One Pink Rose; One White Rose; One Red Rose (31 page)

A few seconds later, light from the kerosene lamp spilled out into the yard through the window.

“We've got friends waiting up in the hills, mister,” one of the captives boasted. “If you've got any sense at all, you'll leave before they come riding down here and kill you.”

“I'm guessing he's all alone,” his friend whispered.

“Guess again, jackass.”

The voice was Cole's. Douglas was so happy to hear it he began to laugh. He didn't have to turn around to know that his brothers were standing behind him. He hadn't heard them approaching and would have been disappointed if he had, for any sound would mean that they had gotten lazy. Being lazy in the West would get a man killed.

“What the hell took you so long to get here?”

“I had to round up the others before we could leave,” Adam answered.

“Are you going to kill these men? You might as well since you've got your gun drawn and all.”

“He isn't going to kill them, Cole.”

“Glad you could make it, Harrison,” Douglas said.

“You should let us go, mister. Benton already got away, and he'll tell the others.”

“Lord, they're stupid,” Adam said.

“I assume the man with the knife in his backside is Benton,” Harrison said. “Travis went after him. He figured you'd want your good knife back.”

Douglas tossed his shotgun to Cole. “Tie them up inside the barn.”

The cabin door suddenly flew open and Isabel came running outside with her rifle in her hands.

Douglas moved forward into the light. He took the rifle away from her so that she wouldn't accidentally shoot one of his brothers. He knew she'd seen them because she'd come to an abrupt stop and was staring beyond his shoulder, but after giving each one of them a quick glance, she turned her attention to Boyle's henchmen.

“Where is he?” she asked, her voice shaking with anger.

“Who?” Douglas asked.

“Spear. Did you kill him? Never mind. I don't care if he's dead or not. I'm going to shoot him anyway.”

Douglas wouldn't let her have her rifle back. He made sure the safety was on, then threw it to Adam. “You don't want to shoot anyone.”

“Yes, I do. I want to shoot all of them.”

She grabbed hold of his shirt and held tight. “I'm going to shoot someone, Douglas. They . . . woke . . . my . . . baby . . . and they . . .”

She couldn't go on. The horror of what she had just gone through suddenly struck her full force. She collapsed against him and began to sob.

“We'll leave here, Douglas. I won't fight you any longer. We'll leave . . . We'll leave.”

T
he Simpson kitchen was crowded with Claybornes. Trudy Simpson was making a fresh pot of coffee for her honored guests. She was thrilled to have the men at her table and wanted to prepare a feast to show her appreciation. The brothers had come to Sweet Creek to help Isabel, and that made them exceptional.

The men spoke in whispers to one another so that Parker wouldn't be disturbed. He was sleeping peacefully up against Cole's shoulder.

The doctor joined them a few minutes later. He dropped a large packet of yellowed papers tied together with a pink ribbon on the table in front of Douglas.

“I took these away from Isabel. It's after one in the morning, and I found her poring over them when she should be sleeping. Why don't you go through them for her? One of the papers has to be the deed to that useless land, and when you find it, I think we ought to burn it, for all the good it's done.”

“How is she feeling, Doctor?” Trudy asked.

“She's tuckered out, but otherwise just as fit as can be. You needn't be worrying about our girl.”

“It's a miracle this little boy made it,” she remarked. She put a platter of ham on the table and turned back to the counter to fetch the biscuits. “Why, he's no bigger than a minute. I don't believe I've ever seen a baby so tiny.”

The doctor squeezed a chair in between Adam and Harrison and sat down. “He's not as small as I expected him to be, but he's got to stay put until he has more weight on him. Do you understand what I'm saying, Douglas? Isabel and her boy have got to stay here. Now, since you brought them to us, I'm wanting to know what you're planning to do when trouble comes calling.”

“Meaning Boyle and his gunslingers?” Harrison asked.

Douglas had already told his brothers everything he knew about Boyle, and by the time he'd finished giving the details, they were all anxious to meet the man who had single-handedly terrorized an entire town. Cole was the most curious. He was also the most determined to end the tyrant's reign.

“I'll make certain the fight doesn't come into town,” Douglas said.

“How are you going to do that?” Dr. Simpson wanted to know.

“Mrs. Simpson, will you please stop staring at me?” Cole asked. “You're making me nervous.”

Trudy laughed. “I can't help it. You look just like I expected Marshal Ryan to look. You've got the same color of hair and eyes, and you're as big as he's supposed to be.”

“But you've never seen Ryan, have you, ma'am?” he asked, his exasperation apparent.

“It doesn't make any difference. The minister gave us a fine description of the lawman, and almost every Sunday during his preaching time he's told us another story of Ryan's courage.”

“Shouldn't he be preaching parables or something from the Bible? Why would he talk about Ryan?” Adam asked.

“To give us hope,” Trudy answered. Her eyes got misty with emotion. “Everyone needs to have hope. And when Cole came strutting into my kitchen, I just naturally assumed he was Ryan. That's why I grabbed hold of him and kissed him.”

“Ma'am, I don't strut. I walk. And I don't much like being compared to Daniel Ryan,” Cole said.

“Why not? The man's a legend, for heaven's sake. Why, the stories we've heard about him, the tales of glory—”

“Begging your pardon, ma'am, but I don't think it's a good idea to tell Cole any of those stories now. He doesn't like the marshal. Fact is, he doesn't like him at all,” Adam said.

Trudy's hand flew to her throat. “Oh, no, that can't be. Everyone likes him.”

Douglas wasn't paying any attention to the conversation. He stared at the bundle of papers Parker Grant had left his wife. He didn't want to go through them, because every time he thought about her late husband, he became angry. Parker had subjected Isabel to hardships no woman should have to endure.

He shoved the packet across the table to his brother Adam. “You go through them. Pull out the important documents.”

Adam immediately pushed the packet in front of Harrison. “You're the attorney. You go through them.”

“Why does this have to be done now?” Harrison asked.

“Isabel wants to find the registration for the Arabians. She's got a mind to do something with the papers, but she won't confide in me. She can be stubborn, and you know how women can get a bug up their—”

“Doctor, watch your language please,” Trudy reminded him.

“I was only going to say women get a bug up their sleeve, Trudy.”

She snorted with disbelief. Her husband quickly changed the subject to avert an argument. “What did you do with those Arabians?” he asked.

“Travis had something in mind. We left it up to him,” Adam explained. “Those sure are fine horses,” he added with a nod.

Harrison was hunched over the table, reading documents. Douglas was explaining the change the doctor would have to make in his routine until Boyle was taken care of.

“You're going to have to stay here until this is resolved,” he said.

“And just what will happen if anyone gets sick in the meantime? I have to go where I'm needed,” the doctor argued.

“Then two of my brothers are going to go with you. Cole, you stay in town with Adam and make certain no one gets near this house.”

“That's going to mean killing some of Boyle's men,” Cole said.

“Then that's what you'll do.”

“Who is Patrick O'Donnell?” Harrison asked.

The question caught the doctor's full attention. “Why in heaven's name would you be asking me about crazy Paddy Irish? Did you know him?”

“No, sir, I didn't know him, but his will is here, and his name is on this deed. I was wondering—”

Simpson wouldn't let Harrison continue. “Well now, son, I've got to tell you the story, just like I told Douglas, about Paddy Irish having the last laugh.”

Douglas motioned for Harrison to hand him the will and the deed so he could read them while the physician retold the bizarre story about the crazy old Irishman.

The brothers were fascinated by the tale. Douglas was fascinated by the documents he held in his hands. He was rereading the description of the property Parker Grant had inherited from Patrick O'Donnell but still couldn't accept what he was seeing until he'd read the deed a third time.

Simpson had just finished his story when Douglas began to laugh. He tried to explain why he was so amused, but every time he began to speak, he was overcome with laughter again.

“Son, you're making me think you're as crazy as old Paddy Irish. What's got you so tickled?”

Douglas handed him the papers. Moments later, Dr. Simpson was also overcome with laughter.

“Good Lord above, there's justice in this sorry world after all,” he said as he wiped the tears away from his eyes.

“What's gotten into you two?” Trudy asked.

Cole stood up and began to pace around the kitchen with Parker. The baby had been awakened by all the commotion. “Lower your voices,” he snapped. “Parker doesn't like it.”

Adam got up and took the baby away from his brother. “You've had him long enough. It's my turn.”

“Paddy wasn't crazy, Trudy. Fact is, he was a very clever man.”

“And so was Parker Grant,” Douglas acknowledged.

He leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “Paddy filed a claim on a piece of land years before Boyle came along and settled here.”

The doctor picked up the story then. “Boyle never did give the law a second thought. He liked to take what he wanted. He still does,” he thought to add. “Well now, I reckon he'd only been here a little while when he decided to build himself a grand house on the top hill just outside of town.

“Everyone thought it was kind of peculiar the way Paddy would go out there every single day, rain or shine, to watch the progress being made. It took more than a year to finish it, almost two. Yes, sir, it did. The house was three stories high and had every fancy gadget inside you could ever imagine. A chandelier hanging in the dining room came all the way from Paris, France. Oh, yes, it was a palace all right, and Boyle meant to show it off.”

“Where did he get the money to build such a grand house?” Adam asked.

“He rented out most of the land to those foreign barons who have gotten into the cattle business because it's so profitable. The cattle were driven up from Texas to graze on sweet Montana grass. He's made a bloody fortune over the years collecting his rent money.”

“Only it wasn't his rent money. It was Paddy's. Paddy owned the land Boyle built his home on,” Douglas explained.

“He must have told Boyle the night of the party, because that's when the beatings began. I had to patch Paddy up so many times I lost count.”

“Why didn't Boyle simply kill Paddy?” Cole asked.

“Paddy must have gone to an attorney and had a will drawn up. He was smart enough not to taunt Boyle without having some sort of legal protection, and knowing how that crazy Irishman liked to have his fun, I imagine he refused to tell Boyle who would inherit the land after he died. He certainly wouldn't have told him where the will could be found. Paddy was a shrewd one all right.”

“Who did inherit?” Adam asked.

“I don't know who he was going to leave everything to when he first had the will drawn up, but you can see from this amendment that he had the will changed after he met Parker and Isabel. Probably because they showed him such kindness, he gave it all to them.”

“Then Isabel owns Boyle's house and all the land?” Travis asked.

“Yes,” the doctor answered.

“The money Boyle collected from renting the land to the barons belongs to her too,” Harrison interjected.

Douglas nodded. “Either Paddy told Boyle right before he died who the land would go to, or Parker told Boyle after Paddy had died. Either way, it was a mistake. Whoever it was should have used the law to force the claim.”

“Boyle wouldn't have listened to the law,” Simpson said.

Harrison disagreed. “A good attorney would have gotten a judge to confiscate the accounts at the bank. Boyle would have had to go into court and win before he could get his hands on the money again. He would have lost, of course, and poor men can't hire gunmen to do their dirty work.”