“What’s your name, mister?”
He slid his gaze back toward her, his eyes narrowing. “Theo Kress.”
“Get on your horse, Mr. Kress, and head home.”
The man no longer doubted her seriousness or skill with the rifle, because he mounted up without arguing. The horse turned away as the man settled in the saddle, but Keri kept alert, watching his gun hand for movement. He yanked the reins to the left, pulling the horse back around. “Mr. Dengler ain’t gonna appreciate your interference, Miss—” He squinted. “What’d you say your name was?”
“I didn’t.”
“No matter. We’ll find out soon enough. You messed with the wrong people.”
The man kicked his mount hard in the side, and the poor beast lumbered to a trot. Once the man was out of sight, Keri exhaled. She made a smooching sound, and Bob started walking. Keeping her eyes trained on where Mr. Kress had disappeared, she kept the rifle tucked under one arm and reined Bob toward home.
Should she try to locate that man who’d nearly been hanged? If he was a thief, she certainly didn’t want to be alone with him out on the prairie, so she nudged Bob’s sides and galloped for home.
She blew out a breath. Her homecoming sure hadn’t turned out as she’d expected it to.
Birds sang. Church bells rang. A pretty, rifle-toting city woman on a horse.
What a weird nightmare.
No, not a nightmare.
Nightmares didn’t cause pain.
And every part of Brooks hurt—except for his toes.
He lay on the ground and tried to catch his breath as he waited for his vision to clear. The rope still entangled his neck, making it hard to inhale a full breath of air. His shoulders ached, as did his head and a place where his hands pressed into his lower back.
A few minutes later, he wrestled to a sitting position and surveyed his surroundings. Jester grazed nearby, and all was quiet. Grass swished on the warm breeze, and birds chirped in the trees overhead. If not for the buzzing in his head and pain spiraling through his body, he would have thought he dreamed the hanging.
But that rope is still around my neck—and hands.
Definitely not a dream.
But at least I’m alive.
A glimmer on his left caught his eye. His knife lay a few feet away, most likely shaken loose when he tumbled over Jester’s rump. He backed up to the weapon and managed to grasp hold of its handle. Fifteen minutes later, his hands broke free.
Brooks pulled his arms forward and rolled his shoulders, working out the kinks. He loosened the rope around his neck, yanked it off, and threw it over a bush. Sweet, life-sustaining air flowed into his lungs. He’d been close to dying a time or two, but never that close.
It had rattled him.
He gazed up through the trees to the sky overhead. Had God sent that woman to rescue him? What were the odds of someone riding up just as he was about to die—and shooting him free? They had to be enormous.
Then factor in that the shooter was a woman.
Nigh on impossible, if you ask me. And he was the only one around to ask, unless you counted Jester.
He stood, dusted off his pants, then reached up and squeezed his aching forehead. His hand came away red. He glanced up at the branch that had knocked him senseless and wished for a saw to cut it off.
From the look of the sun, he hadn’t been passed out for too long. He shouldn’t have trouble finding Raven Creek before dark—if he didn’t fall off his horse again. At least that sharp-shooting woman hadn’t witnessed that humbling event.
He mounted Jester and found his way back to the road. The woman and the varmints bent on taking his life and stealing his ranch were nowhere to be seen, but the tree was still there with the other half of the rope still dangling from it. He swallowed hard, his throat hurting where it had been squashed by that rope.
In a matter of minutes, he’d gone from happily riding toward his new home to nearly hanging to death and then being rescued and then almost being scalped by a tree. How could life change so fast?
He tried to work up a smile—to find that old part of himself—but it had been lost in the day’s events. He wasn’t the same man who’d left Shoofly this morning. He was a man who’d made a promise to God.
A man who had no idea how to fulfill such a pledge.
He turned his horse toward Raven Creek. Maybe God would show him what he needed to do.
Keri tugged off the last of the hated petticoats and tossed it in the growing pile on her bed. She pulled her trousers from the chest of drawers and hugged them. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed you.”
She wriggled and twisted, finally getting them up. Either she had grown during the past two years or she had gotten fat from sitting all day instead of working. Probably the latter.
She tugged on some socks and snagged her boots from the wardrobe, carrying them into the parlor so she could polish them. The room looked smaller and dingier than she remembered. Without Uncle Will lumbering around, it was lonely, too.
The rosewood sofa must be over twenty years old. It was in the house when Uncle Will bought it. The edge of the fabric had started fraying. One of the work hands must have dusted, because only the corners of the end tables had been swiped clean. A stack of wood lay ready in the fireplace, although it would be months before she’d need a fire for keeping warm. A rocker rested near the front window with a low table under it. Sparse is how Miss Marks would describe it. Sparse and shabby.
But it was home. Keri plopped down, so glad to not have anyone else telling her what to do. She owned Raven Creek now, and that thought brought a grin to her face. But her smile faded as she glanced at the closed door to her uncle’s room. She wished he were still here, but wishing wouldn’t bring him back. One day soon, she needed to go through his things and see if Nate or Jess could use any of his clothes, but today wasn’t that day.
She quickly polished her boots and put them on. In the kitchen, she surveyed the food stocks. Someone had recently stacked a supply of canned goods on a shelf and left some potatoes by the back door. At least she’d learned to cook passably at that awful school, though it wasn’t one of her favorite tasks. They wouldn’t starve, but she doubted anybody would be begging for seconds.
Outside, she unhitched Bob and led him to the barn. Uncle Will had always taught her to tend to her horse before herself, but she hadn’t wanted to soil her dress any more than she had already—not that she planned to wear it often. After feeding and brushing Bob, she took the saddle to the tack room. Nate’s and Jess’s saddles were gone, confirming her thoughts that they must be out on the range, tending the stock.
Uncle Will hadn’t mentioned either man lately in his few letters, so she hoped they were both still around. She couldn’t imagine running this place without their help. Did they know of his death? Why hadn’t they come to pick her up at the depot?
She found a dung fork and shoved it under a pile of soiled hay in one of the stalls, then dumped the mess in the handcart. At least Nate and Jess wouldn’t have to clean out the stalls before putting up their horses tonight. They must have headed out early to have not done the task this morning.
She paused. What if they had gone into town to fetch her? Wouldn’t she have passed them on the road?
Hurrying around the far side of the barn, her pulse slowed when she saw the buggy. They wouldn’t have gone to pick her up and not taken it. She’d just have to wait until they returned to find out.
She ambled back around the front of the barn, noticing the silence. It had never bothered her before, but after being surrounded by squealing, giggling girls-wanting-to-be-women for so long, the quiet pressed in on her. She lifted her hand to her throat and stared down the road. A small cloud of dust lifted in the distance. She set the dung fork aside and hurried back to the house for her rifle. If visitors were coming, they wouldn’t find her unarmed and unprepared.
Inside, she hastily curled up her braid and set her hat on her head, covering h
er long tresses. She grabbed her rifle. It was just as well that any visitor didn’t know she was a woman until she knew their purpose in being here.
Out on the porch, she waited, with her rifle resting lightly across her arms. Normally, she wouldn’t be so tense, but the events of the day had worn on her.
It wasn’t every day she returned home to discover the man who’d raised her had died.
Excitement swirled in Brooks’s gut. Ten minutes ago he’d passed the entrance to Raven Creek Ranch, and as he rounded the corner, he caught his first glimpse of his new home. There it was. Not exactly what he had expected, but then he could hardly complain, since it hadn’t cost him any money. The small, two-story house was sorely in need of painting and some patching, but it was far better than most places he’d stayed the past decade.
As he drew near, he noticed a man leaning against a porch post, with a rifle resting in his arms. Probably either Nate or Jess, the work hands Will had told him about, though he’d envisioned them both as larger men. He didn’t blame the man one iota for being cautious, not after what he’d just experienced. In fact, he was downright grateful to the man for protecting the property. They’d get along just fine.
He flashed a grin and nodded. “Howdy.”
“Who are you and what do you want?” The voice was far higher pitched than he’d expected. Was Jess still a kid? He knew Nate wasn’t, from what Will had said.
He dismounted, keeping his smile in place. “The name’s Brooks Morgan.”
The boy shrugged. “Never heard of you.” He was awful short and on the scrawny side.
Brooks took a few steps toward him, and the youth shifted the rifle toward him.
“That’s far enough. If you’re looking for Will, he’s not here.”
Halting, Brooks struggled to understand. Had they not heard about Will’s death? Hadn’t Marshal Lane mentioned riding out here and explaining things? Maybe the marshal had gotten delayed because of his job, but then as far as he could remember, no one had caused a ruckus in town lately.
Plastering his grin back on, Brooks took a step forward. The boy kept his head down so that his face was shadowed. The guy was rather sissified in the way he moved. Maybe he could teach the kid to act in a more manly way once they got to know each other. Brooks reached for the deed tucked safely in his vest pocket.
The rifle swerved toward him again. “I told you not to move. What do you want?”
Brooks was glad he already had hold of the parchment. He tugged it out, keeping his other hand raised in the air. “Hang on. I’ve got something to show you.”
“What is it?”
“The deed to this ranch. I’m the new owner.”
The rifle lowered as the boy stumbled back a few steps. Evidently the marshal hadn’t been by.
“That’s a lie.” Up came the rifle again. “You get back on your horse and get out of here, mister.”
Brooks shook his head. “Can’t do it. Marshal Lane was supposed to have come by and told y’all what happened. I won this ranch fair and square in a poker game with Will.”
“You’re lying.” The boy’s pitch rose. He fired his rifle at Brooks, chewing up the ground in front of him. Both he and Jester jumped.
“Hey! Watch it.”
“Get out while you still can. You’re nothing but a lowdown lying thief. I bet you work for Saul Dengler, don’t you?”
“No—”
“You tell him Raven Creek Ranch isn’t for sale.”
“You’re darn right it isn’t, because I own it.”
The boy opened his mouth to say something but turned toward two men riding into the yard, guns drawn. “What’s going on here?” asked the older man.
“Nate!”
“Missy?” The man’s thick brows dipped together as he slid from his saddle.
Missy? Brooks eyed the youth as he hopped off the porch and hurried toward the man and fell into his arms. His mouth went dry as the youth—or rather—young woman hugged Nate back. It must have been that blow to his head or the lack of oxygen that made him miss the woman’s narrow waist and shapely hips. Who was she? And why was she wearing men’s pants?
She pushed back from Nate and waved a hand in Brooks’s direction. “This man claims he’s the new owner of Raven Creek. Would you please explain that he’s wrong?”
Nate glanced up at the same time the other man, still seated on his roan horse, did. “You Morgan?” Nate asked.
Brooks gave a curt nod. “Yep.”
Nate nodded back, his expression less than friendly. Brooks couldn’t blame him for being wary, considering how the doc thought Will’s death suspicious and how he’d won the ranch from him.
“Sorry, Missy. What the man says is true.”
The young woman glared up at him. “It can’t be true. This is my ranch now.”
She raced past him, up the stairs of the house, and slammed the door.
“Whew!” Brooks grinned. “And just who was that whirlwind?”
“Keri,” Nate said, scowling. “Keri Langston. Will’s niece.”
Keri? Why was that name familiar? Will’s niece? Suddenly, the blood drained from Brooks’s face for the second time that day. Keri was the name of the critter he’d promised Will that he’d take care of. A dog—or horse. Only she wasn’t a critter, but a young woman. A pretty, young woman who claimed his ranch as her own.
Why did he suddenly get the feeling that he’d been set up?
CHAPTER SIX
Keri yanked off her hat and flung it across the room, and her braid uncurled down her back. She stomped across the parlor floor, more emotions than she could number roiling through her like swollen creek water after a storm. Tears scorched her eyes, and her throat ached. How could Uncle Will have done this to her? He’d always promised the ranch would be hers. Why would he have risked her home on a card game?
She grabbed a pillow off the sofa and hurled it against the wall. It bounced off with a benign thud and fell to the floor in an unsatisfying thump.
All the loving thoughts she’d had for her uncle melted under the fire of her pain and feelings of betrayal. He’d promised her many times that Raven Creek would be hers. And it was hers. She wouldn’t give it up without a fight.
She marched upstairs to her bedroom and hauled her holster and gun from the trunk she’d stored them in before leaving for Georgia. She cleaned the gun, loaded it, and strapped on the holster. She snatched up her rifle and stomped down the stairs and back outside.
Good. That low-down coyote must have ridden back to town. She marched out to the barn to talk to Nate. Maybe he’d misunderstood Marshal Lane. That just had to be the case. She had nowhere else to go and no money to live on. And she wasn’t leaving her home.
At the sound of voices, she slowed her pace. He was in the barn.
“Nice to meet you both. I hope you’ll stay on and help me make a go of this place.”
“What about Keri?” Nate asked.
Keri lifted her chin. Good ol’ Nate would watch out for her. She peered through a crack in the barn wall.
The handsome stranger pushed his hat up on his forehead and rubbed the back of his neck. “Honestly, when Will asked me to watch out for Keri, I thought she was a dog.”
Keri gasped. A dog? For the love of … And what did he mean Will asked him to watch out for her? She didn’t need some lowlife gambler caring for her.
Nate and Jess threw their heads back and roared. Laughter filled the barn, making Keri’s ire grow. She shoved aside the door and stomped in, waving her rifle. “What’s going on in here? Don’t you have any work to do?”
Silence reigned, but she could see her work hands trying to regain their composure—the Benedict Arnolds. Nate swiped his finger across one eye. Keri turned her glare on the interloper. This was all his fault. “Why are you still here?”
His lips tugged up in a stupid grin, making her want to smack his face. Suddenly, she realized she’d seen him somewhere before.
“I’m here, because
I have a deed that says I own this place.” He pulled it out again and waved it in her face.
She snatched it from his hand and glanced at it. Her hopes sank like a horse caught in quicksand. She recognized her uncle’s signature, and a fist tightened around her chest. “It’s probably a forgery.”
That annoying grin was back. To make things worse, his blue-green eyes danced, and his perfectly shaped teeth, as white as any she’d seen, made for more than a handsome smile. The man was charming—and he knew it. Probably a snake-oil salesman.
“It’s not a forgery. Marshal Lane, Doc Brown, and Earl, the barber, were all there the night I won the ranch. They’ll tell you it was a fair game. In fact, afterwards I felt guilty for winning Will’s place and tried to give it back to him, but he wouldn’t take it. Said I’d won fair and square.”
“I doubt that, knowing how good my uncle was at cards.” The swindler probably had an ace—or two—up his sleeve. A quick thought danced across her mind. “If you feel so guilty about winning the ranch, then sign it over to me.” She held out her hand, hoping against hope that he’d just give the deed to her, then ride out of her life.
“Can’t do that.” He shook his head. “I made Will a promise.”
“What kind of promise?”
He shrugged and rubbed a raw, red line that stretched across his neck. There was only one way to get such a mark that Keri could think of. She stared at it, and the force of her sudden thought nearly knocked her off her feet. “You’re him?”
“Who?” All three men said in unison.
“That mangy thief I saved from hanging today.”
“Thief?” Nate hollered.
“Hanging?” Jess rubbed his throat and gawked at Brooks’s neck.
“You’re her?” Brooks tried to compare the mental picture of the pretty woman in the fancy dress who’d saved his life, but it didn’t fit with the guntoting, pants-wearing female staring him down.
“I should have let them hang you.”
End of the Trail Page 5
