Two

Chaos ensued. Guests screamed. Some dropped onto their bellies while others ran for cover. Mothers shielded their children with their bodies.

In shock, Houston stared as Luke whirled and fired faster than a man could breathe, aiming toward the corner of the house. Sam leaped over bodies, racing to capture the shooter.

Shrugging off his coat, Houston placed it over his bride. Her eyes were open and filled with pain. A gurgling came from her throat, freezing Houston’s heart.

“Someone get Doc Jenkins!” he shouted as he focused on his bride. “Dearest, hold on. Doc will be here in a minute. He’ll fix you up and you’ll be fine. Just don’t go to sleep. Please don’t close your eyes. Look at me and don’t close them.”

Houston’s hand trembled when he brushed her hair back from her face. This couldn’t happen to the woman he loved.

She had to live. They had so much happiness ahead of them.

Please, God, don’t take her. Take me instead.

The gurgling worsened. She went limp as life drained from her body.

Doc Jenkins knelt beside him and felt for a pulse. Sadly, he shook his head.

How long Houston held her to him, he didn’t know. His father knelt beside him. “Son, you have to let her go. Becky is gone. You can’t do anything else for her. Let us take her into the house.”

“I can’t, Pa.”

“Yes, you can. Just let her go.”

“I love her.” The deafening cry that sprang from Houston’s mouth sounded like it came from some wild animal. He met his father’s stricken gaze. “Why? Why did this happen to Becky of all people?”

“I don’t know, son.” Stoker laid an arm across Houston’s shoulders. “We’re going to find out, though; you can damn sure bet on that.”

“I hope they catch the bastard and that he’s alive.”

“I only know Luke’s bullet struck him. I haven’t heard how bad it is.”

“Good that they caught him. I hope he doesn’t bite the dust before I can talk to him.” Houston would do a damn sight more than talk. He’d rip the man apart piece by piece and take deep satisfaction in the pain he inflicted.

“Houston, let these men have her so they can take her into the house, away from curious eyes,” Stoker said gently.

Houston slowly released his grip.

Fighting crushing pain, Houston watched as men carried his love into the Lone Star headquarters and out of sight. Nothing made sense. How could Becky be dead? He accepted his father’s hand and put weight on legs that seemed made of wood.

Only one thing penetrated the shock and horror—he’d lost the love of his life, and someone would pay. He’d take great pleasure in making sure the murdering bastard never hurt another woman. He knew ways to get the shooter to talk.

Oh yeah, lots of ways, and all of them very painful.

* * *

How much time had passed Houston couldn’t venture a guess, although something told him it must’ve been quite a while. He sat next to Becky’s cold body in the dim parlor. Seeing her on the sofa so silent and still, he couldn’t believe she was dead. Piercing pain ripped through him and he had to force himself to breathe. He was glad someone had pulled the thick drapes that blocked out most of the sunlight. The dim shadows let him grieve in private. He just wanted to be left alone in the darkness of his soul.

In the shadows, he could pretend it was all a dream and she’d wake up. Sobs erupted around him, reminding him that he wasn’t alone as he wished, but he paid them no heed. He was lost in a thick haze, where little thought could penetrate. Though he felt sympathetic mourners touch his back, he didn’t turn to acknowledge them.

Why couldn’t they leave him be with the woman he loved?

He unclenched his fist and stared at the bloody veil he gripped. He couldn’t let go of the last thing his bride had worn.

Wailing echoed through the walls of the huge house that was still filled with wedding guests. He’d briefly spoken to Becky’s parents but they, like him, were grief-stricken and in shock.

How the hell had this happened? How could the love of his life lie stone dead? It couldn’t be possible. Houston still felt the weight of her in his arms as she fell. Still heard the gurgle as life drained from her body. Still smelled the stench of death.

How would he be able to live without his Becky?

Stoker Legend pressed a glass of whiskey into his hand. “Drink this. It’ll brace you for what you have to do.”

Houston took the offering but didn’t drink. “Why, Pa? Why did someone have to shoot her? She never hurt a fly, nor spoke ill of anyone.”

“I don’t know, son.” Stoker dropped heavily into the chair next to Houston. “But you can damn well bet we’ll find out, even if we have to rip the killer apart.”

“Sam and Luke really caught him? There’s no mistake?” Houston’s thoughts were so muddled. Words refused to penetrate his brain, or maybe they were rebelling like him, refusing to believe what had happened.

“Yes, your brothers did get the bastard. Doc Jenkins is treating the wound where Luke shot him.” Stoker emptied his glass in one gulp.

Houston stared down at the bloody veil.

Becky was gone and he didn’t know how he could live without her.

* * *

Daylight had begun to fade and Houston still sat with Becky in the parlor. The room was quiet and he had such a frightening stillness inside. Houston gripped the glass of whiskey but had yet to take a sip. He hadn’t heard his father leave.

Maybe when the bullet took Becky’s life, it had taken his hearing too.

Footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor and Sam sat next to him. “Luke and I locked the murdering varmint in the basement, where no one would hear him yell. Doc removed the bullet without benefit of anything for pain.”

“Did the sorry bastard say why he did it?” Houston met Sam’s eyes. “I hope you waited for me.”

“We did, but he’s saying plenty without prodding. He says Becky belonged to him, and he couldn’t let you have her.”

“She wouldn’t let some cur dog think he had a chance in hell at her heart.” Becky wasn’t that sort of woman.

She would’ve made a wonderful mother for their children. The house he’d built for her just past the schoolhouse would sit empty forever.

The cry that tore from Houston’s throat made a sound he’d never heard before. Rage built higher and higher until he shot to his feet and hurled the still-untouched whiskey glass against the wall. It shattered, sending shards everywhere and amber liquid running down the expensive wallpaper like tears. “I want to hear that from his lips, see his eyes. I want to taste his fear. I want him to choke when I put my hands around his damn throat.”

Full of blinding fury, Houston stuffed Becky’s wedding veil into his pocket and stormed from the room with Sam trailing behind. The crack of his boot heels against the floor sounded like rifle shots all the way down to the basement door off the kitchen.

In seconds, Houston stood over the rotten bastard who’d viciously stolen his bride. He recognized him from the handful of times he’d seen the man on the Golden Ranch. Ernie Newman lay on a blanket on the dirt floor with Luke guarding from a nearby crate.

Cold, sullen eyes glared up.

Overcome with a rage unlike anything he’d ever felt, he grabbed Newman by the shirtfront, lifting him off his feet with one hand. Houston slammed a fist into the man’s face.

When he drew back to hit him again, Luke grabbed his arm. “Beating him senseless won’t change the facts, brother.”

Houston flung the man back to the blanket. “You’re lucky my brothers are here or I’d kill you. I want answers and I’ll know if you’re lying. For each lie, I’ll hit you again.”

Hate flashed from Newman’s eyes as he dragged his sleeve across his bloody mouth.

“How well did you know Becky?” Houston yelled.

“She always came to me when she needed her horse saddled or the wagon hitched. Then she came to find me just to talk. No woman ever gave me the time of day until I met her.”

“Prove it.”

“Whatever you want, Mr. Legend. I watched from a window when you gave her a ring and asked her father for her hand,” Newman spat. “I watched it all. She was having a child—mine.”

“You’re a lying sack of shit!”

“We planned to run off together but she couldn’t do that to her parents. She knew it would’ve killed them. Doc Jenkins can provide proof of the babe.”

Houston turned to Sam. “Bring Doc down here. We’ll find out the truth.”

Sam nodded and left. Houston leaned against the basement wall to wait. He cast daggers at Becky’s killer. No one spoke—not Luke, Houston, or Ernie. It didn’t take long for Sam to return.

“What can I do for you, Houston?” Doc asked.

Houston shoved away from the wall. “Tell me about Becky. Tell me she wasn’t with child.”

“I can’t do that.” Doc glanced at Newman. “Becky came to me with her secret, begging me not to tell you or her parents. I urged her to come clean, but she said she couldn’t. I’m sorry, son.” Doc hesitated a moment, torn by whatever he saw on Houston’s face, turned, and climbed the stairs to the kitchen without another word.

The air left Houston. It was true. Everything Newman said. Houston wanted to pound something. Anger sat thick and bitter on his tongue.

“Why in hell would she agree to marry me, then?” Houston thundered. He grabbed Newman and slammed his fist into the bastard’s jaw. “Why?”

Newman’s cold eyes glittered. “Becky was desperate for a name for the babe and her parents wouldn’t let her marry me. I wasn’t good enough for their daughter. And apparently Becky shared their views. We had a terrible fight this morning. She told me you could better provide for the babe and, when it came, she would tell you it came early.”

“So I was nothing but a means to an end?”

“You get the picture. For a smart man, you’re really slow, Mr. Legend.”

God. Houston’s stomach revolted, sending bile into his mouth.

Stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid.

He tightened his hands around the man’s throat. “Why did you have to kill her? And the babe. It was your flesh and blood, you worthless bastard.” Houston could kind of understand the deception and Becky’s desperation to some degree. But putting a bullet in her—she hadn’t deserved that, no matter what she’d done.

Newman gasped for breath. “If I couldn’t have her, no one would. You Legends, with your power and land, think you can have whatever you want. I showed you. Killing her was the only way.”

“The only way?” Houston’s yell sprang from the hole left deep inside that nothing would ever fill.

“I wanted you to live in hell. When you came to call, you always walked by me like I was some bug crawling on the damn ground. I was beneath the powerful Houston Legend!” Newman shouted.

Houston pushed his face into the man’s. It was possible he could’ve slighted Ernie Newman without even knowing it. On visits to the Goldens, Houston’s mind had been on Becky and stealing a kiss, not on making friends with the hands. Still, he didn’t think he was ever rude.

“You did this for what? Revenge?”

“In part. I did love Becky, but she wanted what I couldn’t give. I hated you and wanted you to suffer.” Newman clawed at Houston’s hands.

Something glittered, catching Houston’s attention. He released Newman’s throat to grab his hand.

On the bastard’s little finger winked the family heirloom Becky always wore.

Memories danced around Houston’s fury. Becky had said the ring had belonged to her great-grandmother. When it disappeared from her hand, he bought her claim of losing it but noticed how she avoided his eyes. Loving her, he’d silenced the whispers in his head.

A guttural sound of pain sprang from Houston’s mouth. He was such a fool. When he kissed her, how could he not have felt her pulling back?

But—he had. He’d simply blocked it. Truth was, she’d sidestepped his kisses and dodged passionate embraces. Most times she’d distracted him with teasing conversation. He’d put down her reluctance to shyness and not wanting to make a show of affection. How could he have been so blind? She’d never once spoken words of love.

The truth hit him.

Becky had never loved him.

“God have mercy on your poor, pitiful, pathetic soul.” Houston hurled Newman away and stalked to the stairs. He never wanted to see the man’s face again.

From this moment on, he’d never speak Becky’s name or allow it to be spoken in his presence. He’d never trust love again.

Houston jerked the bloody veil from his pocket. Wadding it into a ball, he dropped it to the dirt floor and climbed the stairs.

* * *

Dawn splashed through the windows of Houston’s bedroom. Staggering, he rose from the chair where he’d sat all night. He unbuttoned his blood-soaked shirt and launched it into a corner, frowning at the red stains on his skin. Pouring water from a pitcher into a porcelain bowl, he scrubbed away every trace of Becky. His chest was raw by the time he finished.

In the early morning quiet, Houston forced back memories that crowded his mind. Too many, and all brought jagged pain. He strode to the dresser drawer, selected a clean shirt, and thrust his arms into the sleeves.

Betrayal still shook him to the core.

Last night, he’d helped carry Becky’s casket and load it into a wagon for the journey home. People would wonder at his cold distance and refusal to accompany her parents. Let them.

A low knock sounded at the door. “It’s open,” he barked.

His brothers entered. Sam spoke. “We were worried.”

“I’m fine. You can head right back out. I’m in a hell of a mood.”

“You wouldn’t be normal if you weren’t,” Luke replied.

“But you’re still here.” Houston buttoned his shirt and tucked it into his pants.

Sam dropped into a chair in the corner. “We have a suggestion.”

“I don’t need coddling like some child, Sam. Go tend to your wife and son.” Houston put on his hat and snatched his gun belt from the bedpost. “I’m not going to blow my brains out. Just need to be alone. Alone as in by myself.” He gave them a pointed glare.

“Sierra and Hector are still asleep.” Sam folded his arms. “We want to help. You’re in shock.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll live.” Somehow or other.

“A good hard ride up to the ridge is what you need.”

Damn, Sam wasn’t giving up. Houston let out a long sigh. Much as he loved his little brother, Sam’s mothering irritated the hell out of him.

“Fresh air is exactly what you need.” Luke threw in his two cents. “Besides, I want to talk to you both about something.”

“I’m in no mood for this. I just want to be alone.” Houston’s patience hung by a thread.

Sam sighed and softened his voice. “Remember where we went when our baby brother, William Travis, and Mother died? When Pa dove headfirst into a bottle and couldn’t remember he had scared boys who needed him? When Pa started gambling recklessly? Each time we sought comfort on the ridge above the Red River. It’ll help you now.”

At last, Houston threw up his hands. “You win.” He did need to clear the smell of blood and betrayal from his nostrils, and he’d go crazy if he stayed here listening to his brothers yacking at him. Somehow, he’d pry the worst day of his life from his head.

Houston buckled his gun belt and strapped it on. Reaching for his hat, he strode to the corral with them, where they saddled their horses. A short time later, he galloped with Sam and Luke across raw, uneven ground, letting the wind blow Becky from his mind.

After riding full-out for five miles, Houston reined to a stop on the high bluff overlooking the mighty Red. The water was as murky as his thoughts, and moved just as fast. The hard truth of loving Becky was the part that hurt the most. While he’d been giving his whole heart and soul to her, she’d been slipping around with another man.

Dammit to hell!

He dismounted and sat, letting his feet dangle off the cliff edge. Sam and Luke dropped down on either side of him. No one spoke for a long while. The quiet was good.

Finally, Houston shot Luke a glance. His brother had a thousand-dollar price on his head for robbery and the murder of federal judge Edgar Percival. The tangled mess of Luke’s life was even worse than Houston’s.

Maybe talking about someone else’s problems would take Houston’s mind off his. “You said you wanted to talk about something, Luke.”

“My problem is a name taken from one of Beadle’s dime novels—Ned Sweeney. The man using it is the one who really murdered Judge Percival.” Luke swung to stare into the distance. “Find him and I clear myself of that. Ever hear of anyone going by that name?”

“Nope.” Houston absently watched the water below. Had Becky ever truly cared for him, or had she just pretended all these years? He wished he could talk to her once more. He’d ask why she hadn’t been honest with him. Why she hadn’t been able to tell him about Newman. And why she’d let him fall so deeply in love with her.

“I never heard the name mentioned,” Sam said. “How do you know he’s the murderer?”

With his thumb and forefinger, Luke pulled his hat lower on his forehead. “I ran into a man, Joe Calderon, down in San Antone, and he told me Ned Sweeney is the one who pulled the trigger. I tried to get Joe to tell the sheriff but he said Ned would kill him.”

“Somehow, somewhere, you crossed paths with this killer before,” Houston said.

Luke sent a stone zinging out into the water below. “Must’ve. But don’t know where.”

“Can you trust this Joe guy?” Sam asked. “He might’ve fed you a load of bull.”

“I’ve had a few dealings with him. He’s always been honest,” Luke said.

“How can we help?” Houston asked.

“You and Sam can get access to things I can’t. I thought if you could send out some telegrams to different people and see if they’ve heard of anyone using the name Ned Sweeney, we might find a clear direction for me to go.” Luke paused. “I won’t ask you for more than you feel comfortable with.”

“We’ll be glad to help, won’t we, Sam?” The wheels in Houston’s brain were already turning. A fight might just calm him down. He was angry, and it would feel good to haul off and hit something. Anything.

“I’ve still got ties to the Texas Rangers and my old boss, Captain O’Reilly,” Sam said.

Luke threw three stones down below in rapid succession. “Thanks. Like I said, you have access to people and places I can never have.”

“Turnabout is fair play.” Houston laid a hand on his outlaw brother’s shoulder. They wouldn’t have caught Becky’s killer if not for Luke. “We couldn’t have whipped Felix Bardo and that outlaw mess that had dug in over at Lost Point without you. Your ability to fit in with them and gain their trust saved the people of that town. You made this part of Texas safer. Sam sure wouldn’t be here either if you hadn’t cut him down so fast after Bardo hung him.”

They owed Luke a hell of a lot more than a few telegrams.

“Sierra’s and my wedding sure wouldn’t have happened. Felix Bardo would’ve killed her and certainly meant to,” Sam said quietly. “I’ll be glad to help in any way.”

“Appreciate it.” Luke seemed lost in thought. Something more was bothering his brother, but Houston knew better than to ask. One thing Houston had learned about Luke was that you didn’t push him. Anyone who tried found themselves full of regrets. “What are you going to do now, Houston?” Luke asked.

“Go on like I always have.”

“That’s no damn plan,” Sam hollered. “You’re going to have to deal with what happened sooner or later.”

“Sam, it’s my problem and I’ll handle it,” Houston grated out. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got some thinking to do.”

“Fine.” Sam rose. “By the way, you might like to know that Ernie Newman is gone. Pa and some of the ranch hands have carted him to Fort Worth to stand trial.”

“I hope he swings for what he did.” Houston wouldn’t waste one ounce of pity on him.

Luke got to his feet. “I’m leaving at first light. Don’t let this gnaw on you, Houston. A man only has so much flesh. Take it from me.”

An ache filled Houston’s chest, a space he’d thought couldn’t hold any more pain. He didn’t know what it was like to be hunted like Luke. He’d always known the safety of the ranch. But after yesterday, he knew death could always find him, no matter where he was.

“When you’re out there, don’t forget you’re a Legend, even if you refused to take the name. And that you have a home and people who care for you,” Houston reminded him gruffly.

They had an unbreakable bond.

They were brothers.

They were Legends.

Houston watched his brothers mount up and gallop off. His thoughts turned back to Becky. As much as he’d tried to prevent it, she would gnaw on him.

It would take a lifetime to forget the woman who’d ruined him.