An Unconventional Bride For The Rancher (Historical Western Romance)

by Cassidy Hanton

  “They will. Maybe some of Harold’s pals will help. Those Miller brats and Johnson have become a public menace and need to be brought in.”

  Shrugging, Tyler said, “All right. I’ll head to the store and talk to Harold.”

  “Lift your right hand.”

  After Victor administered a quick oath of a lawman, he then said, “There’s a badge in my office desk. That’ll lend you some authority. First thing, go pay a visit to their ma. She may know where them kids might be hiding.”

  Tyler nodded as McFadden came in to check on his patient. “I’ll let you know what we find, if anything.”

  “You do that,” Vic answered, glaring at McFadden. “You gonna feed me, or do I perish of hunger right here?”

  Grinning, Tyler walked out on the two men arguing, then strode through the rapidly rising heat to Victor’s office. It felt strange to find the deputy badge in Victor’s drawer and pin it to his shirt. It gleamed there, its presence a symbol of Tyler’s new responsibilities, an unwelcome weight landing on his shoulders.

  The wild shooting of the night before and Victor’s subsequent injury passed through town like a hurricane, people stopping on the street to gape at him and his new badge. No few tried to ask him questions, even going so far as to address him as “deputy.” Sheepish and ill at ease, Tyler tried to answer their questions while still walking toward the Maples’ general store.

  Ducking inside on a gust of relief, Tyler leaned his back against the door as though expecting a tidal wave of folks to rush it and break it down. Glancing up, he found Charlene, Harold, and Mrs. Maple staring at him in a frozen tableau behind the counter. The pair of almost identical biddies, standing nearby, also gawped, their mouths open.

  “It wasn’t my idea,” he said, defensively. “Vic made me.”

  Harold grinned. “Why you make a mighty fine lawman, Deputy Price.”

  Tyler rolled his eyes, then set his rifle down before he stepped forward. “I’m too new to this town to be deputized. But you’re supposed to help me form a posse.”

  “Oh, my,” exclaimed one of the biddies. “This town hasn’t seen a posse in ten years.”

  “Twelve, Darla,” corrected the other. “It was twelve years ago when old Sheriff Kennedy formed one to run down that pair of bank robbers. He caught them, too.”

  Charlene’s already warm smile for him broadened into a wide grin. “You make a very handsome deputy, Tyler.”

  Tyler felt his face grow hot. “Why, um, thank you.” He didn’t miss the triumphant and significant glance Mrs. Maple threw Charlene. “Harold, will you help me form the posse? I mean, you know the people in this town.”

  “Of course, if the resident slave driver has no objections.”

  Mrs. Maple huffed. “Go help the poor man, Harold, and cease all your pathetic drama. Charlene and I will manage just fine without you.”

  “Oh, so you don’t need me anymore.” Harold feigned a pout. “I get it.”

  Chuckling, Charlene walked out from behind the counter to Tyler, gazing up at him. With the two biddies watching avidly, she rested her hand on his arm. “You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

  Finding in her eyes that special look she shared only with him, Tyler felt his heart flop like a landed fish in his chest. Warmth and a strange giddiness spread through him, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long while. He wanted to hug her close to him, feel her body in his arms and kiss her soundly. Of course, he couldn’t under the stares, but he could, and did, run his fingers lightly down her cheek.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured.

  Charlene’s face flushed with a light pink, of pleasure, he thought, not embarrassment. Her eyes dropped from his as she burnished the badge on his chest with her sleeve. “My deputy sheriff,” she whispered. “Come home safe.”

  Abruptly, Charlene turned and hurried back to the counter as Mrs. Maple and the old women pretended that they hadn’t been watching and spoke of the price of coffee and sugar. Harold had vanished. Tyler gazed at Charlene, knowing his heart showed clearly on his face, but could not seem to help it, or remove it into an expression of neutrality. She said for me to come home. Not to the house, but home. Finally, he cleared his throat, tearing his eyes from her with an effort.

  “I, er,” he began, then tried again. “I need to pay a visit to the Miller boys’ mother. Might one of you ladies direct me to her house?”

  “Of course, Deputy,” one of the old women replied. “Go down the street toward the south three blocks, then turn right. It’s the pale blue, dilapidated house at the end of the street.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Setting his hat back on his head, he tipped it briefly before picking up his rifle. He shared a quick glance with Charlene, a mutual look of understanding and growing affection. Turning, he left the store, the door’s bell chiming behind him. Heading south, he strode down the wooden sidewalk, observing Harold across the street near the bank, speaking to three men. With Harold gathering the posse, he only needed to gain some information on where the Miller kids might go to hide.

  He found the Miller house easily, as it fit the old woman’s description perfectly. The porch steps, needing a coat of paint desperately, creaked alarmingly as he strode up them to the front door. It sagged on its hinges, swaying back and forth under his knock. Glancing around, Tyler observed shutters broken or missing from the windows and no few panes cracked.

  Shuffling steps approached the door, Tyler trying to make himself appear as important as he didn’t feel. The door opened on a sharp creak, a thin woman with oily, stringy blonde hair to her shoulders appeared giving him a disinterested glance. Her eyes flicked to the badge on his chest. “Yes?”

  “Mrs. Miller?” Tyler asked, doffing his hat. “I’m, er, Deputy Price. I need to speak with you about your sons.”

  Blue eyes regarded him with an odd lack of curiosity. “What have they done now?”

  “Ma’am, they are running with Harvey Johnson, do you know him?”

  “Yeah. He’s my husband’s friend. Though I haven’t spoken with him in years.”

  “Well, ma’am, Mr. Johnson was in jail for attempted murder, and your sons broke him out. They have been stealing horses, setting fires and shooting at Bandera’s civilians. One of them shot Sheriff Barker last night. Can you tell me where they might be?”

  She shook her head. “Last time I saw them was three days ago. Just up and left without a word.”

  Tyler’s gaze sharpened on her face, suspecting she had just lied to him. He usually had a good nose for deceit and wondered if the boys had been back recently. Not wanting to see them in jail, and no doubt knowing of their activities, she would most certainly lie for them.

  “Ma’am, do you know where they might stay, or hide when they aren’t here? An old cabin, maybe?”

  Mrs. Miller offered a half shrug. “When their pa was still around, he used to take them hunting along the Medina River. I don’t know about any cabins, though.”

  “If your boys come back, Mrs. Miller,” Tyler said, his voice more authoritative, “you will let us know, right? They are in very serious trouble, and I’m sure you don’t want to see them get killed.”

  At this, her eyes widened slightly. “No, I love my boys. I don’t want them to get into any more trouble. If they come home, I’ll tell you.”

  Replacing his hat on his head, Tyler nodded to her. “Good day, ma’am.”

  He heard the squeak of the door, and then it snicked shut as she closed it while Tyler walked down the weak steps. He knew she wouldn’t come find him if her sons returned, and their getting hurt or killed while on this rampage had just increased tenfold.

  “Those kids never stood a chance,” he muttered as he paced back the way he had come.

  Stopping at the livery stable, he saddled his bay, then shoved his rifle into its scabbard. Mounting up, he rode back toward the mercantile store, finding five men on horseback standing outside it. Two more men rode toward them, even as Harold himself eme
rged from around the corner, leading a tall piebald.

  Harold stepped up beside Tyler as he reined in. “Any luck?”

  “Nope.” Tyler rested his arms on his saddle horn. “I believe she’s lying when she says she hasn’t seen them. We may consider watching their house at night, see if we can catch them sneaking home to mama.”

  “Good idea.”

  Finding it odd that such a humorous and easy-going man as Harold would have a revolver strapped to his hip or tie a rifle scabbard to his saddle, Tyler recalled his story of being a Confederate soldier during the war. “You should be the deputy, not me,” Tyler said.

  “Nope.” Harold swung easily into his saddle. “Those days are behind me, Tyler. I don’t like being on this posse, but I dislike disruptive people shooting up the town even less. Did Mrs. Miller give any hints at all as to where they may be?”

  “She said their father often took them hunting along the Medina.”

  “Lots of places to hide there,” Harold replied, reining his horse in beside Tyler’s. “I reckon it’s a place to start.”

  The other seven men fell into a group behind them as Tyler and Harold broke into a trot, horsemen, and wagons pulling to the side of the street to make way for them. Once again, Tyler felt the weight of stares as people gaped and pointed, talking amongst themselves at the new deputy and the posse riding off to run the Miller boys down.

  Hoping to catch Johnson and these runaway boys quickly so he could go back to his life as a budding rancher, Tyler struck a canter once they hit the edge of town, riding toward the rocky hills and the wide river running through them. With Harold directing them toward a trail that game and hunters often used, Tyler and his posse struck it quickly.

  Forced to ride in single file along the narrow trail that ran beside the Medina, Tyler took the lead, Harold right behind him. With the deep river on one side and the thick trunks of cedar and mesquite, spotted with prickly pear and the occasional hackberry, on the other, Tyler suspected their quarry might see them before he observed them. He watched the jagged hills above, speculating about riding up there.

  “Harold,” he said, gesturing toward the outcroppings, “think we can get up there?”

  Harold squinted in the direction he pointed. “I think so. The horses should be able to make it.”

  Finding a thinner spot amid the thickets of trees and brush, Tyler urged his horse through, finding the ground sloping upward. His bay’s hooves sent loose rock sliding downhill behind him, the hill growing steeper the further he went. Soon, he leaned forward over his mount’s black mane, enabling the horse to utilize his rear quarters better.

  After about a fifteen-minute climb, the rocky ground became less steep, and Tyler trotted his horse across the side of the hill, Harold and the posse following. Gazing out and down, he observed the Medina flowing through its banks, the sun glinting off its surface in slivers of silver. He could also see anything moving for miles around.

  “See anything?” he asked as the posse reined in around him.

  “That.”

  One of the men pointed. Following his finger, Tyler saw the northeastern horizon roiling with black clouds. “Looks ominous,” he commented.

  “We need to be in town before that one hits,” Harold advised. “That’s an ugly storm.”

  “Wait,” said another man. “What’s down there?”

  “Where?” Tyler asked.

  The man pointed to the right, near the river. “I saw movement. See?”

  Tyler saw them and smiled. “Yes. I surely do.”

  Riders rode along the same trail the posse had just vacated, four of them, one rather small. “Back up,” Tyler ordered. “Get back before we’re seen.”

  Reining his horse around, Tyler trotted away from the outcropping, the river vanishing from his sight. Harold and the others circled around him, waiting to hear his plan. “We have nine to their four, gentlemen,” Tyler said. “Four of us ride to cut them off. Now more than likely, they’ll turn tail and run. That’s when you other five stop them. If there’s shooting, save your lives and the man beside you, not them.”

  “But those are kids,” protested one of the posse.

  “Kids with guns who will kill you without hesitation,” Tyler replied evenly. “Hopefully, we can catch them alive, that’s our goal. But every one of you returns to his family. Understood?”

  Nods of acceptance greeted his words and mutters of “Yes, sir,” abounded.

  “Now, can a horse swim that river?” Tyler asked.

  Harold snorted. “Not if its rider wants to live. It’s got a powerful current.”

  “Let’s hope none of them think to escape that way. You four with Harold, that way. You three, with me.”

  Trotting down the hill, too steep and rocky for cantering, Tyler led his men back the way they had come. The excitement of the chase coursed through his veins, the thrill to be on the hunt once again. Though he had left that life behind him to start over, he suspected that this, born to be a hunter, was in his blood forever.

  Striking the river trail, he spun his horse right, and kicked the bay into a swift lope. Yanking his rifle from its scabbard, he jacked a shell into the chamber, hearing his men behind him doing the same. Though he listened hard, he didn’t hear anything save the thudding of hooves. Surely I didn’t misjudge where they were and missed them completely.

  Around the bend came a horse at a walk, a man in the lead. He reined in, gaping, as Tyler yelled, “There they are!”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Panic leaped down Aaron’s throat.

  A flash flood bore down on a helpless George, his foot caught between two rocks as he yelled and struggled to free it. With it charging down on them ten times faster than a galloping horse, Aaron and Elmer had mere seconds to grab their brother and drag him to safety. Leaping down the gulch’s steep but short embankment, Aaron hit the rushing river that an hour ago had been a trickle and now reached his knees.

  Not daring to risk a glance upstream, Aaron, Elmer beside him, grabbed George by his shoulders. “I can’t get my leg out,” he screamed, his eyes showing the white.

  Aaron shoved his arm under George’s and pulled hard, half blinded by the thick, wind-driven rain. His brother yelped in pain. Elmer, showing a little more sense than Aaron or George, grabbed hold of one of the rocks that had trapped his boot and yanked on it. Seeing what he was doing, Aaron pulled hard the instant the rock gave way a merciful inch. His foot was free.

  “Go, go, go,” Aaron yelled, dragging George by the arm.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw the horror bearing down on them, seconds away from slamming into himself and his brothers. A wall of brown water, foaming yellow, rushed down the gulch, tree trunks caught in its grasp. Lunging forward, a low whine of panic striking his ears every time he drew breath, Aaron hit the embankment and struggled up it.

  Still pulling George, Elmer shoving him from behind, Aaron lunged upward, his body bent forward for greater impetus. Snatching a fast glance behind, he saw the flood strike the spot where George had been seconds before, the water soaking Elmer’s legs as he, too, hurtled his way up, ever up to safety.

  Even then, at the top, Aaron watched in horror as the flood continued to climb, spilling over the banks of the gulch. Running to the horses, he untied reins as fast as he could, his saturated hair covering half his face blinding him. Spooked, the horses backed away, scrambling to escape the approaching water. Elmer and George grabbed reins from Aaron, and vaulted into their saddles.

  Aaron had no sooner put his boot into his stirrup when his horse bolted, striking a dead run in a heartbeat. Flinging himself up and over, he landed half in and half off his saddle, clinging desperately to the saddle horn. Reaching up with his left hand, he grabbed a fistful of flying mane and hauled himself into an upright position.

  Though he lost his stirrups, Aaron breathed easier, risking a glance behind. The flash flood had swallowed the spot where they thought they’d be sheltered from the storm,
which had almost become their deathtrap. Looking ahead, he found Elmer and George slowing their mounts, turning to gaze behind them. Aaron reined in his horse to a bouncing halt.

  “Criminy,” Elmer gasped, rain still lashing down, lightning lighting up the sky. Thunder cracked in Aaron’s ears, but in the distance, he recognized the storm’s ragged edge, blue sky behind it.

  “That was close.” George shivered and shook as though from ague, his face as white as a ghost. “Another second and I’d be gone.”

  Aaron trembled almost as badly panting for breath as though he had done the running, not his horse. Chilled to his bones from both the rain and reaction of what had just happened, he rubbed his arms, looking around.

  “Storm is almost over,” he said. “I reckon we should just endure it.”