Relentless
Bobbi Smith
LEISURE BOOKS
NEW YORK CITY
He commanded. “Jackson and his men had the ambush all planned out. They knew exactly what they were doing. You took a head shot. You’re lucky to still be alive, outgunned the way you were.”
“I don’t think so.” In her heart, Dusty felt as if a part of her had already died. Only her driving hatred for Jackson and his men gave her the inner strength she needed to keep going. “My father should never have been killed! He and Matt were good men. They’d never hurt anybody. Those outlaws murdered them both—and for what? Money? Jackson and his men think money is more important than people’s lives?”
“There are bad people in this world. That’s why I became a Ranger. I want to stop as many of them as I can, and I’m going to stop Jackson and his men—real soon.”
“And I’m going to help you,” she said fiercely.
“No, you’re not,” he stated.
She glared at him as she told him, “But I heard Jackson and his men talking, and I know where they’re going.”
“Where?”
She was defiant as she met his challenging gaze. “I won’t tell you—not unless you agree to take me along.”
This book is dedicated to my first granddaughter!
The perfect Willow Marie!
Grand Bluff, Texas
Late 1860s
It was a hot late-summer night. Fifteen-year-old Grant Spencer was with his father, the sheriff of Grand Bluff, when one of the men from town came running into the office.
“Sheriff Spencer! You gotta get down to the saloon! They need your help. There’s some serious trouble brewing,” Will Collins warned.
“What’s wrong?” Dan Spencer saw Will’s desperation and immediately stood up and came around his desk. It was Saturday night on a payday weekend, so he’d been expecting a ruckus. It wasn’t unusual for the local ranch hands to come into town and get a little wild, but Will sounded as if there was more to this trouble than just drunken cowboys.
“It’s Al Reynolds. He’s full of whiskey and threatening to shoot up the place!”
Dan was worried as he started to leave the office. Al Reynolds was a real troublemaker when he was sober, and he only got worse when he was drinking. Dan paused just long enough to tell his son, “Stay here.”
“But I can help you—” Grant offered.
Dan understood the boy’s desire to go along, but he also knew just how dangerous the saloon might get and he wanted Grant safe.
“Not tonight. Stay here at the office.” It was an order. There were times when he did take Grant along on his rounds, but if Reynolds was as drunk and as dangerous as Will said, the saloon was no place for his son.
Dan strode from the office with Will Collins hurrying along behind.
Young Grant felt uneasy as he watched them go. Will wasn’t the bravest of men, and Grant knew he would be of little help to his father if the brawl turned ugly. He was worried about his father facing the drunk Al Reynolds all alone. Not that his father couldn’t handle Al. He could. His father was a fine lawman, and he’d kept Grand Bluff peaceful for a long time now. But from the way Will had been acting, there was no telling what was really going on at the saloon tonight.
Grant wanted to go after them. He wanted to grab a shotgun from the gun case and back his father up, but he also knew how angry his father would be if he did not obey his order to stay behind. Reluctantly, he went to stand by the office door to await his father’s return.
Dan could hear the raucous noise of the fighting coming from the saloon as he drew near, and he knew this situation wasn’t going to be easy to control. He stopped long enough to speak to Will. “You got a gun on you?”
“No,” the frightened man answered.
“Then get out of sight.”
Will quickly ran off to hide in the darkened nearby alleyway.
There had been a few times over the years when Dan had wished he’d had a deputy working with him. Judging from the sound of things, tonight was one of those nights. But no matter what, he was the sheriff and he would handle the problem.
Just as Dan neared the front of the saloon, Al Reynolds came flying out of the swinging doors and tumbled heavily into the street. Tom Lawson, one of the hands from a nearby ranch, stepped outside the saloon and stood there, laughing at the drunk where he lay sprawled in the dirt.
“Had enough for one night, Reynolds?” Lawson sneered.
“No! Have you?” In a mindless rage, Al struggled to his feet.
“I’ve had all I want of you.” Lawson turned to go back inside. “I got some more drinking to do.”
“But I’m not done with you!” Humiliated and furious, Al drew his gun and fired at the other man.
Even as drunk as he was, at this close range his aim proved true. Lawson collapsed and lay unmoving.
At the sound of gunfire, screams erupted from inside the saloon. The saloon girls and their customers rushed to the swinging doors to see what was going on just as Dan confronted the drunk.
“Drop the gun, Reynolds!” Dan shouted, going for his own revolver.
But Al Reynolds wasn’t taking orders from anybody. Before Dan could even clear his gun from his holster, Reynolds turned on him and fired. Dan collapsed and lay unmoving in the dusty street.
As Reynolds stood there, staring at the dying sheriff, the realization of what he’d done slowly sank in and he panicked.
“Get back! All of you!” He fired a few wild shots in the direction of the saloon and then ran off into the night. He knew he had to get out of town and fast.
Those in the saloon ran for cover.
Having seen Reynolds take off, Will came out from where he’d been hiding in the alley watching, and knelt down beside the fallen sheriff.
“Sheriff—How are you?” Will could tell the other man had been gut-shot and he was bleeding profusely.
Dan was dying and he knew it. “My boy—” he managed in a pain-ravaged voice. “Get my boy—”
“I need help!” Will called out in desperation. “Somebody get the doc!”
Those inside the saloon were starting to venture back outside to see what had happened. They were horrified by the scene before them. One man ran for the doctor while several others checked on Lawson, only to find he was already dead. Hal, the bartender, came rushing over to Will and the sheriff.
“Go get Grant. He’s down at the sheriff’s office,” Will said.
Hal only needed one quick look at the severity
of the lawman’s wound to understand why Dan wanted his son. He hurried off to get the boy.
It wasn’t long before Doc Murray was there, kneeling beside Dan. He took one look at his gunshot wound and quickly directed the men standing around. “We need to get him over to my office. Now!”
The men all pitched in to help. One got a buckboard, and they quickly lifted Dan into the back of it to transport him down the street to the doctor’s office.
Grant had been waiting nervously for his father’s return. He’d grown even more worried when he’d heard several gunshots being fired and then complete silence. He’d almost been ready to get the shotgun out of the gun case and go after his father when he saw Hal running up the street toward him. Grant ran from the office to meet him.
“What is it? Where’s my father?” Grant demanded as he met the bartender in the street.
“He’s been shot, Grant. They’re taking him over to Doc Murray’s place—”
Grant didn’t say another word; he just took off. They had just finished carrying his father into the office when he got there. Grant rushed inside to find the other men about to leave and Dr. Murray hard at work cutting away his father’s shirt to examine the wound. He looked up to see the boy coming in.
“Pa—” Grant couldn’t hold back the cry that tore from him.
Dan was bleeding heavily, in spite of the doctor’s best efforts to stop the blood loss. He was barely conscious, but at the sound of Grant’s voice, he opened his eyes and lifted his hand to him. “Grant—”
Grant was beside him in an instant, grabbing his father’s hand as he gazed down at him. “I’m here, Pa—I’m here—”
The wound was grievous, and Dr. Murray knew there was nothing he could do to save his patient. He backed away to give father and son privacy for what little time Dan had left.
Dan looked up at his boy. “I love you, son,” he managed.
“I love you, too—” Grant said in an emotion-choked voice. “You’ll be all right. Dr. Murray will get the bullet out. It’ll be—”
“No, Grant—” Dan drew on the last of his strength. “Grant—I—”
His eyes closed as his life slipped away from him.
“Pa!” Grant grew frantic as he looked helplessly to the doctor. “Doc—Do something! You have to do something—”
Dr. Murray knew there was nothing more to be done. “I’m sorry, Grant—”
“No!”
He left Grant alone with his father to grieve. As he went outside, he saw that many of the men were still there, waiting to hear how the sheriff was doing, so he went outside to talk to them.
“He didn’t make it, boys,” he told them grimly.
“Who did this? Who shot Sheriff Spencer and Lawson?”
“It was Al Reynolds!” one man shouted.
“Where is he? Where did he go?” the doctor demanded, wanting to see justice done. Dan Spencer had been a good man and a fine father. He hadn’t deserved to be shot down in cold blood by a drunken fool.
“He ran off,” Will put in.
“Then you’d better get a posse together and find him. That man’s a murderer,” he said angrily.
“The doc’s right! Let’s start searching for him. As drunk as he was, he might still be in town!” Hal said.
They spread out to begin the hunt for the killer.
Dr. Murray waited for Grant to come out of the office. He could see how the youth was suffering and wanted to help him in any way he could.
“The men from town are out looking for Al Reynolds.”
“He’s the one who shot my father—”
“Yes.”
“If they don’t find him, I will,” Grant said fiercely.
“Your father was a fine man.”
“I know.” Grant fell silent, unable to say any more.
“Let’s go inside,” Dr. Murray encouraged, taking the boy into a small sitting room where they could be alone and talk.
Grant stayed with the doctor until Hal and the other men returned to speak with them.
“Did you find him?” Grant asked, coming to his feet to face the men from town.
“No. One of the boys down by the stable said they saw him ride out right after all the shooting. We’re going to go after him at first light,” Hal promised.
Grant’s expression was iron-willed and fierce as he looked at the bartender who’d been his father’s friend. “I’m riding with you.”
Sadly, Hal regarded the boy who had just been forced to become a man. “I figured you would. We’re meeting at the stable at five.”
“I’ll be there.”
Hal looked to the doc. “Can we help in any way?”
“Yes. Before you ride out, we’ll see Dan put to rest.”
Grant looked over at the doctor. He remembered the sorrow that had come when they’d buried his mother six years before and he knew how hard this was going to be. “We can bury him next to my mother.”
“Yes, we’ll do that,” Dr. Murray assured him.
Grant went back inside to say his final good-bye to his father. After a time, Dr. Murray went to speak with Grant, and when Grant was ready to leave, Hal was still there waiting for him.
“I’ll be staying the night with you,” Hal said. The boy was carrying his father’s gun belt and the personal things the sheriff had had on him.
“Thanks—” Grant’s voice was tight with emotion as they headed across town to the sheriff’s office, where he and his father lived in two back rooms.
When they went in, Hal asked, “Do you need anything?”
Grant wanted to say “my father back,” but he didn’t. “No, but Hal—”
“What?”
“I’m sure Pa would have wanted you to have this—” Grant handed him his father’s sheriff’s badge.
Hal stared down at it in deep sorrow, and yet he was honored by the gesture. He looked Grant in the eye as he pinned it on his shirt. “I’m gonna make him proud of me, boy.”
Grant got no sleep that night. He lay in bed, staring off into the darkness, wondering what the future held for him. Near-violent emotions tormented him. He was torn between rage and sorrow. He longed for the comfort of his father’s nearness. He had always felt safe when his father was with him, and he realized now, he would never know that feeling again. There were cruel, vicious men like Al Reynolds out there, and they had to be brought to justice. They had to be made to pay for their evil deeds.
Hal had bedded down in one of the jail cells, and he was up before dawn. He wasn’t surprised to find Grant dressed, ready to ride, and wearing his father’s gun belt. Little was said as they headed down to the stable to meet the other men who would ride with them. The posse galloped out of town, determined to track down the killer.
It wasn’t easy. Al Reynolds had gotten a good head start on them, but they stayed on his trail for
days on end. There were times when some of the men in the posse thought about giving up and going home, but Grant’s fierce determination to bring his father’s killer to justice kept them going.
And their persistence ultimately paid off.
They finally caught up with Reynolds in a small canyon where he was camped out.
Reynolds was relaxing beside his campfire, drinking some whiskey and getting ready to bed down for the night. He thought he’d made a great escape. He thought he’d gotten clean away from Grand Bluff. He thought he would never have to pay for killing the sheriff and Lawson. He was right in the middle of taking a deep swallow when a voice he recognized all too clearly as Hal’s came to him out of the darkness.
“Don’t even think about trying to make a run for it, Reynolds. We got you covered on all sides,” the bartender called.
“Hal?” he blurted out in shock.
“That’s right,” Hal said slowly as he stepped out into the light of the campfire along with several other men.
Reynolds couldn’t believe Hal, the bartender, was wearing the sheriff’s badge or that Dan Spencer’s son was with them and carrying a gun that he had pointed straight at Al’s heart.
“We’re taking you in,” Hal stated firmly.
Reynolds knew he’d rather die now than hang later. He started to go for his gun, but Grant was ready for him.
Grant got off a shot that hit him in his gun arm and left him writhing on the ground in pain.
“Good shot, Grant. Go on, now. Finish him off,” one of the other men in the posse urged. He hated what Reynolds had done and wanted to see him pay for his murderous ways.
Reynolds looked up at the sheriff’s son standing over him, his gun still aimed straight at him, and he knew true terror.
It would have been easy for Grant to pull the trigger, but he didn’t. “No. I’ll let the law decide his punishment,” he said. “You’re going back to stand trial, Reynolds.”
The other men in the posse were impressed by Grant’s self-control and determination as they quickly tied up the moaning killer. They bound his wound and then waited for daylight to start back home. The hunt was over. They’d gotten their man.
Grant stood over his father’s grave, staring down at the small cross that marked his final resting place. Reynolds had been convicted in his trial and had hanged that morning. Grant had thought he would be at peace now, but the killer’s death hadn’t brought his father back. He was still alone.
