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  Stronger than the Rest

  MacLarens of Fire Mountain

  SHIRLEEN DAVIES

  Book Four in the MacLarens of Fire Mountain Series

  Copyright © 2013 by Shirleen Davies

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  For permission requests, contact the publisher.

  Avalanche Ranch Press, LLC

  PO Box 12618

  Prescott, AZ 86304

  Stronger than the Rest is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used factiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is wholly coincidental.

  Cover artwork by idrewdesign.

  Description

  “Smart, tough, and capable, the MacLarens protect their own no matter the odds. Set against America’s rugged frontier, the stories of the men from Fire Mountain are complex, fast-paced, and a must read for anyone who enjoys non-stop action and romance.”

  Drew MacLaren is focused and strong. He has achieved all of his goals except one—to return to the MacLaren ranch and build the best horse breeding program in the west. His successful career as an attorney is about to give way to his ranching roots when a bullet changes everything.

  Tess Taylor is the quiet, serious daughter of a Colorado ranch family with dreams of her own. Her shy nature keeps her from developing friendships outside of her close-knit family until Drew enters her life. Their relationship grows. Then a bullet, meant for another, leaves him paralyzed and determined to distance himself from the one woman he’s come to love.

  Convinced he is no longer the man Tess needs, Drew focuses on regaining the use of his legs and recapturing a life he thought lost. But danger of another kind threatens those he cares about—including Tess—forcing him to rethink his future.

  Can Drew overcome the barriers that stand between him, the safety of his friends and family, and a life with the woman he loves? To do it all, he has to be strong. Stronger than the Rest.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to a group of wonderful friends who have encouraged and supported my writing efforts. My sincerest thanks to Rayma-Lew, Sue, Don, Marilyn, Linda, and all those who have watched this journey unfold. Their enthusiasm has been a true blessing.

  Acknowledgements

  I want to thank my editor, Regge Episale, who has been a beacon through my writing journey.

  Thanks also to my beta readers, including my wonderful husband, Richard. Their input and suggestions are insightful and greatly appreciated.

  Finally, many thanks to my wonderful resources, including Diane Lebow, who has been a whiz at guiding my social media endeavors, and Joseph Murray who is a whiz at formatting my books for both print and electronic versions.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other books in the MacLarens of Fire Mountain series

  Stronger than the Rest

  Chapter One

  “Get up, MacLaren,” a tall, burly man sneered before yanking him out of his wheelchair, kicking the contraption against a wall, and breaking a wheel. “I knew you could make it up—one way or another,” his attacker smirked and turned to the others at the table. “See? He can stand all right.” The last was said as the man landed a blow to Drew’s jaw and released his shirt. Drew crumbled to the ground.

  His driver had taken him to the saloon after a long day at the office, then reluctantly left when Drew directed him to return in an hour. He’d been working since seven that morning and needed time to unwind. Cards, whiskey, and the bustle of Charley’s saloon sounded good—at least that’s what he’d thought.

  It hadn’t taken him long to win fifty dollars from the brawny stranger. The man had lost several rounds, bellowing his frustration, and accusing Drew of cheating.

  Now Drew lay on the saloon floor, rubbing his jaw, and working himself into a sitting position before repositioning his worthless legs. His attacker still stood a foot away glaring down at him.

  “That’s enough, Luther. Wouldn’t want the gentleman to think we’re inhospitable to our guests.” A clipped, smooth voice sliced though the smoky air without creating a ripple. Movement stopped and those who already stood parted to let a medium build man in a dark suit stroll up with an outstretched hand. “Connor, get a chair for this gentleman and coffee for Luther,” he called over his shoulder before turning back. “May I give you some help up, stranger?

  Drew just stared at the unfamiliar face. He’d been coming to this saloon for months and had never seen the man who stood a foot away.

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.” Drew knew he was dead weight and expected him to call someone else over to help, but with one strong pull the much shorter man had Drew up and in a waiting chair. Drew adjusted his legs before peering up. “Where’s Charley?”

  “Well, let’s just say Charles made an unwise bet with the wrong person. Poor fellow had no cash to settle his debt, so I am now the proud owner of the Denver Rose.” He swept his arm in an arc around the room. “Ira Walsh at your service. And you are?”

  Drew glanced around the saloon and for the first time realized that none of the current workers were familiar. Not one. He’d known Charley was having problems, but never thought he was about to lose a business he’d built for more than ten years. “Drew MacLaren.”

  “Mr. MacLaren, allow me to apologize for Luther and his poor behavior. I’m afraid he drank more than usual. And, he isn’t used to losing. He’ll no longer bother you. What may I do for you to make amends?” Ira’s smile was broad but there was something amiss about it, and the man.

  Drew studied him. Ira was around five-feet-eight with wavy hair the color of sticky, brown mud after a spring thaw. His sallow skin had a slight yellow tinge—as close to white as you’d see in a country where many still made their living outside. His mustache matched the muddy brown of his hair. He wore black dress slacks and a jacket with velvet lapels and collar. The white shirt blended into his pale skin. What struck Drew the most was the total lack of mercy behind his eyes. They were a flat gray without a hint of compassion, and no warmth spread from his smile to those dead eyes.

  “Perhaps you could arrange for transportation back to my office since my normal means of travel has been destroyed,” Drew suggested. He looked at his broken wheelchair. He held no love for the contraption but he was stranded without it—dependent upon others—a situation he despised. His office was only a block away but it might as well have been on the other side of the city. At least he had a spare wheelchair and access to a buggy and driver. His boss, Louis Dunnigan, made sure he received all the services needed for a man in his “temporary condition,” as Dun
nigan was fond of saying.

  “My pleasure, Mr. MacLaren. Connor, see that our guest has transportation to his office and any assistance he requires,” he ordered the gent who stood a few feet away. “I hope this incident will not discourage future visits.” Ira extended his hand once again.

  “I appreciate your hospitality, Mr. Walsh, and look forward to seeing you again,” Drew lied with the same ease as his host.

  It took little time for Ira’s men to deliver him into his comfortable office at Dunnigan Enterprises. It was a massive stone structure, five stories high, and took up the majority of a city block.

  Drew was glad for the second wheelchair and other conveniences, even though he cursed the need for them every day. His boss had installed a private facility inside Drew’s office so that he didn’t need to go far to take care of his often unexpected needs. Another aspect of his new life he cursed on a daily basis.

  Terrence, his efficient and formal secretary, arrived within minutes and stared at the sight before him. Like several of Dunnigan’s employees, he’d been provided with an apartment in the building. Terrance had heard voices below his window and looked out to see his boss being carried into the building by two burly men.

  “Mr. MacLaren, sir, you look rather, uh, disheveled.”

  Drew had to smile at his secretary’s dry tone. Although he wouldn’t have selected him if the choice had been up to Drew, he’d grown to appreciate Terrence’s loyalty and discretion, especially over the past several weeks.

  Drew had left town almost three months ago on a mission to help his twin brother, Will, but had returned with a bullet hole in his back that had left him paralyzed from the waist down. Temporarily, Drew thought as he looked up at his secretary.

  “I had a run-in with a gentleman who took great exception to my winning at poker, Terrence. Fortunately he took most of his anger out on my chair and not my body.”

  Terrence looked him over thoroughly. Satisfied that the damage was primarily to Drew’s clothes, he stepped back to open the door. “Very well, then. May I get you anything, Mr. MacLaren, before I leave?”

  “No, Terrance, go ahead, but I’ll need transportation home in an hour.” Drew turned his chair toward his desk, and settled behind it to review the latest documents that had materialized during his brief absence. His usual routine was to work until six at night, have supper, then return to the office until nine before going home, or at least what he called home, until he figured out his future. He glanced up when he heard his office door swing open.

  “Oh Drew, I heard what happened and just had to come to make sure you were all right.” Patricia Dunnigan swept into the room like a hurricane. At twenty, she had taken one look at Drew and convinced her father that no one else would do as her husband.

  Drew understood then, as he did now, that her attraction to him was as superficial as the dresses and jewelry she wore. Patricia no more loved him than she did any other man. What she did love was the lifestyle her father had provided. Dunnigan had made no secret of his desire to someday include Drew as a partner, not just an employee. Patricia took this as an indication that the young attorney would one day be wealthy, and therefore, a suitable husband. Drew wanted no part of that type of union.

  When Drew’s mind did wander to thoughts of love and marriage, the image that came to him was that of Tess Taylor, not the self-absorbed female who now stood in front of him. Tess was the only woman he wanted, and he thought she felt the same. He’d go to her if he regained the use of his legs, but not before.

  “Well, as you can see, I’m fine.” Drew held out his hands, palms up, and gestured toward his body. “No additional damage, except to my chair, which is easily corrected. There was no need for you to come out tonight.”

  “Agnes was serving dessert when the message came to us. Father wanted Clarence to drive us here right away, but of course I had to change out of my dinner clothes. I’m sure you understand.”

  He didn’t understand but let her comment stand and nodded toward a tall cabinet against the wall. “May I get you a sherry?”

  “If Patricia wants a sherry she can walk over and get it herself.” The voice of Louis Dunnigan proceeded the man into the room. “Patricia, I told you there was no need for you to come to the office. I’d have sent for you if it were needed.” Drew’s boss rarely showed impatience. Although he tended to indulge his only child, he’d been frustrated with her on several occasions over the past few weeks. Patricia had become a self-absorbed, pampered young woman, and Louis saw this as clearly as everyone else.

  “But, Father…” Patricia started, but stopped at her father’s raised hand.

  “I understand your concern, but as you can see, Drew’s fine. Next time I’ll expect you to do as I ask.” Louis offered his daughter a slight smile as he walked over to one of the large leather chairs. “I’ve asked Clarence to drive you home. He’s waiting downstairs.”

  A pout formed before Patricia masked it with a half-smile of her own. “If that’s what you want, Father, of course I’ll leave. Drew, please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

  “I will, and I do appreciate your concern.”

  She left with the same self-possession as when she had arrived. Subtle and Patricia would never be used in the same sentence, Drew thought as a chuckle escaped his lips. When he looked up, Louis had settled into one of the guest chairs, his eyes still fixed on the spot where he daughter had stood not a minute before.

  “She’s a good person, Drew, but she’s got her own ways and I’ll admit, I sure don’t understand most of them.” He took a sip of whiskey from the glass he’d brought with him. “I ask that you give her some time before you decide if you want her hand. You know, I won’t hold it against you if you decide you don’t love her—and I suspect you don’t. You’re important to Dunnigan Enterprises, and I’m not willing to lose you over this.”

  Drew could only stare at the man who’d been more than generous. After the shooting, Dunnigan and his daughter had taken the train from Denver to Great Valley, then a carriage to Cold Creek, home of the Big G ranch. They’d escorted Drew back to Denver in their opulent private train cars and set him up not far from the office in a small, but nicely appointed house that came with a twenty-four-hour-a-day personal attendant, wheel chair, and full use of a carriage and driver. Dunnigan had also provided the best medical care available west of Boston. All he’d asked was that Drew continue his legal work at Dunnigan Enterprises for as long as he chose.

  “Mr. Dunnigan, you’ve been very generous and it’s not my intention to let you down,” Drew began.

  “The only way you’d let me down, young man, is if you married my daughter out of obligation to me and not out of love. She deserves love. Do you love her, Drew?”

  Lying to Dunnigan never occurred to Drew. “No, sir, I don’t.”

  “That’s what I thought, but perhaps in time you will.”

  Silence enveloped the room for a moment as each man focused on the last words spoken.

  “Now, the real reason I stayed to speak with you. I’m still interested in range land in western Colorado. I hear the Bierdan place may be for sale as well as a couple of other ranches in the area. I’ve heard rumors that Grant Taylor may have an interest in selling, also. Doubtful, as Grant expressed a desire to expand his ranch when I was in Cold Creek, but the rumor needs to be checked out. Assuming we are able to purchase land, someone must work through the legalities, perhaps travel to Cold Creek, and negotiate the deals. That someone is you.”

  Drew’s face had become more set with each word. He’d known as soon as Dunnigan said he still wanted the land that a finger had been pointed at him. It was the last thing Drew wanted.

  “I’m always ready to represent the company, you know that. I have a good grasp of the complications involved and know the people, but are you sure I’m the right person to travel to Cold Creek? It may be best for me to handle the legal issues here, in Denver, and let Thompson make the trip. He’s eag
er to get your eye, and I trust him.”

  “Don’t feel you’re man enough for it?”

  Drew’s eyes narrowed and he glared at his boss. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me, MacLaren. Are you man enough to go or are you going to settle back and rely on others now that your legs don’t work right?”

  “Don’t work right? Hell, they don’t work at all,” Drew snapped.

  “Then it doesn’t matter if you’re behind a desk, on a train, or riding a carriage. Your brain still works fine, and that’s what you get paid to use. Not your legs. I’ll provide whatever you need to travel, if it comes to that. Could be as early as next week. Be ready.” Dunnigan downed the last of his whiskey, raised himself from the big chair, and walked out of the room, leaving a slack-jawed Drew to stare after him.

  A minute passed, maybe two, before Drew sat back in his chair and laughed. He’d been wallowing in self-pity for weeks. Perhaps Dunnigan was right, it was time to move on and prove to himself and everyone else that he was still the same man he had been before the shooting. Maybe he’d walk again, maybe not, but he sure as hell could use his brains and education to make Dunnigan, and himself, wealthy men.

  First, he’d prepare himself for any other encounters such as the one at the saloon. Drew opened a lower desk drawer and pulled out two Remington double-barreled derringers. Each held two .41 caliber bullets. He placed the guns in custom designed holsters, secured at his waist, that he could cross-draw. They weren’t as powerful as his Colt Peacemaker, but they’d do the job.

  He leaned forward and began to review the papers on his desk. A fleeting image kept disrupting his thoughts. A memory so vague that he tried to force it to the surface. Drew’s mind wandered back to the saloon and the man who had hovered not five feet away, ready for any command that Ira Walsh dispensed.

  Drew’s eyes had drifted to Connor, the man who had been one of those who transported him back to the office. Tall, lean, with broad shoulders, and the look of a man used to handling difficult situations.