The Tribute

by Beth Williamson

  Moving the cattle only took an hour, an hour that Brett would treasure. In those sixty minutes, he became a cattle owner. Finally. The docile cattle moved well, with few strays. Brett was glad he’d purchased Casey’s cattle. It had definitely been the right decision as they were obviously good stock. Who knew what King’s cattle would be like? Probably as ornery and difficult as their owner. The men finally reached the grazing land of the Square One. The creek sat on the east side of it, only a short distance from the property line of the Dawson ranch.

  The grass was thick and sweet and the water constantly flowed no matter the rainfall amount. The creek itself was fed by the mountains so it was cool and crisp water, perfect for his new herd. He thanked Slim and Poke who headed back to Casey’s ranch. Kincaid rode up slowly, a sour expression on his dirty face. The filth coated him from his hat to his boots.

  Brett tried to look innocent. “What did you think of your first cattle drive?”

  “I’d rather have a tooth yanked.”

  “I think you did great. We didn’t lose any cattle and we hardly had any strays off the path.”

  Kincaid swiped a hand down his face and glared at the dirt on his hand. “So this is why I was at the back, huh?”

  Brett shrugged. “The greenhorns always ride drag.”

  “Well thank you very much, Mr. Malloy. I’m gonna go take advantage of that creek over there.”

  Brett gestured widely with his arms. “Feel free.”

  As Kincaid rode toward the water to get clean, Brett gazed out over his herd, his cattle, and felt a sense of pride he’d never had before. Almost made him want to write a letter to Trevor to say thank you. If he and Trevor hadn’t gotten in that fight, Brett probably would have never decided to move to the Square One. Funny how life changed so quickly. One never knew what was around the next corner.

  Brett made sure the cattle were settled and taught the basics to Mason and Kincaid on what to do. Although it wasn’t necessary, they decided to spend the first two days keeping watch twenty-four hours to make sure the cattle were settled comfortably. After that, with the abundance of grass and water, the cattle were not likely to wander far without provocation.

  They would just need to check on them every four to six hours, and with only a fifteen-minute ride from the house and barn, it would be an easy job. One Kincaid and Mason could handle even if they didn’t have much cowboy experience. He needed to brand the cattle; unfortunately his brand hadn’t come in yet. Keeping a close count was important as well.

  Mason couldn’t count so the job fell to Kincaid and Brett to monitor the number in the herd. When Brett finally made it back to his bed at the Square One, he was beyond exhausted. It was a good exhaustion, the sweetest sense of tired he’d ever felt. As he lay in his new bed he thought about all that had happened over the last month and he realized life had given him his chance with the ranch.

  He was grabbing onto that chance with both hands and wasn’t about to let go for anyone or anything. He’d fight King and whoever Parker Samson was. The ranch belonged to Brett. The next best thing would be to have someone to share it with. Brett fell asleep with Alex’s image dancing behind his eyes.

  ———

  Alex hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. She and Ug had walked to the post office to fetch the mail as they did each day. It was early on a beautiful summer morning and the feel of the sun on her face was invigorating. As they walked down the wood-planked sidewalk, Ug stopped and sniffed something every few moments, then happily bounded after her with his tail wagging. She smiled at his antics.

  Something caught Ug’s attention because her faithful pooch bolted toward an alleyway between the general store and the post office.

  “Ug, come back here.”

  The dog chose not to listen to her. Alex glanced around but no heroes were to be found. She was alone on the street. With a sigh, she headed into the gloomy space filled with crates. The smell of urine and vomit assaulted her nose and she pulled a handkerchief out to press it to her face. What in the world had happened here?

  “I’m telling you, this is the plan. You do it or I’ll shove you back under that rock you were living under so hard you’ll never come out again.” The harsh whisper from behind a large stack of crates made Alex stop in her tracks.

  “I don’t got no money to pay for a lawyer,” came a whiny reply.

  “I’ll pay for the lawyer, you piece of shit. You just stick to your story, got it?” A thump and a groan alerted Alex to the fact that more than just a conversation was happening. Someone was getting thrashed.

  Fingers of dread marched up her spine at the hate and vehemence in the reply. The deeper voice was oddly familiar, but because of the whisper, it was hard to identify.

  Suddenly she heard a bark and Ug raced toward her.

  “What the hell was that? Someone’s listening.”

  Alex picked up the edge of her skirt and ran, heart pounding and the sharp taste of fear on her tongue. The sunny street seemed miles away and she wondered how she’d walked so far into the alley without noticing.

  “Get her!”

  Only a few more feet and she’d be free. Ug ran by her side, a comforting presence in a terrifying moment. Just as she reached for freedom, a hard yank on her hair pulled her up short and back into the darkness of the alley. Pain radiated through her head as she was dragged back down the narrow passage in the dirt.

  When he finally stopped, a thin, weaselly looking face loomed over hers. “She’s a pretty one, eh? I’ll teach her to listen to other people’s talk.”

  Ug barked, growling and snapping as she tried desperately to push the man off her. A sharp fist to her jaw filled her mouth with blood as stars swirled in her vision. His weight pushed down on her chest.

  She could only wonder what these men would do to her as a hand closed around her throat. Ug growled again then was cut off abruptly. Alex pushed and shoved as hard as she could but soon blackness enveloped her.

  Her last conscious thought was of Brett.

  Brett help me. Oh God I need you.

  Chapter Eight

  Brett woke up before the sun, his heart and stomach jittery. It had been a long week since he’d seen Alex, but it was more than that. He needed to see her, touch her.

  He missed her. Him, loner Brett, the Malloy who didn’t seem to need anyone. He wasn’t ready to figure out why, although one day he’d have to. As he rode into town, his mind filled with images of Alex in everything from a dress to nothing at all. His pants grew tight at the images dancing through his brain and he had to tuck them away or risk being the laughingstock of Cheshire.

  He arrived in town around nine in the morning. The street bustled with wagons. He tipped his hat to a cowboy he knew as he tied off Rusty at the hitching post in front of the post office. After he went inside and posted a letter for Kincaid, he heard a faint whine that sounded like a dog.

  He stood there for a few moments, but it didn’t happen again. As he put his foot in the stirrup, he heard the whine again from the alley. He sighed and ran a hand down his face. His mama always taught him to help those in need, even those of the four-legged variety.

  Brett tied Rusty off again and walked toward the alley between the post office and the store.

  “Hello?” He peered into the gloom, but didn’t see much of anything. A small scraping sound tickled his ears, followed by the whine again. He fished a match out of his pocket and struck it on the building beside him.

  After his eyes adjusted to the small flame, he spotted the dog dragging itself down the alley with bloody fur and what appeared to be a few missing teeth.

  Brett kneeled down slowly, careful not to startle the poor thing. When he got closer, he recognized the dog as Ug. The match burned his fingers and he cursed, dropping it.

  Sweet Jesus.

  Alex’s dog was near death in an alley. He reached out his hand and the dog sniffed it carefully. He gave a few half-hearted licks.

  “Good boy. Now let me get you home
to your mistress so she can fix you up.” Brett gently scooped the dog into his arms. He walked out to the street. As he lifted the dog up onto Rusty, canine teeth closed on his biceps. “Ouch. What are you doing, Ug? I’m trying to rescue you.”

  The dog whined again, this time louder, followed by a short, painful howl.

  “What is it? Is it Alex?”

  The dog woofed and licked its bloody nose.

  Brett’s entire body snapped tight. Alex must be in the alley, maybe injured like Ug, or possibly… Nope, not even finishing that thought. His practical side took over and forced him to quell the panic that rose like a tidal wave inside him. He lay the dog down on the sidewalk.

  “You stay right here with my horse, Ug. I’ll be right back.”

  The dog whined and his dark eyes seemed to bore right through Brett. He took off running down the alley, lighting a match as he went. He cursed when the first one snuffed out because he was moving too fast. Taking a deep, calming breath, Brett lit his last match and stepped further into the alley.

  “Alex?”

  The only sounds he could hear were coming from the store’s loading dock. The alley was dead silent. He stepped further in, his nose wrinkling at the rancid smell. The Goodsons really needed to clean out this area. His foot connected with something soft and sheer dread blossomed in his stomach. The match went out.

  Brett knelt down, arms outstretched in the shadows and found a warm body. Oh God, oh God. He’d recognize her scent anywhere, even in a dim alley surrounded by the scent of shit and piss.

  “Lex, honey, I’m here.” His voice cracked on the last word.

  When he touched her face, he felt the soft puff of breath on his skin. Sweet relief flowed from the realization she was alive. In what condition, he had no idea. As if handling a precious doll, he lifted her in his arms. She was boneless, seemingly lifeless, but he knew better. He felt her heart beating against him and thanked God over and over for that damn dog Ug.

  When he reached the end of the alley, he didn’t want to look at her, but he knew he had to. Blood covered the right side of her face and her neck was swollen and purpled with bruises. Her shirt was ripped open, the tender skin beneath scored with more bruises and scratches.

  Absolute fury overtook him at what had been done to her, which was better than bawling like a baby, his second impulse. Now he knew how Trevor felt when Adelaide had been shot. Love, it seemed, turned a man into a mass of emotional havoc.

  Peter Goodson came out of the store. “Brett? What happened?”

  “Someone beat the hell out of Doctor Brighton. I need to get her over to her clinic right now. Can you hold her while I mount the horse?”

  “Of course. My God, look at her.”

  Brett didn’t want to, but his eyes couldn’t seem to look away. He placed Ug in front of the saddle then mounted and gestured for Peter. The older man lifted Alex up into his arms.

  “Do you want me to get the sheriff?”

  “Yes. Send him over to the Brightons. I only hope Byron is ready to treat his own daughter.”

  Brett rode as quickly, but as gently, as he could. He didn’t want to jar either one of them any more than necessary, but the ten-minute slow walk seemed to take ten hours. Her blood dripped onto his shirt and pants, and the swelling in her neck seemed to grow each second.

  He finally arrived at the Brighton’s house, his worry making him mad with the sensation he should be doing something for her.

  “Byron!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “Byron!”

  Old Doc Brighton came hustling out of the house, a napkin tucked under his chin and crumbs on his lips. When he caught sight of Alex, his face drained of all color. He stumbled toward the horse.

  “What happened?”

  “Somebody beat her and damned near strangled her. Can you handle her weight while I dismount?”

  The older man nodded, tears standing in his eyes as he took his daughter into his arms. Brett jumped off the horse and took her from her frail-looking father.

  “Take Ug inside too.”

  Byron nodded and spoke softly to the dog as he lifted him up and they walked into the clinic. Brett headed for the examining room with Byron on his heels. As he laid Alex down on the table, the old doctor found a comfortable blanket in the corner for the dog.

  “You wait here until I can get to you, boy.” He scratched the dog’s lopsided ears with trembling hands.

  “Have you been drinking?” Brett asked before he could think twice about it.

  Byron’s gaze narrowed. “Haven’t had a drop in almost a month. I wouldn’t treat my daughter if I wasn’t sober.”

  That was good enough for Brett. “What can I do?”

  “Go get some hot water from the reserve on the stove, and wash your hands thoroughly.”

  The old doctor must have had some medical spark left in him because he went to work immediately on his daughter. He’d seen Alex work before, but never her father. Byron had precision and skill. Brett nearly danced in place, waiting, hoping for something to do. When Sheriff Jim Weissman showed up, he gratefully went to speak to him.

  Jim had been friends with the Malloy brothers growing up and still attended family gatherings. A fair man, he’d been sheriff for more than eight years in Cheshire, a good lawman the town was lucky to have. His brown eyes were full of concern as he sat with Brett in the waiting room.

  “Brett, what the hell happened?”

  “I have no idea. I had just gotten there to mail a letter when I heard the dog. Then I found her and God, I don’t remember. I just got here as fast as I could.” His hands shook as the full weight of what happened to Alex hit him like a hammer blow. If he hadn’t heard Ug, hadn’t been there at that precise moment, she might have died.

  His stomach cramped and his breakfast threatened to make a reappearance. God, life was too short to waste time. As soon as she woke up, he’d tell her how he felt and ask her to marry him again. This time he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  “Did you see anybody?”

  He’d almost forgotten Jim was there. “No, I didn’t see anyone near the alley. I did see Poke from Casey’s ranch as he was leaving the store with an armful of stuff.”

  Jim nodded. “That’s what Peter Goodson told me too. A regular morning.”

  “Who would hurt her, Jim?” Brett knew his friend wouldn’t have the answer but he needed to ask it anyway.

  Jim put his hand on Brett’s shoulder. “I don’t know, but I’m damn sure going to find out.”

  “Brett?” Byron called from the doorway. He had bloodstains on his shirt and perspiration dotted his forehead. “She’s sleeping comfortably. No broken bones, but she lost some blood, a hunk of her hair. Fortunately there doesn’t seem to be any permanent damage to her neck.”

  “Thank God.” Brett inhaled and exhaled slowly, telling his racing heart to calm down.

  “I’m going to take care of Ug now.”

  “You give that dog steak for the rest of his life, Byron.” Brett stood. “He saved Alex’s life.”

  Byron’s eyebrows went up. “I always knew he was a smart dog.”

  “Can I see her?”

  “Yes, but please don’t wake her. She needs to rest.”

  Brett nodded and headed for the examining room, desperate to see her, to touch her. He stepped in and was pleased to see Byron had washed the blood from her skin. She lay beneath a blanket. Her blonde hair lay lifeless on the pillow, while her face, her beautiful face, was swollen and bruised.

  His breath hitched and for the second time in as many weeks, tears pricked his eyes. No man had call to beat a woman half to death. His thirst for revenge was nearly as strong as his need to be near her. Brett touched her cheek, careful to avoid any scratches or bruises. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, shocked when a drop of moisture landed on her pale skin.

  “You get better now, Lex. I’ve got a lot to say to you.”

  Byron came in and gently picked up the dog. “I’ll take care of Ug
in the kitchen.”

  Brett nodded. “Thank you.”

  “No need to thank me, she’s all I’ve got.” Byron left Brett and Alex alone again.

  “Me, too,” Brett whispered. With one last brush of his lips against her forehead, he left her to sleep.

  Time to go hunting.

  ———

  Brett left with Jim to go examine the alley where Alex had been attacked. They didn’t find much except for a piece of cloth and some shoe prints. As they walked out of the alley, Brett kept his gaze on the ground searching for something. Anything that would help.

  “You boys lose something?”

  King’s booming voice echoed through the entrance to the alley. Brett turned an angry gaze to the pompous ass.

  “Alex almost lost her life here today. Know anything about that?”

  Instead of shock, King appeared bored with the topic. “You know how these modern women think they can do whatever they want. Sometimes it catches up with them.”

  Brett didn’t even realize he’d moved until Jim grabbed his arm.

  “Easy there, Malloy.”

  “Maybe now Alexandra will realize she needs to marry me after all.”

  “When hell freezes over,” Brett growled.

  “Funny, Malloy. I believe the icicles are forming down there as we speak.” King grinned. “It’s you I was looking for actually. I have some papers for you.”

  He held a sheaf of folded papers toward Brett who snatched them.

  “Make sure you read that carefully, Brett. You might even want to find yourself a lawyer.” With a tip of his hat, King walked down the street.

  King’s words rang like a warning knell to Brett. It had something to do with Parker Samson and the Square One. None of that mattered at the moment since Alex was first and foremost on his mind. He stuffed the papers in his back pocket and continued his search with Jim.

  After two more hours of speaking to folks and examining every nook and cranny in the alley, they had to concede no one saw or heard anything. Nor was there any evidence of who had beaten Alex. Frustrated, Brett headed back to the Brighton’s house. He needed to see her one more time before going home to the Square One.