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  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  512 Forest Lake Drive

  Warner Robins, Georgia 31093

  The Legacy

  Copyright © 2007 by Beth Williamson

  Cover by Scott Carpenter

  ISBN: 1-59998-516-0

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: June 2007

  The Legacy

  Beth Williamson

  Dedication

  To my wonderful peeps for all their support, friendship and encouragement. Thank you Don, Janette, Allie, Nancy and Kristen! You all rock!

  Prologue

  September 1889, Wyoming

  “Move!”

  Noah Calhoun started in the saddle at the sound of his father shouting. The creak of leather ricocheted in the stillness around him.

  “Noah, goddammit, move now!” Tyler rode toward him like a streak of black lightning. The sky behind his father whirled with shades of gray mixed with bruising purple as a storm approached. The air was full of electric energy, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

  Then Noah noticed the bull. Hercules was a mean son of a bitch that had forced more than a few cowboys to go see Doctor Brighton. This time the animal headed toward him, head down, death winking from the tips of his horns.

  Noah froze, both terrified and mesmerized by the sight of two thousand pounds of pure bovine power tearing across the ground. Ripples of movement flowed through the muscles on the giant animal. Noah heard the sound of its breathing, imagined he could even feel the heat from his glistening hide.

  “Noah!”

  By the time Noah heard his father call him for the third time, Hercules was only six feet from him. Noah knew it was too late to escape completely, but he spurred his horse, Ringer, with everything he had.

  The world slowed down and Noah realized two things. He’d never really been in love and he hadn’t latched Hercules’ gate. Two regrets he’d never be able to fix. Then the bull reached him and the horse screamed, throwing Noah off his back as the bull gored the poor thing. When the horse went down, Noah picked himself up with nary a breath left in his body and started running.

  He didn’t know how long he had, but he’d be damned if he didn’t go down without at least making a run for it. The sound of the hooves echoed in his ears while the rumble of the earth beneath his feet made his skin pebble. He finally got his breath back and it exploded out of him on a sob. As the bull closed in, he darted right and then something slammed into him from the left.

  As the breath whooshed from his body again, he grunted and rolled around on the ground, waiting for the pain from the horns. Instead, another horse screamed and his father shouted. Noah heard more hoofbeats and the whistles from other cowboys.

  Ben, the oldest of his father’s ranch hands, leaned over him. “Noah, you okay?”

  Noah sucked in a shaky breath, surprised to find himself alive. “A little banged up, but I’m okay.”

  “Good, then you can help me with your father.”

  “Pa?” Noah scrambled to his feet, ignoring the body of his father’s gelding that twitched and whickered.

  His father lay with his life’s blood coating the ground as Elmer, another ranch hand, stood over him. The sight was like a punch to the stomach. Pain roared through Noah and he dropped to his knees.

  “Pa?” Noah whispered. He glanced up at a sad-eyed Elmer.

  “It don’t look good, boy.”

  Noah tore off his shirt, buttons flying every which way, and pressed the cloth to the gaping wound in Tyler’s chest. Tears blurred his vision as he prayed to God his own stupidity hadn’t killed his father.

  Chapter One

  May 1892, Chancetown, Wyoming

  Noah Calhoun sipped the whiskey slowly, savoring the burn as it slid down his dry throat. Although it wasn’t quite noon, he’d needed a drink and a little company. He glanced around—it was a typical watering hole with the same people in it he’d come to expect in every other saloon.

  Another nameless, faceless town. So far, the lady bartender had been polite, but not friendly. Noah was down to the lint in his pocket and the eight bits that would buy him two more shots of whiskey.

  He needed a job in the worst way.

  “Hey, could I get another?” He held up the half-empty glass and smiled at the bartender.

  She nodded and held up one finger. Noah was pleased she hadn’t ignored him. He might have had to charm her, or at least try to. Uncle Trevor had taught him well.

  Noah bided his time watching the other folks in the saloon. It was the usual mixture of cowpokes, working girls, locals and a few dark-looking fellas who generally caused trouble. It was the two in the dark corner, whispering and yanking the girls on their laps every five minutes, who worried him. No good could come of it, and his instincts were never wrong. It had saved his life more than once.

  “That’ll be four bits.”

  Noah hadn’t even heard the bartender approach, and her voice surprised him. She was tall and thin with dark hair and eyes, and lines from a hard life etched in her face. Noah put her age at around forty, but for all he knew she could be twenty with too many hardships to count. With an apologetic grin, he fished into his pocket for the coins and put them on the bar. When she reached for them, he covered her hand with his.

  “You know any ranches around here looking for help?”

  She looked down at his hand and back at his face. One eyebrow rose.

  “You want to take your hand off me? I don’t work on my back.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am.” He snatched his hand back. “My family was…is the kind that is affectionate, always touching and hugging. I forget other folks don’t… Ah, forget all that. I sound plumb loco.”

  A small grin tugged the corner of her mouth. “It’s past spring roundup, but I could ask around if you’d like.”

  Noah’s smile was genuine. “That’d be right nice of you. I surely do appreciate that.” He held out his hand. “Name’s Noah Calhoun.”

  She shook it with a strong, calloused grip. “Marina Fuerte.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Marina. You work here long?”

  “I own the place.” She glanced around with pride. “Even if it is a lousy saloon.”

  “Oh, believe me, it’s not lousy. I’ve been in places that are worse than an outhouse.” Noah ran his hands along the polished, scarred bar. “This place is a palace and it’s very clean.”

  “Thank you, Noah.” Her eyes twinkled. “I appreciate the compliment.” With a nod, she went back to the other customers, leaving Noah to his thoughts. It had been almost three years since he’d left home and not a day went by that he didn’t miss his family. His mother had understood why he couldn’t stay, what drove him to set off on his own. The memory of his father nearly bleeding to death slammed into him and Noah closed his eyes, willing the image away.

  “I said leave them alone. You get your ugly asses out of here.” Marina’s angry voice cut through Noah’s self-imposed suffering.

  “What if’n we don’t want to?” The oily voice of one of the dark strangers skittered down Noah’s spine.

&
nbsp; He stood, straightening the Colts that rode his hips, and moved next to the rifle-toting bartender.

  “You heard the lady. Git.”

  The two of them snickered. “I don’t see no lady. Why don’t you get lost, boy?”

  “First of all, I’m not a boy. Second, I’m not going anywhere. You are.” He widened his stance, hands hovering over the guns as he focused on what he needed to do. “I’ll give you to the count of three.”

  Noah heard whispers of “Calhoun” and “bounty hunter”. Obviously his father’s reputation was still widely known. The two troublemakers looked at each other, then at him.

  “One.”

  “Your pa really that bounty hunter?” One of them stepped closer to the door.

  “Yes. Two.”

  “Maybe we ought to come back later when the gals are more friendly.” The one closest to the door bolted before his friend could respond.

  The second one stepped toward Noah, and in a flash the Colt was nestled in Noah’s hand, cocked and aimed at the other man’s head.

  “I don’t want any trouble, mister, and neither does Marina. Just go about your business someplace else.” Noah kept his voice even and frosty.

  The stranger’s face hardened, full of malevolence and hate. “You ain’t done with me yet, pup. Watch your back.” He tossed chairs and people aside as he left the saloon, his hollow threats echoing around the room.

  Noah watched the stranger’s progress until the door swung behind him, then he let out a breath and lowered his gun. Thank God. He’d never had occasion to actually use the gun on a man before and hoped it wouldn’t happen today.

  “Thanks, Noah.”

  He turned toward Marina and shook his head. “I don’t take kindly to folks like that. I had a feeling they weren’t going to behave.”

  “Me either. I was keeping an eye on them.” She inclined her head toward the bar. “I think I may have a job for you.”

  ———

  Noah stared at the gray-haired man across from him. “I don’t think I heard you right. What did you just say?”

  The older man laughed. “I said you interested in the sheriff’s job? I cain’t work no more with my bad ticker and the town left it up to me to find somebody to take on the job. Marina here tells me you got what it takes. That’s good enough for me. It pays fifty dollars a month.”

  Noah resisted the urge to slap himself to make sure he was awake. He couldn’t possibly have understood the offer.

  “Sheriff Boyton, you’re telling me you’d hire a drifter off the street to protect your town?” Noah couldn’t quite accept it. “I’ve never done any lawman work before.”

  “Eh, there ain’t nothing to it. You can handle a gun, you’re certainly big enough, and Marina likes you. And, ah, I actually know your father.” The blue eyes twinkled a bit beneath the bushy brows. “Had occasion to deal with him once or twice.”

  Tyler Calhoun had been the best bounty hunter in Texas once upon a time. After he met and married his wife, Nicky, he hung up his guns.

  Even as Noah’s adopted father, Tyler’s name still carried weight years after retiring.

  However, the questions whirling around Noah’s brain had nothing to do with his father and everything to do with his own abilities. Yes, he could handle a gun, and he knew a thing or two about cowboys and their rough ways, but a lawman?

  “I, um, are you sure you want me?” He glanced at Marina, who stood at the bar watching them. She winked and he had to control the urge to blush.

  “I say we give it a try for a week or two and see what happens.”

  Noah had contemplated the dark road that held his future many nights. Most times he gave up, tired of trying to imagine what would come. This opportunity to be a sheriff hadn’t ever been in those imaginings. Not for a moment.

  He thought about his family and what they would say about it, which uncle would tease him, which young cousin would love to touch a shiny silver star. Most of all, he thought about what he might be able to do as a lawman, like help folks who were in trouble. Noah could have used a lawman like that when he was growing up. That thought was the one that made up his mind.

  Noah held out his hand. “I’ll take it.”

  “Hot damn.” Sheriff Boyton shook his hand with a grip that belonged to a twelve-year-old girl, not a sixty-year-old man. He wasn’t kidding when he said he needed to quit.

  “You made a good choice, Johnny.” Marina smiled at the sheriff’s enthusiasm. “Congratulations, Noah.”

  “Thanks.” Noah took his hand back and stared at the sheriff’s badge in his hand.

  Sheriff Noah Calhoun was on the job.

  ———

  The jail wasn’t exactly what Noah had expected. The two cells likely hadn’t been cleaned in a dog’s age and the smell made Noah’s nose wrinkle. He’d been in jail a time or two over the last three years, some worse than this one, but not many. The one in Kansas City at least had good food, although he’d only enjoyed it one night after being arrested for being too drunk. The jail in Westover, Colorado, came a close second to Chancetown. That particular place Noah had endured for a solid week while he waited for the circuit judge to arrive. The bar fight had been a particularly nasty one. He’d needed the time to heal and had to do it in a flea-infested cell.

  Chancetown’s jail put those two to shame in its filthiness. In fact, it was a pigsty.

  The sheriff may have been good at his job, but he was a lousy housekeeper. His desk overflowed with wanted posters, papers, some crusty tin plates and several cups holding undetermined contents. After clearing his throat and giving Noah a sheepish glance, the sheriff showed him around the building.

  “This here’s my desk and the papers and such that come in. I try to keep up with them, but lately there’s been so many.” He shook his silvery head. “Too many ne’er–do-wells thinking they can make their living with a gun.”

  The old sheriff walked over to the two cells and poked his head inside. “Hmm, could use a good cleaning.” Noah resisted the urge to snort at the understatement. “Maybe you could ask Marina if one of her girls might be interested. There’s a small apartment upstairs for ya. You can move your things in there.”

  Noah didn’t mention that his things fit inside two saddlebags. He hadn’t taken much with him when he left home, just a horse and some basics. His mother only asked that he send word now and then to make sure he was alive. Everything else he carried in his heart.

  “You also get meals with the job. Just go to Elsa’s restaurant down the street. I’ll let her know who you are.” The sheriff looked around, then back at Noah. “Any questions?”

  Noah marveled at the good fortune that had fallen in his lap. A job, a place to sleep with a roof and free meals. What else could he ask for?

  “I’ll just mosey on along, then. I moved into the boardinghouse down the street a couple years ago. Couldn’t get up those stairs no more. I’ll be there for a day or two until you get settled, then I got me a little place just outside town that’s waiting on me. You just come on down and see me if’n you need any help.” After a brief handshake, the sheriff left Noah alone.

  The sounds from the street were muffled, only an echo of wagons, horses and murmurs of conversation. Noah considered pinching himself, but decided that would be foolish. Dreams might not come true, but a fella had to wonder if God had something in mind sometimes.

  He looked at the silver star in his hand, then rubbed it on his shirt to make it shine. The metal was a little worn, but it still gleamed, the word SHERIFF in fine letters. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he pinned it on his shirt.

  Noah hoped his father would be proud of him. Even if the opportunity had fallen in his lap, Noah knew a gift when he received it. He spent the next couple of hours straightening up as best he could. It was still a mess and he apparently had no skill at cleaning up enormous clutter.

  “Noah?”

  He turned to find Marina and two other women at the door. Two working gal
s by the look of it, with flouncy, peek-a-boo clothes that left little to the imagination. One was blonde, the other a redhead in a color nature never intended.

  “Howdy, ladies.” Noah tipped his hat.

  The two women tittered and poked each other in the arm.

  “Oh, he’s such a gentleman,” the blonde one gushed.

  “And so handsome too.” The redhead put her finger between her teeth and gazed at him from under her lashes.

  Noah backed up a step, ready to run for the hills if they attacked.

  “Leave him alone, girls,” Marina admonished. “Can’t you see you’re scaring him?” She smiled at Noah. “I wanted to come by and offer Bitsy and Cherry’s services to you.”

  “Ah, services? Ladies, I appreciate the offer but as sheriff I don’t think I can—”

  Marina laughed, a sound that reminded him so much of his mother that his stomach clenched in pain. He didn’t know why he was thinking of his parents so much but it had to stop.

  “Not that kind of service.” She winked. “They came to clean the place. I love Johnny Boyton, but the man lived like a pig in a wallow. For a dollar apiece, they’ll have this place shining like a new penny in a couple of hours.”

  Noah licked his lips. “I, ah, don’t have that much money, Marina. I’m not rightly sure when I’ll get my pay.”

  “I understand.” She glanced at the girls. “You two okay with waiting to get paid by Sheriff Calhoun?”

  The blonde held out her hand. “I’m Bitsy, Sheriff, and I’d be happy to oblige you. I mean”—she giggled—“wait until you can pay me.”

  Cherry pushed her aside, one titian curl bouncing dangerously close to her eye. “I’ll do it for free.” She grinned as her gaze traveled up and down his body. “Oh yeah, I ain’t charging you a dime.”

  Marina rolled her eyes. “Keep your hands to yourself, Cherry. You two get started in here. We’ve got hours until the saloon gets busy. I’m sure there’s some soap and a scrub brush in here somewhere. If not, go down to the saloon and borrow some.” She hooked her arm through Noah’s. Her scent of soap and something sweet made him homesick again. “We’re going to eat.”