The Tribute Read online

Ray couldn’t help but look out for his younger siblings. In a way, it touched Brett. Even though the sentiment was half-assed, and said as a bit of a threat, it still touched him.

  Brett shook his brother’s hand and gave him a quick hug, shocking the hell out of both of them.

  “Uh, I’ll see you then.”

  “Thanks again, Ray. Tell Lily and Melody I said hello.”

  “I’ll surely do that. Have a good night in your new house, and congratulations, little brother.”

  As Ray rode away, Brett decided he’d do just that. A good night in his new house. Tomorrow he’d begin his courting in earnest. Alex would be his before the first snowfall.

  Chapter Three

  The problem with King Dawson was that his parents had raised him to be one. A more arrogant, pompous windbag could not be found in Wyoming. Growing up, King was the type of boy who liked to burn ants with a magnifying glass and pull the wings off flies. Alex felt certain that King had been responsible for the death of her cat Jingles when she and King were ten.

  King had been married and widowed twice already. Fortunately no children had resulted from the marriages. Alex had always wondered if the reason Millie and Bernice Dawson had died was due to King’s need to produce children. An unkind thought, but they’d both suffered multiple miscarriages and they hadn’t become pregnant on their own. King seemed to think his wealth and his supposed esteemed status in the social circles of Cheshire made him a good catch. No matter how many times Alex politely turned him down for his weekly invitations to come out and visit his estate, he still kept coming back.

  She was not surprised to see him only a few days after his last unsuccessful attempt at wooing her. Alex was stitching a cut on Slim Murphy’s hand. The old cowpoke had grabbed hold of barbed wire without his gloves and torn up his palm pretty badly. He only winced once or twice during the procedure. To keep his mind off it, she flirted with him a bit knowing the older man would not take her seriously. He knew she had his best interest at heart and his pride foremost in her mind.

  The door slammed open and Alex did all she could not to jump. Something told her it was King.

  “Alexandra.” His booming voice echoed through the clinic, loud enough to wake her father who snored peacefully in his bedroom upstairs.

  She ignored King and put the last stitch on Slim’s hand. “That wasn’t too bad, was it?”

  The silver-haired man gave her a weak grin. “Yep, it was, but I reckon I ain’t gonna complain about it. Better than losing my hand.”

  “That it is.” As she began to clean the residual blood off his hand, the door to the examining room burst open.

  “Mr. Dawson,” she said with a snap in her voice. “This is a private examining room. You may not simply come in when you feel like it. Please go back out into the waiting room and wait.”

  “Alexandra, is that any way to talk to your future husband?”

  She rolled her eyes at Slim and he bit back a grin. “Mr. Dawson, wait in the waiting room.”

  “Well I’ll do it since you asked so politely.” King finally retreated from the room.

  With a sigh, Alex shook her head and started to wrap the bandage around Slim’s hand.

  “That fella surely does want to marry you, Doc. Why wouldn’t you want to marry a man with that much money?”

  “Slim, have you met King Dawson?”

  “A time or two.”

  “There you have it. If you know King then you know the answer to that question.”

  This time Slim did laugh and she was pleased to note he had a little more color in his cheeks.

  She handed him extra bandages. “Now keep that clean and change the bandage at least once a day. I’m sure Mrs. Fielding will help you.”

  Mrs. Fielding was the cook at the ranch where Slim worked. She had some nursing skills, almost needed to with all the men out there. Casey’s ranch was the second largest in the area with at least sixty men at any given time. Mrs. Fielding was a busy woman.

  “Thank you kindly, Doc. How much do I owe you?”

  “We’ll just call it eight bits and we’ll be even.”

  He eyed her suspiciously. “That doesn’t sound like too much for all you just did.”

  “That’s okay. Every time a handsome man comes to call, I don’t charge him very much.”

  He patted her shoulder. “You’re a good woman, Doc Brighton.”

  “Thank you, Slim.”

  She escorted him out the door and went to go face King in the waiting room. A task she was definitely not looking forward to.

  When Alex stepped into the parlor, the sheer size of King overwhelmed the space. His two ever-present armed men stood by the door. King must have some kind of Viking ancestry because he easily stood six and half feet tall, shoulders twice as wide as a normal man’s. His thick, shaggy blond hair topped a square, rough-hewn face and blue eyes. Not the kind of blue that Brett had, more of an icy blue.

  Dang it, she had to stop thinking about Brett.

  King wore his favorite outfit—a blue chambray shirt with a string tie, and a suit jacket with fancy trousers, along with his boots. She thought they looked like alligator skin but she wasn’t quite certain. He told all and sundry that they had cost him a small fortune to order them from New York.

  King acted like the royalty of Cheshire—he’d inherited the largest ranch. Although he had money, that didn’t make him royalty in Alex’s eyes. Half the town kowtowed to him. The other half tried to stay out of his path.

  He filled the silver brocade settee in the corner of the parlor. Although she’d told him to sit in the waiting room, he chose to invade the family’s parlor instead. Typical King behavior. His arms reached from one side to the other as he sat like a king on his throne. She put her hands on her hips and looked at him with her sternest expression.

  “If I have a patient, the door is closed for a reason. You are not to invade someone’s privacy.”

  He scoffed. “Pshaw. It was just that old fool Slim. What did he do, cut up his hand on barbed wire again? Casey ought to fire him.”

  “What his injury was is none of your concern. I am his doctor, therefore it’s my business to protect him. You’d better not go talking to Casey about firing him because he came to see me.”

  “Only because you asked me to, darlin’.”

  “Don’t make me repeat myself, King. Do not call me darlin’. I am not, nor will I ever be, your darling.”

  He stood, towering over her. Alex refused to be intimidated by his size. He cupped her face in his dinner-plate-sized hands.

  “Aw, Alex, you know we’re gonna get hitched one day.”

  She stepped away from him, pleased to note that her body had no reaction to his touch. Not the reaction he was hoping for anyway. Alex suppressed the urge to wash and rid herself of the lingering disgust from the touch of his hands.

  “What makes you think that I’m going to change my mind after ten years of saying no?”

  “Because you will.”

  King justified anything he wanted to by simply saying it was so. Not an unusual occurrence.

  “Why are you here?” She tried not to be rude but sometimes King pushed her patience too far.

  “I hear Brett Malloy owns old Martin’s place.”

  News traveled fast in a small town. She didn’t bother to ask where he’d gotten the information.

  “I also hear that he’s got some kind of gunslinger working for him. Is he expecting trouble?”

  “Why are you asking me?” Alex frowned.

  “Because I hear the first place he went when he came into town was to see you. It’s no secret he’s always wanted you for his own. It’s also no secret he knows you’re mine.”

  “Oh for pity’s sake, King. I am nobody’s. I am my own person, not a piece of property to be bartered or traded or held up like a trophy. Now, I will tell you so you don’t go shooting off at the mouth with rumors and gossip. Yes, Brett is now the owner of old Martin’s place, in fact he’s owned
it for two years. The gunslinger is a friend of his working as a ranch hand, not as a gunslinger. I expect they’ve got a lot of work to do so you best leave them alone. They’re no threat to you or your hundred thousand acres.” She took a breath. “Now if you’re not here for a medical reason, please leave.”

  “How did he get it?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “How did he get the ranch two years ago? Old Martin didn’t keel over until a year ago. Did he own it when Martin still lived there?”

  Alex really hadn’t thought about that, but it was true. If Brett had owned it two years ago, Martin had still been alive at the time. She’d be curious to know exactly how Brett became the owner of the property, however she wasn’t about to let King suck her into his gossip circle.

  “The answers to your questions are not here. I’m fairly certain you’ve already checked to be sure he’s the legal owner.”

  A quick flash of guilt in those cool eyes told her that was truth.

  “Then just let him be.” She walked to the door and opened it, gesturing for him to leave. “If you don’t mind.”

  King hitched up his pants and swaggered toward her. She had to bite back a smile. Sometimes his antics, although not meant to be, were entirely comical.

  “I’m just going to let Malloy know that you’re mine, Alex.”

  She opened her mouth to refute him yet again, and he put two fingers across her lips.

  “You’re mine.”

  A low growl echoed through the foyer. King leveled a narrowed gaze at Alex’s dog Ug. The medium-sized mutt looked ready to attack with his teeth bared and his mud-colored fur standing on end.

  “I hate that dog.”

  “I think the feeling is mutual.”

  Ug barked until King’s hands left Alex’s skin. Then the dog stepped up to her side and pressed against her leg.

  “That’s the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen.”

  “Ug doesn’t have to be pretty. He’s a good dog.”

  She’d found him in the alley next to the clinic, near death, about five years ago. Not an animal doctor, she did her best to save him from his serious wounds. Someone had obviously used the dog for kicking practice. After he’d miraculously healed, Ug became her dog, protecting her, comforting her, her steady friend in a lonely world.

  She’d named him Ug after everyone in town called him Ugly. He definitely had good taste because he hated King.

  “You’re still mine, Alex. No one can change that fact. Not even that butt-ugly mutt of yours.”

  Chapter Four

  “Now that’s one great big son of a bitch.”

  Brett looked up through the sweat-soaked hair hanging before his eyes to see King Dawson riding toward them. The man never rode alone. Two men rode about a hundred yards behind him—his second level of defense. Not that he needed any with his size.

  “Shit.”

  He’d never liked King, who acted as if the world should fall at his feet simply because of his royal name. He was an arrogant ass. Not only that, he’d been sniffing after Alex for years, even though he’d been married twice. The way King went about life annoyed the hell out of Brett.

  He sighed, set down the hammer and sat back on the roof, waiting for King to arrive.

  “Friend of yours?”

  Brett looked at Kincaid. “No, but he’s rich.”

  “I know the type,” Kincaid said as he kept on hammering.

  They were nearly done fixing the roof on the house. A tree branch or something had damaged the north side. Before it rained, Brett wanted to get the holes fixed and repair any other damage to the roof. Then they could work on finishing the inside.

  He wiped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. Although still early in the day, it was hot. And would only get hotter.

  King rode straight toward them on his palomino. The man was so big, his feet hung only eighteen inches off the ground. Not too many horses could carry a man of his size.

  “Malloy,” he called up.

  “Dawson.”

  King looked around as if surveying a property for sale. “Looks like you’re fixing it up.”

  “You’ve got keen eyes there, King.”

  King’s gaze narrowed, apparently unsure if he’d been insulted or not. “I hear tell that you’re the new owner of this ranch.”

  Brett wasn’t sure where King was going with his line of questions. “You heard right. It’s mine.”

  “You know, old Martin had two sons.”

  Fortunately for Brett he already knew that judging from the things left in the house. They’d found a child-size bed and another narrow, longer bed, a child’s top, a checker, and what looked like the remnants of a small wooden horse. They surmised that two children had lived there, not one. However he’d have been shocked if just learning the information. He suspected some kind of dirty laundry lurked in Martin’s life that had yet to be brought to light. Brett hadn’t known Martin had a family. Certainly not in the last twenty-five years since Brett remembered first seeing him. “What’s your point, King?”

  “The ranch should have gone to his older son.”

  Brett picked up his hammer. “I’ve got a lot of work to do. If you came out here for a reason, spit it out. I can’t stand here jawing with you all day. I’m sure you’ve already checked and figured out that I’ve owned this ranch for two years.”

  While he didn’t want to anger anyone, he wasn’t about to take a shovelful of shit from King Dawson.

  “Stay away from Alexandra.”

  Brett almost dropped the hammer. “What does that mean?”

  King leaned forward in the saddle, the creak of leather protesting the big man’s weight. “Just what I said. She’s mine and you don’t need to be sniffing around her skirts no more.”

  “That’s ridiculous. She’s not yours,” Brett scoffed. “She’s not married to you or anyone. The only person who has a claim on Alex Brighton is Alex Brighton.” If Brett had any say in it, soon she would be Alex Malloy and he’d have that claim on her.

  “That’s a load of manure. No woman should be in charge of herself. Soon as that old coot kicks the bucket, she’ll be running to me.” King smiled, pleased with himself.

  Choosing not to respond, Brett continued to hammer.

  “Now that we’ve got that cleared up, I just wanted to let y’all know my spread is right east of here.”

  “Yes, I did know that.” Brett’s patience got thinner.

  “That means we’re neighbors. If you happen to see any of my cattle wander over onto your thousand acres, I’m sure you’d spot them pretty much immediately. Just send them on back. You know what the brand looks like right?”

  Everyone knew what the brand looked like. King had fashioned a brand from a capital D with spikes on it that resembled a crown.

  “Sure do. Thanks for stopping by, King. Don’t let us keep you.”

  King’s gaze flickered to Kincaid. “This that gunslinger I heard about?”

  That was it. Brett’s patience snapped. “King, this is my friend, Kincaid. He’s working my ranch with me for a while. Kincaid this is King Dawson. He’s the pompous bastard who owns the ranch east of here, who obviously likes to gossip and mind everyone else’s business.”

  King’s sly expression turned thunderous. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? I own this town.”

  “The only thing you own is the right to be an ass, which I’m not going to stop you from doing because you’re so good at it. Now get off my land.”

  King stared at him hard. “You sure you want to do this, Malloy?”

  It was a warning, of sorts. A warning from a big boot to an ant, as if to say, “I can squash you any time I want.”

  Was Brett sure? No, he wasn’t, but somehow telling King Dawson to get off his land felt so good, almost to the point of a sexual release. He’d been a bully all of Brett’s life and for once, Brett wasn’t going to walk away. He had something now that was his and he wasn’t about to let just
anyone come onto his property unless they were there for friendly reasons. King’s visit could never be termed friendly.

  Brett’s answer was to turn his back and start hammering. The next thing he heard was hoofbeats as King rode away.

  “Well, he’s a nice, welcoming neighbor.”

  Brett chuckled. “I told you he was a pompous ass.”

  “You seem to like to use that word for him. Now I’m only going to think of him as King Ass,” Kincaid said with a slice of humor in his voice.

  Shaking his head, Brett continued to hammer. In the back of his mind, he wondered how King knew that old Martin had a son, and exactly what he knew about the son. When Brett wasn’t thinking about that, he was thinking about Alex.

  Alex remained firmly entrenched in his mind, no matter how much he tried to focus on what he was supposed to be doing. It had been four days since he’d seen her, and he wondered if she thought about it as much as he did. Not likely, except if she was stewing about it. Brett had ruined the first chance he had, now he was in danger of ruining the second.

  Brett knew he should be paying attention to what he was doing. Unfortunately when one doesn’t pay attention to what they’re doing, and what they’re doing requires one to pay attention, accidents happen.

  It was late afternoon and Brett walked around below the eaves, checking out the work they’d done on the roof. He heard Kincaid shout his name, seconds before something slammed into his shoulder. It more or less felt like a rock, then something equally heavy slammed into his head and all went black.

  ———

  “Dammit, wake up, Malloy. I don’t need your family thinking I killed you.” Kincaid’s annoyed voice broke through the fog surrounding Brett.

  A trickle of cool water touched his mouth. He lapped at it as best he could while an entire church of screeching bells clanged in his head. Brett tried to sit up and agony ripped through him from head to toe. As he struggled for breath, he realized the sticky warmth on his neck was too thick to be sweat. He reached back and swiped at the sticky liquid. When he forced his eyes open, crimson met his gaze.

  He heard Kincaid say, “Oh, shit. Well, I guess you’re going to see your doc lady friend sooner than you thought.”