Tall, Dark, and Determined (4 page)

    THREE    

A
ll was silent. Evie huddled with Lacey as time grew heavy and wore her nerves thin.

“Please tell me you wouldn't have fired,” Lacey said after the silence became unbearable—and Evie handed over the pistol.

“Have a little faith, Lace.” Evie scanned the horizon, anxious for Jake to come back. It hadn't escaped her notice that Twyler hadn't dropped his gun before taking off.

“Does that mean you would've uttered a prayer and pulled the trigger, or that I should have faith you wouldn't do anything so foolish?” Lacey blanched at the idea.

“We can do all things through faith, Lacey Lyman.”
Even wait when it's taking Jake forever and a day to mosey back
.

“In that case, I have faith that you'll never fire a gun unless faced with a man like Twyler, or whatever his name was, with absolutely no one else anywhere near the vicinity.” Lacey rubbed her throat, where the knife had rested. “Thank you for following. I couldn't have gone into that stump.”

It was then that they heard it, the snap of twigs beneath boots as someone heavy headed their way. They froze, Lacey's hand tightening on the gun until they made out Jake with a prone form slung over his shoulders.

“Oh, my leg,” Twyler groaned. “Why couldn't you let me go, Granger? Or let the woman shoot me outright, at least?”

“Because I can't shoot the broadside of a bunkhouse. We told you that, Twyler.” Evie couldn't smile at the sight of blood soaking the man's right leg, but he deserved far worse.

“You mean … it was true?” A wheeze of laughter escaped. “A double bluff, then. I was outdone by a double bluff from an amateur?” The gambler's wheeze stretched and thinned into a series of wispy cackles. “An amateur! I deserve my fate then. I held all the winning cards and threw them away.”

Midmorning light shafted through trees, striping the ground in sun and shadow. Thirsty earth rested after a long drink of yesterday's rain, leaving puddles and slicks in every path.

Chase Dunstan strode through, keeping sure footing with a heavy step. Today, he didn't need to slide soundlessly through rock and brush and dirt. Today, he closed distance on quarry that couldn't move. Today, he traveled to Hope Falls.

What he expected to find, he couldn't catalog beyond Braden Lyman, risen from the ranks of those killed in the mine collapse months before to languish in a doctor's bed. Alternately, the bedridden “patient” could prove an impostor pretending to be Braden Lyman to usurp his claim to the land.

Either option brought questions regarding the collapse—reasons behind it, the way it was handled afterward, what current plans pushed “Braden” to stay in Hope Falls. And of course, what on earth any of it had to do with the incredible ad. Chase couldn't forget Kane's assurance that four women, supposedly attractive, attempted to run a town full of loggers.

All lumped together, it created the worst mess Chase came across in all his days. None of it made a lick of sense.
Which is why I steer clear of towns and keep to myself and the mountains. Bad enough men make messes. Women make woes
.

A mighty racket made mincemeat of his thoughts, spurring Chase toward the sounds of a town in trouble. He stopped a moment to take off his pack and tuck it into a small grove of Gambel oak. The low-lying, shrub-like trees made for a distinctive visual marker against the tall pine and spruce dominating the area. That taken care of, Chase broke into a jog, scarcely noting as the dog at his side did the same. He came up to the train in a matter of minutes and halted.

Decoy came to an abrupt stop at his heels, tilting his head in canine question. Chase held up a hand in the “wait” motion, allowing Decoy to sink to his haunches while Chase listened. Observation didn't always require a line of vision, and he never went into a situation without gathering any information at hand.

Angry voices tangled across the tracks, their owners made mysteries by the train. Men—no fewer than seven—yelled in a bid for respect. Shuffling steps and cracking knuckles told of glares and the advance-and-gain-ground precursor to every fight. The words themselves offered fragments of the excuse behind it.

A howl of “I'm not leaving!” vied with a plaintive, “Don't make me go, I'll miss the cookin' too much,” which was almost lost beneath the bluster of “Ya cain't make us go—”. All mixed together in a noisy din of men protesting being forced out of Hope Falls.

“Yes we can.” A familiar voice broke through the others, comfortable in giving orders. “And we are. Get on the train as you stand, or be thrown on as we hog-tie you, but you'll go.”

Granger?
It took Chase a moment to identify the man he'd worked with about three years back, working as a guide through prospective timberland higher in the Rockies.
With Granger here, the claim they're trying to build a sawmill gains credibility. Grangers know lumber like no other family in North America
. His jaw set as he realized Kane deliberately omitted the name.

“You can't hog-tie all of us, Creed,” one of them argued.

“I'll have help.” Granger's voice came back.

Granger is answering to the name of
Creed?
Why?
Chase took a soundless step closer, plagued with more questions than ever.

“Aye, that he will.” The burr told of an Irishman—the rumble could have come from nothing less than a deep well of a chest. A sort of Gaelic giant sprang to mind, matching the heavy stomp of massive boots as the speaker stepped forward.

“You don't insult the ladies and stay.” A slight German accent, in an unremarkable voice made all the smaller compared to the giant's, agreed. “And no fighting was one of the rules.”

“Though I'll pitch in if it comes to it.” This last sounded so self-satisfied, Chase took the fellow into immediate dislike—particularly as he sounded farthest away from all the arguing.

“Four of you,” sneered one of the rougher protesters, “against eight of us. Even with Bear Riordan there, you don't have the manpower to run us all out of town, Creed.”

Chase heard enough. Rough customers who insulted ladies and brawled in streets, and a man he respected—albeit going by an alias—standing up to them against bad odds. He ambled around the train, taking his time to look over the men involved.

The loggers not wanting to leave looked much as he would've expected—large, unkempt, and, apparently since they'd been fighting, sporting an assortment of bruises and lumps. The four men shoving them on the train were a more unlikely assortment.

Granger, as Chase already knew, stood lead. A redheaded giant—the one called Bear, Chase assumed—flanked one side. If they'd stopped there, things looked promising.

But a short man with ruddy cheeks and too-big boots glowered from Granger's other side, and a puffed-up logger with more mouth than muscle brought up the rear. Little wonder the outcasts thought to protest their send-off. If they fought the enforcement crew, they stood a considerable chance of winning.

“Five.” He came shoulder to shoulder with Granger, not bothering to make eye contact with his old ally. “Six counting the wolfhound.” Chase didn't bother to gesture at Decoy, knowing full well the dog stood almost four feet tall and six feet long.

Instead he eyed the rabble-rousers with casual interest. “Just fists?” He slid his hunting knife from its sheath with a predatory smile. The sun shone on its razor-sharp blade as he flipped it into the air, didn't watch the piece spin, and caught it by the handle again. “Or knives, too?”

“You only get one vote.” Lacey matched Evie glower for glare.

“Jake deserves one, too,” her friend protested. “And, since he's not here, I have to represent his best interests!”

“He does not deserve a vote.” If a tone of voice could convey an eye roll, Naomi's did just that. “We all agreed that when we decided on our grooms, we'd put it to a vote among the four of us, and we needed a three-quarters majority before marriage. Your vote counts as one of four, which means you still need another two. And, no, the prospective groom doesn't count.”

“Particularly when you're asking us to approve two men in one.” Cora rubbed out a mark in her ledger and sighed. “Hypothetically, that would mean you'd ascribe him two votes.”

“Don't be silly!” Evie rebuked her younger sister. “Just one man …” Her face took on a dreamy look. “Jake.”

“But Jake Creed or Jake Granger?” Naomi's now-gentle tone wrapped the query in concern but couldn't quite hide its edge.

Lacey recognized that edge. She'd walked it as a sharp line of doubt since she discovered her kidnapper's crazed splutters held truth. The four of them were deceived by two men wearing false names: one a criminal and one their protector. So which man could be trusted more? Such thoughts made her stomach lurch.

“He's both!”

“No.” Cora refuted her sister, much to everyone's shock. “Either he's Creed, a man all four of us admire and rely upon, who's proven himself knowledgable and trustworthy, or else—”

“He's still all of that,” Evie broke in. “We've simply learned he hid his name for the noble purpose of tracking down his brother's killer. If he whipped into town as Granger, Twyler would've hied off before Jake could see through his disguise!”

“There's purpose to his plan and his actions.” Naomi's attempt to soothe Evie tore through the crooked stitches holding Lacey's layers of emotions in check, unearthing ragged edges.

“His purpose, and his plan,” she choked. “Things your Jake, whoever he is, never bothered to tell us while he used Hope Falls to enact them. He deceived us as much as Twyler did.”

“There's nobility in clearing his brother's name and catching his murderer.” Naomi's judgment leveled things for a moment. “But Lacey's right; Mr. Granger knew who we are and what we want to accomplish. His failure to repay our trust is a betrayal.”

“What would you have him do? Flaunt his real name at the cost of justice?” Evie flared. “Abandon his responsibility to the people Twyler would hurt if left to roam free?”