Forty-one

By daylight, doubt had crept in that they might not win. After a sleepless night in Houston’s arms, Lara quietly pulled away from him to start breakfast. Fighting men needed extra food, a feast to give them strength to defeat the foe.

He reached for her. “Morning, darlin’.”

“I hoped you were sleeping.” She raised her lips for a kiss.

“Too much to think about.”

“Me too. I’ve got to get the biscuits on.”

They rose and she went to prepare a meal. Her heart was heavy and she was hard-pressed to give Henry a smile. He sat in the wagon box, clutching Gracie. That was where she often found her little brother these days. He seemed to feel safest there. To make matters worse, the overcast sky and softly falling rain added to the thick gloom encasing them.

Perfect. Could the good Lord not even give them a little sunshine? The men needed to be able to see the enemy. And their guns needed to be able to shoot.

Lara avoided meeting Houston’s gaze for fear that the tears lurking so close to the surface would spill. If she could do little else, she was determined not to add to the burden he carried on his broad shoulders. She bustled around, pretending to be busier than she was, but a sharp-edged sense of Houston’s whereabouts hummed under her skin every second.

A memory swept over her from her time in Amarosa. A man there had kept carrier pigeons. The birds had always fascinated her, and she’d always been curious to know how they could return to their roost from anywhere.

Now she knew. They instinctively had some sort of built-in homing ability. Lara did too and it wouldn’t let her get lost from the man who’d shown her deep love. Slowly, she relaxed. Worry didn’t do much anyway, except give her gray hair. She wouldn’t saddle Houston with a gray-haired wife this soon in addition to everything else.

Caroline joined her and they could’ve made matching bookends. Judging from the girl’s low spirits, Nick had told her the plan too. Words were at a premium as they cooked.

After getting the biscuits on, she left the young newlywed to watch the salt pork sizzling in the skillet and went to find Henry, who’d disappeared from the wagon box. She spied him lugging Gracie, following so close on Luke’s heels it seemed a wonder he didn’t plow right into the tall gunslinger.

“Henry, I need to talk to you for a minute.”

Though silent, he glanced up.

“Make sure you have all your belongings packed in the wagon. We’re leaving as soon as we eat. Can you do that?”

He nodded. “Is Uncle Luke coming too?”

Worry in his eyes dried Lara’s mouth. He too sensed trouble. No wonder, since the same fear was so thick it clogged her throat. She forced a smile and brushed back a lock of red hair from his forehead. When had he gotten so tall?

“He will soon. For now, we have to go in front.”

“Yuma’s coming,” Henry whispered in a loud rasp.

If only she could lie. But he needed the truth—at least partially. “Honey, try not to be afraid.”

Henry rocked back and forth on his heels, his gaze glued on the distance. “I gotta find my rock. Help me. Help me.”

“Calm down, I’ll find one.” Though she needed to make gravy, she took time to locate a big rock and put it in his hands. Odd how relaxed the stone made him. Now, if she could only find some easy fix for her fears. But the only thing for that would be seeing Houston ride into the fort unscathed, ready to scoop her up into his arms.

Only then would she be able to breathe.

* * *

After breakfast, Houston stood in the rain beside the chuck wagon. He pulled Lara close, feeding his fierce need to feel her heart next to his.

“I love you more than I ever thought it possible to love anyone. Though I was thirty when we wed, I feel like I was just a boy.” He cleared the lump from his throat. “You’ve taught me patience, gentleness, and most importantly, how to love. Whatever happens here, I’ll gladly give my life for you and Gracie.”

She touched his face as tears broke through her resolute smile. “I wish I could stay by your side, but I’ll do what you ask.”

“Promise you won’t look back. Never back. Always forward.”

“I never make a promise I can’t keep.”

With a hoarse cry, Houston crushed her to him and lowered his mouth. He’d never felt these conflicting emotions that ricocheted through him, bouncing off bone and muscle. God, he didn’t want her to go. He couldn’t. But he had no choice.

Drinking his fill of the woman who’d changed his life, he cherished every second with her in his arms.

Loud voices broke them apart. It was Nick and Caroline.

“I swear, Nick Vincent, you’re the stubbornest man on the face of the earth!” Caroline shouted. “You know I can shoot an’ doctor an’ cook. You need me.”

“Nope. You ain’t staying and that’s that.”

The young girl flung both arms around Nick’s neck. “I ain’t no good without you. I buried my parents and my four brothers and I’m not burying you. I’m not. I just ain’t gonna do it.”

Houston spoke up. “Sorry to butt in at the risk of losing my nose. Nick, this isn’t your fight. Go with Caroline, find your uncle, and start a family. You don’t have to stay.”

Nick faced him squarely. “Mr. Legend, you’ve been real kind to Caroline and me. I’ve never had anyone treat us so nice. You took a chance on me and I’m not going to run out now.” He slid his arm around Caroline and kissed her hair. “I figure if I run from this, I’ll be running for the rest of my life. A man needs to stand up and be counted or he can’t live with himself. I want our children to be proud I’m their pa. I’ll stay and fight right alongside you and these drovers.”

Thrusting out a hand, Houston shook Nick’s. He liked the strength in the boy’s grip. “Glad to have you, son.”

“Thank you, boss.” Nick turned to Caroline. “Now give me a kiss, wife honey. You and Miz Lara gotta be going.”

As the young couple finished their good-byes, Houston slipped his hand into Lara’s pocket, searching for the small gun. Relieved to find she still carried it, he helped her up into the wagon box beside Henry. He was pressed in the middle between Lara and Caroline and he held Gracie tightly, staring straight ahead. Houston saw the fear digging deep inside. He could almost read the boy’s thoughts: he was being sent away again.

Nick climbed up to give Caroline another kiss. The young woman wiped her eyes.

“Remember, Lara,” Houston said. “Ride hard, and don’t look back.”

“I’m not going to tell you good-bye. I’ll see you again after you whip these bastards.” Lifting the reins, she set the wagon in motion. Gracie cried, kicking her legs and reaching for him. He swallowed hard and turned away before he could stop them.

Damn Yuma Blackstone to hell! All they wanted was to love each other, live in peace, raise a family.

Caroline leaned over the side to yell, “Nick Vincent, if you die I’ll never speak to you again! You better come back to me”—she paused and softened her tone—“sweetheart.”

Quaid and Pete moved to Houston, leading their mounts.

“Keep them safe, boys. I’m leaving the best part of me in your hands,” Houston said gruffly.

They nodded, stuck their feet into stirrups and mounted up.

Houston turned his thoughts to the fight that lay ahead, praying for a miracle.

Frank Farley suddenly blocked him. “Give me a gun. Let me go in Pete’s place. I’ll protect your family with my blood.”

“How do I know you won’t turn and fight with Yuma?”

“You don’t and I haven’t given you much reason to believe me.” Tears filled the hard man’s eyes. “I once had an honest life full of promise. Yuma rode in one day, reminding me I owed him. He’d saved my life during the war, you see. When I refused to ride with him, he burned my house and barn to the ground, destroyed my crops. Everything I’d worked for was gone. I need a chance to make him pay. Just one.” The man widened his stance. “You need another fighter you can depend on. I’ll be that.”

The raw emotion that leaked from Frank’s heart touched Houston. He told Quaid and Pete to wait. “Your gun is in my saddlebag. But cross me and I’ll hunt you down.”

“I want Blackstone stopped as much as you do. Maybe more. You won’t regret this.”

“I pray you’re right.” Houston told Pete about the switch. “Go help the ones digging.”

Once Quaid and Frank had ridden out alongside the lumbering wagon, Houston had a hurried talk with his brothers and Clay. “What do you think about getting a few men up to the top of this cliff?”

Sam tilted his head to glance up at the solid rock wall. “That’s thirty feet straight up. It’s too sheer, nothing to hold on to.”

“With ropes we can,” Luke said quietly. “I’ll scale it and pull men up.”

“The job’ll take two,” Clay said. “I’ll go with you.”

They worked to the bone the next three hours and got four armed drovers and everything they’d need on top of the cliff. Meanwhile, Houston arranged pots and pans by the campfire and scattered clothing all around, so it appeared the women were there. He prayed Yuma wouldn’t notice the missing chuck wagon.

Then they ran out of time.

“They’re here!” The shout came from atop the cliff. “God almighty, there’s a bunch!”

Thick dread knotted in Houston’s stomach and drovers scrambled into the trench. He could see Luke rappelling down the cliff, Sam staying with the drovers. This was it. Whatever happened, the fight would end here. Today.

The sudden riders froze Houston, caught in the middle of the herd he’d been weaving through. He shot a hopeless glance at the Vincents’ wagon on the east side of the trail, his intended target. He’d wanted to bring it next to the campfire to add to the cozy appearance. Even so, he could’ve used the wagon where it sat, but that wasn’t possible now.

Hope faded of catching the outlaws in a crossfire.

They burst in with a flurry of rifle shots, choking acrid smoke, and war cries. The fact that the lawless group had arrived far earlier than anticipated told him they must’ve ridden all night.

He knew they couldn’t see him in the middle of the cattle, but still he felt exposed.

No wonder. His heart froze at the size of their force. Their numbers were far greater than the dozen or so they’d counted the night Houston and Clay had found their camp. Even with his brothers sending six into an early grave, he estimated at least two-dozen riders coming in.

Where the hell had they picked up the extras? Had Yuma sent up a smoke signal and they all came running? Deep as they were in outlaw territory, Blackstone probably had no trouble finding more. Just turn over any rock.

Hell! At least Houston was glad he and his brothers had worked so hard getting drovers set for the fight. The force’s erratic shooting showed they had no idea where the drovers were.

With his rifle to his shoulder, Houston waited. He’d ordered his men not to waste lead, to wait for a target. He didn’t see Yuma. So far, all the smoke had come from the outlaws’ weapons. Not seeing any drovers, they began shooting the animals.

Houston clenched his jaw, adjusted the sight on his rifle, and placed the crosshairs on the chest of Digger Barnes and his cartridge belts. The sneer curling the man’s lip sent rage cartwheeling through him.

“Say hello to the devil, you piece of crow bait. This is for my wife.” Houston pulled the trigger.

The shot knocked the man sideways in the saddle, and blood spilled down his sleeve. Digger righted himself and sent a bullet into the longhorn next to Houston. The animal fell, trapping Houston’s foot underneath. There was no way to get the dead carcass off him.

Ignoring the pain running up his leg, Houston struggled to pull free. Digger rode slowly toward him, weaving between the bellowing cows.

Ten yards.

Six yards.

A trickle of sweat ran down Houston’s face. He yanked on his foot. It wouldn’t budge.

Five yards. Houston lifted his rifle and squeezed the trigger but an animal jostled his arm and Houston’s shot went wide. Digger dove off into the midst of the frightened herd.

Nervous longhorns pressed around Houston on all sides, pushing against him.

Trapping his rifle at his side.

He had nowhere to go. With eyes full of fear, one of the steers lurched, crushing Houston between it and another.

Struggling to breathe and fearing the weight against him would break his spine, he could only pray to somehow survive. To see Lara and Gracie again. As his life hung in the balance, he strained to see where the hated outlaw had gone but he’d disappeared into the milling animals.

A minute ticked by.

Then another.

Sweat drenched Houston’s shirt. It was only a matter of time before Digger either resurfaced or he’d be crushed.

Or the herd would stampede. One way or another, he’d be dead.

The bulging eyes of the cattle told him they were ready to bolt. A ticking clock in his head inched toward the moment when it all would be over. He searched the restless, frightened animals, looking for the hated outlaw.

Around him, men were cursing and shooting. The cattle’s loud bellows added to the chaos, the din so loud it made his ears hurt. The noise seemed to reach greater heights with each moment.

Dying cows.

Dying men.

Dying hopes.

Houston expected either a bullet to fly from nowhere and explode into him, or to wind up with every bone in his body shattered by the longhorns. He wasn’t ready to die. Not when he’d truly begun to live for the first time in his life. He had a woman who loved him, family, and the kind of marriage few men ever knew.

Please don’t let me die this soon, and not like this. Not before he got justice for Lara.

As blackness descended, the longhorns shifted and he was able to gulp air into his lungs and free his weapon. His arm trembled violently as he tried to raise the rifle to his shoulder. Trapped as he’d been between the cattle, his muscles refused to work.

After three attempts, he finally lifted the weapon.

Just as he positioned the Winchester against his shoulder, the sun glinted off of the metal on Digger’s cartridge belts and he saw the man’s hat.

He squeezed off a shot.

Unsure if he’d hit him or not, Houston renewed efforts to release himself. Excruciating pain in his foot almost took his breath. Finally, using what strength he had left, he shoved the beast as hard as he could. He struggled free just as Digger Barnes sprang from the sea of brown hide and horns. His arm rose over his head.

A long knife glittered in the sun.