To Love a Texas Ranger

by Linda Broday

  The men scattered, not brave enough to stand and be caught by one of their straight-flying bullets.

  Once through them, Sam whirled to make another pass.

  “I’m reloading, Sam,” Luke hollered. “Are you out?”

  “Close to it.”

  “Take mine and let me reload yours.”

  It seemed like a good plan. He knew cowboys would hear the shooting and gallop from the ranch soon. All he and Luke needed to do was keep the attackers away from the caravan until help arrived.

  Sam took Luke’s Colt while Luke reloaded the other. Sam took aim and fired at one of the shooters, striking him in the chest. He yelled and fell from his horse. The man looked up as Sam went by. He recognized John, the man they’d threatened from the hay wagon, confirming Sam’s suspicions.

  As he pondered that, a sudden bullet tore into his upper arm. Stinging pain shot through his body. He sucked in a quick breath, steeling himself against the fire.

  Though he felt blood running down his arm, he had no time to look. He had to protect Sierra and the others. All else could wait.

  From his seat behind, Luke released rapid fire at the remaining riders, managing to hit two. Instead of Ford and his bunch giving up, a group of new riders joined him. Sam prayed the cowboys would soon come, or he’d have to think of a new plan.

  “Are you all right back there, Luke?”

  “I’m fine. You hurt bad?”

  “A scratch.” Sam kept one eye on the slow caravan. They approached the entrance.

  And then he saw what he’d been waiting on. Men on horseback poured from beneath the crossbar. Had to be fifteen or twenty at least. A grin formed.

  Stoker Legend led the charge.

  With the outlaws in capable hands, Sam turned toward home.

  He drew alongside the caravan that had stopped beneath the huge crossbar. Above them was emblazoned the words Lone Star Ranch.

  A lump rose in Sam’s throat the size of a peach pit.

  Legend land run by Legend men.

  Down the road, he glimpsed the immense white stone structure and the tall flagpole at one corner with the Texas flag unfurled in the breeze. He blinked hard to clear the mist in his eyes. Three colors—red, white, and blue. One big star. Men had fought and died for the star, for God, state, and country.

  Next to the flag, though he was too far away to see clearly, a large bronze star hung between two heavy iron poles.

  He was home.

  Luke slid from the horse and looked up at him. “We did it again. You and me make a good team.”

  “That we do.” The decision Sam had wrestled with the whole way brought an ache to his chest. He couldn’t put it off any longer.

  “If you ever find the straight and narrow too rigid, look me up.” Luke winked. “I’ll show you the ropes. It’s been fun.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it that.”

  With a laugh, Luke patted Trooper’s rump. “Thanks for taking care of my ornery hide.”

  Sam watched him stride to the black gelding and sling his saddle onto the horse’s back.

  Sierra climbed from the wagon. Fingers of sunlight brushed her face and caressed her hair, paying homage to her dark beauty. Sam watched her glance at Luke then at Sam. Indecision rippled in her blue eyes, rooting her to the spot for a second. He didn’t have to wonder long who she’d choose. She ran to him.

  “You’re bleeding! I thought…” Her quivering lip was more than Sam could bear. “They could’ve killed you.”

  He dismounted. “I’m fine.”

  “But they shot you.” A sob escaped despite her attempt to smother it.

  Against his better judgment, he put his arms around her. She laid her head on his chest. He yearned to keep her there, to give in to the hunger that gnawed on him night and day now. But his life wasn’t the life she wanted. True, she was mixed-up and confused and sorting through her own problems, but one thing he knew she would never budge on—roots and permanence.

  “I’ve bled more shaving.” He chuckled. Maybe joking would ease the stabbing pain in his arm. Nothing would work for his heart. “One more scar to add to the others on my body.”

  She stepped out of his arms. “This isn’t funny.”

  “I’ve been hurt lots worse.” Sam’s gaze went to Luke where he was finishing with the saddle. “Can you excuse me for a moment?”

  “What are you going to do, Sam? You can’t arrest Luke. You just can’t.”

  Without answering, Sam took Trooper’s reins and strode to Luke. For the first time in his life, he cursed his job. He owed Luke Weston, and no amount of money could ever repay the debt. The outlaw had proven worthy of trust. Sam even considered him a friend. They made a formidable team.

  “I can’t let you leave, Weston.”

  Sierra gave a strangled cry. “Please don’t do this.”

  “It’s all right, dulce,” Luke rasped. His cold eyes hardened when he turned to Sam. “Figured this was the way it’d end. At least I’ll get to see the grand Lone Star. Maybe if the cards fall right, I’ll meet the big man himself—Stoker Legend. Now that would surely be something.”

  The thick sarcasm wasn’t lost on Sam. He had a feeling the showdown with Luke he’d been expecting was twisting and whirling toward him in the form of a black storm cloud.

  “You might want to save all that until after you let me finish. I’m not arresting you. I’m going to hold you while I help you get out of this mess you’re in. I’ll help you clear your name.”

  “It’s too late for that, amigo. It won’t change who I am. And maybe I don’t want anything different. Maybe I like exacting my own brand of justice, having men fear me. Having power.”

  The Mexican families in the caravan watched silently. The children were wide-eyed, and a few shed tears. Sam hadn’t wanted to do this in front of them, but hadn’t had a choice.

  “Whether you want my help or not, you’re getting it.”

  With his green eyes flashing, Luke stood there proud and arrogant. “Gonna make me walk, Ranger, or do I get to ride up to the castle?”

  “Don’t be stupid and mount up,” Sam snapped, sliding into the saddle.

  “Gracias, Patron,” Luke jeered, sticking his foot in the stirrup.

  Sam felt the hairs on his neck bristle as he evaded the angry scowls of the travelers. Luke was one of them the way Sam never could be. The caravan slowly moved toward headquarters and he toward the face-to-face with Stoker and Houston.

  “This may not turn out the way you expect, Legend,” Luke growled.

  “Warning me you’ll try to leave?”

  “If I’m not under arrest, why would I need to escape?”

  “Exactly.”

  The wheels rumbled and bounced over the rough road. At last the caravan stopped in front of the stone headquarters.

  Sam dismounted and turned to Luke. “This is the best deal you’ll ever get.”

  “Save your empty words, Ranger. No one cared about me before. No reason to start now.”

  By the time Sam moved to help Sierra from the wagon, she was already out and lifting Hector down.

  “Thank you, Sam, for not arresting Luke.” A tendril of hair blew across her eyes. He fought the urge to brush it away.

  “I’m not an ogre. He still has to face the charges. But I think what I have to say will carry a lot of weight.”

  Stoker Legend galloped up in a cloud of dust. He was out of the saddle almost before the magnificent white horse stopped. His customary hand-tooled gun belt and holster slapped his leg as long strides carried him to Sam.

  “It’s about damn time, son.” He glanced at Sierra, lifting his hat. “Pardon the rough language, miss. Sometimes out here I forget my manners.”

  Sam introduced her. She smiled and accepted his outstretched hand. “No apology necessary. It’s n
ice to meet Sam’s father. He’s told me a great deal about you.”

  “Not everything, I hope.”

  She laughed. “Only the best part, I assure you.”

  Stoker swung back to Sam. “It’s great to have you home.”

  “Thanks, Pa. It feels good.”

  Houston galloped into the yard, reining up sharply. Sam took in his older brother, who cast almost as long a shadow as their pa. How long would it be before they were trading angry words? Or worse yet, blows.

  “You’re a sad sight, little brother.” Houston grabbed Sam, lifting him off the ground.

  “Whoa! Put me down,” Sam protested. “I have to get Luke Weston settled somewhere.”

  Stoker pretended to only now notice Luke standing beside Sierra, but Sam had seen his father’s eyes shift to the outlaw the first second. His father didn’t miss a single detail. Of anything. He’d bet Stoker knew how many buttons lined Sierra’s bodice and how many pairs of children’s eyes peered from beneath the tattered blanket in their wagon.

  And Sam for damn sure knew Stoker had already seen the scar around his neck. Hell! He tugged his shirt collar higher, wishing for the bandana that had come off during the fight.

  “Can’t you put aside your job long enough to let Doc Jenkins tend to that gunshot?” Stoker’s eyes flashed like glittering green stones. For a second they reminded him of Luke’s.

  Sam swallowed the angry words he ached to say. “This won’t take long, Pa. Then I’m all yours.”

  “Tell me what you need, son. I’ll help.” Surprisingly, Stoker’s rough edges softened a bit.

  “Need somewhere to put Weston.”

  “I’ll take care of it. Who were those attackers out there?”

  “Part was Isaac Ford’s gang. Don’t know yet who the others were that joined him.” But you could bet Sam was going to find out. “Thanks for the help. I was hoping you’d hear.”

  “They hightailed it when they saw us. My men were chasing after them when I turned around. Didn’t get a good look at any. They didn’t even stop to gather their dead. I’ll see to their burial.”

  “Post guards at the gate, Pa. They’ll be back.”

  “What do they want?” Houston asked.

  Sierra stepped forward. “Me.”

  “And some outlaw loot I have in my saddlebags,” Sam added. “They chased us all the way. They shot Weston, and he nearly died.”

  Stoker’s eyes hardened, turning to green stones. “They’ll go through me to get you, Miss Sierra. You’re safe here.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She seemed to relax some.

  “Enough of this unpleasant business. We’ll discuss it later.” Stoker’s gaze flicked to the rest of the party. “Introduce your friends.”

  Starting with Luke, Sam went around the group. When he finished, Stoker boomed, “Welcome to the Lone Star. Thank you for bringing my son home. If you need anything, let me know.” He turned to their housekeeper. “Mrs. Ross, take this lovely young woman to the prettiest room.”

  Smiling, Mrs. Ross nodded. “Of course, sir.”

  Stoker stepped toward Sam and took the side opposite Houston. Sandwiched between them, Sam gave a frustrated sigh and let them pick him up and carry him into the house. His father was doing it again. Taking charge, pushing Sam’s thoughts and wishes aside as though he was a child too young to know his own mind.

  Only this time, Houston had joined him. Now Sam had two to battle to be heard. Hell and be damned!

  The prodigal has returned, Sam thought sourly.

  Twenty

  Once inside the coolness of the house, Sam expected them to put him down or deposit him in a chair, but Stoker and Houston didn’t slow. They continued right up the curved mahogany staircase that glistened in the light spilling in from outside and kicked open the door to Sam’s old room.

  “My arm’s shot, not my damn leg. I can walk.” Sam grunted when they dropped him on the quilted coverlet. “And don’t be so rough.”

  Houston grinned. “Getting soft, little brother?”

  “Nope. Just been through hell.”

  Stoker’s piercing green gaze made Sam fidget. “I sent out a search party, but they came back empty-handed. Didn’t know what had happened to you. Thought you might be dead. One son’s already died in my arms. I don’t need another.” His fingers combed through his shock of gray hair. “Dammit, this is why I didn’t want you to be a Texas Ranger. Still don’t.”

  When had his father gotten so old? Two years ago, he still had plenty of brown in his hair. And the lines around his mouth were deeper now. Maybe Sam had stayed away too long this time.

  “I could die here on the ranch, Pa,” he reminded softly. “Being here can’t keep me safe.”

  “No, but at least I’d know and have a place to visit when I took a notion. Your mother would want you beside her. Looks like you’d consider her.”

  Sam shot Houston a questioning glance. Standing slightly behind their father, Houston shrugged. A talk seemed to be long overdue.

  “Back to bringing me upstairs. It’s the middle of the afternoon, for God’s sake.”

  “You would’ve preferred for Doc Jenkins to undress you downstairs in front of God and everybody?” his father blustered.

  “I don’t need undressing. Even if I did, I can do it myself. It’s my damn arm that’s shot. Can either of you hear that?” He held it up. “My arm.”

  “We’ve got eyes. You stink, son. Before you crawl between these clean sheets, you’re gettin’ a bath. Same goes for coming to the supper table. Being already undressed, you can bring down two calves with the same rope.” Stoker laid a gentle hand on Sam. “I’ve ordered Jenkins to check you out. I doubt you’ve seen a doctor in all this time away.”

  Houston rolled his eyes, hiding a grin. Hell!

  Sam softened his voice. “Pa, I’m not a two-year-old.”

  “Don’t get smart with me.” Stoker strode to the door, turning back before he left. “I also want to know who tried to hang my son, and I want to know if the mangy coyote is still breathing. If so, why. Doc Jenkins will be right up. Houston, make sure he doesn’t sneak down the back stairs. Hog-tie him if you have to. I’ve got guests to see about.”

  Sam stared at the slamming door. “Damn! Not much has changed.”

  “You didn’t expect it to, did you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then you weren’t disappointed.” Houston pulled a knife from inside his boot. “You want me to cut off your pants or start with your shirt?”

  “Neither. These are brand new.” Sam gave his brother a warning glare.

  “You’re never going to get all the trail dust out. Might as well burn ’em.”

  “Put the knife away, or I’ll do it for you.” Sam removed his gun belt and hung it on the bedstead. “Pa’s a lot grayer and has deeper lines in his face. Noticed a new scar below his eye. Is he all right?”

  “Fit as a fiddle, according to Doc.”

  “What was that about dying and me not considering Mother?”

  Houston’s brown eyes met his. “That’s what I was trying to tell you last time you came home. He’s worried that someone’s bullet will find you, and he’ll never know where your bones rest. A year ago he erected his own telegraph line and hired a man to do nothing but sit in that office, manning it.”

  That obsession seemed a little odd, even for Stoker Legend.

  “When you weren’t on the train,” Houston continued, “he burned up the lines, contacting everyone he could think of.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Pa didn’t tell you, but he already has your grave marked next to Mother.”

  Sam scowled. “Well, I ain’t ready to kick the bucket.”

  “Makes two of us.”

  “What about you? Where will you be in the plot lineup?”

  “Said he wants me next to W
illiam. So I can watch over him.”

  The crack in Houston’s voice at mention of their baby brother, who’d lived less than a year, bruised something deep inside of Sam. Pa would only entrust William’s care to the best.

  Sam frowned. Giving Houston that special responsibility didn’t match the angry words Houston had flung at him last time he was home. He tolerates me, but it’s you he stands looking for every sunrise and sunset. You don’t know the pain you leave behind each time you ride off, chasing your dream.

  It sounded like Pa did a sight more than tolerate his oldest son.

  After clearing his throat, Sam could speak. “That’s because you’re the strongest, and Pa knows it. Can’t think of anyone I’d rather stand, or lay, beside. When the time comes, of course.”

  “I often wonder how our baby brother would’ve turned out.”

  “Like us, probably,” Sam said quietly, unbuttoning his shirt. “Ready to ride into hell at a moment’s notice. Regardless of what you think, I do give a damn. About you and about Pa.”

  “What is it then that makes you always leave?”

  “I’m different. I don’t know why. I just know I am. It’s something I can’t explain or control. I don’t feel really alive unless I’m facing danger. Maybe something’s broken inside.”

  Houston dropped the shirt Sam took off onto the floor and sat next to him. “I’m glad you’re home, brother. For however long this time.”

  “I’m tired, Houston. Down-to-the-bone tired.” His brother’s hand on his shoulder settled some of the weariness. He left out the part about his boss sending him home. Houston already thought he was crazy as a bedbug anyway.

  “The Lone Star is a good place to rest up.”

  Sam took in the familiar room that had always been his refuge as long as he could recall. It was exactly as he’d left it. “Do I really stink?”

  Hearing his brother roar with laughter filled his soul. He’d missed that sound. No matter what, they were brothers and always would be. Just the two of them.

  “Pa wasn’t lying,” Houston said when he sobered. “You smell like a pigsty.”

  “Thanks a lot. You always side with him. Do you ever miss not having a sister?” Sam asked.