by Linda Broday
“I’ll take that into consideration, Bowdre. Steele, tell me about the rancher, Calder. The father of that dead boy. It says here he and an older son came after you.”
Ridge winced, wishing he didn’t have to answer. “Yes, they did.”
“What was that? I didn’t hear you.”
“I said yes, Your Honor. They came hunting me with a vengeance.”
“What happened?”
“I shot and killed his older boy after they attacked me. I defended myself.”
“Did you kill the father?”
“No, he gathered his dead son and went home to bury him.”
Greely grunted and swatted another fly. Ridge gave Jack a sideways glance, wondering what it all meant. Jack shrugged helplessly. Great. Ridge inhaled a worried breath. He wanted to turn to Addie and bolster her with a smile at least, but he stared straight ahead, his shoulders squared, spine stiff. Hanging Horace probably didn’t like slouchers.
The silence dragged on. Someone coughed. A bead of sweat trickled down one side of Ridge’s face. He wiped it away and let his arms fall to his sides.
Greely motioned for the sheriff to step to the bench, and the two conferred in whispers. The sheriff stepped away, and the judge spoke again. “I reviewed everything, and we contacted the sheriff’s office and others in Silver Valley who gave you glowing recommendations. The law in the neighboring town has been newly elected, but he was well versed on the case. He spoke of unprecedented corruption of his predecessor at every level.”
He reached for a piece of paper and stamped it. “Therefore, I will wipe out your conviction and give you a clear name. However, I don’t want to ever see you back in a prisoner’s dock. Break the law, and I’ll throw the book at you.”
Ridge’s legs tried to buckle. They did it. He was no longer wanted.
Addie’s happy cry and Bodie’s shrill whistle sounded behind him.
“Order!” The judge banged the gavel. He signed a paper and handed it to the bailiff. “Here’s proof of the proceedings today, Steele. Better keep it handy until word gets out that you no longer have a bounty on your head.”
Ridge stepped forward and took the envelope in a trembling hand. “Thank you, Your Honor.”
“Court’s adjourned.” Greely banged the gavel again.
Ridge turned, and Addie flew into his arms. “We did it, Ridge. You’re free.”
The kiss was long and deep. They could go home now and live their lives without fear of the price hanging over Ridge’s head.
When he released her, she placed her mouth to his ear. “I have a secret.”
“Do you mind telling me?”
Her smile stretched from ear to ear. “You’re going to be a father.”
The shock seemed to have stolen every word from his head. He couldn’t get his mouth to work for several long heartbeats. Finally, he managed, “Me? A father?”
She nodded. “Probably next June. Are you ready for this?”
“More than ready, my love.” He could already picture their house brimming with kids of all ages and sizes. This was a dream come true. He blinked back the tears and kissed the little mama again.
Gradually, he became aware of others waiting to congratulate him, and they broke apart.
Bodie shook his hand, grinning. “I think that judge liked you.”
“What makes you say that, son?”
Bodie raised his shoulders. “He didn’t put you in jail.”
“Nope, he didn’t.” Ridge turned to Jack. “Thanks doesn’t seem a strong enough word for giving me back my life. I owe you. Anytime you need anything, I’ll be there.”
“I know. That’s the mark of a true friend.” Jack laughed. “Better get ready, though. Nora’s going to throw you a big shindig when we get back.”
“We can always stand to have a party.” Ridge drew Addie close, and she slid an arm around his waist in turn. “Are you ready to go home, Mrs. Steele?”
“I can’t wait to sleep in our own bed.” Her hand dropped to his butt and squeezed. The twinkle in her pretty green eyes told Ridge that he’d be getting very little shut-eye. But then, he figured sleep was overrated anyway.
He was surprised he didn’t float from the courtroom, as light as he felt with the weight lifted from his shoulders. He was a free man, had good friends, a kid to finish raising, a babe on the way, and the prettiest wife in the whole state of Texas to love.
The dice he’d rolled had come up double sixes, and a man couldn’t beat that.
Epilogue
Two months later
The November air brought the kind of cool day that warned of a blue norther perched on their doorstep. Clay Colby buttoned his coat, pulled the collar up around his ears, and tugged his Stetson low on his forehead. He turned to his two best friends, the men who’d been there with him from the beginning. “Let’s take a walk.”
Ridge glanced at Jack and lifted an eyebrow. “Reckon we have time to spare.”
Dodging children on their way to school, they climbed the bluff overlooking Hope’s Crossing and stared down at the folks milling about the busy main street. A month ago, they’d blasted away the narrow entrance to town, which, combined with the open back road, threw aside what now felt like a thick, black curtain. They were respectable, law-abiding people and took pride in announcing that to the world.
Now, with the obstructions gone, the growing community had spilled out from its confines in the canyon. Angus O’Connor was constructing a second fancy saloon that he’d already named the Midnight Star and an opera house mere yards from where the narrow entrance once stood. The man’s big dreams were going to put them on the map one day.
Wet paint still glistened on a population sign—their first—that read 95. Damn, it looked real nice from up here.
Clay took a big gulp of air into his lungs. All this had sprung from three wanted men with a vision of what could happen if they worked their fingers to the bone and kept looking to the future.
“What’s on your mind, Clay?” Jack rubbed his hands together and blew on them.
“I guess you might say I’m getting a bit maudlin and want to take stock as I do from time to time.” Clay fought back a thick wave of emotion that settled in his throat, choking him. “Only four short years ago, I stood up here, looked down at a dusty, dingy outlaw hideout, and saw a town. A dream formed.” He blinked hard, and his voice got raspy. “Now, look at that. What do you see?”
“A thriving group of misfits banding together to eke out a living,” Ridge answered. “When you told me your plans for this place, I immediately wanted in but had doubts it would work.”
Jack shifted, nodding. “We were all tired of running and hiding, and you offered us hope.”
“Brother, you gave us a reason to live.” Ridge touched Clay’s back. “And we’re indebted. We needed a leader to follow, and you gave us that. You made us believe anything was possible. And I knew deep down it was a whole lot better than what we had.”
“Shoot, I was no leader,” Clay protested. “I didn’t know the first thing about building a town, but I wanted to try. It nearly destroyed me when Montana Black torched our first two buildings.”
Jack shook his head. “I tell you, if it hadn’t been for your Violet befriending Montana and softening that worm-ridden heart of his, he would have kept burning us out until we gave up.”
“Or killed him. That little girl sure is something. Only she’s not that little anymore.” Ridge chuckled. “I don’t know who Violet will end up marrying, but whoever steals her heart will get one smart lady.”
Clay scanned the street below for his daughter and spotted her confidently walking along, holding Dillon’s hand, her “seeing stick” in front of her to warn of holes or obstructions. He’d loved teaching her how to get around without sight. She’d gotten a raw deal being born blind, but she’d never compla
ined.
A few yards away, Addie’s three sisters strolled into the mercantile, laughing and talking. The two oldest had immediately found work and wouldn’t be single for long, judging by the line of suitors outside their door.
A spate of weddings seemed to be on the horizon. Dr. Mary and Angus O’Connor had started them off by tying the knot soon after Ridge became a free man. Charlotte Wintersby and Peter might not be far behind, and Eleanor Crump had been keeping time with George, the stage driver.
Marriages, babies, and newly arrived couples were going to keep the town growing.
“It was a brilliant plan to populate by bringing in mail-order brides, Clay. I might never have found anyone to have me otherwise.” Jack laughed. “My Nora sure is a special woman. Loyal to a fault and pretty as springtime, but she sure gets some crazy ideas sometimes. Still, I wouldn’t trade her for all the gold in California.”
“Or my Addie either,” Ridge declared. “Clay, thanks for kicking us off with Tally.”
“Well, I figured I’d better show you how it’s done.” Clay’s thoughts went back to the day Tally had arrived to find the town burned down around them. He thought for sure she’d head back where she came from, but she’d stayed and worked at his side. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen but broken inside, and he’d loved every step of putting her back together.
“Did you ever think we’d have all this?” Jack waved his arm across the bustling scene.
“No.” Clay cleared his throat again. Dammit, why couldn’t he say what we wanted without choking up like some old man? “I thought maybe a handful of people would join us. Never this.” His gaze moved from one business to another—all fifteen. Damn, they’d done all right.
“I plan on sticking around to see what this place will look like in ten or twenty years.” Ridge’s voice seemed strained as well. “I wonder if it’ll still be here. If we will.”
They lapsed into silence, each immersed in his own thoughts. For a moment, Clay thought he could hear the laughter of their childrens’ children a generation from now drifting on the breeze. One thing about it, life went on despite the highs and lows of the day-to-day.
Jack’s low voice cracked the fragile quiet. “Who knows? We did our damnedest to give it the best start we could. Now, it’s up to others to carry on and improve on what we gave ’em.”
“Don’t forget. We still have wanted men in town. Dallas Hawk for one. What happens to them?” Ridge asked.
“We’ll have to help them try to get right with the law.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll be their attorney if they want, help them write letters and fill out applications.”
“And if they still can’t?” Ridge persisted.
“Then we hide ’em. They can blend in, and we’ll protect them.” Clay pulled his Colt from the holster and stared at the cold steel. “I’m so tired of killing I could puke. When will it all stop? When will we be able to live in peace? I never want our sons to have to wear one of these.”
“We’re a dying breed, Clay. Face it. Our days are numbered.” Ridge bent over for a small pebble and rubbed it between his fingers. “This country is big enough for everyone. Greed should have no place here.”
“I agree, but greed will always raise its ugly head no matter how much land there is or people on it. At least for now.” Clay squatted to pick up a handful of dirt and let it sift through his fingers. “The clear fact is, some men want it all. I think there will always be a need for men like us, in some capacity, to make sure a few don’t take everything.”
Jack let out a resigned sigh. “I don’t like it one bit, but you’re probably right. We’re the defenders of the weak and poor. We’re the best ones to seek justice for them until the law can catch up with the westward expansion.”
Clay pondered that for a moment, and damn if Jack hadn’t arrived at the bald truth. They hadn’t outlived their usefulness. Not yet. Great change wasn’t far off, but it just might take a while. Until then, he’d best keep his gun handy, bedroll tied on, and his horse saddled.
They were still on guard awhile longer.
Sam Colt and his watchmen.
Still doing their best for God, country, and Texas.
Get ready for A Cowboy of Legend by Linda Broday.
It’s time for a new generation to become Legends.
Deacon Brannock is determined to make a name for himself and the saloon he’s worked his whole life to afford. He was prepared for life in the Wild West, but he hadn’t counted on Grace Legend…
Grace has always fought hard for what she believes in, and after her best friend is killed at the hands of her drunk and angry husband, that includes keeping alcohol out of her town. When the owner of the new saloon turns out to be a kind and considerate man, she can’t help but wonder if they could have a future together…if they weren’t on opposite sides of every issue.
Coming April 2021!
One
Fort Worth Texas
Spring 1899
“Destroyer of men’s souls! Beware the pitfalls of the devil’s brew!” Grace Legend held up her sign and directed her loud yells into the murky interior of the Three Deuces saloon.
A gust of wind delivered the stench of the nearby stockyards up her nose and a swirl of dirt to her eyes. She blinked several times to clear the grit as the two dozen Temperance women behind her took up the chant, banging drums and shaking tambourines. They sounded impressive.
A surly individual went around her and reached for the batwing doors. Grace swatted him with her sign. “Get back! Back, I say. This den of iniquity is closed to the likes of you.”
Built like a bull and smelling like the south end of a northbound steer, the man narrowed his gaze and raised a meaty fist. “This here’s a free country and I can go anywhere I like.”
Gunfire rang out down the street and a woman screamed. Grace was glad she’d stuck a derringer in her pocket. This section of town saw killings every day, even though the citizens cried for someone to clean it up and make it safe.
She wanted to take a step back from the surly man worse than anything. She really did. He had meanness rolling off him like rancid snake oil. But giving ground wasn’t in her makeup. Not today and not as long as she was alive. She had a job to do.
Grace sucked in a quick breath, shot him a piercing glare, and parked herself across the doorway. “I bet your wife would like to know where you spend your time when you should be working. Shame on you wasting your money on whiskey.”
“I earn it and I’ll spend it however I see fit. Now step aside,” he snarled and raised a fist.
“Or else what?” A voice in Grace’s head warned that this course of action could be dangerous, but she never listened to that boring bit of reason. No, she saw it her right and duty to make a difference in the world, and make it she would. She couldn’t do that sitting on her hands like some timid toad afraid to utter a sound.
At least a half dozen gunshots rent the air and people ducked.
A crowd had begun to gather and pressed close as though sensing a free show. Some of the men got into a heated shouting match with her ladies.
Before she could move, the quarrelsome fellow barreled into her, knocking her sideways. Grace launched onto his back and began whopping him with the sign. However, the handle was too long for close fighting and none of her blows landed. Hell and damnation!
She released a frustrated cry and wrapped both arms around his head.
“Get off me!” he roared.
“When hell freezes over, fool.” She heard a door bang and the footsteps of someone new.
Masculine hands yanked the two of them apart.
“Hey, what’s the meaning of this?” The voice belonged to a man she assumed to be the saloon owner.
Breathing hard, she jerked at the bodice of her favorite royal blue dress, straightening it before grabbin
g the immense hat that barely clung to one side of her head. She blew back a blond curl that fell across one eye, blocking her view. Only then did she get a glimpse of the gentleman whose livelihood she meant to destroy, and the sight glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth.
That he presented a handsome picture with coal-black hair and a lean form was indisputable, but it was more than that. There was confidence about him, but no arrogance. A Stetson sat low on his forehead—a cowboy? Grace did a double take. Saloon owners wore bowlers, not Stetsons. She was unable to move her gaze from piercing eyes that reminded her of smoke, shadowed by the brim of the hat. The stormy gray depths warned of the danger of crossing him.
And more. Oh my!
Aware that her friends were watching, Grace took in his appearance—the silk vest of dark green belonged to a gambler. Combined with tailored black trousers, he appeared a profitable businessman, the hat aside. Until she looked at his worn white cuffs and boots in desperate need of repair. Had he spent everything on the window dressing with no thought of footwear?
Her gaze rested on a well-used gun belt slung low on his hip, complete with what appeared a long Peacemaker. By now, most men left their firearms at home. However, having grown up with weapons of all kinds on the Lone Star Ranch, she understood the need to sometimes keep a gun handy. Although crime in the rough area had begun to decline some, running a saloon at the edge of Hell’s Half Ace was still a risky business and called for protection of some sort.
She patted the small derringer in her pocket to make sure it hadn’t fallen out.
“I asked what’s going on here,” the owner repeated.
Smelly glared, wiping blood from his forehead. So, she did get a lick in. “This churlish fishwife assaulted me when I tried to enter, and I demand that you do something.”
“Churlish fishwife? Why you!” Grace swung her sign again—only it caught the tall saloon owner instead, knocking him back a step.
Towering head and shoulders above her, the man snatched the sign from her hand, broke it over his knee, and pitched the pieces aside. His eyes had darkened to a shade she’d never seen before and had no words to describe.
