The Brides of Evergreen Box Set

by Heather Blanton

  She made him feel ten feet tall. Like a man.

  He blinked and straightened up to his full height, twisting his head to scrutinize Bobby and Dale. Both men made a comical picture, slack-jawed, in their worn underwear. “You boys have work to do. Get to it.” He grabbed the doorknob and narrowed his eyes at them. “I’ll be along.”

  When Dillon’s head cleared, he understood what Audra had done for him. But she hadn’t faked her reaction. Just like he hadn’t faked his. He wanted to say something, clarify what was happening between them, but she brushed past him headed for the door.

  “Come on.” She grabbed her shawl from the hook. “I want to give you something.”

  He followed her to the tack room. Grabbing the door to pull it closed, he spotted Bobby and Dale, finally saddling up for the morning’s work. Mischievousness took hold. He winked at the boys with his good eye, and shut the door.

  “I want you to use it.”

  Dillon walked over and brushed his hand across her father’s saddle. “You don’t have to do this. I can use any saddle.”

  She nodded. “I know you can. But you should use this one.”

  She started to go, but he caught her arm. He opened his mouth, eager to say something profound, something meaningful, but nothing at all came out. Too much to say and no idea what or how to say it.

  “We’ve got to move the herd today. That is, if you can ride.”

  “I can ride.”

  “If you’ll saddle Cookie for me, I’d appreciate it. I’ve got to change.”

  He dropped his hand. “Of course.”

  To occupy his mind and see just how sore he was, Dillon trotted Daisy around the barnyard. She was an old buckskin, a little deaf, a touch scrawny, but she was easy to ride. An intuitive horse with a smooth gait. His bruised ribs appreciated it. Maybe next time he’d see about a different mount—

  His calm old nag exploded like a box of dynamite, kicking, screaming, twisting. Dillon went flying and landed in the dirt on his face, his mouth filling with earth, grass, and spilled oats. Behind him Daisy calmed a little, but still jerked, twisted, grumbled, and kicked once more as if trying to rid herself of a horsefly.

  “Dillon, are you all right?”

  Audra ran up to him as he peeled himself off the ground, brushing dirt and hay and other undesirable masses from his shirt and Wahmaker breeches. “Fine. Fine.”

  She frowned at him, her face an odd expression of terror and annoyance. “You nearly scared the life out of me.” She shook her head, seemed to collect herself. “If you can’t handle Daisy, I’ll put you afoot.”

  Ignoring her, he wiped his mouth, spit once more, then strode toward his horse. “Shhh. Easy girl.” Talking softly, gently, he eased up to Daisy, loosened her saddle and felt around underneath it. “Ouch.” He snatched his hand out and examined his fingers. They were bleeding.

  12

  “What the . . .?”

  Dillon pulled the saddle off Daisy and threw it to the ground, upside down. He knelt and examined the exposed blanket.

  “What is it, Dillon?”

  He peered closely at something stuck in the weave. “Has anybody used this rig since your father died?”

  “No.”

  He worked the shiny object loose from the blanket, but knew what it was before he had it free. He stood and handed it to her. “I don’t know if someone was trying to kill your father, but they wanted to make sure he got thrown.”

  Audra stared at the dark brown piece of glass, turning it over and over in her hands.

  Winston turned the piece of glass over and over in his hand, just as Audra had done. It did not, however, reveal its secret to him either. She would give her right arm to know. Had someone murdered her father?

  Winston handed it back to her and sat down on the edge of his desk, eying her and Dillon sympathetically. “Without proof—”

  “Proof? This piece of glass didn’t walk into Pa’s saddle.”

  “No, it certainly shows intent. Someone intended to harm your father. Harm is not murder. And furthermore, we have no idea who put the shard in his saddle. It could have been Fairbanks or any of those idiots who work for him. For that matter, it could have been Bobby or Dale.”

  Audra started to rise out of her chair to protest, but Dillon put a restraining hand in front of her. He leaned back in his chair. “He’s right. We don’t have any idea who put it there.”

  “Logic says Fairbanks,” Winston wandered around the desk to his chair and sat. “But he could have had any of his boys do it. I’ll go over the matter with Dent. I’m sure he’ll open an investigation and ask around.”

  Dillon drummed his fingers on his thigh. “How dangerous do you think Fairbanks is? Do you think he would have tried to kill her father?”

  Winston sighed, picked up a pencil, and tapped it on his blotter. “In his younger days, Fairbanks was a handful. Not afraid of the devil himself. Audra’s pa put him in his place a time or two. I wouldn’t say there was bad blood between them, but they weren’t kissin’ cousins, either. Then Fairbanks made some offers for the ranch over the years. But when Audra blossomed into such a beautiful young woman,” he paused, choosing his words carefully, Audra guessed, “he got considerably more serious. The last time . . . they argued.”

  Dillon looked at her. “Which does Fairbanks want more? The ranch . . . or you?”

  Audra hugged herself, nauseated by the thought of that old man. He’d made his intentions quite clear since her father’s death, to the point she’d slapped him at their last meeting.

  Winston laid the pencil down and spoke softly. “He’s come by to see you since your pa died, hasn’t he?”

  Her uncle seemed to already know the answer. Audra wanted to hide under the table. She felt undressed discussing this. “He . . . wants me. He said anyway he can get me.”

  Winston shook his head, his brow creasing under the burden. “I thought you might be safe with a man around, Audra. That was why I agreed to find you someone. Now I fear I’ve endangered two lives.”

  “I told him I wouldn’t marry him if he was the last man on earth. But I didn’t think he would hurt me or threaten my men, much less hurt Pa.” She slid her gaze over to Dillon, “But what he said, the day we got married . . . now I’m not so sure.”

  “‘You’ve just made things a whole lot harder than they had to be,’” Dillon repeated. “It was a threat.”

  Winston pointed at the glass. “If he did that to your pa, he’s crazy. Be wary of him. Sit tight, stay away from him, and I’ll get Dent started on the investigation.”

  13

  Audra pulled her horse up and raised her chin. Jess Fairbanks was riding toward her at a leisurely pace, as if they both had all the time in the world to dally. His white hair glistened beneath his black hat. Those ridiculous conchos on his belt and saddle reflected the early afternoon sun like mirrors. She regretted the decision to separate from Dillon to look for strays. Not that she was afraid of Jess, but she was far more suspicious of the man now than she’d ever been.

  Did he murder her father? Her gut wrenched at the thought. She considered asking, but decided to hold back until she knew what he wanted. She started to ride toward him but paused. Waiting made her look more confident.

  He rode up intimately close. “Afternoon, Audra.” He challenged her with a bold stare.

  She forced herself to stay put, hold his gaze, even though she was close enough to smell the whiskey on his breath, see the hunger in his eyes. “What do you want, Jess?”

  “Where’s your husband? You know, he never did tell me his name.”

  “No, but I’m sure you know it by now.”

  “Indeed, I do.” He scanned the forest around them. “Is he nearby?”

  “Hollering distance.”

  The old man smiled like the devil come to bargain for Faust’s soul. “He’s spent some time with Missy Galloway. She’s a talker, that one. Spills everybody’s secrets.”

  The news hit Audra hard. Her reac
tion perplexed her, but she hid it. “What’s your point?”

  He nudged his horse closer so his knee touched hers. “Missy tells me that your husband signed a prenuptial agreement. I’m no lawyer but I know Wyoming property law. Your husband owns your ranch just as much as you do.” He swished his reins back and forth over the saddle horn. “Now, I asked myself, why would you try to buffalo him into believing he doesn’t own it? Maybe ’cause you don’t really want him to hang around.” He sucked on his teeth, pondering. “Yep, I think you think he’ll overstay his welcome if he knows that agreement isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.”

  Audra tired of the games. “What are you driving at, Jess?”

  “I think I’ll tell him that he owns one fine ranch, just as much as his new little wife does. Regardless of her lying, worthless attorney.”

  “Why? Why would you stick your nose in my business?”

  “With a man around, I can use a different strategy. I’ll bed you, girl, and I’ll have your ranch. One way or the other.”

  A chill slithered down Audra’s spine as the old man’s eyes roamed over her. “Not in this lifetime.”

  He nudged his horse even closer and grabbed her face, gouging his fingers into her cheeks. “You brought another man into this. Now I can do whatever I want. When I get done with Dillon Pine, no cowboy this side of the Mississippi will be brave enough to work for you. You’ll beg me to take you in and save your precious ranch.”

  Livid, Audra jerked away from him. “Did you kill my father?”

  At first, shock registered on his face, then the evil, oily smile returned. “Only tried to hurt him, but I got lucky. I thought for sure I had you then. But, no, you had to go and get married,” his lip curled into a sneer, “to a stranger. But I don’t care whose son he is, I’ll bury him to get what I want, Audra.”

  “You listen to me, Jess Fairbanks.” She started backing her horse away from him. “Come near Dillon or my ranch and I’ll bury you myself.” When she felt far enough away, she spun Cookie and raced for home, the tears rolling down her cheeks.

  Dillon let Daisy wander through the open pasture. Beneath a brilliant blue sky, the waving aspens and colorful pallet of dancing wildflowers eased his mind for a moment. He’d been distracted for days by that stupid piece of glass.

  He agreed with Winston. It had not been put there as an outright attempt at murder. It was a warning. Dillon had a theory that Fairbanks had been pressuring Audra’s father to sell the ranch and the suggestion went over about as well as Dillon would expect. The piece of glass implied another no would bring more trouble—worse trouble to the Diamond D.

  A shot rang out. Daisy squealed, staggered, and collapsed. Dillon barely had an instant to draw his gun before he and the horse hit the ground. Climbing to his feet, he surveyed the tree line ready for a fight as the horse kicked, squealed once more, then fell silent.

  Blood dribbled from a hole in her chest, just in front of the saddle.

  He waited, watching intently for several minutes. No more shots happened and he didn’t see any movement.

  Wait—there, a glint of light.

  He dropped behind Daisy’s body, his muscles loaded like a hair trigger, but nothing else happened. The minutes ticked by. Finally, he stood, doing one more careful scan of the trees. Nothing. Nodding, he knelt and unbuckled the saddle. Despite the long walk back, he wouldn’t leave it here. He noted the bullet hole in the horse’s chest. A foot higher and to the left and Dillon would be bleeding to death, his guts on fire from the bullet.

  He patted the horse’s neck. “Sorry, Daisy. But thank you.”

  14

  Her mind a whirling mess of raw emotions, Audra rode Cookie to the barn and dismounted . . . but she couldn’t think what to do next. Should she find Dillon and warn him? Should she ride into town and tell Winston that Fairbanks confessed to killing her father?

  He killed my father.

  “Oh, God,” she sobbed. Her knees buckled and she staggered over to the stall for support. He’d killed one man. No reason to think he wouldn’t kill another.

  Dillon couldn’t stay. He had to leave.

  She had done wrong by pulling him into this. By not seeing what was right in front of her—Jess was a killer. Her men hadn’t run from her. They’d run from him.

  Footsteps and the jangle of tack reached her. “Audra.”

  Dillon. She wiped her face and hurried outside to meet him. He was afoot and she knew that was a bad sign. He dropped the saddle as they both spoke simultaneously.

  “What happened? Where’s Daisy?”

  “You’ve been crying. What’s wrong?” He grabbed her shoulders, his expression tender and full of intense concern. “You’re pale as snow. What’s the matter?”

  It hit her like a lightning bolt.

  Dillon mattered to her. Far more than her ranch. What did that mean? Could she—did she—love him? Clearly, if he had been visiting Missy Galloway, the feeling wasn’t mutual. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t let anything happen to him.

  “Get out.” She nearly choked on the command, but he had to leave. “I’m done. I don’t want to be marr—” her voice broke, but she fought to steady it. “I don’t want to be married to you anymore.”

  Dillon’s face fell. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Slowly, he released her.

  She stepped back. “It was a terrible idea. It’s not working. Get your things and leave. Take a horse. Any horse. I don’t care.” She couldn’t stand the hurt in his eyes. Why is he looking at me that way?

  She spun away from him and grabbed the stall door. “Go.” She swallowed the tightness in her throat for one last word: “Please.”

  Dillon stormed into his room and started shoving his belongings into his saddlebags. Fine. I don’t need the woman. Three years in prison would be a cakewalk compared to living with her, being taunted with flowers and wedding tunes . . .

  Wait a minute.

  He chided himself for being ruled by wounded pride, and stopped packing to think. Something was going on here. He had to find the logic—the reason—in her transformation. So far, she hadn’t been prone to any dramatic swings of emotion.

  What would make Audra suddenly decide to kick him out and end their marriage?

  Had someone taken a shot at her, too?

  No . . . he squeezed the shirt in his hand. The glint of light from the rider. Fairbanks’s conchos.

  Had he talked to Audra out there, while she was alone? Threatened her?

  Dillon tried sliding the pieces of this puzzle into place.

  Fairbanks was most likely the one who killed her father, whether by intention or accident. He wanted the ranch and Audra.

  You’ve just made things a whole lot harder than they had to be.

  By bringing a man into the picture? Audra had protection now? This was no simple matter of running off her hands. And she’d been pretty adamant about making sure Dillon gave the orders.

  Which meant Dillon was the obstacle Fairbanks would have to remove.

  Maybe this was a weak chain of reasoning, but it made sense. He couldn’t think of anything else that would make her change her mind so suddenly. She was afraid for Dillon . . .

  There was another possibility, of course. Was she afraid of Dillon? Of her feelings for him? Had he come to mean something to her? Would she rather see him leave than get hurt?

  He didn’t want to leave her.

  He sat down hard on the bed. The realization that she had come to mean something to him felt like a mule kick to his gut. Oh, he wasn’t in love or anything. Nah. He just liked her. He liked the sound of her voice, soft and hypnotic. He liked watching her ride, the way she joined with the horse in simple movement. He liked the way she’d held his hand and soothed his cuts.

  He recalled the way she had walked into his jail cell. Her stubborn chin lifted, shoulders back, she looked like a woman going into battle . . . and his heart had done a funny little flip. That wasn’t love, though.

  Then wh
at was it?

  Pressing a hand to his forehead, he groaned. What a tangled mess.

  There was only one way to straighten it out—and keep Audra safe. Charge head-on for Fairbanks. He was the one strand in the knot keeping everything snarled.

  15

  The Bar FB ranch house was an imposing white-washed, antebellum structure with two large columns supporting the front porches. Dillon rode straight to the hitching post, dismounted, and stomped up the steps. A lazy guard casually rose to his feet, clearly intending to stop Dillon with nothing but a hard look. Not wasting a moment, Dillon slugged the man, knocking him unconscious. The guard slithered to the floor with a fleshy thud and Dillon slipped inside the house.

  He listened for a moment, picking up the muffled grumbling of Fairbanks from behind a closed door. “Well, here goes nothing,” he whispered, and pushed into the drawing room.

  Fairbanks and Titus spun to face the door. Both men went for their guns, but Dillon was faster and cleared leather first. While their eagerness to draw shocked him, staring into the barrel of his .44 quickly changed their fighting posture into acquiescence. They raised their empty hands.

  “I just want to talk to you, Fairbanks.” He eyed Titus, who clearly looked worried. “My bridesmaid, there, can leave.”

  Titus’s jaw tightened, but Fairbanks dismissed him with a nod. “Go on. I don’t believe the senator’s son here has any intention of shooting us. He wouldn’t do something like that to his father again.”

  Dillon’s grip tightened on his gun. If Fairbanks knew, it wouldn’t be long before the papers and everybody else knew, and his anonymity would disappear like smoke. He clamped his mouth shut, putting on a poker face. Titus walked past—glaring—but seemed to understand retreat was not optional.