Owen Family Saga Box Set: Books 1-3

by Ward, Marsha

  As he reached over to retrieve the comforter that had slipped off to one side, his elbow brushed against a bandage on his hip, and he gasped with the pain that came awake, brutalizing his nerves. Taking long, shuddering breaths to fight back the agony, he remembered the last bullet from Pete Dawes’ gun.

  Gritting his teeth against the torment, squeezing his eyes shut to blot out the pain, Carl waited until the nerves he had awakened slipped off into a place filled with dull, scraping razors, and he could bear to open his eyes again.

  James stood over him, candle in hand, face clean-shaven. His mouth moved, but no sound reached Carl’s ears.

  “You don’t got to whisper just because it’s night,” Carl said, then frowned. “Am I talking out loud?” he asked.

  James nodded and moved his mouth once more.

  Carl put a finger into his ear and wiggled it, unsuccessfully, for there was nothing save the fuzzy, stuffed sensation. His head ached, and he raised his hand to find another bandage, bound on by a cloth wrapped around his head.

  “Hush, I can’t hear my own voice. What happened to me?”

  James frowned and put the candle on the floor. In the eerily flickering light, he pantomimed drawing a gun, aiming it and pulling the trigger. Then he put the pretended weapon alongside his own head, just above the left ear, and made his hand move as though it held a bucking pistol. Then he fell to the floor.

  Carl recalled the struggle with Berto Acosta. “Did I kill him?”

  James’s face appeared over the side of the bed, and he nodded emphatically, looking grim. He started to speak, then shrugged his shoulders and pointed to his throat with the imaginary Colt

  Carl heaved a sigh, and closing his eyes, went to sleep.

  ~~~

  Daylight brightened the room, and Carl sat up. Then he wished he hadn’t and he lay down again to wait for the pain to subside. A buzzing filled his head, and he shook it to clear away the annoyance, but it stayed with him.

  “Shoot!” he said aloud, and thought he heard the word echoing faintly back to his right ear. He sat up again, ignoring the pain that jolted through him, and shouted, “Hey!” Again he heard a faint version of his voice. “Hallelujah, I ain’t completely deaf,” he chortled. Then he became very still, holding his breath and straining to hear any sounds through the cotton in his head. A thudding sound came through the window, and after a bit, he identified it as someone chopping wood.

  “Glory be, glory be!” he whispered, sinking back into the feather tick.

  A bird sat outside the cabin on a roof pole, twittering its morning adoration of the sun, and Carl thought there wasn’t a sweeter sound on earth than that muffled bird song.

  James came clumping into the room and dumped a load of fireplace logs into the fuel box. “That sounds wonderful,” Carl called from the bed.

  James whirled around. “What?”

  “I heard the logs drop. I reckon I got a mite of hearing back.”

  His brother came over to the bed and pulled up a stool. He sat on it and peered at Carl. “It’s about time you came back to join us. It ain’t fun playing nursemaid to a feller who won’t even say ‘Thank you kindly, sir’.”

  Carl fingered his quilt. “How long have I been out?” He turned his good ear to catch James’s reply.

  “Eight days. You got a right smart furrow alongside your noggin. You and Pa, you’re a pair.” James laughed, and Carl smiled to hear it. “How in six little beans did you stay on your feet to finish off Berto Acosta? You got you a hole in your hip big enough to stick a fist inside, not to mention your leg’s broke.”

  Carl sorted through the muffled sounds for a moment, piecing them together into words. When he figured he had the sense of them, he grinned. “Just ornery.” He peered around the orderly room, and spotted the bedroll James had used during the night. “You been keeping this place clean?”

  “No.” James’s voice held a hint of rancor. “You got a day girl comes in and cleans up and changes your bandages.”

  “What?” Carl clutched the comforter up over his chest.

  James smile didn’t reach his eyes. “She only tends to your head. You ain’t got cause for alarm. Besides, her pa heard about our little fracas, and he’s coming to take her home to the Cuchara.”

  “How soon?”

  “Tomorrow. Not soon enough for me.” James scowled and turned his back, then muttered, “You want anything to eat?”

  “What’s that?”

  James turned around, his face once again smooth. “I said, do you want something to eat?”

  Carl weighed the matter, wondering if the hollowness in his belly came from hunger or sorrow at the news that Ellen was leaving. He looked up at James. “I’ll try something. James, I got to see her before she goes.”

  “You want me to carry that message?”

  “I’d take it as a favor.”

  “I won’t do that, but it don’t make no difference. She’ll bring breakfast by before too long.” He went to the row of pegs against the wall. “Seeing as how you’re going to have company and you awake to know it, I’ll rustle up a shirt to cover your nakedness.” He fingered a few pieces of clothing hung on the makeshift dowels. “You ain’t got a big selection here, but I reckon this one’ll do.” James brought back an old shirt of Peter’s that their mother had passed on to Carl.

  Carl shrugged in on, finding it a tight fit, and trying to ignore the pain from his hip. “How long you figure I’m going to be laid up?”

  “Oh, Ma calculates about a month of loafing will cure you or kill you. She says you snapped that bone clean in two, and your leg swelled up twice its size before we got you off the mountain. It took the whole bunch of us to set it, and you cussing and hollering the whole time. My, you about made me blush to hear it.”

  “What’s that? Blush, you say? You ain’t never blushed in your life, you’re that brazen. Besides, I don’t recall any such a thing.”

  “That don’t mean it ain’t so. I reckon I didn’t even know some of them colorful words you was spouting. Pa was fit to be tied at the words you used.”

  Carl tried to sit up. “I never. James, you’re pulling my leg.”

  “I don’t think you’d allow that now that you’re conscious. That leg pains you a mite, I can tell. Here, let me help you sit up.”

  Carl stiffened as James raised him to a sitting position. He felt dizzy with the shock of the movement.

  “Shoot! That hurt you. I’m sorry, Carl.”

  Carl shook his head. “Nothing you could help, but I don’t want to get in the way of no flying lead again for a long spell.” His head still whirling, he eased himself back on the pillow James had propped against the wall behind him. “Did you get the bullet out?”

  “Not me. Ellen fished it out.” At the look on Carl’s face, James added, “It wasn’t a time for modesty, big brother. You was pumping blood all over the floor, white as a ghost, and she dived in and ripped a hunk off her skirt to keep you from dying right then and there.” He shook his head. “She’s one level-headed gal.”

  Carl groaned. “That’s throwing powder on the fire. When her pa finds out I was uncovered in her sight, I ain’t never going to win that girl’s hand.”

  “Suits me just fine, since she’s my girl,’ James growled. “Don’t you worry none, though. You was covered decent the whole time. We didn’t pause to pull your britches off, or it would have been all over for you.”

  “You can drive a body crazy, you know that, James? Half the time I ain’t sure I’m hearing you clear, and the other half I reckon you’re standing there making up the whole thing out of your head.”

  “I ain’t. Miss Ellen is a remarkable girl. Pa claims our betrothal is broken off, but I still count her my own.” His face was set in determined lines. “You ain’t won her hand, big brother. Nor have you won over Chester Bates.”

  “You get out of here before I rise off this bed and whup you,” Carl threatened, his face gray and drawn. “I snuffed out the breath of thre
e men who aimed to keep Ellen from me. I ain’t proud of it, but I had it to do. I’m going to win her hand, even from you, little brother.”

  “We’ll see about that.” James turned on his heel and went out the door.

  ~~~

  Carl dozed for a while, and then awakened as a hand touched him on the shoulder. He opened his eyes, hearing the buzz in his ears again. Ellen sat on the stool, smiling at him, a bowl of porridge in her hand.

  “James says you’ve been awake. I allow I’m right thankful to see it.”

  “You’ll have to come around to this side of the bed,” he said. “I don’t hear so good on that side.” His heart pounded at the sight of her, sitting there in a faded green dress that couldn’t detract from her fresh, alive face.

  “I reckon you’re hungry,” she said once she stood at his right side. She looked around for a chair.

  “Take a seat on the bed,” Carl said, patting the place. “I’m a mite shy of strength to lift a spoon.”

  “You poor thing,” she murmured, sitting gingerly on the edge. “I reckon I should have brought broth.”

  Carl smiled. “No, I need something to give me meat on my bones. Look how thin I got.”

  Ellen looked at him, noting the tightness of the shirt over his chest. “You appear to have filled out some.”

  Carl looked down. “Shoot, this shirt belonged to Peter when he was a young’un. I don’t know what become of my shirt.”

  “I’ve got it over to Mary’s. You bled a fierce lot all over it. I didn’t know you were ready to get up and dress, or I would have fetched it along.” She smiled.

  “I ain’t ready to dance a reel, but I reckon I need something to cover my body.”

  Ellen looked down at the bowl. “I don’t mind,” she whispered. “You got a right nice looking chest.” She glanced up at Carl then, challenge in her eyes. “You have been so close to dying on me. I don’t want to take the chance of losing you now.” She bit her lip. “I aim to tell Pa it’s time he let me wed the man of my choosing. I’m going down to the Cuchara and bring back the Spanish mission priest. It don’t matter to me what words he uses, so long as they mean I’m your wife.” She picked up the bowl. “Eat, now. I don’t figure to give you more than three, four weeks to get well before I come back, so you be ready, you hear?” She blushed, rosy red in the light from the window, thrust the bowl into Carl’s hands, and ran out the cabin door.

  Carl grinned, and lifted a spoonful of mush to his lips. “Well, I’ll be switched,” he said, and shoveled the food into his mouth.

  ~~~

  Soon after he arrived from his farm the next day, Chester Bates knocked on the door of Carl’s cabin. Carl bade him enter, and Chester came around the doorjamb, his face flushed red.

  Carl lay back on the bed, trying to quiet his quick breathing, steeling himself for Chester’s harsh words.

  The man came to the bedside, took off his hat and gripped it hard, his knuckles blanching white from the effort.

  “I reckon I owe you my daughter’s life, boy. I’m mighty sorry you got shot up that way. Your pa tells me Rulon despaired for your life before he got you home.”

  Carl let out a long breath. “I didn’t know that, but I ain’t sorry. I’d do it again to prove what that girl means to me.” He felt drops of sweat forming on his forehead, threatening to trickle down to sting his eyes and betray his nervousness.

  “I ain’t an unreasonable man. Ellen’s my only child, and I set great store by her.” Chester’s voice shook a bit. “I always wanted the best for her. I reckon she and her ma got the worst during the fighting, being left with a tool shed for shelter.” Chester’s voice took on a hard edge. “A tool shed! I swore they’d have a chance to forget all that. Your pa helped considerable that day when he rode up with his plan to come out here.” He looked at his white knuckles.

  “Pa needed you all to make a big enough party for traveling safe.”

  “He cared about us, too. A lot of water has gone by since that day. James—” He paused uncertainly. “And now it appears Ellen wants someone else to give her the best of this world. She spoke me quite a speech this morning.” Chester paused again and sank down on the stool.

  “She did?”

  “She did. I reckon this is the day a father hopes will never come, but it always does. This is the day I take that little hand that’s been in mine for these few years and place it into yours.”

  Carl’s head came off the pillow an inch or two, but he didn’t say anything.

  “You proved you’re a man who will lay your life down to save hers, and a father can’t ask more than that.” Chester rose to his feet.

  “Are you giving your consent for me to call on her?” Carl whispered.

  “Boy, I don’t think you get my meaning. With feelings like you got, I’m playing it safe. I brought Mrs. Bates along, and a friend of ours. His name is Padre Gallegos, he’s a priest, and he’s here to marry you.”

  Carl sat bolt upright, disregarding the stabbing pain from his leg. A burning filled his chest, rushed into his throat. His arms shook as he supported himself in the bed. “My ears have been playing tricks on me the last couple of days, but I swear I heard you say you brought a priest along to marry me.” He cracked a grin through his beard. “Hush, I don’t want to marry no priest. I want to marry Ellen.”

  Chester stared at him, then clapped his hat on his head and roared into laughter. “Ellen’s going to have a bit of humor in her life, I see. That’s good. That’s mighty good,” he chortled, and strode through the open door.

  Carl turned and looked out the window. Ellen stood in the dooryard, holding her hands clasped together. Joy flashed over her face when her father spoke to her. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

  Lying back on his pillow, his heart pounding, Carl looked around at the room he had built with his own labor. This was a home worth the sweat and effort, and here he would build his life and work toward his dreams.

  And Ellen would stand tall beside him.

  THE END

  Back to Contents

  Ride to Raton

  Book 2: The Owen Family Saga

  A novel by

  Marsha Ward

  This ebook includes a Spanish Glossary and Phrase Guide not found in the print version.

  Dedication

  To my parents, O. G. and Virginia Williams, who taught me to dream, to press forward toward the goal, and to endure to the end.

  Acknowledgments

  Many people assisted me in this project. Among those I thank are Carol Crigger, Becky Rohner, and Connie Wolfe, for their editing prowess and valuable suggestions; Cowboy and Rodeo Artist J.K. Dooley for her gorgeous artwork; two-time Spur Award winner Gary D. Svee, author of The Peacemaker’s Vengeance, and Phyllis Dugan, President of Wyoming Writers, Inc., for their endorsements; and author Robert J. Randisi for his encouragement. Thank you all for helping me make this book a reality.

  Chapter 1

  As soon as James Owen heard the Spanish priest’s final amen, he stepped back from the makeshift altar in the Colorado meadow and made his legs carry him to the edge of the forest. Behind him he knew Ma, Pa, and the rest of the family and guests were crowding around to congratulate the bride and groom.

  The bride was Ellen Bates—who’d been his fiancée.

  And the groom was his brother, Carl.

  His own brother...

  James gagged.

  When his stomach had emptied itself over the pine needles and columbines, he straightened up, chest heaving, and gripped a sapling until the quivering left his legs. He yanked his high, stiff collar loose and threw it on the ground, wiped his mouth with the back of his shirt sleeve, then threw a quick glance behind him.

  Carl now sat down on the chair his brothers had used to bring him to the meadow. The bridegroom’s gunshot wound was bleeding; a crimson stain spread across the hip of his trousers. Ellen fussed around, pointing at his brothers, Rulon and Clay. She shooed off the other cowboys,
who seemed eager to put her on their shoulders for a shiveree.

  Ma was looking toward James, her forehead furrowed with worry. She took two steps toward him, then stopped. He cleared his throat and spat, straightened his shoulders—which ached from the strain of keeping himself tightly under control—and took the path that led through the forest to the ranch headquarters.

  He heard Ma call out, “James!” then “Rod, go see—”

  “Leave Pa out of it,” James grunted so low that she couldn’t possibly hear him, and kept moving. He stamped through the trees, pounding his fist into his open hand and wishing it was Carl’s face. He approached a holding pen, where a wild horse wheeled and snorted, upset by the young man’s noise.

  James swore at his brother for getting injured. When he gets well— He pressed his lips tightly together, as though to restrain his vengeful thoughts.

  The black horse watched every move James made, its wary eyes following him as he approached. It snorted, sniffed the air, then whirled around to track his progress along the fence line. James looked at the beast that Carl had caught as the Owen men returned from Texas with a herd of cattle and a crew of cowboys. When a gang of ruffians had kidnapped two young ladies, the Owen crew had confronted them in a gun battle. Carl had been sorely wounded.

  A harsh sound escaped James’s throat. It wasn’t quite a laugh. He took Miss Ellen. I’ll take the mustang.

  James stalked into the shed, snatched a rope from where it hung on a peg pounded into the wall, and stalked out again. Entering the enclosure, he leaned against the gate and built a loop in his rope. Let’s see if the Texan’s roping trick works. He looked up.

  The black snorted and moved off as far as it could get in the pen. James stepped toward the horse, holding the rope behind him. He crowded the animal to one side of the corral, then flipped the loop up from the ground and around the horse’s neck.