The Feisty Bride's Unexpected Match: A Western Historical Romance Book

by Lydia Olson

  Lie to him, Crane thought. There was no indication that I planned the attack against him. Right?

  “Tucker,” Crane said. “I heard you were dead.”

  Tucker shrugged. “That was the rumor,” his croaky voice said. “But life clung to me like barnacles on a sea vessel.” He stared away for a moment. Chomped on his cigar. Looked at Crane like he was about to shoot him.

  “Where’s Stedman?”

  Tucker chomped on his cigar. “He’s out back.”

  Crane looked around. “Where? I don’t see him.”

  “Oh, that’s because he’s underground, now. Poor sap outlived his purpose.”

  My God, Crane thought. Tucker is truly demented. He cleared his throat. “How, uh ... how did you survive? I heard that you were killed.”

  Tucker wagged his finger. “Now that is an interesting story. I thought I was dead, too. You see, those ingrates known as Miller and Childs double crossed me. They shot me in the chest after the train robbery. My world turned black in all of an instant. All I remember was waking up in a hole in the desert to a flock of vultures pecking at me. I didn’t have much strength, but I managed to shoo them off. After I did, I crawled my way to a shack owned by a hermit—six miles I crawled. Luckily, he was able to tend to my wounds …” Tucker lifted his shirt and showed the crudely stitched wound. “Man wasn’t much of a doctor, but he got the job done. I didn’t want to kill him, but I had to make sure that he didn’t squeal to anyone.”

  This man is a disease, Crane thought. I should have known that he would return to haunt me. “My God,” he said. “That is quite … lucky.”

  Tucker laughed. It made Crane sick to his stomach. He was almost positive that Tucker was on the cusp of shooting him so he let his hand hover subtly near his six-shooter to draw it at a moment's notice.

  “It most certainly is a lucky situation, isn’t it?” Tucker said. “Once I recouped, I made my way to Oklahoma City. I, well, took some money, replenished myself,” he patted the six-shooter stuffed into his belt, “stole one of these, and then I made my way back to little old Clarendon.” He gestured around. “First bit of business I took care of was disposing of Childs and Miller. Don’t worry, I buried them out back. They had it coming.” He walked toward Crane, a slight limp in his step. “The next order of business was to talk to you, Crane, because we have unfinished business.”

  Crane swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m not sure I understand, Tucker.”

  Jutting his chin, Tucker’s eyes turned into slits as he stared down Crane. “Did you do it?”

  “Did I do what?”

  “Did you order Childs and Miller to kill me?” Tucker asked.

  Deny it, Crane thought. Make something up!

  “No, I did not,” Crane said. “Those idiots claimed that you were killed by the Treasury men. And then they hid the money. After that, they returned here and claimed that they didn’t make away with the money.”

  Tucker looked skeptical. “That’s odd,” he said. “I wonder why they would stick around here.”

  Lie, Crane! “I made them stick around to lie low until I could sort it out.” Yes, that’s good. “I had a suspicion they were hiding the money here, so that’s why I came—to try and find it, to confront them.” Yes, Crane—very good.

  “Well, the money isn’t here, Crane. I’ve looked everywhere.” He rested his hand on his six-shooter. “And I’m not completely certain that you weren’t in on their plan to kill me.”

  Deflect, Crane.

  Deflect!

  Crane pointed. “I had nothing to do with what they did,” he said. “I was planning on killing them myself after the train robbery went south, but Sheriff Stevens has seen fit to make sure we don’t participate in any more of our little side jobs. He’s shut the whole thing down.”

  “Then deal with him,” Tucker said. “You’re next in line for sheriff. No one is going to stop you.”

  “Maybe,” Crane said. “But we’ve got bigger problems.”

  “We do—like Miller and Childs hiding our money. If, of course, that is truly what happened.”

  It’s not hidden, Crane thought. They spent their share, and I stored the rest back at the house. “Morons,” he said as he stomped his foot on the ground to sell his faux frustration. “I knew those two were no good.”

  “Well, they’ve been dealt with.” Tucker scowled. “And I’m owed a payday.”

  Crane nodded. “I am, too. But we have a problem.”

  “What kind of problem?”

  “There’s a man in town,” Crane said. “Fletcher Bryant’s nephew. The man that was with my soon-to-be wife on the stagecoach you held up.”

  Tucker chuckled. “That man certainly has a way of popping his head back up,” he said. “And what’s keeping him in Clarendon? Your missus?”

  “Partly,” Crane said. “But I’ve made sure she’s been cooped up on my property. Also, his uncle left him his property.”

  “That man on the ranch? The one you poisoned?”

  “Indeed. And David Bryant just confronted me not long ago. He’s threatening to expose everything I’ve done.”

  “Then he needs to be dealt with,” Tucker said. “Right away.”

  “There’s no question about that. And I could use your help.”

  “And why should I help you?”

  “Because your problems,” Crane said, “are my problems. He exposes you, then he exposes us. It’ll be a headache like no other.”

  Tucker shrugged. “I can just go,” he said. “Everyone thinks I’m dead. I have an advantage.”

  “You won’t be able to run far unless he’s dealt with. He’ll go to the law somewhere else. There won’t be anywhere we can run.” He sighed. “Tucker, help me take care of him. We’ll get rid of David Bryant, and then things will go back to the way they were.”

  “Again,” Tucker said, “what’s in it for me?” He withdrew his weapon and aimed it at Crane. “Heck, I could shoot you where you stand and go on my merry way. Again, I’m still suspicious that you had something to do with Miller and Childs’s double-cross. So, what’s stopping me from doing whatever I see fit?”

  Think, Michael! Crane thought. Think!

  “I’ll give you David Bryant’s ranch,” Crane said. “I’ll get rid of the sheriff and clear you of all wrongdoing. You know I have that power.”

  Tucker held his grip on his gun. “What else?”

  “I’ll give you money,” Crane said. “I’ll pay you.”

  “How much?”

  “How much do you want?”

  Tucker gazed over Crane’s head, thinking. “Ten thousand,” he said. “I know you’re good for it.”

  Crane nodded. “Fine. You have it.”

  Tucker took a moment to mull over Crane’s proposal, the business end of his weapon aimed at Crane’s head. Time felt like it was slowing to a creep, with Crane uncertain whether Tucker was going to back down. After another few seconds, Tucker finally holstered his weapon. “It’s a deal,” he said. “But you and I still have to work on building up our trust. And if I think for one second that you’re trying to pull one over on me, I’ll kill you where you stand. You hear me?”

  Crane held up his hands. “You have my word.”

  “Your word means nothing. Your actions are the only thing that I care about.” Tucker stuffed his thumbs into his pockets. “So, what’s the plan, future sheriff of Clarendon? How are we going to take care of this little problem?”

  “I’ve got a rifle in my bag,” Crane said, “and the deputies on standby. We’ll kill David Bryant.”

  “When?”

  “Right now.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Sarah stared longingly out of her bedroom window. The moon was full and bright outside, and the stars were scattered like diamonds on a beach made of black sand. She was thinking of David, as she had been so many nights before. There was not much to do after the eight o’clock hour, Crane having confined her to her quarters for the remainder of t
he evening. He wanted to make sure that she didn’t go anywhere that she wasn’t supposed to.

  Oh, David, she thought as she rested her chin on her palm. I wish you were here. I wish you could hold me. I wish this bad dream I am living in be gone forever.

  It was fruitless thinking. Sarah knew that. She was stuck with Crane. She’d be forced to take his name, bear his children, and only see David every once in a blue moon from a distance.

  If that’s all I have left, then so be it.

  Sarah closed her eyes. She fantasized about the wedding she would never have with David. She imagined the future children that she would never bear, of his uncle’s ranch and all of the laughter and good times they could have shared. All she had left were those fantasies, and a shred of hope that maybe, somehow, David would find a way to best Michael Crane and free her from her confines.

  She shook her head. It’s not possible. Crane is the law. I have to stop torturing myself.

  A knock sounded on her door. Sarah knew without looking that it was the maid, Miranda.

  “Miss Harris,” Miranda called out. “Would you like a glass of warm milk again to help you sleep?”

  Tears welled in Sarah’s eyes. She had to indulge in some sort of aid to help her sleep in the past several days. Her mind raced too much for that not to be the case.

  “No, thank you, Miranda,” Sarah said.

  “You’re sure there’s nothing I can fetch you?”

  A new life? A way out? My love returned to me without a second’s delay?

  Sarah cried, stifling her sobs with a hand over her mouth so that Miranda wouldn’t hear.

  You have to stay strong, Sarah. You have to hold your head high. You’re a strong woman, and no one, not even Michael Crane, can break your spirit. Pull yourself up.

  Survive.

  “Are you alright, Miss Harris?” Miranda called out.

  Sarah wiped the tears from her eyes and breathed. “I am fine, Miranda. Thank you. I just need to get some rest.”

  “You’re sure, Miss Harris?”

  “Yes,” Sarah said. “Most definitely. Thank you, Miranda. I truly appreciate everything.”

  “It’s my pleasure, ma’am. Try to get some rest.”

  “I will. Goodnight, Miranda.”

  “Goodnight, Miss Harris.”

  Sarah stood and smoothed the wrinkles in her dress. She felt that sleep would bring her comfort, and right before she moved to her bed, she glanced at the moon once more and hoped that David was doing the same.

  ***

  David was certain that Sarah was looking up at the moon just as he was. Though the sounds of Jacobs nailing boards across the windows of the house with his son were loud, thoughts of Sarah went on uninterrupted. The entire property was being fortified for the attack that David was certain was close. With his rifle clutched in his hand, he looked away from the moon and toward the only road leading up to the house, waiting for Michael Crane to rear his vengeful head.

  “David,” Jacobs called.

  David turned. “Yes?”

  “We’ve managed to board up all of the windows. Every single one.”

  David looked at the house, with every square inch of open space boarded up. He looked at Jacob’s son, Kyle. The boy couldn’t have been any more than thirteen or fourteen, but he had grit about him, a serious look in his eye that David most closely associated with the soldiers he fought alongside during the war.

  “Thank you, Jacobs,” he said. “I’m sure it will hold.”

  Jacobs approached, hammer in hand. He stood beside David and looked up at the moon. “It’s bright tonight,” he said. “It’s illuminating the entire property.”

  “Yes,” David sighed. “It certainly is.”

  Jacobs rested his hand on David’s shoulder. “Are you okay, son?”

  “I’m fine. I’m just, well, waiting. There’s not much more we can do.”

  “You have that look in your eye.”

  David gave him a sidelong glance. “What look?”

  Jacobs smirked. “The only one that comes about as a result of thinking of a woman, to be quite honest.”

  Flashes of Sarah’s face were conjured up in David’s mind. Will I see her again? he thought. What will happen after this night is through?

  “Speak your mind, David,” Jacobs said. “There’s no sense in bottling it all up.”

  David ran his fingers through his hair. So much was running through his mind: the odds of surviving, the slim chance of being able to see Sarah again. The entire situation was such a mess, and the notion that his uncle had placed it all on his shoulders weighed heavily.

  “I don’t know, Jacobs,” he said. “It’s difficult to fathom that this was the only option, that standing up to Crane and his friends and starting a war was the only way to get things solved.”

  “It is what it is,” Jacobs said. “That tends to be how life plays out sometimes—messy and unpredictable.”

  “I wish we could send word to the law in the next town. There has to be a way.”

  “Crane will have one of his deputies at the border. Make no mistake about that.”

  “We must get word out,” David said.

  Jacobs jutted his chin toward the road. “We must wait and see who he’ll send first, David. Once we know what kind of odds we’re up against, once we know who we are fighting, then we can figure it out.”

  David looked to Jacob’s son as the boy loaded a round in his repeater rifle. “What about him?” he asked. “Can we not send Kyle?”

  Jacobs shook his head. “It’s not an option. When Crane put me on the list of possible threats, he put my son and my wife on it, as well.”

  “Why didn’t Crane just kill you?”

  “Because I kept my head low. Because I made no indication that I was going to go against him. And I needed to get your uncle’s letter to you. That was my mission. I promised my friend that I would do it, so I stayed true to my word.”

  David extended his hand. “Thank you, Jacobs,” he said, “for everything you’ve done. I owe you my life.”

  Shaking his head, Jacobs said, “You owe me nothing. I want to be rid of Michael Crane just as much as you do.” He patted David on the back. “Now,” he said, “let’s go over the plan.”

  David and Jacobs started to walk the perimeter of the ranch. David had already laid out a plan of defense as they had gone about reinforcing the property. “There’s only one road leading up to the ranch,” he said. “They can’t approach us from behind. We’d be able to see them coming because the terrain of the mountains flanking us on the left and right a couple miles out are too high to ascend, especially in the darkness. If they were to use illumination to try and accomplish this, it would be easy to pick off Crane and his men from a distance.”

  “Agreed,” Jacobs said. “They’ll come in through the road in front. So, we’ll have to position our shooters all around the inside of the property.”

  “Correct. Now, how good a shot is your son?”

  Jacobs smiled and turned his head. “Kyle,” he said as he produced a coin from his pockets. He then flicked the coin into the air, the silver piece a foot above his head. Kyle then withdrew his six-shooter, fired off a round, and struck the coin dead center. The boy then stuffed his weapon back in his holster, and David raised his eyebrows and nodded.

  “Impressive,” he said. “I think we should have him take the back of the house. He’ll protect that side.”

  “What about you and me?” Jacobs asked.

  “I’ll take the front. You take the sides. With the weapons we have on hand, we’ll store two rifles on both sides of the house. Keep them loaded, and make sure there’s ammunition at the ready. You’ll have to move back and forth to keep up with the shooters.”

  Jacobs nodded. “I can manage that,” he said. “It’ll be tough, but we have enough weapons on hand to pull it off.”

  “What about visibility?” David asked. “Will we be able to see through the boards you’ve placed over the
windows?”

  “Definitely,” Jacobs said. “I’ve spaced them out enough for us to stick our weapons through. We’ll be able to see the attackers and shoot at them, no problem.”

  “You’re a godsend, Jacob.” David rubbed his hands together. “Now, my only other concern is Crane and his men using, well, other weapons, along with guns and rifles.”

  “You mean like explosives? Torches, and so forth?”

  “Yes,” David said. “I don’t suppose you have something to counter this.”