Redemption's Edge: Book 1, Redemption Mountain Historical Western Romance

by Shirleen Davies

  Dax nodded at Hank as he unsaddled the horses, brushed them down, and pushed open the gate to the pasture behind the barn.

  “Did your brother come out with you?” Hank pulled off his gloves and stuffed them in his back pocket.

  “He’s inside.” Dax watched as Hannibal and Prince ran around the large fenced pasture. It had been a long time since they’d been this free to run.

  “Suppose you heard Ellis.”

  “I did. He’s free to leave.” Dax closed the rear barn doors and turned to Hank. “Are you ready for our talk now?”

  “Sure am.” Hank followed him into the house and pointed toward an office. “I’ll get Bernice to bring us some coffee while you find your brother.”

  A short time later, the three men watched each other from large leather chairs and sipped their coffee. Dax’s eyes roamed over an accounting of the property Hank had scratched out on a piece of paper. He’d been meticulous at keeping records of purchases, payroll, and income from the cattle sold each year.

  “Pat kept things simple. He planned to come back and expand the herd, hire more men, maybe get into horse breeding for the army. He expected horse sales to grow with the expansion of forts out west. The cattle operation is profitable with enough coming in to pay the men, buy supplies, and enlarge the herd every year. He was a frugal man, but knew enough to pay the men well.” Hank scratched his stubbled jaw. “Took him over ten years to accumulate the land, and he had to fight off King Tolbert, the neighboring rancher, for every acre. He must’ve put every cent he had into this place. Damn shame he never got to finish his dream.”

  “What would need to be done to expand the herd, grow the way he intended?” Dax set the paper on the desk and leaned back. Yes, Pat had been frugal, which accounted for the large sum of cash in the bank.

  “More cattle and men, but that’s about it. There’s plenty of good grazing land and water, so those aren’t worries. Why? What are you thinking?” Hank needed answers.

  Dax looked toward Luke, then back at Hank. “Neither Luke nor I have ranching experience. Farming, shipping, and trade, but not cattle.”

  “You know business? How to keep what’s yours?”

  Dax’s eyebrows drew together as his eyes narrowed. “Explain yourself.”

  “This is rough country. We spend as much time fighting off bands of renegade Indians and land thieves as we do tending the cattle. Winters are merciless. Some years, we lose a third of the herd to weather and theft. You have to be prepared to kill and die if you run a place like this. It’s no business for the weak.” Hank leveled his gaze at Dax.

  This time, Luke’s eyes narrowed on Hank’s. He straightened in his chair, then leaned forward. “I don’t believe any man who’s served under his leadership would call Dax weak.”

  “That’s enough, Luke.” Dax’s calm voice held a slight censure. He didn’t need his past to defend him.

  “You two fight in the war?”

  “For the South.” Luke responded in a tight voice, ready to defend their decision to support the vote for secession.

  “Makes no difference to me on which side you fought. There were good men on both. What does matter is that living out here is another war. You have to decide if that’s what you want—to continue to fight for what you want every day of your life, or settle back into something more peaceful.”

  “Like being a Ranger?” There was no humor in Dax’s tone.

  Hank chuckled, then sobered. “Mind me asking where you two are from?”

  “Savannah, Georgia.” Luke set his empty cup on the desk.

  “Been there. I heard Sherman tore it apart. That true?” Hank could see the shadows pass over each brother’s face, looks of disgust and pain, which told him the talk was accurate. “Well, this is as good a place as any to build a new life.” He pushed up from his seat and stood when he heard commotion from out front, then loud pounding on the front door before it flew open and Bull Mason, one of the hands, entered the study.

  “We’ve got trouble. Tolbert’s foreman is riding in with some of his men. They don’t look like they want to talk.”

  All three men followed Bull outside to see a group of riders approaching.

  “You recognize them?” Dax asked Hank.

  “The one in the lead has been with Tolbert several months. His name is Drake. Mean hombre who travels with a gang, mostly ex-soldiers. I heard he also served in the Confederate army. Guess we’d better meet them.” Hank stepped off the porch, not aware of the way Dax stiffened at the mention of the man’s name. Dax’s reflexes kicked in and he moved a hand to the butt of his gun.

  “We’re looking for the new owner.” The one Dax guessed to be the leader nudged his horse a little closer and looked at Dax, cocking his head, but not showing any recognition of the general under whose command he served. “Are you him?”

  “My brother and I own the place.”

  “My name’s Drake. My boss, King Tolbert, wants to meet with you. Follow us.” He started to rein his horse around, but stopped at Dax’s words.

  “Another time. Of course, he’s welcome to come by, pay us a friendly visit and talk.” Dax and Luke each moved further into the yard, putting about six feet between each other, and watching for any movement from the riders.

  “I don’t believe you heard me right. Mr. Tolbert wants you to follow us—now.”

  “Well, Sergeant Drake, I guess we’re at an impasse.”

  Drake glared down at the man, narrowing his gaze, a sense of unease washing over him when he realized who stood before him. “General Pelletier. I’m surprised you recognized me.”

  “I recognize most faces and all names of the men who deserted during a battle. In your case, I remember both. If we were back home, I’d shoot you where you sit, as I can’t abide cowards. As it is, I’ll let you ride out. Tell Tolbert if he wants to see me, he’ll send a proper invitation or ride out here himself. No lackey as a go-between.”

  Drake bristled at the insult and started to reach for his gun.

  “I wouldn’t, Sergeant.” Dax and Luke both drew in unison, pointing their guns at Drake’s chest. Bull Mason followed their lead and aimed his gun at the other riders.

  “You ain’t no general anymore, Pelletier.” Drake moved his hand away from his gun and rested it on his thigh. “I’d keep a close watch on your place and your men. Accidents happen all the time out here.” He smirked and kicked his spurs into the side of his horse, riding away with his men, a cloud of thick dust rising in their wake.

  Chapter Four

  “Good morning, Mr. Brandt.” Rachel slid off her horse, an older dun, and walked him into the livery.

  Noah Brandt, the town’s blacksmith, looked up, then stepped away from the horse he’d been tending. “Ma’am. What can I do for you?”

  “Old Pete lost a shoe.” She indicated the right front hoof. “May I leave him here with you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. That’d be fine.” Noah took the reins and led the horse to a back stall. “Can’t get to him until later today, though.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll stop back later.” Rachel stepped into the sunlit morning as a group of riders approached from north of town. It appeared to be King Tolbert with a few of the men from his ranch. She’d met Tolbert several times, and he’d extended invitations for supper on a couple of occasions. Her uncle had always refused. Rachel figured he had a good reason, although she found King to be quite appealing with exceptional manners and a charming wit. Regardless, her uncle had warned her to be careful around the man.

  “Good morning, Miss Davenport.” King stopped and tipped his hat.

  “Mr. Tolbert.” Rachel gave a slight nod, not letting the smile she felt appear. She wanted to heed her uncle’s advice, yet saw no real danger in the man.

  “I’ve been remiss in not pursuing a supper engagement with you. Would you be available tonight?”

  Rachel hesitated a moment before answering. “I do appreciate the invitation, Mr. Tolbert. However, I take care of my u
ncle and never know when a new patient will arrive.”

  “I’m certain your uncle will understand you taking one night away, Miss Davenport. Why don’t I speak with him?”

  “Oh, no. That won’t be necessary.” She pursed her lips, coming to a decision. “Perhaps one evening away will be all right.”

  “Splendid. I’ll pick you up at six tonight.” He tipped his hat once more, then rode down the main street, tying his horse outside the bank, while the others dismounted and milled about.

  Rachel noticed none made a move to head toward the general store or saloon. It seemed as if they were standing guard, watching out for their boss and any perceived danger. She shook her head at the thought of a threat against such a prominent rancher and continued on to the clinic. A wagon had arrived since she’d left so she hurried inside.

  “Uncle Charles?”

  “Back here, Rachel.”

  She stepped into the back room to see a small girl on the table, two adults and two other children standing around watching the doctor’s efforts to help.

  “What is it?”

  “This is Mr. and Mrs. Weston. Their daughter has a fever and can’t hold her food down.” Without saying another word, he motioned for Rachel to guide the family to the waiting room so they could work.

  “I’m Rachel Davenport, the nurse. It would be best if you and your children wait in the front.” She saw the reluctance on the mother’s face and understood her concern. “This is a small room and the doctor needs all the space to treat your daughter.” She led the parents and children to the other room. “I’ll be back to let you know how she’s doing. What’s her name?”

  “Janie,” Mrs. Weston replied in an unsteady voice.

  Rachel closed the door and joined her uncle beside the little girl.

  “We need to get her fever down.”

  Rachel went right to work, gathering what they needed. She’d begun applying a cold cloth to the girl’s face and chest when the door slammed opened.

  “Doc, you got to come quick. There’s been an accident and we need your help.” The dirt-covered cowboy pulled his old hat off when he spotted Rachel.

  “Son, I’ve got me a sick girl. I can’t go now.”

  “But our foreman, Hank Wilson, has been shot. Pelletier, the new owner, said to get you right away.”

  Rachel glanced up at the mention of Dax. “Perhaps you should go. I can take care of this.”

  Charles looked at his niece, then at the cowboy. “Where’s the bullet?”

  “In his shoulder, near his chest.”

  “Rachel, I can’t be in two places at once. You have good experience with bullet wounds. You take my bag and head out to the Pelletier ranch. See what you can do while I tend to the child. She has a high fever and may convulse. You don’t have as much experience with the reactions of young children to illness. I’d better stay with her. Take what you need from the cupboard.”

  “But—”

  “Rachel, you’re a solid nurse and, frankly, better than most doctors I’ve seen. You go. Do what you can for Mr. Wilson.”

  She bit her lower lip, deciding it would be futile to argue further. She grabbed her uncle’s medical bag, inserted a few items from the shelves, and turned toward the waiting man.

  “I need to get the buggy ready.”

  “You ride behind me, ma’am. It’ll be quicker.” The cowboy jammed the hat back on his head, grabbed the bag from her, and dashed out.

  “You’re sure…?”

  Her uncle glanced up. “Go. You’ll do fine.”

  She followed the man outside, offering a brief explanation to Mr. and Mrs. Weston before closing the door. Rachel grabbed the hand he offered and, in one move, he swung her behind him.

  “I’m Bull Mason, ma’am,” he called back to her as his horse galloped out of town.

  “Rachel Davenport,” she answered, but doubted he’d heard.

  It didn’t take long before she saw the ranch house in the distance. Bull stopped and helped her down, handing Rachel the bag before escorting her inside toward a downstairs bedroom. She walked into the room and halted at the sight of Dax leaning over the injured man, trying to stop the bleeding, while an older woman wiped the man’s forehead with a cloth.

  “General.” She nodded at Dax as she set the bag down and opened it. “Let me see.”

  Even under the circumstances, Dax couldn’t keep a wry smile from forming. It vanished when Rachel pulled back the bandage to examine the wound.

  “Rifle shot?”

  “Appears so.” Dax stood and pulled the chair away to give Rachel more space. “What can I do to help?”

  “Hot water, alcohol, bandages—and wash your hands if you’re planning to help.” She didn’t look up, focusing all her attention on the injured man.

  “All right. Everyone out.” Luke herded the others out of the room. “I’ll get the water and alcohol. Bernice, will you grab some bandages?”

  She nodded and scurried away, returning a moment later with a handful of makeshift bandages and a couple of towels, handing one to Dax, who’d finished washing his hands in a basin on the nightstand. Luke walked in with a pan of hot water and a bottle of whiskey, then left, closing the door behind him.

  Most of the men didn’t leave. Instead, they congregated outside on the porch, talking of the shooting and possible man, or men, behind the action. The only other person with Hank on the western edge of the property was Bull and from his description, the person who pulled the trigger rode a large roan, like the one Drake had ridden onto the ranch several days before.

  “Was there anyone else with him?” Luke asked as he leaned against the porch railing, arms crossed.

  “Not that I could see. Odd, as I figured him for someone who’d give the order, not pull the trigger.” Bull rubbed a hand over his unshaven jaw.

  “But you’re sure it was him?”

  Bull paused a moment. “He sat on a big roan, dark hat—same as Drake. Wish I could’ve seen his face.”

  “May not be good enough for the sheriff.” The others looked up at Luke’s comment, then glanced at each other.

  “We don’t have a sheriff. Haven’t since ours showed up dead a few months ago. Shot in the back.” Ellis threw the piece of leather he’d been working on to the ground.

  “The town can’t find a replacement?” Luke asked.

  “No one wants the job.” Bull walked down the steps. “I’ll be in the barn.” Even though the ranch often used Noah Brandt as a blacksmith, Bull could do a good job when they couldn’t get to town. It was often the way he chose to think and blow off steam.

  Luke watched Bull disappear into the barn. He thought over the man’s words and wondered how hard it would be to attract a lawman to this isolated town at the foot of the Territory Range. The land mass stretched north and south between the border of Montana and Idaho. It seemed a good place for anyone who wanted to start over or get lost. Luke wondered which category he and Dax fell into.

  “There it is.” Rachel mumbled more to herself than to the other two who hovered over the bed. She made a slight sound of satisfaction as the bullet clinked into a metal bowl. “Alcohol.” She reached over to accept the bottle Dax offered and poured a generous amount on the hole, then looked up at Mrs. Wilson. “He’s fortunate. The bullet went more into the shoulder area and didn’t clip a lung. Overall, if there’s no infection, he should be ready to ride in a few weeks.”

  “I’ll let the men know.” Dax walked to the door, then turned back. “Nice work, Miss Davenport. Thank you.”

  The door closed behind him, allowing Rachel to take her first deep breath since she’d arrived. She didn’t know what about the man triggered such intense reactions in her. She’d never experienced anything like the surges of heat, racing heart, and halting breath that seemed to occur around Dax Pelletier. Rachel had seen many men in her job as a nurse. He was, quite simply, the most compelling man she’d ever met.

  It had been all she could do to keep her focus on the
injured man and not the feelings an innocent touch of his hand would arouse. The reaction unnerved her. She’d wanted to reach over and stroke his arm, touch his face, but held her curiosity in check.

  “Miss Davenport?”

  The sound of her name pulled Rachel out of her rambling thoughts. “Yes?”

  “I can sit with my husband now. You’re probably exhausted. Why don’t I fix you some coffee or tea so you can relax a bit?”

  Rachel let out a sigh. “Tea would be wonderful.”

  Minutes later, Bernice returned and handed her a cup.

  “He’ll be in pain for a while. I can leave some laudanum, if you’d like.” She sipped at her tea and felt the tension flow out of her.

  “Hank has no use for that kind of stuff, but you can leave it.” Bernice sat down and took hold of her husband’s hand.

  “I believe I’ll get some fresh air.” Rachel walked out the front door to see that everyone had dispersed. She chose a seat in a large rocker and leaned her head against the back, closing her eyes. She must have lost track of time because when she opened them again, the sun had begun to set and Dax stood over her, a slight grin on his face.

  He’d been watching Rachel for a long time, her face now eased of the tension he’d seen while she worked on Hank. She seemed to be in a deep sleep, her eyelids fluttering as the cooling breeze washed over her face. At one point, she started, then settled back when whatever menace haunted her had passed. He’d wanted to stroke his knuckles down her cheek, feel the softness and the warmth. More than anything, he wanted to kiss her, feel her lips against his.

  “I’m sorry. I must’ve dozed off.” She started to rise, then stopped as Dax placed a hand on her arm.

  “No hurry. Supper’s almost ready. You need to eat before we head back to town.”

  “Town? Oh, I’d forgotten. I rode out with Mr. Mason.”

  “I’ll be taking you back.” Dax took a seat next to her, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankles, folding his arms over his chest.

  She stared over at him, swallowing a lump in her throat, already dreading such close proximity to Dax on the ride back. She couldn’t recall ever being physically drawn to a man, at least not to more than a handsome face. Dax Pelletier elicited feelings that were so much more than she ever thought possible, as if a magnet drew her toward him. At the same time, she found it difficult to form a cohesive thought. The entire situation seemed ridiculous.