The Maverick of Copper Creek (4 page)

Everyone except the shooter.

“Why, Bear?” The words were torn from her lips and the tears welled up again, spilling down her cheeks.

It had been like this ever since she'd heard the news. This sudden, wrenching grief that had her throat raw, her heart breaking over and over, until she thought she'd go mad from the pain.

“I can't do this.” She paced the length of her room and back, letting the tears fall. “I don't even know where to begin without you here. Whit thinks he can step into your shoes, Bear, but he's wrong. He's not ready yet. And Maddock may be wise enough, and tough enough, but his body won't let him do what he once did.”

She slumped back onto the edge of the bed and buried her face in her hands. Bear was dead. Though she hadn't yet been allowed to see his body, Ira Pettigrew had said so.

Her hands suddenly clenched. She couldn't do this. Couldn't run this ranch alone. And certainly couldn't handle the arrival of a stranger claiming to be her husband's son. She had an almost overpowering desire to run and hide. She would rather be anywhere than here, dealing with the mountain of misery that had been dumped on her.

She stared at her clenched fists and slowly opened them. She'd had a good life with Bear.

Bear MacKenzie was the strongest, smartest man she'd ever met. He was her husband, her mentor, her protector. Her best friend.

He'd literally ridden into her young life like an avenging angel. Her father had been a teacher and part-time rancher. Her mother had raised chickens and cooked a fine chicken dinner once a month as a fund-raiser for the Copper Creek Church. They had been standing with their daughter beside their broken-down van when the most handsome cowboy Willow had ever seen rode up on his horse and offered to help. He'd fiddled under the hood and got their van started, then followed along all the way to town to make certain they arrived safely. Then he'd stayed to enjoy her mother's cooking and had flirted shamelessly with tall, slender Willow Martin, a sun-bronzed, blonde college junior home for the summer. By the time she returned for her senior year, she was wildly in love with her cowboy and sorely tempted to abandon her plans to go to New York and become a model. And though she gave modeling a try after graduation, she simply couldn't stop missing the man who had stolen her heart.

After that singular modeling assignment, she had returned to Bear's arms. Once married, Willow had embraced ranching with an all-consuming passion.

She blinked, struggling to put aside her gut-wrenching musings of the past and think of something positive to hold on to this day.

She had a father-in-law and sons who would no doubt do whatever they could to ease the road that lay ahead. She had a strong, loyal foreman. And in truth, whatever doubts plagued her, she would have to find her way through the layers of grief, anger, fear, confusion, and utter despair, and uncover her strengths.

She would deal with all of this because she had no choice. The hand had been dealt. Now, like it or not, all she could do was play the cards.

The voices in the kitchen were muted.

Brady was saying, “I've already given orders to the wranglers. Since we don't know who shot Bear, or why, I want someone looking out for Willow at all times. Wherever she goes, one of us goes with her.”

Mad nodded his agreement. “You're a step ahead of me, laddie.”

Whit's eyes narrowed. “You think the shooter will come after Mom?”

The foreman shrugged one powerful shoulder. “Right now I don't know what to think. But until we know the who and why of this mess, we need to take precautions.”

“I agree.” Mad clenched a fist on the arm of his wheelchair. “If there's a grudge against Bear, what better way to pay it back than to kill the woman he loved, too?”

“But why? What would be the point of killing Mom now? With Pop gone, it's too late to hurt him.”

“For all we know, the whole family could be targeted.” Brady stared into Whit's stormy eyes.

Mad nodded his agreement. “Just to be safe, whenever you're off the ranch, I think you should travel with one of the wranglers, lad.”

“You want me to have a babysitter?”

Mad placed a hand on his grandson's arm. “Think of it as the buddy system. Whenever you went swimming in Copper Creek as a lad, I always told you to take along Ash or one of the wranglers, just in case.”

“I was six, Mad. I'm not a kid anymore.”

“It's just a precaution.” Brady lowered his voice, hoping Willow didn't choose that moment to come downstairs and catch them conspiring. “But especially where your mother is concerned, I don't want her alone until this matter is resolved.”

When Whit gave a slight nod of his head, both men breathed a sigh of relief.

It was just another minor bump in a week that had seen one major crisis after another.

They were all bracing for whatever might happen next.

A
sh trudged across the field separating his land from his nearest neighbor's. He could have driven his truck, but he figured the walk over and back would help him do some heavy thinking.

Old Fred Covington had been making noises about wanting Ash's ranch ever since he'd learned that Ash's bid at the county auction had been higher than his. It had been an uphill battle, but Ash had finally managed to break through the old man's icy wall until they were now, if not friendly, at least neighborly.

It hadn't been easy for Ash to request this meeting with Fred Covington and openly admit to his financial problems with the bank.

“Ash.” Fred stuck out his hand.

“Fred. Thanks for agreeing to see me.”

The old man glanced up at the layers of clouds rolling in from the north. “Afraid I can't give you much time. Got to see to my herd. What's this about?”

As briefly as possible Ash told him about his meeting with the banker, and the disastrous outcome.

His words were met with narrowed eyes and a tightening of the lips, a sure indication that the stern-faced neighbor was about to gloat and offer him a lowball figure to take the land and buildings off his hands.

In truth, Ash was prepared to accept whatever offer was made. He'd run out of options.

The old man spat a wad of tobacco. “I could have told you what you'd get from the Colliers. Father and son are both more concerned about squeezing every drop of blood they can from the hardworking ranchers around here than they are with lending a hand when it's needed.” Fred pursed his lips, considering. “How much do you need to get that irrigation system repaired?”

Ash shrugged, trying his best to hold onto his dignity. “They're asking thirty grand.”

“Thirty.” Fred shoved back his hat to scratch his head. “Then I figure they'll probably take ten up front, and ask for the rest in payments.”

“Yes, sir. That's what I'm figuring, too.”

“And your taxes?”

“I thought I'd be able to cover them, but everything started piling up.”

“Yeah. That's a rancher's reality.” The old man stared off into space before turning to meet Ash's eyes. “All right. Come on up to the house. I'll write a check for the irrigation company and the bank.” He started away.

Ash was choking on the lump in his throat. “You…” He swallowed and tried again. “You'll have yourself some fine land for the price of taxes and an irrigation system.”

Fred stopped dead in his tracks and turned. “Is that what you think? That I'm hoping to take over your place?”

“Aren't you?”

Fred Covington gave him a long, assessing look. “Since you took over this place, I've been talking with some other ranchers in the area. They tell me you were one of their best workers, and you've been saving every dollar you earned to buy this ranch. That right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I figured you'd just asked your daddy to buy you a place of your own, but I've heard you haven't taken one red cent from your pa.” When Ash held his silence he said, “This land was built by men like my granddaddy. I like a man who lives by a cowboy's rugged code of independence. That's why I'm offering you a loan so you can hold on to what you've earned by the sweat of your brow.”

As his words sank in, Ash's eyes rounded. “I don't know when I'll be able to pay you back.”

Fred's lips curved. “I figure you're good for the money. And if you don't pay me back, son, I know where you live.”

Ash swallowed. Had this dour old man actually made a joke?

He followed Fred to the house and stood awkwardly in the kitchen. Minutes later Fred returned, holding out a check.

The old man was smiling. “I wish I could be a fly on the wall at the bank tomorrow when the Colliers, father and son, see this. The stingy bastards.”

Ash's smile came slowly, before it bloomed on his lips, in his eyes. He accepted the check and shook Fred Covington's work-worn hand. “I'll never forget this, Fred. I…I was prepared to let it all go and start again.”

“That's what I like about you, son. You remind me of myself at your age.” His voice lowered. “I started over a number of times before it all began working for me. But once it did, I never took it for granted. I appreciated everything I had. And still do, truth be told.”

Ash studied the old man with new respect. “How many times did you have to start over before you got it right?”

“Half a dozen, at least. But I tell you what, son. If it weren't for the love of my good woman, I'd still be trying to figure things out.” He looked at Ash with those dark, piercing eyes. “You listen to me. If you find yourself a good woman, you make damned sure you never let her get away.”

“I'll remember. Thanks, Fred.”

Clutching the check, Ash shook the old man's hand again before turning toward his ranch in the distance.

As he made his way across the fields, his smile grew.

Thanks to the kindness of a neighbor he barely knew, he'd saved his ranch for at least a while longer.

He hadn't admitted to Fred that he'd already betrayed the trust of the only good woman he'd ever known. Finding another like Brenna Crane wasn't likely. And meeting any woman would have to take a back seat to ranch chores, at least for the foreseeable future. He intended to pay Fred back every penny before the year was up. If he had to work longer hours and tighten his belt even more, so be it. He intended to do whatever it took to make sure that Fred Covington never regretted putting his trust in him.

That was Ash's last thought before he spied the shiny black car bearing a Montana license plate parked in front of his ranch house.

The man stepping out, dressed in a dark suit and tie and looking like the grim reaper, was no rancher. And the fact that he was from out of state meant that he wasn't from the bank, either.

Whoever he was, and whatever brought him way out here, Ash figured he hadn't come all this way bearing good news.

Ash stepped up onto his front porch and eyed the man.

“Ash MacKenzie?”

“Yeah.”

“Phil Bradley. I've been sent by Mason McMillan.”

“My father's lawyer? You a private investigator?”

The man nodded. “Could we go inside?”

Ash made no move to open the door. “So my family resorted to hiring an investigator to find me. Now that you have, you can get off my property and hightail it back to Montana with the news that you were successful. I'm sure that'll earn you a fat bonus.”

As he opened the front door and stepped inside, the man's hand shot out, preventing Ash from closing it in his face.

Ash gave a sigh of disgust. “Okay. Why don't you say what you came here to say and let me get back to work.”

“I'm sorry to tell you that your father is dead. He was…”

Ash never heard the rest. His hand lowered to his side and he stumbled inside like a drunk before dropping down heavily on a kitchen chair.

Phil Bradley followed him inside and watched as Ash struggled to clear his mind.

“My father…When? How?”

“Two days ago. Shot in the back by an unknown killer.”

“Murdered?” Ash couldn't seem to wrap his mind around such stunning news.

“I had to do a lot of digging to find you. Your family didn't want you to hear this by phone.”

“My family.” Ash closed his eyes on the pain. His mother, his brother, dealing with this for two days while he was wasting his time worrying about a piece of land.

“What should I tell them?”

“Tell them…? My family?” Ash's head came up and he struggled to focus.

He would phone Fred Covington and make whatever arrangements he could on the spur of the moment. Nothing else mattered now except being with his family. “Tell them I'll be there as soon as possible.”

Bradley nodded. “Your mother requested a phone number where she could reach you.”

Too stunned to speak, Ash held up his phone, displaying the number. The investigator punched the numbers into his own cell phone before letting himself out.

Ash lowered his face to his hands.

His father dead. Murdered. It was too much to process.

It couldn't be true. It couldn't. Bear MacKenzie was too tough, too ornery, to die.

Grief welled up, choking him. There was a terrible band around his heart, making it impossible to take a breath.

He roared up from his chair and stormed across the room, pounding a fist into the wall. Even the pain that shot up his arm wasn't enough to overcome the terrible, black grief that had him by the throat, squeezing all the air from his lungs.

He'd worked so hard. Denied himself so much, just to be able to go home one day and prove to his father that he could make it all on his own. It had been the thought of seeing his father's respect that had driven him like a man possessed.

And now, he could never stand before Bear MacKenzie and say the one thing he'd wanted to say more than anything in this world.

“Oh, Pop.” Anger and anguish and guilt rolled through him in a storm of emotions that dropped him to his knees. “Why did I let the MacKenzie curse take me this far? Why did we always resort to our fists? Why couldn't one of us have said we were sorry?”

He got to his feet and began to pace.
This is my fault. My fault. My fault. I deserted everyone I love because of this damnable temper. And though I've spent years blaming you, Pop, I'm the one who made the choice to go so far away from all the people I love.

The people I love.

Despite all the bitter battles of will, the shouting, the cursing, the angry words spoken in a haze of fury, he had loved his father. And knew in his heart that his father—though critical of everything he'd done, and ready to stand toe to toe with his oldest son every step of his journey to manhood—had loved him, too.

What had Mad always said? Bear just wanted his sons to be tough enough to survive this harsh land and the almost superhuman demands made on anyone who chose ranching for a lifetime.

“Oh Pop. What a waste. What a terrible waste of years ” With an arm across his eyes, Ash sank down on the ancient sofa that had been left by the ranch's former owner.

Overcome with a blinding, bitter grief, he wept scalding tears over his loss.

 

Kabul, Afghanistan

 

“Hey, Griff. Got a cigarette?” Jimmy Gable had just celebrated his twenty-first birthday the previous week. When he'd entered the Corps at eighteen, he'd been a pudgy kid fresh out of school. Now, despite his babyish face, muscle replaced the fat, and there was a toughness in his demeanor that came from facing death in the hills of Afghanistan. He considered thirty-year-old Griff Warren his closest friend despite the difference in their ages and backgrounds. The two had bonded over long nights spent under the heavy cloak of darkness punctuated by bursts of enemy fire.

“Here.” Griff tossed aside the last of his cold coffee and handed over the pack after taking a cigarette for himself.

“Thanks. I thought you quit.” With a grin, Jimmy struck a light to his own, and then to Griff's.

“I did. For about an hour.”

The two men stretched out their legs and inhaled deeply.

“You still thinking of doing another tour?” Jimmy blew out a stream of smoke.

“Yeah.” Griff did the same, watching the smoke dissipate into the night air. “Nothing else to do with my life now.”

“Tough about your mother.”

When Griff said nothing, Jimmy figured that the pain of loss was still too fresh. Griff's plans for a grand reunion when he was discharged had all somehow gone up in smoke.

“Maybe I'll stay in with you and do another tour.”

At Jimmy's words, Griff looked at his young friend and shook his head. “There's no future here for you.”

“And there is for you?”

Griff shrugged. “It's different for me. I've got no future back home, either. I've got nobody. But you've got that big family just waiting to smother you with love.”

“Yeah.
Smother
being the operative word.” Jimmy gave a dry laugh. “With two older brothers and three sisters, I've been smothered from the day I was born. When I joined the Marines, I became plain old Jimmy Gable. Here, I'm not Artie's little brother, or Audrey's cute brother. Or John Gable's kid.”

“You should be proud to be someone's kid.”

At the rough tone of voice, Jimmy fell silent, embarrassed at that slip of the tongue. Though Griff kept his personal life pretty much to himself, he'd once said that he grew up without a father, or any family except his mother. To Jimmy, that sounded like heaven. But seeing the look in Griff's eyes, he knew his friend considered it more like hell.

Over these past months Jimmy had begun to look up to Griff Warren as the epitome of a man and a Marine. Griff was strong, silent, and absolutely fearless. His muscled body was rock solid, his mind razor sharp. During their rare breaks away from combat, Jimmy had seen the way women looked at his friend. And no wonder. Even with that hint of danger in those dark eyes that warned everyone to keep their distance, Griff Warren was handsome in a rugged, dangerous sort of way. To Jimmy's way of thinking, though, any woman who dared to take on Griff would have to be prepared to take on the devil himself. It wasn't just the scar that ran from below his ear to his chest, a souvenir from a crazed enemy soldier. There was something dark and wounded that showed itself in those brief moments when Griff let down his guard. Something that spoke of a pain too deep for words. And maybe an anger that simmered and boiled deep inside. Jimmy just hoped he never caused that anger to boil over. It wouldn't be pretty.

When the mail was distributed, Jimmy clutched half a dozen envelopes, taking his time opening each one and chuckling as he read the long, newsy letters from his family.