Last Chance Cowboys Page 13

  He was halfway home when he saw Pete Collins and two of his hired hands riding toward him.

  “What happened up there?” Pete stared at Javier’s lifeless body.

  Trey gave him a brief account, leaving out the part about marrying Nell. “Go home, Collins. The militia needs to sort this out, and the rest of us getting involved will only make things worse.”

  “So you say,” Pete raged. “So you’re gonna just stand by while some herder murders one of our own? Past time we took charge here. Past time we showed those herders who owns this land.” He kicked the flanks of his horse and took off, galloping away before Trey could say anything more. His men followed.

  Trey considered going after them, but his duty in that moment was to Javier’s family.

  Pushing back his sleeve, he saw that the bleeding had mostly stopped. His was minor, a scratch, while two good men were dead. One more down from each side, and now the war would start in earnest. Rico was a quiet man, but the death of his brother could not go unpunished, and Pete Collins was bound to tell the other ranchers how Javier had died at the hands of a sheepherder. The battle lines had been drawn, and they were marked by the twin stains of blood where his best friend and his own half brother-in-law had met their end.

  Nell!

  If she and Joshua headed back to her ranch, there was no telling what might happen. But his first responsibility was to Juanita and Eduardo. If he rode hard and fast, maybe he could send one of his ranch hands back to town to make sure Nell stayed away. Then once he’d done what he could for Javier’s family, he would face his wife and figure out how he was going to keep the promise he’d made Javier and still honor his vows with her.

  * * *

  Despite Addie’s counsel that Nell spend the night or at least wait for Trey and Jess to return, Nell insisted on taking Joshua and heading home. “Trey expects me to be there,” she explained. “He’ll go there after the meeting.”

  The truth was, she wanted to use the time it would take to make the trip to talk more to Joshua and hopefully explain why her marriage to Trey was a good thing for both of them. After that, she would prepare a proper meal for her new husband. If they were going to make this marriage work, it would mean paying attention to the small, everyday things, finding a routine and rhythm for how they would pass the days—and nights. For now, she figured it would be best if they lived in her house, away from those who were sure to need some time to get used to the idea they were married.

  She rented a horse and buggy at the livery and chose her words carefully as she tried to describe for Joshua the life they could have with Trey. She babbled on about horses and books and how she was sure Trey would make time to teach him the game of baseball. When they were halfway home, Joshua leaned his head against her.

  “Ma, can we not talk anymore? I’m kinda sleepy.”

  She wrapped her arm around her son, pulling him closer. “That’s fine. It’s been a busy day for you—for both of us.”

  While Joshua slept, she relived every detail of the night she had spent with Trey and thought of all the nights to come. She was no longer going to have to face life alone—her worries and fears would be shared. And although she realized she knew little about him, somehow she believed together they could find a way to make everything come out right.

  Joshua stirred and yawned.

  “Almost there,” she murmured as they slowly rounded the bend that led to their property. But a plume of black smoke made her urge the horse forward. When they reached the top of the rise, she tugged on the reins, and the horse stopped. Below them, flames licked at the doorways and windows of the house she and Calvin had shared. As Joshua let out a cry and buried his face in her lap, the roof caved in, a great plume of fiery ash shooting high in the sky.

  “No,” she whispered, and then she was shouting the word to the sky, the blue marred by black smoke. And on a far ridge, she saw three men and heard their shouts of what sounded like celebration as they fired their pistols in the air and rode away. She shuddered with a mix of fear and rage. They had not just burned down her house; they had set fire to what had remained of her husband’s legacy for his son.

  Henry’s place. It was closest, and Joshua was terrified. “We’ll go to Uncle Henry’s ranch,” she assured her son as, once again, she urged the horse to action, turning the buggy to retrace their path.

  Half an hour later, Lottie stood on the porch as Nell pulled the buggy into the yard. “Did you pass Henry on your way?” She looked past Nell and Joshua to the hills beyond as if expecting to see her husband and son come riding over the rise at any moment. “I sent Spud to go meet them but…”

  “They burned down our house, Aunt Lottie,” Joshua said, unable to keep the news to himself a minute longer. “We went home, and it was on fire and—” He started to cough, gagging on his fear and excitement.

  Lottie looked to Nell for confirmation, then bit her lower lip as tears welled in her pale gray eyes. “Let’s get you inside, young man,” she said as she led Joshua up to the house and Nell followed. “Go ahead and settle yourselves there in that front bedroom, Nell. I’ll bring some broth.”

  Nell nodded and followed Joshua down the short hall. As she pulled back the covers on the narrow bed, she could hear Lottie preparing the soup—a spoon clinked on the crockery, a dipper scraped the metal pot—and then she heard something that did not fit the domestic preparations.

  Lottie screamed, and dishes shattered.

  “Stay here,” Nell instructed Joshua, fearing the raiders had now come to her brother’s ranch. She shut the bedroom door and hurried to the kitchen. The floor was littered with broken pieces of china, puddles of steaming soup, and a tray. She stepped around the mess and followed the sound of Lottie’s continuing wails to the back door, where she stopped, her clenched fist covering her mouth.

  Lottie’s sons and Ernest walked slowly into the yard. A lifeless body was slumped over a burro that Ernest was leading.

  Lottie gathered her skirt and stumbled toward them. “No!”

  Nell recognized Henry’s worn denim jacket, and she followed her sister-in-law, letting the screen door of the house slam behind her. Her mind raced as she tried to make sense of what was unfolding before her. The men had all gone to a meeting—a meeting Henry had arranged. A meeting Trey had also attended.

  “Trey,” she murmured, not realizing she had spoken aloud as she reached the gathering that now included the Mexicans who worked as shepherds for the family.

  Ernest fixed her with a cold, hard gaze. “He done this,” he said. “Your so-called husband done killed your brother, Nell. Happy now?” He stalked away to help the others lift Henry’s body.

  Lottie’s knees buckled, and Ira and Spud each took hold of their mother as they followed the men into the house. After a moment, the shepherds came back outside and walked toward the barn, no doubt to begin gathering supplies for building a coffin and grave marker.

  Nell stood alone in the yard, her heart beating so fast and hard that she found it difficult to breathe. Not knowing what else to do, she returned to the kitchen. She could hear the others in the front parlor, consoling Lottie, moving furniture so they could lay out Henry’s body. Knowing she would not be welcome, she knelt and picked up the shards of crockery. She mopped the floor and put coffee on to boil. And all the while, she thought of what Ernest had said. Trey had killed Henry. It was impossible for her to believe. It must have been an accident. Trey was a gentle, peace-loving man. He would never deliberately—

  “Get out.”

  Lottie stood in the kitchen doorway, her face mottled with the evidence of her grief, her voice cold and bereft of any of its usual affection. “Joshua can stay, but I want you gone.”

  Nell was aware that the house had gone quiet. She could hear the men talking outside the window. From the barn, she heard the sound of a handsaw slicing through wood. “Lottie, I—”


  Lottie slumped into a kitchen chair, the skirt of her apron knotted in one hand. “Did you not hear me, Nell? That man killed your brother, my husband, the father of my children. And Ira says you married him?” She gave a bark of a mirthless laugh. “You married this stranger—this cowboy—when your own flesh and blood…”

  Nell took the chair next to her sister-in-law. “Tell me what happened, Lottie. Please. I have to know.”

  Lottie looked directly at her for a long, uncomfortable moment. “Why couldn’t you let Henry help you? Why couldn’t you see that if not Ernest, you needed to marry one of your own kind? You don’t know the first thing about this man, what he’s capable of. Why do you think he chose you? For your looks? He wants your land. He wants all our land.”

  “No. He’s not like that. He wants to find a way we can all live in peace. He wants to—”

  “Wake up, Nell. As your husband, does he not now hold control over your property?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And where is he? Has he come to you, come to find you and explain what happened out there today? No, he’s gone home to his ranch, no doubt to celebrate his victory. He’s got your place now, and he’s murdered the one man who might have stood against him and his friends. There’s no one to stop him now from running us all off.”

  “He’s not like that. You don’t know him.”

  “Neither do you.” Lottie’s voice softened, and she placed her hand on Nell’s. From the front of the house, they heard Joshua coughing. Lottie released a long weary sigh. “Stay. We’ll work through this and get a lawyer to get you out of this marriage.”

  “But, Lottie—”

  Her sister-in-law covered her face with both hands and shook her head as if to forestall anything Nell might try to say. “My boys are upset, Nell, so go be with Joshua in that front bedroom. Close the door, and don’t come out. I’ll see you get something to eat when the time comes.”

  “Lottie, if Ernest and the boys think Trey is responsible—”

  “He is.” She now looked directly at Nell, daring her to question what she had been told.

  “Then what are they planning to do?” Nell’s heart thundered with fear for what might happen.

  Lottie stood and placed both hands on the table, her tenderness now replaced by her rekindled rage. “I don’t know what they plan to do, Nell. I plan to bury my husband—your brother. What happens after that is out of my hands and yours. But this I know for sure—you’re going to have to choose a side. Because this is war.” She swept past Nell and out the back door.

  Nell walked to the stove where the kettle of soup still simmered. She filled a cup, set the nearly empty kettle away from the heat, and carried the cup down the hall. Joshua was sleeping, curled on one side, his knees drawn protectively up to his chest.

  If what Ernest had reported was true, where had Trey gone? By now, he should have reached her ranch, seen the burned-out remains, and known she must have headed to the closest haven. Why didn’t he come? She scanned the horizon for any sign of a lone rider but saw nothing but the stark landscape pocked by cacti and clusters of sheep.

  Lottie had said there would be a range war for sure now. More senseless killing on both sides. She saw her nephews leaning against the fence that enclosed the kitchen garden. Ira pounded the fence post with his fist. Spud said something that seemed to rally his brother, and they both stalked off to the barn. Everything about the way they walked screamed revenge.

  Could she blame them? Their father was dead.

  Her brother—the only kin she had out here—was dead.

  She thought of how Henry had left his flock the minute he heard of Calvin’s death, how he had come to her and in his way tried to make sure she and Joshua were all right. It was Henry who had seen to the details of a funeral for her husband. It was Henry who had sent Lottie to prepare the house for the wake that followed. In every way, Henry had tried to do his brotherly duty. Even that business with Ernest had been his attempt to get things settled for her.

  For the first time since she and Trey had secretly married, she felt as if somehow she had betrayed her family, her community. But there were always two sides to every story. She could not bring herself to believe that Trey would ever be provoked to commit cold-blooded murder. There had to be more! She moved from the chair to the bed and gently shook Joshua’s shoulder.

  “I have to go away for a bit,” she said when he opened his eyes and stared up at her, still half asleep. “Stay here. Aunt Lottie will bring you something to eat when it’s time, but promise me you will stay right here in this room.”

  Joshua rubbed his eyes with his fists as he pushed himself up against the headboard. “Is Uncle Henry really dead?”

  Nell nodded, her throat closing, choking off her tears. “Yes. There was…an accident.”

  “Are we gonna live here now?”

  “For the time being, this will be home,” she said. “Now promise me you’ll stay right here.”

  Joshua nodded. “Promise,” he said.

  Nell kissed his forehead, tousled his hair, and then slipped out the door.

  She paused a moment, listening for the others. Sure that everyone was otherwise occupied in the yard, she hurried out the front door and across the yard to a far pasture where the horse she’d rented was busy grazing. A bridle and bit were looped over a fence post where one of the shepherds had no doubt left them. She didn’t need a saddle. She led the horse farther from the house and outbuildings, down a path shadowed by a large cottonwood, before mounting up and riding off toward town. She would take the route that ran close to her ranch, in case Trey had come there after all.

  But Jess had also been at the meeting, and if Trey had in fact somehow been involved in Henry’s death, wouldn’t Jess take him into custody? Either way, by now, Addie would know what happened. Addie would tell her the whole story, not just pieces of it. She paused briefly on the rise that overlooked her property, a ruined place she barely recognized now. Seeing no signs of anyone there, she pressed on.

  * * *

  Trey rode into the yard of the ranch his father had built and where his family—and Javier’s—had spent their whole lives. Juanita was hanging wash on a line stretched between two posts near the kitchen. He saw Javier’s brother, Rico, sitting on a banco, whittling a stick. He saw Eduardo light his pipe as Rico said something that made both his parents laugh.

  And then as if they sensed something had shifted, all three of them turned to look. First at him and then at the horse carrying Javier’s body.

  Juanita dropped the wet shirt in her hands. It hit the dirt with a splat, and she stumbled awkwardly toward him. Rico stood and tossed the stick aside. He threw the knife at the banco, where it stuck. Eduardo was the one who cried out, in a voice that was loud enough to bring a cowhand from the barn and at the same time the gurgle of a man strangling on his own bile.

  Trey kept moving toward them, not knowing what else to do, the reins to Javier’s horse loose in his hands. Rico caught up to his father and held him as Eduardo struggled to reach for Javier’s limp body.

  Trey slid from the saddle, pulling off his hat as he faced them. “I’m so sorry,” he managed as Juanita collapsed against him.

  “No,” she whispered. “Please, God, no.”

  “What happened?” Rico demanded.

  “Let’s get him inside,” Trey replied, ignoring the question. By now, the cowboy from the barn had alerted others, and several of the men surrounded the horse. Together, they lifted the body and carried it inside. “The dining room,” Trey directed, his voice hoarse with pent-up emotion. It was where his parents had lain in state, and as far as he was concerned, it was where any family member would lie.

  Once the men had followed his instructions and he’d sent them back to work, Trey knew he could no longer avoid the question. He led Juanita to the intricately carved armchair his
mother had always occupied, eased her to a sitting position, and knelt next to her. He held her hand between his. Eduardo stood, staring at his dead son, and Rico gazed out the window. Trey told them how the Galway boy had provoked Javier and how the two had wrestled, how Henry had tried to pull his son away. That’s when they saw the knife. “But it was already too late, Nita.”

  Rico glanced over his shoulder and stared at Trey. “There’s more, isn’t there? That can’t be the whole of it.” He pointed to the wound on Trey’s forearm.

  Trey let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “There’s more,” he said softly and tightened his grip on Juanita’s hand. He told them how he and Ira had fought for the knife and how Henry pulled his gun. He told how he had stepped away to avoid Henry’s enraged charge and Henry had fallen, shooting himself in the process.

  “So two good men are dead, one from each side,” he finished. “And it has to stop here.” This last he directed at Rico.

  Without a word, Javier’s older brother left the room. Minutes later, Trey heard hoofbeats and saw Rico riding away. At least he was headed toward town, not in the direction of the sheep ranches. Trey hoped Rico had left to tell his wife, Louisa, the news and bring her out to the ranch to be with Juanita. It occurred to him that he needed to get word to his siblings—Chet and Maria in California, Amanda and Seth in Tucson. Jess would tell Addie; if she was thinking straight, maybe she’d send telegrams. He needed her to come to his ranch as soon as possible and with the priest. And maybe Nell and Joshua as well.

  But then he remembered what Nell had said about needing to get back to her ranch. There was no way she could have known about the trouble up on Deadman’s Point. No way she could know the danger had taken a turn for the worse.

  “You married that woman?” Juanita said, her eyes meeting his for the first time since they’d entered the house.

  “Yes.”

  “And her brother is also dead?”

  Trey nodded.