To Love a Texas Ranger

by Linda Broday

  “What are his crimes?”

  “Robbery and murder.”

  “And you think he’s just misunderstood?” Houston raised his hands to his head. “My God, Sam. Have you lost your mind?”

  Maybe so. Or had he finally found it?

  “Luke admits to each of the robberies in which he only took fifty dollars, but he swears he didn’t kill that judge. I believe him.”

  Houston laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Don’t you think you’re taking this need to repay a debt a bit far? What if someone finds out Weston’s here on the Lone Star?”

  “No one will.” If he, Houston, and his father kept quiet, who would know?

  “Just say someone did. Are you willing to risk your job and your reputation for an outlaw with a price on his head? It could land your butt in jail along with him. Think about it.”

  Would Sam give up the life he loved, that he’d fought tooth and nail for? Why for Luke Weston and not for Sierra? Maybe because Luke’s was a blood debt. That carried a heavy price, and not paying it would destroy the fabric of his soul.

  “Sam, other lawmen can get away with picking and choosing which lawbreakers to lock up. But not you.”

  “Not when our name is Legend,” Sam agreed quietly. “Like it or not, we stand for toughness and getting the job done. Everything to the letter. Thanks to Pa.” He felt the burning urge to steer the conversation away from his duty and Luke Weston. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Pa. I don’t know what to do.” Houston sat down and leaned back with his hands behind his head.

  “I was hoping he’d slowed down on the bourbon.”

  Houston’s deep sigh caught on the breeze. “The demons he fights won’t leave him alone. Drowning their voices is all he knows to do.”

  “Too much of that stuff can put you in an early grave. Or is that what he’s hoping for?”

  Houston let out a huff. “Who can see into the mind of Stoker Legend?”

  Sam sat beside him. “Our pa is a man of excess. A little is never enough.”

  “Maybe we should try to find him a woman.”

  Sam snorted. “That’s a dumb idea, Houston. What woman in her right mind would find Pa a good catch for anything other than his money?” Picturing his father making love was not a sight he wanted stuck in his head.

  “Well, let’s see you come up with something.” Houston paused a moment and lowered his voice. “I saw Mrs. Ross sneaking from his room very early one morning. Have a feeling she wasn’t there to change the sheets.”

  “Mrs. Ross? Surely you’re pulling my leg.” Sam had always liked the kind housekeeper, and until now, always thought she showed a lot of good sense.

  “Nope. If you’d come home once in a while, you could see these things for yourself.” Houston rose and propped himself against the porch railing. His voice became soft and low. “Tell me about the hanging.”

  “Do we have to talk about this now?”

  “No better time. You know you’ll have to tell Pa tomorrow.”

  Sam sighed. “Happened a month ago. Rustlers surrounded me after I got separated from the other rangers. Too many of ’em.”

  “From the looks of the scar, you barely survived.”

  “Thought I was dead. Would’ve been if they’d done it right. And if Weston hadn’t been following me. Don’t know the name of the man who put the noose around my neck, but he had a black widow spider drawn on his hand between the thumb and forefinger.”

  Houston swung around. His brown eyes grew hard. “I’ll kill him if I find him.”

  Sam’s mouth tightened. “You’ll have to beat me to it.”

  “I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like. The fear, the pain.”

  “My last thought before losing consciousness was regret for not telling Pa I loved him. I still dream about the hanging and wake up drenched with sweat.”

  “Appears you get a second chance.”

  “Yep.” Sam dragged in a lungful of fresh air. Second chances at a lot of things. Only one question still haunted him. Was he man enough to grow and learn from it? “When were you last over to Lost Point?”

  “Been a while. Why?”

  “Captain O’Reilly received some reports that outlaws moved in and asked me to check it out.”

  Houston was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice held anger. “So you just came home to work? Not because you wanted to see us?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Sam had thought to hide the real reason for his visit, but now he didn’t have any choice. Damn! “I have something to tell you, and I’ll break your neck if you breathe a word of this to anyone—especially Pa.”

  After his brother gave the blood oath, Sam told how the hanging had messed up his head, and about the captain sending him home to find his marbles. He thought Houston would laugh, but he didn’t even crack a smile.

  “I can imagine.” Houston rubbed the back of his neck. “Going through something like that would make you a little crazy. You almost died. Your secret is safe.”

  “Thanks. I was lost, more dead than alive when I ran into Sierra. Her calm ways brought peace, anchoring me. Somehow, she settled the chaos in my head and helped me find myself.”

  Suddenly that missing grin appeared as Houston changed the subject. “I thought you said Sierra was just a friend.”

  “She is.”

  “What you were just doing, I’ve never done with a friend.” Houston chuckled. “Looked like a whole lot more to me.”

  Sam shot his grinning fool of a brother a glare. “For your information, I was comforting the lady. She was upset. Worried for her brother, fearing he may be already dead.”

  Houston raised his hands. “Hey, merely making an observation.”

  “Yeah? Well, you’re grinning.”

  “Not my problem if you make it too easy for me.”

  Silence stretched as Sam thought about Sierra’s painful secrets. How awful to watch a sister die while you stood frozen. No wonder she’d had such fear of crossing the Brazos. It made sense now. He knew what it was to blame yourself.

  If Sam didn’t save Rocky…

  “I’d like your help, Houston. As soon as I get information on where Sierra’s brother might be, I’d be obliged if you’d ride with me. I have to save him.”

  “Say the word, and I’m beside you. We’ll ride straight into hell if we have to.”

  The grit in Houston’s words meant far more than he was saying. For all their fighting, his brother would lay his life on the line anytime, anywhere for Sam. And vice versa.

  They were blood. They were brothers…

  They were Legends.

  Twenty-five

  A noise downstairs awakened Sam a little before dawn, dragging him from the horror of his usual nightmare. For a second he couldn’t place where he was. Sitting up, he lit the lamp, spilling light over the now-familiar surroundings.

  The sound came again. Grabbing his Colt from the holster hanging above his head, he threw back the covers and jerked on his trousers, not bothering with a shirt.

  He crept into the hallway and leaned over the banister. A ribbon of light under the door of his father’s study didn’t seem all that strange. Maybe Stoker had run out of liquor and went down for another bottle. Sam was about to go back to bed when he heard a muttered oath.

  Curiosity got the best of him. If it was Stoker, maybe he needed something. Sam moved downstairs and opened the door of the study.

  A tall, lean man stood over the desk, staring at something.

  “You better have a good explanation for being in here,” Sam grated, pointing his weapon.

  The man whirled.

  Luke Weston.

  Disappointment washed over Sam. “You gave your word. I trusted you, Weston.”

  “And I haven’t broken it.”


  Fire shooting from the outlaw’s eyes would’ve made Sam back down, if not for the fact that he backed down for no man. Friend or foe. At the moment he didn’t know which hat Luke wore.

  “Why would you steal from us? I was willing to risk everything to help you.” Keeping his Colt leveled at Luke’s chest, he crossed the space between them. “Hand over what you have in your hand.”

  Luke’s mouth tightened. “Or what? You’ll shoot me?”

  Sam’s eyes narrowed. “In a heartbeat. I caught you red-handed. Give it to me.”

  With a low curse, Luke slapped a gold locket into Sam’s outstretched palm. Before he spared it a glance, Stoker and Houston burst into the study. While Houston wore only long johns, Stoker was fully dressed, complete with his gun belt around a waist that was still lean and firm despite his fifty years of living.

  “What’s going on?” Stoker demanded.

  “Seems I caught a bandit,” Sam answered without turning.

  Stoker marched to within inches of Luke. He pinned him with a steely stare that could make men quake in their shoes and look for a hole to climb into. Sam was gratified to see the feared outlaw shift uneasily.

  “You repay our kindness by stealing?” Stoker barked.

  “No, sir.”

  Houston strode to Sam’s side. “You’d best start talking. What are you doing in here?”

  “Keeping a deathbed promise.” Luke’s green eyes narrowed to slits. “I was putting something in the desk, not taking anything out.”

  “Let me see what you caught him with, Sam,” Stoker said.

  “It’s a locket of some kind.” Sam passed it to his father.

  Houston crowded close to see. “That pins on a woman’s dress. Did it belong to Mother?”

  The minute Stoker opened it, his face drained of color. “No, it’s not your mother’s.” He stumbled to the desk and dropped into the chair.

  “Whose then?” Sam asked impatiently. He needed answers, and the sooner the better. He’d never seen his father this upset and white.

  Stoker stared up at Luke. “How did you get this?”

  Luke Weston shifted again. “The locket belonged to my mother. She made me promise to return it to you. Said you’d know what it meant.”

  With a nod, Stoker murmured, “That she’s dead.”

  “Yes, sir,” Luke said quietly.

  “What is this about, Pa?” It seemed foolish for Sam to hold a gun on Weston if he hadn’t stolen anything—yet he didn’t want to lower it until he knew what was going on.

  A faraway look shadowed Stoker’s eyes. “I always wondered if my time with Elena had resulted in a child. I loved her, you know. I thought…how old are you, Weston?”

  “Twenty-nine. Be thirty in a few months.”

  “You know, don’t you?” Stoker gazed up at him.

  Luke’s fixed stare hardened along with his voice. “Yes.”

  Whatever they were talking about, Sam wished they’d tell him. Glancing from one to the other, he could see some kind of terrible secret hanging between them. “Who are you really, Weston?”

  Luke stood in stony silence, his face as though carved from granite.

  Sam’s question jarred Stoker from his stupor. “This is your brother.”

  A brother? Luke Weston was his brother?

  The words refused to sink into Sam’s brain. His brother was a wanted man with a price on his head, an outlaw? And he was responsible for bringing Luke to their door?

  Hell and be damned!

  “When did this happen, Pa?” Houston looked as shocked as Sam and just as clearly in need of answers.

  “August 1846, down in Galveston.” Stoker’s voice was distant as he ran his finger across the likeness of the beautiful woman who must have been Luke’s mother.

  Sam was relieved to find a bit of color returning to his father’s face.

  “I was born the following year,” Houston ground out. “August. Unless my figuring is off, that means…” He turned to Luke. “When were you born?”

  “End of May 1847.”

  Hurt crawled across Houston’s face. Sam would do anything to take it from him. Secrets brought such awful pain when they came out.

  Houston pinned Stoker with a glare. “Did Mother know you’d been unfaithful?”

  Their pa flushed at the insult to his character. “I was never a philanderer, son. I hadn’t met your mother yet. I went to Galveston to buy some horses. I’d gotten wind of a shipment of prime Spanish horseflesh. I met Elena Montoya.” Stoker grew wistful with remembrance. “My, she was a beautiful woman. Such kind and gentle ways. Lord, how she loved to laugh and dance. She loved life.”

  “You had your fun, and you left her,” Luke spat.

  “You’re dead wrong!” Stoker thundered. “I wanted to marry her and make her lady of the Lone Star. I loved her.”

  Luke snorted. “You had a funny way of showing it, Pa.”

  Sam watched Luke’s hands clench tightly at his sides. If he made one move toward Stoker, Sam would have to stop him, however he could. Ever since he’d recognized Weston at the shack, he’d had the feeling that one day he’d be forced to fight him. Maybe this was the day. How it would end would be anyone’s guess. Luke was lethal even without a gun. His half brother would fight to the last breath.

  But then, so would he.

  “Show him some respect,” Sam growled a warning at Luke.

  “Like he showed my mother?”

  Stoker jumped to his feet and towered over Luke by a good two inches. “I don’t know what your mother told you about that time, son, but I asked her to marry me before leaving that morning to make arrangements for the horses I bought. When I returned, she was gone. Disappeared along with her belongings. No one knew where she went. I searched and searched for weeks. Finally, I was forced to think the only thing I could—that she’d left me. That maybe she’d decided I wasn’t good enough for her. Or that she loved someone else. I never knew what happened to her.”

  Luke’s spine straightened. “I’m not your son. You’re not my father. I belonged to Elena Montoya. No one else.”

  “I understand your anger—”

  “You understand nothing, Legend,” Luke interrupted Stoker.

  Sadness filled Stoker’s eyes that so resembled Luke’s. “Why did you come? What did you hope to gain? Money?”

  “I promised my mother before she took her final breath that I would find this man who hadn’t cared to look for her. Her brothers came that morning, forced her into a carriage, and took her to San Antonio. After six months, she finally escaped and came here. To tell you about me. But you had taken another wife. You broke her heart, her soul.”

  “I’m sorry. If I had known—”

  “No, I’m not buying that,” Sam said, jabbing his finger into Luke’s chest. “There’s more. I’ve felt your anger and resentment from the beginning. I think you wanted to see what you’d missed out on. You wanted to snub your nose at us, but smearing our faces in a big pile of horse apples tempted you even more.”

  With anger darkening Luke’s face, he stood nose to nose with Sam. “Hell yeah, it did.”

  Sam stood his ground. “We had everything, and you wanted it.”

  “You’re dead wrong about that, hermano. I don’t want any part of you or this ranch. You can keep it and all go straight to hell.”

  Houston had evidently kept silent too long. “Then why did you risk capture by coming all this way? From what Sam tells me, you could’ve left as soon as you’d recovered enough.”

  Luke swung to Houston. “I wanted to make sure Sam got home and got Sierra safe. When those rustlers hanged him, they did more than put a rope around his neck. They messed with his mind. He was sent home and told not to return until he got his head on straight and could do his job.”

  “Is that true, Sam?�
�� Stoker’s hand rose as though to touch Luke’s shoulder. Before it got halfway, he let it fall.

  “I can’t deny it.” Though Sam dearly wished he could, wished he could’ve hidden that he’d lost his sanity for a bit. He wasn’t proud of that. “We’ll discuss it later.”

  “I guess you want this back to remember your mother by,” Stoker said, holding out the locket.

  “Keep it. I have memories that no one can take.”

  “I’d like to do right by you, son.”

  “Keep your name, your money, and your big, fancy ranch. You’ve got nothing I want.”

  Sam watched him turn and lazily saunter out the door. A lot of questions about Luke Weston just got answered. Despite everything, his heart ached for his lawless brother who was alone now, with no one to care whether he lived or died.

  But Sam knew that was a lie. Part of him already cared about Luke—not as an outlaw to help, but much deeper where it counted…as a brother.

  He’d sensed that bond even when he hadn’t known why. His heart must’ve somehow recognized that he and Luke shared the same blood. Now it all made sense, why their paths always crossed. Luke had watched over him as an older brother. Saved him.

  Despite everything, like it or not, Luke Weston or Legend or whatever the hell he wanted to be called had at least one person on his side.

  Sam wouldn’t stop until he saved him back.

  Twenty-six

  Tension so thick it clogged Sam’s throat filled the study. In the wake of the slamming door, he stared at his father and Houston. “What do we do now? Are we just going to let him go like that?”

  “You heard him. Luke hates me. Hates the Legend name.” Stoker ran his fingers through his thick gray hair. In the last ten minutes, he seemed to have aged ten years.

  “Are you sure you’re his father?” Houston asked quietly. “He could have stolen that locket for all we know.”

  “He didn’t. He’s my son as much as you and Sam are. He knows too much, things that only Elena would know to tell. This locket is proof enough. She said if I ever got it back, it would mean that she’s dead.”