Medicine Creek (Wind River Book 4)

by James Reasoner

  But it appeared the reconciliation had not been as complete as he might have hoped, and he had to admit that most of that was his fault.

  He just hadn't counted on falling in love with another woman.

  The time he had spent with Deborah Munroe the past two days had been wonderful. They were seldom alone, since the medicine show was doing such a booming business, but they had been able to steal a few private moments.

  Michael had kissed Deborah again, several times, and each kiss had left him shaken and faint with wanting her. And Deborah had made it plain that she wanted him, too, that she was more than willing to take their relationship a step farther.

  She wanted to make love with him.

  If that happened, he would be crossing a line, taking a step from which there was no retreating. He would never be able to go back to Delia. Not that Delia even wanted him anymore, he thought glumly as he added ink to the reservoir on the printer.

  But eventually, the medicine show would leave Wind River, and Deborah would go with it. The logical part of Michael's mind knew that. He couldn't ask her to stay here with him, and even if he did, he was certain she would refuse. Any passion he might share with Deborah, no matter how thrilling and exciting, would be temporary. And then, when she was gone, he would be left alone, his wife and children beyond a barrier that he could never breach. Would it be worth it to give in to the desire he felt?

  But if he didn't, would he ever be able to live with not knowing what he might have had, even if it was fleeting?

  The answer to that, he knew with sudden, crystal clarity, was no. He was not a man to whom such opportunities came often—or even ever, he thought bitterly—and for the first time in his life, he had to take a chance. What was the old Latin phrase? Carpe diem, that was it. Seize the day.

  Or in this case, the night—tomorrow night. . . .

  * * *

  Alexandra Fisk reined in her horse atop a wooded knoll and looked across the valley toward the mountains that formed the boundary between her father's Latch Hook spread and the Diamond S.

  Somewhere on the other side of those mountains was Frenchy LeDoux, she thought. A frown appeared on her face. Why in the world was she even thinking about Kermit Sawyer's foreman? True, Frenchy had a certain rough charm about him, and he was handsome in a rugged sort of way, but she had known men back in Kentucky who were much more charming and handsome, and they hadn't been as arrogant and reckless as LeDoux.

  But still she found her mind straying back to the man, and although she had been trying for a couple of weeks now, she couldn't banish him entirely from her thoughts.

  Night was falling with the suddenness that was common to the high country. Alexandra had ridden out here onto the range after supper in an attempt to clear her head, not telling anyone where she was going because she knew her father did not like her riding around the ranch after dark. So far she wasn't having much luck.

  She spotted movement down in the valley and leaned forward in her saddle. It was difficult to make out any details through the gathering shadows, but she thought she saw about a dozen men on horseback moving through one of the pastures. The frown on Alexandra's face deepened, but for a different reason this time. The mystery of what she was seeing had finally succeeded in driving thoughts of Frenchy LeDoux out of her head.

  She had just come from the ranch headquarters, and she knew that most of the men were there at the moment. Only a handful of the crew were out on the range.

  Which meant that these men she was watching couldn't be Latch Hook punchers. They had no right to be here.

  The strangers were riding northeast, toward the area of the ranch where most of the stock was gathered. That thought gave even more weight to the idea that had sprung into Alexandra's mind as soon as she saw them.

  The rustlers who had hit Latch Hook before had returned.

  Without thinking, she put her hand on the stock of the Winchester that was sticking up from its saddleboot under her left leg. She drew the rifle with a quick jerk and worked the lever, jacking a shell into the chamber.

  She wasn't going to sit by and do nothing but quiver in fear while those men raided the ranch; that would be more like what Catherine might do. But she was smart enough to know that she couldn't fight all of them, either. They had her outnumbered too badly.

  But maybe she could throw a scare into them and then light a shuck for the ranch house, where she could alert her father, Wilt Paxton, and the rest of the men.

  She brought the Winchester to her shoulder, lined it on the horsebackers moving through the valley, and squeezed the trigger.

  The rifle bucked heavily against her shoulder as it cracked wickedly. She was used to the recoil, though, and fought the barrel back down as she levered the Winchester again. She squeezed the trigger a second time and sent another shot toward the distant riders.

  Alexandra didn't know if she had hit anything or not, didn't really care if she had. All she wanted to do was spook the rustlers and delay them in the errand that had brought them to Latch Hook.

  She wheeled her horse and kicked it into a run through the timber. Her last glance at the riders showed her that they were milling around in surprise at the shots. She saw a couple of winks of orange flame and knew they were throwing lead back at her.

  They weren't likely to hit her at this range. An instant later the trees closed in thickly around her and she knew she was safe. There was no way the men could catch up to her.

  Now all she had to do was get back to the ranch house and let her father know the wideloopers had returned to Latch Hook.

  Chapter 24

  Cole started out of the marshal's office into the foyer of the building and almost ran into Simone McKay. He stopped short and said, "Sorry, Simone. Guess I wasn't looking where I was going."

  "That's all right," she smiled. She had been on her way into the building, no doubt heading for the offices of the land development company down the hall.

  Cole hadn't seen much of her the past few days, between his duties as marshal and all the things she had to attend to as a businesswoman and leading citizen of the town.

  He supposed she had been spending most of her time either at the hotel or the house her late husband had built for her on Sweetwater Street, on the western edge of town. Not far from that medicine show, in fact, Cole realized, and he wondered if the commotion from there had been disturbing her.

  He was about to say something about that, but she spoke first. "I think there's going to be another dance soon," she said. "I was wondering, since we weren't able to go to the first one . . ."

  Cole couldn't believe his good luck. He grinned and said, "Sounds like a mighty fine idea to me. I never have forgiven Billy Casebolt for getting sick when he did and causing me to miss that dance. I thought about you while we were out there at that Shoshone village."

  Simone began to blush prettily. "You shouldn't hold that against Billy. I'm sure he didn't mean to—Oh, I understand now. You're just . . . joshing me. Isn't that the word?"

  "It'll do," Cole admitted. It was easier to talk to Simone now. He had always felt there was a wall of sorts separating them, a wall constructed of the differences between his station in life and hers. Not that he thought she was too good for him. She was just accustomed to a totally different way of living.

  She seemed to have adjusted quite well to the frontier, though, and that gave Cole a reason to hope that maybe someday . . .

  Maybe what he really needed to do, he thought suddenly, was to stop waiting for some vague time in the future when he could tell Simone how he really felt about her. Life was just too damned uncertain for that. An emotion that was honest ought to be expressed, because folks never knew when, without warning, it might be too late.

  "Simone?" he said, acting before he could stop to think about what he was doing.

  "Yes, Cole?" she replied softly.

  "There you are, by God!"

  The loud, angry voice didn't come from Cole. The words issued fro
m the mouth of Austin Fisk, who strode through the door from the boardwalk. He glared at Cole, who swung around in surprise. "I want to talk to you, Marshal," Fisk went on.

  Cole bit back the curse that sprang to his lips. The moment between him and Simone, the moment that might have turned out to be very special, was gone. Cole said tightly, "What in blazes is this all about, Fisk?"

  "Those damned rustlers hit my place again last night." Fisk looked at Simone and added, "Beg your pardon, ma'am, but I'm upset."

  "And you seem to have every right to be, Mr. Fisk," Simone said. "Was anyone hurt?"

  "Not this time, thank the Lord. It was my daughter Alexandra who spotted them and brought word to the house." Fisk turned and gestured to someone who was still outside on the boardwalk. "Come in here and tell the marshal about it, Alexandra."

  The tall, slender brunette came into the foyer. She was wearing denim pants and a jacket today, along with a flat-crowned hat dangling behind her neck from its chin strap. She nodded to Cole and said, "Hello, Marshal."

  "Miss Fisk. What happened out there on Latch Hook?"

  "I was out for a ride last night after supper," Alexandra explained. "I saw about a dozen men moving across our spread, and I knew they couldn't be any of our punchers. I took a couple of shots at them to slow them down, then headed back to the ranch house as quickly as I could."

  Cole frowned. "If they didn't see you, you should've just headed for home without letting them know you were there, miss. You put yourself in danger by taking potshots at them."

  Anger flared in Alexandra's eyes as she said, "I didn't want them to think they could get away with riding onto our land and doing as they pleased."

  Cole nodded. The young woman came by her fiery nature honestly, he supposed. Her father probably would have been even more foolhardy if he had run across those rustlers. Cole could imagine Austin Fisk charging right into them, even though he would have been outnumbered.

  "What happened then?" Cole asked.

  "I took my men and went out looking for those thieves, of course," Fisk snapped. "We didn't catch up to them in time, unfortunately. They hit my herd again and chased off the men I had standing guard. Luckily they only got about fifty head. I suppose they were hurrying because they were afraid Alexandra had alerted us to their presence."

  "You were lucky, you and your daughter both," Cole said slowly. "Were you able to track the stolen cattle?"

  "That's what we did first thing this morning. The tracks disappeared before they got to the mountains." Fisk's voice was bitter.

  Cole had a hunch he knew on which stretch of ground the tracks of the stolen cattle had vanished. There was something else on his mind, though, so he said, "I haven't heard you blame Kermit Sawyer for this raid yet."

  "Well, I still think he might've had something to do with it," Fisk said stubbornly. "I'm trying to abide by the law, though. That's why I came into town to tell you about it. What are you going to do, Marshal?"

  Cole hesitated, then said, "I'm not sure yet. I've got a couple of ideas where those cattle could be going . . ."

  "Well, for God's sake, tell us!" Fisk exclaimed.

  Cole shook his head. "Not yet. Not until I do some more checking around first. Last time, the gang hit your place, Fisk, then turned around and raided the Diamond S. Could be they'll follow the same pattern this time. Think I'll ride out and have a talk with Sawyer."

  "That's all?" Fisk sounded disbelieving and angry.

  "Like I said, I'll be looking into it," Cole told him, letting an edge creep into his voice. His instincts told him he still didn't have the whole story, and he didn't want to start explaining any of his theories until he had the proof to back them up.

  "I've been damned patient, Marshal," Fisk said, and this time he didn't apologize to Simone for his language. "But if you don't put a stop to this—and soon!—I'll take whatever actions are necessary to do it myself." He jerked his head toward the door. "Come on, Alexandra."

  The young woman followed him out, and when Cole and Simone were alone again, Simone said, "I hate to see trouble like this."

  "So do I," Cole agreed. "I'd better find Billy, and we'll take a ride out to the Diamond S. I want to keep an eye on that spread tonight, just in case the rustlers strike again there like they did last time. I'll talk to Jeremiah before we leave. Maybe he won't mind holding down the fort again here in town."

  As he started to turn away, Simone said, "Cole . . . you were about to say something else before Mr. Fisk came in."

  He had been hoping that she'd forgotten about that. Now just wasn't the time to go into what he had been feeling. "Nothing that can't wait," he said. "I'd better get moving."

  He nodded to her and left the building, heading down to the cafe in search of Billy Casebolt. The deputy had mentioned earlier that he had a hankering for a piece of Rose Foster's apple pie, so he might still be there. As he strode down the street, there was more on Cole's mind than the rustlers who had struck again on Latch Hook.

  Had that been a trace of disappointment he had seen in Simone's eyes?

  * * *

  Kermit Sawyer met the lawmen in the big main room of the log ranch house, and he didn't look happy about it.

  "If you've ridden out here to accuse me of something again, Marshal, I ain't goin' to be happy about it," Sawyer said. "In fact, I'm gettin' damned tired of it!"

  "It's true Fisk's spread was hit by rustlers again last night," Cole told the Texan, "but I know you didn't have anything to do with it, Sawyer."

  That declaration brought a frown of surprise to Sawyer's weathered features. "You know who's behind all the trouble around here?"

  Cole shook his head and said, "I don't know who's heading up the gang, but I'm convinced there's only one bunch of wideloopers and they don't come from either the Diamond S or Latch Hook. Somebody's been playing you and Fisk against each other."

  "You sure Fisk ain't just bein' sneaky?"

  "I'm convinced he's telling the truth," Cole said. "Which means there's a good chance those cow thieves will hit your spread again, Sawyer."

  The cattleman snorted. "We'll give 'em a hot reception if they do!"

  "No," Cole said, "that's exactly what you won't do."

  Sawyer stared at him. "What in blazes are you talkin' about, Tyler?"

  "Billy and I are going to keep an eye on your herd tonight, tomorrow night, however long it takes. If the rustlers hit, let them take the cows. Your men can put up a little fight to make it look good, but not enough to drive off those wideloopers. Then Billy and I will follow them and find out how they're getting those stolen cows into the mountains."

  "That's the craziest damn thing I ever heard!" Sawyer protested. "You're askin' me to let those sons o' bitches steal my stock?"

  Cole nodded. "That's what I'm asking, all right. I want to find their hideout, and the best way to do that is to have them lead me right to it."

  "Yeah, well, what if they give you the slip? Then I lose those cows!"

  "It's a risk, all right," Cole admitted. "But if you want to put a stop to these raids, I think this is the way to do it."

  Sawyer's eyes narrowed menacingly as he said, "You'd better be right. If I let you go through with this damnfool plan of yours and wind up losing the rest of my herd because of it, I'll be settlin' up with you, Tyler."

  "That's a chance I'll take," Cole snapped. "You'd better tell your men what the plan is, so they'll know what to do."

  “I’ll tell 'em, all right. And I'll tell Frenchy to keep an eye on you two, special-like. Because to tell you the truth, mister . . . I don't particularly trust you. Maybe you're in with them rustlers."

  Cole took a step forward, a red haze creeping in from the corners of his eyes. He had been accused of being a lot of things in his life, but never a cow thief. His hands bunched into fists, and he might have taken a swing at Sawyer if Billy Casebolt hadn't caught hold of his arm.

  "Come on, Marshal," the deputy urged. "We got to find us a good spot to lay lo
w and keep an eye on them longhorns."

  Cole took a deep breath and nodded, but he continued to glower at Sawyer. "You're right, Billy. Besides, the air in here's starting to bother me."

  With that, he shook off Casebolt's hand, turned, and stalked out of the ranch house, leaving the tense, angry Texan behind him. Casebolt followed.

  Cole hoped his plan worked. If for no other reason, he wanted to see the expression on Kermit Sawyer's ugly face when he came back with the stolen cattle and those rustlers face down over their saddles.

  Chapter 25

  Michael thought Deborah had never been more lovely than she was that night, and her singing was beautiful, moving him deeply with its poignancy. The crowd had roared its approval when she finished, and Michael had been one of them, cheering and applauding wildly. As he looked around at the other men, however, he felt a special thrill.

  None of them knew it—and how they would envy him if they did!—but before this night was over, he would be holding Deborah Munroe in his arms and kissing her and feeling her soft flesh pressed excitingly to his body.

  A shudder of desire went through him as those thoughts danced in his head. All he had to do now was wait until the show was over and everyone else had gone home.

  He hadn't told Deborah what he was planning, but he was sure she would welcome him. She had made it plain that she wanted him. They could go back to the newspaper office, which would be deserted tonight since the latest edition had already been distributed.

  The wait for the show to be over was maddening. As he stood on the edge of the crowd and watched Professor Munroe extol the benefits of the world-famous and newly improved Chippewa Tonic, Michael tried not to think about Delia . . . and Gretchen . . . and little Lincoln.

  He wasn't doing anything to hurt his children, he told himself. He still loved them, loved them dearly. It might not have ever come to this if Delia hadn't been so . . . so cold to him. If she hadn't lost her temper and thrown him out of the house—