Wildfire Creek (Redemption Mountain Historical Western Romance Book 2)

by Shirleen Davies

  He focused once more on the small stone, which stubbornly held its spot, refusing to be dislodged. A few yards away, a tree branch made its way through the current, inching closer to the rock. It whirled as the water pushed it one direction, then another before sweeping over the place where Luke’s stone clung tenaciously to the ledge. When the branch moved on, the rock was gone, uprooted by the strength of the broken limb. He wondered if he also grasped for something out of his control in an effort to fight off the growing feeling of detachment.

  For most of his life he’d distanced himself from Dax, never feeling quite as capable. He loved his brother, would do anything for him, but he always felt as if he lurked somewhere on the edge of Dax’s shadow.

  When their younger brother, Andre, was born, Luke obtained the status as the middle brother—an almost invisible son in a family made up of individuals with distinct personalities. Their father counted on Dax to continue and grow the family businesses. Their mother doted on Andre. Luke became almost invisible, spending much of his time in the stables, helping train horses while building a reputation as the rascal of the family. He’d come and go at will, solidifying his standing as somewhat of a rogue, although a charming one. Early in life he’d made up his mind he wanted nothing more than to find adventure wherever he could, never committing to the ties of marriage and children.

  The sound of voices pulled Luke from his musings. He glanced around and listened intently, rising in a quiet, fluid motion, pulling his Remington .44 from its holster. The voices came again. Most of their Indian neighbors were friendly, even visiting the local doctor when their own medicine failed. Others were hostile. Hunger and what they considered travesties against their people by the white man drove some to raid local ranchers and, on occasion, kill. A couple of years before, a group of eastern Montana Sioux had reportedly taken several white settlers prisoner. They’d never been seen again.

  He’d left Prince, his palomino stallion, in a nearby pasture to graze on the thick grass. The voices came from the opposite direction, across the creek from where he stood. He stepped backwards in quiet strides, bending low, taking cover behind a large boulder partially surrounded by shrubs and pines, and waited.

  The Indians made their way down the opposite slope toward the stream, stopping directly across from where Luke had rested a few minutes before. He guessed them to be part of the Blackfoot renegade band led by Long Feather. There’d been numerous complaints of missing cattle and the ranchers were quick to blame the renegades. From what he’d heard, Long Feather’s band tended to raid and steal from their traditional enemies rather than ignite the wrath of the white man’s army. However, desperation could make any man take risks to care for his family.

  They stood in a small circle and spoke in quiet voices. Luke guessed they were a hunting party in search of food. One pointed upriver, while another seemed to think they should head downstream. It appeared they’d made the decision to retrace their steps up the hill when Prince let out a loud whinny, followed by another.

  Luke glanced toward his horse, then back at the group, who’d stopped and looked around for the source of the noise. All carried bows and quivers filled with arrows. They readied them as they crossed the creek, drawing closer to Luke’s hiding place. He raised his gun and fired into the air, hoping they’d stop or turn back. They ignored the warning.

  “You’re on Pelletier land,” he shouted, stepping from behind the protection of the boulder.

  The man in the lead stopped for a split second to stare at him, then charged.

  He fired another two shots at their feet. It was enough to stop them and give him time to sprint toward Prince and swing into the saddle, tapping his heels against his horse’s side. It was all the encouragement the animal needed.

  He felt an arrow fly past his face before feeling another pierce his shoulder, a sharp pain spreading down his arm. Luke transferred the reins to his other hand, slumped low over Prince’s neck, and glanced behind him. They’d disappeared.

  “What the hell?” Bull muttered when he spotted Luke riding in, the sleeve of his shirt covered in blood, an arrow sticking out of his shoulder. “Whoa, Prince.” Bull raised his hands, signaling the horse to stop before catching the reins as well as Luke’s body as it began to slump from the saddle. “Dax, Rachel, come quick!” He cradled him in his arms and climbed the front steps to the door as Dax pulled it open.

  “Rachel,” Dax called and directed Bull to a back bedroom, where he positioned Luke on his side.

  “What is…?” Rachel’s voice faded when her gaze landed on her brother-in-law. She hurried to the bed and began to inspect the injury before turning to Dax. “Get my bag, hot water, clean towels, and whiskey.”

  “I’ll get the hot water, boss.” Bull headed toward the kitchen as Dax took the stairs two at a time, heading for their bedroom.

  During the war, Rachel had been a Union Army nurse, working in some of the most primitive conditions while trying to keep men alive long enough to provide treatment. Almost a year ago, she’d traveled to Splendor to help her uncle, Doctor Charles Worthington, with his medical practice. Until a few minutes ago, she’d been enjoying a relaxing Sunday with her husband.

  Rachel cut Luke’s shirt away, careful to avoid pulling the area around the wound. She touched the arrow’s shaft, trying to judge if it had lodged against a bone. It didn’t budge. He moaned, then began to stir.

  Dax laid her bag on a table at the same time Bull walked into the room with a pot of hot water, followed by their resident cook and housekeeper, Bernice.

  “Luke, can you hear me?” Rachel asked.

  “Uh-huh.” His low, strained voice told Rachel the pain was extreme. She glanced at her husband, then back at Luke.

  “I need to get the arrow out.”

  “Yes,” he gritted out.

  “I’ll do the best I can, but the pain will be severe.” She picked up the bottle of whiskey and poured a generous amount into a glass before turning him slightly toward her. “Drink this.” Dax held his brother’s head as Rachel lifted the glass to Luke’s lips. “I need to break the shaft to relieve the pressure before I start.” She kept her voice low, even. “The arrow is lodged against a bone, which means I must dig it out. You’ll need every drop in this glass.”

  He finished the contents before Dax lowered his head back to the pillow.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Luke said as the alcohol began to dull his senses.

  “Bull, I’ll need you to hold his legs. Dax, steady his shoulders. Bernice, please go to the other side of the bed with a wet cloth.”

  “Here. Put this between his teeth.” Bull handed Dax a length of leather used for sharpening knives.

  “You ready, Luke?” Rachel asked.

  He nodded as she broke the shaft a couple of inches from his skin. She looked at Bull and Dax, then nodded as she positioned the knife at the point of entry and began.

  She kept a close watch on Luke, noting the perspiration accumulating on his forehead. The third probe into the wound caused him to shudder before his eyes closed and he, mercifully, lost consciousness.

  Within an hour, the arrowhead had been removed. Rachel cleaned the wound, wrapped it, then measured out a small amount of laudanum for the pain. He’d stayed unconscious the entire time. As with all wounds, the biggest fear came from infection. If she could keep the wound clean and bandaged, Luke would have a good chance at a full recovery.

  Bull removed the water, leaving the extra towels and whiskey on the table.

  “I’ll sit with him until he wakes up.” Rachel straightened, stretching her arms above her head and rolling her neck from one side to the other.

  “You take a break. I’ll stay.” Dax placed a kiss on her cheek.

  “What do you think happened?” She brushed strands of hair from her face and stared down at Luke’s still form.

  “My guess is he crossed paths with a band of renegades—possibly the ones we’ve heard about from the other ranchers.” Da
x crossed his arms and looked down at his brother. “An attack is rare, though.”

  “Perhaps he caught them by surprise.” Rachel leaned against her husband, knowing there’d be no real answers until Luke woke. “Do you know where he’d been riding?”

  Dax placed an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “My guess is Wildfire Creek. That’s where he usually goes when he wants to get away.” His eyes wandered over her tired face. “Go rest before you fall down.”

  Rachel walked out of the room and closed the door behind her. She needed to send someone into town tomorrow to pick up additional supplies from the clinic and bring her uncle out to check on Luke. She’d just stepped into the kitchen when she heard the front door slam open.

  “Rachel?”

  “In the kitchen, Hank.”

  “Bull told me Luke was attacked by those Indians who’ve been raiding the area. That so?” Hank Wilson and his wife, Bernice, had worked at the ranch since the original owner had bought any land which became available. Unfortunately, Pat Hanes’ life had been cut short when an outlaw he and the Pelletier brothers had been pursuing gunned him down, leaving the property to Dax and Luke.

  “We don’t have any details yet. All we know is Luke rode in with an arrow in his shoulder. I dug it out and he’s resting in the back bedroom. Dax is with him.” Rachel grabbed a cup for tea. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “No, thank you. I believe I’ll go check on Luke.” Hank hurried down the hall and into the bedroom. “I just heard. How is he?” he asked Dax.

  “The arrowhead is out and he’s resting. With luck, it won’t get infected.” Dax kept his gaze focused on his brother.

  Hearing their muffled conversation, Rachel sat in the kitchen and sipped her tea, thinking about her life since she’d first met Dax.

  He and Luke, suffering from a dangerous stomach infection, had pulled into Splendor with a pine box containing the body of their fellow Texas Ranger, Pat Hanes, in the back of their wagon. Rachel had been the first person Dax approached for help. She and her uncle hadn’t wasted a minute tending to Luke. In just a little over a day, he walked out of the clinic. He was weak, but alive. A few months later, she and Dax married.

  It didn’t take her long to learn life around the Pelletiers would never be boring.

  Rachel glanced behind her to see Dax approaching. “Is he awake?”

  “He drifts in and out, moaning each time. He did mumble something about Wildfire Creek.” He grabbed the coffee pot and poured a cup. “I’m going to get Bull and a few others together, see if we can find them.” Dax focused on her. “The creek is a mile away from here—too close to ignore.”

  Although she understood, Rachel didn’t like Dax heading out into possible danger. She’d lived in Splendor a few months longer than Dax, knew about some of the raids on local ranchers, and had treated a few knife and arrow wounds from the confrontations. The only deaths she knew about were a couple who had joined a wagon train heading to Oregon. The party had been attacked by a band of renegades between the territorial capital of Big Pine and Splendor. No one else in the group had been hurt. The deaths sent a clear warning that Montana was still a wild frontier with very real dangers.

  “I’ll keep watch on Luke for a few days, then I need to return to the clinic. I’d like one of the men to fetch Uncle Charles tomorrow to check on him.”

  “Good idea. Until we know what’s going on, me or one of the men will ride to and from town with you. No sense taking chances.”

  She wanted to protest, but experience had told her once Dax made up his mind, he seldom changed it.

  “You know, it’s going to be a long few weeks around here.” Rachel glanced at Dax, knowing he understood what she meant.

  He gave her a small smile. “Luke’s not the best patient. I may need to post Bull by the bed so he doesn’t try anything.” Dax pushed back his chair and strode toward the door. “I’ll speak to Bull,” he threw over his shoulder as it closed behind him.

  They both knew if Dax gave Bull the order, he’d follow it, no matter how much Luke protested. Although about the same height as Luke, Bull’s shoulders were wider. His thick arms and don’t mess with me stare could stop just about anyone. Those who ignored the warning signs learned to regret it.

  Rachel watched the group of riders head out. A part of her hoped they’d find whoever attacked Luke, another part hoped the renegades had moved on. Somehow, she doubted it. She couldn’t help wondering if there might be something more to the risks the Indians took. The ranchers traded with the local Blackfoot tribe for hides in exchange for meat. Some had hired men from the tribe to help on their ranches. Overall, there had been good relations between both groups. The increase in thefts vexed her. The oddest part was what they took—eggs, chickens, pigs, and grain. She turned toward the bedroom, thinking of one of their newest ranch hands, a man who’d been injured much like Luke.

  The day of her wedding to Dax, a man had ridden into Splendor, slumped over his saddle, an arrow protruding from his back. Travis Dixon had traveled alone from Tennessee with no destination in mind, leaving behind a depleted horse breeding ranch to start a new life in the west. He’d made it to Big Pine, then decided to continue to Splendor. He’d heard about a family from the South, the Pelletiers, who’d recently taken over a thriving cattle ranch and were breeding horses.

  A small band of renegades attacked him a few miles from town. He’d been lucky to survive. Once recovered, Dax and Luke had offered him a position as a wrangler and ranch hand. In the few short months he’d been at Redemption’s Edge, he’d turned into one of their best workers. Quiet and unassuming, he’d shared little of his past.

  As far as Rachel knew, there had been no other attacks since—until Luke.

  “Damn it, Dax. I need to get out of here. You try being cooped up and see how you feel.” Luke had reached his limit. A week in bed, followed by Bull trailing him everywhere for the last ten days had caused more than a few rifts between the brothers. Dax hadn’t budged, even though both knew Luke was free to do what he wanted.

  “The doc was real clear about trying to do too much before your shoulder is healed. We need you at full strength.” They stood in the barn, Dax grooming Hannibal while Luke tended to Prince. “I don’t know why you’re so fired up to work. Used to be you’d do anything to get out of it.” Dax knew it wasn’t quite true. Luke could work as hard as anyone—if he chose to. That was before the war and the changes it brought to everyone.

  Luke dropped his brush in a nearby bucket and turned toward Dax. “You remember the Ramsey sisters?” A broad smile broke out on each of their faces at the mention of the beautiful young women in Savannah. “I swear their daddy would’ve killed both of us if he had any idea what his daughters let us do.”

  “Thank God he never found out. I heard they hightailed it up north to live with their momma’s parents in Boston.” Dax led Hannibal to his stall and closed the gate.

  “Do you remember the time—” Luke stopped at the sight of Rachel entering the barn.

  “I thought I’d find you both in here.” She didn’t notice the look which passed between the two as she stopped next to Dax, then glanced at Luke. “Uncle Charles just pulled up. He came to look at your shoulder.”

  “Guess I better go see him.” He put Prince in his stall and took off at a slight run.

  “Appears he’s anxious to get out from under Bull’s watch and throw away the sling.”

  “We both know he hasn’t been using it most of the time. Says it feels better to work the muscles.” Dax draped an arm around Rachel’s shoulders as they followed Luke outside.

  “You understand Uncle Charles told him that knowing his instructions would be ignored, right? I think he has a pretty good understanding of Luke.”

  They climbed the steps onto the porch as Luke dashed out the front door, all smiles.

  “Doc said I’m healed and ready to get back to work.” He rotated his arm in a wide arc, grimacing at the remaining stiffness
. “I’m riding out to join the men.”

  They watched as he entered the barn. Ten minutes later, he rode out on Prince, heading toward the herd.

  “We may not see him for days,” Dax joked as they continued inside.

  Luke headed north before taking a sharp turn to the west and Wildfire Creek. Dax and the men hadn’t been able to find any trace of the band of renegades. They’d searched most of the western property line without success. The entire incident bothered Luke, until he’d convinced himself the renegades were looking for something other than cattle or horses. They were on foot, following the creek as if trying to decide which way to go—perhaps hunting something other than game.

  A small herd of Pelletier cattle grazed in a pasture a few hundred yards away with just three men on guard, the same as on the day of the attack. It would’ve been easy for the band to distract the men and disappear with a steer.

  He slid off Prince close to where he’d encountered the Indians and walked toward the creek. It had been several weeks since the attack. He didn’t expect to see anything, yet he still felt the need to inspect the area. An hour later, after finding nothing, he rode north toward the rest of the herd, convincing himself it had been a random event.

  Luke’s recuperation had done nothing to lessen the apprehension he felt. It had haunted him throughout his recovery. Although the injury had taken his mind off his sense of unease, he still felt it weighing him down, like an anchor from one of the merchant ships his family had owned in Savannah. Cold, heavy, and indiscriminating as to what might be taken down with it during the descent into the unwelcome salty water.

  Luke could see the herd a mile ahead and reined Prince to a stop, pulling out his canteen to take a long drink. He turned in the saddle, checking behind him and to the sides, shaking his head at the melancholy which seemed to envelop him. It was time to shrug off whatever haunted him.