McKinnon's Bride (Willow Grove, Texas Series Book 1)

by Sharon Gillenwater

“Coward.” He grinned and led the way, lighting the lamp that sat on the kitchen table. At her soft gasp, he turned—and felt about ten feet tall.

  She gazed at the ring, a half-carat diamond surrounded by small rubies, and her eyes misted again. “Cade, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

  “I thought it was the prettiest one they had in the store.” Frowning, he moved it up and down on her finger. “It’s a little big. You should go by the jewelers tomorrow and have Mr. Jones size it for you. He said it wouldn’t take too long to do it.”

  “I don’t deserve this,” she whispered, laying the side of her face against his chest.

  “Yes, you do. You deserve everything I can give you and more.” He embraced her carefully. “Maybe I should buy one for every finger. Toes, too.”

  “I wouldn’t be able to lift my hands or wear shoes.” The hint of laughter in her voice eased his worry. “And unlike my children, I don’t like to run around outside without shoes.”

  “So when are you going to put me out of my misery, woman? Tomorrow?” He kissed her forehead.

  “You’ll be busy catching outlaws tomorrow.”

  “And maybe the next day, too. How about Saturday?”

  She shook her head, her hair tickling his chin. “Not a good day.”

  “Who says?”

  “Everybody.” She eased out of his hold. “Don’t you know the poem about choosing the right day for a wedding?”

  “Can’t say that I do. Nola didn’t teach poetry when she was drilling etiquette into our heads and dancing into our boots.”

  “Monday for wealth,

  Tuesday for health,

  Wednesday the best day of all;

  Thursday for losses,

  Friday for crosses,

  And Saturday no luck at all.”

  She paused, then looked up, sadness lurking in her eyes. “Neil and I were married on a Saturday. And it certainly lived up to its reputation.”

  “I’m not a superstitious man, but how about next Wednesday, since that’s the best day of all? I think I can stand to wait that long, but not a minute longer.”

  “I don’t really want to wait long, either. But if we get married on Monday, everyone will think I’m marrying you for your wealth.”

  He laughed, pulling her back into his arms. “Just tell them I’m marrying you for yours.”

  “That would give them a good laugh.”

  “Don’t know why it should.” He bent down, hovering just above her mouth. “You’re my greatest treasure.”

  Chapter 20

  Lying on his stomach, Cade peered over the rim of the cliff in the early light of dawn, studying the outlaw hideout below. Sheriff Proctor and his deputy, Dwight Jacobs, were next to him, with Ty and Asa farther east, watching the entrance to the box canyon. There were no buildings, not even a dugout. A makeshift brush corral held approximately thirty head of cattle. The horses were confined in a rope corral, the kind more often seen in the northwest than the southwest. They did have a chuck wagon for the cooking supplies and bedrolls.

  “There’s Quint,” whispered the sheriff.

  Cade nodded, watching his friend through a spy glass as Quint sat up and stretched his arms over his head. Cade wondered if he had actually slept or merely pretended to for a couple of hours. Quint picked up the gun and holster lying beside him, stood, and strapped the firearm on.

  Cade scanned the rest of the men. Three were still asleep. One was cooking breakfast. Three others stood on one side of the campfire, drinking coffee. “I only count eight, including Quint. Should be eleven.”

  “Could be guarding the entrance,” said Proctor.

  “Maybe.”

  Quint tossed his war-bag, a sack that held some of his personal belongings and also served as a pillow, onto the bedding and rolled it up. Tying it securely, he set it in the bed of the chuck wagon and chatted with the cook for a minute. Then he picked up a cup and joined the others at the fire, pouring himself some coffee.

  “No sign of Doolin,” said Cade.

  “Probably too early for him. He was at the dance until the fiddler called it a night at two.”

  “And made sure plenty of folks knew he was there, right?”

  The sheriff nodded, and Cade turned his full attention back to the camp. They were too high up to hear more than a quiet hum as the men talked, except when the cook called them to breakfast. Even those who were sleeping quickly roused and hurried over to pick up plates and silverware and get their grub. Quint ate quickly and set his plate in the dishpan by the chuck wagon.

  When he picked up his rifle and headed toward the canyon entrance, Cade grinned. “Looks like Quint has guard duty.”

  “Best news I’ve heard all morning.”

  They waited until another man returned to camp, eagerly filling his breakfast plate. “That leaves two unaccounted for.” Cade skimmed the scene with his spyglass again. “Nobody seems in any hurry to join Quint and replace another guard.”

  “The other two must not be here. Likely went back to the ranch last night.”

  Sheriff Proctor scooted backward down the slope, motioning to his deputy, who followed. “You stay here and back us up.” Cade glanced back to see him smile at the middle-aged man’s relieved expression. With a wife and four kids, he probably would have rather stayed at home. “If shooting starts, feel free to pick off as many as you can.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m better with my rifle than a pistol anyway.”

  Proctor nodded and motioned for Cade to join him. Crouching low until they were certain they couldn’t be spotted, they quietly covered the ground to where Ty and Asa were. Asa stayed at the canyon edge, on the lookout while Ty came down.

  “There was only one guard.” Ty glanced at Cade, then looked back at the sheriff. “Quint took over for him a few minutes ago.”

  “Good. That man is back at camp,” said the sheriff. “Cade, go talk to Quint. See if he knows whether or not Doolin is coming out here this morning.”

  Cade walked as quietly as he could through the brushy hillside, stopping when he could see Quint. Using the bob-white’s call, he got Quint’s attention. Quint looked in his direction and nodded. Cade moved closer, keeping to the brush. He stopped when he got close enough to talk but still remain hidden.

  “Is Doolin coming out?”

  “No. Had to meet with an important client this morning.”

  “What about the other two men?”

  “They left after we brought the cattle in. They might have gone back to the ranch. One of them is the horse wrangler, so he spends time at both places.”

  “Are you ready to ride?”

  “Did you bring an extra horse?”

  Cade smiled, glad he had planned for the possibility they might need one. “I did.”

  “Then I’m ready. The sooner we move, the better.”

  “Be right back.”

  Cade quickly returned to the others. “Doolin isn’t coming out this morning.”

  “Then let’s make real sure nobody gets away to warn him.” The sheriff signaled Asa, waiting a minute until he reached them. “We’ll go in slow and quiet.”

  They checked their pistols and rifles one last time, then mounted up. Cade led the horse for Quint as they moved single file through the rugged terrain.

  Quint was perched on top of a rock, surveying the countryside when they arrived. “Figured I’d better look like I was doing my job in case anybody wandered out to check on me. Keep an eye open for the other two and for Doolin in case he changed his mind.”

  “Don’t think we’re going to be that lucky.” Sheriff Proctor studied the entrance to the canyon while Quint swung into the saddle. “Looks about three horses wide to have plenty of room to maneuver. Cade, Ty, take the lead with me. When we get to the bend, speed up. Try to catch them off guard.”

  Tensing, Cade looked his brother, and they started into the canyon. As Texas Rangers, they’d ridden into similar situations many times, but never without fear and a silent p
lea heavenward for their safety. Protect us all, Lord.

  Going at a walk, it took them almost ten minutes to reach the bend. The sheriff nodded, and they spurred the horses to a quick walk, then a gallop. Reaching the wide clearing at the end of the canyon, they fanned out in a shallow semi-circle, rifles aimed at the outlaws.

  The rustlers scrambled, trying to find cover, some of them opening fire but missing in their haste. Cade took one down. Ty another, and Quint a third. One dove beneath the wagon and covered his head with his hands. Another ran for the horses, firing toward the posse without aiming, throwing down his pistol when he ran out of bullets. Asa fired at the ground in front of him, and he dropped to his knees, hands in the air.

  A shot whizzed by Cade’s head. He whirled toward the left side of the clearing, but Deputy Jacobs spotted the man before he did, wounding him in the shoulder. The last two, hiding behind the chuck wagon, threw out their pistols. A rifle followed. “Don’t shoot! We give up.”

  “Hands up high. Walk out slow and easy,” ordered the sheriff. Cade and Ty kept their guns leveled at them when they stepped into the open. “You under the wagon, come out, too.”

  The youngster wiggled backward and stood, slowly facing them, hanging his head. Cade recognized him as a young cowboy from an outfit in the next county. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen.

  “Sam, what are you doin’ with this bunch?” asked the sheriff.

  “I got in too deep in a poker game.” Sam motioned toward one of the men standing by the wagon. “Rawlins said I could join up and work it off, or he’d use me for target practice. He would’ve, too.”

  Cade studied the man he indicated, noted the pure meanness in his eyes, and decided the boy was right. Even now, the man was trying to figure out a way to escape.

  Then the outlaw’s gaze shifted to Quint, his expression changing to hatred. “You’ll pay for this, Webb,” he snarled.

  “No, you will,” Quint said quietly. “For rustling and for trying to kill my friend.” He glanced at the sheriff. “He bragged about roping John Shepherd and dragging him, leaving him for dead.”

  “The ol’ coot shouldn’t have interfered. Deserved to be buzzard bait.”

  “You’d better be thankful he didn’t die,” said Proctor. “Or you’d be tried for murder instead of attempted murder.”

  “All you got is Webb’s say-so.”

  Ty and Asa dismounted, checking on those who were wounded.

  “Considering you just basically confessed, I figure most juries will take my say-so, too.” Sheriff Proctor glanced at the other outlaws. “I expect some of the men who were there will testify against you, unless they want to be tried for attempted murder, too.”

  “Not this one,” said Asa, kneeling beside the man Cade shot. “He’s dead.”

  Cade hated killing a man, even one shooting at him, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped.

  “These two will be all right once we get them to the doctor’s,” Asa added.

  Gun drawn, Ty walked over to where the man Jacobs shot was sitting on the ground, holding one hand pressed against the opposite shoulder. “This one will make it, but we’d better tend to his shoulder so he doesn’t bleed to death.”

  “I have some bandages in my saddle bag.” Proctor motioned toward the other wounded rustlers. “Bring him over here, and y’all can patch them up. Cade, if you’ll tie up the ones who aren’t hurt, I’ll make sure nobody gets frisky.”

  Ty, Asa, and Quint bandaged wounds as best they could, mostly in an effort to stem the bleeding. Afterward, they securely tied each man’s hands. Quint cleaned out the chuck wagon, tossing the sacks of flour, sugar and potatoes on the ground, along with the bedrolls that had already been stored for the day. As an added precaution, he removed all the knives, forks, and cooking utensils from the chuck-box. Though it opened on the outside at the back of the wagon, he wasn’t going to take any chances of Rawlins or one of the others somehow getting into it and finding something they could use for weapons.

  They helped the injured men into the wagon. Once they were in place, they tied the feet of the two who had shoulder wounds. The third had been shot in the leg, so they didn’t figure he would try to run away.

  Cade had already hogtied the others. Ty helped him get them into the wagon, while Asa and Quint laid the dead man over a horse and tied him in place.

  On the way to town, Quint told them that Rawlins had been in charge at the camp. “He and Doolin go way back. Nobody crossed him. The dead man is another one the others feared, along with Hobson, one of the men who left last night. He got real surly on occasion, though I’m not sure he would hurt somebody just out of meanness like the other two.”

  When they were about a quarter mile from town, the sheriff halted, glancing at Jacobs, Ty and Asa. “You three keep the prisoners here for a spell. When we have Doolin in jail, I’ll send Cade back for you.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the deputy. Ty and Asa nodded their agreement.

  The lawman looked at the prisoners, waiting until each one met his eye. “These men are deputized and under orders to shoot to kill if you try anything.”

  “Ain’t afraid of no storekeeper,” Rawlins said, glaring at Ty.

  “You’d better be.” Quint shifted in the saddle, glancing from Ty to Cade. “Seein’ as how he was a Texas Ranger. His brother, too.”

  A spark of fear shot through Rawlins’ eyes before his bravado took control again. “I don’t care what he used to be.”

  Ty grinned amiably. “Doesn’t matter. I’m armed. You’re trussed up like a Christmas turkey.”

  Cade and Quint rode into town with the sheriff, tying their horses to the hitching post near Doolin’s office. It was a quarter past nine, so most stores were open but not doing much business yet. The few folks who were out and about watched curiously as they entered Doolin’s office.

  Henry, the attorney’s assistant, stood when they walked in. “Good morning, Sheriff Proctor.” He nodded politely at Cade and Quint. “Gentlemen. How can I help you?”

  “Is Doolin here?” asked the sheriff.

  “Yes, sir, he’s in with a client.” He edged around the end of his desk. “But I’ll tell him you’re here.”

  “No need. I’ll tell him myself.” The sheriff moved toward the inner office door. Cade was right behind him, pulling his Colt Peacemaker from the holster. Quint stood to the side, so Doolin wouldn’t see him when the door opened.

  “But you can’t just barge in.” Henry fidgeted but didn’t get in their way.

  “I can and I will.” Proctor opened the door and walked into Doolin’s office, nodding to the rancher sitting in front of the desk. “Mornin’, Mr. Clark.”

  The man returned the greeting, frowning when he saw Cade take up a position behind the sheriff, obviously protecting his back.

  Doolin stood and straightened his suit jacket, smoothing the lapels. He glanced at Cade, his eyes narrowing briefly, then turned his attention to the lawman. “It’s customary to knock when you enter, Sheriff.”

  “This isn’t a social call. Tate Doolin, you’re under arrest for cattle theft.”

  Clark stood, stepping back out of the way. Cade glanced at him and decided he just didn’t want to get caught in the middle of anything. The rancher had always been Proctor’s staunch ally.

  Doolin smiled, though his stance remained tense. “What happened, Proctor? Did one of McKinnon’s cows wander into my herd? That’s hardly grounds for an arrest.”

  “Try thirty head in a pen, driven there by your men on your orders,” said Cade.

  “Some of my men are involved in rustling? What shocking news! I’ve tried to be careful who I hire. But I live in town. I don’t know what they do at night.”

  Quint stepped into the room. “You know exactly what they do at night, especially when they go on a raid. You planned them all.” He glanced at Clark. “Including the one on your herd a couple of weeks ago.”

  Doolin’s face grew a shade lighter. “This man is
lying. He’s trying to blame this on me because I made inappropriate advances toward his sister.” His gaze shifted to Cade. “A regrettable mistake for which I apologized.”

  “I didn’t know you’d met my sister until you mentioned it to me last week at the rustler’s camp.”

  “There! He just admitted he’s one of the outlaws. How can you believe him?”

  “Easy.” Sheriff Proctor seemed relaxed, but Cade knew he was ready for any move Doolin made. “He was working for me the whole time. I expect some of the rustlers will testify against you, too. Why should they go to jail without you? We arrested most of them this morning. We’ll have the others soon enough.

  “Now, I’m through jawin’. Do I have to put handcuffs on you, Doolin? Or are you coming peacefully? It’s up to you. I don’t mind making a big show of hauling you off to jail.”

  “This is an outrage!” shouted Doolin.

  “The outrage is the crimes you and your gang have committed against the good citizens of this area.”

  “I’m innocent until proven guilty.” Doolin assumed a haughty air. “I expect to be treated as such.”

  “You’ll get the same treatment as any prisoner. Turn around and put your hands behind you.”

  When Doolin glared at the sheriff and didn’t move, Proctor grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. Jerking first one hand, then the other into a tight hold, he clasped the handcuffs around his wrists.

  “I’d be happy to teach the prisoner a little respect for your authority, Sheriff,” drawled Cade.

  Proctor turned the attorney back around and glanced at Cade. “Seein’ as how he insulted your betrothed, I’ll keep it in mind. If he gives me any trouble, you can pay him a visit.” He gave Doolin a little shove toward the door.

  Cade stepped aside, coldly meeting Doolin’s gaze, taking satisfaction in the fear he saw there.

  Chapter 21

  “What was it like, Uncle Quint? Pretending to be an outlaw, I mean.” Brad sat beside his uncle on the sofa, as close as he could without being in his lap. His friend, Will, had taken up a position on the floor on the other side of Quint, practically worshiping at his feet. To the boys—and the whole town—Quint was a hero.