An Unconventional Bride For The Rancher (Historical Western Romance)

by Cassidy Hanton

  Leading the way to the Quinn’s home, he glanced at Wintonta’s neutral expression, noting how the Comanche paid no heed at all to the folks who paused to gawk. Though they stared, talking amongst themselves, pointing, no one seemed intent on shooting Wintonta on sight.

  Misgiving leapt down Tyler’s throat as they approached the Quinn residence. Victor’s dun gelding stood tied up out front, and he knew immediately that Victor most likely did not happen by for a social visit. Dismounting in front of the house, he tied his bay to a post while Wintonta tied his further down.

  Climbing the front steps, Tyler knocked on the door. He heard quick footsteps cross the floor toward them, and then Miss Quinn opened it. Her quick glance took in Tyler and Wintonta, her surprise short. “Mr. Price,” she said, holding the door wide. “Come in.”

  He slid his hat off his head. “This is Wintonta, Miss Quinn. It’s his son you are hosting here.”

  Miss Quinn offered a tight smile. “You are Tosahwi’s father? Well, he will be happy to see you.”

  Her tense manner and Victor’s presence told Tyler that something was very wrong. “Did something happen, Miss Quinn?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath, her fists clenched over her skirts. “Tosahwi is fine,” she began, her hazel eyes fixed on Wintonta, “however, someone came in through the window last night, tried to – hurt him. We frightened whoever it was off, but please, come, see for yourself that he is well.”

  Tyler tried to gauge Wintonta’s reaction to the news that someone in Bandera tried to kill his son, but no expression at all crossed the Comanche’s face as he followed Miss Quinn, Tyler falling in behind. She led them down the short hall and stood to the side to permit Wintonta to enter. Tyler stood in the doorway, watching as the boy greeted his father with joy and excitement.

  As father and son conversed in Comanche, Miss Quinn jerked her head for Tyler to come with her. “I asked Sheriff Barker to come,” she said, her voice low. “He’s in the kitchen with my mother.”

  Victor was indeed in the kitchen, finishing up what smelled like a bacon, eggs, fried potato and bread breakfast. He wiped up egg yolk with a hunk of bread and stuffed it into his mouth, catching sight of Tyler. “What are you doing here, Tyler?” he asked, his mouth full.

  “I brought the kid’s pa,” he replied. “Are you here professionally or just to eat these ladies out of house and home?”

  “Both.” Victor wiped his mouth on a napkin. “Miss Quinn tell you what happened?”

  Mrs. Quinn pulled out a chair. “Please sit, Mr. Price. Would you care for some breakfast? We have plenty.”

  “I don’t mind if I do.” Tyler set his hat on the back of the chair and sat down at the table. Miss Quinn also sat, though she perched on the edge of it and didn’t relax comfortably.

  “I heard noises coming from Tosahwi’s room,” she began, clicking her thumbnails together, “last night. I went in and saw him jump back out the window, he must have heard me coming.”

  “He tried to kill the boy?” Tyler asked.

  She nodded. “Strangling him. There are bruises around his throat.”

  “But with Johnson still in jail,” Victor said, sitting back in his chair with a deep sigh, “we have no clue who it was.”

  “Are you going to try the surveillance now?” Tyler asked, a trace of bitterness in his tone.

  “Sure,” Victor replied easily, his blue eyes hard on Tyler. “Once I deputize you.”

  Mrs. Quinn brought a laden plate to Tyler and set it in front of him. “There you are, Mr. Price. Charlene, be a dear and go ask Tosahwi’s father if he wants breakfast.”

  Miss Quinn obediently rose from her chair and left the kitchen, leaving Tyler to dig into his tasty food and watch Mrs. Quinn unobtrusively. From what he had heard about her, she was so sunk in her grief after losing her husband and sons that she barely functioned. And now she busily cooked, cared for the Comanche boy, and bossed her daughter around. He glanced at Victor.

  “All right,” he said. “Do it, deputize me. I’ll bunk outside the house of a night.”

  Miss Quinn ushered Wintonta into the kitchen, urging him to sit at the table with Tyler and Victor. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Price,” she said firmly. “We can look after ourselves and Tosahwi.”

  Victor stood up, greeting Wintonta with a clasp of their forearm to forearm. “I’m Sheriff Barker, and I’m doing everything I can to protect your boy. These are good people, and he is in the right hands.”

  The big Comanche sat down, nodding his thanks as Mrs. Quinn set a full plate in front of him. “Perhaps he should return to his people where he needs no such protection.”

  Victor also sat back down, scowling. “Now, you know he ain’t fit to go anyplace, chief. You try, and his leg is like to fall apart again.”

  Tyler observed with interest that Wintonta ate his food with a knife and fork, as though quite familiar with how the white folks used them. “You know English quite well,” he said, still eating his own. “How’d you learn it?”

  “I went to the mission school when I was young,” Wintonta answered. “Learned some of your white man’s ways, taught by the preacher there, then went home to my people.”

  Miss Quinn stood by her mother, watching Tyler and Wintonta eat. “We will protect Tosahwi, sir,” she said. “But the sheriff is right. You could cause too much harm to him if you were to move him now.”

  Wintonta regarded her for a moment, his expression neutral. “Perhaps I and some of my people may camp here, watch over him.”

  Victor shook his head even before Wintonta finished speaking. “Now, I’m not a man to deny a father his son, chief,” he said sternly, “but that would only aggravate the situation. Now if the Quinn ladies will agree to letting Tyler here sleep outside the boy’s window, and if I made nightly walks past the house, I think our little problem will take care of itself.”

  Tyler nodded. “If folks see that this house is guarded, whoever tried to hurt Tosahwi will think twice before trying again.”

  Wintonta continued to eat as he thought, Tyler caught Miss Quinn’s eye and said, “Well, Miss Quinn? Might you abide me bedding down outside your house?”

  “I wasn’t asked,” Mrs. Quinn piped up, “but I for one will not worry so much about the boy if you did. It was only pure luck Charlene heard something and interfered.”

  At last, Miss Quinn nodded. “I will agree also. But what about your work on your property, Mr. Price?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll ride home in the morning and do what I need to do, then come back here in the evening.”

  Wintonta glanced around at all of them. “I am grateful for all that you have done for Tosahwi. Nor will I forget it. I am obligated to you.”

  Victor placed his hands on the table in preparation for rising. “Now that’s all settled, I have a prisoner to feed. Mrs. and Miss Quinn, should you see anyone lurking around who don’t belong here, you let me know.”

  “We will,” Miss Quinn replied with a slight smile.

  Miss Quinn escorted him from the kitchen to the front door, seeing him out. Mrs. Quinn picked up plates from the table. “Wintonta, please feel free to stop by and visit Tosahwi anytime you wish. He has been a delight to have in our home.”

  “You are most gracious, madam.”

  “You can also camp on my property until your boy is healed,” Tyler added. “But if you take any cattle, let me know.”

  Wintonta inclined his head. “We will not butcher any of your cattle without your permission.”

  Miss Quinn rushed back into the kitchen, her thick red braid flopping over her shoulder to her hip, her porcelain face tight with worry. “I think you gentlemen should come quick. Something happened to the sheriff.”

  Chapter Seven

  Aaron Dawson dug his spurs hard in his bay horse’s hide. “Run!” he yelled.

  At a dead run across the dusty land choked with piles of rock, prickly pear and thickets of oak, mesquite and cedar trees, Aaron led his brothers into the
blazing heat of nearly noon. The merciless sun turned their mounts’ sweat into lather, the beasts laboring to run hard over the harsh plains of central Texas.

  Glancing back, Aaron observed with trepidation that the plume of dust had grown larger, the posse still hard on their trail. “Dammit,” he muttered. “How’d they know which way we went?”

  “Someone must have been watching us,” Franklin hollered, riding close to his horse’s flank. “Pointed us out.”

  “Our dust ain’t helping, neither,” George pointed out. “They could spot us ten miles out, it’s so dry.”

  “Just like we saw them,” Aaron replied, scanning the region they rode into. “These horses can’t keep up the pace. Not for long.”

  “Neither can the posse’s,” Franklin answered.

  Aaron shot him a fierce glare. “You don’t know that. We’ll have to find a place and lay an ambush.”

  “Are you crazy?” George yelled. “There must be twenty of ‘em back there.”

  “You want to roll over and die, you go ahead,” Aaron snarled. “Me, I’m gonna fight.”

  Lashing his exhausted horse with his reins as well as spurring for all he was worth, Aaron raced across the desert like landscape, dodging large clumps of prickly pear and frightening small deer into flight. If he didn’t find a place to make a stand, he knew his mount would die under him, crashing to the dusty ground. Fear that he would never permit his brothers to see niggled at the back of his mind.

  Without their horses, they would either join Benji in prison or hang. I’ll do neither. I’ll go down fighting. His horse’s stumbling grew more frequent, threatening to toss Aaron over its neck. He started to lean down and pull his rifle from its scabbard, prepared to turn the beast around and charge their pursuers, his gun blazing.

  Then he saw it. A tall cluster of rocks at least fifty feet in height stood dead ahead. A place they might climb and shoot down on the posse from above. While it wasn’t exactly the situation he might have desired, for he knew that he could not kill them all this way, he hoped that he might convince them to hunt other prey elsewhere.

  “To the rocks!” he yelled. “Put the horses behind them.”

  Reining around to the far side of the rock tower, Aaron dismounted before his horse even stopped galloping. He yanked his rifle free, quickly wrapping his reins around a rock. The climb proved treacherous, with stones all but rolling out from under their boots, but he and his brothers made it to the top.

  Lying on their bellies, hidden behind the red and gray stones, Aaron and his brothers aimed down their rifles’ sights, waiting for the posse to come into range. “Don’t let them get around behind us,” Aaron ordered. “If that happens, then they get to the horses.”

  “That’s not gonna happen,” George said, his tone grim as he lay beside his older brother. “They’ll learn the cost of chasing the Dawson Gang.”

  Peering down his sight, Aaron relaxed, breathing in slowly, waiting for his first victim to gallop within range. Within moments, the posse, twenty or so strong as George had said, rode hard toward the rock tower, a huge plume of dust kicked up behind them. Centering his sight on the leader, a gold star on his chest, Aaron squeezed his trigger.

  His shot knocked the lawman off his horse. Shouts and yells of alarm resounded across the distance as his brothers’ rifles barked. Two more men and a horse crashed to the ground as the posse, slammed into one another in their haste to ride away, and out of gun range. Aaron’s next shot took another man in the back, for he saw the man jerk in the saddle, but he did not fall.

  Within seconds, the posse had retreated well out of range of their rifles, leaving behind their dead. Peering through the swirling dust cloud and over the distance, Aaron watched them regroup, some dismounting to help the wounded. While he felt glad they retreated, he also knew that the posse stopping rather than continue to flee meant they were determined to catch him and his brothers.

  “Why ain’t they running?” George asked. “They should be running.”

  “Because they know that our horses are exhausted and they can surround us,” Aaron replied grimly. “We got to skin out right now before they get organized.”

  “But our horses can’t go no further.”

  Elmer cuffed George upside his head. “Just do as you’re told, boy.”

  “I ain’t no boy,” George retorted as he slipped backward down the slope before turning. “And quit hitting me, Elmer.”

  Lunging down the side of the tower, trying not to break a leg or an ankle on the rocks that tried to roll out from under him, Aaron hit level ground. Untying his blowing horse, he threw himself into his saddle as his brothers scrambled into theirs. From the fast glance over his shoulder, he saw the posse racing around both sides of the rock formation, trying to cut them off.

  Leaving his reins on his bay’s neck, Aaron fired his rifle at their pursuers. His brothers also fired their guns, two horses belonging to the posse tumbled tails over noses, their riders thrown into the dirt. The rest fell back, slowing their mounts, turning back to see to the injured.

  “Woohoo!” George screamed in triumph. “We’re free!”

  Aaron ground his teeth. “We aren’t in the clear yet, stupid,” he barked. “They’ll be out for blood now, and nothing will stop them this time.”

  “They’ll be after us again within an hour,” Franklin said, his tone grim, dust covering the lenses of his spectacles. “Their horses are better than ours. It won’t take ‘em long to catch up.”

  Aaron slowed his gasping mount, thinking to spare them as much as possible until they could find fresh horses. “Isn’t there a town around here?” he asked.

  Elmer jerked his thumb over his shoulder, scowling. “We just left it.”

  Frustrated, Aaron stood in his stirrups, trying to see what may lie ahead of them. “Surely, there are some ranches where we might steal fresh horses around here.”

  To the north lay a line of low hills. Aaron reined his spent horse in that direction, keeping the animal in a swift trot, always glancing over his shoulder for signs the chase had begun again. He saw nothing but knew he soon would. “Maybe we can see something from up there,” he said, pointing to the hills.

  The heat bore down on him like the weight of an anvil, sweat stinging his eyes as it poured down his face and torso. Thirst blistered his throat. Picking up his canteen from his saddle horn, he tipped his head back to let a trickle of warm water flow down it. Shaking it to determine how much remained within it, he then replaced the cap. “Not enough water,” he grumbled.

  “None of us have enough,” Elmer said, taking a quick drink from his own. “We didn’t think to refill them in town.”

  Swearing under his breath at their lack of foresight before riding out into the vast Texas landscape with money but nothing to keep them alive and a posse on their trail, Aaron spurred his bay up the slope of the hill. Forcing it up over the rocky ground littered with mesquite and prickly pear, he risked a glance below.

  “Dammit,” he muttered. “There they are.”

  The dust cloud followed them toward the hills, moving slower than they had been, yet inexorably catching up to the Dawson Gang. He could truly not estimate how many there were, but if he discounted the ones dead, injured or unhorsed, that left about a dozen gunmen to their four.

  “What are we gonna do, Aaron?” George asked, staring helplessly at the cloud. “Our horses are dead on their feet.”

  “We ride until they are dead. Move out.”

  Blood flecked his spurs as Aaron forced the bay up and up to the crest of the hill, then cantered down the far side. Turning west again, he cantered along the ravine between the hills, always watching over his shoulder, fearing to see horsemen ride over the top behind them. His brothers loped on his heels, their faces tight and grim.

  “I don’t wanna hang,” George moaned, his terror of the posse clear. “They’re gonna hang us for sure.”

  “Stop whining,” Aaron snarled at him, wishing his brother rode with
in striking distance of his fist. “They’ll shoot us deader’n dog meat before they hang us.”

  “I don’t wanna get shot, neither.”

  “Just ride, you moron.”

  On the plains to either side of them, Aaron noticed cattle grazing, too far away to be useful, but their presence told him a ranch might be nearby. Cattle ranches had horses. “Keep an eye out for the ranch,” he ordered his brothers. “It might be close.”

  Behind them, the posse topped the hills, the savage sun winking on the metal of their rifles. In a wave of horseflesh, they rode down into the ravine, closer than ever if Aaron was any judge of distance. Desperate, he gazed around for any kind of cover and saw none. Fear rose from his stomach into his chest, though he kept his face grim, never letting his fear be seen.