“So, someone here in town takes a dislike to either me or Charlene, steals some horses in order to follow and shoot us? That’s a stretch, Vic, even for your limited imagination.”
“Makes sense if the parties involved are townsfolk and have no horses of their own.”
“That would mean their vendetta is quite powerful,” Tyler replied slowly. “Who might hate either her or me that much? I haven’t been around long enough to make enemies, and you said it yourself – the Quinns are well liked and respected.”
“I don’t have all the answers,” Victor said, lifting his reins. “But I aim to find ‘em.”
He touched his fingers to his hat brim, then rode on past Tyler. Confused as to what may have caused such enmity toward himself or Charlene, Tyler walked on down the street, nodding absently in greeting to those folks he passed. Maybe someone has it in for me for buying the Mill place, had wanted it for themselves.
Though that idea was possible, it still made little sense to Tyler. He bought it when no one else wanted it. Reclaiming his horse from the stable, he mounted up with a few grimaces and choice oaths under his breath. Walking the bay the few miles to his home may be slower, but his body could not handle trotting or cantering just then.
He saw no sign of Wintonta and his companions as he rode into his yard, the mules in the corral expressing their unhappiness with him with loud brays. Tying the bay to the hitching post, he unsaddled him, curried the sweat from his hide, then turned him loose with the others. After feeding them and filling the water trough, he went to the house feeling more exhausted than he should.
Most of the food he had in his kitchen had gone bad during his absence. Not hungry anyway, the house as hot as an oven, he found a place in the back under a thatch of cedar trees with deep shade and soft loamy soil beneath them. Getting himself comfortable, he pillowed his head on his arm and went to sleep.
When he woke up, his bunkhouse was on fire.
Chapter Fourteen
“Why are we riding so far north?” George asked, cantering to Aaron’s left flank. “San Antone ain’t in this direction.”
“No,” Aaron replied with more patience than he usually had. “We need to skirt those towns where we’re known. Do you want another posse on us?”
“No,” George replied, “but we don’t need to ride this far from the towns, do we?”
“I ain’t taking any chances,” Aaron said with a sharp glance at him. “You’re just whining because we haven’t been to a town where you can gamble.”
“I’m just tired of being in the saddle is all,” George said, sulking. “I want to drink beer and sleep in a bed for a change.”
“We’ll strike east again soon,” Franklin told him. “I think there’s a small village up this way. Might have a saloon and a hotel.”
Aaron half turned in his saddle. “What’s its name? Have we been there before?”
Franklin shook his head. “Nope. Not likely we’re known, neither.”
“It might be good to stop for the night,” Aaron said, turning back around. “I wouldn’t mind a beer myself.”
The small town that arose in their path did indeed have a hotel, and a saloon attached to it. Thinking of a meal that didn’t come from a saddlebag, Aaron reined in at the hotel and dismounted. Tying his horse to the hitching post, he led his brothers inside.
The lobby felt cool and dim compared to the blazing heat of the outdoors, and their presence earned them a smile from the man behind the counter.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” he said grandly. “Rooms?”
“That and meals,” Aaron answered, pulling some cash from his pocket.
“Do y’all have business here in town?” the manager asked, sliding the guest register across to him.
Aaron shook his head. “Just passing through on our way to San Antonio.”
As usual, Aaron signed a different name than his own, paid for a room and his meals, then left each of his brothers to do the same. “Supper is served in thirty minutes, good sirs,” the manager said as Aaron headed for the stairs to the room assigned him. Like most hotels, it was small and clean, with a narrow bed, a bureau, a table, and a chair.
His window looked down into the hot, dusty street below, and Aaron leaned on the sill to gaze down. Only a few people rode or walked through it, women carrying parasols to protect their skin from the sun’s brutal rays. Just another sleepy burg with nothing at all going on. Aaron suspected he’d die of boredom if he was forced to live in a place like this.
The dinner served by the hotel that night was hot fried chicken, dumplings, gravy, fresh bread, and peas. Aaron ate two helpings, glad to be eating something besides dried meat and hard cornbread, his brothers devouring theirs just as eagerly. None of them spoke much, even though there were few other diners around them.
Still behind his counter, the manager waved to them in a friendly fashion as they filed through the open doorway to the saloon. Inside, they found the place only half full of patrons, a few cowboys drinking beer and playing poker, what appeared to be a pair of farmers discussing the weather, and businessmen in ties, their black frock coats over the backs of their chairs.
Aaron selected a table in a corner where he could watch the entire room, his brothers taking the other chairs. A girl came to take their orders for beer all around and brought them in tall foaming mugs. The place felt stifling hot in spite of a relatively cool breeze that entered through the open windows.
George took a long pull at his beer and smacked his lips in satisfaction. “Didn’t I tell you this was a good idea?”
Aaron shrugged. “I suppose.”
Though no one had spared them a second glance, the hairs on the back of Aaron’s neck stood up. He felt a prickling sensation, as though something with tiny sharp claws crawled over his skin. That feeling was very familiar to him, and he never failed to heed it.
They were being watched.
“Finish your beers,” he said quietly, his head lowered. “Then we ride.”
George gaped. “We just got here.”
Glaring under his hat, Aaron’s eyes bored holes in his brother’s face. George shut his mouth and glanced aside, drinking his beer in gulps. “Something’s wrong,” Aaron muttered.
Elmer nodded. “I feel it.”
“This is what we’re gonna do,” Aaron said, his voice lowered. “After we drink our beers, we mosey back to our rooms, grab our gear. We open a window at the back and jump down.”
“We’re on the second floor,” Franklin replied, his brows furrowed.
“We got to,” Aaron said, his eyes flicking around the room from under his hat, hoping to spot whoever was watching them. “They’ll think we’re in our rooms. Then we grab our horses and skin out.”
“I don’t see anyone in here watching us,” Elmer said in an undertone. “Where are they?”
Aaron glanced out the window. Without making it obvious, he tried to observe the street and anyone on it. Unfortunately, he saw nothing. “I don’t know. But they’re there, waiting for us. If we just grab our gear and walk out the front door, they’ll be on us.”
“But we’re not known here,” George complained, a whine in his voice. “We never been here before.”
“That don’t mean they don’t have wanted posters on us,” Elmer growled, glowering at George. “We obviously were recognized.”
“The hotel feller was awful friendly,” Franklin observed.
“A little too friendly,” Aaron agreed, drinking his beer. “We’re getting too famous, boys.”
“That means we can’t stop in towns no more,” George complained bitterly. “I hate being a saddle tramp.”
“At least you’ll be alive,” Aaron snapped. “Once we spring Benji, we’ll go south, into old Mexico. They don’t know us there.”
“Do they have saloons in old Mexico?” George asked, hope in his eyes.
“I’m sure they do,” Aaron replied with a quick resigned shake of his head. “Mexicans drink.”
; The bad feeling in his gut grew, the strange, crawling sensation on his flesh increased as Aaron finished his beer. “Let’s go,” he said. “Walk casual like, wave and smile.”
Striding out of the saloon and back into the hotel lobby, Aaron offered the manager, still behind the counter, a quick nod and a wave as he passed him and went up the stairs. His brothers followed behind him in single file, none of the people still eating their evening meal paying them any attention at all.
Inside his room, Aaron slung his saddlebags over his shoulder, then peered out through the window. As before, very few townsfolk occupied the street, a gust of wind stirred the dust into a small whirlwind before dissipating. Then Aaron looked up to the roofs across the street.
A man with a rifle crouched under cover of a chimney, half hidden. Aaron saw him only because he happened to remove his hat to wipe sweat from his brow then replace it. Guns firing at us from above. Not good. Aaron grimaced in anger and frustration. Their horses stood tied up out front, in full view of the riflemen concealed on the rooftops.
Meeting his brothers in the hallway, Aaron told them what he saw. “We can’t get through that,” Elmer said, his eyes wide. “We won’t get far without our horses.”
“We won’t get far at all,” George whined, pacing in a circle. “What’ll we do, Aaron?”
“Just pipe down and let me think,” Aaron snapped. “Give me a minute.”
Striding quickly to the window at the end of the hall, facing the back of the hotel, he gazed out and down. No helpful horses stood there waiting for their riders. He looked up and down the alley, seeing nothing useful save the drop from that window would land them in fairly soft dirt.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” he said, retreating from the window. “Elmer, you’re the best shot. You keep their heads down while the rest of us run for the horses. We’ll ride back here, into the alley, and pick you up. Then we skin the hell out of here.”
Elmer nodded. “I’ll need as much ammunition as you can give me.”
“Here.”
Yanking off his gun belt, filled with shells, he pulled his revolver from it. “We’ll be shooting, too,” he said as Elmer buckled the belt around his chest. “Maybe we can keep them busy enough keeping their heads down they can’t shoot at us.”
“I hope so,” George muttered, “I don’t wanna get shot.”
Aaron rested his hand briefly on Elmer’s shoulder. “Good luck. Once you see us mounted up, run and drop out that back window. We’ll be there.”
“You got it, Aaron.”
Aaron checked the loads in his revolver, closed the cylinder, then nodded to his brothers. “Let’s go.”
Leaving Elmer to cover their escape, Aaron led George and Franklin to the window at the other end of the hall facing out over the alley. With no time to second guess what he was about to do, his gun in his hand, Aaron climbed onto the sill and jumped.
He hit the ground feet first with enough force to slam his teeth together, the shock wave traveling up his leg, crawled up his back and jolted his neck. His hat flew off as dirt and dust filled his eyes, nose and mouth, his saddlebags flung from his shoulder. Rolling across the dirt of the alley, he gasped for breath and looked up.
George hurtled out the window next, landing with a thud just as he had, careening in a tight ball to strike the back of the building opposite. Getting to his feet, Aaron, spitting out dirt, helped George up just as Franklin jumped. His spectacles flew from his face as he hit the ground hard, thrown onto his hands and knees. Hearing his grunt, and then a long groan, Aaron knew he’d been hurt.
“Franklin.” Aaron ran to him, trying to help him up off the ground. But for a long moment, Franklin wouldn’t move.
George picked up his fallen spectacles and his own fallen hat and bags. “What’s wrong?”
“Franklin? Talk to me. Are you hurt?”
His brother nodded. “My back,” he gasped.
Lord, this isn’t good, just when we have to get him on a horse and ride hard. “Listen,” Aaron said, “you have to get up and walk. Can you do that?”
“I – don’t know. Aaron, it hurts so bad.”
“I’ll help you.”
With his hand under Franklin’s arm, he lifted, hearing his brother’s choked off cry of pain. He stopped instantly, Franklin now on just his knees, sweat running down his hair and dripping onto his face. “Brother? Can you stand?”
“Don’t – pull on me. Let me do it.”
Aaron released him, anxiously watching him, fear etching its way down his spine. If he can’t ride, we’re all dead. I can’t leave him behind. “Franklin,” he said, licking his lips, glancing up and down the alley. “We have to go now. Please, try to get up.”
Without raising his head, Franklin reached out, fumbling for it, to grasp his arm. “I – I’ll try.”
Franklin, his teeth clamped shut on a long low cry of agony, put his right leg under him, pushing off from Aaron’s extended arm. Stumbling, every muscle and tendon standing out on his neck, Franklin got his left foot under him and stood. His eyes met Aaron’s and instantly knew Franklin wasn’t going to make it. He saw death in those calm, pain-wracked eyes – Franklin’s death.
“Aaron,” Franklin said, his hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “You have to leave me behind.”
“Never,” Aaron hissed, furious that Franklin would even suggest it.
“I can’t ride, Aaron. I’m all busted up.”
“You have to,” Aaron groaned. “I won’t leave you. Please, don’t give up. We’ll get you to a doctor, he’ll fix you up, then we’ll go find Benji.”
“Let me cover for you,” Franklin asked, his voice pleading. “I can cover your escape. They’ll shoot me down, but it’s better than this pain.”
“No.” Aaron glared at his brother, his anger and fear overwhelming his reason. He would never leave one of his brothers behind. Never. “No. You come with us. I’m ordering you.”
Franklin looked away, then nodded. “You’ll have to bring my horse here to me.”
Relief flooded Aaron. “You got it. Just wait here, Franklin, you’ll be all right, you’ll see, we’ll find you a doctor, I promise. George, let’s go.”
Dashing around the hotel, running for the street, Aaron pulled the hammer back on his revolver. George pounded at his side, his gun out and ready. The instant their boots hit the sidewalk, they started shooting at the men on the rooftops. Above them, gunfire erupted as Elmer also shot at the local men.
The men fired back. Running to the horses, Aaron heard a choked off cry as one of Elmer’s shots found its mark, but bullets struck the sidewalk, the street, all around himself and George. The front window of the hotel exploded into shards of glass. Aaron spun, raising his weapon, firing at a man with a star on his vest. The sheriff ducked back down. Elmer continued to fire round after round, choosing his targets carefully.
Under cover of Elmer’s gun, George reloaded his revolver, snapped the cylinder closed, then shot a man on the bank building across the street who stood, and aimed a rifle at their horses. The man fell backward and disappeared. Elmer continued to fire, the gunshots from the sheriff and citizens slowing as they hid from his hail of bullets.
The horses spooked, jerking back on their reins as Aaron and George ran among them, untying leather from the rail, leaping into the saddles. Dragging two horses with them by their bridles, Aaron and George hit the alley at a gallop, the hotel now concealing them from the guns behind them.
Franklin still stood where they left him while Elmer leaped from the second-floor window just as they entered the alley. “What took you so long?” he roared as he rolled to his feet and grabbed his hat from the dirt.
Aaron flung himself from his saddle before the horse came to a full halt. “Franklin’s hurt,” he yelled. “We gotta get him up. Move!”
“Oh, Lord,” Elmer said, reaching for Franklin. “How bad?”
Aaron saw Franklin’s twisted smile. “Bad enough.”
“They’re coming!�
�� George shouted. “Get him up, now!”
On legs that appeared as stiff as planks, Franklin walked to his horse that Aaron held for him as Elmer bent and laced his fingers together. Franklin put his boot into them, his hand on the saddle horn. He screamed as Elmer boosted him into his saddle.
“God,” Elmer gasped. “What’s wrong?”
“We go now.”
With Franklin on his horse, even if he was bent over his horse’s neck, Aaron vaulted into his saddle and grabbed the horse’s reins. Elmer hit his seat the same instant Aaron followed George down the alley at a dead run. Gunfire erupted behind them. Ducking down another alley between houses put a barrier between themselves and the men shooting at them.
An Unconventional Bride For The Rancher (Historical Western Romance) Page 13
