“What man Stubs? What‘d he look like?” Harlan asked impatiently.
“Some fancy looking man. Was here some weeks back. He up and disappeared one day.”
“You think the Injun kilt him too?” Harlan’s eyes widened with the thought.
“You two are about as smart as horse manure, you know that?” Marlon snapped.
“Oh yeah? Well Marlon, just so’s you know, a lot of us are sure that he’s guilty.” Stubbs muttered.
“A lot of who, thinks he’s guilty? You’d better be careful Stubs, or people are going to start confusing you with Ms. Gertrude Stephens.” Harlan snickered at his brother’s insult to Stubs.
“A few of us. Right now that injun’s over by Harlan’s store and we’re thinking on grabbin’ him. Maybe, we’ll even hang him.” Stubs retorted.
“What you should be doing, is your day’s work.” Marlon bit out, trying to put his dense cousin in his place.
“Aw, the boss gave me half the day off. Sides’ I can’t work much with this busted knee.” Stubs heartily complained.
“Your best bet, is to stay right here Stubs. He’s Gabe O’Malley’s hand and he ain’t going to let ya’ll just take the man in.” Marlon explained.
“Hell Marlon, they’s gonna grab him right now!” Stubs whined realizing he was going to miss everything.
**********
The hot, dry afternoon was getting to Hunter. Drops of sweat clung to the back of his neck, as he swore foully under his breath. He should have seen this coming. Goddamn! Once that old man had been scalped, he should have known they’d have suspected him. If only Buttermilk, Gabe’s foal hadn’t taken ill. Coming to town to run his boss’s errand, had been a big mistake on Hunter’s part allowing these fools to grab him from town, an even bigger blunder.
Straining against the ropes binding his hands and feet, Hunter berated himself. Just because this was the first town, that he hadn’t been treated like dirt, he’d let himself get soft. He observed the five young cow boys gathered around him. Sizing them up, he realized they were younger and more ignorant than he had first given them credit for. Hunter promised himself, that if he lived through this he’d never make that fool mistake again.
“Hey ‘breed. You awake yet?” A dirty hand snaked out, and grabbed a fist full of Hunter’s hair yanking his head back, to face one of his captors.
“Henry, get me the noose. I’m tired of waiting.” As much, as his skin was baked brown by the sun that if not for the unruly mop of blonde curls under the cow boy’s hat, he could’ve been mistaken for a half breed himself.
“You ain’t doing a thing, till the boss gets here. You got that Joe?” The tallest of the group spoke up. Judging by the way Joe released Hunter, he must have been the group’s leader.
“Come on Culver, the bastard scalped an old man!”
“Ain’t for you to decide Joe. Let him be.” Culver calmly stated, while staring down the younger man. In the process, he dared the other three to protest.
“Aw shit!” Joe cursed.
Hauling back he spit squarely into Hunter’s bruised face. Smiling at his victory, until Culver’s arm shot out, connecting with Joe’s throat. Landing on his back, the wind knocked out of him, Joe gasped for breath.
“Mistreat him again Joe, and it’s the last thing you’re going to do on this Earth.” The warning was given in a pleasantly false voice. No one would under estimate it though. Culver might be near to forty, but the younger men knew he could hold more than his own.
Hunter gave silent thanks to the man, as he hunkered down with his own handkerchief, wiped the spittle from Hunter’s bloody cheek. Steel gray eyes pierced through Hunter, as Culver assessed him. A thick beard and the low brim of his hat, made it nearly impossible to tell what the man was thinking.
“Culver, we were just doing the town a favor since they have no sheriff. What with ol’ Billy dying last year.” Henry the youngest in the group explained trying to pacify the angered man.
Hunter silent until now chose only to say “I killed no one.”
“Save your breath breed.” Joe once again part of the group, sneered. “You’re gonna need it, when you’re dancing at the end of my rope.”
Ignoring the bluster of the young cowpoke, Culver directed his attention toward Hunter.
“Are you Sioux?” Culver asked the bound man.
“What’s it matter? A breed’s a breed.” Joe laughed.
“Joe you forget, Culver’s squaw Annie is a breed.” Henry informed his friend.
“My wife! Call her a squaw like that again Henry, and I’ll cut out your tongue.” Noticing the fear in the young man’s eyes he warned, “I don’t care if you’re only sixteen. No man insults my wife.” Henry gulped.
Culver was known for his prowess with his knife and only a fool would tempt him to use it. He was thankfully spared, by the sound of approaching riders.
“Hey boss.” Culver greeted as Mathias dismounted. “Found these four beating the stuffing out of him. I decided to send Jimmy to find you, and stick close. Just to make sure that they didn’t kill him before you got here.”
“Seems like these boys took the half day I gave them off and used it pretty poorly” Turning his attention to Hunter Mathias asked; “Are you alright?”
“I’ll live.” Hunter’s voice was a pain filled rasp.
Careful of the wounds around Hunter’s bloody wrists, the two released Hunter from his bonds.
“You all get back to the bunkhouse. Pack up your things, and get gone. You’re all fired.” Mathias ordered. Like frightened rabbits they scattered to do his bidding nearly tripping over themselves in their haste to get away from a furious Mathias.
“Thanks for not killing them Culver. As dumb as they are, they’re still barely kids.”
“Lord knows I wanted to as many times as I’d seen my Annie beaten. It turned my stomach.”
Annie was the product of her teenage white mother’s rape during a raid over thirty years ago. Though she was an innocent baby she had come into the world unwanted and unloved. Left behind to be raised by a “Christian” family in a nearby town, Annie was beaten daily because of her parentage. Forced into manual labor working her foster family’s farm, she had suffered physically and sexually at the hands of the head of the family.
Her circumstances had changed by fate when a young headstrong man had come to the farm searching for work. When Culver had first laid eyes on the starving, beaten fifteen year old Annie, he had barely restrained himself from thrashing her foster father to death.
Only twenty at the time, Culver had taken the wounded girl away with him and married her for her own protection. Dumping her off with his mother to finish raising Annie, He hadn’t seen his wife again until their fifth wedding anniversary. Since that day, they had never spent a night apart. In almost twenty years together, the only disappointment they’d faced was their inability to conceive a child.
“Let’s get him out of here.” Mathias insisted.
Mathias and Culver each on either side slowly helped the now fading Hunter onto his horse. While Jimmy was sent on ahead to notify the Lucky M about his injuries, the two men saddled up and reined in close to his side. The two men tied Hunter to his mount for precaution in case he fell. From the look of the man, he was going to need a Doctor, and need one quick.
“Little bastards.” Hunter mumbled starkly, before passing out once again.
“Jesus, they really did a number on him.” Mathias let out a string of foul curses, at the stupidity of the young fools.
“They must’ve knocked him out first, cause when I found them he was still passed out.” Culver explained. “Didn’t seem like, he had the chance to fight back before they tied him up.”
“Looks like they’d have had to He’s a pretty big man, not to have fought back.” Mathias qualified. Turning their attention, to bringing the unconscious man home safely, they fell silent. Half way to the Lucky M ranch, Culver broke the silence.
“You think he did
it boss?”
“I don’t know. From what I’ve heard, whoever did this sure knew how to lift a man’s scalp.”
“I’m betting my newest saddle he didn’t do it.”
“What makes you so sure Culver?”
“He wears a white man’s cross around his neck. I saw it myself, as we were lifting him up into the saddle.” Culver informed his boss.
“Hell Culver, wearing a cross doesn’t make you a saint.” Mathias laughed, pulling at the silver object tucked into his own shirt. “If it did, yours truly will be assured a seat. Right next to good old saint Peter.” Both men guffawed.
“Yeah right, I’ve known you too many years, to confuse you with a saint.”
“My Mama thinks I’m one.” Mathias shrugged, “Who’s to tell her she’s wrong?”
“Not me. No way, would I tangle with your Mama.”
“You’re one smart man.” Mathias joked.
“My gut tells me he’s not the one who murdered Claymore.” Culver insisted when their laughter subsided.
In Mathias’s experience as a Ranger, he’d seen too much death and destruction from all walks of life. Though he didn’t know the man, he wasn’t convinced of Hunter’s guilt either.
“Let’s hope, that gut of yours is right Culver.”
“The road to heaven is well signposted,
but badly lit at night”
An Irish proverb
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
“The bleeding has stopped, but I fear that he’s feverish.” Tears clouding her vision as she stood from her bedside vigil, Melody faced her husband. “The swelling in his temple has gone down. I just don’t know what else to do.”
Once Melody had cleaned most of the blood and dirt from Hunter’s face, she realized his temple had needed stitching. Frantic at the thought of having to do it herself, she would have gone mad if not for her husband’s calming presence.
“What if he dies Gabe? It’ll be my fault. I shouldn’t have stitched him. I should have waited for the doctor!” She wailed.
“There is nothing else you can do honey. Ah, don’t cry.” Quickly enfolding his sobbing wife into a comforting embrace, Gabriel tried his best to soothe her. “Doc Bixby was held up delivering Mrs. Anderson’s baby. If we would’ve waited, Hunter would have been dead by now.”
A moan escaped the man, lying unconscious on the bed. “Willow.” He called out, still in a dreamlike state. “Don’t die little one. Take my hand.” Hunter’s incoherent ramblings some in English, some in a language foreign to her, were disturbing to Melody. The anguish in his voice pulled at her heart strings.
“How could they do this to him?” She asked. Melody was unable to understand how anyone could inflict this much damage to another human being, it was unimaginable.
Large, dark bruises and cuts spanned his face, neck and chest. His ribs were swollen but felt intact. Her main concern was the damage to the side of Hunter’s head. Preserving Hunter’s modesty, Melody had not examined Hunter’s body any further. Thankfully, Gabriel had taken over the duty. The angry welts covering his back appeared to be belt marks. Once Melody had cleaned the dirt filled abrasions, she smoothed a cooling salve over his back. All the while she’d attended Hunter; a fury had flowed through her.
“I can’t believe they whipped him!” She cried out.
“It’s mostly bluster, Melody. Once he wakes, it’s no doubt that he’ll be in pain. After a few days those bruises will fade.” Gabe reassured her. “Thankfully, they didn’t break his ribs.” she sighed with relief.
“Why, don’t you two go on to bed? I’ll sit with him.” Alec spoke from a dark corner in the room. He had been at the ranch, when Hunter had been brought, bruised and bleeding back to the main house. Mathias and Culver both had stayed themselves, until Gabe had sent them on home. Stubborn, Alec had refused to budge he kept insisting he was needed.
“Thanks Alec. I’ll owe you one.” Gabe promised, as he picked up his protesting wife and carried her from the room, stopping only to open their bedroom door.
There, he slowly undressed Melody and tucked her into their bed. Sliding in beside her, Gabe held her tightly whispering words of praise to his sweet, brave little wife until she fell asleep.
He felt pride in having such a good, strong woman by his side chuckling in remembrance of his first impressions of Melody. Somewhere in the night, she’d crawled into the deep empty holes of his heart. Tenderly he kissed her soft lips. How Pops could have known, just what Gabriel had needed when he himself hadn’t had even a clue?
**********
As Melody fell into deep slumber, Alec paced the floor of Hunter’s sick room. A war waged inside him. He couldn’t help but blame himself for Hunter’s mistreatment. Though they hadn’t gotten off on good footing, Alec couldn’t see Hunter as a cold blooded killer. He was the town Mayor. He should have seen this coming from a mile off. It was his responsibility to keep order especially, with the absence of a sheriff for the town. He had failed Plain and simple. Lord, how his grandfather would’ve loved to see this.
The old man had raised him since his parent’s death when Alec was four. Embittered that his only son had died traveling out west, with what he’d always called “that trollop of a wife.” For the sins he’d believed she carried, he’d made Alec pay every day of his young life.
Rage would fill Alec, whenever Stanley would call his mother filthy names. Whether it was by his hand or by his words, he’d made sure that Alec had felt his wrath. The beatings he took from that old man still haunted Alec in some ways. Hate filled Alec’s gut at the memory of the old man’s face.
Though he was barely a baby when his parent’s wagon train had been attacked by renegade Indians he could still remember bits and pieces of his mother. The sweet smell of her perfume the way she would softly rub his back, when he’d have a bad dream. Her pretty face had long since faded from his memory. It had taken Alec years to come to terms with her death.
Stanley had never let Alec forget, what a failure he was. No matter how hard Alec had worked at his studies, Stanley Wentworth could never be pleased. He had constantly compared Alec to his deceased father .Stanley Thomas Wentworth the third, had been by all accounts spoiled and pampered by his papa. The senior Stanley had thought the sun rose and set on his son’s shoulders. Whatever little Stanley wanted little Stanley got.
Whether Alec’s father was as wonderful as his grandfather believed, Alec had no clue. He couldn’t remember the man at all. Through snatches of gossip from the servants, he’d learned something of the man. With all that he’d heard, Alec wasn’t sure he would’ve wanted to know the man at all.
The only thing he had left of his parents was a pocket watch that once belonged to his father, inside a faded portrait of his mother on her wedding day. The chain long ago broken and discarded, Alec carried the watch in his pocket always to remind himself that he was once loved.
When Alec had turned eighteen, the old bastard had finally cocked up his toes leaving a vast fortune, to his last remaining relative. That fortune, was currently sitting untouched in a bank back east. Alec was determined to leave it that way. He wanted nothing from Stanley Wentworth Sr.
Working as a Texas Ranger had given Alec a way out from under his grandfather’s thumb and allowed him to live his dream of coming out west. The Rangers had also given him a sense of family. As his fellow Rangers had become his brothers in heart if not by blood.
Hunter’s restless movements brought Alec to the side of the bed. Concerned that he might injure himself further, Alec tucked Hunter’s arms under the blankets to bind them. Turning, he pulled his chair closer to the bed and grabbed an extra pillow. It was going to be a long night. Sometime before he fell asleep, Alec contemplated the situation.
Texas had been filled with renegade Indians. Many of the surrounding areas had been attacked over the years. Though Liberty wasn’t an older settlement, they’d never before had any real trouble in this region. After viewing Claymore’s body, Alec could unders
tand why the town was up in arms. Even so, vigilante justice was no way to handle this.
Alec’s only hope to keep the peace was to convince the townsfolk not to try to get retribution. Attacking the tribes, which inhabited the land near Liberty, would cause a bloody war that would kill many innocent people. He couldn’t let this happen, especially when he wasn’t even convinced an Indian had even committed the crime, let alone the man passed out in the bed.
He had to find a killer. After, he promised himself he would find a way to make it up to Hunter Somehow.
“Secrets have a way of laying themselves bare.”
An Irish warning
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
“So, you’re awake are ye?”
“I’m wishing I wasn’t.” Hunter said hoarsely, as he regarded the man he’d come to know as “Pops.” His head, felt like it had a vise surrounding it. One that was slowly, tightening.
“Feeling poorly are ye? I can believe it. You looked like a bag o’bruises, when they brought ye home.” Grabbing a pitcher from the night stand, Pops poured a tall glass of water.
“Here son, let’s get some water into ye.” Fergus said as he propped a pillow behind the younger man, and helped him to sit up. It was a difficult task, with all the bruises covering Hunter’s arms; Fergus didn’t know where to grab him without causing him more pain.
“It’s my turn to sit a spell.” Pops explained. “Mayor Alec had his turn last night, after Melody cleaned ye up a bit.”
“Why, would any of you want to help me?” Hunter asked between sips of the cool liquid.
“Why wouldn’t we?” Fergus quizzically raised a brow.
“Don’t you think I’m a savage?” At Fergus’ blank stare, Hunter continued. “Aren’t you all worried I’m some heathen killer?” Hunter asked resentfully.
“Boy do I look two shades of stupid to you, If I had thought you were a killer do you think that I’d allow m’ grandson to bring you into this house?” Shaking his head slightly Fergus grunted. “We O’Malley’s do have a bit o’ brain, under these thick mops o’ hair.”
A Bargain Bride (Brides of Liberty, Texas) Page 13