An Unconventional Bride For The Rancher (Historical Western Romance)

by Cassidy Hanton

“Hmm.” Aaron stroked his chin. “All right. I’ll let you live. What prison?”

  “I believe,” Colbert said, swallowing hard, “he was taken to the federal prison in Sugar Land.”

  “Sugar Land, eh? Why there, you think?”

  “Something I overheard,” Colbert replied, licking his lips again, nervous. “I heard only part of the conversation, see? Two marshals chatting about Benji Dawson, then I lost some of what they were saying. Then I heard the name Sugar Land.”

  “Reasonable.” Aaron nodded. “Thank you for your information, Colbert.” He stood.

  “You’re gonna let me live, right?” Colbert asked, “I mean, we have a deal.”

  Aaron shrugged. “I won’t kill you,” he replied. “But the elements might.”

  Colbert’s jaw dropped. “You’re not gonna leave me here, tied up like this?”

  “Yup. If you’re lucky, your pals will come searching. If not, then I guess you’re not so lucky.”

  Ignoring Colbert’s screams and demands to be let loose, that he would die in this heat, he may as well put a bullet in his head, Aaron ordered George to saddle his horse. He kicked out the remains of the fire, then saddled his own, and snubbed Colbert’s horse to his knee. “Nice horse,” he called to Colbert. “And thanks.”

  Barely listening to the marshal’s shouts and yells behind him, Aaron led the way back north in order to skirt San Antonio before heading east. From just behind him, Elmer said, “You know he can get to water, Aaron. He will probably get loose, then set the marshals on us.”

  Aaron grinned. “I know. They won’t find him for several days, however, which by then our trail will be cold. We might even get Benji out before they can wire the prison to be on the lookout for us.”

  “It’s at least a four-day ride to Sugar Land. And can you even trust what he said?”

  “No. But it’s a place to start, eh?”

  “I think he was telling the truth,” George added.

  Aaron turned in his saddle to gaze back. “Why do you think that?”

  George shrugged, his hands full with guiding his own horse and leading Franklin’s. “I read his body signs, you know? Horses and dogs talk like that to each other. People do, too. He believed what he was saying. At least the part about Sugar Land. I think he lied about the rest.”

  “About not caring if we break our brother out?” Elmer nodded. “That makes sense. Of course, he would care. He’s a marshal.”

  “So, we’re headed to Sugar Land,” Aaron said, satisfied. “Let’s just get there before the prison is warned and is expecting us.”

  Through the rest of the afternoon, the Dawsons rode north before turning east just as dusk fell. Thunderheads climbed into the sky on their left flank, lightning flashing within their depths. Unlike the storm a few days ago, which dissipated into nothing, this one meant business. Aaron kept an uneasy eye on it as the wind picked up, the scent of rain on its wings.

  “We need to find shelter,” he said, trotting his mount to the top of a ridge and studying the deep black clouds drawing closer.

  “There’s nothing out here,” Elmer replied, standing in his stirrups and looking around.

  George pointed. “There’s a bunch of trees right there. They’ll block the wind and shelter the horses.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Aaron trotted back down to rejoin his brothers, following the rocky gulch to the thick stand of mesquite and cedar trees that lined the steep ravine. It had room enough for five horses under the sheltering branches, and a thin trickle of water offered water for the thirsty men and beasts.

  Loosening cinches but keeping the saddles on the horses, they let their mounts drink, then graze on the thin grass. Aaron kept a wary eye on the storm as thunder cracked and rolled in the distance, the thunderheads growing to a nearly black color and climbing high. “This is a mean one,” he muttered.

  Tying the horses under the trees where the spreading branches offered some protection in case the storm decided to turn into hail, Aaron and his brothers squatted by the creek munching dried beef and salted pork. They built no fire and scented rain on the rising wind. Above them, the branches whipped back and forth under the rising wind.

  “It sure feels a lot cooler,” George commented as the daylight was shrouded by the oncoming storm, setting his hat firmly on his head before the wind could blow it away.

  “Feels good,” Elmer agreed.

  Lightning flashed blinding their eyes, with thunder booming close on its heels. Aaron flinched, seeing Franklin’s ghost in the aftermath of the brilliant light, standing a few feet above the creek. He shut his teeth against an exclamation, knowing Elmer and George would think he was crazy if he mentioned seeing Franklin again.

  The image vanished as more lightning cracked around them, the rolling thunder almost continuous. Fat drops of rain spattered down amongst them, beginning with only a few increasing within just minutes. Aaron huddled with his arms clutched around himself as the temperature dropped at the same time the rain slashed down in torrents.

  The horses shifted restlessly, their ears flicking back and forth nervously as the lashing rain increased further until it felt as though Aaron stood under a waterfall. The darkness of late dusk enfolded them despite that the hour was far too early for the sun to descend. “This is hardly a shelter,” he yelled over the storm’s wrath.

  “Maybe there’s something else,” George hollered back, standing up and stepping out toward the creek.

  Where once there had been a thin trickle of water, now, a full-sized stream ran through it as he stepped gingerly on the wet rocks to peer up and down. Aaron felt the ground tremble beneath his boots, a distant rumbling that confused him. Wiping rainwater from his face, he peered through the murk toward Elmer, who stared back at him, just as baffled. “What is that?” he yelled.

  “Don’t know.” Elmer stood, gazing around through the near darkness and driving rain, then stared toward George. He walked out from beneath the trees to get a better vantage point. Aaron joined him, feeling the ground vibrating under him. Even through the gloom and the savage rain, he saw his brother clearly.

  George glanced upstream and his jaw dropped. “Oh, crap,” he yelled.

  Scrambling across the rocks and the rapidly running stream, George tried to run. His foot caught between two rocks, and he fell with a splash into the rushing water. Elmer took two strides toward him, then cursed, his voice filled with panic.

  “Flash flood!” he yelled. “George, get out of there now!”

  Chapter Twenty

  Tasting panic like dry iron in his mouth, Tyler ran to Victor. Falling to his knees beside him, he asked, “Where?”

  “My leg,” Victor gasped. “Damn, does getting shot hurt like the dickens!”

  Peering into the darkness, Tyler found Victor’s hands clutching his thigh just above his knee. Dark blood gushed from the wound. Snatching Victor’s bandana from his neck, Tyler quickly tied it around the gaping hole, making Victor yell out in pain.

  The night around him faded as people carried lanterns into the street, surrounding him and Victor, asking questions Tyler had no time to answer. He gazed up at a few men clad in their dressing gowns who stared down in shock.

  “Help me get him to the doctor.” Tyler stood up amidst them. “Someone, grab a blanket, we’ll have to carry him.”

  One young man still in his day clothes bolted toward a house as the crowd around Victor on the ground increased. “Who was that, Sheriff?” someone asked. “Who shot you?”

  “Never mind that,” Victor growled, struggling to sit half up. “One of you run and wake up McFadden.”

  Two men abandoned the small crowd and hustled down the street, vanishing into the darkness. Tyler turned as he heard Charlene’s voice raised in fear, seeing her push her way through, Harold at her shoulder. “Tyler,” she cried. “We heard shooting.”

  “Victor got hit,” Tyler replied, taking her arm. “We’re gonna get him to the doctor.”

  Charlene
knelt beside Victor. In the light of the lanterns, Tyler watched as Victor gave her a wry grin. “I’ll be all right, missy. I’m too cranky to die now.”

  “You better not, you old coot,” Charlene replied, inspecting his wrapped wound. “What happened?”

  “Ian’s brothers and Johnson were waiting,” Tyler said. “Anticipated we’d take the kid to the jail and ambushed us. Took Ian and bolted.”

  The young man pushed his way back through the townspeople, carrying a thick wool blanket. With Tyler’s help, he spread it on the ground. “All right,” Tyler ordered as Harold and another man stepped forward. “Careful of that leg. Let’s pick him up and put him on the blanket.”

  With Victor gasping and struggling to not yell out, Tyler, Harold, and the others hefted him onto their makeshift stretcher. Bending, they each took a corner and lifted Victor, the throng parting to let them pass through. Charlene strode at Victor’s side, holding his hand, offering a few words of encouragement as they marched him down the street.

  Dr. McFadden’s house stood a few blocks down and around a corner, lights blazing in the windows. McFadden and the two men who ran to warn him that he had a patient arriving stood on the porch waiting for them. The doctor waved at them impatiently as Tyler, Harold and the other two trooped up his porch steps.

  “Lay him on the table in there,” he ordered crossly.

  Obeying him, Tyler and the others lifted Victor up to set him gently on the steel table in what appeared to be McFadden’s medical office. Cabinets filled the small room while bottles, metal instruments, bandages, and jars filled the counters. The place smelled of herbs and ointments as well as a strong odor of alcohol. Tyler hoped it was for the patients and not the good doctor himself.

  He and the others stepped out of the way as McFadden untied the bloody bandana from Victor’s thigh. “What have you done this time, you idiot?” he asked, his tone mild.

  “Got shot,” Victor retorted. “Why else would I come see you?”

  “Because you miss me.”

  “Like hell.”

  Taking up a pair of scissors, McFadden cut away Victor’s trousers, exposing the still oozing wound. “You might just keep your leg, you old geezer,” McFadden remarked, pulling a lantern closer and peering at it. “I can see the bullet.”

  “Then yank it out.”

  McFadden gazed at Tyler, Harold, and the others, his eyes resting briefly on Charlene. “You heard him,” he said. “He said to pull it out. I’ll need you all to hold him down.”

  Charlene set her hands on her hips, glaring at the doctor. “Give him some laudanum first. He doesn’t need to suffer while you do it.”

  A smile briefly touched McFadden’s lips, then he looked at Victor. “Sheriff? Should I give you laudanum?”

  “Yes, dammit,” Victor snapped. “You know I don’t do pain well.”

  McFadden went to a cabinet and took down a large brown bottle. Pouring some of the liquid into a small glass, he then handed it to Victor. “Drink this. You’ll still feel some pain, but it won’t be as bad. Gentlemen, please help hold him down.”

  Tyler stood by Victor’s left shoulder, offering his friend a small grin as Victor downed the pain medicine. “Like it?”

  Victor grimaced as he handed the glass to McFadden. “Hell, no, I don’t like it. It’s like drinking poison.”

  “Actually, some poisons taste quite nice,” McFadden commented. “Or so, I’m told.”

  Within a few minutes, Victor’s eyes closed, and his head fell back against the table. His breathing slowed, grew even and deep. McFadden peeled back one of his eyelids, then nodded with satisfaction. “All right. It’s time. Hold him down, please.”

  As Tyler and the others each gripped a portion of Victor’s body, McFadden picked up a forceps, then bent over Victor’s leg. Muttering under his breath as he worked, he inserted the tool into the wound to pull the bullet out. Victor moaned, thrashing so hard he almost threw Tyler off. Charlene, holding Victor’s hand, winced as his grip on it tightened painfully.

  “Keep him still,” McFadden ordered. “I almost got it.”

  He and the men pushed with all their weight on Victor’s body as he tried, even in the depths of his unconsciousness, to throw them off, to escape the agony. McFadden straightened, lifting the forceps to the light in triumph.

  “Got it.”

  Picking up a cloth, he wiped blood from the wound as it leaked onto the table, then turned to grab a bottle of iodine. Pouring a large portion into the wound, making Victor cry out and try to kick out with that leg. Quickly and expertly, the doctor bandaged the wound with a clean cloth, nodding that the men could release him. “He’ll lay still now,” McFadden said. “I have a small cot where he can sleep the rest of the night.”

  He directed Tyler and the others to carry Victor into a tiny room just off the office with nothing in it save a narrow bed. Placing Victor on it, Tyler took a moment to gaze down at him, his grizzled features, his thick silver hair. The others filed out, but Charlene slipped her hand into Tyler’s, also staring at the injured man.

  “He’ll be all right,” she whispered.

  Tyler smiled briefly. “I hope so. I’ve grown rather fond of him.”

  “So have I.” Charlene tugged on his hand. “Come on. There’s nothing more we can do right now except let him sleep.”

  Leaving the room, they found McFadden cleaning his table and instruments, Harold waiting for them by the door, the other men gone. The doctor didn’t look up as they passed him, nor did he speak as they joined Harold at the door.

  “Thank you,” Tyler said, glancing at the doctor’s back.

  McFadden didn’t answer. Leaving the house, Tyler closed the door behind him and ambled down the porch steps with Charlene and Harold. “Not a real friendly man,” he commented as they strode toward Charlene’s house.

  Harold shook his head. “Never has been. But he knows his medicine, even if his bedside manner could use a softer touch.”

  “Harold,” Charlene said, still holding Tyler’s hand, “you should go on home to Jean. “Your watch is up, isn’t it?”

  “It would seem so,” Harold replied. “After the events of tonight, protecting you is more important than ever. These boys are determined.”

  “I’m sure one of the shooters was Johnson,” Tyler commented. “There were three of them, one was an adult. The rider who picked Ian up didn’t look full grown.”

  “So with Johnson’s meanness,” Charlene added, her tone bitter, “he’s instigating these boys into greater violence. They’re doing things they might not do on their own.”

  “That’s probably quite true,” Harold replied, slowing his pace. “You got him hurt, then thrown into jail for a crime more serious than disturbing the peace. He’s not likely to forgive that.”

  “He’s a drunken fool,” Charlene snapped.

  “And a dangerous one,” Tyler added. “Harold, you go on home. I’ll walk Charlene back to the house, then bunk outside the window.”

  Harold clasped his hand. “The next shift should be there already. Get your rest. We’re all going to need it.

  * * *

  The remainder of the night passed uneventfully, the early morning sun waking Tyler with its bright rays streaming into his eyes. Yawning, he stretched, wincing as his bruised shoulder protested vigorously. Yet, his pain had lessened considerably even if the discoloration remained a hideous black and yellow combination.

  Getting up, he wandered into the house, nodding a greeting to the two men on the porch, rifles in their hands. Tosahwi, sitting at the table, greeted him warmly as Olivia set a plate of food in front of the boy. “Sit down and eat, Tyler,” she commanded, turning back to the stove. “Charlene already left for the Apple Tree.”

  Tyler shared a grin with Tosahwi as he sat down, the young Comanche gobbling his food as usual. “Thank you, ma’am. Any word on Vic?”

  “Not that I’ve heard.”

  “After breakfast, I’ll look in on him.”

&
nbsp; Olivia put a plate down in front of him. “If I know that man,” she said, her tone dry, “he will insist upon forming a posse to hunt those boys and Johnson down.”

  Nor was Olivia wrong. Upon entering Vic’s sickroom at the McFadden residence, his rifle in his hand, Tyler found Vic sitting up, his mustache quivering in his annoyance. “About time you got here, boy,” he barked.

  Tyler eyed him with a lifted brow. “Good morning to you, too.”

  Vic waved his hand, impatiently. “I need to deputize you so you can form a posse and go after those boys.”

  “Me? I’m a stranger here, Vic. No one is going to listen to me.”