“How is Tosahwi faring?” Tyler asked as he dismounted, holding the reins to both horses.
“Healing fast,” Olivia replied cheerfully. “He doesn’t need laudanum for the pain anymore.”
“When I see his father,” Tyler said as Charlene walked down the steps of the porch, “I will let him know.”
“Now don’t you be late for supper,” Olivia warned. “I’m planning a nice pot roast.”
“Never, Mother,” Charlene replied, rubbing the gray mare’s nose.
“I’d be a fool to be late for that,” Tyler added. He held the horse’s bridle as Charlene swung expertly into her saddle. Handing the reins to her, he said, “I reckon I don’t have to worry about your riding skills.”
Charlene grinned. “I learned to ride not long after I learned to walk. My father insisted on it.”
Tyler vaulted into his own saddle and tipped his hat to Olivia. “Ma’am.”
Charlene nudged her gray into a trot, Tyler following, heading out toward the edge of town. Riding up beside her, he said, “I heard about what happened to your father and brothers. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” Charlene replied, giving him a small smile. “It was very hard. Losing them, the ranch, everything. My mother, well, it’s been difficult for her as you can imagine.”
“No, I can’t imagine,” Tyler said. “I can’t imagine what you both have gone through at all.”
“Neither of us will ever be the same again, I suppose.” She gazed over at him, her smile fading. “Mother used to be such a confident woman, strong, proud of her family, the ranch. She loved my father so much, adored my brothers. What happened broke her into pieces, Tyler.”
“I reckon she’s stronger than you think,” he commented. “Look at what she’s doing for the boy.”
“That is a minor miracle in itself.” She gazed out over the rocky hills covered in mesquite and cedar, patches of prickly pear dotting the landscape. In the distance, he noticed a few head of cattle grazing amidst the thorny bushes. “I am so grateful for you bringing Tosahwi to us.”
Tyler grinned. “Actually, I brought him to town. You took him in.”
“I suppose that is correct,” Charlene said, laughing.
Tyler liked her laughter, hearing it, observing how her humor lit up her face and her eyes. He liked her, enjoyed her company, relished the sound of her voice when she spoke. I don’t suppose there’s much I don’t like about her. Among all the women who flung themselves at him for his good looks, never had he found among them one like Charlene.
“You’re different than other girls,” he said as her laughter died away.
Charlene eyed him askance. “How so?”
“Well, for one, the way I appear hasn’t turned you into a blathering fool.”
“I left my blathering fool days behind after I turned ten,” she replied with a grin. “As for your looks, yes, I admire them. Yet, there are more important things about people than their attractiveness.”
“Some people care only about that.”
Charlene nodded. “I know. But I prefer to search for a person’s honesty, compassion, integrity, and intelligence over what they might look like.”
“Perhaps that is what I like about you,” he said. “You see beyond my face. Most other girls couldn’t care less if I had anything at all in my head or heart.”
“And that makes them foolish.”
Tyler scarcely felt the sun beating down on his body, or the sweat trickling down under his shirt during the hour or so that they rode. Yet, when they traveled close by the Medina River and the shade trees along its banks, he suggested they pause for water and rest. Charlene agreed with a smile.
“I am a bit parched,” she admitted, reining her horse to follow his bay.
Dismounting at the water’s edge, Tyler waded in, leading his horse, pleasantly surprised when Charlene waded in as well. She bent, her skirts wet, as she scooped water to her mouth with the palm of her hand. Both horses drank thirstily. Tyler only noticed how dry his own throat was after he sucked his own drink down.
“Now that tastes mighty good,” he said, throwing the cool water over his face and head.
“Mind if we sit in the shade for a while?” Charlene asked, leading her horse from the river.
“I was about to suggest it myself.”
Tying their horses to the lower branches of the cedar, Tyler and Charlene sat on the moist, cool ground, watching the river flow smoothly past. “This land is so beautiful,” Charlene commented, gazing across the Medina to the green hills on the far side.
“Much prettier than west Texas,” Tyler replied with a chuckle. “But this place has nothing on Colorado for beauty.”
She turned her head to look at him. “You’re from Colorado?”
He nodded. “Mostly. I was born in Missouri, went west when I was eighteen to make my fortune. Haven’t made it yet, however.”
Charlene went back to gazing out over the land. “Do you still have family?”
“Nope. Parents passed away from the flu a few years before that,” Tyler said. “No brothers or sisters.”
Charlene was silent for a time. “So, you know what it means to lose someone.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tyler replied. “I do.”
She smiled, even though she didn’t look at him. “It’s nice to have someone understand what real loss is, Tyler.”
His memory tripped over Mary, and for a long moment he, too, remained silent. “I expect that’s quite true. Grief, real grief that breaks your heart, isn’t something that just anyone can share with you.”
“Maybe one day you’ll tell me about yours.”
Charlene turned her head, gazing deep into his eyes. “You understand me in a way no one, not even my mother, can. Someday, I’d like to understand you.”
“I think you already do, Charlene.”
“Maybe. But you are also still very much a mystery.”
Now Tyler gazed out over the river running deep and wide in front of them. “I’m a simple man with simple wants. Nothing very mysterious about that.”
Charlene stood up, dusted off her skirts, and bent to examine her still wet hem. “I think we should start riding back. Mother will be annoyed if we’re late.”
“I wouldn’t want your mother angry on my account,” Tyler said, rising also.
Leading their horses out from under the small grove of trees, Tyler once again held the gray mare’s bridle as Charlene put her foot in the stirrup to mount. Instantly, she cried out at the same time he heard the gunshots. The gray mare reared, her front knees knocking Tyler in the chest, throwing him violently to the ground. Charlene, too, fell flat on her back, the horse snorted in panic before lunging forward.
Chapter Eleven
Without the posse on their tails, the Dawson Gang rode easily westward, sparing their mounts, stopping to sleep in their bedrolls beside a fire every night. George’s rifle dropped a yearling calf as they rode across a rancher’s property. After butchering it, the Dawson brothers roasted chunks of beef over the fire, eating until they could eat no more.
Four days later, Aaron led them into the town of El Paso near the border with Mexico. Like many border towns, Mexicans as well as Americans drank in the saloons, bartered in the shops, talked in groups on street corners or rode through the town. Their huge sombreros on their head and the wide saddle horns on their saddles marked the vaqueros, the Mexican cowboys.
“That hotel there,” Aaron said, pointing, “looks good. It’s right next to a saloon.”
“George better not gamble away all our money,” Franklin groused as they reined in at the indicated hotel.
“He can gamble away his share,” Aaron replied, dismounting. “Then he can get himself evicted from the hotel and starve.”
“I don’t always lose,” George complained. “I win sometimes.”
“Not often enough,” Franklin snapped.
After dumping their saddlebags in their rooms, Aaron led his brothers down the s
treet to find the livery stable at the end of town. Aaron eyed the sheriff’s office as they rode by. “Tomorrow, we’ll pay a call on our old pal in there,” he said.
“What if he has papers on us?” George asked. “He might throw us in jail.”
“Of course, he has papers on us,” Franklin snapped in an undertone. “Every sheriff and federal marshal in the western United States knows about us.”
“Then how –”
“We catch him by surprise,” Aaron, growled, glaring at his brother. “Now, pipe down about it.”
George sulked. “I was just asking.”
After leaving their mounts in the care of the livery stable, they ambled back up the street with the heat in El Paso almost as bad as it was further east. Yet, this was the desert, without the humidity of San Antonio, and even George stopped complaining about it. The dry air cooled the sweat from their bodies almost immediately.
Inside the dimness of the saloon, Aaron led his brothers to a table near an open window, thankful for the light breeze that dried the sweat on his head and face as he dropped his hat on the back of his chair. Drinking their beers, Aaron glanced around the other occupants of the place. No one paid them any heed at all save the barmaid that served them and the ladies of the night who eyed them with speculation.
“We might need to rest our horses a day or so,” Aaron said, his voice quiet. “Once we have our answers from our friend, we’ll have to ride hard and fast again.”
“This time,” Elmer suggested, “let’s skin out at night. That way, no one will know which way we went.”
Aaron nodded. “Good plan. We’ll have our chat late, then ride out, leaving the sheriff tied up. By the time he’s found, we’ll be long gone.”
“So that gives me time to play some cards,” George added, watching a game in progress at a table nearby.
“You’ll get your share,” Aaron said, his tone light. “And no more. Nothing for food, beer, or your hotel. Got it?”
George nodded, still petulant. “I got it. Nor will I share my winnings with you all.”
“You’re not likely to win,” Franklin replied with a grin. “So, we got nothing to worry about.”
Two nights later, as the hours fled toward dawn and the town of El Paso slept, Aaron and his brothers led their saddled horses, saddlebags stuffed with supplies, down the empty street. The temperature had dropped until the night air felt comfortable, and Aaron enjoyed the night breeze rifling through his hair.
During their stay, they learned that Sheriff Len Potter slept in a back room of his office and the jail. Tying their horses to the hitching rail, Aaron made a shushing gesture, his finger to his lips, as though his brothers were about to speak or make a noise. He gently tested the handle of the darkened office and found it unlocked.
Elmer carried lengths of stout rope in his hands as they slipped like shadows into the sheriff’s office, closing the door silently behind them. Aaron’s eyes had long since adjusted to the dark, and he saw well enough to not trip over any furniture as he led the way toward the back.
Len Potter’s snores informed him of exactly where he was, Aaron paused at the door to peer in. The sheriff lay on a cot, dressed only in his trousers and a white undershirt. His rifle leaned against a table next to his bed, and his revolver sat in its holster on his belt on the floor beside him. Expecting that the sheriff would have his arms nearby, Aaron had taken that into account when making his plans.
He and his brothers fanned out, their boots making no noise on the wood floor, surrounding the cot and the man sleeping on it. Hefting a heavy towel, Aaron gave the signal to pounce. Lunging on top of the sheriff, Aaron covered his face with the towel at the same instant his brothers seized his arms and legs, Elmer half-sitting on his chest. Potter woke instantly, fighting, but blinded, his limbs held down, he stood no chance against the four of them.
“Roll him over,” Aaron ordered, his voice low. “Tie him up, hands behind his back.”
The towel, and Aaron’s strong hand over the struggling man’s mouth, effectively gagged him. Rolling him onto his side, Elmer forced Potter’s hands behind his back, tied them, then also bound his thighs and ankles together. Aaron leaned forward to speak in Potter’s ear.
“I’m gonna take the towel off, and we’ll sit you in a chair. You yell out, you’re dead. All we want is some answers. Got it?”
Potter nodded under the towel. Aaron withdrew it, to find the sheriff glaring up at them. Elmer and Franklin lifted him with their hands under his arms as George pulled a chair over. Sitting him into it, Elmer quickly tied him to it.
Showing Potter his gun, Aaron said, “Like I told you, answer our questions and no one dies. But you yell out, I’ll put a bullet in your head.”
“Who the hell are you?” Potter demanded.
“Where did the federal marshals imprison our brother?”
Even in the dark, the sheriff’s expression appeared confused, his brows lowered over his eyes. “I reckon I ought to know who your brother is.”
“Benjamin Dawson.”
Comprehension flooded Potter’s face. “I shoulda known. You’re the Dawson Gang.”
“So where is Benji?” Aaron asked. “What prison?”
Potter shook his head. “I have no idea, truly. The marshals kept their mouths shut after his trial. Told no one where they were taking him. I thought he shoulda hanged after what he did to that little gal.”
“That was an accident,” Elmer snapped. “He didn’t mean to kill her.”
“Jury looked at it differently,” Potter retorted. “He was found guilty of murder.”
“That don’t matter,” Aaron went on, waving at Elmer to be quiet. “Why wouldn’t the marshals say where they were taking him?”
Potter curled his lip. “I expect just so you boys can’t go breaking him out.”
Aaron nodded. “That makes sense. So now, for my second question: where is Tyler Price?”
“What do you want him for?” Potter demanded. “He don’t know where your brother is any more than I do.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” Aaron replied. “Where’d he go?”
“East, I think,” Potter replied, shrugging. “San Antonio, maybe. He said something once about moving to old Mexico and live out his days on a beach somewhere. So, he might have gone south, crossed the border.”
“Then I expect we’ll cross the border then, too,” Aaron said, rolling the towel. “It’s only a few miles from here, and we’ll be safe from the likes of you.”
“You know the Mexicans don’t want your kind in their territory,” Potter sneered. “They’ll hang you just as fast as we will.”
“They gotta catch us first.”
Aaron shoved the towel into Potter’s mouth, then tied it into a rough knot behind his head. “That’ll keep you quiet,” he said. “No need to kill you, since there’s nothing you can do to stop us from going south. I’m sure you’ll be found in the morning.”
Muffled sounds emerged from Potter’s mouth, but they weren’t loud enough to carry to the street outside. Leaving him there to fume and stew, tied to the chair, Aaron led his brothers out of the office, shutting the door behind him. The street was still empty and silent as they untied their horses from the rail and mounted up.
Walking their horses to the edge of town, they then broke into a trot once out of earshot. The moon sank toward the west, the stars wheeling in the heavens above them. “So which way we going, Aaron?” George asked. “East or south?”
“East,” Aaron replied. “There’s no way Price would have gone to old Mexico.”
“He might have, Aaron,” Elmer said. “I remember the rumors about him liking to live down that way.”
Aaron shook his head. “We’ll head for San Antonio first. “We’ll find him there. And when we do, we’ll make him pay for what he did to Benji. That boy will die hard.”
Chapter Twelve
Her arm burning as though it had been lit on fire, Charlene struggled to sit up, gaspi
ng, her head spinning. Winded from her fall, struggling to draw in a breath, she clutched her left arm with her right hand. Looking down, she discovered her sleeve soaked in blood. She remembered hearing the gunfire before the pain hit and the mare bolted.
I’ve been shot.
Looking around, she found Tyler lying on the ground, either dead or unconscious. He lay so still, panic leaped down her throat. “Oh, no,” she moaned. “Tyler.”
Staggering awkwardly to her feet, tripping over the hem of her dress, she fell to her knees beside him. “Tyler?”
An Unconventional Bride For The Rancher (Historical Western Romance) Page 10