The Lockwood Legacy - Books 1-6: Plus Bonus Short Stories

by Juliette Harper

  After another pause, the man said, "Understood, sir. I'll resume my surveillance of the ranch." He stowed the phone, turned, and picked his way across the yard, being careful not to leave any trace of his presence.

  "Boy," Milton said, "what exactly did you think you were gonna accomplish putting that bullet in your head? ‘Cause it’s plain as the nose on your face you didn’t stop what’s been going on around here the last few weeks."

  Langston's eyes were still on the figure retreating in the growing dusk. "I thought I was putting an end to this sorry family of ours,” he said. “I wanted to stick it to George Fisk one last time, and fix it so I could see Alice again. I thought she’d be here on this side waiting for me. I didn’t know anybody was watching the ranch or I’d have tended to that before I shot myself.”

  Milton spit in the dirt. "First off," he said, "I don’t know how you thought you were putting an end to the family when you have three daughters. And it looks like to me that feller just jerked a knot in your tail over Baxter’s Draw. This thing isn’t over, and now your girls are gonna be the ones to deal with it.”

  “They won’t deal with it,” Langston said. “Not with the will I drew up. The State of Texas will get the Rocking L back.”

  “Wish it was the Republic of Texas getting it back,” Milton grumbled. “We should have stayed independent . . .”

  Langston cut him off. “I really don’t want to talk Texas politics, Daddy,” he said. “I think we might have bigger fish to fry than states rights and secession.”

  “Humph,” Milton groused. “Fine. How long you reckon you’re gonna lay there dead before someone finds you and calls the Sheriff?"

  “I made Pablo drive to San Antonio today to pick up some calves at the stockyards,” Langston said. “He ought to be back any minute now. He’ll find me and call it in.”

  Milton pulled out his tobacco sack again. “You know,” he said, obviously cheering up, “I’ve been rolling these things for years now and this sack never gets empty. Some things about being dead aren’t half bad.”

  Langston turned toward him with consternation. “So that’s it?” he asked. “I get to just sit around and watch you roll your own for eternity? We can’t do anything but watch what’s going on in the world like it’s some goddamn TV show?”

  “Oh, hell no, boy,” Milton said. “Being dead is a whole lot more interesting than that. We’re just sitting here waiting for them to find you. It should be quite a show once that’s done. Then we’ll ride along with the Sheriff when he goes to tell Katie.”

  Even though there was no blood now to drain from his face, Langston paled. “Damnation,” he said. “I didn’t even think about what it’s gonna be like for the the girls to hear about this.”

  “Why would you?” Milton asked. “You never thought about them when you were alive.”

  “Goddamn it,” Langston growled. “That’s not true. I did think about them. Everything I’ve done has been to keep them safe.”

  “Well, if that’s the truth, you never let anybody see it, especially not them,” Milton said. “And I have to tell you, son, you’ve got a pretty screwed up notion of what it means to be safe in life.”

  “Since you’re the first person who made me feel unsafe,” Langston said in a level tone, “you don’t have any right to say that to me.”

  “Probably not,” Milton agreed, “but we’re not talking about us right now, we’re talking about the girls. You’re gonna get to watch while they hear you blew your brains out. You asked me if I was proud of you. How proud do you think they’re gonna be finding out you were too much of a coward to own up to your own actions?”

  “You just have to dig your spurs in my hide, don’t you?” Langston said. “And here I was starting to think you have changed.”

  “Chastened, boy,” Milton said. “I have been chastened. The changing part is gonna take a mite longer.”

  “I can’t say I think that bodes well for either of us,” Langston said sourly.

  “Me neither,” Milton agreed, rolling a fresh cigarette. “Me neither.”

  Chapter 135

  The Discovery of the Body

  The next few hours passed exactly as Langston predicted they would. Pablo pulled into the Rocking L just after dark and turned the calves loose in one of the pens near the house. He came into the barn and found Langston. And he did call the Sheriff, but not before taking off his hat and saying a prayer over the body of his irascible employer.

  “Son of a bitch,” Langston muttered, filled with guilt as he watched the man pray.

  “Hurts like hell, doesn’t it?” Milton asked.

  “Half the time I never called him anything but a goddamn greaser,” Langston said. He watched Pablo cross himself and wipe tears from his eyes. “Look at him. He’s acting like we were friends.”

  “You were his patrón,” Milton said. “Means something to the ones from Old Mexico.”

  “I don’t want to see this kind of thing,” Langston said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “Oh, you’re just getting started,” Milton told him with a chuckle. “This is the part where you start finding out what people really thought about you. It’s the ones that loved you without you even knowing it that will put ground glass in your gut. I ought to know.”

  Langston turned to glare at his father. “You’re not seriously trying to tell me that you felt guilty about the way you treated me?” Langston asked.

  “I am,” Milton said without flinching. “Especially after that car accident. I’m sorry, son. I knew you were broke up about Alice Browning, but I didn’t know how broke up until I had to watch you all these years. I wish I’d done something to try to help you back then.”

  To his surprise and irritation, Langston suddenly found it hard to swallow. He’d never shed a tear since that night in December 1956. He wasn’t going to shed one now, but he never expected an expression of sympathy from Milton Lockwood. Clearing his throat, he said roughly, “Reckon I’d have done the same thing in your place.”

  “Probably,” Milton agreed. “You weren’t any better father than I was. Thing is, boy, looks like we’re riding the same range now, so maybe we ought to try and smoke the peace pipe.”

  Langston studied his father’s face. “You are different,” he said finally.

  “I’ve had a lot of time to think,” Milton replied. “It’s gonna happen to you, too, son. A man’s got to pay for the things he’s done.”

  “That’s what I’ve always said,” Langston agreed.

  “Cause you heard me say it enough times,” Milton said.

  “I guess I did,” Langston said. “I’d forgotten that.” Then he said, “I tried to forget you.” The admission seemed to embarrass him, and he added awkwardly, “And here we are.”

  “Yep,” Milton said. “Here we are. Maybe we ought to try to make the best of it. What do you think, boy?”

  Langston nodded, and then asked uncertainly, “Will we ever get our debts paid, Daddy?”

  “I can’t answer that,” Milton said. “I haven’t been able to pay mine, or I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you.” Now it was his turn to clear his throat and look away. “I’m sorry this has happened to you, son, but I’m damn glad to see you. It’s been mighty lonesome all these years. Let’s work on being compadres now.”

  “Stranger things have been known to happen,” Langston said. “Can’t think of just what at the moment though.”

  Milton let out a belly laugh. “That’s the God’s honest truth,” he said, shaking his head.

  The two men stayed put on their hay bale and watched the Sheriff arrive, and then the ambulance came. There were lights and photographs and the body was taken away covered with a sheet. The Stetson went in one over-sized evidence bag, the Colt in another. It was just a little before dawn when the Sheriff turned to his deputy and said, “I gotta go tell Katie now.”

  “Uh, how come you didn’t call the family first thing?” the deputy asked.


  “Because that was Langston Lockwood laying in there dead,” the Sheriff said. “He just could be the most hated man in Texas. I wasn’t gonna go talk to Katie until I knew what happened here.”

  “What are you going to say to her?”

  “The truth,” the Sheriff said. “Her Daddy killed himself. They haven’t said more than a dozen words to each other in years, but she’s gonna take this hard.”

  “It’s the crack of dawn,” the deputy said. “Shouldn’t you at least wait until the sun is good and up to go over to her place?”

  “You don’t know Katie Lockwood,” the Sheriff said. “I reckon she’s already on her second cup of coffee, and if I don’t get over there now, she’ll be out in the pasture working. I am a fat old man. I do not aim to have to saddle a horse and go looking for her.”

  As the Sheriff and the deputy were talking, Milton stood up. “Come on, boy,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  “Are we riding with him?” Langston asked, also getting to his feet.

  “No,” Milton said. “It doesn’t work that way. Just think about where you want to go and you’ll be there.” He held out his work-roughened hand. “We’ll do it together the first time.”

  Langston stared at him. “You haven’t put your hand out to me since I was a greenhorn kid,” he said. “Not unless you were getting ready to knock me sidewinding.”

  “Well, I’m putting it out now,” Milton said. “Quit being so damned stubborn.”

  Chapter 136

  Delivering the Death Message

  Langston took his father’s hand and the scene around them dissolved and reformed to the yard of a modest ranch house. They were standing on the K Bar 3, the land Kate Lockwood bought 12 years earlier in defiance of her father’s dictatorial control. Headlights cut through the gate and the Sheriff’s car pulled up.

  “How did he get here so fast?” Langston asked.

  “He didn’t,” Milton said. “We got here at the time we wanted to be here.”

  “You’ve lost me,” Langston said.

  “I don’t understand it either,” Milton answered. “I just know that when I want to go somewhere and watch something I get there at the right time.”

  “Can you go backwards, too?” Langston asked curiously.

  “Huh,” Milton said, pushing his own hat back to scratch his forehead. “I don’t know. Never thought to try it.” He looked over Langston’s shoulder and said, “There she is.”

  Langston turned as Kate stepped out on the front porch, a blue tin cup in one hand. She was a tall woman, almost 6 foot, lean and rangey. Her dark hair was tied back so that even in the dim light, the planes of her face revealed the handsome character of her features. Perhaps not beautiful by conventional standards, Kate's strength and confidence made people notice her. She left most men shaking their heads and admitting to themselves, “That’s too much woman for me.”

  Kate watched as the Sheriff unlatched the yard gate and came up the walk.

  “Morning, Lester,” Kate said. “What’s got you up at this hour?”

  The Sheriff took off his hat and twisted it awkwardly in his hands. "Kate, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but Langston killed himself last night."

  Tears filled her eyes, but she swallowed them back. “Tell me what happened,” she said, staring down at the rough planks under her feet as Lester began to talk. It was only at the end of his recitation when he said, "Sure was a beautiful Stetson he had on. Damn shame," that her head snapped up.

  In a sharp voice, she said, “What are you talking about, Lester?”

  "We found his hat there in the . . . well, it was . . . the hole was in . . ." The words stammered out to an awkward silence and the Sheriff regarded her with a pained and mournful expression.

  "He didn't kill himself," she said with complete conviction.

  "The gun was in his hand, Kate," the Sheriff said sympathetically. "The only prints in the barn were from his boots. Doc Granger says the angle of the shot is consistent with suicide. I know it's hard to accept . . ."

  "If he had his hat on," Kate said through clenched teeth, "he did not pull that trigger himself."

  From his vantage point in the yard, the ghost of Langston Lockwood grinned. “Listen to her, Daddy,” he said, pride filling his voice. “She’s smarter than that peckerwood Lester Harper on her worst day. She’ll figure this all out.”

  “Well, it might be one thing if it was just her figuring it out,” Milton said, leaning against the trunk of the big live oak at the end of the porch. “Katie can take care of herself. Problem is, her sisters are gonna be here, too. You’ve put all three of them right in the middle of your mess, boy. Are you proud of yourself?”

  Langston shook his head. “Mandy might come,” he said. “She’s too sweet not to, and then she’ll get on back to Houston. Jenny won’t set foot on the Rocking L again. Mark my words.”

  Chapter 137

  Home for the Burying

  But once again, Langston Lockwood underestimated his daughters. He had no trouble listening in when Kate called his middle girl, Jenny, in New York City. He smiled triumphantly at the reluctance in her voice about coming to the funeral and said to Milton, “See, I told you so.”

  But then Kate said, “He did it in the barn with a pistol, and he was wearing his hat.” That’s when the direction of the conversation took a rapid turn.

  Jenny’s voice, coming through the receiver, sounded thin and strained. “What did you say?” she asked.

  "You heard me," Kate said. "He was wearing his hat."

  "Something's not right," Jenny said, her voice little more than a whisper on the line.

  "Exactly,” Kate said, “which is why you're coming home."

  And damned if Jenny didn’t agree to do it. They knew their father better than he thought they did, better than he realized he’d allowed them to know him. Not one of Langston’s girls believed he blew his own brains out and ruined a good hat doing it.

  So they all came home to the Rocking L to bury him. Mandy with a car full of suitcases, unsure what to wear to the funeral. Jenny, tense and anxious, driving herself up from San Antonio in a rented SUV with nothing but a carry-on bag.

  They might be jumpy as yearlings not broke to the saddle, but they were there. Of course, Katie stepped up like the top hand she was and started running the ranch. She never so much as missed a beat, arranging for his burying, and tending to the chores.

  But then it happened. That first night they were all back, sitting out on the porch drinking iced tea and watching the deer. Unseen by the trio of women, Milton and Langston lounged on the back steps and listened to them talk.

  Kate noticed the circling buzzards first, but when she said she’d have to go up there and find out what was dead, Jenny chimed in, asking. "Isn't that up Baxter's Draw?"

  "Well, I'll be damned,” Kate said. “You haven't forgotten everything useful you ever knew."

  "No, I haven't, and I can still sit a horse,” Jenny said. “Unless Daddy finally cut a road up there, you'll have to ride in. I'll do it. The funeral's not until 5 o'clock, right?"

  The instant he heard the words “Baxter’s Draw,” Langston sat up with a look of angry consternation on his face. Now, as he listened to the girls discuss Jenny riding up there, he swore under his breath, a reaction that won a low chuckle from Milton.

  “And just what do you think is so goddamn funny?” Langston demanded, glowering at his father.

  “You,” Milton said, pushing his hat back and grinning at his son. “Didn’t think it would happen quite this fast, did you?”

  “I didn’t think it would happen at all,” Langston growled. “Damn it all to hell, they’ve got no call to go up to the draw.”

  Milton stretched out his legs and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s your own damn fault,” he said. “You raised three ranch women. You’ve got a dead cow up that draw. And that little New York City gal you didn’t think would come on home and tend to business? She's the one that’s gon
na throw a saddle on a horse and go see about it.”

  “This is what I get for marrying a Yankee,” Langston grumbled.

  “Irene was way to hell and gone too good for you, boy,” Milton said. “And before she left this good earth, she stuck it to you proper, didn’t she?”

  “You go to hell,” Langston snapped.

  “Now you see,” Milton said, grinning, “you’re still not listening. You can’t keep telling me to go to hell when I’m pretty sure we’re both already there.”

  “I can’t let them find out about Baxter’s Draw,” Langston said. “I don’t think I can stand it if they do.”

  “You’re gonna have to stand it,” Milton said, “because you’re not gonna be able to stop any of this now.

  The next day at the funeral, Langston stood at the back of the church alone. Unexpectedly Milton had gruffly told him, “A man shouldn’t have to watch his only son be buried. I’ll see you later, boy.”

  “But I don’t know how to get there by myself,” Langston protested.

  “Just think about where you want to go,” Milton said, walking away and growing fainter with each step. “Just let it happen.”

  Langston did as he was told. He found himself standing just inside the front door of the Methodist Church. A steady stream of curious townspeople filtered into the pews. He leaned against one of the pillars in the foyer and waited until his daughters walked down the center aisle and sat down in the front.

  When Kate rose to give his eulogy, Langston really looked at her for the first time in years. How was it possible his little girl was 37? She was long and lean like his people, dark and good looking. There was no denying she was a Lockwood.

  Langston had been hard on all his girls, but with Kate he was so merciless his behavior left other people shaking their heads. No one ever knew how many times he sat in his study at night staring into a glass of whiskey and searching his soul for a way to go easier on that girl.