.”
Ash rolled aside and managed to touch a hand to her face. “You okay?”
Heart pounding, all she could do was nod.
Chris stepped over Ash and caught Brenna’s hands, helping her to her feet. “That jagged beer bottle could have carved up your face. What were you thinking? I told you to stay away.” He swore loudly, viciously. “If you don’t have any concern for your own safety, then at least give a thought to the guy who’s about to marry you. The last thing I need on my employment record is an arrest for a stupid bar brawl with a bunch of drunken cowboys. Come on.” With his arm firmly around her shoulders, he led her away.
Ash continued sitting on the floor, watching through his one good eye as Whit battled Luther’s buddy, who suddenly pulled a hunting knife from his waist. Griff, seeing what the cowboy intended, gave a martial-arts kick that had the cowboy’s body dropping face-first to the floor with such force, he lay moaning, unable to move.
Whit wiped blood from his mouth before saying, “That was some move. You learn that in Afg
hanistan?”
“Long before I went there.” Griff shook his head. “A bar in my hometown.”
“It was a good move.” Whit dropped an arm around Griff’s shoulders. “I’ll have to remember that for next time.”
“You planning on doing a lot of bar fighting?”
“You never know. Sometimes it just helps to let off some steam.”
The two of them ambled over to where Ash was sitting on the floor. Whit offered his brother a hand, and got him to his feet.
“Going to have quite a shiner, bro.”
“And you’ve got a fat lip.”
“It’ll heal.”
They turned to Griff, who was limping slightly.
Ash nodded toward Griff’s leg. “Somebody use a boot on you?”
Griff grinned. “I did it to myself. That last kick. Out of shape, I guess.”
“You were in shape when it counted.” Whit offered his handshake. “You fight like a pro, bro.”
Griff laughed out loud. “Thanks. I consider that the highest of compliments.”
“Fighting like a pro?”
“No. Being called bro. That’s a first in my lifetime.”
The three were grinning as they approached Wylie, who was looking over the destruction to his saloon.
Ash reached into his pocket. “Sorry about the mess, Wylie. I’ve got—” he counted bills “—sixty dollars.”
“I’ve got forty,” Whit said.
“I’ve got ninety-eight.” Griff deposited his money on the bar. “I hope that will cover the damage, Wylie.”
Brady Storm ambled up and dropped another fifty on top of their pile of money. “For the drinks you didn’t get to sell tonight.”
Wylie nodded. “That ought to more than cover everything here. But I doubt it’ll cover Luther’s visit to Doc Mullin’s clinic.”
“Serves him right,” Whit said with a snarl. “Next time I see him, he’d better keep that big mouth shut, or he’ll need another visit to the doc.”
