The Tribute

by Beth Williamson

  “He’s a persistent man,” he mused.

  “No, he’s not persistent. He’s obsessed.” Ray’s scowl deepened as he stared at Alex. “No man chases a woman for that long. She’s told him no, hasn’t ever even danced or had a meal with the man. Yet he kept pestering her. I should’ve had Jim talk to him.”

  No, Brett should have. In fact, he should have asked her to marry him twelve years ago and none of it would have happened. Too many “should haves” to count.

  “Is there any evidence that King killed Byron?” his father asked. His normally open face mirrored the tension in the air.

  “Some, but I’ll let Jim give you those details. I don’t know enough to tell right from left right now.” Brett ran his hands down his face. He turned to Alex. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t know.”

  She cupped his cheek. “It’s okay, Brett. You have nothing to be sorry about. He’s a pitiful excuse for a human being.”

  That was the truth if he’d ever heard it. The trick was, how to get him off their backs. While the rest of the family talked, Brett asked Carson to review the papers relating to the ranch’s legal problems. The two of them found a quiet corner and sat down.

  As Carson read each paper carefully, Brett itched to stand up and go for a ride, to escape. He had no idea what the lawyer would say. Carson was as much a stranger as someone he’d see on the streets of Cheyenne. However, he’d assisted Adelaide and done it honestly. Since he wasn’t from Cheshire, he hoped King wouldn’t be able to influence Carson’s commitment to helping him.

  Carson finally looked up at Brett with his unreadable gaze. “You won this ranch in a poker game, is that correct?”

  “Yep, that’s about the whole of it. Old Martin just threw the deed in the pot. I told him not to, but he told me he didn’t have anyone to leave it to.” Brett shrugged. “I never even knew he had children.”

  Carson glanced at the papers again. “Although you won the deed to the ranch in a poker game, the actual transfer of the deed was legal and registered with the county and is therefore valid. The man claiming to be Martin Samson’s son has no legal claim on it.”

  Brett let out a huge sigh of relief. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” It was hard to tell what the attorney was thinking. His expression never seemed to change.

  “Thank God.”

  “There’s something else, too.” Carson shuffled through the papers. “This document indicates that Martin Samson had two sons.”

  Brett nodded. “That’s what we figured when we found the old furniture in the house.”

  “Where’s the other son?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t even expect this one to show up.” Brett scowled. “Does it matter where the other son is?”

  “It might. I’m going to ride into town and wire a friend in Houston to check on this for me.” He neatened the papers until they were precisely stacked in his hand. “Hopefully he can get back to me quickly.”

  “Right quick. Judge Harris is going to listen to the claim tomorrow. Can you stay until then and be my lawyer? I can’t pay much but…” Brett’s entire future depended on winning this case, and he wasn’t above begging for help at this point.

  Carson held up a hand. “Yes I will be here until tomorrow. As far as my legal fees go, they’ve been paid already.”

  Brett had a feeling he knew who had paid the legal fees and he didn’t have to ask why Trevor would have arranged for it before they even spoke. Family. That’s the only reason required.

  The sound of rapid hoofbeats reached them.

  “Brett, you here?” Slim’s voice sounded from outside the barn.

  Brett heard a thread of panic in his tone and hurried out to meet the old cowpoke. Slim sat atop his lathered horse, breathing as hard as the animal.

  “What’s going on, Slim?”

  “Gunfight. Town.” He coughed. “That gunslinger Ford called out your friend Kincaid. Right outta the saloon. He outright challenged him to a gunfight, but Kincaid didn’t budge. Then Ford threatened you and the doc. They’re supposed to fight at three o’clock.”

  Brett glanced at Alex, her face a mixture of fear and horror. “What time is it?”

  Alex glanced at the watch pinned to her blouse. “Five after two.”

  That left less than an hour to get to town, a trip that normally took an hour. If they rode the hell out of the horses, maybe they’d get there in time. Kincaid was trying to save them, but Brett wouldn’t allow him to sacrifice his life.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The August heat baked Kincaid’s brain. He leaned against the wall outside the saloon and watched a lizard run beneath the wooden sidewalk. It was nearly time—ten minutes until his life ended, whether he died or not. He’d given up gunslinging for good, yet he’d been dragged back into it because of his loyalty to a friend.

  Brett had turned out to be a man Kincaid not only trusted, but liked. A quiet man with pride, intelligence and commitment, he’d shown Kincaid life could be enjoyed no matter the circumstances. Malloy had been kind and giving when he didn’t need to be. Kincaid would be no kind of friend if he let Ford have the doc and Brett.

  Mike the bartender poked his head out and looked at Kincaid. “You want a whiskey before you start?”

  Kincaid shook his head. “No, thanks. I don’t need my hands to shake.”

  “Well if’n you win, come back in and you get one on the house.”

  “Thanks. I’ll take you up on that in about ten more minutes.”

  Pretending to be a cowboy and being around good folks like the Malloys wasn’t in the cards for a man like him. No one knew what Kincaid had done to survive. The dark secrets that lurked in his heart would stay there, locked away. After the gunfight, he’d either be fitted for a coffin or riding to a different town, a different life. Until that, too, soured and he had to leave.

  Too bad it had to happen, but sometimes things were inevitable. Kincaid’s past always caught up to him, one way or another. He couldn’t outrun it or hide from it, so he might as well embrace it.

  “Kincaid, what are you doing?” Sheriff Jim Weissman stepped up next to him, looking harried and more than annoyed.

  “Not much.”

  The sheriff snorted. “That’s a pile of manure. I hear tell that you are going to have a gunfight right here on the street with that lowlife King hired. That true?”

  Kincaid pulled a rolled cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it. After a drag, he blew out the smoke slowly. “What if I were?”

  “I’d have to stop you. There’s laws against gunfighting now, you know. You fellas can’t just walk out into the streets and gun each other down because you feel like it.” The sheriff put his hand on the pistol riding his thigh. “I can lock you up. Brett would probably want me to.”

  Kincaid knew what he was saying. The sheriff could stop the gunfight by locking him up, thereby saving his life. Kincaid didn’t want that. Today was the day he was set to leave Cheshire and he didn’t want the sheriff interfering.

  “You could, but you won’t. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “But you will.”

  Kincaid shrugged. “Maybe. What are you going to do, follow me around like my mother?”

  “No, I’ll just stand right here next to you.” The sheriff leaned against the post and folded his arms across his chest.

  Kincaid knew the man was a friend of the Malloys, had grown up with Brett. There wasn’t any way Kincaid could convince him to skedaddle.

  “Your choice. I’m just standing here enjoying the heat.”

  A snort met his comment. “Hm, me too. I love sweating until I gotta peel my shirt off at the end of the day and my stink could kill squirrels.”

  Kincaid ignored him. He had to focus, to concentrate on the task ahead. His life depended on his accuracy. He closed his eyes and emptied his mind. Time to prepare.

  ———

  Brett rode like the hounds of hell were chasing him. He pushed Rusty as hard as he cou
ld. The roan had heart and did what was asked of him. Trevor, Ray and Noah rode behind him, keeping up with a wild man on a wild horse.

  Alex would more than likely hop on Rowdy and ride into town too. She wouldn’t be able to wait until he returned to know what happened. Aside from her curiosity, Alex was the town doctor and needed to be on hand for any injuries that might result.

  Brett prayed they’d get there in time. It wasn’t right for any man to die for a piece of property, especially when it didn’t even belong to him.

  When the town buildings came into view, Brett didn’t dare look at the time. If three o’clock had passed, he didn’t want to know. He rounded the bend by the saloon and spotted two men in the street a few blocks away.

  God, he was almost too late. Brett rode his horse toward them, willing to throw himself and his horse in the middle of the gunfight. He heard someone shouting and realized Jim was being held back by King’s men. King stood by watching it all like a night at the theatre.

  “Kincaid, I’m warning you. Don’t do it.”

  Brett heard the shots just as he reached them. Both gunfighters went down and Brett vaulted off the horse toward King, filled with rage. He was too late to help Kincaid. The bastard King had engineered the death of the one person in his life he could call a friend.

  Brett slammed into King at full force. Fortunately he wasn’t expecting it, the only advantage Brett had. The big bastard outweighed him by at least fifty pounds and was half a foot taller. Brett hit him so hard, they both tumbled backwards onto the wood-planked sidewalk.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Trevor and Ray take down the men holding Jim, then Brett had to focus on the Viking underneath him. The hit must have knocked the breath out of him because King didn’t put up much of a fight at first. From his perch on the big man’s chest, Brett punched him with a right hook, then a left jab, and finished with an uppercut.

  King looked stunned and furious. He almost threw Brett off when he finally got a breath in. Brett hung on though and rode the storm of punches King threw. Then King kicked him in the back of the head and he saw stars, but he still held on.

  “Little fucker, get off me!”

  “I’m sick and tired of your shit. Why can’t you just let folks live their lives?” Brett grabbed him by the shirtfront, staring down into King’s eyes. “Why?”

  King laughed. “Because I can, that’s why. Life’s too short to give anything away. You’ve got some things I want. Give them to me and I’ll leave you alone.”

  Brett didn’t believe that for a moment. He heard a gunshot, then felt a sting on his right arm as he struggled with King. A second gunshot echoed through the street. When Brett realized he’d been shot, King took advantage and threw Brett off. He landed on his back on the ground ten feet away. King seemed to have the strength of two men. Brett tried to catch his breath, but King kicked him in the side.

  The toe of King’s boot felt like it had a dagger in it. Pain shot through his ribs. The second kick almost made him black out. He heard signs of a struggle all around him, punches, grunts, shouts, and then finally hoofbeats.

  King was so intent on killing Brett, he didn’t pay attention to the horse, but Brett did. Alex, like an avenging angel on her big horse, jumped over his prone body, knocking King to the ground.

  “Bastard,” she hissed as she turned the horse around and aimed right for him.

  King stood and faced her, as if he was impenetrable to being trampled by a horse. At the last moment, he shifted then grabbed her off the horse. She yelped and kicked out. Brett’s fury exploded when he saw King holding the woman he loved like a puppy by its scruff.

  Brett got to his feet, blood dripping from more than one spot on his body. “Let her go.”

  When King turned toward him, Brett threw the punch of his life, knocking King to the ground. Brett’s hand felt like it had been stepped on by a horse, but he ignored it. Alex fell beside him, then rolled away. She was on her feet in seconds. King lay between them, unmoving.

  “Did I kill him?”

  “I don’t think so, but you knocked him unconscious.” She smiled until she saw his face. “Dear God.”

  “I’m fine, honey. Don’t worry about me. Check on Kincaid.”

  Alex kissed him quickly then ran toward the gunslinger who lay in the street. Brett stared down at King, wondering what would make someone so selfish and greedy as to try to destroy other people’s lives for their own gain. Jim walked up beside them, limping, a bevy of bruises and cuts on his face and fists.

  “That big son of a bitch is going in my jail and his gunfighter is dead.” He glanced at Brett. “You okay?”

  “Not yet, but I’m better. Take care of that stupid bastard, would you?”

  Jim nodded and Brett turned to see how his friend had fared. He almost didn’t want to walk over to the man in black, but forced himself to move. Alex and Noah hovered over him and had bandages pressed to his side, which meant Kincaid wasn’t dead. Thank God.

  Brett knelt by Kincaid. His friend had glassy eyes and was as pale as milk. “You look like shit.”

  “Obviously.” He tried to laugh but it sounded more like a sob.

  “There was no reason for you to fight this battle for me.” Brett touched Kincaid’s shoulder. “I don’t want you to die for my ranch.”

  “I didn’t have anything worth dying for before.”

  Brett shook his head. “Never took you for a fool, Kincaid.”

  “Too bad. I knew you were a fool the moment I met the doc. Any other man would have snatched her up years ago.” He glanced up at the blonde woman struggling to save his life.

  “You’ve got that right. I was an idiot, but no more. She already saved my life today, maybe she’ll save your sorry hide too.”

  “If I’m lucky.” Kincaid grimaced in pain. Brett stayed beside him, lending whatever strength he could.

  Alex looked up at him. “I’ve got the bleeding under control for now, but we need to get him to the clinic so I can repair the damage.” She had blood smeared on her cheek, her hair blew in the breeze, and dirt all over her clothes. Brett had never loved her more.

  He stood and found Ray and Trevor behind him. Without being asked, they helped Brett and Noah carry Kincaid down to the Brighton’s house. Kincaid passed out within two minutes, which could be good or bad.

  Alex ran ahead of them, hands busy twisting her unbound hair into a knot out of the way. She unlocked the front door and left it open, hurrying inside to prepare.

  They brought Kincaid to the examining room, laying the unconscious man down as gently as they could. He groaned and his eyes fluttered open.

  “Don’t kick me anymore.”

  “I’m not kicking you, you idiot. Ford shot you.” Brett removed the gunslinger’s boots, noticing the man had holes in his socks.

  “Did I shoot him?”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t matter.” Brett hadn’t even bothered looking at the piece of shit. “Alex is gonna fix you up.”

  Alex ran in with a pile of clean bandages. “There’s water heating on the stove. Trevor, can you go mind it?”

  Trevor nodded and was off. Brett embraced the notion his family had again stood by his side and helped him when he most needed it.

  Ray shifted his feet. “I’m going to go check with Jim to see if he needs any help.” Never good with healing, Ray was better off doing things he was comfortable with, like helping the sheriff.

  “Thanks, Ray.”

  “I’ll be back in a little bit to check on you.” He looked at Alex. “Do you need anything from Goodson’s?”

  “No, thank you. I have all I need here.” Alex cut away Kincaid’s shirt, revealing a wad of bloody bandages.

  Ray was gone before Brett could register he’d moved. Noah stood by, waiting to assist. He’d always had a healing touch with humans and animals. In fact, he served as the everyday healer at his parents’ ranch.

  Brett felt helpless watching Alex and Noah work, but he stayed beside his
friend. Praying was about all he could do.

  ———

  Many hours and pots of coffee later, Brett sat alone in the parlor. Trevor poked his head in.

  “You still here? You know it’s tomorrow already.”

  Brett closed his eyes. “Alex finished around suppertime, but Kincaid has been unconscious since then. She needed some sleep so I told her I’d sit up and keep checking on him.”

  Trevor came in and sat on the chair next to the settee. He leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “You surprised me.”

  “How so?”

  He pursed his lips and stared at the floor for a few moments. “You know you’re my brother and I love you, but you’re a difficult man sometimes. Very quiet, too quiet really. You never talked to any of us.”

  “Sorry about that. I just like to keep my thoughts to myself I guess.” Brett squirmed under his brother’s honesty. It was all true, of course.

  “I know and it took me a long while to figure that out. Then when all of that stuff happened with Adelaide…” He trailed off and took a deep breath. “I had a hard time believing you would just leave without even talking to me. It hurt.”

  Brett felt the pricks of a guilty conscience eat at him. “I was hurt too, Trevor. I took care of her for you, nothing more. Made sure she was safe and healthy while you went off and hunted the man who tried to kill her. You didn’t trust me.”

  Saying it out loud hurt like a bandage being ripped off an open wound. Once done, it felt better, but it stung like a bitch.

  Trevor hung his head. “No, I didn’t trust me. You see, Adelaide made me forget every other woman. Something that’s never happened before. I panicked and…I lost my head completely. I wanted to believe she would leave me as soon as I was out of sight, that way I didn’t have to acknowledge I loved her.” He looked up at Brett. “I know now that I acted like a complete ass and I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

  Brett swallowed the huge lump that had formed in his throat. “It’s, ah, okay. I think there were spears thrown from both sides. Can we consider this feud over?”