Gentrys of Montana: Gentrys of Montana
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Gentrys of Montana
Sensual Western Historical Romance
The Rancher
The Marshal
The Outlaw
Hildie McQueen
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The Rancher
Copyright © 2014 Hildie McQueen
The Marshal
Copyright © 2014 Hildie McQueen
The Outlaw
Copyright © 2014 Hildie McQueen
First E-book Publications: July 2014
Edited by Sue Toth
Proofread by Renee Waring
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Pink Door Publishing
ISBN: 978-1-939356-46-8
Other Works by Hildie McQueen
(In reading order)
Heading West Series, Western Historical
Where the Four Winds Collide
Westbound Awakening
Where the River Flows
Historical Western, Shades of Blue Series
Big Sky Blue
A Different Shade of Blue
The Darkest Blue
Every Blue Moon
Blue Horizon
Montana Blue
Standalone Historical Westerns
The Widow’s Choice
Beneath a Silver Sky
Under a Silver Moon
Table of Contents
GENTRYS OF MONTANA
Copyright
Other Works by Hildie McQueen
THE RANCHER
THE MARSHAL
THE OUTLAW
About the Author
THE RANCHER
Gentrys of Montana 1
Hildie McQueen
Dedication
I am so grateful for my supportive circle of friends who never stop supporting my writing and read my books. It’s a writer’s dream to be published, and when we can share it with others, then it’s truly valuable. I wish to thank those that have supported me in this journey. Judy Hall, Susie Donnelly, Julisa Nixon, Stephanie Pettis, Patti Little and Rose Moore, you are a girl’s best friends ever!
Prologue
Near Rutgers Ridge, Montana 1870
Air rasped in and out of her lungs and yet Julia Cutler continued to run. She pushed her body to its limits, forcing her legs to keep moving, her arms swinging, she shoved foliage out of her path. Branches whipped across her face, neck and arms, slicing her skin open. The stings reminded her of what she ran from. The abuse she’d dealt with for years.
Julia let out a yelp when her hair caught in a thorny bush, and she tore the tresses free. If footsteps were following, she could not hear them over the pounding of her heart and the gasps of her breathing.
Please God, let me live. How had it come to this? Years of living with a cruel man who relished tormenting her. Trudging through each day in terror it would be her last, while waiting for an opportunity to escape.
It dawned on her now, perhaps it was not to be and she’d never be free. Her toe hit a rock and she toppled to her hands and knees. Yet she refused to give up. Julia scrambled to her feet, pulled up the hem of her skirts and kept running.
Fluttering and chirping were followed by a group of swallows bursting out from the tree line just as she reached a clearing.
No cover. It seemed like miles to reach the next cusp of trees. Land stretched long before her with nothing to hide behind.
If he followed her here, he’d see her and get a clear shot.
The knowledge she was an open target gave Julia incentive to run faster.
Boom! The unmistakable sound rang out and she stumbled, her legs refusing to obey the need to continue forward. Next her knees gave way and she fell face first into the green pasture. Then darkness claimed her.
Chapter One
Near Virginia City, Montana – 1870
“Should we take his britches off, Lucille?” A woman’s voice asked and through the fog of agony and blackness, Grant Gentry felt hands prodding at his waist and sides.
“Poor thing, he’s ripped to shreds, it’s best we do, Mary. We should be very careful, perhaps use scissors to cut them off.”
“Doctor Cole said the poor man may be unconscious for a few days, he may as well be comfortable.”
Why were his eyelids so heavy? Grant Gentry attempted to pry his eyes open and inform the women he would not be sleeping there, instead he’d mount his horse and take his leave momentarily. He had to find out what happened back at the campsite. His men were dead, his youngest brother gone.
The women’s voices were not familiar. He wondered if where he was presently, hopefully his brother was there as well. Had someone buried the three men who returned with him from the cattle drive?
Darkness swirled around Grant, followed by floating into the center of an abyss. Shots. Screams. The coppery stench of blood. Agonizing pain of his flesh being torn apart as his own screams joined those surrounding him. There was darkness and bursts of light from gunshots. High pitched whinnying of horses in distress and the sounds of hooves pounding the ground in attempts to escape the pandemonium.
Painful jostling brought his mind back to the present and once again the first woman spoke. “Well see now that’s better. He already looks more at ease.”
“He certainly is an attractive man. Isn’t he?” A girlish giggle rang out, followed by a gasp.
“Shame on you, you’re not looking at his face, Lucille.” The second woman spoke and chuckled. “Do you think we should bathe him?”
“I suppose it’s a good idea.”
The sounds of water being poured were followed by wet warmth as he was washed, his arms and legs lifted. Each movement, no matter how minute, was extremely painful. Several moans escaped at their ministrations.
“There, there, we’re done. Now we’ll let you rest,” One of the women spoke in soothing tones. The comfort of blankets placed over him lulled Grant back toward slumber in spite of the pain. His lips were pulled open, bitter drops placed under his tongue.
No. He could not allow them to drug him to a deeper sleep. He had to leave, had to see about his men. His brother could be dying and helpless while he slept. He fought to tell them with uncooperative lips. Ultimately, the darkness drew him and he lost the battle.
* * * *
Sunlight hit Grant’s face, the warmth making him turn toward it. He inhaled and instantly regretted it when a
sharp pain ripped through the left side of his chest. With weak trembling arms he pushed to sit up without avail. The ache elicited a groan.
“Try not to move too much, you’ll tear your wounds open.” At the soft reprimand he attempted to open his eyes and failed.
This was a new voice, not like the ones he’d heard earlier. This woman’s voice had a husky edge to it and she sounded younger. Yet unlike the other women, she was not jovial in the least.
With much effort he was able to open his eyes and looked around. It appeared to be someone’s home. The walls of the cabin were made of dark wood, sturdy logs piled atop one another. The room looked to be more of a living space than a bedroom. He lay tucked in a corner in a comfortable but slender makeshift pallet.
“Where am I?” His voice was barely above a whisper, his throat parched. “I have to go.”
“You’re not going anywhere anytime soon, Mister.” A woman with striking light blue eyes peered down at him. Her hair was pulled away from her face into a serviceable bun from which a few golden curls escaped. Brows drawn, she placed her palm over his brow. “You’re burning up. Still have a fever.”
He could spend hours looking up at her angelic face. Although her brows were lowered in concentration and her mouth in a tight straight line, it did not detract from her beauty. “May I have some water?”
The sound of the water pouring made him swallow in anticipation. She returned and lifted his head then held the cup to his lips so he could drink. “Slowly now,” she urged him when he gulped a couple swallows down his parched throat. It wasn’t until he’d drunk two full glasses he finally was able to stop. “Thank you, miss.”
“I am Julia, Mister. You were assaulted, hurt pretty badly. You’re recuperating in my two aunts’ home. We live between Alder Gulch and Rutgers Ridge.” Thankfully she was intelligent enough to understand he’d have those exact questions. She picked up a cloth and dunked it in water then placed the cold compress on his brow. The coolness, in contrast to his heated skin, was blissful. She sat back and picked up her book. “My aunts should be back in an hour or so from church.”
He fought without success against fogginess. Attempts at speech were so very difficult. “My brother?” The words came out slurred and he wondered why he was so weak.
“The man who found you saw only you,” came the curt reply. “My aunts offered to nurse you back to health when you were brought in to town on the back of a wagon. The peddler claimed he found you alongside of a trail stumbling then passing clean out when he got to you.”
He tried without success to speak again.
Sometime later he was shaken awake. “Wake up, Mister. Let’s prop you up and get some food into you.” A woman’s voice permeated through his sleep. The smell of cooking roused him to fully alert. “Julia told me you woke up earlier and spoke,” an older woman with attractive grey streaked hair and kind hazel eyes smiled down at him. “Let’s do this slowly. You are wounded across the belly and it’s going to smart.”
Smart? How about deep to the core of him knife slicing torture?
A second lady who resembled the first helped pull him up by the arms, while the first shoved pillows behind his back.
Grant’s breath came in pants while trickles of perspiration made their way down the sides of his face. It took all his strength not to allow his head to fall forward. He’d never felt so weak in his life. Get away from me. Let me be. The words were not spoken out loud. He didn’t have the energy.
“You’re weak because you lost a lot of blood. Have been unconscious for three days. We’d begun to wonder if you’d ever come to.” The first woman answered his unspoken questions. “My name is Lucille Sullivan, this is my sister Mary.” She gestured to the other woman who smiled down at him.
Within minutes Miss Mary hustled over with a steaming bowl of what looked to be beef stew and plopped down on a short stool beside his pallet. “How about we see if you can keep a bit of food down?”
The stew was flavorful and he ate the entire bowl without a problem. When Miss Lucille brought him some warm bread he reached for it and used it to sop up the remaining gravy.
“Well goodness, it looks like you’ll do just fine,” Miss Mary patted his shoulder. Unlike her sister’s, her hair was completely silver, and her cheerful eyes a deep brown. “How about you tell us who you are and how you ended up in such a dreadful state? Did you hold up a stagecoach? Or rob a bank? If you’re an outlaw I promise we’ll wait until you’re healed to turn you in.”
“Mary let him speak. Of course he’s not an outlaw. He doesn’t look like one to me.” Miss Lucille neared, her brows pinched. It was clear both women thought him an outlaw. It was almost as if they wished he were.
Grant assessed his injuries. His left shoulder was bandaged and his waist wrapped tightly. He cleared his throat. “My name is Grant Gentry. I own a ranch on the other side of Rutgers Ridge.”
“Oh!” Miss Mary’s mouth fell open. “Are you one of Kyle’s boys?”
“Yes Ma’am, the middle son,” he replied and lifted the blankets, only to put them back down, finding he was completely nude. “I—we, my brother Linc and I, along with three ranch hands, were returning from a cattle drive. We were held up. My men will killed, I didn’t see my brother. Have you heard if Linc Gentry has shown up in town?
Both women shook their heads. “No we were just in town and didn’t hear anything,” Miss Lucille told him.
How far is this house from Rutgers Ridge?”
“About an hour’s ride. Goodness. We should get word to your pa immediately. Let him know you’re here. He must be mad with worry.” Miss Mary stood and went to the front door and peered out. “Where did Julia go?” Next she hustled to a window, opened it and looked out. Immediately fresh cool air filled the room. “She must be in the barn.”
Grant was relieved to hear he was but an hour from his home. “Where are my clothes?” Although he wasn’t normally a shy man, his cheeks heated at the thought of three women witnessing him at his worst and then totally bereft of clothing. “I’m obliged at your hospitality and will ensure you are compensated for everything, but I need to head on home.” He attempted to lift up and immediately piercing aches slashed across his waist and shoulder sending him backward onto the pillows groaning.
Miss Lucille neared and placed a hand on Grant’s upper arm. “You are in no condition to travel, dear. Whoever those men are who held you up were a cruel bunch. They cut you to pieces. It’s a miracle you survived and stumbled to the road practically holding your guts in with your arm.”
“The doctor instructed we cannot move you to a bedroom until she comes back to see you in the next couple of days,” Miss Mary explained, grabbing a shawl. “I’ll go find Julia, she can ride out to see about notifying your kin and stop by Alder’s Gulch to let Doctor Cole know you’re awake.”
Miss Lucille returned from the back of the house and placed a folded pair of long drawers beside him and then brought a chamber pot out from under the bed. She helped him turn to his side, which brought a groan of protest at the discomfort. Once she was satisfied he could continue on his own, she straightened. “I’ll leave you to have some privacy. Don’t be too proud to call if you need assistance.”
After relieving himself, Grant lay back panting. Turning sideways cost him dearly. His midsection throbbed nonstop. “Miss Lucille, I will need your help to put these on, please.”
The next morning, he woke up and blinked to clear his vision. Through the window he could tell it was a cloudy, dreary day. It smelled of rain.
A fire burned brightly from the hearth. Miss Lucille and the younger woman sat in chairs before it. The elder woman sewed, while Julia held a book in her lap. The younger spoke in low tones. “…said he’d not come to see about him just yet, too busy. Seemed relieved at the news though. Asked about a brother, Linc…the strangest thing…him not hurrying here…” The younger woman shook her head. “How could a father be so uncaring? To not rush to his critically ill son’s
bedside?”
“It’s not for us to question. I suppose if the man says he’s got other more important matters, he must. A missing son is not insignificant,” Miss Lucille replied.
“You’re right. It just rubs me the wrong way how uncaring parents can be.”
His father did what he should. Search for his missing son. Still it bothered Grant that he’d not at least cared enough to send someone to see about him. No matter. As soon as he was able, he’d go and check on things at his small ranch then leave immediately to find Linc.
It was not his father, but Linc and Emerson, his older brother, who were the most important people in his life. Emerson currently served as Marshal of Rutgers Ridge. Perhaps he had news about Linc.
If Linc was dead, Grant wasn’t sure how Emerson would handle it. His brother had practically raised him and Lincoln after their mother died and took his role as their guardian seriously.
Grant’s gut clenched at the thought of the dead men he’d left behind. No one deserved to die like that.
“You’re awake. How about some coffee?” Miss Lucille brought a cup of steaming coffee and placed it on the floor next to where he lay. “Julia, help me sit him up.” She looked over at the younger woman. “It hurts him to be moved, so we must be extra gentle.”