by Renee Ryan
They’d arrived a month ago with the wagon train that had been devastated by the tornado, and had chosen to stay in town when the rest of the train had moved on. From day one, the “boys” had accepted food and lodging while providing little in return.
“We’ve seen their type come through before,” Pete reminded Zeb. “They usually move on once boredom sets in.”
“Yeah, well.” Zeb’s eyes frosted over. “That blessed event can’t come soon enough.”
Pete nodded. He’d broken up more than one fight the brothers had instigated. Flashing the three a dark glance, he then went back to inspecting the town hall’s skeletal frame.
It would take everyone’s combined effort to get the building completed in time for the festival. Looked like his livery wasn’t getting a roof anytime soon.
“Here we go again,” Zeb muttered.
Pete turned in time to see Edward Gundersen rounding the corner of the mercantile. The glare on the big Norwegian’s face, along with the bunched shoulders and clenched fists, told Pete the man was spoiling for a fight. And, of course, Rebecca’s brother was walking straight toward the Tullys.
As if Pete’s day hadn’t been filled with enough conflict, now he had to break up another Tully fight.
“Leave this to me,” he said, looking to his right and then his left before stepping off the planked sidewalk.
“Not on your life,” Zeb said. “This is my concern, too.”
Pete and Zeb made it halfway across the street when Edward closed the distance between him and the brothers. Sal Tully, the oldest and meanest of the three, said something low and menacing. Pete was too far away to make out the specific words.
Edward raised his hands in a show of surrender, as though he was trying to behave rationally and stay calm despite the anger on his face.
The Tullys advanced on him anyway. Shoulder to shoulder, they created a wall of hard muscle and bad attitude.
Out of the corner of his eye, Pete saw Will Logan heading toward the fight from the opposite direction. It was anybody’s guess who would get to the group first.
Edward pushed back.
Pete broke into a run. Zeb’s footsteps pounded behind him.
Just as Edward raised his fists in obvious defense, the two youngest Tullys grabbed him from either side and slammed him against the wall of the mercantile. Edward’s elbow broke through one of the store’s new windows. The high-pitched shriek of shattering glass rang out over Edward’s grunts.
The boys held Edward in place while Sal pounded his left side. The brute focused on the same spot, over and over again.
People spilled out of buildings from both sides of the streets. One woman in particular rushed forward.
“How dare you start a fight in front of my store,” Matilda Johnson said in an outraged voice.
In the next moment, Pete drew alongside her. He nearly clipped her on the shoulder in his attempt to rush past her. Matilda’s pinched-faced daughter, Abigail, yelled at him to watch his step. But then she saw Zeb and her face softened. She approached him, but he barked at her to stay back.
Unfortunately, the Tully brothers had Edward down on the sidewalk by then. The hard thuds of boots connecting with human muscle and bone were followed by Edward’s grunts.
Furious, as much by the underhanded tactics as the growing audience they were attracting, Pete grabbed the closest Tully by the shirt and waistband. One hefty swing and the man went flying into the street. Pete reached for the next brother, but Zeb already had his hands on him.
Tully number two landed on top of his brother.
They tumbled over each other, arms and limbs tangling together. Dust swirled in the air, twisting around them in a choking brown cloud. Will warned them to stay down. Three of his ranch hands joined him, circling around the brothers.
Sal continued kicking Edward. In unison, Pete and Zeb lifted Sal backward and then slammed him against the wall in an identical move to the one his brothers had used on Edward.
Zeb told the crowd to go back inside their homes and businesses. “Nothing to see here,” he added.
That only drew the gawkers closer.
Pete pressed his forearm into Sal’s collarbone and glanced over his shoulder at Edward. “You all right?”
Moaning, Edward lifted to his knees, released a breath, then collapsed back to the ground. “I think he busted my ribs.”
Sal strained against Pete’s grip. “Serves you right, you dirty immigrant.”
As one, Pete and Zeb slammed Sal harder against the wall. “Keep your mouth shut,” Pete growled. “Or I’ll shut it for you.”
“What?” Sal jerked his chin in an angry gesture. “Like you’re so good? I know what you are, and I know what you do behind closed cellar doors with unmarried women.”
A wave of unconscionable anger flooded Pete’s ability to think logically.
But just as he raised his fist, Edward reached out and yanked Sal’s foot. Hard. “You’re scum, Sal Tully.”
Unprepared for the attack, Pete and Zeb lost their grip and Sal tumbled to the ground.
The crowd gasped.
Edward muttered a string of angry Norwegian as he struggled to grab Sal. Sal didn’t deserve the effort. The realization helped Pete calm his own anger.
“That’s enough, Edward.” He lifted his friend off Sal while Zeb shoved the oldest Tully into the street with his boot heel.
Sal ended up on top of his younger brothers, who were still tripping over one another in a whirlwind of cursing and dust.
Fingers squeezed into white-knuckled fists, Will waited until all three found their footing at last. “You’ve officially worn out your welcome. I want you out of my town now.” He paused. “And if I see any of your faces around here again I’ll make sure you wished you were never born.”
Sal wiped his nose with his sleeve. “I ain’t scared.”
Will held his ground. “You should be.”
Opening his mouth to speak, Sal closed it when he took note of the ranch hands closing ranks around Will.
With the odds no longer on his side, Sal accepted defeat at last. “Let’s go, boys.”
The Tully brothers limped away, muttering ugly epitaphs with every step. Pete prayed the three kept on walking, all the way out of High Plains for good.
Sensing most of the trouble had come to an end, people edged closer to Edward, who was still sprawled on the ground.
Pete helped him to a sitting position. “Easy now.”
Edward swallowed, then narrowed his eyes into two angry slits as he glowered over Pete’s shoulder. “What are you looking at?”
Squeaking, Abigail Johnson, round-eyed and blinking rapidly, scampered behind her mother. Although Pete estimated the petite blonde to be about the same age as Rebecca Gundersen, Mrs. Johnson treated her daughter as if she was still a child.
True to form, Matilda threw her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Come along, darling, you don’t need to see such brutality.” Spreading her lips into a snarl, she leveled a condescending glare onto Edward. “Shame on you. Men from this country do not engage in unseemly brawls.”
“Unless you’re a Tully,” he muttered.
She sniffed in disapproval, and then marched her daughter back into the mercantile. “Someone’s going to pay for my broken window.” The door slammed with a loud bang behind her.
Will pushed through the crowd and joined them on the sidewalk. “You all right, Gundersen?”
“Ja.” Edward wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Never better.”
“Why would you take on a Tully, much less all three at the same time?” Zeb asked. “Everyone knows those boys fight dirty.”
Edward shot Pete a frustrated glare, then turned his attention back to Zeb. “Yeah, well, I didn’t intend to fight them,” he paused to take a breath, “I just wanted to have a few, uh…words with them.”
Will and Zeb shared a meaningful look, but didn’t comment. Pete held his tongue, as well. Everyone knew the Tull
y brothers were unreasonable on a good day. More often than not, a “few words” turned into a brawl.
Pete studied Edward’s face a moment longer. “You have a bloody nose, a split lip and some busted ribs. Not bad, considering the Tullys weren’t in a talkative mood.”
Edward clutched his mid-section and wheezed out a breath. “I don’t care what any of you think. I don’t regret confronting those good-for-nothing troublemakers.” He glared at Pete, and then lowered his gaze quickly. A little too quickly. “I did what I had to do.”
Aware they were attracting an audience, Pete shifted his stance to shield Edward from the stares. “Can you stand?”
Edward’s lips thinned. “Won’t know till I try.”
Pete gripped one of his shoulders. Zeb took the other. Together, they carefully hoisted Edward to his feet, holding him steady until he secured his balance.
“You want me to get Doc Dempsey?” Will asked.
“No,” Edward and Pete said simultaneously. The old man wouldn’t be able to do much, especially if Edward had busted a rib. In fact, Dempsey might make matters worse.
“Sure?” Will persisted. “His office is right next door.”
Pete grimaced. “We’re sure. Edward and me, we need to have us a little heart-to-heart.” He gauged the crowd, taking special note of Matilda Johnson’s beady-eyed gaze peering out from the gap where her store window had been. “Alone.”
“You better stabilize his ribs first.” Will motioned one of his ranch hands forward, a man Pete knew well. On occasion, Clint Fuller assisted him in the smithy, more now since the storm had blown through town.
“Here.” The lanky cowboy shouldered his way through the crowd. “Use this.”
Taking the well-worn blanket, Pete held Clint’s gaze over Edward’s head. “I’ll need your help in the smithy this week. Whenever Will can spare you.”
“We’ll make it work,” Will offered.
Pete nodded. “Much appreciated.”
With quick, careful movements, they wrapped Edward’s ribs. But the crowd’s murmuring grew louder and people began closing in on them.
It was time to move Edward away from all the interested stares. Draping the injured man’s arm over his shoulder, Pete steered him in the direction of Mrs. Jennings’s boardinghouse.
“We’ll be in touch,” he said to his friends as he maneuvered through a small opening in the crowd.
“Let us know if you need anything else,” Will replied.
“Right.” Pete waved a hand over his head without bothering to glance backward.
Leaning heavily on Pete, Edward half stumbled, half dragged himself down the sidewalk. “Not that I’m unappreciative of your assistance,” he said in a thicker accent than usual. “But where are you taking me?”
“To the boardinghouse.”
“I’d rather go back to my room in the livery.”
“Too bad. You need tending. I’m sure your sister will know what to do.”
Edward groaned. “Rebecca’s not going to like this.”
“You should have thought about that before you decided to have ‘a few words’ with the Tully brothers.”
“You didn’t hear what they said,” Edward grumbled.
Pete’s grip tightened, but he didn’t slow his pace. “Maybe I should hear it now.”
“They said,” Edward braced himself, “that they wanted Rebecca to give them a little of what Pete Benjamin already sampled.”
Pete stopped walking. He held himself perfectly still, but inside he trembled with rage. He thought briefly of praying for guidance, but he couldn’t. Not now. Not with Rebecca in physical danger from a wicked-minded man and his evil brothers. Pete needed to act before Sal had a chance.
“I have to go.” He stepped away from Edward.
“Pete, wait.” Edward swayed but righted himself with a shake. “Think about my sister.”
“I am thinking about her.” The threat was no longer about her reputation. It wasn’t about what Pete wanted, either. Ungodly men were willing to push themselves on Rebecca because of what they thought she’d done with him.
Pete’s heart constricted painfully in his chest. The situation had gone beyond mere talk. A woman’s physical safety was in jeopardy now. And Pete was the only one who could fix the situation.
He turned in the direction the Tullys had left town, but Edward’s hand clenched his shoulder with surprising strength. “Pete, you can’t attack the Tully brothers right now. Rebecca needs you more.”
Under Edward’s grip, Pete stood unmoving. Barely. His rage shuddered for release.
“I can’t protect her, Pete.” Edward took a wheezing breath. “Not all broken up like this. I need you to stay strong so you can take care of my sister for me.”
Fury so intense it left a tinny taste in his mouth burned through Pete, along with the savage need to wipe out the threat to Rebecca—literally—with his bare hands.
There is another way, a still, small voice whispered in his head. Marry her, and this ends. She’ll be safe in your home, carrying your name.
“Did you hear me?” Edward asked in a thick, frustrated tone.
Pete nodded.
“You’ll take care of my sister?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
Pete angled his head toward the boardinghouse. “Can you make it the rest of the way on your own?”
“Ja.” Edward straightened to his full height, but he ruined the affect by wincing. “It’s not so far.”
“Good. I have to go clean up.” Pete turned to go, then swung back around. “Once you’re bandaged, have Rebecca put on her prettiest dress.”
Edward eyed him skeptically. “Why?”
Pete glanced in the direction of the church. He and Rebecca were getting married. Tonight. But he’d learned his lesson. He would not tell Rebecca she was marrying him. He would ask her. Nicely.
“Because,” he said, “I have a proper proposal to make to your sister.”
And this time, he would do it right.
Chapter Five
Rebecca tied off the bandage around Edward’s ribs with slow, careful movements. She tried to hold her fear at bay, but she couldn’t stop her heart from beating too fast and too hard, as if she were running a race without a finish line in sight.
Something awful had happened to her brother, bad enough to put him in this injured condition. But he wasn’t revealing any specifics. After he’d assured her there’d been no accident at the livery, he’d become unusually reticent. Which could mean only one thing. He’d been in a fight.
With trembling fingers, she ruffled his hair as though he were the younger sibling rather than the older. “There.” She dropped a kiss to his forehead. “You’re all patched up now.”
“Takk,” he said in Norwegian, then took what looked like a painful breath and began again. “I mean, thanks.”
Clicking her tongue, Mrs. Jennings scooted the bowl of water closer to where Rebecca stood over her brother. Sharing a worried look with the older woman, Rebecca dipped a rag into the cool liquid.
“I’ll get more water for you, dear.” Mrs. Jennings lifted the bowl from the table.
Rebecca gave her employer an appreciative smile before the woman trudged out the back door toward the pump. Watching her go, Rebecca sighed with gratitude. In her mid-fifties, Mrs. Jennings might appear overly formal to some in this town, but she’d always been kind to Rebecca. And she’d personally taken in one of the displaced children from the wagon train. Ten-year-old Alex seemed happy under Mrs. Jennings’s care.
Rebecca was, too. The woman might tuck her brown hair into an ordinary bun at the nape of her neck, but there was nothing ordinary about her. Yes, she had plain brown eyes, unremarkable features and wore nondescript clothing, but her inner beauty and love of the Lord radiated out of her like a sunbeam splitting through a dingy cloud on a blustery day.
Edward pulled in an audible, ragged breath, capturing Rebecca’s attention once again. She knew he
was in pain, yet he kept tossing worried, determined glances at the back door. Did he think the threat had followed him here?
Oh, Edward, what’s wrong with you? What’s happened to turn you into a stranger so quickly? The brother she knew would never get into a fistfight.
Cautiously, she dabbed at his lip.
He drew back with a hiss of pain.
“That’s what comes from fighting.”
He didn’t confirm or deny her suspicions. Nor did he make eye contact with her.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” she asked.
“I…” He clamped his lips shut, then leaned an elbow on the table as if his weight was too heavy for him to hold up on his own anymore.
Rebecca knelt in front of him and placed her hands on his knees. “Edward, please. Tell me who did this to you.”
At last, he looked directly at her. She gasped at what she saw in his eyes. Sorrow, guilt and unprecedented anger.
His fight had been about her.
Oh, Lord, please no. Not that. Let me be wrong.
Even though she dreaded what his answer would be, she needed confirmation. “You were defending my honor, weren’t you?”
His gaze darted to the back door again. “Ja.”
“Oh, Edward. Who did you fight?” Not Pete. Please, not Pete.
He mumbled his response, but she caught enough of what he said to send a wave of panic shooting past the last threads of her remaining calm. “Which Tully?”
He shuffled his feet again. “All three.”
“You fought all three Tully brothers?” She gripped her throat and stumbled away from him. “By yourself?”
He nodded, but his gaze was remarkably unrepentant. “Ja.”
The situation had gone far beyond anything she could have imagined. Gossip was one thing. Her ruined reputation a mere inconvenience compared to this. Edward had been beaten up defending her honor against three—three!—bullies.
What if one of the Tullys had carried a gun? Or a knife? Would she be preparing Edward for his funeral? The idea was too terrible to contemplate.
Yet, she had to face the truth. Edward could have been killed today—because of her.