by R. C. Ryan
In the meantime, he’d just have to hold off on his own plans. Not that he intended to change his mind about anything, he told himself. But for now, he’d just watch and listen and see how much more information he could pry out of those three hoodlums upstairs.
What kind of hell had they been forced to endure? And what had such cruel treatment done to them?
Damnable troublemakers couldn’t have come into his life at a worse time.
Mac thought about the ever-present hole in his heart that would never heal.
Now, it seemed, he would have to bear his unbearable sorrow while he found a way to deal with these wounded young hellions. He hoped to heaven a new day would help clear his mind and show him a path through this latest challenge.
“Ben.” Sam and Finn shook their oldest brother’s shoulder until he stirred. “Wake up, Ben.”
The boy rubbed his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Last night you said we’d be up and out of here before the old man could call the cops.”
Ben sat up, shaking aside the last dregs of sleep and spouting a litany of curses. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”
“We just woke up.” Sam glanced at Finn, who nodded in agreement. “I guess it’s ’cause this is the first time we’ve been warm and well fed in so long.”
“Yeah.” Ben glanced at the dresser. “It looks like the old man figured out what we were up to.”
The three brothers stared at the heavy piece of furniture they’d dragged across the room to bar the door. It now stood to one side at an odd angle.
“Jeez. Now we’re in for it,” Finn muttered.
“Yeah. I’m sure he’s made a phone call by now.” Ben swung his feet to the floor. “May as well go downstairs and face the music. Just remember. If we see a chance to run, we grab it. Agreed?”
The other two nodded and followed their leader down the stairs.
In the kitchen, bacon sizzled in a skillet, and Mac flipped pancakes onto a platter. He turned. “About time you three got up.” He nodded toward the table. “Sit and eat while it’s hot.”
Seeing Ben remain standing, his younger brothers followed suit.
“You thinking this will ease your guilt when the law comes for us?”
At Ben’s question, Mac filled three glasses with milk. “Nobody’s getting through these roads today.” He pointed to the curtain of snow falling outside the window. “In case you haven’t noticed, our raging Montana blizzard has cut us off from civilization.”
The three boys crowded around the window to see mounds of snow over the porch.
They turned to one another with matching grins.
“So.” Ben sauntered to the table, and the other two followed. “Now what?”
Mac shrugged and filled a mug with coffee before sitting at the head of the table. “I plan on eating, then heading to the barn for morning chores. I’d like the three of you to lend a hand.”
“You want us to freaking work in your barn?”
“That’s what ranchers do. Even in the dead of winter, stalls need mucking. Animals need feeding.”
The youngest, Finn, looked over. “What’s mucking?”
“I’ll show you.” Mac tucked into his food. “Right after breakfast.”
The barn door was shoved open. Two old men, wide-brimmed hats and winter parkas mounded with snow, stared in surprise at the sight that greeted them.
Their friend Mac was forking dung-filled straw from a stall into a nearby honey wagon. Beside him stood a skinny boy who paused between every forkful to hold his nose. In the stall beside theirs two more boys attempted to use pitchforks to imitate Mac’s example. For every load that landed in the wagon, two more fell to the ground, followed by a stream of swear words guaranteed to curl their whiskers.
“What the hell…?”
Hearing Roscoe’s voice, Mac paused to glance toward the two figures standing at the entrance. “You’re back. I didn’t think you’d be able to get through the trail.”
The two men led their weary horses inside and began unsaddling them, tossing the saddles over the rails of empty stalls.
Roscoe shook his head. “Snow’s belly-high already up in the hills. We figured if we didn’t get going now, we’d be stuck up there for another week. Which wouldn’t be all that bad, except we were running out of chow.” He nodded toward the boys. “Where’d these three mangy mutts blow in from?”
“Caught in the storm.” Mac set aside his pitchfork. “This is Ben, Sam, and Finn. Boys, meet Roscoe Flute and Otis Green.”
The oldest boy shot Mac a narrowed look. “I thought you said the law couldn’t get through the storm.”
“Roscoe and Otis live here.”
Little Finn stepped out of the stall where he’d been working. “You live here?” He looked Otis up and down, and then Roscoe. “Are you brothers, too?”
The two old men threw back their heads and chuckled.
Otis winked at Roscoe. “I like to think we’re all brothers.”
Finn leaned on his pitchfork. “If you live here, why aren’t you doing this stinky work?”
“We were up in the hills with the herd.” Roscoe took off his hat and shook it against his leg, sending a shower of snow flying. “Besides, we’d rather leave the stinky jobs to newcomers. Consider this your baptism, boys.”
The two men were laughing as they began rubbing down their mounts before filling troughs with feed and water.
“Okay, boys.” Mac picked up his pitchfork. “Break’s over. Let’s get this done so we can move on to other things.”
As the three bent to their task, the middle boy let out a stream of oaths that had old Otis looking up with annoyance. “You going to let him talk like that, Mac?”
Mac gave a weary sigh. “I’ve told the three of them at least a dozen times I won’t have that kind of language in my home.”
“We’re not in the house now,” Sam said logically. “We’re in your smelly barn.”
“It’s my property all the same. And from now on, every time one of you says something I consider inappropriate, I’ll add one more task to your list of jobs. You understand?”
Ben’s mouth opened, and it was obvious he was about to swear when he caught himself. His mouth clamped shut. With narrowed eyes he forked a load of dung-filled straw and tossed it into the wagon with all his strength.
Seeing it, Mac bit back a grin. It might not be real progress, but it was a baby step. And for now, he’d take any improvement he could get.
Maybe, if this storm lasted long enough, these three might learn to say an entire sentence without cussing. Then again, he’d better be careful what he wished for. He was bound to run out of patience long before they ran out of swear words.
The grandfather clock on the stair landing was striking midnight. After insisting the three boys shower and change into Robbie’s old pajamas before hitting the sack, Mac descended the stairs and headed toward the kitchen.
Inside, the three old men looked up from the table, where they’d been holding a muted conversation.
Retired lawyer Zachariah York, white hair streaming down his back like a lion’s mane, was wearing his favorite fringed buckskin jacket, which had been his trademark apparel when he’d been Montana’s most admired trial lawyer back in the day. He had, as always, appointed himself spokesman. “Mackenzie, old friend, we assume you have some kind of plan for your…very interesting young guests. Care to share?”
Mac filled a mug with steaming coffee before leaning a hip against the counter. “I wish I knew. I’m fresh out of plans. With those three, there’s no telling if they’ll even be around tomorrow. After the way I worked them today, they’ll probably try to get as far away from here as they can.”
“If you think that, you’re fooling yourself, Mackenzie.”
Mac looked over at Zachariah. “And you know this because…?”
“They may have resented the work. It’s pretty obvious they’ve never handled ranch chores before. But I watched them in th
e kitchen. They know how to clean up for themselves. They’ve probably been expected to carry their share of the work for as long as they’ve been thrown into foster care. A lot of ranchers only take in these kids so they have free labor and get paid by the state, as well. It’s how the system works.”
“Speaking of which…” Mac took a seat. “You know the law, Zachariah. Will I be in trouble for harboring runaways?”
“I doubt it. Especially if you explain that they broke in during a blizzard, and you were forced to keep them until the proper authorities could be alerted.”
“If I alert the authorities, will those three be punished?”
Zachariah nodded. “Juvenile detention, most likely.”
“And then they’ll be returned to the system.” Mac stared into his cup. “Which means they’ll be separated again, and probably treated even harsher than before. Unless…”
He looked up to see the three old men watching him warily.
He sighed. “I’ve been thinking about something all day. They risked everything just to be together. I know there was physical abuse, but the mental abuse of separation seems to have been the driving force behind this odyssey of theirs. Do you think there’s a chance I could…keep them together? Here?”
Roscoe and Otis shared a look of astonishment.
Zachariah steepled his fingers. “As fosters? Or adoption?”
Mac shrugged. “Whatever it takes to keep them together.”
The old man had that pensive look he always had when he was mulling the intricacies of the law. Finally he nodded. “As soon as we get phone service, I’ll make some calls. I still have friends on the inside who might be able to pull a few strings.” At Mac’s look of surprise he quickly added, “Now don’t get your hopes up. There will be a lot of hoops to jump through.” For the first time he smiled. “But I’m thinking the folks in authority might be relieved to be done with those three foul-mouthed hooligans.”
He gave his friend a sharp look. “But, Mackenzie Monroe, that raises an even bigger question. If it all goes your way, what in the world do you think you’re going to do with those three?”
Mac got wearily to his feet and headed toward the stairs. “That’s the other thing I’ve been thinking about all day. Am I a glutton for punishment, or just plain crazy?” He turned and held up a hand. “Don’t answer that. I already know.” He gave a careless shrug of his shoulders. “The trouble is, I’ve got a war going on in my head, with a million questions, and at the moment I’m fresh out of answers. But I know this. Despite the deep-seated anger in those three, there’s a fierce loyalty as well. I haven’t a doubt in my mind that each of them would stand up and fight for his brothers. Or die for them, if it ever came to that. It’s a rare and amazing trait they share. And I can’t help admiring them for it. Maybe, just maybe, they ended up here for a reason and that reason is starting to become clear to me.”
Chapter One
Haller Creek, Montana—Present Day
Ben Monroe stepped out of Sheriff Virgil Kerr’s tricked-out SUV, with all the bells and whistles, lights flashing, siren blasting. With a twist of the ignition, the sudden silence in the air seemed shocking.
Folks around these parts wouldn’t be surprised to see Ben in the lawman’s car. He and his brothers had always been the ones considered most likely to be the cause of any trouble in the county.
What would surprise them was the shiny badge the sheriff had pinned on Ben’s parka when he’d deputized him earlier that morning. A badge that winked in the autumn sunlight. Instead of handcuffs, Ben was holding a police-issue pistol, also on loan from the sheriff. The pistol was now aimed at the lanky cowboy standing in the leaf-strewn driveway, cradling a rifle and spewing a stream of vicious oaths at the man and woman watching from the front porch.
The man glanced from the sheriff, still sitting in his vehicle, nursing an injured leg, to where Ben stood alone. “What’re you up to, Monroe? Back off. I’ve got no beef with you.”
Ben held up a hand to silence him. “Sheriff Kerr brought me along to lend a hand while he recovers from a gunshot to his thigh. He told me about your feud with your wife. I know how you feel, Leroy.”
“How would you know what I’m feeling? You ever have a wife cheat on you with your best friend, and then tell you the kid you’ve loved for years isn’t yours?”
The sheriff had given Ben the bare bones of the story before asking him to ride along and lend some muscle. If the rest of the details caught him by surprise, Ben managed to hide his feelings behind a stoic mask he’d perfected as a boy in the foster-care system. “You know I’ve never been married, Leroy. But I’ve been mad enough to kill, and I’m glad cooler heads prevailed. You can’t settle the score like this.”
“Like hell I can’t.”
In his younger days, Ben had been better known around town as a guy who let his fists do the talking. Now, after years of Mackenzie Monroe’s example, he spoke in a low, reasonable tone. “Once you kill someone, you can’t get a do-over. You don’t want to do this.”
“Yes, I do. I’m going to kill that lying…” Leroy Purcell glared at his wife and hurled a string of oaths while his finger actually trembled on the trigger.
Ben reached out in time to stop him acting on his impulse.
That added to Leroy’s pent-up fury, and he took a wild swing at the man with the badge, managing to land his fist smack in Ben’s eye. “I told you, I’m going to kill my lying wife and Chester Bowling for what they did.”
With a grunt of pain, Ben reacted, shoving the enraged Leroy up against a tree. Despite the string of savage oaths that bubbled up in his mind, he managed to keep his voice low and steady. “There’s a better way to get your revenge.”
“Yeah?” The only thing that kept the furious rancher from acting on his threat was Ben’s hand, strong as a steel vise, pressed firmly to his throat, making his voice little more than a raspy croak. “You want to tell me how?”
Ben was breathing hard as he lowered his hand and fixed Leroy with the fierce look he’d perfected over a lifetime of protecting his brothers. “Walk away. When you do that, you win. You condemn Chet Bowling to a lifetime with your lying, cheating ex-wife and his kid, while you get to start over. And maybe next time you’ll get lucky enough to find a woman who not only deserves you, but also appreciates you.”
“And if I don’t walk away?”
“Unless you drop that rifle and agree to come with me peacefully, I’ll have to shoot you, Leroy. And you know I never miss. That’s why the sheriff asked me to handle this for him. The choice is yours. Shoot Chester and Minnie and go to prison for life, or drop your weapon, cool your heels in jail, and get a do-over.”
As if to goad him into doing something foolish, the couple on the porch began taunting Leroy with jeers and laughter.
“Look at those two drunken fools.” Leroy raised the rifle, arm shaking with tension as he took aim.
Ben did the same, his hand steady as he pointed his pistol at the cowboy. “You’ll never get off a shot before I take you down. Your call, Leroy. Live free or die.”
Ben’s words, spoken barely above a whisper, and the knowledge that he wouldn’t miss, had the rancher suddenly tossing aside his weapon and lifting his hands in the air. “You better be telling me straight, Monroe.”
“You know I am, Leroy.” Ben picked up the rifle and held open the back door of the SUV.
As Leroy settled inside, he muttered, “Those two deserve each other. I hope Chester and Minnie have a dozen kids, and all of them lazy, no-good rotten cheats just like the two of ’em.”
Sheriff Virgil Kerr had to struggle to hold back the laughter that bubbled, laughter that was as much relief as humor. “Hold on to that thought, Leroy.”
As the vehicle pulled away from the patch of dry, barren yard in front of the neglected ranch and headed to the town of Haller Creek, the old sheriff turned to Ben. “Your pa would feel real proud that you were able to talk a gunman down without having to resort to vio
lence, son.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Sheriff.”
“No. Thank you, son. I knew you were the right one to trust while this bum leg mends. You handled that just right.”
The tires sent a flurry of red and gold leaves square-dancing across the interstate as Ben drove, deep in thought.
How odd that, even while facing down a gunman bent on killing, the one thing uppermost in his mind wasn’t his own safety, but making Mac proud. But then, Mackenzie Monroe wasn’t just his adoptive father. He was the man who’d given him back his life. Had made a home for him and his brothers all these years. And had given them all a sense of purpose. Of pride. Of family.
There was nothing in the world Ben wanted more than to be half the man his father was.
“Hey, bro.” Sam, the middle brother and family jokester, wore a silly grin. “That’s quite a shiner.”
Ben washed up at the mudroom sink before taking a seat at the kitchen table, where the rest of the household had gathered for supper.
As always, Mac sat at the head, while Sam and Finn were seated on one side of the table, with Otis Green, Roscoe Flute, and Zachariah York at the other side. Though they’d all changed over the years, the three brothers had changed the most. They were men now. Tall, rugged, handsome, with dark shaggy hair, smoky gray eyes, muscles honed from years of ranch chores, and smiles where there had once been only scowls. Best of all, their childhood doubts and fears had now been replaced with a sense of honor and trust, thanks to the men seated around the table.
“The sheriff asked me to go with him to the Purcell ranch.”
Otis shared a grin with Roscoe. “Those two scrapping again?”
“More than a scrap this time. Leroy was hell-bent on killing his wife and Chet Bowling. Millie claims their kid is Chet’s.”
“That’d be enough to make a man want to resort to murder.” Roscoe paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. “You two get into a brawl?”
