“Uh-huh. Okay if that’s all you’re going to say about it. Although I’m curious where you got those britches since they’re about four inches too short.”
“Shut up, Kincaid.”
The ex-gunslinger laughed so hard Brett saw tears squirting from the other man’s eyes. He didn’t see what was so funny so he kept on walking to the barn. By the time he had Rusty unsaddled and rubbed down, Kincaid had gotten control of his laughing.
“Your branding iron arrived today. Some young kid who said he was the smithy’s son brought it by. Said he had a girl out at Casey’s place so he saved you a trip.”
His branding iron. The symbol of the Square One ranch.
“Where is it?”
“Over by the tools. I hung it up on one of the hooks.”
Brett limped out of Rusty’s stall and headed straight for the tools. The branding iron hung there as the other tools did. He took it down and held it in his hands, closing his eyes to feel the weight of it. Gripping the handle, he trembled.
His brand.
After a few deep breaths, he opened his eyes and examined it. A square with a line down the middle, exactly as he pictured it. Damn it felt good to hold that brand. Not quite as good as holding Alex, but a natural intoxication he could never get from whiskey.
Goddamn, he felt great.
“Doesn’t your leg hurt?” Kincaid watched from a few feet away.
“Nah, I’ve forgotten all about it.” Not entirely true, but the throbbing ache wasn’t enough to spoil his mood.
“Mason hasn’t. In fact, he wouldn’t get back on that paint for nothing today. Noah and I had to take split shifts watching the herd.”
“What do you mean?” He finally heard what Kincaid said. “He’s afraid of the horse or of riding?”
“Both, I think. That stampede scared the shit out of Mason. He’s in his room now hiding.”
Brett felt bad leaving Kincaid and Noah to watch over his cattle alone, but hell, he’d been wounded. After hanging the brand back up, Brett left the barn and headed for the house to try and stop a bad situation from becoming worse.
Noah must’ve been out keeping watch on the spooked cattle because the house was empty except for Mason. He could hear the boy moving around in his room. When Brett opened the bedroom door, he found Mason packing his things into a burlap sack.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
Mason’s eyes were full of confusion and fear. “I ain’t no good on a ranch if I’m afraid of the damn cows.”
“That’s a load of shit. You’re not afraid of the cows. Any man would quake in his boots if they went down during a stampede. Hell, I shook for hours afterward. A twelve hundred pound steer ain’t nothing to sneeze at.” Brett sat on the edge of the bed. “I haven’t fired you and I won’t.”
“I can quit.”
“That’d just be stupid. You’ve got it good here, Mason. Friends, a job, a comfortable bed and food in your belly. Why would you leave?” Brett hoped he didn’t leave. They had all grown to love the scruffy kid.
“‘Cause I ain’t never been good at nothing.” Mason sat heavily on the side of the bed. “My ma was right.”
“I don’t know what your ma told you, but she was wrong. You are good as a cowboy. A natural I’d say. You picked up the lasso in only a week, and you’re better than Kincaid with it already. Noah said the same thing to me this morning.”
Mason’s eyes lit with a tiny bit of hope. “Really?”
“Hell yes. Kincaid can’t hit a fence post with a lasso much less a cow.” Brett patted Mason’s shoulder. “I don’t want you to leave and I’m not telling you to leave, but you’re a man now. Make your own decision.”
Brett stood and looked down at him, wondering if he’d ever been that young and old at the same time. “See you in the morning.”
As he left the bedroom, he was pleased to see Mason removing his clothes from the burlap sack. The day from hell had turned into a day Brett would remember for a very long time.
In the morning, all four of the Square One cowboys headed out together to start the branding. A bit late in the season, but nonetheless, Brett knew he had to rebrand his cattle fast or risk rustling. They set up a fire near the outer edge of the pasture, far enough away from the herd that the smoke shouldn’t bother them.
It took nearly the whole day and a lot of wrangling from Brett and Noah, but the two hundred cows were officially branded by the time the sun set. Dirty, tired and smiling, they celebrated by going into town for a meal at the restaurant. After washing up, of course.
Noah agreed to stay on the Square One for two months and Brett was more than glad to have his help. It seemed things were turning around for Brett.
Except of course for the legal claim hanging over his head.
———
King waited until he saw Alexandra leave the house for the Goodson’s store. As soon as she stepped inside the store, King entered the Brighton’s house. Byron wasn’t downstairs which meant he was probably still sleeping off his drink from the night before.
The ugly mutt was lying in a basket in the examining room and King made sure the door was shut securely. King didn’t want to be interrupted by anyone or anything.
Time to get serious with the Brightons, starting with the old man. King wasn’t about to allow Alexandra to marry that moron Malloy. She was his. Malloy might have fucked her, but King would have her. What King wanted, King got. He’d always wanted Alex to be in his bed and the mother of his children. After marrying two women who bore him nothing but annoyance, he needed a smart, sturdy woman who could give him the heirs he wanted. Alex was that woman.
He had taken his time, buttering her up, then Malloy had to come in and ruin all his plans. Bastard. How could King have a kingdom without a queen?
Sure as the sun rises, King found Byron sound asleep in his bed. He slapped the grizzled cheeks twice before the old man blinked and opened his eyes.
“King?”
“Get up, Byron. We need to talk.”
Byron looked almost comical as he wiped his eyes and tried to focus on King.
“What are you doing here? Does Alex know you’re upstairs?”
Tired of waiting, King yanked Byron up by his arms and shook him. “We need to talk. Now. Get up and get dressed.”
Byron shivered as he slipped off the nightshirt and into his clothes. “I still don’t know what you’re doing here.”
King dragged Byron from his room and down the hall. “You need to talk some sense into your daughter. She says she’s going to marry Malloy, but that ain’t gonna happen. You are going to force her to marry me.”
Byron tugged on his arm. “I will do no such thing. Brett is a good man and exactly what Alex needs.”
“No.” King leaned down and shouted into Byron’s face. “I’m exactly what she needs.”
“No, you’re not.” Byron stopped four feet from the stairs and put his hands on his hips. “You cannot make me do anything, King.”
“Oh yes I can.” King pulled Byron by the arms, dragging him down the carpet runner as easily as a child.
“Let go of me this instant, King Dawson! I will report you to Sheriff Weissman for this.”
King whipped Byron around and started pushing at his shoulders. How dare he threaten a Dawson with the law? A Dawson made his own law.
“Who do you think you are? You can’t defy me, old man. I will make your life a living hell.” He pushed again and Byron’s arms swung around madly as he tried to regain his balance. “That little demonstration on Alex? That was just a small taste of what I can do.”
Byron grabbed King by the throat in a surprisingly strong grip. “You? You did that to her?”
King didn’t take too kindly to anyone touching him without permission. He brought his fist back and punched Byron in the chest. The old doctor sailed through the air almost halfway down the stairs before landing with a loud crack on the wooden steps below.
After a few mome
nts, the damn dog started barking. With a frown, King stomped down the steps, annoyed the old man had fought him. He stepped over the body and walked to the door.
No need trying to convince Byron any longer, it was much too late for that. King left and headed for the saloon.
———
Alex leisurely walked home with her basket on her arm. Although some gray clouds threatened, it hadn’t rained yet and she was enjoying the fresh air. Enjoying being alive and in love.
Brett promised to come by every chance he could and Alex knew he’d be by that evening since he hadn’t the night before. God knows she was worn out from their afternoon romping. He’d be twice as worn out since he’d been injured during the day. Her cheeks heated with the remembrance of how she’d seduced Brett after doctoring his wound. Every day was a gift and she wasn’t about to let one slip through her fingers.
Alex had purchased some special fixings for a supper of beef stew and dumplings. Goodson’s also had a supply of fresh eggs Alex snatched up for the noon meal with her father. He loved eggs and bacon, and without any laying hens it was a delicacy he savored when he could.
She heard Ug barking as soon as she walked up to the front door. That was a good sign. He hadn’t barked much since his injuries and the sound was like music to her ears. Alex stepped inside and headed for the examining room.
“Ug, I’m so glad to hear you bark.” She opened the door and he ran from the room heading straight for the stairs.
Dread coated her body and made her shiver with fear. She forced herself to walk toward the stairs, knowing whatever she found would not be good. Ug was frantic now, barking and whining. Alex rounded the corner and the basket landed on the floor in front of her.
Her father lay at the bottom of the stairs, his head at an impossible angle, his mouth open in an eternal scream. His pipe he always kept in his pocket lay broken beside him. Blood oozed from his mouth and his eyes appeared to beseech her for help. Alex didn’t remember dropping to her knees, but she found herself kneeling in broken egg shells and sobbing.
Oh, God, Papa.
Alex checked her father to be certain he was truly dead, crying until her stomach hurt. After confirming it, she took a sheet from the nearby linen closet and covered him. Ug sat next to the body, guarding him, it seemed, even after death.
“I’m going to get the sheriff, Ug. You take care of him, okay, boy?”
Ug woofed and his eyes almost appeared to offer her sympathy. She kissed his furry head and stood. Alex walked back out the door a different person.
———
Brett rode into Cheshire later than he intended. It had been two days since he’d left Alex’s arms and he missed her, a bittersweet feeling he didn’t want to get used to. As soon as he could, he’d make Alex his wife, then he wouldn’t have to ride an hour just to see her.
When he turned down Alex’s street, every light in the Brighton house was on. Looked like a Christmas tree. Something was wrong.
Brett broke into a gallop and arrived in seconds flat. Knowing Rusty would stay put, he jumped down and ran into the house as fast as his sore leg would let him.
“Alex?”
“In here.”
He followed the sound of her voice to the parlor. She sat on the settee with Ug at her feet. The look in her eyes nearly unmanned him—haunted, devastated and heartbroken.
He sat beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.
“What happened?”
“Papa,” she whispered brokenly. “He’s d-dead.”
Dead? Byron was dead? He was still angry at the old man’s meddling, but he surely didn’t wish him harm.
Brett pulled her onto his lap and held her close, stroking and soothing her. She cried quietly against his shirt, never screaming or ranting. Alex was every inch the lady, even when drowning in grief.
Jim appeared in the doorway and caught Brett’s eye.
Brett gestured with his hand to Jim. “You might as well come in and tell both of us. Alex would never forgive me if you didn’t.”
She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief and glanced up at the sheriff as he sat on the other end of the settee. The dark-haired lawman took off his hat and fiddled with it.
“It appears your father had help down those stairs.”
“What does that mean?” Brett snapped.
“It means there’s signs of a struggle upstairs. The carpet runner is all cockeyed, and I found some dirt on the floor in Byron’s room and the hallway. The same dirt in the foyer and nobody’s shoes in this house are muddy.” Jim glanced apologetically at Alex. “I’m sorry, Doc. I wish to hell it had been an accident.”
“So do I.” She took a deep breath and let it out in a gust. “Is there any sign of who did it?”
Jim shook his head. “Nothing specific. Byron wasn’t a big man. It wouldn’t take much to overpower him. Do you know of anyone who might want to hurt him?”
Alex and Brett glanced at each other, the same name on their lips.
“King Dawson.”
“King? Why would he want to hurt Byron?”
Brett waited until Alex nodded before he spoke. “I asked Alex to marry me and King didn’t take too kindly to the idea. Aside from that, he’s got some legal action against me with a man claiming to be old Martin’s son.”
Jim’s eyebrows jumped. “You two are getting hitched? I’m glad to hear that.” He shook Brett’s hand. “I thought you two ought—”
“Jim, about King.”
“Yeah, right. Sorry. So he was angry about the wedding and he’s trying to get you off your ranch?”
“That about sums it up. Aside from that, I think he was behind the attack on Alex, too.” Just remembering that she’d been hurt made Brett’s fists clench. How much could one family endure?
“Unfortunately without evidence or a witness, there isn’t anything I can do about your theories, Brett.” Jim stood and put his hat on his head. “Alfred’s already taken your father down to get him ready for burial. I’ll tell folks to come by the cemetery around nine in the morning. Is that okay with you, Doc?”
“Yes, th-that’s fine.” She huddled closer to Brett.
“In the meantime, I’ll start looking into King’s whereabouts this morning.” Jim inclined his head at Alex. “Brett, I’ll see you later.”
Brett understood that to mean he’d give more details when Alex wasn’t around. Regardless of what she may want to know, she was in no shape to handle any more harsh news.
After Jim left, Brett continued to hold Alex, glad he could be there for her and wishing he’d arrived earlier.
“How’s your leg? I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“Oh, honey, don’t worry about my leg. You couldn’t possibly hurt me sitting on my lap.” He breathed in her scent, glad Alex hadn’t been home when Byron was killed. God knows what would have happened to her then.
“You need to come back to the Square One with me.” After saying it out loud, he knew it was the right thing to do. He couldn’t protect her if he was an hour away, and he couldn’t leave his ranch for fear of what King would do next. They needed to huddle together.
“No, I can’t. There are patients who need my help.”
“Alex, we can send them out to the ranch if they need help. I can’t keep an eye on you all the way from home. And I think I’ll lose my mind if I can’t protect you.” He had to make her see reason. “Please, honey.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please.” She lifted her head and turned her watery gaze on him. “It must be serious then.”
“Yes, it is.” He cupped her cheek. “We’ll bring Rowdy and rent a buggy to carry your things. I…I’ll go plumb loco if you stay here by yourself.” He didn’t want to resort to begging, but if necessary, he’d do it.
“I don’t want the murderer to think he ran me out of my own house.” Her words protested, but her expression said something different.
“We’ll kick Kincaid out of the bedroom and put a chai
r under the knob for you.”
She looked surprised. “You would stay with me?”
“Always.”
Alex searched his eyes looking for whatever she needed to find. “I’ll come, but only for a few days.”
Brett breathed a huge sigh of relief inside. “Thank you. I know it’s not easy for you to retreat.”
“About as easy as it is for you. Now help me pack, cowboy. I’ll need to bring a medical bag with supplies as well as some books to pass the time.”
He helped her to her feet then stood and gathered her close for a hug. The full impact of Byron’s murder hit him and he shook at the implications of it. Alex wouldn’t be safe until she was his wife and the Square One was his free and clear.
It seemed as though a warning was in order. He was sure Kincaid would be happy to help Brett deliver it.
———
Without much ado, Alex and Ug moved into the Square One. The four male residents treated her like a queen and she didn’t have to do chores for herself. They fetched water, wood, food and anything else she wanted. They even washed and dressed to escort her to her father’s funeral. Alex felt proud to have Brett on her arm and three solid male presences behind her.
Perhaps Brett had been right to say she needed protection. Their fussing was comforting and made her feel safe. Her heart ached with the loss of her father. The mood on the ride into town grew more somber as each mile passed. Alex had put three handkerchiefs in her reticule, knowing she would likely use every one of them.
When the cemetery came into view, a small sob escaped Alex at the sight of the lonely burial ground. She wanted to scream at God for taking her papa too soon. He had so many years left and seemed to be finally giving up drinking. It wasn’t fair.
Of course, all of Alex’s protests were selfish. She missed him terribly and so many times over the last day she’d wanted to talk to him. A particular passage in a book or something she needed to tell him would pop into her head and then she’d remember he was gone. Gone for the rest of her life.
As she stepped from the buggy, Alex straightened her shoulders and went to do the hardest task for the second time in her life.
The entire town turned out for Byron’s funeral, stories were told and tears shed. Alex stared at the pine coffin as they lowered it into the ground. As she tossed a handful of dirt over her father’s remains, she made a silent vow to bring his killer to justice.
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