Redemption's Edge: Book 1, Redemption Mountain Historical Western Romance Read online

  “Look up there.” Dax pointed to a hill less than a mile away. “Looks like men climbing up on the right side. One has on a white hat. Might be Whitey.”

  “I see them.” Luke reached behind him and pulled out his military field glasses. “Looks like four, going slow. Probably don’t believe anyone is still following them.”

  “Let’s move.” Pat had already taken off at a gallop, leaving Dax and Luke to catch up.

  Luke kept an eye on the men they tracked. His heart rate picked up, the same as it used to before a battle. A rush of excitement accompanied by fear of the unknown.

  They were within a couple hundred yards of the outlaws before one of the robbers turned and saw the dust from their horses

  Deke Mayes rode to the front, alongside his older brother, Whitey. “We’re being followed.” He turned and pointed to a spot down the hill.

  “How many?”

  Deke checked once again. “Looks like three. Could be more.”

  Whitey looked up the hill. He’d hoped to make it another ten miles before nightfall, which would put them far enough ahead of the law to rest their horses and eat. Looks like his plans had changed.

  “Deke, let the others know to follow us up the hill. On my command, they are to ride left and down into the canyon. You and I will cut right, go around the next hill. They know how to reach the hideout. We’ll meet up with them there.”

  Whitey never took his eyes off of the approaching Rangers while he waited for Deke to convey the orders. Within minutes, they were dashing up the hill, away from the lawmen, and heading toward an area Whitey hoped no one would follow—renegade Comanche country. Of course, that would put him and Deke in danger also, but he didn’t consider it to be any worse than what would await them in Austin if they were arrested.

  Dax caught up with Pat and paced him as their horses climbed the hill. “They’re making a run for it. Looks like they’ve split up with Whitey and one of the other men riding east while the others head west.”

  “We follow Whitey. He and his brother, Deke, are the ones we want. My guess is it’s the two of them who split off east.”

  The three rode hard, pushing their horses after an already long journey, determined to end the chase today by catching both Whitey and Deke. They cared little about the others.

  Pat stopped at the summit and watched as the two outlaws made their way around the back side of the hill, riding in and out of low shrub and live oaks, then venturing into open terrain. He pulled out his Spencer repeating rifle, took aim, and fired. The bullet ricocheted off a rock a foot from Whitey, causing the man’s horse to dance around before the outlaw got him under control and took off at a run again, Deke right behind him.

  “Damn,” Pat cursed as he slammed his rifle back into its scabbard and kicked his horse into a run.

  Dax and Luke had pulled ahead, both riding low, guns drawn. They didn’t slow as Whitey and Deke rode into a large copse of live oak and disappeared.

  “We’ll wait for them here.” Whitey dismounted and pulled out his rifle, resting it on a low hanging branch. Deke let his horse go and found a spot a few yards away, then waited.

  Within minutes, the sound of hooves pounding on the dry ground was followed by the three Rangers coming into sight. Whitey aimed and squeezed the trigger. The bullet flew true, catching Pat in the chest.

  He fell from his horse, clutching his chest as blood seeped through his shirt.

  Dax and Luke returned fire as they dismounted, pinning the outlaws down, and took positions behind a group of boulders.

  “You slip around to the right and go after Deke.” Dax waited for Luke to nod and start moving before he took off in the other direction. He skirted around another group of boulders and up an embankment where he had a good view of Whitey below. As Dax prepared to shoot, his boot slipped on loose gravel, sending him into a slide as a shot flew over his head. The outlaw had seen him. Dax stopped his downward momentum when he slid into another boulder. He scrambled onto his knees and peered over the large rock. Whitey had disappeared.

  Another shot rang out, followed by a grunt, and Dax knew that either Luke or Deke were down. He retraced his steps, following the path Luke had taken. He came upon his brother, standing over the fallen outlaw who lay motionless on the ground.

  “He’s dead.” Luke holstered his gun, then turned to his brother. “Whitey took off north. Do you want me to ride after him?”

  Dax glanced at the dead outlaw once more and shook his head. “We’d better see to Pat.”

  Pat lay writhing on the ground, his face ashen, as he tried to stop the awful pain in his chest. He choked as Dax knelt beside him and placed a hand under his head, his eyes scanning the wound. He knew there was no hope of saving their comrade.

  “Don’t leave me out here,” Pat gasped. “Take me home.”

  “To Austin?”

  “Montana.” Pat reached up to grip Dax’s shirt and pull him toward his face. “Promise me. Bury me on my land in Montana.” He let loose of the shirt and fell back. “Promise me,” he repeated again as his eyes searched Dax’s.

  Dax swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “We’ll get you home. I promise. You’ll be buried on your land.” He watched as his friend’s mouth curved slightly before his eyes rolled back and his body went slack. Pat Hanes exhaled his last breath.

  Luke stood over them. He’d grown used to seeing men injured and dying. Most times, he didn’t know them and could put the carnage behind him. This time, though, it was different. In a few short months, Pat had become a friend, someone he and Dax could trust. His end came much too soon.

  “Did you mean it?”

  Dax looked up, his face stoic, eyes grave. “About burying him on his land?”

  Luke nodded, already knowing the answer he’d hear.

  “Yes.”

  Splendor, Montana, Spring 1866

  Rachel choked on the dust that swirled around her skirts as she made her way to the general store. It surprised her that the road could be so muddy while dust clogged the air. Her uncle’s clinic had been quiet the last few days. She suspected the weather and windstorms to be part of the reason, and took advantage of the slower pace to clean the clinic and purchase supplies for the home they lived in at the back of the property.

  The old-timers, those who’d lived in Splendor more than a few years, talked of how mild the winter had been this year. In Rachel’s mind, the large snow drifts and freezing temperatures seemed harsh. It was hard for her to imagine it being worse. The frozen ground of the winter had begun to soften, creating a never-ending mud pool on the main street. She stomped her feet outside the store’s entrance and pushed at the door, losing her balance for a moment as the strong winds propelled her inside.

  “Quite a blow we have out there today, Miss Davenport.” Timmy, the store’s teenage clerk, stood on a small stepladder, arranging items on an upper shelf. “Haven’t seen too many people today.”

  “I’m not surprised. It’s not too easy to get around with the mud and wind.” Rachel rearranged her bonnet and tried to brush off the dust clinging to her dress.

  She glanced around at the full shelves and variety of merchandise Timmy’s father stocked and, once again, marveled at how he kept the place so organized and clean. She suspected most of it was due to Timmy’s hard work.

  He jumped to the ground and walked behind the counter. “What can I get for you?” The boy had a broad, infectious smile that couldn’t help but put people at ease.

  Rachel pulled a piece of paper from the cotton reticule her mother had given her before leaving Boston. “We’ll need flour, sugar, coffee—” Rachel halted as the door to the shop slammed open and a man appeared in the entry—tall, dirty, and trail weary by the look of him.

  “Where’s the doctor?”

  Rachel walked forward, taking tentative steps. The combination of crusted dirt, hard features, and abrupt manner warned her to be cautious.

  “I’m Rachel Davenport, a nurse at my uncle�
�s infirmary. He’s a doctor.”

  Dax’s gaze focused on the young, beautiful woman before him. Her manner and dress indicated she came from privilege, her voice told him she was from the North.

  He hadn’t seen anyone this lovely in months, maybe years. That doesn’t matter now, he told himself, and pushed the thought aside. “It’s my brother. He’s come down with something. He’s running a fever and says his head is pounding.”

  His voice held the familiar accent of the South and Rachel wondered if he’d fought in the war.

  She shot a look at Timmy. “I’ll be back for everything later.” Rachel pushed past the man and rushed outside to the buckboard to see a man covered with a blanket, hard coughs racking his body, overcome with feverish delirium. Beside him lay a coffin, the smell of embalming chemicals seeping through its seams.

  “Follow me.” She didn’t wait to see if the man would heed her order. She pushed open the door of the clinic, threw her reticule down, removed her hat, and turned toward the entrance. “In there.” She pointed to a room off to one side. “I’ll get my uncle.” Rachel hurried to the back and opened a door connecting the clinic to a short walkway which led to the house in back. “Uncle Charles, we have a patient!” She waited a moment, then called again, “Uncle Charles!”

  “I hear you, Rachel. No need to shout.” Her uncle emerged, pulling up suspenders while he walked at a brisk pace toward the infirmary. He stopped to scrub his hands before stepping into the room he used to examine patients, directing his comment to the man who stood next to the table. “I’m Charles Worthington, the doctor here in Splendor. Tell me what’s been happening with your friend.” Charles looked into the young patient’s eyes, which were red and swollen, as he pulled back the blanket.

  “He’s my brother. A fever started yesterday. He also complained of stomach pain. It’s gotten worse and he mumbles about his head splitting open. He can’t hold down any food or water.”

  Charles could hear the anxiety in the man’s voice as he described his brother’s symptoms.

  “All right. Why don’t you wait in the front while Rachel and I have a look?” He paused when Dax began to object, but shook his head. “It’s better if you’re not in here, young man. Let us do our work.” Charles focused back on the sick man. “What’s his name?”

  “Luke.” Dax drew in a deep breath and closed the door behind him, leaving the doctor and nurse to care for his brother.

  “Rachel, get me some laudanum, water, and broth.”

  “What is it?”

  “An infection. Probably dysentery.” He looked up at Rachel, knowing she’d had firsthand experience with the various diseases and fevers which killed many during the war. “Let his brother know we’ll need to keep him here. It’s in the early stages, which makes his chance of survival good.”

  She helped her uncle before stepping into the front area. Dax stood when she walked into the room, fingering the brim of his hat and trying to curb his apprehension.

  “What is it?”

  “Appears to be an intestinal infection, Mr…”

  “Pelletier. Dax Pelletier.”

  “All right, Mr. Pelletier. The doctor is treating him, but your brother will need to stay with us for now, at least until the fever breaks. The doctor thinks he has a good chance of recovering if we can get fluids into him and relieve the stomach pain. ”

  He absorbed her words, wanting to feel relief, yet not wanting to put too much hope in her statement. Dax pushed a hand through his ink black hair and let out a breath.

  “Thank you for what you’re doing for Luke.”

  “It’s what I’ve been trained to do. I’ve done it for close to three years now.”

  “During the war?”

  “That’s right. I worked in Union field hospitals. Afterwards, I moved back home to Boston for a couple of months before joining my uncle here in Splendor.” She watched his expression, but saw no hint of censure. “Did you fight for the South, Mr. Pelletier?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I did. So did Luke.” He lowered himself into a chair, exhaustion and concern for his brother overwhelming him. It seemed odd. He’d fought in more battles than he could count, killed men, and watched many die at the hands of others. Somehow, this journey from Texas to Montana, bringing Pat’s body home and then Luke’s sudden illness, seemed to weigh more heavily on him.

  “Do you have a place to stay, Mr. Pelletier?”

  “Not yet. We just got into town. Been traveling for over a month. We were almost here when Luke…” His voice trailed off as he thought of losing his brother from a fever now after they’d both made it through the war.

  “What brings you to Splendor?”

  “The request of a friend.”

  His answer puzzled her. “Does it have anything to do with the coffin in your wagon?” Her tone softened as she guessed what might bring two men all the way to Montana from Texas.

  “That’s our friend, Pat Hanes. He owned a ranch around here. His last request was to be buried on his land. Did you know him?”

  “No, I’m sorry. I’ve been in Splendor just a few months. Hold on a minute.” She poked her head back into the room where her uncle stood over Luke. “Did you know a Pat Hanes?”

  “I’ve heard the name, but never met the man. Why?”

  “The Pelletiers brought his body back here for burial. Mr. Pelletier says he owned a ranch.”

  “Might be the one Hank and Bernice Wilson manage north of here. Best place to check is with Horace Clausen. He knows everyone who owns property in these parts.”

  She closed the door, looking back at Dax. “You might want to check with Mr. Clausen at the bank.”

  Dax stood and looked past her toward the examination room.

  “It’s all right, Mr. Pelletier. Your brother will be fine with us. The bank is down the street. If you hurry, you may catch him before they close for lunch.”

  “Is Mr. Clausen available?”

  “He is. May I tell him your name?” The bank clerk set down her pen and took in the stranger’s appearance, her face impassive.

  “Dax Pelletier.”

  A moment later, a tall, slender man with graying hair and short beard walked toward him, extending a hand. “I’m Mr. Clausen. How may I help you, Mr. Pelletier?”

  Dax looked around at the clerk and two other customers in the bank. “May we speak in private?”

  “Of course.”

  Dax followed Clausen into his office and took a seat as the man closed the door.

  “My brother and I are Texas Rangers. Our friend, Pat Hanes, died while we were hunting some bank robbers—shot by their leader. He asked us to bring him here for burial on his ranch. Did you know him?” From the look on Clausen’s face, Dax assumed the man did, indeed, know his friend.

  “I’m sorry to hear this. Mr. Hanes was a good man. I know he looked forward to the day he could return to Splendor and work his ranch full-time.”

  “That’s what he told my brother and me. If you could give me directions to his ranch, I’ll take him out there, make sure he has a decent burial.” Dax handed the banker a document signed by a doctor and their captain, attesting to Pat’s death.

  “Hank Wilson and his wife, Bernice, have been tending the place, along with the hired hands. They’ll know what to do.” Clausen walked to a file cabinet against a wall.

  “Thanks, Mr. Clausen. I guess I’d better get going.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Wait a minute, Mr. Pelletier. It would be best to sign the necessary documents now, before you leave. That way, it will all be legal.”

  Confused, Dax looked at the man. “Legal?”

  “Why, yes. Didn’t Pat tell you the provisions of his will?” Clausen pulled out the file and sat back down at his desk, looking over the document.

  “What will?”

  “Ah, I see he didn’t tell you. Pat was a thorough man. He knew his chances of dying on the job were decent so, the last time he visited Splendor, he made arrangements for the pass
age of ownership. It states that if he died as a Ranger, whomever brought his body back to the ranch would become the legal owner.” Clausen looked up at Dax. “Plus, there is a sizable account here at the bank that is also yours.” He slid a bank record across the desk for Dax to read. “Congratulations, Mr. Pelletier. You and your brother are the new owners of some prime ranchland at the base of Redemption Mountain.”

  Chapter Three

  Ah, hell, Dax thought as he slumped back into the chair across the desk from the banker.

  “By the look on your face, I can see Pat never mentioned any of this.”

  “Not a word.”

  “Nothing can be changed now. The property and money belong to you and your brother. I’d like to add, however, that Pat’s ranch is one of the best properties around Splendor. Good water, large expanses of grazing land, access to timber, and a house located in a protected valley.”

  “Pat didn’t talk much about it, except to say he owned a decent amount of land.”

  Clausen chuckled at the statement. “Depends on what you call decent. What would you call five thousand acres?”

  Dax’s head spun from the information. He and Luke now owned a massive amount of land in Montana. He signed for his portion before leaving the bank to take Pat’s body to his ranch—well, his and Luke’s ranch now.

  Clausen provided directions, telling Dax it would take about an hour by wagon to get to the main house, even though the edge of the ranch began a mile outside of Splendor. He tied Hannibal to the back, intending to leave the wagon at the ranch and ride his horse back to town. He stopped by the clinic to let the doctor and Miss Davenport know he’d be back that evening. They’d been encouraging about Luke’s progress. He rested peacefully for the first time in a few days and his fever had lessened, which gave everyone hope he’d pull through.

  Dax’s thoughts turned to the pretty nurse and wondered why a privileged woman of the North would risk her life traveling to the wilderness and an unknown future. He hadn’t been with a woman in months, and never a decent one like her. Before the war, he focused his attention on building the shipping business. He’d courted little, never experiencing the urge to marry or settle down. His female adventures before the war centered on women he’d never consider introducing to his parents. They were a way to kill time and relieve tension, nothing more. Something about Miss Davenport called to him in a way that sent warning signals through his body.