The Courtship of Izzy McCree

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  “No, sir. My uncle. How did you…?”

  “We served together at Chancellorsville.”

  “Chancellorsville, huh?” A big, burly soldier slid from the saddle and turned to glare at Matt. “Which side did you serve on. Union? Or Reb?” He had rolled the sleeves of his uniform to reveal the bulging muscles of his forearms. He wore the long, thin scar on his cheek and his broken nose like a badge of honor.

  “This is Sergeant Harlan Cutler,” the young lieutenant said. “And Private Luther Davis.”

  “Private.” Matt nodded toward the thin youth who looked to be no older than Aaron, then turned his back on Cutler, not bothering to hide his disdain. “I’ve met the sergeant.”

  “I bought a bunch of Prescott’s mustangs in June.” Cutler glowered at him. “You didn’t answer my question. That must mean you’re a Reb.” He spat a stream of tobacco between his teeth, aiming it toward Matt’s boot, and turned to Aaron. “These all saddle-broke, boy?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How ‘bout that one?” Cutler nodded toward the stallion, still saddled and edging away from the men.

  Matt ignored him and spoke instead to the lieutenant. “There are fifty-four, total. All broke to saddle. That’ll be five hundred forty dollars.”

  Gideon Trowbridge reached into his jacket, withdrew a leather pouch. “It’s all here, Mr. Prescott. Would you care to count it?”

  As he started to hand over the money, Cutler stepped between the two men. “Before you pay up, maybe you’d better let me do my job. The captain sent me along to make sure the army was getting its money’s worth.”

  “Mr. Prescott has assured…”

  “Yeah. Well, I’ll just check and make sure.” He turned to Aaron. “Climb up in the saddle and put that stallion through his paces, boy.”

  Before Aaron could comply, Matt touched a hand to his sleeve. “Leave it, son.” He turned to the lieutenant. “If the sergeant wants to check any horse in this herd, that’s his business. As for us, our job here is done.”

  “We’ll see about that.” With a string of curses Cutler crossed to the stallion and pulled himself into the saddle. He gave a vicious tug on the reins that tore at the horse’s mouth and was rewarded with a cry from the little girl perched on the rail. He glanced over, pleased to see both Matt Prescott and his sons clenching their fists. So, they cared about their precious horses, did they? Well, he’d give them a show they wouldn’t soon forget.

  “Frisky.” He gave a cruel sneer. “But I’ll soon beat it out of him.”

  As horse and rider circled, Cutler swore and dug his spurs into the stallion’s flesh. At once the horse reared, and his rider brought a whip down with enough force to send the animal into a frenzy of bucking.

  “Pa,” Del shouted. “He’s hurting Red.”

  “Lieutenant.” Matt struggled to keep a lid on the rage that was seething. “If I were you, I’d order Cutler to dismount.”

  “Sergeant Cutler.” The young lieutenant was offended by the brutality. But, being new, he wanted to be careful not to reprimand one of his men in front of civilians. He might never see these ranchers again, but he would have to face Cutler daily. And the sergeant had a reputation as a bully. “That will do.”

  “I don’t think you understand, Lieutenant.” Cutler raised the whip again. “Prescott said this animal was saddle-broke. Only he forgot to tell the horse. Now I’m about to teach this mustang who’s boss here.”

  He brought the whip down again, tearing the animal’s flesh. In a haze of pain, the stallion bucked and reared in an effort to dislodge its rider.

  “Pa. Stop him, Pa.”

  Hearing Del’s cry and the sound of the horse’s frantic whinny, Izzy dropped her basket of clothes and started toward the corral at a run.

  “That’s enough, Sergeant.” The young lieutenant cupped his hands to his mouth in order to be heard above the din. “You will dismount at once and turn over that horse to Private Davis.”

  Cutler took his time following orders, giving the stallion one last crack of the whip as he handed the reins to the young private. As he strode past Matt, he spat another mouthful of tobacco, making certain this time it landed on Matt’s boot.

  Just then he caught sight of Izzy, standing to one side, wiping Del’s tears with her apron. “Didn’t know you had a woman way out here, Prescott.”

  The way he looked at her had Aaron’s protective instincts surfacing. He shouted defiantly, “She’s Pa’s wife.”

  “Wife, you say? I’ll be damned. It looks like…” Cutler squinted, stared, then let out a howl of laughter. “By God, it is. All the way from Pennsylvania.” He stepped closer. “Bet you didn’t expect to see anybody who knew you way out here in this godforsaken wilderness, did you?”

  Izzy had gone rigid with shock. All she could do was stare at this remnant of her past with a look of horror and revulsion.

  “Got shipped out here with the First Pennsylvania. Me and Otis. You remember Otis, don’t you?”

  His cruel laughter mocked her.

  “Still carry that knife for protection?”

  His taunts filled her with shame. She lowered her head, refusing to look at him.

  Cutler turned to Matt with a knowing smirk. “Better watch your back, Reb. Miss High-and-Mighty Tavern Wench thought she was too good for the men of our town. Carried a knife in her pocket. Cut up one of my friends real good. Otis still carries the scars. Threatened to do the same to anyone else who ever tried to touch her. As if any of us needed to touch the likes of her. She’s nothing but a crazy, crippled old maid.”

  “You shut your mouth.” Aaron started toward him, fists raised. “Don’t you talk about Isabella like that.”

  “Isabella?” Cutler gave a shrill laugh. “My, my. Isn’t that fancy? Know what we called her back in our town? Izzy the Gimp. That’s ‘cause she’s got a gimpy leg. We used to poke her with sticks when she walked through the tavern. Go ahead, Izzy the Gimp. Do your little dance for us.”

  “Cutler.” Matt’s voice was low, controlled. “I see you enjoy inflicting pain.” He unfastened his gun belt, tossing it to his son. “It’s going to be a pleasure to beat the hell out of you.”

  Cutler spun around. His evil grin widened. “A fight, Reb? Hell, nothing I like better. The pleasure’s all mine.”

  As the two men began circling each other, Private Davis pulled his gun from his holster. At once Aaron aimed his father’s pistol.

  “Put those away,” the lieutenant ordered. “There’s no need for gunplay. Let’s just see that it’s a fair fight.” If he were a betting man, he’d put his money on this rancher. Especially from what he’d heard about him.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Aaron and the private shoved their guns back in their holsters and stood on the sidelines along with the others.

  Cutler threw the first punch, grazing Matt’s temple. Matt retaliated with a fist in his gut that had him doubled over. With a cry of rage Cutler lowered his head and charged, knocking Matt to the ground.

  Though Matt was strong and muscled from his years of ranching, Cutler had the advantage of weight. He used it now, throwing punches that would have shattered most men.

  The two rolled around the dirt exchanging blows until Cutler managed to pin Matt.

  Matt tasted blood as Cutler’s fist exploded against his jaw. Another blow to the temple had him seeing stars. He brought a knee to Cutler’s groin and managed to throw him off for the moment. He rolled to one side, shaking his head to clear it.

  “Watch out, Pa,” Aaron cried. “He’s got a gun.”

  Reflexively Matt swung his arm in a wide arc, knocking the gun from Cutler’s hand. “What’s the matter?” he taunted. “Afraid to fight like a man? Or are you only brave when you’re bullying helpless women and animals?”

  “Why, you…” Cutler charged again, but this time Matt was ready for him.

  He feinted to one side, and Cutler sailed past, tumbling in the dirt. When he managed to scramble to his fee
t, Matt caught him with a blow that had Cutler wheezing and Matt’s knuckles bleeding.

  As Cutler fell, Matt caught him by the front of the shirt and hauled him up. “You’re not getting off this easily.”

  “Neither are you.” Cutler’s hand reached inside his shirt and came away holding a knife. “Your wife isn’t the only one who knows how to use one of these things.”

  With one quick movement he lunged. Only Matt’s quick thinking saved him from taking a fatal thrust to the heart. Instead, as he deflected the blow, the blade sliced into his shoulder, sending blood streaming down his arm.

  The pain was so intense he felt his vision begin to fade. He staggered, and Cutler’s hands closed around his throat. “Never had no use for traitors and Rebs,” he muttered as he began to squeeze.

  Matt could hear his children shouting, and someone weeping. But the sounds seemed to ebb and flow, and he knew if he didn’t break Cutler’s grip, he would soon be lost.

  Matt brought his head up, hard and fast, under Cutler’s jaw, and had the satisfaction of hearing bone grind against bone. “And I’ve never had any use for bullies,” he managed, when he’d caught his breath.

  With a snarl of pain and rage Cutler reared back. Matt’s fist landed squarely in his face, breaking his nose.

  With blood streaming down his face, he came at Matt like a raging bull, driving him into the corral with such force the rails toppled.

  “This is for your wife, Reb, who was always too good for the men in our town.” He brought a fist into Matt’s stomach, doubling him over.

  At his taunt, something in Matt seemed to snap. He hit Cutler so hard he could feel the jolt all the way up his arm. When the sergeant staggered, Matt hit him again, driving him up against the railing. Then he unleashed a series of blows that brought Cutler to his knees. Matt hauled him to his feet and hit him again, sending him sprawling face first in the dirt Again Matt hauled him up, unleashing another blow to his face.

  “Matthew.” Izzy was at his side, clutching his arm. “Stop. Please, you have to stop before you kill him.”

  But Matt was beyond hearing. He shook off her arm and hauled the limp form of Cutler by the front of his bloody shirt. “Come on,” he snarled. “Don’t quit on me now. I’m just getting started.”

  “Matthew.” Izzy was weeping now, though she wasn’t aware of her tears. “Your children are watching. Please, you must stop now. I beg you.”

  Somehow her words managed to penetrate the red haze of fury that had Matt in its grip. He released his hold on Cutler, allowing the limp form to fall into the dirt.

  It took all of his willpower to remain on his feet, but he was determined to see this thing through. He turned to the lieutenant. Though his left arm hung, bloody and useless, and his face was a mass of blood, welts and bruises, his voice was strong.

  “You owe me five hundred and thirty dollars.”

  “I thought it was five hundred and forty,” the young officer said.

  “The stallion is no longer part of the bargain.” Matt glanced to where the horse stood, at the far side of the corral, nostrils flaring, eyes wide and frightened.

  The young lieutenant nodded. “It’s a shame to lose such a fine piece of horseflesh. But I understand.” He handed Matt the leather pouch before turning to his soldier. “Private Davis,” he called. “Load Sergeant Cutler into the wagon. And let’s get these horses back to the post.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He turned to Matt and offered a handshake.

  Matt winced as a thunderbolt of pain snaked up his arm.

  “It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Prescott.”

  “Anytime, Lieutenant. Just see that Cutler never sets foot on my property again.”

  The young officer nodded. “I understand. It’s men like him who give the army a bad name.” He started to turn away, then paused, took a deep breath and said, “Forgive me for not recognizing your name sooner, Captain Prescott. My uncle often spoke of you. He said the army would have been proud to have an officer of your calibre, educated at West Point, who served his country so honorably, remain in the service.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant.” He saw his children forming a protective ring around him and was determined to remain standing for their sake. “But army life wasn’t for me.”

  Within minutes the wagon, with Cutler dumped unceremoniously into the back, and the herd of mustangs tied to a lead rope behind, rolled across the meadow.

  Matt winced as his children hugged him. He studied Izzy, standing all alone, twisting her apron between her hands.

  “Isabella made you a special supper to celebrate,” Del said.

  “I’ll be along in a little while. I’ve got something to attend to here first.”

  The children saw him flick a glance at the stallion.

  And then, suddenly, Aaron understood. “You’re going to set him free, aren’t you, Pa?”

  Matt nodded. “After what Cutler did to him, he’ll never trust man again. And I can’t say I blame him. He’s earned the right to be free.”

  As he made his way slowly, painfully across the corral, the mustang reared up, then began backing away. With soft words and easy, unhurried movements, Matt was able to remove the saddle and bridle.

  “Come on,” Matt called to the others. “Let’s give him some time to adjust.”

  Following his lead, they walked a distance away, leaving the horse alone in the open corral.

  For long minutes the stallion sniffed the air, as though searching for a scent. Finally, after circling the enclosure several times, he walked through the open gate and stared at the people who were watching him.

  When they made no move to stop him, he started at a trot across the meadow.

  He turned once, as if to make certain he wasn’t being followed. Then, with a toss of his head, he began to race across the meadow until he was swallowed up in the distant woods.

  Del glanced at Izzy. “Are you crying, Isabella?”

  Izzy had to blink hard to keep the tears from flowing. “Maybe just a little. I’m so glad he’s free.” She turned in time to see Matt stagger. All the color had drained from his face.

  She quickly took charge. “Aaron, Benjamin, Clement, help your father into the cabin.”

  “I can do it mysel—” He started to turn away, then blanched at the pain and snagged Aaron’s shoulder to keep from falling.

  “There’s no time to argue. Del,” Izzy called, “you come with me.”

  They hurried ahead, with Matt and his sons trailing slowly behind.

  “That was really something the way you smashed your fist into Cutler’s stomach, Pa.” Benjamin pounded a fist against his hand, relishing the moment.

  “I was afraid,” Clement admitted, “when I saw Cutler pull his gun on you, Pa.”

  “Yes, but did you see the way Pa knocked Cutler’s gun away?” Aaron proudly bore the weight of his father, who was leaning heavily on his arm as they stepped into the cabin.

  “And that knife.” Clement glanced at Izzy. “Cutler said you…”

  She spilled some of the hot water she’d been pouring into a basin. For a moment everyone went very still.

  She cleared her throat. “Children, help your father into bed.”

  From the cupboard she removed the bottle of whiskey, then she picked up the supplies and followed the others into the bedroom. As they gathered around the bed, still reliving every moment of the fight, she called for silence.

  “What your father needs now is for all of you to leave him alone.”

  “But what about his wounds?”

  “I’ll help him. And when they’re washed and bound, what he’ll need most is rest and quiet. So I suggest you eat your supper and then take yourselves up to bed. We’ve all put in a very long day.”

  Before they could argue Matt lifted a hand. “Isabella’s right. Good night, children.”

  “Good night,” they called in unison.

  As she closed the bedroom door she could hear th
e children’s voices, hushed but still excited, drifting about the cabin. Could hear the dogs fighting over the scraps. Could hear the call of a coyote on a distant hill.

  She shivered.

  She would mend Matthew’s wounds as best she could. Then it would be time to face some very hard truths.

  The wounds her lies had inflicted would be much harder to mend.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was quiet in the bedroom, except for the sound of Matt’s labored breathing. In the circle of light given off by the lantern, his features were pale and drawn.

  “I hope you don’t feel as terrible as you look.”

  His tone was sharp. “Go away. I’m not fit company just now.”

  She shook her head. “It isn’t pleasant company I’m here for. Just lie still and I’ll tend to your wounds.”

  When he started to protest, she knelt in front of him and touched a finger to his lips. “First I’ll have to take off your clothes, Matthew, and see what I have to deal with.”

  Too weak to argue, he lay back as she stripped away the tattered, blood-soaked remnants.

  She couldn’t hide her shock at the sight of the bloody mess. Then, steeling herself, she dipped a cloth in the hot water and began to wash his wounds with lye soap.

  He sucked in a breath at the pain. “Are you sure you aren’t here to finish what Cutler started?”

  “I’m sorry to add to your pain, Matthew.” She worked quickly, efficiently, finishing with the painful area around the wounded shoulder, then the wound itself.

  “Is this really necessary?”

  She nodded. “Unless you’d like to take a chance on only one good arm in the future.”

  He gave a sigh of resignation. “All right. Do what you have to.”

  “Here.” She passed him the bottle of whiskey and waited until he’d taken a generous swig. Then she took the bottle from his hand and poured a liberal amount on the wound.

  He set his teeth against the pain. “Damned waste of good whiskey,” he managed to say between clenched teeth, and took the bottle from her. This time he drank several long, deep gulps.