The Tribute Page 12

  As he rode up, he found Byron sitting on the front porch smoking a pipe, looking like he’d been rode hard and put up wet. The older man’s face drooped with exhaustion and his eyes reflected deep sorrow.

  “Doc? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure Ug will make it. I wasn’t able to get to him for an hour and he’s lost so much blood…” He gestured in the air. “I’ve done what I can but I’m no animal doctor.”

  “We need to put him in the room with Alex.”

  “Why?”

  Brett didn’t know exactly what was between Alex and Ug, but it was a deep bond. “She and Ug are connected somehow. He saved her life today and now she can save his by being close.”

  “He’s in the kitchen in a basket, resting by the stove.”

  Brett nodded and went into the house to fetch the dog. His furry body was wrapped in bandages, but clean of all blood. Half of one ear was missing. Poor dog. Brave little thing. He picked up the basket and the dog let loose a small whine.

  “It’s okay, boy. I’m just bringing you to your mistress.”

  As he walked into the examining room, Alex’s scent washed over him. He breathed deeply, bringing part of her into his body. It had an amazing calming effect on the nerves stretched taut over the day’s events. She slept on, breathing evenly. Brett set the basket next to the cot and he swore the dog looked more peaceful.

  He leaned down and pressed his cheek to hers. The warmth of her skin penetrated his and for the first time since finding her, he felt like she’d be fine. Now if only he could say the same for himself. He sat with Alex for hours, simply holding her hand.

  Brett didn’t know if she even knew he was there, but it didn’t matter if she did or not. He was there because he needed to be. It had to be close to midnight before Brett decided to head home. Kincaid and Mason were too green to be left alone for more than a day. The ranch was his and he had to spend at least half his time there, even if his heart stayed with the woman before him.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow, honey. You get better.”

  With one last kiss on her forehead and a pat on Ug’s head, Brett left to go home. He passed Byron on the steps.

  “Send someone to the Square One if you need me, Byron. It’s old Martin’s ranch.”

  “Thank you, Brett. After what I’ve done, what I’ve said…” Byron shook his head. “I can’t say thank you enough for saving her.”

  Brett blew out an unsteady breath. “I didn’t save her. You and Ug did. I was the lucky fool who happened to be nearby.”

  Byron’s eyes narrowed. “Have a care. I have a feeling this is only the beginning of what’s to come.”

  Brett had the same feeling. The air around them seemed charged with a brewing storm.

  Chapter Nine

  When Brett finally made it home, he was exhausted. A bone-deep weariness seemed to permeate every part of him. He saw Kincaid’s horse in the barn as he unsaddled Rusty, however Kincaid was nowhere to be seen.

  Brett’s feet dragged on the way to the house. The day had sapped him completely. When he opened the door, the smell of chili and cornbread washed over him. His stomach woke up with a vengeance, snarling like a rabid dog. He realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. The whole situation with Alex had made everything else seem unimportant.

  The empty house welcomed him home. His home. He tossed the papers King had given him on the table and headed for the stove. More than likely his mother had come by with the food. She was already looking out for Mason, and he and Kincaid reaped the benefits.

  After spooning some chili into a bowl, he snagged three pieces of cornbread and sat at the table. With only the sound of the crickets for company, Brett ate his dinner and tried not to think too hard. Thinking brought him around to Alex and that led to a twisted up gut.

  Instead, he wiped his mind clean and focused on filling his belly. After the food disappeared, his exhaustion crept back. Brett laid his head down on the table.

  It seemed as though he’d just closed his eyes when the crinkling of paper woke him. He cracked one eye to see Kincaid sitting across the table from him with one leg resting on the corner of the wood. The ex-gunslinger had a handful of paper and frowned as he read.

  “What are you reading?” Brett mumbled sleepily.

  Kincaid’s gaze snapped to his. “I don’t know. You left it on the table.”

  Brett hadn’t even bothered reading them. “What does it say?”

  Kincaid glanced down at the papers. “Apparently Parker Samson is challenging your right to ownership of this ranch.”

  The words dropped like stones in Brett’s stomach. “Son of a bitch. I knew King would try to take the Square One.”

  Kincaid handed Brett the papers. “Yep, you got it. The paper is signed by Parker Samson, only surviving child of Martin Samson.”

  Old Martin’s son. Maybe. King better have serious proof the man was who he said he was. All Brett had was the deed signed over by Martin. Brett had no bill of sale of course, because he won it in a poker game. He could not lose the Square One to anybody.

  No way in hell he’d let that happen. Not without the battle of his life.

  “Fucking King Dawson and his meddling goddamn fingers.”

  Kincaid nodded. “Nobody else has the money or the balls to do it.”

  That was the gospel truth. King had to have whatever toys he wanted, regardless of who he stepped on with his huge feet to get them.

  Brett tried to read the papers in front of him, but everything blurred together at the very real threat just leveled at him. He couldn’t lose the Square One. Not after everything he’d done in the last several weeks to make it into a home. Hell, Kincaid and Mason had become his family and he had a herd to consider.

  He didn’t have a lot of money, but every cent Brett had would go toward a lawyer to fight the bastard. He didn’t care how much money King Dawson threw, Brett Malloy would not go down without a fight.

  ———

  Alex woke up slowly, pulling herself from a slumber as deep as a canyon. She felt like she’d been sleeping for years, her lethargy was so great. In a flash, she remembered the men in the alley. The last thing she could recall was the skinny man with the greasy hair pawing at her shirt. Then everything went gray.

  By the smell, she could tell she was in the examining room. She reached up and touched her throat, not surprised to find swelling and extreme tenderness. The bastard had choked her. She didn’t know why she was still alive, but she thanked whatever angel had looked out for her.

  “Alex?” Her father’s voice broke the silence around her.

  She opened her eyes a crack to find him hovering over her, looking for all the world like a harried father. With bags under his eyes, and hair sticking straight up, he could have scared patients. The concern in his eyes told her all she needed to know about her condition after the brutal attack.

  “H-how…” She tried to speak but her voice was a croak.

  “Brett found you. Ug called to him and your cowboy rescued both of you.” Her father cupped her cheek. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am to him.”

  “Ug hurt?” she managed to say.

  “Yes, he was hurt pretty badly but he’s hanging in there. Brett put his basket in here next to you. Seems to be good for both of you.”

  She reached down and encountered warm fur and bandages. Thank God he was alive. She was sure the dog had tried to protect her and ended up being injured for his efforts. Alex had never had a dog before and now understood why people loved them so much.

  “Good dog,” she whispered as she stroked his fur. A soft woof sounded.

  “You’ve been unconscious since yesterday. Ah, Brett stayed by your side till past midnight. He said he’d be back today to see you. Couldn’t convince him to stay away if I tried.” Byron closed his eyes. “I was wrong about him, sweetheart.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I did something a long time ago that hurt you. I was only tryin
g to protect you, but instead it soured your view on love. I’m sorry for that.” He stroked her hair. “You deserve a second chance with him.”

  “Wh-what do you mean? What did you do?”

  “It’s not important.” He shook his head. “Just make sure you keep an open mind, Alex. I think he really does love you.”

  What exactly did her father do? Was he the reason the relationship with Brett went sour before? From the look on her father’s face, she didn’t think she’d get an answer from him.

  Her father seemed to shake himself out of the melancholy that gripped him. “Nothing broken, but I think your right shoulder is sprained, too many contusions to count, some scratching, and your throat of course. Another thirty seconds of choking you and he w-would have killed y-you.” Her father’s face crumpled and he buried his face in his hands, sobbing quietly.

  “Oh, Papa.” She touched his silver hair and thanked God she still had those she loved around her. Alex tried to smile, but the left side of her face hurt too much to do so.

  Alex hoped Brett would come sooner rather than later. With her father’s blurry confession, the urge to speak to Brett grew stronger with each passing moment.

  ———

  Brett spent half the night worrying about his ranch and the other half worrying about Alex. He didn’t sleep other than the brief nap he’d taken sitting at the table which Kincaid had interrupted. Brett was damn glad he had, too.

  He considered himself an intelligent man, but the legal jargon confused the hell out of him. He needed to go talk to the lawyer in town, Tim Green. Until he realized the very last page of the documents had Tim’s name on them, which meant he was working for King Dawson.

  That left Brett with no choice—he had to talk to another lawyer. The closest town was Hawk’s Bend and last he heard they didn’t have a lawyer, but he’d wire over there and ask the telegraph operator. If anybody knew what was going on it would be Jake, the man who ran the post office and the telegraph from a small storefront. At least that was a decision made. One decision. He felt like he had a million to go.

  He was just pouring coffee into a cup when Kincaid emerged from the bedroom, freshly shaven with nary a hair out of place.

  “You look like shit,” Kincaid mused.

  Brett scowled. “You know, you do work for me. You should be a little more respectful.”

  Kincaid laughed.

  “Yeah, I know I look like shit. I didn’t get any sleep,” Brett snapped.

  “That’s obvious.”

  Brett’s scowl deepened. “I feel like somebody who doesn’t know how to swim and just jumped into a deep lake.”

  Kincaid slapped him on the shoulder. “I do have some good news. I heard from a friend of mine yesterday, Asa Keenan. He has a bull he’d be willing to sell you. He’s got a ranch just outside Cheyenne. He’ll give you a fair price for it too. If you trust me, I can broker the deal for you.”

  Brett trusted Kincaid and buying a bull would likely take every dollar he had. Well, what the hell. If he lost the ranch, at least he could take the cattle with him. They’d merge nicely into his father’s herd.

  “I have to hire a couple wranglers to help out.”

  “Why don’t you ask your family for help?”

  He’d actually considered that. However, Brett wanted to do this by himself, to not ask them for any more help than he’d already been given. It was important to him to achieve his dream.

  “No, I want to do this on my own.”

  Kincaid slammed the coffeepot down on the stove. “You know, I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but it just fires me up to see you like this. You have got a family most people would kill for. Hell, they came and rebuilt your fucking barn for you. Brought you furniture and food and everything else, then left. I’ve never had anyone that I could count on for that, much less family. You act like they’re a pain in the ass. Let me tell you something, Malloy, that’s one hundred percent shit.”

  Kincaid grabbed a piece of leftover cornbread from the warming pan on the stove, then snatched his cup and stalked out the door, slamming it behind him so hard, the coffeepot rattled.

  Brett saw Mason peeking his head around the corner. “Are y’all fightin’?”

  “No. Kincaid was just busy kicking my ass.”

  Brett knew Kincaid was right. He did have a family he could count on who loved him. A bit of shame crept in and settled on his heart. He had a first-class family and it was time he started treating them like one. He’d go over and talk to Ray and then go into town to telegraph Jake in Hawk’s Bend, and send one to his sister Nicky to see if they could spare Noah for a little while. Then he’d go see Alex.

  Before the day was over, Brett would stand up and be proud to carry the name Malloy.

  He finished off his breakfast and went outside to find Kincaid. Brett had given him time to cool off before going to look for him. If there’s one thing Brett had learned about the ex-gunslinger, he needed his time to himself. Brett understood that all to well, since he was the same way.

  He found Kincaid in the barn fixing a stirrup. Kincaid glanced up, his dark eyes as flat and unreadable as a winter sky.

  “You’re right. I’m an ass. I’m going to ask my family for help and I’m going to stop complaining and treating them like they don’t deserve to be treated.” It wasn’t easy for Brett to say it out loud, but after he’d done it, he felt better.

  Kincaid inclined his head and continued to work on the stirrup.

  “I’m going into town today to take care of business and see Alex. I’ll get that money so you can contact your friend Asa in Cheyenne.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  Brett saddled his horse, listening to Kincaid murmur to himself. Brett couldn’t make out what he was saying, but more than likely he was grousing about Brett’s stupidity.

  “So you and the lady doctor, huh? Are you going to go see her again?”

  Brett’s stomach knotted. Kincaid had no idea what had happened to Alex the day before.

  “I’m going to see her because someone beat the hell out of her yesterday and then choked her. The only reason she’s alive is that crazy dog Ug.”

  Kincaid dropped the tool and the stirrup, straightening. His hands drifted to the pistols that never left his hips.

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know who. The sheriff and I looked for hours yesterday and couldn’t find anything.”

  Kincaid’s mouth tightened. “You find out who, you let me take care of it for you.”

  The vehemence in Kincaid’s voice surprised Brett. “Have you got a crush on my dear lady doctor?”

  “No. She’s the first woman to treat me like a man instead of a pair of guns attached to a body. She was kind to me. Alex is a good woman. Anyone who does that to someone who means something to me deals with my kind of vengeance.”

  Brett didn’t know exactly what kind of vengeance Kincaid had in mind. He was glad Kincaid was on his side though. He pitied the poor fool after both of them got through with him.

  ———

  The noon mealtime arrived as Brett finished what he needed to do in town. He stopped at the restaurant to pick up food for three and headed to Alex’s house. Cognizant others would be watching, Brett forced himself to a slow walk on Rusty. He tipped his hat and was polite when needed, knowing all he wanted to do was break into a hard gallop.

  It seemed like weeks had passed since he’d seen her, although it had been less than a day. Byron would have sent word if anything bad had happened. Brett arrived with the expectation that Alex had survived the night without incident. Any other possibility wasn’t entertained.

  He dismounted and secured his horse, then carried the basket of food toward the house. A sign on the door made him run the last ten feet. At first, his eyes refused to focus. He finally read the small scrawling script which had to belong to Byron.

  Unless it’s a life-threatening emergency, please come back in three days. Drs. Brighton.

  Brett k
nocked on the door with shaking hands. He breathed in and out slowly, pulling air into his body and pushing out the stupid panic that had grabbed hold. When no one answered his knock, his patience ran out. Brett opened the door and walked into the house.

  “Byron? Alex?”

  He heard what sounded like a kitten mewling, otherwise the only other sound was a clock ticking somewhere. The lack of noise didn’t concern him as much as the mewling. He set the basket of food down and crept up the stairs toward the sound. When he reached the landing, he paused to get his bearings, then continued on.

  The keening noise came from within Byron’s room, the door open. Brett sidled closer and peeked around the doorframe. The old doc sat on his floor, a bottle of cheap whiskey in one hand, a handkerchief in the other. The thought that he sat upstairs while his daughter struggled for life angered Brett beyond belief. He wasn’t about to consider the possibility Byron was drowning his grief.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Byron started and scrabbled to the left. “Who is that?”

  Brett stepped into the room. “It’s Brett Malloy, Byron. I repeat, what the hell are you doing?”

  The old man turned watery brown eyes up at him. “I almost lost her.”

  Dropping to his knees, Brett yanked the whiskey out of the doctor’s hand. “So you thought it would be a good idea to pickle your brain? What if she needs you?”

  Byron waved his hand in the air. “She’s fine now. B-but I almost l-lost her.”

  Brett stood and looked down at the older man with something like pity. “I won’t pretend to know what you’ve gone through, but I can tell you that you’re hurting her by getting drunk. If she needs a doctor, you need to be sober.”

  Covering his face with his hands, Byron wept. Brett hoped like hell he’d never be such a mess over anyone. He’d like to think he was stronger than that, both mentally and emotionally. Another reason not to drink too much.