Ellie's Legacy

by Ginger Simpson

  She glared down at him, feeling anger flaring its way up her neck. “Don’t you worry about me, Tyler Bishop; I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And for your information, I stopped taking naps years ago. Besides, I’d rather be out here watching ol’ Blackie show you he’s the boss.”

  Ty’s lips thinned. He started to speak, but turned his attention back to his horse.

  Luckily, he moved his attention back to the stallion. Ellie stood ready with a whole slew of comments to fling at him if he dared engage her. While he might be her father’s choice as foreman, in her opinion, Ty acted too dang high-handed.

  She thought back to the day he rode in on his gaunt-looking mount, in search of work—a drifter, a nobody. Her father hired him on the spot. In her opinion, and to her dismay, Ty quickly captured her father’s heart and assumed the role of male heir. Now, two years later, she found the whole thing bothersome.

  Ty slipped the noose over the stallion’s head. She wished the animal would bolt and drag him. Nothing too injurious, just a little dirt and a few scrapes.

  She had to find a way to get rid of him, or at least, knock him down a peg or two. The ranch was her father’s dynasty and it was only right that someday down the line, Ellie would take her place as owner. Pa had worked hard to build Fountainhead, not Ty.

  Her gaze drifted to the flowing landscape. Nestled in the Cumberland Mountains—just above Sparta, the ranch, aptly named, Fountainhead, provided water to all the adjoining land by hosting the spring that fed the streams and rivers. Bon Air, the area surrounding their acreage, had grown quickly, with more and more people settling every day. Rumors spread by newcomers boasted of the railroad coming.

  Pa was fair-minded, but there were always those who wanted more than their share and got angry when they didn’t get it.

  Like Dude Bryant, their nearest neighbor.

  Ever since he and his sons had moved onto the mountain, he’d set his sights on every other piece of land in the area. He saw Ben’s ranch as the hub of the empire he wanted to build.

  Thoughts of the Bryants drew her back to the present. Why hadn’t she thought of it? Surely, they were the ones behind the gunshot.

  So far, Ty had only led his horse to the fence. Ellie’s interest in watching waned. “Pa, do you suspect Dude and his sons had something to do with the bullet that almost parted my hair?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me none,” Ty butted in. “They’ve let it be known they mean to own this land someday, but it’ll be over my dead body.”

  “I don’t believe your name is Pa,” she snapped. “Don’t you have a horse to break?”

  It riled her when Ty acted as though the ranch belonged to him. Why didn’t it bother Pa? He stood there and beamed over anything Ty did or said. Pa didn’t seem to notice how much Ty annoyed her, or maybe he just didn’t care.

  If the frown etched on Ty’s face was any indication, he cared. Ellie tried not to look smug, but if she annoyed him in any way, it pleased her. At first, she’d been smitten with his rugged good looks, but when his bossy attitude surfaced, he suddenly became less appealing. His refusal to admit she could ride and rope with the best of them insulted her.

  She focused her attention solely on her father. “Pa, why don’t we go into town and get Sheriff Gamble?”

  “That’d be a waste of time. Well, I’ll betcha—” Ty answered.

  “Like I said, Pa, the Sheriff?” Ellie scooted along the fence rail, situating herself between the two men and turning her back to Ty.

  Ben grasped his chin between thumb and forefinger, appearing to ponder the suggestion. “Well, Ellie, if you’d let Ty finish his sentence, I think he and I agree. The Sheriff can’t pin anything on Dude and his sons without a witness, and nobody saw nothin’.” Her pa peered around her at Ty. “Am I right, son?”

  Son? Ellie rolled her eyes. Pa actually said the word. She wanted to scream, but mustered enough strength to stifle her frustration. “But, the Sheriff could always get a posse together and show…”

  “There ain’t nothing to show. Listen to your pa. The Sheriff isn’t stupid, and as for a posse…well, there aren’t too many men who want to make an enemy of the Bryants. Besides, we can’t even prove it was them.”

  He cut her off again. Damn him! Her fingernails bit into the palm of her clenched fist. Ty paused long enough for his lips to curl into that annoying grin that drove her crazy–the one that always appeared when he held the reins.

  He leaned on the fence rail. “We’ll handle this ourselves. Hopefully, the men will turn up somethin’.”

  Ellie’s face burned, and it wasn’t from the sun. Why did her father always let Ty have the final word? With hands on her hips, she swiveled around and glared down at him.

  “Well, Mr. Bishop, as usual, you seem to have all the answers. While you might be afraid of the Bryants, I’m not. I won’t let them run roughshod over me, or Pa. You sit back and plan how to take care of things, and I’ll actually do something.”

  “And what might that be?” Ty scoffed. “You’re just a girl. You’d best leave things to the men.”

  With a “humpf,” she jumped down from the fence and strode toward the house. It took biting her tongue to keep her thoughts inside.

  He ought not to act like he cared. She knew better. He only wanted the ranch, but his time as foreman was limited if she had anything to say about it.

  Chapter Two

  Ellie stormed into her room, slammed the door and tossed her worn cowboy hat onto the bedpost. She plopped on her stomach atop her soft feather bed, and heaved a loud sigh.

  Resting her chin in her palms, her brow furrowed. “That man is so darn infuriating! I just don’t know what Pa sees in him,” she muttered through clenched teeth. Talking to herself had become a usual occurrence, and she did her best grumbling in private.

  She rolled over, stretched out across her colorful patchwork quilt, and clutched a pillow to her chest. Her mind spun in a million directions, while she tried to think of what to do to prove herself just as capable as Ty, when it came to ranch business.

  Rolling onto her stomach again, she absent-mindedly counted the stitches holding the quilted squares in place. In almost every box, there was a blue matching the color of Ty’s eyes. She sat up and shook her head to clear the disturbing image. Why did he always invade her thoughts? Instead of thinking of him, she ought to be finding a way to nail the Bryants’ hides to the wall.

  Dude and those twin boys of his, Jeb and Joshua, caused nothing but trouble ever since they bought the land adjoining Pa’s. Well, at the least Dude and Jeb were a nuisance.

  Although, she didn’t really know them personally, she judged the family solely from a few meetings in town and the chaos in Sparta since their arrival.

  Joshua seemed much different. He always doffed his hat and smiled when she passed, but Jeb, on the other hand, appeared to be cut from the same bolt as his Pa. Mean and selfish like the senior Bryant, Jeb made sure everyone who listened, heard their plans to take over as much land as they could.

  “They sure aren’t getting Fountainhead,” Ellie muttered. “Not if I have a say so.”

  Her mouth widened into a yawn, and she stretched out on the bed again.

  Groggy, Ellie opened her eyes. She'd fallen asleep. How long did she doze?

  The morning sunshine no longer blazed through the window, but a few visible dust motes danced in the lingering rays filtering through the lace curtains. She sat up and combed her fingers through her tangled locks as she recalled Ty’s smugness.

  “Boy, I really showed him what I can do.” She gritted her teeth.

  “Well, I have to do something about him and those Bryants, and the first thing is to become a better shot.”

  She inched off the bed, opened her armoire, pushed her clothing aside and withdrew her shotgun. Leveling it, she took aim at the mirror hanging above the washstand holding her matching pitcher and bowl. She peered down the rifle’s rusty site and noted a slight bend.
<
br />   Frowning, she lowered the weapon and shook her head. “This won’t do. I’ve had this old relic since I was nine. It’s time to get a real gun and do some target practice.”

  Ellie crammed the ancient piece back in its place and closed the armoire doors. “But how can I get one?” she mumbled.

  With her hands clasped behind her back, she paced. The money I’ve saved for a rainy day.

  She stood on tiptoes and reached to the far corner of the wardrobe’s top shelf, took down a carved wooden box and spilled its contents onto the bed. The folded money and silver she’d stashed over the years was a pleasant surprise. Her plans for buying that good-looking Appaloosa from the town livery would have to wait; this was a far more important purchase.

  She tucked the money into her britches’ pocket and walked out of the room, headed for the barn.

  The kitchen door creaked open as she walked through. Ty stopped driving nails into the bottom corral rail and looked toward the house. He straightened, pushed the brim of his hat back with the hammer’s head, and smiled at Ellie. She flashed a fleeting glance in his direction and made a beeline for the barn.

  Even sweaty with his hat askew, he made her stomach all fluttery.

  Ellie pretended to ignore him, and slipped inside. How could she even consider him attractive when he was such a pain in her backside?

  She grabbed her tack from a wall hook, opened the stall holding Chessie, her Chestnut mare, and tossed the saddle across the horse’s back. The mingled aroma of oiled leather and fresh straw filled the air—a far cry better than the manure smell that lingered when the stalls needed mucking—a job she sorely hated.

  Bending, she reached beneath the animal’s girth to grab the cinch, and sensed someone watching her. She straightened and turned around.

  Ty stood in the doorway.

  He leaned against the jamb, his arms crossed. “Where you off to, Ellie?”

  “Nowhere special,” she lied with a shrug of her shoulders. Her jaw grew tight at the idea of his spying on her. She returned to the task at hand, but forced herself to be civil. “I just thought I’d take a ride over to Betty Jo’s for a visit.”

  At once, she questioned her need to tell him anything. He was only a hired hand, and it was none of his business where she went and what she did. Why did he just stand there and look at her with a raised brow?

  The early fall humidity dampened her temples and sent a trickle of perspiration between her breasts. She stopped and blotted her face with her shirtsleeve, wishing he would go away. Far away.

  “Maybe I should ride with you.” He thumped a finger against his chin.

  She spun around. “No! I…uh…I mean, no thanks. I doubt you’d feel comfortable sipping tea and talking about female things.”

  His throaty laugh bounced off the weathered timber. “Guess I wouldn’t be much good at gal talk. But, be careful. The boys didn’t pick up a trail on the shooter, but I doubt whoever did it is gonna hang around. I’d bet a month’s pay the Bryants were behind it, but they probably meant to frighten you more than hurt you. Fools that they are, they think one little bullet is gonna scare Ben into selling. They’re probably in Sparta having a drink at the saloon as we speak.”

  His confidence rankled her, but she reminded herself to keep a civil tongue. “Well, don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere near town.” The lie came easy.

  “Good idea.” He grinned. “Go on and have a nice visit with your friend.”

  She struggled to keep her gaze from lingering on his cocky stance—the way his faded denims fit just right—and turned her attention back to her animal. Besides, who was Tyler Bishop to tell her she could go?

  Ellie led Chessie out of the stall and mounted. Ty walked alongside as she rode out of the barn. Hopefully he was wrong about the Bryant’s being in town because she planned to make this trip come hell or high water. One incident wasn’t about to keep her ranch-bound; if anything, it was the reason to go and buy that gun.

  Once outside, she reined her horse and looked down at Ty. “Tell Pa I’ll be home before sundown.”

  Ty peered up from under the dusty brim of his hat. “You best be.”

  Those eyes pierced her very soul, until he opened his mouth and ruined it. She nudged her mount in the sides and left him standing in a cloud of swirling dirt. “Don’t tell me what to do, Tyler Bishop,” she yelled over her shoulder. “You aren’t my boss.”

  A smile tugged at her lips. It pleased her to put him in his place and leave before he could utter a sound. Her smile blossomed into an actual giggle at the thought of him wheezing and sneezing in the wake of her departure.

  The invigorating gallop created a cool breeze across Ellie’s face. She pushed thoughts of the gunshot from her mind, relaxed back against the saddle cantle and took a deep breath of fresh air. Her mare was so accustomed to the downhill trail to town there was no need for a heavy hand on the reins. The leather straps hung loosely alongside the mare’s neck while Ellie kept sync with Chessie’s movement.

  Along the rim, Ellie admired the beauty of Calf Killer Valley, so named after a Cherokee chief whose tribe inhabited the area in the early 1800s. Ellie couldn’t recall ever seeing an Indian, but she tried to picture what the chief might have looked like.

  Amid the sprawling fields of wheat, tobacco and rye, she imagined tepees and red-skinned people. Yet, most of them had Ty’s face and eyes.

  She stopped daydreaming and focused on the type of sidearm to buy and tried to determine a good spot to practice, out of prying eyes. The area around the old mineshaft about five miles from the ranch came to mind. She’d have to pass the rock house where the stagecoach stopped, but the spot was well beyond there.

  “Yep, that’s the place,” she muttered and spurred her mount faster, anxious to get to Sparta and make her purchase.

  Chessie’s sure-footedness handled the oft-traveled trail with ease. The ruts left by countless wagon trains ran deep, marring the road taken by hundreds in search of a place to settle–many in Bon Air and others passing through and following the bigger Caney Fork River to surrounding areas.

  Ellie’s thoughts strayed to the many coalmines hidden deep beyond the trees peppering the hillsides. Luckily, there was one that had played out and would serve her purpose just fine.

  Lost in reverie, the usual hour trip seemed much shorter. Before she realized it, she was in town.

  Ellie slowed Chessie to a walk, waved at Reverend Franklin as he left the church, and reined the mare to the hitching post in front of the mercantile. She dismounted, stood on the plank walkway and brushed the dust from her clothing before going inside.

  The bells on the door jingled.

  Percy McCord looked up from the counter, and flashed a huge smile.

  His teeth reminded her of Chessie’s—long and yellowed. In addition to his horsy appearance, countless freckles dotted Percy’s pasty skin, and fire-red curls framed his face.

  “Good day, Miz Roselle. You’re looking particularly lovely this fine day.”

  “Thank you, Percy.” She smiled.

  “What can I do for you?”

  The way he rubbed his hands together when he spoke made Ellie uneasy, but she forced herself to return his smile. God forbid he mistook it for any type of interest in him. Despite his good manners, he repulsed her.

  She walked to the counter. “I’d like to look at some of your sidearms please.”

  One red brow arched. “Sidearms? Why Miz Roselle, what in the world are you going to do with a gun.”

  “It’s a gift,” she lied. Her lips tightened into a thin line of impatience. She hated untruths. Why was everyone always in her business? First Ty, now Percy.

  Men!

  Percy moved to the weapons’ display case and gestured. “We have a large assortment. Will this be on your father’s account?”

  “No, I’m sure I have enough money of my own.” She crossed her fingers and studied the guns in the new-fangled glass display.

  “I’d like to ho
ld that one.” She pointed to a shiny silver revolver.

  Percy handed it to her. “It’s a beauty, just got it in this week. It’s one of those new Colts. A thirty-six caliber. But depending on who the gift is for, that big ol’ Colt might be a little too much. You might want to take a look at this new Smith & Wesson twenty-two caliber.” He gestured to another pistol.

  Ellie eyed the blue plated weapon with rosewood grips and wrinkled her nose. “It looks so small in comparison.”

  “Yes, but this one is a single action, seven shot model rather than the old cap and ball design. It’s much easier to load and fire.” Percy eyed her suspiciously, “Are you sure this ain’t for you Miz Ellie? If it is, I’m certain you’ll find the Smith more suitable to your abilities.”

  A typical man’s attitude.

  Her jaw tensed. When would people quit treating her like a child?

  She held the revolver like an expert, measuring its weight and overall feel, but eyed the one to which he pointed, and then shook her head. The Colt was much more impressive. Its heavy weight wielded unbridled power in her hand. She turned and aimed toward the door just as it opened.

  Ty Bishop.

  “Whoa, don’t shoot,” Ty threw up his hands. His eyes widened. “Is that thing loaded?”

  She quickly dropped the gun to her side, certain her face matched Percy’s hair. “No it isn’t, and what are you doing here?”

  “A better question is what are you doin’ here. I thought…”

  “I changed my mind, if that’s all right with you,” she snapped. “And why are you following me?”

  “I’m not. Your pa sent me to pick up a few things he ordered.” With a huff, he turned his attention to the clerk. “Are they here, Percy?”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Ty. Got those nails and rope in yesterday, same time as I got the new Colt Miz Ellie is holding.”

  Ellie promptly laid the gun back on the counter. “I was just curious, that’s all.” She gave Percy a stern look then walked over to the yard goods.

  “But…Miz Ellie, you asked…”