Benjamin (17 page)

They all loved Benjy Graham.

Her son rode without her, but he was there, close enough for her to see, and that was enough for now. Ben told her to give him time. There might not be much of it, but she would try her best to be patient although her heart cried out for her son. To feel his arms wrapped around her neck and have his warm body pressed against her.

As they rode, the heat of the morning grew. The air was thick with humidity, and sweat rolled down her back. The feminine clothes Ben had her wear would be ruined by the time this trip was done. There was only so much soap and a brush could do on this fabric. It wasn’t as sturdy as cotton and already had numerous stains, pulls, and snags.

Yet she would keep it for the rest of her life. Benjy had picked it out for her and that gesture, along with the intent behind it, had helped her rediscover Grace. The female who lurked inside all her life but had yet to become real. Falling in love with him had given her freedom to release Grace from her lifelong prison.

She didn’t want to lose him so soon after finding him. Nor did she want anything to happen to his family. They might not live through tomorrow but she was damn sure going to take as many of the Cunninghams’ men as possible.

She’d bought bullets at the last store they’d been in, before Benjy had punched the tree and they’d found pleasure in each other’s arms. She’d filled her pocket with bullets to reload as fast as possible. Grace knew how to fight, how to scuffle, and how to throw a punch. She’d never been in a gun battle.

Caleb pulled his horse to a stop by an enormous tree, the kind a child could spend hours climbing. Ben and Grace reined in their horses. Henry hung onto the saddle horn and moved with ease. Paladin snorted and blew, apparently unhappy to stop riding.

Grace forced herself to stop staring at her son. He wasn’t ready for her yet.

“We’re on the Circle Eight.” Caleb pointed west. “The main house is that way about half a mile or so. I don’t know if Cunningham is—”

The sound of gunfire echoed through the air, followed by more and even more. Ben’s expression turned to stone.

“Fuck.” Caleb glanced at Henry. “Sorry about that. The boy needs to stay here.”

Ben whispered in her son’s ear and Henry nodded. “He’ll hide in the tree.”

Grace wanted to say something to Henry but he didn’t even glance her way. If she died helping the Grahams, she knew they would take care of him. At least she knew he was free of the monsters who’d taken him. He would grow up and live a full life with or without her.

Ben boosted him up into the lowest branch. “Climb up into the leaves so no one can see you.”

Henry clambered up the tree in seconds. Grace closed her eyes for a second and said good-bye to him silently.

“Stay here until me, Caleb, or your mama comes back for you. All my brothers and sisters look like me, except one who looks like your mama. Any of us will be safe, do you understand?” Ben pulled out his rifle as he spoke. Henry must’ve nodded to him because he turned to Caleb. “Let’s go kill those bastards.”

The three of them took off riding low over the horses’ necks. The wind whistled past her ears and the sounds of guns getting louder with each passing moment.

“I’m going around the back of the house. You and Grace ride into the yard.” Caleb broke off and raced off to the right.

She hunkered down even farther and spoke into Swift’s ear. “I know I didn’t name you, but I’m glad Benjy did. I need you, boy, more than I ever did. Please help me save his family.”

The gelding must’ve understood her because he lengthened his stride and she patted his neck. It was time.

‡

T
he last time
Ben had ridden for home like this, he’d been ten years old and Pablo Garza, otherwise known as Ephraim Cunningham, was chasing Caleb, Rory, and Ben. The Grahams had triumphed in the end and today would have the same result.

There was no other option.

Ben saw at least two dozen men surrounding the main house, while others were near Caleb and Rory’s house. Two were on the roof and two more were trying to wrangle the yearlings, who were successfully avoiding them, in the corral they ran in.

“Aim for the ones on the roof first.” Ben aimed his rifle from the back of Paladin. He hoped his arm would be steady enough to hit the sons of bitches.

Before he could fire off one shot, Grace had already picked off the two on the roof. She was deadly accurate. They managed to shoot three more together before the bullets started flying back.

Ben realized there were people in the house shooting back at Cunningham’s marauders. At this time of day, the men were likely all out working with the cattle, so only the women and children were there. A flash of red in one of the windows in Caleb’s house told him that Rory, the toughest blacksmith in eastern Texas, was there fighting hard.

“I’m going to draw them away from the house. You ride up around the crest there. You can swing around back of Caleb’s house. Take off your hat so Rory can see you. She’ll probably think you’re Cat and not shoot you.” Ben’s stomach was tight but he wasn’t afraid. No more fear. This time he was full of righteous fury. He would never be afraid of the Cunninghams again.

Grace looked at him and blinked. “Just so you know, Benjamin Graham, I love you.”

With that, she rode away, fast and hard. He watched her for a few moments, nonplussed by her confession. He should have replied or at least acknowledged how powerful her words were, how much they gave him yet another reason to get through this.

He loved her, too.

Ben watched at least a dozen men ride toward him. A few broke away to chase Grace. Bullets flew past him but he took careful aim and shot three of them before he swung Paladin around and spurred the horse into motion.

A bullet grazed his shoulder, leaving behind a burning pain, but it was only a scratch. He wasn’t about to slow down for it. Ben’s advantage in knowing the terrain proved its worth when curses rang out behind him. The hills were as familiar to him as his own hands. He’d spent many hours riding the ranch.

As he swung around in a wide circle, he spotted a group of riders coming from the east, effectively boxing him between the men.

“Fuck.”

He had only one chance—to ride straight for the tree where Henry was hiding. If he did this right, they wouldn’t see the boy and Ben could gain the advantage of high ground.

When the bullets started flying from the other group of men, Caleb leaned down as far as he could. That’s when he heard it.

“To the Graham!”

Relief raced through him. It was his brother Matt and likely the other ranch hands, including Cat. They must’ve heard the gunfire and been close enough to join the fight. However, Ben’s relief was short-lived when another bullet went right past his ear. And it came from Matt’s direction.

He had to let them know it was him and so he did the only thing he could think of, he let loose a howl.

When they were young, the eight of them used to get into plenty of mischief, including fighting with each other. Mama used to call them a bunch of wild animals. Caleb, trying to be funny, dubbed them the wolf pack, and they all howled together whenever Mama would lose patience with them.

Another howl sounded from behind him, from Caleb. He was still alive and still fighting.

The howls must’ve worked because the bullets stopped flying from east of him. He rode hard toward the enormous tree, pushing Paladin to his limit. When he reached it, he yelled up at the boy. “Climb higher, Henry!”

Ben swung around and rode toward Matt and the others. There were only six of them, but it was more Grahams to fight against the Cunninghams. Ben had no doubt Caleb was making short work of as many of the attacking men as possible.

It would seem the Grahams were outnumbered, but the mistake the outlaws made was discounting all the Grahams. Every woman and child was skilled with a gun and they were always well prepared to defend themselves with ammunition and weapons.

“Who?” Matt shouted as they engaged in gun battle with the marauders.

“A Cunningham.” It was all Ben had to say.

“Fucking cockroaches.” Matt and the others fired as they rode toward the house, picking off the outlaws that had followed Ben.

“Who’s with you? Caleb?” Matt rode beside Ben. It gave him a sense of rightness to see his eldest brother, his brown hair now lined with silver at his temples. He’d been a father since ten-year-old Ben returned to the Circle Eight. There was no one Ben trusted more to make things right. Everybody was needed for this epic battle and fighting together with his family to protect the ranch, Ben finally felt like a Graham.

“Caleb and Grace.” Ben didn’t know where she was or if she was safe, but he had faith in her skills. She was fierce and strong.

“You can tell me later who Grace is and where you’ve been. For now let’s concentrate on killing these goddamn bastards.”

Ben bared his teeth and prepared to do just that.

*

Grace pushed Swift
to ride faster than she ever had. The terrain was unknown but Ben had given her instructions on how to evade her pursuers. She managed to get behind the crest and wait for the three of them to appear and then she shot each off their mounts.

A bullet whizzed past her from behind and she spotted a rifle barrel sticking out a door from what Ben said was Caleb’s house. She remembered him saying Caleb’s wife was named Rory and she was a blacksmith. Grace pulled off her hat and let her hair loose.

When was sure that she’d been spotted as friend, not foe, she rode toward the back of the house. Gunfire echoed from all around them but for the moment, Grace was safe.

She slipped off Swift and ran toward the door. It opened and she ran inside, rifle and pistol in hand. Rory had amber eyes, short dark-blonde hair, and a sleek, muscled appearance. She held a hammer in one hand and a rifle in the other.

“You’re not Cat, so who the hell are you?” Apparently this woman didn’t mind cussing. Grace liked her already.

“Grace Beckett. I’m a friend of Cat’s—she knew me more as Duffy. I’m also a friend of Ben’s.”

“Ben? Is he with you?” Rory peered out the window.

“He’s out there along with Caleb trying to pick off the riders.” Grace’s heart was hammering and she was breathing like a bellows. Fear and anger pulsed through her.

“At least my husband’s here, too, to kill these sons of bitches. Who are they?”

“Cunningham’s men. The third brother, Dominic, was sent by their mother. We don’t know much more than that.” Grace glanced around. “You alone?”

Rory grimaced. “No. My girls weren’t feeling well today so they’re under their beds where I told them to stay until this is over.”

“My son is hiding in the huge tree up the hill.”

Rory’s brows went up but she didn’t say anything. Grace hoped she and this fierce Graham woman would be friends.

“Then let’s clean up the trash.” Rory walked toward the front of the house and Grace followed. “You have ammunition for those?”

“As much as I could fit in my pockets. Already used almost half.”

“Me too. Picked off at least two. My sisters-in-law are in the main house. Hannah and Rebecca can shoot the eye out of a crow.” Rory hunkered down by the two front windows. The glass was broken but the curtains hid the women from view. “Cat is out with the men. I’m hoping they were close enough to hear the gunfire.” Rory cocked her head and listened. “Do you hear that?”

A howl split the air, followed by another.

“Wolves?” Grace didn’t think they needed another challenge.

Rory’s grin was anything but pleasant. “Those are the howls of the Graham boys.” She peered through a corner of the broken window. “There’s riders coming in and I think it’s Matt and the men. Now it’s a fight.”

Grace squatted by the other window and peered out. She took aim at someone shooting the main house and winged him. He turned to aim at her, and she slammed another cartridge into her rifle then shot him in the head.

“Nice shooting, Grace.” Rory picked off another man. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

For the next fifteen minutes, bullets flew through the air. The wooden buildings began to splinter as each round hit. The Grahams fought from their locations hitting the men. Grace ran out of cartridges for her rifle and began using her pistol. Sweat ran down her temples and neck. The heat of the day and the significant smoke from the guns made the interior of the house a hazy cave.