by Sivad, Gem
“Here’s the problem,” he told them, holding his shotgun pointed at the two sidekicks with one hand and the purloined Colt .45. aimed steadily at its owner. “My land’s not for sale. I haven’t christened it yet, though. Unless you want me to use your blood, drop your guns.”
The two men flanking the big mouth emptied their holsters fast, making quick work of showing their empty hands. After his suggestion, none of the three were interested in discussing the transaction further. Edge threw the guns into the water, making an impressive plunk when each landed.
“Goddammit, you’ll be sorry—” Red-faced and minus his weapons, the leader stuck the paper in his shirt and started to turn his horse.
“Wait up.” Keeping his Remington trained on the trio, Edge scooped up the coins and carried them to the closest man. “Hold out your hand,” he ordered, slapping the quarters in the man’s open palm. “Now get off my land.”
They didn’t linger, but the day was ruined. He’d never gotten to introductions, but he figured there weren’t so many big-mouthed fools in the area that they wouldn’t meet again. Until he had things settled, it seemed a hell of a lot safer splitting rails at the barn and hauling them where needed, than working on open range.
“Horse shit,” he muttered, gathering his equipment when they’d gone.
Since he needed two-penny nails, he decided to make a trip to the Isaca General Store the next day and stop at the sheriff’s office while he was in town. He’d only been to town once before, and in keeping with his low profile and short wad of money, he didn’t aim to cause a fuss. He just wanted to make the sheriff aware of his recent visitors.
He woke early, pulled on his pants and did chores, then dropped his drawers and climbed into the water trough. It wasn’t a true tub, but it worked. After washing the worst of the dirt off and scraping the rough whiskers from his jaws, he climbed out, wiped dry and pulled on old but clean clothes.
Not wanting to scare any of the locals, he packed his guns out of sight in his saddlebags. The Remington shotgun didn’t seem too threatening to him, so he carried it sheathed and strapped to his back, easy enough to reach if he needed it fast.
He hadn’t acknowledged the loneliness of spending his days building board fence with no one to talk to but his horse. But, small town or not, Isaca had a saloon, a store, a sheriff’s office and a church. Edge looked forward to visiting the first three. It being Saturday, he didn’t worry about the fourth.
CHAPTER FIVE
Collision course…
Saturdays meant the town would be full of shoppers, so with a nod to the easily scandalized, River wore breeches under her skirt. She tied the skirt around her hips to leave her legs unencumbered while she pedaled toward Isaca in the early morning. Her linen duster topped the outfit, too warm for the already heating day, but another sop to respectability.
A smile played around her lips as she spent the entire trip day-dreaming about her night dream. Before she coasted into town, she stopped, hopped down, released her skirts and shrugged out of her coat. Her trim skirt made remounting difficult, but once astride, she pedaled sedately into Isaca and parked in front of the general store.
The post office was housed inside and, needing moral support, River decided to pick up her packages and talk to Beth before she visited Hank Simpson. Her friend clerked and ran the mail service in exchange for her rooms upstairs.
River’s early morning departure had been intended to miss the store’s busy Saturday traffic, but two women were already inside, both waiting on mail at the post office counter. Beth looked up, waving when the bell over the door jangled to announce River’s entrance.
River browsed the aisles of the well-stocked mercantile and waited for Beth to be alone. When the customers left, her friend came out from behind the counter, carrying a mug of coffee and a washcloth.
“Your packages have arrived.” Beth sipped her coffee and handed River the cloth. “Dust on your face, missy,” she said, grinning mischievously.
River dutifully wiped her cheeks, grimacing at the dirt. “I’ll wash my face if you don’t mind.”
Beth waved her toward the back where she kept a pitcher and bowl handy. River used the sliver of lilac scented soap to make herself presentable, inhaling the fragrance appreciatively.
“I love the smell of this batch of soap,” she told her friend when she returned to the front of the store. “If you make more of this recipe, double the amount I usually order.”
“If I doubled the batch of every scent you enjoy, you wouldn’t have room for your paint and pencils at home. You must have started early this morning.” Beth handed River coffee with a question. “Anxious to get your art supplies?”
“Yes, I’ll take them with me, but I’m here to see the sheriff.”
“Oh no, what’s wrong?”
“Amos, acting upon my instructions, informed Emmett Price that our lease with him won’t be renewed. “
“What did that cretin do?” Beth had had words with Emmett Price on more than one occasion when he’d refused to pay for goods he’d taken out of the store.
“Amos’s arm is bruised from his wrist to above his elbow where Emmett twisted it.” River’s stomach clenched thinking about the injury. Amos could outwork any hand on the ranch, but he was past sixty and no match for a hulking brute like Emmett Price.
“I keep a gun under the counter just for him. More than once, he’s tried to jump me. The last time it happened, I pulled out the rifle and threatened to blow his itty-bitty balls off.”
“Why itty-bitty?” River asked
“One of the many things I learned being married,” Beth answered “The size of a man’s stones somehow equates to his masculinity.” Gazing into her cup, she murmured, “No doubt, Emmett’s are the size of raisins. I hate that man.”
“No more than I,” River assured her. “Now, I have to go see Hank Simpson and try to strengthen a different part of his anatomy, his backbone.”
Hank was sheriff because to have a post office the town had to have a sheriff and no one else wanted the job. For the occasional fist fight or disagreement in the local bar, Hank did fine. But, he avoided trouble and that meant he disappeared every time Emmett Price came to town.
“He won’t do anything.”
“It’s a formality. The original lease will expire this week and I’m not renewing. Emmett’s been selling access to water Prescott’s have always provided free, so he was in breach of his agreement even before the expiration date arrived. I knew it and waited because, selfishly, I had a large commission for Austin Galleries to complete. The paintings are dry and ready to be boxed for shipping and, for Emmett, time is up.”
“So what happens now?”
“Hank has to serve Emmett legal notice to move his cows. Then take a copy of the notice to the county seat to be recorded. At that point, the law will instruct Emmett. I have the right to move his cows and he has to pay me for any extra days his beef eat Prescott grass and drink Prescott water.”
When the bell over the door announced another customer, River, set her cup on the counter, and said goodbye to Beth. Carrying her packages outside, she put them into her satchel. Horses and wagons had begun to arrive in town, so she wheeled her bicycle into the alley and leaned it against the mercantile wall before she crossed the street, dreading the visit to the sheriff because she already knew he’d put up a fuss.
Beth had been correct, Hank had no desire to rile Emmett Price.
“Nope, can’t do it, River. If Amos wants to sign a complaint, I’ll look into it. But it’s up to him. As it is, it seems real strange him making an agreement and you taking it back. The way Emmett tells it, him and Amos get along fine. It’s you being vindictive over that thing that happened when you were both kids. ”
Maybe Hank was right. Maybe she had been seething with unrequited rage for over twenty years and would like to smash Emmett’s head against a brick wall. That didn’t matter. This wasn’t revenge, it was business.
“Hank, you’d be better served to read the lease instead of listening to gossip. During hard times like the current drought, we’ve always given our neighbors the right to use Prescott water and that right is written into any contract we negotiate. Emmett fenced off the access and is charging ranchers to bring their stock to drink.”
She wasn’t telling him anything he hadn’t already heard. She didn’t know why Amos had rented the land to Emmett. Any time she questioned that decision it erupted into a quarrel as it had last night. Needless to say, Hank was right. Her foreman had no intentions of pursuing the current assault. Amos had even done his best last evening to talk her out of doing anything.
“Let sleeping dogs lie,” he’d said.
“Emmett isn’t a dog. He’s a snake.”
“Then don’t rile the vipers,” he’d snarled, anger staining his forehead red.
“I wasn’t bullied by Emmett Price as a child and I won’t be now.” She’d gone to bed angry, put herself to sleep with delicious dreams of Edge Grayson and wakened early this morning, feeling safe and determined.
Amos wouldn’t do anything about Emmett’s bullying, and Sheriff Simpson didn’t want to. But she’d learned more at school than how to paint. She read the law books inherited from her daddy and prepared her own complaint. She hid her smile as she instructed Hank in how to do his job.
“Mr. Price has been verbally notified by my foreman to remove his cattle from my land. Now you, or your delegate, have to deliver a written notice to him and take a copy to be recorded at the county seat.”
Hank had never claimed to know the law when he was hired. He shrugged and shifted on his feet looking daunted by the task she’d given him. “Can’t take it today or tomorrow. It’ll be Monday before I’ll be able to write it up and then deliver it all the way out to his place.”
“Here’s the notice.” River handed Hank two envelopes, each containing one of the copies she’d penned. “Maybe he’ll come to town, today and you can serve him here and save yourself a trip.”
Relieved to have accomplished the unpleasant task, she left Hank frowning over the notice, stepped outside, and almost stumbled. Edge Grayson rode down the middle of the street toward the sheriff’s office. He wore the brim of his black hat pulled low, hiding his features.
River stalled in the doorway, hungrily devouring him with her gaze. He sat his horse well, his back straight, elbows tucked in, and his heels down. Wearing no side arms or noticeable weaponry other than the butt of the shotgun protruding from a scabbard on his back, he definitely didn’t give the appearance of a gunslinger coming to town. Anticipation hummed in her heart and excitement zinged lower down.
Edge stopped in front of the sheriff’s office, dismounted and tied his horse. River had spied on him so often, painted him so intimately, she almost felt as if she’d known him forever. His foot lifted to step on the boardwalk in front of the sheriff’s office and she still dithered, deliberating over whether to introduce herself or not.
Thank God I washed my face. She straightened, squaring her shoulders, trying to maximize her short stature as she readied her welcome. Then she remembered the first day. He’ll hear my voice, maybe recognize me. She’d seen him bathe—naked.
He strode to the door, pausing, no doubt waiting for her to move aside and clear a path. River held her ground long enough to gaze up at him.
Thick black lashes emphasizing the fine set and shape of burnt umber eyes with humor lines creasing the corners.
“Ma’am,” he drawled, interrupting her inspection. His deep voice seductively stroked her senses with only one word.
River’s lips parted but at the last moment, she chose the coward’s way, remaining mute. A Saturday shopper, harrumphing when she had to step around them, passed the sheriff’s office. River felt an almost physical loss when she disconnected from his gaze, moving aside so that he could enter the building.
She heaved a sigh, longing for something she couldn’t or wouldn’t contemplate. When the door closed behind him, she crossed the street, intending to retrieve her bicycle. But instead of being propped against the alley wall where she’d left it, the Rover rested on its side in front of the store. Emmett Price stood next to it, watching her approach.
“Damn shame, River.” He smirked, gazing down at the twisted frame at his feet.
“I hope you can afford to repair what you’ve damaged,” she said calmly, bending to examine the Rover.
Show no fear. The street had emptied. Even the lady who’d squeezed past her and Edge had ducked out of sight. Anyone witnessing the confrontation did so from behind curtained windows.
“Why, hell, I didn’t do it.” Emmett wore an expression of mock innocence. “Charlie, you see who stepped on Miss Prescott’s property?”
“Nope boss, didn’t see a thing,” the other man drawled.
“Next time it might be best to keep your toys picked up.” Emmett loomed over her, threatening in his stance.
“Mr. Price, my foreman says he’s extended you another month of time to move your livestock from Prescott property. Consider that rescinded. I’ve already visited the sheriff to let him know that your lease has been terminated. He’s taking appropriate measures.”
“Now River, I told Amos I can’t—”
“I’ve found use for the land.” River remained calm as he tried to goad her. Before she could retrieve the items spilling from her satchel, he used his toe, nudging the bundle of brushes farther from her reach.
“You still dabblin’ with your paints, River?” He kicked her brushes toward the other man. “Charlie, pick those up for Miss Prescott.”
River tried to step around Emmett to pick up the bundle. He blocked her path. She didn’t need to hear the crunch to know what she’d lost.
“Damn, Emmett. I stepped on the little bitty things.”
She didn’t speak to the man named Charlie, concentrating her message on Emmett to make certain he understood.
“Move your cattle now, or I’ll have my ranch hands move them for you.” Rage sizzled through River’s veins as she turned from him, walking toward Hank Simpson’s office. But terror replaced her fury as she felt Emmett behind her.
In broad daylight and the middle of town, he won’t do anything. She assured herself she was safe from him, but it was difficult, maintaining a steady pace when every instinct screamed run.
“Tell Amos our deal’s off if you go messing with my lease.”
What deal? “Leave Amos alone.” River whirled, finding Emmett so close on her heels she almost ran into him. “It’s a matter for the law now. You’ll not get another drop of Prescott water or blade of our grass.” She only wished she could control the tremor in her voice as she delivered her message.
“We’ll see.” Emmett grinned slyly, offering her the destroyed pencils. When she didn’t take the bait, he grabbed her hand, slapping the broken wood on her palm, closing his fist around hers. River shuddered, feeling splinters piercing her flesh as she struggled to free herself.
“Think about it, River. You didn’t grow much since the last time I had hold of you. But I did.” Emmett laughed and tightened his grip. “I could crush your fingers one by one; squeeze your hand until every bone is broken. You won’t be doing any painting or selling any fancy art then, will you?”
“Ma’am you need some help?”
She looked desperately over her shoulder. Edge Grayson stood outside the sheriff’s door next to Hank.
“You don’t need any help from him, do you River?” Emmett increased the pressure on her hand.
But she could tell from the way Emmett stared past her, Edge Grayson hadn’t waited. When Emmett released her arm, reaching for his gun, it was her turn to grab his wrist and hold on, giving Edge time to reach them. In moments, her tormentor was sprawled in the dirt, muttering threats.
River gasped for breath and shook so hard she thought she might fall down. She ignored the splinter in her palm and flexed her fingers, making certain nothing was broken. The big
gest sliver of wood imbedded in the fleshy part of her palm came out easily. But the spot of red oozing from her torn skin made her lightheaded.
“River, you alright?” Belatedly, Hank remembered he was sheriff, calling his question, from his office door, where he’d retreated.
“Charlie, shoot the bastard,” Emmett yelled to the other man, using the sheriff’s question as a distraction.
“Charlie, put your gun away or I’ll blow a hole in your boss.” Edge’s words, coated in icy threat, bore no resemblance to the previous gruff humor River had heard in his voice.
Calm as could be, Edge aimed his shotgun at Emmett’s stomach and said, “Mister, I’ve gotten the drop on you twice now. I figure you might want to pursue a life other than crime.”
Without looking at River he said, “Ma’am, you’d be best served inside with the sheriff.” When she remained frozen in place, he put his free hand on her shoulder, gently tucking her behind him.
She resisted the urge to lay her head against his back. River felt safer standing behind Edge than hiding with the sheriff in his office. Her hand tingled, aching. Fear and rage magnified her senses making her heady with relief.
She realized she’d been holding her breath and inhaled deeply, drawing in the aroma of Edge’s male musk along with necessary air. Pine, gun oil, soap, leather… she memorized his scent, trying to control the outrageous thumping of her heart.
My hand is not broken. My fingers will still hold a brush. As she recognized the magnitude of Emmett’s threat, a second wave of horror swamped her. The sound of harsh breathing cut through the stillness of the day.
Realizing the noise came from her, she stifled herself, breathing shallow, trying to dispel her dizziness. She reached for support and touched Edge’s belt. Need took over. Her fingers curled around the leather, not stopping until they were hidden inside the waistband of his pants.
Some primal instinct made her hold on. She could see the heat shimmers rising in the air around them. Her brain narrated her experience as she fought to stay upright.