Shotgun Bride (7 page)

T
he Circle C ranch house was square, made of fieldstone and mortar, and though considerably smaller than its counterpart on the Triple M, it made an imposing picture that afternoon as Kade approached. He felt a grinding sensation in the pit of his belly—maybe it was envy, but it sure as hell wasn’t fear—just looking at the spread. Chandler, the cagey old buzzard who’d owned the place before, had always sworn that if he ever got itchy feet and decided to sell out, Angus would have first chance at it.

Instead, he’d sold to Cavanagh, and he’d gone behind the McKettricks’ backs to do it. Taken his profits and moved on without a word of explanation.

Kade put aside his bitter musings as best he could and concentrated on the task at hand. Holt was on top of the barn with some other men, driving nails into new shingles, and Kade knew his half brother had seen him coming from a long way off. Cavanagh didn’t acknowledge him with so much as a wave or a glance, and he took his Texas time climbing down the tall ladder set against the near wall, but when he walked toward Kade, his gaze was direct and his expression was just shy of affable. He was a big man, big as Rafe, with brown hair and shrewd hazel eyes. He wore work clothes that day, and his stride was even, though he’d broken a leg several months before when a pile of logs had broken loose from their chains and all but crushed him. Back then, he was still posing as an ordinary ranch hand, and helping to build Rafe and Emmeline’s first house, the one Rafe had burned to the ground.

“I’d say it was a pleasure,” Cavanagh drawled in that honeyed Southern voice of his, “but from the look on your face, I know better.”

Kade dismounted and stood facing the interloper. He didn’t put out his hand, and neither did Holt. “There are some things we need to discuss,” Kade said. He’d been the one to come here, so it was up to him to get things started.

Cavanagh waited, arms folded. It would have been neighborly to offer a cup of coffee, or water for the horse, but Holt wasn’t on neighborly terms with any of the McKettricks. While Angus had wanted to take his firstborn son right into the fold, back before the trouble started anyhow, Rafe, Kade, and Jeb weren’t quite so ready to accept him. There was too much at stake.

Kade pulled off his riding gloves, stuffed them into the pockets of his duster. “Last night some squatters were burned out just west of our place. Somebody used a Triple M iron to mark a tree so they could put the blame on us.”

Holt arched one eyebrow, shifted slightly on his feet, and didn’t unfold his arms. “That so?”

Curiosity welled up inside Kade, strange and sudden, out of context and purely unbidden; he wondered about Holt, about his schooling and his growing up, the places he’d been and the people he’d known and the things he’d done in his life before he came to Indian Rock. He wasn’t about to ask about any of that, though, so he resigned himself to knowing next to nothing about his father’s son.

“I figure you or one of your men was behind it,” Kade said. This conclusion didn’t seem as sensible as it had during the ride from the Triple M, but he was here and that was the only reason he had for showing up.

A ghost of a grin quirked one side of Holt’s mouth. “Do you, now? And why’s that, since it was the Triple M brand they found, and not mine?”

“Whoever set that fire wanted everybody to think we were behind it.” Just thinking about that made Kade fighting mad. The McKettricks had their share of enemies, always had. It was part of running the biggest ranch north of Tucson; folks got to feeling jealous sometimes, and that made them fractious and inclined to believe the worst. Incidents like the one on the Fee homestead could only exacerbate the problem.

“And you really think I did it?”

“You or somebody who works for you,” Kade reiterated. “It’s no secret that there’s been some bad blood between us.”

“Bad blood,” Holt echoed in the tone of one reflecting upon great and grave matters. “Interesting term.” He paused, pondering again, then skewered Kade with a narrow look. “Did our old pappy send you here to talk to me? I would have thought he had more backbone than to ask a boy to do a man’s job.”

Kade pressed his lips together briefly, then let out a breath. “I’m no boy,” he said evenly, “and I don’t run errands for Pa or anybody else. What I came here to say is that nobody needs a range war, but there’s going to be one for sure if you don’t back off.”

A flush crept up Holt’s neck to pulse under his jaw, and Kade took strong if unseemly satisfaction in the knowledge that the other man was rattled. Up till then, he’d acted as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “Your men have been cutting my fence lines,” Holt said, “and somebody’s been slaughtering Circle C cattle and leaving them to rot on the range.” He thrust a finger at Kade for emphasis, and it was a damn good thing he wasn’t standing close enough to connect, because that would have meant a fight for sure. “Seems to me,
Brother,
that you and the rest of your outfit are the ones who’d best do the backing off.”

Kade knew that one step forward would get him what he only then realized he’d wanted all along, a chance to take this Texan down a notch or two, but something held him back. It wasn’t prudence that stopped him, that was all he could have said for sure. He’d never been afraid of any man in his life, and this one was no exception.

The front door of the house creaked open just then, and a woman stepped out onto the small stone porch. Kade recognized one of the brides he’d ordered up. Sue Ellen, she was called, if he recollected right. He didn’t like her being there, even though he wouldn’t have taken her out strolling, let alone married her, whether the Triple M was on the line or not.

“I thought I’d take a housekeeping job until you came to your senses,” she sang out, and this time, it was Kade who reddened. “A girl has to make a living, you know.”

“Sue Ellen’s a fair cook,” Holt remarked, apropos of nothing.

Kade tugged at the brim of his hat; thanks to Georgia McKettrick, and then Concepcion, the gesture was ingrained. “You do whatever you feel the need to do, ma’am,” he said, as cordially as he could.

She pouted, and Kade observed to himself that while a pretty woman might have been able to carry off such an expression, Sue Ellen would have been wiser not to attempt it. “It’s a sorry state of affairs,” she said, “when a proper lady leaves the bosom of her home and family, expecting a man to honor his promise, and finds herself disappointed.”

Holt smirked at that, and while Kade would have liked to hit him, he refrained and doffed his hat instead. “If you want to go back to wherever you came from, Miss Sue Ellen,” he said smoothly, “you just say the word, and I’ll put you on the next stagecoach.”

Holt suppressed a snort of laughter.

Sue Ellen set her hands on her hips and glared. “I do believe that was an insult.”

“I didn’t mean it as one,” Kade said, and he hadn’t. He’d been trying to do right by the woman, since she had a legitimate grievance, that was all. Trust a female to twist whatever a man said around until it was as tangled and prickly as a coil of barbwire left out in the weather.

“Mr. Cavanagh,” Sue Ellen said with shrill dignity and a huffy set to her countenance, “supper is ready.”

Holt leaned toward Kade and spoke in an undertone, “I’d invite you to stay for a meal, but I really don’t think you should eat anything Sue Ellen cooked. She might just poison you.”

Sue Ellen turned on her heel at that—evidently her ears were good—stomped back into the house, and slammed the door smartly.

“Thanks anyway,” Kade said, addressing both the retreating woman and Cavanagh himself. He hadn’t accomplished anything by riding all the way up to the Circle C, except to make a damn fool of himself. He’d settled nothing with Cavanagh, and running into Sue Ellen had been just plain sorry luck. Some days, it didn’t pay a man to roll out of his bunk and pull on a pair of boots.

“Wait,” Holt said when Kade turned to mount up.

Kade turned back, wary. “What?”

“I didn’t order that fire set. When I’ve got a bone to pick with you or anybody else in the McKettrick outfit, you’ll hear it straight from me. Which is why I’m telling you right now, Kade—if I lose any more cattle to gunmen from the Triple M, if I find any more fence lines cut, I’m coming after whoever I have to come after to put an end to it. That includes the old man, as well as you and Rafe and Jeb.”

Kade hadn’t been in the habit of defending his pa of late, but he wanted to then. “You and Pa have your differences,” he said with a moderation that was hard-won, “and that’s to be expected, I suppose, given his walking out on you and all. But now I’m going to tell
you
something, Mr. Cavanagh. If any harm comes to him or to either of my brothers because of you, I’ll find you, if I have to track you to the hind corner of hell to do it, and I’ll kill you.”

Something moved in Holt’s eyes, maybe surprise, maybe amusement, maybe even respect. All Kade knew for certain was that it hadn’t been fear. This Texan might call himself Cavanagh, but he’d been born a McKettrick, and he most likely didn’t have the good sense to be scared of anything, even when it would have been the wisest course.

That recklessness, more than the ranch, more than the money and cattle and mines, was Angus’s legacy, a mark of his bloodline. Damn the old fool, anyway. He’d get them all lynched one of these days, or shot full of holes.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Holt said after some time. “Don’t bother to ride all the way to hell, though. I’ll be a lot closer at hand than that.”

Something flickered at one of the windows, and Kade glimpsed Sue Ellen as she flung the curtain back into place and stepped out of sight.

There being nothing else to be said, by Kade’s calculations, he gathered Raindance’s reins, crossed them over the gelding’s neck, and hoisted himself into the saddle. He wasn’t even halfway comfortable until he’d ridden well out of rifle range.

J
ohn Lewis was at the supper table, along with Angus, Concepcion, and Jeb, when Kade walked into the house that night well after dark, frustrated, hungry, and saddle sore.

“Any of that fried chicken left?” he asked of everyone in general, and rather pointedly, since the platter looked empty, as he paused at the sink to roll up his sleeves and wash his hands with Concepcion’s harsh yellow soap.

“In the warming oven,” Concepcion said.

“John tells me you rode up to Holt’s place,” Angus put in. Kade couldn’t tell from the old man’s tone whether he was looking for an affirmation or a denial, but it didn’t matter. All he had to offer was the plain truth.

“Yes,” Kade said, heading for the stove. He remembered to get a pot holder before removing the plate Concepcion had kept back for him in the upper oven, hot and brimming with savory chicken, biscuits, peas from a jar, and gravy. Just the smell of it improved his mood a little.

“Well, damn it, what happened?” Angus demanded. He wasn’t long on patience, and just then, Kade wasn’t, either.

He carried his supper to the table, made a place for himself on the bench next to Jeb, and used both the salt and pepper shakers before answering. It wasn’t like he had any news, unless you counted Sue Ellen’s wanting to poison him for not marrying her. “I pretty much got nowhere,” he said. “Cavanagh says he didn’t have anything to do with what happened to that family of squatters.”

“And you believed him?” John asked circumspectly.

Kade pondered that while he chewed the fleshy part of a chicken wing. Typical, he thought. If he hadn’t been out chasing smoke, Jeb wouldn’t have beaten him to all the best pieces of meat. Like as not, the little waster had scraped the gravy pan clean, too. He wasn’t wearing the wedding band; he probably put it on only when it was convenient. “I got the feeling that if he had done something,” he reflected aloud, in his own sweet time, “he’d have owned right up and taken pleasure in it. He’s got it in his mind that we’re behind the troubles he’s been having, and I guess I might think that, too, if I were him.”

Angus looked both unsettled and relieved. Whatever the problems between him and Holt, and they were considerable, he couldn’t be blamed for not wanting to believe that his own son would set out to destroy everything he’d spent his considerable strength and resolve to build. “Downed fence lines and the like?” he asked.

“Worse,” Kade said, chewing. “Somebody’s been shooting his cattle, for the sport of it, evidently.”

Angus muttered a low curse. Beef was his stock-in-trade, the lifeblood of his operation, and the wanton waste of such a resource went against everything he believed in.

“And he thinks we’re doing that?” Jeb clarified, a note of disbelief in his voice. Kade couldn’t tell for sure in the dim lamplight of that dark evening, but he thought his normally unflappable brother’s color might have heightened a shade or two.

“Yep,” Kade said.

“Well, it’s a damn fool notion,” Angus added. He liked to play the trump card, whether the stakes were high or not. Hell, there didn’t even have to be a game afoot.

Concepcion spoke up, the cool head of reason, as she so often was. “Somebody else is doing these terrible things, trying to make trouble between Holt and the rest of you. Who—that is what we need to know—and why?”

“I reckon we’d better find out directly,” Angus concluded, after some cogitation, “before somebody gets killed.”

“Amen,” said John Lewis, who never wasted a word if he could help it.

Concepcion swept all the McKettricks up in a single fierce glance. “If you know what’s good for you, and for this place, you will saddle up your horses, all of you, first thing in the morning, ride up to the Circle C, and talk this out with Holt, once and for all.”

Angus glowered; it wasn’t his way to seek people out and come to terms with them. He liked them to come to him, preferably with hat in hand and abject apologies at the ready, whether they were at fault or not. “It isn’t like he’s going to welcome us,” he said.

“You may be surprised,” Concepcion replied.

Lewis smiled at that, pushed back his chair, and stood. “I thank you for the fine meal,” he told Concepcion, “and for your gracious company.” A quirk at the side of his mouth made it clear that the compliment was intended for Concepcion alone, even before he went on, “As for the rest of you, I’d be taking this good woman’s advice to heart, and wasting no time doing it. Wouldn’t hurt to pour some oil on the waters.”

Angus got to his feet. “Now, John,” he said, “it’s late, and it’s dark. There’s been some tomfoolery going on out there. You ought to pass the night right here, and head for Indian Rock in the morning.”

John sighed. “Yes, I ought to do just that. But Becky’s been a little delicate lately, and I like to stay close by in case I’m needed.” He headed for the row of pegs next to the back door, took down his gun belt first and strapped it on, then donned his coat and hat. On the threshold, he paused. “A lot of folks around here look up to the McKettricks. They’ll watch what you do about this thing and decide on their own actions accordingly. Keep that in mind.”

With that, Marshal John Lewis took his leave.

“One of you go after him,” Angus said, a moment after the door closed. “Ride along as far as town. John isn’t as young as he used to be, or as fast, and somebody’s liable to jump him out of pure orneriness.”

Kade had done all the riding he wanted to for one day, but he agreed with his pa. The times were uncertain, and tough as he was, the marshal wasn’t invincible. Kade collected his own rigging, just as John had done, and went out the door.

Lewis and his mount were already splashing across the creek when Kade reached the barn, so he didn’t call to the other man to wait. Raindance was enjoying a well-earned rest in his stall, and Kade spoke with gruff affection as he passed the animal by, choosing another horse for the trip into Indian Rock. The sorrel gelding was small, but eager to travel, and Kade saddled him quickly.

A mile up the road, Lewis was waiting, pistol drawn and cocked. “Who goes there?” he demanded.

“Kade McKettrick. Put that thing away.”

In the thin moonlight, Kade saw the lawman release the hammer with his thumb and slip the gun back into its holster. Maybe the old fellow was still capable of taking care of himself after all.

“Angus decided I ought to have a nursemaid,” Lewis surmised with a chuckle.

“Just some company,” Kade replied, drawing up alongside.

“I reckon I wouldn’t mind that.”

They were within half an hour of Indian Rock, riding at a steady gallop, and in companionable silence, when all of the sudden John Lewis put a hand to his chest and pitched right off his horse, landing headfirst in the road.