Tucker's Justice (Wild West Cowboys Book 1)

by Maggie Carpenter

  Feeling restless and out of sorts, Dolly decided to visit the kitchen. She’d talk to Betsy, the cook, and have a munch on a cookie or piece of cake. Betsy always had something delicious sitting around.

  “That might help me calm down,” Dolly mumbled, moving swiftly from the room. “What a mess everything has become, and what horrible, horrible man that Tucker Prescott is.”

  But as angry as she was, as she started down the stairs she began to wonder if a man like that was just what the town needed. If he was crazy enough and mean enough to do what he’d done to her, maybe he was crazy and mean enough to tackle the barbaric McGill brothers, and any of the other lowlifes that were running roughshod over the good folks of Spring Junction, but she had to admit she wasn’t exactly an Irish thug or violent drunkard. When Tucker had taken her on, he hadn’t exactly been taking his life in his hands.

  Ambling into the kitchen, she found Betsy rolling out some pastry dough. Betsy was rotund and jolly, and though her age was a mystery, she had many tales to tell. Dolly would often pay her a visit when she was feeling down, and the woman always managed to brighten her up.

  “Hello, Betsy, how has your day been?” she asked, moving across where Betsy was working. “Better than mine, I hope.”

  “I hope so too,” Betsy declared, looking her up and down. “You’re a mess. Did someone pull you through a blackberry bush?”

  “I am? I haven’t looked in a mirror since I got back.”

  “Got back from where?” Betsy frowned. “You’ve haven’t been goin’ down near that town, have you?”

  “Not exactly,” Dolly said vaguely, walking into the dining room to stare at her reflection in the large mirror hanging above the crockery hutch. “Oh, my goodness, you’re right.”

  Her hair was completely tousled. She could see flyaway bits sticking out, wandering tendrils were hanging haphazardly around her face, and when she glanced down at her dress, she spied several rips at the hem.

  “You’d best not let your pa see you lookin’ like that,” Betsy called. “Where did you go?”

  The memory of Tucker dragging her across the meadow and through the thicket flashed in her mind. Her dress must have snagged on the sticks and small branches.

  “I, uh, had a tumble off Daisy,” she lied as she walked back into the kitchen. “Do you have anything sweet?”

  “Dinner won’t be long,” Betsy said, raising an eyebrow. “We’re havin’ rabbit stew, and you comin’ off that sweet mare of yours? That doesn’t sound right to me.”

  “I need something now,” Dolly pressed, wanting to avoid the subject of her fabricated fall from her horse, “and it needs to be something sweet.”

  “I made a molasses stack cake earlier. You can slice off a piece if you want,” Betsy sighed, knowing there would be no point arguing. Once Dolly made up her mind, that was that. “It’s under the red cloth on the counter.”

  “Betsy,” Dolly said thoughtfully, picking up a plate from the bench near the sink, “what sort of man do you think it will take to fix things in the town?”

  “Handy with a gun, brave, and stupid,” Betsy declared. “Here’s a knife to cut the cake, but be careful, it’s a sharp one.”

  “Stupid?” Dolly repeated, taking the blade from the cook. “Why stupid?”

  “’Cos any man who thinks he can get the better of those nasty brothers has to be stupid.”

  “I heard father say they’ve stopped a lot of the violence,” Dolly remarked, trying to make sense of it all.

  “That they have, but in a bad way, and they’re stealin’ from the regular folks. If things don’t change soon, we’ll be livin’ near a ghost town.”

  “You mean, breaking into their houses?” Dolly asked as she sliced herself off a large chunk of the cake.

  “Nope, not like that. The shopkeepers have to pay the brothers to stop their stores from bein’ robbed and ransacked.”

  “They do? But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  “Honey, if the folks don’t pay, it’s the brothers themselves who do the robbin’ and ransackin’.”

  “That’s terrible!” Dolly exclaimed. “I don’t understand how all this happened. When I was growing up, I remember going into town with momma and having such a nice time.”

  “Gold is what happened, Dolly, gold and men’s greed, then your daddy’s cattle business grew like the dickens, and suddenly our peaceful little town got swamped with all sorts. Gamblers, drinkers, thieves, they’re all here now.”

  “It’s not right,” she grumbled. “I don’t get to go anywhere, and I’m bored, I’m totally bored.”

  “Maybe you should talk to your pa about lettin’ you go visit your cousins in the city again.”

  “I hate the city,” Dolly groaned. “It’s nothing but stupid girls going on and on about stupid things, and lots of noise and stinky air. I don’t care if I never go back there, I don’t even want to talk about it. I’d rather talk about this cake, it’s heavenly. I wish you’d make it more often.”

  “You’d best finish it quick. It’s almost dinnertime and you have to get yourself cleaned up. I don’t think your pa will believe that story about you comin’ off Daisy,” Betsy said, laying the pastry over a pie dish filled with apples and cinnamon, shooting Dolly a knowing look as she did.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Dolly said indignantly, “but I do have to get changed. I’ll take the cake with me.”

  “You know he’s hired another new gunman to help Marshal Bragg,” Betsy remarked as Dolly started to leave. “Supposed to be arrivin’ today. Maude went down to the cabin to get things ready.”

  “What have you heard about him?” Dolly asked, trying to sound casual as she paused her step.

  “Not much, but I’ll bet he’s somethin’ special.”

  “That’s for sure,” Dolly mumbled.

  “What’d you say, Dolly?”

  “I mean, father’s been through so many hired guns he wouldn’t be bringing in just anybody. I’m going now. Thanks for the cake.”

  She hurried away, reaching the top of the stairs just as she heard her father march in through the front door, his heavy boots stomping on the wood floors. He seemed to always be stomping; always angry and upset. Life was so much happier back in the days when her mother was alive. That’s when Spring Junction was a cheery, welcoming place. Betsy was right. It was the gold that had brought in all the strangers, and it had been in a downward spiral ever since.

  Entering her bedroom, taking mouthfuls of cake as she changed her dress and straightened herself up, Dolly decided not to complain to her father about Tucker. If Tucker could get things back to normal, she would be foolish to get him in trouble. No, she’d stay quiet for the moment, and pray to the good Lord that Tucker would be able to make the town safe and peaceful again.

  “Dolly! Come down here, please.”

  Her father’s voice echoed up from the cavernous foyer, and a shard of panic sliced through her veins. Had Tucker told him she’d been at his cabin? Had Maude returned and mentioned it?

  “Coming,” she called, leaving her room.

  “In my study!”

  From the landing she could see him striding toward his inner sanctum and her panic escalated. If he wanted to see her in there, it was serious. Telling herself not to jump to any conclusions and doing her best to steady her nerves, she moved down the stairs, purposely taking her time. Reaching his door she softly knocked, and walking in she found him sitting behind his desk wearing a dark frown.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked, the panic turning into worry that something calamitous had happened. If he’d been about to scold her, he’d be standing in front of his desk with his hands behind his back looking peeved.

  “Sit down, my dear,” he replied, waving his hand at one of the round-backed chairs facing him. “There’s somethin’ important we must discuss.”

  “What is it? You’re scaring me.”

  “I don’t mean to, but you must listen to me very car
efully. I know you can be willful, just as your mother could be, but this time I expect you to obey me.”

  “Yes, father, of course I’ll obey you. Don’t I always?”

  “Don’t be flippant with me, girl.”

  “I didn’t mean to be,” she said quickly, surprised by her father’s stern tone. Rarely did he speak to her with such gravity.

  “You know I’ve hired a new man to help Marshal Bragg. His name is Tucker Prescott.”

  “Yes, father, I know, and I hope he can do something,” she declared. “None of the others were able to.”

  “I hope so too,” her father said solemnly. “He’s not like them, not at all.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “He won’t be chargin’ into town shootin’ and hollerin’ and tryin’ to prove he’s tougher than everyone else. He has a different approach, not that I know much about it, but I’ve gotta give him a shot. He’ll be sizin’ up the town and its problems for a day or so, decidin’ if he thinks it’ll work.”

  “What do you mean, if he thinks what will work?”

  “What he does. He won’t be stickin’ around if he decides his methods won’t be effective.”

  “What kind of methods are they,” she asked, “and what is it you want me to do? You said I have to obey you about something?”

  “You must stay far away from the area beyond the thicket,” he said sternly, glaring at her from across his desk. “The other men who came here stayed in town, but Prescott’s gonna be livin’ in the log cabin.”

  “I know, Maude told me.”

  “She did?”

  “When she left this afternoon, she said she was going down to the cabin to get it ready for the gunman you had hired.”

  “Oh, I see; anyway, that area is now strictly out of bounds.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, father. I never go near the town.”

  “Now you’re lyin’ to me, Dolly. You’ve been seen ridin’ real close to the road just a short distance from Main Street.”

  Dolly felt her face flush, but not because she’d been caught; his accusation had caused an unexpected flashback of the moment Tucker had made her lick the soap.

  That’s how disgustin’ you are when you lie.

  “It’s very important, Dolly, do you hear me? You must stay away!”

  “Yes, father, but can you tell me why? I mean, besides the area being so close to town?”

  “Tucker Prescott has made it clear he can’t have folks roamin’ around down there. Not me, not you, not anyone. Smiley will be there to feed and water the horses at sunup, and leavin’ enough hay in their barrels to get ‘em through the day.”

  “Do you know why Tucker doesn’t want anyone around?”

  “It has something to do with his methods. They’re secret.”

  “This is so mysterious.”

  “If he can help, I don’t care. This may be our last hope. Remember a few days back when the storekeepers were up here?”

  “Yes, I remember. You gave them dinner in the grand dining room, a dinner you wouldn’t let me join,” she frowned, “and I still don’t know why.”

  “I told you, it was business,” he said solemnly, “serious business, and no place for a young woman.”

  “Fine,” she muttered, “what about it?”

  “Many of them told me they’re gonna have to pull up stakes if things didn’t change. The McGill brothers are takin’ fifty percent of their earnin’s! They can’t survive. Add to that all the other crime, and Spring Junction is no fit place to live anymore.”

  “This is all so sad,” she sighed, a wave of emotion sweeping over her. “Betsy said it’s because of all the people coming here for the gold. I wish it had never been found. Everyone said it would make us all rich, that our little town would become an important, big town, but all it’s done is brought misery. I hate it. I wish the hills and creeks would run out of gold, and all those people would leave.”

  “It did bring prosperity to folks, but you’re right, Dolly, it also caused a whole lotta unhappiness. I doubt the size of Spring Junction will go back to bein’ small, but law and order, that has to be restored, or the shopkeepers aren’t the only ones who will have to leave.”

  “You mean us too?”

  “We may have no choice,” he said grimly. “Like I told you, Tucker Prescott may be our last hope.”

  “You have no idea about these methods of his?”

  “What I’ve heard is a bit… well… odd,” Duke said, dropping his voice.

  “Please, you must tell me. I’m dying to know.”

  “It seems Tucker Prescott has, uh, special powers.”

  “Powers?” she repeated, totally intrigued. “What sort of powers?”

  “I was told…”

  “What?”

  “I’m not sayin’ I believe any of this,” he said, shaking his finger.

  “Heavens, father, just tell me.”

  “He seems to know about things before they happen, or show up while they’re happenin’, and catch the crooks in the act.”

  Immediately Dolly’s mind flashed back to the moment she’d been hurrying back to her mare with Tucker’s clothes in her hands. She hadn’t seen him, or even heard him approach, but he had appeared behind her! When she’d been about turn her horse away and ride off, Tucker had one of the reins in his hand.

  “Dolly?”

  Her father’s voice snapped her from her thoughts, and looking across at him, she slowly nodded her head.

  “If he can do that,” Dolly said thoughtfully, “then maybe there’s a chance he can fix things, maybe we really will get our town back.”

  “That’s what I’m prayin’ for, and I’m hopin’ the good Lord is hearin’ me. The man who put me in touch with Tucker swore it was true. That’s why you must stay away. If Tucker Prescott needs empty space to work his magic, then empty space he’s gonna have. Now do you understand?”

  “Yes, definitely,” she nodded. “I’ll do as you say.”

  “Good girl. Now let’s see about dinner. I’m starvin’.”

  As Dolly rose to her feet and followed her father from his study, she pondered just what kind of magic Tucker Prescott possessed. Would he have a witch’s cauldron bubbling over the fire? She doubted it, but if he didn’t want anyone around, it meant he had something special going on.

  “I wonder if I can watch him without him knowing,” she muttered.

  “What’s that, my dear?” her father asked as they headed into the dining room.

  “Nothing, father, nothing at all.”

  * * *

  Late that evening, as Dolly brushed her long red hair, she was consumed with curiosity. Tucker! Did he really have mystical powers? Climbing into bed, she stared out her window at the night sky and wondered what he was doing. Was he thinking about her, even just a little bit? If he was, were they good thoughts?

  * * *

  In his study, Duke Baker was pacing and drinking Scotch. Tucker had told him he’d let him know in short order if he’d be staying, but until he did, Duke was not to attempt any contact, and unlike the other gunmen Duke had hired, Tucker wanted no fanfare. Only the household knew Tucker had arrived, and it had to be kept quiet. It was nerve-racking, but Tucker had achieved results in other towns, and he had told Duke that he didn’t take on a job unless he was certain he’d come out on top.

  “I sure would like to know how you go about things,” Duke mumbled as he downed the last of his drink. “Sure would sleep better if I did.”

  Chapter Four

  The follow morning, as Duke readied himself for the day, his head was still foggy from his sleepless night. He saw Tucker Prescott as oddly charming. The quick-draw gunman carried a wicked grin and had a reputation as a wily, savvy fighter, but Duke had been impressed by his charisma, and he sensed that Tucker was also cunning and clever. It was rumored he had run with a gang of outlaws at an early age and had been involved in stagecoach holdups. Duke didn’t know if it was true, but it wouldn’t h
ave surprised him.

  There were plenty of men who’d once lived a life of crime and had become professional gunfighters, some even turning their hand to becoming marshals and sheriffs, and when Duke Baker began his search for the person to bring peace to Spring Junction, he’d had no preference; he just wanted a man who could rescue his town. The name Tucker Prescott had been frequently mentioned, but along with phrases like, works in secret, has mysterious ways, is a law unto himself. Being a solid, old-fashioned type, Duke had chosen the more conventional route, but to no avail, and then the town fell under the evil clutches of the McGill brothers. That’s when Duke had thrown in the towel, searching out and hiring the enigmatic cowboy named Tucker Prescott.

  What Duke didn’t know was that Tucker’s cleverness extended beyond the obvious. Tucker possessed an extraordinary ability to mimic accents and don disguises, creating characters as convincing as any professional actor in the New York theaters. Able to slip into the twang of a cattle-driving cowboy or the refined tones of an educated gentleman, he was at home in any company, and at only twenty-six, he already had a long history and a colorful past.

  As he’d grown into adulthood, Tucker had realized a life of crime would see him either dead before his time or locked up behind bars. He’d headed west and become a gun-for-hire, though he used his wits and wiles far more than his fists or his firearm. The characters he’d developed that had kept him alive and helped him evade the law were just as effective when he switched sides. His reputation for being a man who could get just about any job done, and done quickly, quickly spread, he found himself receiving offers, all kinds of offers, and he learned to choose wisely.