The Cowboy's Honor

by Amy Sandas

  “The attacks have gone too far. I don’t know how you can feel justified in continuing the senseless killing, but no more.”

  As Randall went off in his usual, reckless manner, Dean watched the other man’s reaction. There was genuine confusion, concern…and a total lack of guilt.

  “What the hell is he talking about, Pa?” Clinton had come out to join his father on the porch.

  A few years younger than Anne, Clinton had grown into a man in the time since Dean had last stood face-to-face with him.

  “I’m not sure, Son.”

  “Don’t give us that,” Randall shouted. “It had to be you. All the incidents were near the border between our land and yours, and they didn’t start until after…”

  He didn’t continue, glancing toward Dean.

  Dean knew his brother expected him to support his accusations, but something didn’t feel right.

  From the very first slaughtered cow they’d found the day of Anne’s funeral, he’d suspected the MacDonnells. It was the only thing that had seemed to make sense. The acts had clearly been perpetrated for no other reason than as a display of violence. No meat was ever taken; the cows were simply left to rot until they were found. The only thing that had come to mind was that Anne’s family was striking out in their grief and anger.

  Now, Dean wasn’t so sure.

  “Why don’t you explain to us what happened,” Horatio suggested, his tone even and sincere.

  Dean finally spoke. “For the last three years, we’ve been experiencing attacks on our cattle. It started small, but each attack that followed has gotten worse. Last night, two horses in our western pasture were killed.”

  “And you thought we’ve been doing this?” Clinton’s incredulous tone shifted quickly into anger. “Why the hell would we kill your livestock?”

  Horatio bowed his head as he slowly shook it from side to side. “They thought we were getting revenge.”

  “For what?” Clinton shouted before his expression shifted abruptly to one of understanding. “Holy shit. Because of Anne?”

  Neither Dean nor Randall replied.

  It was obvious how wrong they’d been, and the realization filled Dean with renewed grief and regret. There had been a time when the two families had been so close. Anne’s death and Dean’s guilt had driven a deep wedge between them. Now he had to wonder if the wedge had nothing to do with Anne and everything to do with his own guilty conscience.

  “What happened was a pure, inexplicable accident. We never blamed you, boy.” Horatio’s soft-spoken words cut through Dean like a knife glowing red from being set in the fire.

  “Someone did,” Randall pointed out.

  The MacDonnells exchanged a swift glance.

  “What is it?” Dean asked, his body tensing with the certainty that they knew something.

  The older man sighed, heavily and deeply. His gaze, as it fell on Dean, was almost apologetic. “Shortly after Anne died, we discovered that our foreman, Gilbert Hayes, had fancied himself in love with her. He came back from a night in town drunker than shit and went on and on about how they’d been in love and that, ah…” He paused, his expression tensing as though he regretted the next words he’d have to say. “He claimed she’d ridden to your place that day to let you know she and Hayes were planning on marrying.”

  Dean felt a familiar twist in his gut. He met the older man’s gaze and gave a short nod. “She left me a note that day, breaking off our engagement. She said she preferred another man.”

  “You never told me that!” Randall exclaimed.

  “After her death, it didn’t matter,” Dean replied stiffly.

  “Hayes never spoke of it when he was sober. You wouldn’t have known there was anything wrong at all. But when the man fell into a bottle of spirits, he’d go on and on about losing her right when he was about to have her forever.” Horatio met Dean’s hard gaze. “He blamed you. Claimed that if you had been home that day, she could have had her say and ended things with you. He’s convinced that if she’d talked to you, her horse never would have spooked, and she wouldn’t have been thrown against that rock.”

  Dean could understand. He believed the same thing, didn’t he? If he’d just been home when she’d stopped by, the series of events that had led to her death would have been altered.

  “Where is Hayes now?” Dean asked.

  “We thought he’d been getting over things, but after meeting your bride, he went into a rage. This time he was sober. I had to pay him final wages and told him to leave the ranch. I’m sorry, Dean. If I’d known he might have been killing your cattle, I would’ve stopped it long ago. I just thought he was a grieving man. I took pity on him. I made a mistake.”

  Dean shook his head. “I should’ve talked to you about the attacks,” he admitted regretfully.

  “No point in looking back. If Hayes is still out there, we’ll help you track him down.”

  “I’ll get the horses,” Clinton declared before he vaulted over the porch railing and took off at a lope toward the barn.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Dean had never been so weary in all his life. It was the kind of tired that went down to the marrow of a man’s bones and made his heart ache and his head throb.

  The four of them had ridden through the night, searching for signs of Hayes by the light of the moon and stars. Finally, as the soft rays of dawn started to spread across the horizon, Horatio convinced him to get home and rest. He offered to send some men over to patrol the borders of the Lawton homestead in case Hayes thought to get close again.

  Dean was tempted to decline. He could protect his own.

  But then he thought of the three women back home and Randall’s unborn child. His pride wasn’t worth their safety.

  The MacDonnells turned toward their land, and Dean and Randall headed home as well.

  They were quiet and solemn, bone tired and worried about when and where Hayes might strike next.

  Dean didn’t like the thought of Hayes going off the deep end after meeting Courtney. The man might see their marriage as an added reason for revenge. Though the tracks from that morning had headed out onto the range, there had been plenty of time for Hayes to circle back.

  It was all he could think about as they neared the homestead.

  Thankfully, there was no sign of any disturbance as they approached Randall’s house.

  Both men tied their horses to the hitching post and went straight to the front door. The horses needed to be cared for, but first they both wanted to be assured that the women were safe.

  They had to wait for the bolt to be drawn back, but as soon as it was, Randall rushed through the door. He barely made it over the threshold before he came to a sudden stop, a strange sound squeezing from his chest. Then he stumbled forward with a harshly muttered, “Holy hell.”

  Dean reached for the gun on his hip and stepped around Randall to see what the hell had his brother so startled.

  A quick scan revealed no sign of trouble in the little home. Everything was as neat and cozy as always. Turning back, he finally noticed that Randall had gone straight to where Courtney stood just inside the door. He could see the red of her bowed head beyond his brother’s shoulder as they both bent over something in her arms.

  He stilled. Some of his alarm slid away as he started to suspect what had his brother so worked up.

  “Where’s Pilar? Is she…?” Randall asked.

  “She is resting. Jimena is with her. Your wife is exhausted but lovely,” Courtney replied.

  “Thank God,” Randall exclaimed before he spun in a rush of energy and went to check on his wife, leaving Courtney and Dean standing in the front room.

  Damn, she looked good.

  Her hair was twisted in a messy braid. She looked tired and soft. Her eyes were heavy with lack of sleep, and her mouth was curved in a gentle smile.


  “Come meet your nephew.”

  A boy.

  As he approached, he couldn’t help but notice how it felt to see his wife cradling the swaddled little bundle as she rocked gently back and forth, her skirts swaying around her legs.

  She was so serene. So sweet and calm and content.

  She deserved a babe of her own.

  The thought had his chest tightening so fiercely and swiftly that his breath totally left him. He shifted his attention to the baby in order to call it back.

  All he could see within the folds of the blanket was a tiny face surrounded by a thick patch of black hair and one clenched fist.

  Dean had no idea babies could be born with so much hair. In his opinion, which he’d keep to himself, the child wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, but he supposed no one could expect much from someone who was less than a day old.

  “Does he have a name?”

  “Not yet. Pilar wanted to wait for Randall’s return.”

  He reached out and swept the back of his finger against the soft curve of the baby’s cheek. Though the little one had appeared to be sleeping, he immediately turned his head toward Dean’s finger and opened his tiny mouth. He found his own fist instead and immediately started sucking on it. But apparently, it was not what he wanted, as his features scrunched up like an old man’s and he let out a wailing cry.

  Dean stepped back in alarm, his gaze lifting to Courtney’s.

  Her chuckle warmed his weary bones. “I think he might want his mother again. He has already proven to have a voracious appetite.”

  “Well, he’s Randall’s son,” Dean replied.

  “I will take him back to Pilar, then we can go home.”

  Dean nodded. “I’ll go see to Randall’s horse. Just come on out when you’re ready.”

  She nodded and smiled. Bowing her head over the babe, she cooed soft, soothing words as she turned to take him to the bedroom.

  Dean stood for a second and watched her go. The sound her voice had made as it formed the word home echoed through him like the drawn-out strains of a fiddle.

  Cursing himself for being so softheaded, he went outside.

  He took care of Randall’s horse, making sure the animal had plenty of water and grain after working through the night. By the time he came back around to the front of the house, Courtney was already standing by his horse, running her hand along the gelding’s neck as the horse rested his head on her shoulder.

  Turning her head at his approach, she said, “Perhaps we should walk back. I think he’s far too tired to carry both of us.”

  Dean nodded his response, mostly because he couldn’t speak just then.

  Seeing the picture she made while comforting his horse in the early slant of morning and remembering the image of her with the babe that would forever be imprinted on his brain, he was struck by how different she looked now compared to when he’d seen her for the first time—all made up and fancy in her elegant white gown.

  Her appearance this morning was miles away from what it had been that day, but when he thought of what had changed, he could only call up superficial things. The dress, the way she styled her hair, the setting.

  He thought about her quick and ready smiles, her rarely shown but fierce little temper. The way she had forged ahead with the new experiences of life on a ranch—a life she’d never intended to live. How she reveled in new experiences and faced every challenge with an optimistic gaze.

  Those things had been a part of her from the start and had carried her through what—by all rights—should have been a difficult and trying adjustment to circumstances.

  He’d never been able to do that. He’d always needed the security of life unchanged, of predictability and the continuous necessity of work, day in and day out.

  He admired her.

  He’d never expected to.

  By her example, he had started to see what he was missing by holding so rigidly to what he thought was expected of him. He was starting to realize that the expectation was no one else’s but his own.

  These heavy thoughts combined with the pervading fear of knowing Hayes was still out there somewhere and his complete physical exhaustion to weigh down his steps.

  As though she sensed his weary distraction, and perhaps because she possessed some of the same, they walked the narrow lane around the pasture in companionable silence, their hands linked with interlaced fingers while he led his tired horse.

  All Dean wanted to do was kick off his boots, crawl into bed, and hold his wife’s warm body in his arms as they slept the day away. But as they rounded the last curve of the lane, Dean tensed at the sight of two riders coming down the road to his place.

  His first thought was Hayes, but the man had probably worked alone in his quest for vengeance. And considering the foreman’s prior behavior, Dean doubted the coward would ride right up to Dean’s front door.

  Still, the sight of the two strangers made his tired muscles tense.

  Courtney—likely feeling the change in him—glanced at him in question, then followed his narrowed gaze.

  Lifting her hand to shield her view from the sun, she asked, “Who is that?”

  “Don’t know.”

  They kept walking, but Dean released Courtney’s hand so his would be free to draw his gun if need be.

  Prior to Hayes’s attacks, he never would have been so quick to suspect strangers of bad intentions. Prior to Courtney, he hadn’t had something so valuable to protect.

  The two riders hadn’t yet seen Dean and Courtney coming from the path beyond the barn. They rode casually up to the house, and both dismounted. One was a large man with gun on his left hip, handle grip forward. He looked rough and dangerous, even from a distance, as he surveyed their surroundings in swift, economical glances that told Dean the man was accustomed to seeing enemies lurking in shadows. He had the manner of a gunfighter, and Dean didn’t like that one bit.

  The other rider was significantly smaller in every way, practically the size of a boy. Short and slim, but exhibiting a spurt of barely controlled impatience as he leapt from his horse. He didn’t even bother tying up the animal before heading for the front door of the house. Dean could have sworn he saw a long black braid swinging down the boy’s back, but the distance and the angle of his view made him uncertain.

  In the next moment, the big, dangerous-looking one spotted their approach. He stood facing them, all tense and watchful as he took in their appearance, then he visibly relaxed and said something to his friend. It was only a word or two, but it had the smaller one turning away from the house to start toward them with long, purposeful strides.

  The dangerous one stayed where he was.

  “Oh my goodness,” Courtney gasped beside him.

  Dean tensed. He had just decided the two probably weren’t a threat, but shock was obvious in her whispered words.

  “Alexandra?” she muttered under her breath before taking off at a run.

  Now that she was closer, Dean could see that the small rider was clearly a woman dressed in men’s clothing.

  The two women reached each other and embraced. Both of them started talking at once, then laughed at each other and hugged again.

  Dean reached them just as Courtney exclaimed, “My goodness, Alexandra, I did not recognize you at all. You used to tell Evie and me that you had lived a very different life out here, but I cannot say I expected you to be going about in breeches. And with a gun on your hip.”

  The other woman flashed vivid blue eyes at her friend in a teasing glance. “I barely recognized you either, but I cannot say I don’t like the change. Montana seems to agree with you, Courtney Adams.”

  Courtney blushed and glanced aside at Dean. Her smile was a secretive little curl that twisted his gut in a delicious way and had him thinking things that weren’t appropriate in front of
company.

  “Well, not Adams, I’m afraid.” She linked her arm through Dean’s and drew him forward. “May I introduce Mr. Dean Lawton, the owner of this ranch and my husband. Temporarily, that is.”

  Blue eyes bounced wildly back and forth between Courtney and Dean. “You’re teasing me,” the other woman insisted.

  “Not at all,” Courtney replied with a smile.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. But what exactly do you mean by temporary?”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Courtney could barely believe it. Alexandra was here. Along with her frightening ex-bounty-hunter of a husband. It felt so good to see her old friend again, but odd at the same time. It was such a strange mixing of past and present, but not in any way Courtney could have imagined.

  The Alexandra Courtney had known back in Boston had been polished and tutored in all the ways of Boston’s elite society. Alexandra’s aunt had seen to it. Though Alexandra had often talked about her childhood in Montana, Courtney now suspected that she might have toned down the truth of how she’d been raised by her adventurous father.

  One thing that was exactly as Courtney had expected was the relationship between Alexandra and her husband, Malcolm Kincaid. The man was as forbidding, hard, and frightening as any man Courtney had ever met—except when he looked at his wife. The love and respect in his eyes then could not be mistaken.

  Courtney’s heart warmed for her friend, even as it ached for herself.

  Alexandra’s arrival had put a bright light on the fact that her time with Dean was running short.

  After an initial greeting, Dean excused himself to lead his exhausted mount to the barn. Watching him walk away, Courtney realized that she hadn’t even asked how his night went—if he’d found whoever was responsible for the attacks on Lawton livestock.

  Though Alexandra had a dozen questions after Courtney’s announcement in the yard, Courtney insisted on waiting to explain everything until they were more comfortable.

  Alexandra’s husband excused himself, also claiming the need to see to their horses, and left the two women to settle in for a more private chat in the parlor.