Stronger Than the Rest

by Shirleen Davies

  Drew watched him leave and felt a burden lift. Langdon had made the right decision. He and his daughter were now safe, Grant had an excellent piece of land, and Drew was now free to concentrate on acquiring the Bierdan ranch.

  What he wanted to concentrate on was walking again—and Tessa Taylor.

  He hadn’t told Jericho, but he’d felt sharp painful twinges in one leg yesterday and in the other leg today. Both times the pain had radiated from a foot, up the back side of the leg, to his hip. Each one had been excruciating—and wonderful. The first people he’d wanted to tell were Tess and Aunt Alicia, but he didn’t want to give them false hope. Today he would tell Jericho if he experienced the pain again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Denver, Colorado

  “Drop it, Slaughter,” Connor’s voice sliced through the noise of the saloon, causing everyone to stop what they were doing and stare—not at the man who held the gun on Pierce, but at Conner. They knew he didn’t hold with drawing a gun on someone unless you aimed to use it. Everyone knew Connor would use his.

  “I ain’t leaving until I win my money back,” Slaughter hissed. “And your man here ain’t going to throw me out, either. He’ll be dead if he tries.” He continued to point his gun at Pierce’s head.

  A shot sounded through the room and everyone watched as Slaughter’s lifeless body crumbled to the ground—a hole centered in his forehead.

  Connor holstered the still smoldering gun. Without so much as a glance at the dead man, he gazed around the room. “Nelson, help Pierce throw the body outside, then go for the sheriff.” He ordered another employee to clean up the mess. He felt no remorse, no guilt. The man had a gun pointed at another man’s head—Connor’s man—and that, in Connor’s mind, was a deadly mistake.

  He walked over to the bar and stood next to Lola. “Nice shot, Boss,” Lola murmured. “That’s what? The third man who’s pulled a gun since you arrived? You’d think that fella would have heard not to pull a gun in here. Some people just don’t learn.”

  “Each one’s been righteous.”

  “No one’s disputing that. Not one person in the saloon has ever said otherwise.” Lola studied Connor. He’d be a heartbreaker if he ever let anyone get close. His tan skin, coal-black hair, and clear, moss green eyes set him apart from most men. He’d always treated her well—treated them all well—but there was something dark, sinister about him. His calm exterior and supreme confidence spoke volumes. Connor might be the deadliest man she’d ever known.

  “It’s all done, Boss,” Nelson reported. “Sheriff didn’t say a word. Just had someone haul the body away, spoke to a couple of people, then took off.”

  Connor glanced at Nelson and nodded as Pierce walked up.

  “You want me to go up and tell Walsh?”

  “He left a few hours ago for San Francisco. I’ll tell him when he returns.” Connor answered and sipped at the whiskey Lola had ordered. He didn’t drink on the job, but tonight he’d make an exception.

  “Hey there, Lola. You want some company tonight?” A cowboy about Connor’s age walked up and put an arm around her waist, pulling her close and bending to place a kiss on her neck.

  She ventured a look at Connor but he was lost in his whiskey and watching the saloon.

  “Sure, cowboy. You know the way.”

  Connor watched as Lola and her companion made their way up the staircase. She was a working girl, knew the good and bad of it, just like he knew the good and bad of his choices. Tonight they’d both live with those choices.

  ******

  Cold Creek, Colorado

  “One more time, Mr. Jericho,” Drew ordered. They’d been at it for an hour and Drew had yet to feel anything. No twinges, no sharp pain, nothing. He was determined to keep at it until he felt something.

  Jericho lifted him once more and helped Drew arrange his feet, then, by inches, let his legs absorb the weight. This time Drew cried out in pain and began to topple. Jericho tightened his grip and lowered him into the chair.

  “Are you all right, Mr. MacLaren?” Jericho had lowered his body to rest on his haunches and looked up at his boss. Concern mixed with hope showed in his face. His hands gently moved over Drew’s legs, feeling for anything that would elicit such a response.

  Drew took a deep breath to steady his heart rate. He’d felt it. Pain. From the heel of his foot to his hip. A sharp, almost searing pain that radiated upwards. It had been excruciating and exhilarating at the same time. Although it hurt like hell, he couldn’t contain the small grin that showed on his face.

  “You feel something?”

  “Yes.” Drew pushed himself up in the chair and leaned back. “That’s the third time in three days.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “I wanted to be sure before I told anyone. I needed to be sure.”

  Jericho accepted the answer. He didn’t like it but understood Drew’s reluctance to voice the hope he knew the young man felt. “What now?”

  Drew grimaced as another sharp pain seared through his other leg. “I’m not sure we should do anything more today,” he said through gritted teeth. “Maybe a bath? But not too hot. My leg already feels like it’s on fire.”

  “Damn, Mr. MacLaren,” Jericho declared. “Do you know what this means?”

  Drew just looked at him. This was the first time Jericho had showed much reaction at all to Drew’s progress. Of course, there hadn’t been much until today. His usually stoic expression had momentarily crumbled and some emotion had peeked through.

  “It means we celebrate.” Jericho walked over to a cabinet and pulled out an expensive bottle of whiskey. He’d saved it for just this occasion. He poured two glasses of the amber liquid and handed one to Drew. “To you and your recovery, Mr. MacLaren,” he toasted.

  Drew tipped his glass against Jericho’s and took a sip. Damn, it did feel good. He’d just held out the glass for a refill when another severe pain gripped him. The glass slipped from his hand. He grabbed at his leg and began to push his thumbs into it, hoping to relieve the fiery sensation. Jericho pushed Drew’s hands away, lifted him onto the bed, and began to massage the area with deep, strong strokes. Drew’s relief was immediate.

  As soon as the pain lifted, Jericho left to prepare a bath. An hour later, Drew was dry and clothed, and ready to stand.

  “I’m not sure this is such a good idea, Mr. MacLaren.”

  “I want to take advantage while I can feel something. The pain has lessened but there’s still pulsing sensations.” He placed his hands on the arms of his chair and began to lift himself.

  “Ah, hell,” Jericho muttered as he moved to stand behind Drew. He lifted him in one steady movement and positioned his legs. But this time Drew was able to help. Just a little, but enough for Jericho to know the muscles were responding.

  They continued for another half hour before Drew called a halt to it. He was exhausted and, although he’d never admit it, so was Jericho. Besides it was almost supper time and both were famished.

  A soft knock was followed by a quiet voice. “Drew? Mr. Jericho? Supper’s ready.”

  It was Tess.

  Drew wanted to throw the door open and shout his good news, but he was determined that when he announced his intentions toward her, he’d do it on two legs.

  ******

  San Francisco, California

  “You are certain, Mr. Walsh, that you can deliver that amount within the time agreed?” The businessman looked at Ira and held up a hand when their guest began to speak. “Be sure of your answer. We do not appreciate merchandise that is of low quality or that arrives late. Do we understand each other?”

  Ira looked around the room at the six men, all wealthy, all ruthless, and began to rethink his desire to do business with them. In his two days in their ranks they had ordered the death of one supplier who’d failed them, and the severing of another’s hand. The second had tried to change his price after the agreement had been signed. In Ira’s opinion both men deserved harsh trea
tment for their stupidity. He didn’t intend to be stupid but he was reluctant to become their puppet. Besides, it was much too late to back out now—he already envisioned the wealth he and Drago would make off this new venture.

  “Mr. Everts, I assume you checked my references and are well aware of how I run my business. I would not be in San Francisco if I couldn’t supply your needs for high quality opium, on time, and at the price agreed.”

  “You’ve seen how we deal with those who do not fulfill their promises. As long as we both understand what is expected, our relationship will work out to our mutual advantage.” Everts looked at the other five men for their consensus. Each nodded. The deal was done.

  Ira walked around the room and shook hands with each man. “I will be in touch, gentlemen.”

  He walked out of the San Francisco building, one of the tallest in the bustling town of over one-hundred-twenty-five-thousand people, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and settled a black bowler on his head. It was a gift to himself after his successful negotiations with the San Francisco buyers who had visited him recently. He decided to wait to celebrate today’s agreement until he was well away from the bustling California port city.

  Besides, he didn’t want to be gone any longer than necessary from Denver. Something wasn’t quite right there. He knew it, but couldn’t discover what. Plus, he’d gotten distressful news from Cold Creek while he’d been gone. Langdon had sold his land to Grant Taylor. Well, Walsh hadn’t given up on acquiring the Langdon land even if he had to go against Taylor to do it. Drago was in Cold Creek, had already put plans in action, and Ira had no doubt that in time, Drago’s work would succeed.

  ******

  Cold Creek, Colorado

  Frank had exhausted all of his resources to locate Luther Grimms, the one man everyone believed was responsible for Vern Tyson’s murder and the fire at the Langdon ranch. At least he’d been able to obtain their last names and a confession on the beatings before Vern was killed. But Vern had been adamant that no one but he and Luther were involved. There was no boss giving them orders. Alts had known Vern was lying, but had decided to let his prisoner sleep on it overnight and start afresh the following day. It had been a mistake.

  Luther was a large man, easy to spot, yet he’d disappeared like a ghost. Frank, Drew, and Dunnigan were all convinced he took orders from Walsh, but without proof, they had nothing to support their suspicions. Langdon had said that more than one man had set the fires at his ranch—he’d seen at least six. That meant that if Alts could catch just one of the group, he had a chance to obtain more information.

  He was now on his way to the Bierdan ranch. A telegram had arrived for Eloise while Frank was picking up his mail. He’d offered to deliver it. It had been sent from Denver.

  “Sheriff,” Jeff greeted him. “You here to see Mrs. Bierdan?”

  “I am. Is she in the house?”

  “As far as I know. Haven’t seen her outside yet today. But the last two days she worked alongside the men and me, wouldn’t rest until we did, ate with us, and didn’t stop until supper. Woman’s pushing herself hard.” Jeff removed his hat and swiped a sleeve across his moist forehead. “I know most people in town believe she’s a pampered female from a wealthy family back East, but I’m not so sure. She just doesn’t behave like someone who’s had everything given to her.” Jeff looked toward the house to see the curtains pulled back and Eloise looking out. “At least that’s what I believe.”

  Frank took in the foreman’s words, letting them roll around to see if anything fit. They did. She’d never seemed like the simpering Eastern society woman, at least not like the ones he’d known. There was much more to the widow than she let on.

  Eloise answered his knock and, with some reluctance, asked Frank in. She looked tired, as if she hadn’t slept in days. The house was clean, everything in its place, but its owner was disheveled.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Bierdan?” Frank laid his hat next to him on the small divan.

  “Just tired. I haven’t been able to sleep since Vern Tyson was murdered. I know that Jeff and the men are all concerned and working extra shifts to keep the ranch going, plus guard me. I hate that it has turned to this.” She paced the room as she spoke, twisting her hands together.

  “I understand you’ve been working with the men, taking on some of their work plus your own, putting in long hours. It’s a lot for a woman to take on.” Frank knew it wasn’t his place, but there was no one else to say it, plus he’d grown to care about her, more than he liked.

  Eloise looked at him and saw concern etched in his strong features. “It’s a lot for anyone, Sheriff. This ranch is all I have. I can’t lose it without doing everything I can, which includes working with the men.” She lowered herself into a nearby chair and gripped the arms. “I can’t give up. Not yet. And certainly not because I’m being pressured to sell.”

  Frank didn’t like it but he understood. Most would fight, work themselves to death to keep their land. It was all that many had.

  “Have your men noticed anything? Seen any strangers in the area?”

  “Nothing. Jeff has drilled into them the need to be vigilant and I believe they understand the seriousness of the threats.”

  Frank believed Jeff and the men did realize the danger and that much of it was focused on the Bierdan ranch. He hoped Eloise understood it. “I guess I better head out. There was a fire at the Langdon place and I want to look it over, see if anything will help us find whoever set it.” He walked toward the door, then stopped when he remembered the telegram. “Almost forgot. This came for you.” He handed the message to Eloise.

  She tore it open, read it through, and then looked at Frank. “It’s from Ira Walsh, in Denver. He’s the other businessman who’s interested in the ranch. He plans to travel to Cold Creek and is requesting a meeting, perhaps as early as next week.” She sighed, knowing it was best to at least agree to the meeting.

  “What will you do?”

  “Meet with him. I’d like to talk with him and perhaps Drew MacLaren again before speaking with Grant Taylor. I know Grant won’t come to me, given his history with my husband, but if I sell it seems right to have it pass to someone local.”

  “He’s a good man, as is Louis Dunnigan. Either would make you a good deal.”

  “And Walsh?”

  “Don’t know him. You’ll have to make that call yourself.”

  They stood in silence for a moment, Frank staring out the widow, knowing the struggles she faced. Eloise looking at the message, resigned to the possibility of losing the ranch. Nothing came easy.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Fire Mountain, Arizona

  “How’s Aunt Alicia, Niall?” Kate asked.

  The oldest MacLaren brother read the latest letter from their aunt. It was a long one. He finished, then passed it to his wife. “She and Tess are back in Cold Creek. Drew went with them.”

  “He did? That’s a surprise.”

  “You’ll read it, but sounds like Dunnigan sent him back on business.”

  “Alicia says they’re having more trouble—at least some neighboring ranchers are.”

  The door slammed open as Niall and Kate’s son, Isaac, and Jamie and Torie’s oldest son, Adam, came racing into the house, followed by a scowling Jamie.

  “Stop right now.” Jamie’s stern voice had the intended effect. The boys turned to look at the imposing man who held a baby in his arms. Jamie’s younger son, Caleb, was only a few months old, but everyone already knew he’d be a handful.

  “What’s the rule about boots in the house?” Jamie asked as he passed Caleb off to Torie, who’d stood watching the scene from the kitchen.

  Isaac and Adam exchanged sheepish grins, but it was Isaac who spoke. “They’re not allowed in the house, Uncle Jamie.”

  Adam just nodded at his father in agreement.

  “That’s right. Now march back outside, take them off, and store them in the mudroom. After that, help set the table for dinner.”
The boys started to protest but he stopped them. “After dinner, both of you will help muck the stalls.”

  “But, Uncle Jamie…” Isaac started but was cut off by his father.

  “You heard your uncle,” Niall said. “You broke a rule and you’ll muck the stalls. No argument—either of you.”

  The boys bowed their heads and trudged outside. It was all the adults could do to control their laughter.

  “How many times did Aunt Alicia have us mucking stalls for forgetting that rule, Niall?” Jamie asked.

  “Don’t recall, but I know for a fact you cleaned those stalls a lot more than anyone else.” Niall grinned at his wife. She didn’t believe a word of it.

  “What do you have there?” Jamie walked up and peered over Kate’s shoulder.

  “A letter from Alicia. She, Tess, and Drew are back in Cold Creek. Guess there’s been some trouble at the neighboring ranches. Beatings, threats—mainly toward the Bierdan widow. One neighbor, Warren Langdon, had his barn and house burned down. Alicia says that Frank arrested one of the men, but the prisoner was murdered the next day while in his jail cell.” She looked up at the two men. “Doesn’t sound good.”

  “Dinner ready yet?” Will came through the door and started into the kitchen but stopped at the stares from his brothers. They were looking at his feet. He looked down. “Huh, can’t believe I forgot,” Will chuckled as he walked back to the mudroom and removed his boots.

  The change in him the past months had been miraculous. The once hardened bounty hunter was back to his pranks and jokes, just like he had been before the tragedy that sent him on a five year journey of revenge. Everyone believed his wife, Amanda, was the reason for his transition.

  “Dinner will be a few more minutes,” Torie said, “but there’s a letter from Alicia you might want to read.”

  Jamie finished and handed the missive to Will. A couple of minutes later he raised his head, a grave look on his face.

  “I met Langdon a couple of times. Good man but was having a tough go. Sounds like the sale was the best decision for him.” He rubbed a hand over his stubbled face. “Doesn’t appear that Eloise Bierdan is having an easy time.”