Tucker's Justice (Wild West Cowboys Book 1)

by Maggie Carpenter

  “Dang it,” he muttered as he headed toward the passageway, “this town has been torn apart.”

  Though the dining room and foyer had been well lit with several burning lamps, there were only two in the hallway that were set in alcoves, and as he walked forward he saw a shadowy figure lurking near the door that led outside. He paused, his senses on alert, but then he picked the flowery perfume softly wafting through the air.

  “Dolly?”

  “Tucker? What are you doing back here?” she asked, stepping out of the shadows.

  The golden lamplight caught her skin, and Tucker thought she’d never looked lovelier.

  “I could ask you the same question,” he murmured as he moved closer. “I was wantin’ a breath of air.”

  “I, uh, I had to, uh…”

  “Sounds like you were up to no good,” he murmured, the ends of his lips curling into a half-smile.

  “I was… I am! I didn’t tell you, but father has forbidden me any sweets for a month. It’s ridiculous really; I’m a grown woman, for goodness’ sake. Anyway, I had some cakes hidden in one of those vases,” she admitted. “There, now you know! Can we please talk about something else?”

  “Dolores Baker, shame on you.”

  “You won’t tell him, will you?”

  “Not if you share your spoils.”

  “Tucker,” she giggled. “I can’t believe you said that.”

  “I can’t either,” he chuckled. “You’re corruptin’ me.”

  “I’d be happy to offer you a piece, but it’s all gone. Sorry, I’ll probably steal some more though, you can have a slice of that.”

  “You are so naughty. You lookin’ for another spankin’?”

  “Maybe just a little one,” she twinkled, the light reflecting in her bright blue eyes.

  As his cock began to stir, Tucker let out a long sigh. She was impossible, and absolutely adorable.

  “You wanna take a walk in the garden with me?”

  “I would love it,” she replied. “It’s an awfully nice night.”

  Taking her hand, he walked outside, paused, and took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh cool air.

  “That’s better,” he said softly. “I can think out here.”

  “Are you worried?”

  “Not worried exactly, just runnin’ through everythin’ in my head, makin’ sure there’s nothin’ I missed.”

  She leaned into his body, and he moved his arms around her, hugging her softly.

  “This feels as natural as breathing,” she sighed.

  “Yep,” he murmured. “That’s how it feels to me too.”

  “Tucker, there’s something I wanted to mention at dinner, but I couldn’t because of Lucy.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s probably nothing, but…”

  “But?” he pressed, breaking his hold and studying her.

  “Don’t you think it’s odd that Patrick would talk about his plans in public like he did? I mean, anyone could’ve been in that hotel listening, and someone was; Ida.”

  “Whatta you sayin’?”

  “You’ve outsmarted him twice, right? Known about things ahead of time?”

  “Yep.”

  “So, if you were him, wouldn’t you assume you had someone in your gang tipping off the enemy?”

  “Huh, I guess I would,” he said, pondering what she’d said. “I’d already thought that he’d be expectin’ another ambush tomorrow night, that’s why I made the plans I did, but are you thinkin’ somethin’ more than that?”

  “Um, maybe. Let me just keep going. If you couldn’t find that someone, and use him the way we used Lucy, what would you do? What if Ida was supposed to overhear him, not Ida specifically, I mean anyone on our side who happened to be in the hotel like she was. What if he talked about it in other places too? What if he’s not coming here tomorrow night, but some other time when we’re not expecting him? Tonight even, or Sunday, or next week?”

  Tucker felt a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, and slowly releasing her, he put his hands on his hips and kicked the dirt under his feet.

  “I’ve been stupid,” he said grimly. “Dang it! Dolly, you’re right!”

  “I am?”

  “You wanna know what I think?”

  “Of course.”

  “I think it’s all happenin’ tonight.”

  “Why tonight?”

  “McGill has had enough. I know he has. He won’t wait ‘til next week. He’s comin’, and he’s comin’ tonight.”

  “Tucker!”

  “Even if he’s not, we gotta prepare in case,” he said urgently. “I gotta lot done today, not all of it, but a lot, and if they do show up, all I can do is pray it was enough. You go get your pa and tell him what I think; he’ll know what to do. I need to run to my room, then go rouse the men.”

  “Oh, goodness.”

  “Best tell Ida and Maude and Betsy, and make sure you don’t let Lucy outta your sight. Get everyone together somewhere. I’m thinkin’ your father’s study. It has heavy doors.”

  “You think they’ll get up here, into the house?”

  “McGill will for sure, I’m countin’ on it, and he won’t be alone. You need to be outta harm’s way. Hurry now. I dunno how much time we have.”

  Darting back inside, they moved swiftly down the hallway, across the foyer and up the stairs, but as Tucker stopped to dash into his room, he paused, pulling her into his body.

  “I love you, Dolly Baker, and don’t you forget it.”

  “I love you too, Tucker, with everything in me.”

  Clutching her hair, he pressed his lips against hers, kissing her hard, then breaking away, he opened the door to his room and pulled her inside.

  “Tucker, what are you doing?”

  “I’ve gotta give you this before I head off,” he declared, grabbing the pink package off the dresser.

  “Don’t say that! It sounds like you think something’s going to happen to you.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he promised, though he had his doubts. “I’ll just feel better knowin’ you have it. Go get your pa, quick now.”

  “Tucker…”

  “Go on.”

  She hesitated for a moment, staring at him, then ran from the room.

  Forcing himself to focus, he grabbed his saddlebags and pulled out his priest’s robe, and the two other specialty items he’d need. He could feel a shard of panic, so he paused, taking a precious second to run through the plan again. It calmed him, and with the bundle under his arm he strode from his room and out the front door.

  * * *

  Inspired by Dolly’s sharp observations, Tucker’s conclusion had been right, and while he was in the bunkhouse rousing Duke’s cowboys, McGill and his gang were gathering inside the cabin a stone’s throw from the thicket.

  Patrick had been feeling his grip on Spring Junction slipping away. The mysterious priest had given new hope to the citizens, and the news that the good father had departed to some isolated monastery had enraged him. He’d planned on capturing the old fool and hanging him in the middle of town, or shooting him, or dragging him down Main Street behind a horse, something dramatic to show the people that the priest was nothing more than a feeble man in a stupid robe, not some phantom figure sent from God to save them. Foiled yet again, his brother still suffering, and some of his gang beginning to lose confidence, Patrick had to do something big, something that would give him the town once and for all.

  Convinced one of his new recruits was a traitor, he’d brought together his most trusted gunslingers, the ones who had joined him months before when he and Conan had first ridden into town. There were eighteen of them, ruthless fighters who had proven their loyalty, and in a secret meeting Patrick instructed them to whisper around town that he’d be launching an attack on Duke Baker late Saturday night. He’d start by burning down the thicket, and if Baker didn’t agree to make him a full partner, legally and on paper, he set fire to his house and put a bullet between hi
s eyes.

  “I’m going to be talking about it around the hotel as well,” he’d announced. “The news will eventually reach Baker, and he’ll think we’re coming late Saturday night, when we’ll really be springing our attack the day before, and in the early evening.”

  The men had applauded his plan, and so, following sunset on Friday, they had covertly left town on foot, leaving at different times and taking circuitous routes. Having met up in the cabin, they were waiting expectantly for their leader to join them.

  “Everybody here?” Patrick asked as he strode through the door.

  His heavy Irish voice sounded even deeper in the confines of the small room, and as the men turned to greet him, none were surprised to see Marshal Bragg at his side.

  “You all walked here separately? Did you keep your eyes open, make sure no one saw you coming out here?”

  “We’re all here, boss,” one of them replied.

  “Everyone got their torch and striking sticks?”

  A collective murmur and the raising of long wooden stakes gave Patrick his answer.

  “I know I’ve told you before, but I’m telling you again. Move through the trees in a line, so when you come out on to the field it’ll look like there are more of you, and make sure you’re well clear of the thicket before you light up. Baker might give in and we won’t need to burn it, but it’s dry, so be careful. When I fire my pistol, that’s when you light your torches. Hold them high so you look like a crusading army. When I shoot a second time, turn around and walk back to light the fire, but move slowly, and if I shoot again, stop. Any questions?”

  “Just one,” a husky voice called. “Are you killin’ this goddamned Tucker tonight, or haulin’ ‘im back into town?”

  “That’ll depend on him,” Patrick replied, “but I want him alive. Conan should have the honor of the bullet to Tucker, so let’s take the mac ghalla alive if we can. By the time I reach the house and get Baker outside, you should be in your line and ready to light up, and stay quiet. You won’t be seen if you keep your traps shut.”

  “What’s a mac ghalla?” one of the men called out.

  “A sonofabitch,” Patrick replied. “Now let’s move.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  After running into the bunkhouse and alerting the ranch hands, Tucker hurried out to the corral, and throwing a rope around Ranger’s neck, he opened the gate, leapt on his back, and cantered down the side of the hill. It was dark, and staring out across the valley, it was easy to see the light coming from the cabin. He’d been right. McGill and his gang were already on the property. He urged Ranger to quicken his pace. The gang’s assault on Duke that night was no longer a good guess, it was real, and he had to warn the cowboys patrolling the thicket. Not wanting Ranger’s thundering hooves to reach the ears of the unwelcome visitors, when he reached the trees he slowed down to a fast walk, but it was only a moment before he spotted Jonas, one of cowboys on guard. Tucker had demonstrated an owl hoot earlier that day, and raising his hands to his lips, he made the haunting sound. Immediately Jonas turned around, and spotting Tucker a short distance away, he jogged forward as Tucker rode up to meet him.

  “They’re comin’ tonight,” Tucker declared as Jonas stopped beside him. “It could be any time now. Go tell the others and get yourselves into position.”

  “Dang. Are we ready?”

  “We have to be. Hurry, be careful though.”

  Jonas took off running, and willing his heart to stop its heavy thumping, Tucker raised his eyes and peered back at the cabin. The light was gone; McGill and his men were getting ready to move. Grateful he’d reached Jonas in time, he rode Ranger away from the thicket, slid off his back, and left him to graze. Even if the big black horse was spotted, which was highly unlikely in the dark, without a saddle on his back he doubted anyone would care. As he walked swiftly back toward the trees, across the hill he saw the ranch hands were almost at the thicket. He waited to make sure they made it safely, then slipping under the dark canopy of the heavy overhead branches, he unrolled the priest’s robe, removed what he’d buried inside it and got himself ready. Feeling the adrenaline racing through his veins, he lifted his hands and hooted the owl call three times. He heard the three calls in response. Duke’s cowboys were ready and in their positions.

  * * *

  Brimming with arrogant confidence, Patrick McGill and Kenny Bragg had pulled their horses from the corral and climbed into their saddles.

  “Duke sure is gonna be shocked when I show up with you,” Kenny remarked, “and Lord, I hope he sees sense. His daughter won’t speak to me again if we put a piece a’ lead through his head.”

  “Why would you be worried about some floosy at a time like this?” Patrick frowned, his Irish brogue sending a shiver down Kenny’s spine. “She gives me any trouble, I’ll shoot her too. Have you got a problem with that?”

  “Uh, no, no,” Kenny said quickly, shaking his head. “I’ve just had my eye on her a while, is all.”

  “Then get your eye off her,” Patrick growled, then turning his attention back to his crew, he began to speak. “Don’t forget, enter the woods in a wide line! I want Baker to see you come through those trees like a marauding horde, and be well clear before you stop. Remember, my first shot, light your torch, second shot start walkin’ slow back to the trees; third shot, stop, and no talking while you’re out there waiting for me. You’ve got to be as quiet as a man poking a woman while her husband’s in the next room.”

  There was chuckling and muttering in the group, then Patrick abruptly sent his horse into a canter. His quick departure took Kenny by surprise, and cursing under his breath, he had to kick his horse into a gallop to catch up. Watching the scene, the group of callous gunmen started chortling.

  “I dunno why McGill has that beef-headed boy hangin’ ‘round,” one of them said.

  “I reckon it’s ‘cos he knows Baker. That’s all I can say,” came a reply.

  “The hell with all that, come on, let’s get movin’.”

  The tough gang of men started marching toward the thicket, and following McGill’s orders, as they approached they spaced themselves apart into a line.

  “Lucky you, Joe,” someone called, “headin’ down the trail already there.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s what I get for bein’ the meanest,” the man yelled back.

  Entering the trees, the small amount of light cast by the moon disappeared, and for those struggling through the more dense areas, their journey was almost impossible.

  “It’s too deadly dark in here,” one of the men yelled. “I can’t barely see my hands.”

  “Walk slow and careful,” another called.

  “Shut your mouth and keep movin’,” Joe shouted, pleased that he was on the cleared path while everyone else was struggling.

  At the east end of the line, a hardened young gunslinger named Mickey decided to slip out of the woods and go back in when they neared the field. Pleased with his clever plan, he was just about to change course when suddenly, leaping out from behind a tree, a bizarre, hooded, skeletal figure landed in front of him.

  Mickey’s entire body froze. He wanted to scream, but he had no voice, and as sheer terror surged through him, the bony beast titled its head, then lunged forward. It broke the spell. Mickey’s shriek of horror echoed through the trees, and as he turned to bolt, a sharp pain slammed into the back of his head. Falling to the ground, he began to lose consciousness, and glancing up, thinking the vision must have been a dream, the last thing he saw was the skeleton’s face looming over him.

  “Repent,” it snarled in a low, gravelly voice, “or I’ll see you in hell.”

  * * *

  The screeching howl had brought the rest of McGill’s gang to an abrupt halt, and on the well-worn trail, Joe’s eyes squinted in the dark.

  “What the blazes was that?” he called out. “Anyone see?”

  “An animal, what else?” the man nearest him tersely replied. “Ya worried about spooks?”
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  “Sure didn’t sound like no animal to me!” Joe grunted.

  “Keep movin’. It’s a forest, crap’s always happenin’,” another voice called from the darkness.

  “I don’t like it,” Joe mumbled under his breath. “I don’t like it one bit. Somethin’s makin’ my skin crawl.”

  There was a prickling at the base of his neck, and everything in him was telling him to turn around and go back.

  “Just keep goin, goddammit,” a nearby voice said impatiently. “We’re gonna be late gettin’ to the field, then we’ll suffer McGill’s temper, and that’s a whole lotta bad, more than some animal!”

  Listening to the exchange, the brute who’d been nearest Mickey was unsuccessfully trying to remain calm. He was sure it was Mickey he’d heard screaming in the pitch black, and in spite of his bulging muscles and the gun in his hand, he was trembling.

  “Mickey? You there?” he called tentatively. “That scream was—” but before he could finish, the earth under his feet gave way, and letting out a cry of shock, he plummeted into a pit filled with thorn-covered branches and stinging nettles.

  “Someone help me, quick, someone help me,” he wailed, trying to escape the torture of the spikes and stings. “Aaarrgh, hurry, hurry!”

  “You likin’ it down there?”

  The voice was a deep rasp, and darting up his eyes, he looked at what his mind couldn’t grasp; the face of a skeleton, its head covered in a black hood.

  “The pits of hell are waitin’.”

  The face of bones vanished, and in spite of hundreds of nature’s stinging needles piercing his skin, he fell to his knees and desperately prayed, his fear of the monster’s promise far greater than his suffering.

  Moments later another shriek reverberated through the thicket, and on the path, Joe stopped and spun his head around; it had been a stone’s throw away, and with more howls of fear and confusion filling the air, he stared into the trees.