by Linda Broday
Houston blew out a deep breath. “How did he turn out to be an outlaw, I wonder? What are you going to do now, Sam?”
“Good question.” On both counts. Sam’s gut twisted into a knot. Whatever choice he made, he was going to lose. But no one was going to call Luke the devil’s spawn again.
“You’re not going to arrest my son, even if he hates me,” Stoker declared. “Law or no law, you’re letting him be. He’s suffered enough by my hand.”
While Sam agreed, his conscience had already begun to prick. Everyone made their own choices, good, bad, or indifferent, and they had to live with those. Putting aside the murder charge for the moment, Luke had chosen to rob. No one made him turn thief.
Yet he truly seemed to want to fix his mess.
“I told him yesterday that I’d help clear his name, and I mean to do that. If he still wants me to. Although after this, I’m not sure he’s willing to give up that life.” He was hurt and full of rage. Men with nothing to live for would wind up alone and bitter.
“Thanks, Sam.” Stoker put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Whatever you need, I’ll provide. Money, influence, anything.”
“What he needs worse than anything is a father,” Houston said quietly, reflecting Sam’s thoughts.
“If he’ll let me.” Stoker turned.
“Myself, I need coffee.” Sam started for the door. “How about you two?”
“Sounds good. Get dressed, and we’ll meet in the kitchen,” his father said. “I always think better on a full stomach.”
“Me too. I’m hungry,” Houston declared.
“You’re always hungry.” Though Sam didn’t feel playful in the least, he desperately needed to lighten the dark mood that had enveloped him. He jabbed his brother’s arm. “It’s because you were raised by a pack of mangy coyotes who found you in the desert. Heard they left you on the doorstep one night, and Mother took pity on you. At least that’s what she claimed when you weren’t around.”
“Ha, ha. Very funny.”
“Just paying you back for saying I stunk like a pigsty yesterday.” Sam watched his father head outside and make for the small dwelling across the way.
He hoped Luke took it easy on him. The old man was hurting and blaming himself. Sam could already tell this would be a two-bottle night.
Exchanging silent glances, he and Houston turned to the stairs. At the top, Houston hurried to his room. Deep in thought, Sam collided with Sierra. Suddenly, he was acutely aware of his bare chest. And the fact that she could be going for a Sunday stroll in another pretty dress. He wanted to cover himself with his hands, but decided that would look silly, especially since he still held his Colt.
Instead, Sam straightened to his full height and smiled. “Good morning, Sierra. I trust you slept well.”
Her brow knitted. “The bed was heavenly. Hector had nightmares, though, so sleep was spotty. According to Mrs. Ross, who happened to hear the cries and came in, the boy kept thinking he was still in Mexico and soldiers were trying to kill him.” She leaned close. “Once he rubbed his hands in a panic, thinking they were covered with blood. I was afraid he’d wake the rest of the household.”
He found the fragrance of her and her kissable mouth extremely distracting. Her words buzzed like busy bees in his head.
Finally, he murmured, “I didn’t hear him.”
“I’m glad. If he’s a bother, I’ll find other sleeping arrangements.”
Sam laid his hand on her shoulder. The thought of not having her near almost put him in a panic. He needed her close.
“The boy is no bother. I won’t hear of you looking for other quarters. What are you doing up so early?”
“I heard a commotion and angry voices. Sounded like trouble.” She glanced down at his pistol. “I assume I was right, since you have your Colt.”
“Thought we might have a thief in the house, but I was mistaken.” He hastily hid the Colt behind him. “You don’t have to worry. Isaac Ford won’t get in.”
Sierra tilted her head to the side and squinted. “I sense trouble lurking behind that charm of yours. You’re upset and trying to hide something. I can tell.”
“Family stuff. Nothing to bother you with.”
“Then I’ll leave you to it.”
She spun to go, and her foot slipped over the edge of the landing. Sam grabbed for her. Her palms flattened against the wall of his chest. The contact was like a hot brand. His muscles quivered, almost as though she was inflicting pain. But then, she was. The misery seared past the sinew and bone, down into the fiber of his being.
This pain had only one cure and one price.
“Be careful, Sierra,” he growled low. One hand fell to her shining hair.
She jerked her hands away, and he let his drop. “You kissed me last night,” Sierra said, her eyes blazing. “You say you don’t want me, but your lips lie. You tell me to find someone else, but you bind me to you with strong rawhide. You say one thing and do the complete opposite. Make up your mind, Sam. Keep me or let me go. I won’t wait. I’m not some long-suffering martyr.”
Before he could form a reply, she whirled and marched back to her room. He could only watch her go.
And take his heart with her.
* * *
With Sierra’s ultimatum still ringing in his ears, Sam joined Houston and his father at the breakfast table.
Could he truly let her go? Was he that strong…or that weak?
Did he have the strength to watch the woman who had his heart leave?
He tried to put her out of his mind and focus on the other looming problem. He was surprised at Luke’s absence from the table—he knew from experience how persuasive Stoker could be.
His father glanced up as Sam poured some coffee and took his seat. “I went to invite your brother to join us, but I couldn’t find him. I want you and Houston to track him down—if he’s still on the Lone Star.”
“And then what? Do you plan to use force to keep him here?” Arrest his brother? That was something he’d promised not to do. Too many broken promises weighed a man down.
Stoker slammed his hand on the table. “I’ll not have any of my sons locked up.”
“One of us likely will be, if he goes on a tear,” Sam said quietly. “Which one do you prefer?”
His plan had unraveled before he’d even started. If Luke went on the rampage, Sam would have no choice but to hunt him down. And if the authorities found out the Legends were harboring a felon, Sam’s butt would be the one in a sling.
“I only want to talk some sense into him,” Stoker snapped. “I want a chance to be a father. But I won’t hold him here if he wishes to go. You won’t either.”
“Who knows what he’ll do in the state he’s in. Right now, Luke doesn’t see that he has much to live for,” Houston pointed out.
“I know, son.” Stoker pushed back his chair. “I know too well.”
Houston lifted his cup. “Luke and I are the same age, Pa. When exactly did you meet Mother? It had to be within a month or two of leaving Galveston. Did you love Mother at all? Or was she simply a woman to run the ranch? A substitute to handle your needs.”
Stoker’s fierce gaze pierced Sam as well as Houston. “I don’t expect you to understand. I loved them both, but Elena owned a bigger piece of my heart. She was an amazing woman, so full of fiery passion. If I’d known where she was, and in the family way, I would never have married your mother.”
And Sam and Houston would never have been born. A knot twisted in Sam’s stomach.
Houston cleared his throat. “What about the ranch? How will you split it up, Pa?”
“Each of you will share equally,” Stoker replied without hesitation.
Sam admired his father for taking the shock that had shaken him to the core and doing the right thing. No doubts. No questions. No discussion. He wished he coul
d be more like his father where Sierra Hunt was concerned. Wished he could take her in his arms and keep her there forever, give up everything he’d worked so hard for…for her. Dammit to hell!
Taking a sip of coffee that Sam suddenly wished was whiskey, he said, “Luke and Houston can split my portion. The Lone Star isn’t in my blood, not like it should be. I don’t intend to settle down and live here.”
Even if he lost his job as a Texas Ranger, Sam wouldn’t stay. He’d load a packhorse and ride until he found a woman with a cloud of dark hair who loved dancing in the moonlight to the strum of a guitar. One whose spirit was as restless as his.
Anger flushed Stoker’s face. “I’ll hear no talk of giving up what I’ve scratched and clawed all my life to build. I’ve fought and bled for this land, this piece of Texas. And you’re not throwing your share away.”
His father was doing it again—overruling Sam. Treating him as though his thoughts, desires, dreams were nothing.
Doing that was bad enough, but refusing to respect his job brought Sam’s dander to the surface faster than swollen floodwaters. “I’ve fought and bled, too. Trying to make Texas a safe place to live, where folks can settle without fear,” he said angrily. Then his voice softened. “I’m not saying I don’t appreciate what you’ve built, Pa. I just want a chance to blaze my own trail.”
Silence dropped over them like ominous clouds blocking the sun. Sam concentrated on the plate of eggs and bacon that Cook had placed in front of him. He was tired of arguing. Maybe he should leave before it got really ugly.
Finally, Stoker said, “I know you’ve faced far worse than I ever did, and that kills me. A father doesn’t want his sons to hurt, to bleed…to die. When I saw that scar around your throat, I wanted to ride out right then and hunt down the ones who did it. I wanted to feel my hands around their necks while they begged for mercy. I wanted to spill their blood. Still do.” He slammed his palm down on the table. “I will before this is over; you can bet your hat on that.”
“When they strung me up, and I had nothing but air under my feet, my biggest regret was I never told you I love you. I regret that we argue, that I broke my promise to only ride with the Texas Rangers two years.” Sam’s voice broke. “Pa, I do love you. I have more respect for you than anyone on earth.”
Having said the words lifted weight off Sam’s shoulders. What surprised him was it hadn’t been difficult at all. Sam glanced up and met his father’s gaze. The glimmer of wetness shocked him. Maybe Stoker was simply being a typical father. Sam filed that away to think about later.
“I’m proud of the man you’ve become, Sam, and, damn it, I’ve done a sorry job of showing it.”
“Pa, I’m tired of fighting. Let me do the things I’m good at without trying to put me in some box that stifles the life from me.”
“No more fighting, son. I promise.” Stoker put his head in his hands. “You’re a damn good Texas Ranger. I see what you’ve accomplished, the name you’ve built for yourself. I was wrong to try to take that from you.”
Relief washed over Sam. He finally heard the words he’d waited so long for. “Everything carries danger. You can’t always protect us.”
Stoker rubbed his eyes. “I see that now. These men who hanged you—give me their names, Sam. Are they alive?”
“Last I knew, but I have no names to put to them. The ringleader had a black widow spider drawn on the back of his hand. One day I’ll cross paths with him again.”
“He’s a dead man if I do,” Stoker vowed. “The bastard best pray I don’t find him.”
“Or me.” Houston’s tone was hard and brittle. “We’ll show them how Legends handle their kind. But back to Luke. He said he doesn’t want this ranch or anything to do with us.”
“A man’s pride makes him say a lot of things.” Stoker refilled his cup from the pot Cook had left on the table. “I’ll add him to the will. It’ll be here when he’s ready for it.”
Hell might freeze over first, Sam thought. Luke wasn’t one to say things lightly. He meant what he said, and seemed pretty determined. He’d done without his whole life, while they’d had everything. Men growing up that way had a hard time forgetting. Resentment was deep in the marrow of his bones.
While Sam didn’t condone Luke’s lawbreaking ways, he was beginning to understand why his brother had turned to crime.
He pushed back his plate and stood. It was time to have a chat with his half brother. Assuming Luke hadn’t done anything foolish. If he’d saddled his gelding and ridden out to continue his life of crime, Sam would have no choice but to go after him.
Hell!
How did a man go about arresting his own damn brother?
* * *
Sam checked the corral first. No sign of a gelding the color of midnight. His gut wrenched. He might’ve known.
The parting words Luke had flung at them before storming out came back. Keep your name, your money, and your big, fancy ranch. You’ve got nothing I want.
Sam winced. Anger was eating his brother alive. But if he stood in Luke’s shoes, he’d probably feel the same. Not feeling good enough could destroy any man.
One of the ranch hands told him Luke had saddled the gelding. “He asked how to get to the closest creek, so I told him. Saw him riding that way,” the man said.
That seemed funny. What did Luke have in mind?
Sam thanked him and saddled Trooper. Within a short time, Sam galloped toward the creek that lay to the north.
Was Luke meeting someone there? Or looking for a place to die?
A stand of cottonwood and oak lined the stream that broke off the Red River. The glistening offshoot furnished plenty of fresh water for nearby cattle—or at least it did when they weren’t in a drought. The last several years had seen a fair amount of rain.
He moved slowly up and down the deep channel before he finally spied the black gelding tied in the trees. No others were around. He dismounted, leaving Trooper to graze.
Instinct born from years of hunting down bad guys urged Sam to draw his Colt. The gnarled oak trees brought back bad memories he’d do anything to block. With the hair on his neck raised, he crept forward.
“Don’t come a step closer.” The low warning came from the shadows.
Twenty-seven
Sam froze in his tracks. “That you, Luke?”
“Checking on me, Ranger?” Luke stepped toward him with a gun in his hand, his gun belt slung low around his lean hips. “You think I hightailed it out of here?”
“Crossed my mind.” Sam holstered his Colt.
“Still don’t trust me to keep my word?”
“I’m trying. What was I to think after you stormed out like that? What are you doing here?”
“Thinking. Any law against that?” Luke slid his gun into leather.
“Don’t be insolent. It doesn’t suit you.”
“What does suit me, Sam? Running from the law? Robbing? Being two seconds faster on the draw than the man who wants to step into my shoes? That’s all I know. That’s who Luke Weston is.” Luke turned and walked down to the babbling creek.
Sam followed. “You can change. I told you I’d help.”
“Too late for that.” Luke pulled a small book from his shirt pocket and flung it at Sam.
“What’s this?” He opened it and saw names and amounts listed on each page.
“I’ve kept track of everyone I stole from. There are nine pages.” Luke’s voice was hard and flat. “Does that look like I can change? That I can ever truly become Luke Legend?”
“Why did you keep this list?” Sam met Luke’s flashing, wounded eyes.
“A foolish thought that one day I could return what I took. Crazy, huh?”
“No, it’s exactly what a man who has something to live for would do,” Sam said softly. “You have family now. A father and brothers. Though you knew that a
while back, I’m guessing.”
“My mother told me before she died. I had to think about it first.”
Sam picked up a small pebble at his feet and skipped it on top of the water until it sank. “I felt a familiar tug when I saw you on the train, a bond of some kind. That’s why I was boiling mad at the shack. You kept denying I knew you.”
The corners of Luke’s mouth quirked up. “I did it to get under your skin. I didn’t want to like you.”
“I sure didn’t want to like you either.” But when Luke got shot, Sam discovered how much he cared. They’d shared a common bond—of cheating death.
“Men like me don’t get to belong, have families, own land. Have someone to care.”
Deep sorrow lined his lost brother’s face. An ache squeezed Sam’s heart until he could barely breathe. “Your life can be whatever you choose,” Sam insisted.
Luke’s cold voice lashed the space between them. “You don’t know what I’ve done, the kind of man I become when the darkness inside takes over. The secrets I hide, and the men I’ve killed—it’s too late. I can’t fit into your perfect little world, hermano. Not now. Not ever.”
He spoke a lot of truth. Righting his wrongs wouldn’t be easy. It depended on how much he wanted it. Right now, Sam suspected he didn’t want it bad enough to fight for.
Sam returned the black book and sat down on the bank. “This was mine and Houston’s favorite place in the summers growing up. We’d peel off our clothes and swim until Pa or Mother sent someone for us.” He pointed to one of the trees with branches hanging over the water. “We’d tie a rope around one of those branches, swing out, and turn loose.”
Luke dropped down beside him. “I had the San Antonio River to play in.”
“Bet that was fun.”
“It was.” Luke’s voice hardened. “Until I learned that such things came with a price.”
“I’d like to know what happened. If you want to talk.”
“Talk and rotgut are cheap,” Luke snapped. He picked up a stick, launching it into the lazy current. “Either won’t accomplish much of anything except give you a splitting headache.”
