by Cora Brent
“The right thing!” Cutter burst into ribald laughter. He looked at her merrily. “You think those bastards who are running the show, bastards such as your husband, give a flat fuck about doing the right thing? I was only twelve when I watched a pair of uniformed men shoot my momma dead. And I’m sure someone somewhere told them it would be the right thing.” He took a step toward her and she struggled to suppress the urge to retreat. “The right thing would have been for you to grow old lying beside a man you hold in contempt.” Cutter stopped only inches away. “But you didn’t,” he said softly. “You threw his tin ring at him and spread your legs for a man no decent woman would want. And why? Because he got you hotter than the sand in July. And because you recognize he’s worth ten of those upright louts in town. Ain’t that right, Annika?”
She didn’t balk. “Yes.”
Cutter nodded, seeming pleased with her. He motioned to Como that he ought to help Annika back onto her horse.
“If we ride tonight,” he said loudly, “it won’t be because it’s the goddamn right thing. I don’t even know what the hell that means. It’ll because Mercer is our brother and would risk a gut shot for any one of us.” The other men grumbled in agreement. Como smiled at her as Cutter Dane addressed her one final time. “Now you ride your pretty little hide back to town, schoolteacher. And wait.”
Annika looked in the direction of Contention City. She didn’t know what to make of Cutter’s declaration. She figured The Danes, a rogue band of men of uncertain character, were Mercer’s only hope against the mob which was likely being formed by Swilling at this moment. But there was nothing else she could say. She had no choice but to leave.
With a fearful eye cast toward the high sun, Annika walked the horse back to Contention. It was midday. The lynch mobs came only in darkness but darkness would arrive too soon.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Contention City, Arizona
Present Day
When he reached Contention Way, Maddox was gripped by the abrupt urge to go fast. He rolled onto the highway without thinking. There was always something spellbinding about accelerating on the open road in the desert. If Mad squinted he could believe it was another time and that there was a breathing horse beneath him instead of cold mechanical gears. It was an idea which would have appealed to him as a kid. He made a mental note to repeat it to Miguel later.
Maddox passed a sign which spelled out the fact that Phoenix was only sixty miles away. He tensed slightly, awaiting the restless temptation which would push him in that direction, away from Gabriela and all the emotional chaos which came from investing himself in someone else. But the temptation never came. He had promised Gaby a talk later. He didn’t know what would come of it. He had little desire to remain in Contention City and couldn’t imagine leaving his Defiant boys permanently. Yet she wouldn’t be able to come with him, to move Miguel two hundred miles away from his father.
Maddox exited the freeway in order to swing around back to town. What was he doing, anyway? Mad McLeod didn’t have relationships. He had long ago figured he wasn’t built the same way as the men who were satisfied with the same woman every night. But then he remembered the way Gabriela’s eyes always widened as he gave her that first hard thrust. He remembered the soft fall of her hair over his skin as she lay in his arms and the scrutinizing way her brown eyes would pass over him as if she were trying to translate a language she only halfway understood. Maddox loved her. It was that simple.
Maddox was back in the center of Contention within a few short moments. As he idled on the corner of Baseline and Contention Way, he glanced at the Scorpion Grill. It was something of a local landmark. Priest and Tildy had often taken their boys there as a special payday treat. Priest would throw darts at the board as he downed one beer after another. His booming laugh would echo over the din while Tildy scolded Mad and Jensen for their inevitably poor table manners.
Maddox had learned that Stuart Townsend had indeed died. His grandson, Alan Townsend, was the current owner. As Mad stared at the brown stucco exterior, Alan chose that moment to walk outside and lit a cigarette. He couldn’t help but see Maddox idling at the light and he waved casually. Alan had been two years ahead of Maddox in school, in Jensen’s class, and Maddox always considered him something of a tool. He didn’t recall Jensen being friendly with him back in the day and was surprised to hear otherwise now. But then he supposed that’s just how it was among those who stayed behind in small towns. They looked around, saw who was left, then shrugged and made do with each other.
“McLeod,” Alan beckoned. “Get the hell in here and have a beer.”
Mad wasn’t too fond of the idea but Alan had been around the night of Chaz’s shooting and Maddox was curious enough to ask him a few questions.
He’d been inside the restaurant the day of the rain and had noticed then how the place had received quite a facelift since he’d last seen it. Though even his less discerning eye could tell the effect was rather mismatched. The new gleaming furnishings were ill suited to the rustic ambience.
Alan whistled as he approached the bar and put a glass under the tap. There was a slight darkening above his upper lip, as if he’d were trying to unsuccessfully grow a mustache.
“Mad McLeod,” he said, shaking his head. “How the hell have you been?”
Maddox accepted the beer and watched Alan run a white cloth along the length of the bar. “Can’t complain. You know, a few years older but a little wiser.”
Alan’s watery blue eyes looked up. “Sorry about Priest. We’re all pretty busted up about it. He was a real Contention fixture.” Alan gestured. “So, the leather, the bike, what’s up with that?”
Maddox thought he detected a note of derision and his hand clenched the beer glass. “Nothin’ is up,” he said. “The world includes all kinds, Alan.”
The man held up his hands and laughed. “Don’t get all butt hurt. I wasn’t making judgments. Wouldn’t want to get slapped by the famous Mad McLeod temper.”
“Actually,” Maddox said carefully. “From what I understand it’s my brother who’s got the temper now.”
Alan raised his eyebrows. “Jensen?” he asked stupidly, as if Maddox had a passel of brothers to choose from.
“Jensen,” he confirmed.
“Naw, why would you say that? He may be on the force and shit but he’s pretty soft at heart.”
Maddox decided to plunge right in. “Think Chaz Colletti would agree?”
The mention of the name did something to Alan. He must have made an awful poker player. Immediately his eyes shifted and he went white around the mouth. Maddox knew he’d struck a chord, even as he asked himself what the hell he expected to get out of any of this. Was he hoping Jensen had murdered another man in cold blood? No, he wasn’t. He already regretted bringing it up. He would finish his beer and go.
“What did he tell you?” Alan said softly. He looked as if he were going to cry. “Fuck, he told you everything, didn’t he?”
Maddox felt his adrenaline rising. Something did stink after all. “’Course, he told me everything,” he lied. “We’re brothers.”
Alan spilled over. “Chaz couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut.” He twisted the rag in his hands as he spoke. “He was always a greedy, stupid son of a bitch. Bryce said to keep it mellow. Showing up anywhere with a mountain of gold rock would raise questions. It had to be a little at a time, Bryce said. And we weren’t supposed to be all showy with the spending.”
Maddox nodded patiently as if he knew exactly what Alan was going on about. His mind, however, was racing.
Mountain of gold rock?
He remembered the look of sick recognition on Jensen’s face when Miguel mentioned the safe and displayed the tiny gold pebbles. Maddox knew he wasn’t a man of superior brilliance but he was starting to piece things together. The old safe had a dirty look about it, as if it had been buried in the earth for years, perhaps as long as a century. He recalled his original conclusion that it had been emp
tied of its treasure and disposed of cavalierly in the hidden cave near the old cemetery. A place Jensen, and perhaps only Jensen, knew all about. Maddox had no way of knowing the rest of the story; how the safe had been found and what had happened after. But sometimes old stories had a shred of truth. His father had always warned him as much.
There’s gold up in them hills but there’s death too. You stay out of there, boy.
Yes, there was death indeed. And his brother was all mixed up in it.
“So,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even as Alan visibly trembled, “tough break for old Chaz but if he would have kept quiet Jensen wouldn’t have had to plug him.”
Alan seemed to recover some of his wits. His eyes narrowed and Maddox realized he’d said too much.
“That ain’t why,” he muttered softly. “Chaz threatened the kid.”
“Miguel?” Maddox asked in surprise.
Alan didn’t answer but he wore his thoughts on his face. Those ferrety features pinched with suspicion as it occurred to him Maddox didn’t know as much as he’d let on. After all, if Jensen had seen spill the beans to his brother, wouldn’t he have mentioned there was a compelling reason behind the fatal shot? Also, Alan might have remembered just how estranged the McLeod brothers had been over the past decade. It would be irrational for Jensen to trust Maddox with information sensitive enough to get himself thrown behind bars.
Maddox took another drink of his beer and casually watched Alan. The man fidgeted but a new wariness was apparent in him. He might have a weapon under the bar but it didn’t seem likely. Mad figured if he made a move he could easily scale the counter and take down skinny Alan Townsend.
Then Maddox noticed how Alan’s eyes shifted somewhere behind him. The look on his face was relief, which was alarming. Maddox did not even have a chance to spin around before a hard blow caught him painfully on the right side of his head.
“Liar,” hissed a man’s voice.
Maddox had fallen from the stool, his ears ringing, but he wasn’t down. He lurched forward blindingly, aware he was colliding with the hard force of another person, but a second hit caught him between the shoulder blades, bringing him to his knees. A sick feeling of warmth ran over his scalp and he understood he was bleeding. Dimly, he figured his assailant was likely his own brother. Jensen had no love for him. And if he felt threatened, Maddox had to believe he was willing to eliminate the risk. As he had done before.
A film of blood ran into his eyes but Maddox still saw Alan scurrying around like a chicken, locking the door to restaurant. He struggled to rise but his mind seemed curiously unable to communicate effectively with his limbs.
“Call the cop,” said a man’s voice, and Maddox realized his original conclusion was wrong. Jensen hadn’t been the one to attack him. The reality was worse. Maddox looked up and saw the bottomless cold eyes of Bryce Sanders. Then a black cloud overcame him and he saw nothing else.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Contention City, Arizona Territory
1890
“James,” she begged. “Please.”
The marshal of Contention City, the man charged with keeping law and order, closed his eyes for a moment. Then he erupted into a vicious cough which bent him in half and forced him to lean against the doorway of the jail for support.
Annika reached for his hand. She knew James Dolan was not a bad man. But he might have become so twisted with illness, rage and corruptive influence so it would not make much difference.
“James,” she tried again.
“Dolan,” bellowed Swilling from ten feet away. It appeared he had not moved from his post beside the jail since Annika saw him idling there hours earlier, just after Mercer was hauled inside. The cruel mine boss’s beady eyes were trained on her. “Don’t be fooled. His whore would allow him to cut your throat in your sleep.” Swilling licked the sweat from his lip. His eyes darted around to ensure none of the passing residents were listening. “So, Mrs. Dolan, will you watch when the neck of your beloved stretches in a few short hours?”
“Bastard!” Annika yelled and lunged for him. She would pound that smirk into the sand if it killed her. James caught her and held her back, grabbing her flailing wrists.
Swilling was enjoying this. He grinned. “My hired boy says The Danes have already lit out from their hole in old Beehive. They’re running pell-mell south of the border to escape the rope themselves.” He rocked back on his heels, enormously pleased with himself.
“You’re lying,” said Annika, closing her eyes. She wouldn’t believe it, not yet. Mercer had believed in those men. She believed in Mercer.
Swilling had taken an unwelcome step forward. “Cutter Dane knows what I always knew. Someone has to take the fall, Mrs. Dolan. And someone always does.”
“You set him up,” Annika hissed. James was still holding her wrists. She tore away from him in horror. “All of you. James, you are supposed to be the law. How long have you been partnered with the devil?”
James Dolan could not answer. He could only cough.
Swilling chuckled. “He set himself up. A scoundrel’s scoundrel. Mercer lost his own game.”
“Wicked!” Annika yelled. She knew it was insufficient but her mind was a roaring tumult. “Do you really believe there won’t be a reckoning for this?”
“Of course,” Swilling shrugged, throwing a meaningful look towards the setting sun. “It’s nearly here.”
James had ceased coughing. He grabbed Swilling by the arm and hurled the sputtering man down the shallow steps.
“You’ve no cause to be here Henry, and nothing of use to say. Now go on about your business and allow the law to do the same.”
Swilling spun around and snarled. “Have a care with the side you choose, Dolan. Even at this late hour.”
James did not respond. His expression turned impassive once more as he watched Henry Swilling brush the dirt from his fine suit. Across the street in front of the Mercantile, Mayor Townsend, Dr. Cletus and a knot of businessmen from town watched soberly.
“You wanted to see him,” said James without a trace of emotion. He opened the door and beckoned to Jed Avery, his young deputy.
“You are relieved for the evening, Jed. I’ll stand watch over the prisoner.”
Avery was scarcely a man. His smooth, babyish face looked at Annika with surprise as he eagerly made his exit.
“Mrs. Dolan,” he said politely, tipping his hat. He glanced at James but did not linger.
James jerked his head to the dim interior of the jail. “So then see him.”
The jail was dark and stifling. Stepping inside the thick adobe walls, Annika felt as if she were stepping into the depths of the earth. She wondered if this was how the men felt every day as they descended into the mine. She didn’t know how they could bear it. The door whispered to a close behind her, blotting out the daylight.
“You’re as beautiful as you were the day we met,” he said.
The sole lantern which burned in a corner showed him sitting on the floor of the far cell.
“You remember that day?” he smiled.
“Of course,” she knelt miserably in the packed dirt floor. “You held me at gunpoint. You saved my honor. And then you nearly took it yourself.”
“Nearly,” he agreed, reaching his hand through the bars and lacing his fingers through hers. “Should have. If I’d only lost myself in you the first night or the second or the third. I should have taken you, Annika, and then taken you away.”
She laughed, feeling the tears sting her eyes, and trying in vain to hold them back. “And would I have had a say in the matter?”
“What would you have said, Anni?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “The answer to you, Mercer, was always yes.”
He kissed her hand. “I’m sorry, darlin’. The role of gentleman never agreed with me. Crushes the air out like a tight suit or a lady’s corset. I shouldn’t have tried it on.”
She clutched at him through the bars. “I don’
t want you to be a gentleman.” She swallowed. “What happened?”
He sighed. Even in the dim light Annika could see in his face how he’d been beaten, likely by Swilling’s thugs. Silently she cursed Henry Swilling again. “I would smuggle out a little every night. The shift foreman was told to only make a show of searching me. Then I would find a reason to duck behind the latrine hill and leave the day’s take in a milk bottle. Swilling would come along and collect it later. Pompous shit.” Mercer spat on the floor. “I watched him more than he figured. He keeps a pile of stolen gold in his office safe. Last week one of the big bosses arrived from the east. Wanted to know how come the vein was on the decline. Before this morning’s shift Swilling swore up and down about thieves and their punishment. Shit Annika, I realize now it was part of the charade. One he’d played at before. He needed to throw a bone to his bosses. And he knew just where to find one.”
“What about James?” she asked dully.
Mercer looked toward the closed door where James waited on the other side. “I don’t know,” he said sadly. “I really can’t say what he knows or doesn’t know. But one thing’s for damn sure. He’s more Swilling’s friend than mine.”
Annika leaned her head against the bars and cried. Cutter and the rest of The Danes had abandoned Mercer. She knew it. And Mercer’s own brother would stand idly by and watch him hang as the good folks of Contention City screamed for the blood of a gold thief.
Mercer brushed an escaped lock of hair from her forehead. “My fair Swedish maiden,” he choked. “Dry your tears and tell me about our land. The land where we’ll live out our lives and where I can love you in soul and body every day.”
Even though it was a lost dream she told him about it anyway. The blue sky and open space sought by anyone with even a touch of western wanderlust. The freedom to live unobserved and unjudged by other members of humanity. A place to live and to love.
