Pemberley Ranch

by Jack Caldwell

Moving slowly and deliberately, Whitehead stepped far enough in to close the door. Hands outstretched away from his body, he turned back towards the door. Standing beside it, in a spot where he could be hidden from the outside, was a man holding a pistol.

  “If you’re holding me up, you’re bound for disappointment,” Whitehead said with a trace of bravado. “My wallet’s in my office.”

  “Shut up. Move over to the other side of the room. Don’t talk.”

  Whitehead became nervous. The man’s voice was deadly calm, indicating this was a planned ambush. He handled the gun with practiced ease. Whitehead knew he had to be very careful, or he would not leave this room alive. Hands up, he did as he was bid, placing the table between himself and the man called Carson.

  “All right, now unfasten that gun belt—one hand only.”

  Whitehead’s eyes never left his assailant as he slowly unbuckled the belt with his right hand. The holstered gun slipped to the carpeted floor. Whitehead stared hard at the man opposite. There was something familiar about him.

  “I suppose you have a reason for all this, Mr. Carson—if that’s your real name.”

  “Oh, I have a reason, all right. You’re George Whitehead, right?”

  “I am.”

  “The name Churchill mean anything to you?”

  Whitehead’s blood ran cold—a ghost from his past had come visiting. He knew that yelling for Pyke would do no good. By the time Pyke could open that door, Whitehead would be dead.

  “Yes,” Whitehead said. “James Churchill and I served in the war together.”

  “I know. He told me all about it. I’m his brother, Frank.”

  Whitehead said nothing, his mind racing.

  “Where’s the money, Whitehead?”

  Whitehead’s first thought was to deny everything, an impulse he dismissed immediately. Lying would do no good. He had to stall, though—he had to find out how much James had told Frank.

  “Here.”

  “I’ve come to get Jimmy’s share.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  Churchill raised his gun. “This says it’s easy. Half of twenty-five thousand—that’s twelve thousand five hundred. I want it.”

  “And then you’ll kill me?”

  “Get me the money, and we’ll see. Don’t and you’re dead.”

  “No, you’ll shoot me as soon as you get the cash. And I don’t blame you.”

  Churchill gritted his teeth. “You killed my brother.”

  “No, I didn’t. He saved my life.”

  “Don’t you lie! You killed Jimmy and took all the money! The law came to the house during the war saying Jimmy took that money an’ was hiding out. But I knew that was a lie! Jimmy would never just leave and not get word back to his family. When months went by, we knew he was dead.” A feral look came into his eyes. “I knew what really happened, because Jimmy wrote to me—told me what you two had planned. Stealin’ a U.S. Army payroll. So I knew it was you that did away with him.”

  Whitehead shook his head sadly. “That’s not what happened. Things didn’t work out like we thought. There was an extra guard, and he got the drop on me.” Whitehead grunted. “A bit like you did tonight. I thought it was all over for me when Jimmy jumped the man. Before I could pull my gun out, there were a couple of shots, and they were both dead. There was nothing I could do. I got the strongbox and Jimmy out of there and hightailed it.”

  “I knew it. I knew Jimmy was dead. What did you do with him?”

  “Buried him.”

  “Where?”

  “I really can’t tell you—in a farmer’s field, but it was in the middle of the night. Doubt I could find it again. I hid the money in my footlocker—right in plain sight.” Whitehead looked at Churchill. “Look, Jimmy didn’t tell me about you—all he talked about was his sister.”

  Churchill nodded. “Jimmy and Jenny were close, that’s true. What does this have to do with the money? You spent it all?”

  “Not spent it—invested it.” Whitehead waved his hand. “Some of it’s right here—I’m a partner in this saloon. And there’s other stuff, too, like land and buildings. That’s what Jimmy and I talked about—getting rich off our investments.”

  Churchill grimaced. “How much you got in cash?”

  “Maybe five thousand, but most of it is in the bank. I got some in my safe in the office, but it’s only two or three hundred. The bank doesn’t open until morning.”

  Churchill cursed. “That’s not too good for you, Whitehead.”

  “Frank, right? Frank, call me George. Look, I didn’t cheat your brother. We were always going to be partners. Split it right down the middle. But things worked out different. Half of what we got belongs to him, but I can’t turn it into cash. You understand? Look, I’ll be as fair as I can. I can get you four thousand in the morning and we’ll call it fair.”

  “Four? You said you had five!” He raised the gun again.

  “Frank, I’ve got to have some cash on hand. You know, for expenses.”

  “You said you had some cash in your safe. Five thousand, Whitehead.”

  Whitehead sighed. “All right, all right, five thousand. Mind if I sit down?”

  Churchill agreed and both took a seat at the small table, across from each other.

  “You know,” Whitehead said conversationally, “it’s been a long time. Seven years. How come you’re just looking me up now?”

  “I couldn’t leave home until recently, ’cause my folks needed me. Now that they passed on, I began to look for you.”

  “And your sister?”

  “She ran off with a traveling salesman four years back. Last I heard, she was in Detroit.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “You’re a smart man, Frank. It’s not like I was hiding, but still, you found me. That shows a sharp mind. I can use a sharp mind. What did you plan to do with Jimmy’s share?”

  “I don’t know. Didn’t think that far.”

  Whitehead leaned across the table, lowering his voice. “You know, I got some people working for me that… well, they ain’t got one brain between them. I’ve got to do all the thinking and planning, and it’s wearing on me. This guy Denny I have riding for me? I think he’s loco, and I have to get rid of him. I was just thinking the other day how things would be if Jimmy was here. We’d be a lot further along, I’ll tell you that. You think of settling down?”

  Churchill blinked. “What—here?”

  “Sure. Jimmy was always supposed to be my partner. You’re smart—you could take his place. I need somebody I can count on. How ’bout it?”

  “You asking me to throw in with you?”

  “It would be worth a lot more than half of twenty-five in a couple of years. I’ve got plans.”

  “What kind of plans?”

  Whitehead grinned. “Oh, no. You want to know, you got to come in. But think about it. Would I be hanging around this pissant place if I wasn’t going to be rich?”

  Churchill licked his lips. “I don’t know. Can I trust you?”

  Whitehead laughed. “Hell, can I trust you? You’re the one with the gun!”

  Churchill placed the pistol on the table, just under his right hand. “I got to think about this. You’re going to just give me half of everything you’ve got going?”

  “Frank, Frank, I ain’t stupid. What I’ve built up already is worth more than the original stake. At twelve and a half, your part would be something like… one third. Junior partner, but still my partner.

  “But the sky’s the limit. You can have any woman you want in this saloon. People jump when you talk. And in a couple of years, we’ll have this whole county. That’s better than sleeping in a bedroll outside with the snakes and Indians, right?” Whitehead’s eyes gleamed.

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “Look, why don’t you sleep on it, all right? Come see me in the morning, and we’ll get the papers drawn up. Or if you’d rather pass, we’ll go down to the bank for your mone
y.”

  “Yeah, and I just let you walk out of here—to bring back your men for me. That ain’t going to happen.” Churchill put his hand on the gun.

  Whitehead wore a hurt expression. “Aww, Frank. I wouldn’t do that. Tell you what—you come with me. Stay in my house. No one’s going to touch you—you’ve got my word on it.” He stood up, extending his right hand.

  Without thinking, Churchill automatically lifted his right hand off the pistol and took Whitehead’s hand. Whitehead’s eyes never left his as they shook. Suddenly, Whitehead’s grip tightened and his left hand came up, holding Churchill’s gun. Before Churchill could scream, Whitehead fired into his chest. The man fell backwards onto the floor, and Whitehead walked around the table, gun extended. Churchill tried to talk, the pain just starting to register, but the last sound he would hear was Whitehead’s low snarl.

  “You should’ve paid closer attention, Frank. Nobody ever expects a left-handed man.”

  Whitehead shot him again as Pyke forced the locked door, gun in hand. “Boss! What happened?”

  George whirled on him, anger clearly written on his face. “I thought you searched him!”

  “I did, boss, I did! He must’ve sneaked it in somehow.”

  Whitehead jammed the still smoking barrel in Pyke’s throat. “If I thought for one moment you tried to cross me—”

  Sally Younge ran in. “George, don’t! It’s not his fault!” Whitehead turned. “That man had a package delivered a few minutes before you got here.”

  Whitehead released Pyke. “I’m sorry, boss, I’m sorry—”

  Whitehead cut his henchman off. “Shut up. We got to clean this up.”

  Younge patted Whitehead on the arm. “I’ll go settle the patrons. Tell ’em some drunken cowboy was plinking holes in the ceiling. They’ll believe it—it’s happened before.” She dashed out, closing the door behind her.

  Whitehead looked down at Churchill’s body. “Wait until later,” he told Pyke, “then wrap him up in the carpet and get him out of town. Get rid of the body. Bury him somewhere on the B&R. Don’t throw him in the river. I don’t want him found. You hear me, Pyke? No one finds him. Don’t mess this up.”

  Pyke assured him it would be done as instructed. Whitehead took one last look at the body.

  “Yeah, Frank, you were Jimmy’s brother, all right. Just as stupid.” He tossed the pistol onto the body and walked out of the room.

  Beth couldn’t escape Caroline. For a woman who didn’t enjoy her company, she always seemed to be around. She invited herself to the Musical Society and immediately took over the meeting. Beth’s resentment of the woman was such that she couldn’t give any credence to her perfectly fine performance of Mozart.

  When Caroline wasn’t bragging about the music teachers she once had, she was trying to ingratiate herself with Will Darcy. Darcy, as was his custom, had accompanied his sister and cousin to the meeting, and Caroline took advantage of it, talking to him at every opportunity.

  “Look at that,” Charlotte whispered to Beth. “Doesn’t the woman have any pride at all? She’s almost shoving her bosom into Mr. Darcy’s face. For all the good it’s doing her—Mr. Darcy’s clearly uncomfortable.”

  “Mr. Darcy’s always uncomfortable,” Beth returned spitefully. She couldn’t understand her resentment. She should have laughed at Caroline’s exhibition and Darcy’s embarrassment, but she could not. Instead, she was angry. Angry at Caroline for the way she was acting, and angry at Darcy for not doing… something. Beth wasn’t sure exactly what it was Darcy was supposed to do, but he should have been doing it. Her strange thoughts only added to her confusion and aggravation.

  “Poor Caroline!”

  Beth turned to her friend. “Poor Caroline? Why should you feel sorry for her? She’s a selfish witch who thinks she’s better than us.”

  Charlotte smiled slightly. “You sound a little jealous.”

  Beth gaped. “Jealous?”

  Charlotte put her hand on her arm. “Shush! They’ll hear you.”

  In a much lower voice, Beth said, “I’m certainly not jealous of Caroline Bingley.”

  Charlotte still wore that slight smile. “Well, she’s certainly jealous of you.”

  “Whatever for?”

  Charlotte just shook her head and looked pointedly at Will Darcy. It took a moment for Beth to catch on. It was then she did laugh.

  “Will Darcy? You think she’s jealous over Will Darcy? Then she has no eyes in her head! He and I agree on one thing—we can’t stand one another.”

  Her friend gave her a look of pity. “Oh, Beth, Caroline sees better than you think. Better than you, apparently.”

  “I assure you, I don’t like Mr. Darcy.”

  “But Mr. Darcy likes you, I think.”

  “Impossible. That man hates everyone, me in particular. Why, he only stares at me to find fault. No, Charlotte, you’re very wrong about Mr. Darcy.”

  Charlotte tried to respond, but she stopped when Anne Burroughs approached.

  The lady smiled nervously. “You’re both going to get an invitation to Mother’s Fourth of July party at the ranch, but I wanted to personally encourage you to come. You… you will, won’t you?” Anne only relaxed when both Beth and Charlotte assured her of their attendance. “Oh, that’s wonderful! Beth, may I ask you something?” She paused as her color rose. Beth waited patiently for her friend to speak and gave the girl her most encouraging smile.

  “Will you come and stay for a few days before the party?” Anne asked in a rush.

  Beth clearly was taken aback, and Anne’s face crumpled, fearing a rejection. Beth took her hands and said, “I would be delighted, but I have to help Jane—”

  Anne cut her off. “I’ve already asked Jane, and she said she could spare you for a few days. Please come. I’ve never had anyone over to the house before, except for my cousins. I mean, I love my cousins, but it’s not the same.”

  Beth glanced at Jane, who was smiling at her from across the room. Beth shrugged her shoulders and returned her attention to Anne.

  “Very well, I’ll ask my father when I visit home tomorrow. If he says yes—”

  Anne laughed in girlish joy, a sound Beth had never before heard from the shy and serious heiress. “Oh, he will, he will! Thank you, Beth. Oh, Will, Beth is coming to the ranch to visit with me! Isn’t it fine?”

  Beth whirled around to find Will Darcy standing behind her. She felt herself flush—from embarrassment, she reasoned.

  “I think that’s a grand idea, Cousin,” he said gravely, his blue eyes brighter than before. “Thank you for your kindness, Miss Bennet.”

  “Wait,” cried Caroline. “Who’s going to help me with Jane?”

  By then, Mrs. Bingley had arrived and had taken her sister-in-law in hand, assuring her that they would get along splendidly. Beth fell into a conversation with Anne, Charlotte, and Gaby about the party, but she could feel Will Darcy’s eyes upon her as he stood enigmatically against the wall.

  “Hush, boy, let’s be quiet now,” Darcy whispered in Caesar’s ear as they crept along the riverbank. The horse responded, as his rider knew he would, and made almost no sound as he walked upriver, close by the bushes.

  They reached the familiar tree, and within moments, Caesar was grazing while his master stole closer to the riverbank. He found the spot and settled down in anticipation of his quarry. He didn’t have long to wait. Only minutes passed before a lovely female figure made her way down the opposite bank and began undressing.

  Darcy had tried and tried to resist the siren song of watching Beth Bennet bathe, and it had turned into a losing battle. His mouth was dry as he beheld paradise across the Long Branch. Gloriously nude, the girl slipped under the water, moving slowly in the cool shade.

  Darcy’s shirt, wet with sweat, clung to his body. His jeans felt too tight, for reasons unrelated to the blistering June heat. The water, the woman, was just too inviting. He could not wait any longer.

  As quietly as he could, he sl
ipped off his boots. Setting them by his hat, he took off his shirt. His pants were next and moments later, naked as Adam, Darcy waited behind the bushes until Beth turned her attention to the far riverbank. He slipped into the water unnoticed by the girl but then froze. What to do now? He couldn’t just swim over there without warning, could he? That would frighten Beth, and frightening her was the last thing Darcy wished to do.

  “Miss Beth,” he called out softly.

  The girl cried out and ducked as low in the water as she could and still breathe. Quickly, she turned around. “Mr. Darcy?”

  “Miss Beth, don’t be afraid, it’s just me.”

  “What are you doing here!? Go away!”

  “Shush, quiet. I don’t want to raise any ruckus.”

  “But I’m not decent!”

  Darcy smiled. “Well, neither am I. I figure that makes us even.”

  Darcy swore she hid a smile at that. “How did you know about this place? Have you been spying on me?”

  Darcy had the grace to look embarrassed. “No, really. The first time—the only other time—was an accident. Really.”

  Rather than looking offended, the girl just treaded water, her hair fanning out behind her. “But you came back.”

  “I couldn’t help myself.”

  She frowned. “You wanted to see an undressed girl.”

  “No! I wanted to see an undressed you. You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

  “You’re just saying that.”

  “No, it’s true, I swear. Can I come closer? I don’t want my voice to carry.”

  She seemed to think about that. “All right, but not too close.” Darcy swam across the river until he was a couple of feet away. “That’s close enough,” Beth decided.

  Indeed, it was close enough. Darcy could make out her pale form under the surface of the water. He looked up to see with a shock that Beth was carefully looking back at his body.

  “Do you swim a lot?” she asked.

  “Yes, but not in the river. We’ve got a big lake on Pemberley. I’ve been swimming there since I was a boy.”

  “Is it warmer than the river?”

  “Yeah. Are you chilled?”

  She nodded.

  “It is cold. Maybe if I got closer, we could keep each other warm.”