Broddock-Black 05 - Force of Nature (11 page)

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Y
ou are not to see that disreputable man again!” Lucy A exclaimed later that day, stamping her silk-slippered foot on the Turkish carpet of the Plantation House’s best suite. “I absolutely forbid it!”

“Your message said you wanted your accounts balanced.” A task Jo had been managing since she was ten. “And even if I cared to wager a guess as to the identity of this disreputable man,” she said, disgruntled and annoyed, not moving from her position just inside the doorway, “I’m well past the age when you can dictate to me.”

“My accounts are fine,” her mother said, dismissively, as though she’d not lured Jo to her suite on false pretexts. “I hear you’ve quite destroyed your reputation in this town and, I might add, compromised mine in the bargain!” Indignation rang through her voice. “That scoundrel, Ito, is not a gentleman and I forbid you to see him again! What will my friends think! How can I hold up my head at the Finnegans tonight?” “Perhaps Ed Finnegan could speak on your behalf. I understand he’s a frequent visitor to this suite. I’m sure he’d be willing to vouch for you to his friends,” Jo noted, leaving out the comment concerning his wife she’d like to have added.

“How dare you imply Mr. Finnegan is anything but a very dear friend!”

“And how dare you imply my dear friends are any less acceptable than yours. Flynn Ito is ten times the man Ed Finnegan is ... and richer too. That’s all that matters to you, isn’t it, Mother? Unless you can trade it for a handsome face. In my case, Flynn is both handsome and rich and he’s asked me to marry him. Something I suspect, Mr. Finnegan won’t be doing.” Other than score a point in their argument, she had no idea why she’d mentioned marriage, particularly with a man like Flynn who was apt to turn and run if she said yes.

“You cheeky little tart, I have a good mind to wash your mouth out with soap! For your information, Mr. Finnegan is advising me on the purchase of some stocks!” Purse-lipped and flushed, Lucy added heatedly, “I should have known better than to think you’d take my advice!”

“Yes, Mother, you should have, because your advice, as you so loosely term it, always has to do with protecting your image or wanting me to participate in your latest scheme or substantiate your most recent slander. These little bits of advice you dispense never have anything to do with me. If you’re truly concerned with your reputation in this town, my friendship with Flynn Ito is the least of your worries. I’d reconsider the number of other wives’ husbands you have up for tea.” “Whom I entertain is none of your concern.”

“Then you should understand my feelings. I’m twenty-two, Mother. I’m quite capable of making my own decisions. But if it will ease your mind, I won’t be seeing Mr. Ito for some time.” Vagueness was always appropriate when dissembling. “Apparently, a portion of his ranch has been set afire by the Empire Cattle Company. He’s left Helena.”

“Good riddance.”

“You don’t know him.”

“I know of him and that’s sufficient. He’s a cutthroat thug.” “That’s open to interpretation, but whatever he is, he’s very wealthy—like Cosimo’s father-in law who has an equally ambiguous reputation.” Rumor had it the Cavallieri fortune had connections to the Naples underworld.

“Count Cavallieri has impeccable blood lines,” Lucy replied, haughtily.

“Some might disagree. I wouldn’t contemplate returning to Cosimo’s bed if I were you. I hear the old count uses the Arno to dispose of his enemies.”

Lucy turned ashen. “Where ever did you hear such rubbish?” Although, it might be wise to meet Cosimo in Monte Carlo or Paris should she choose to see him again, she quickly decided.

“I heard very specific stories, Mother. The maids know everything. You just never talked to them.” If she had, she would have known that Cosimo was sleeping with sweet little Lucia who did their laundry and pretty Flora who helped in the kitchen. He was, if nothing else, an aristocrat of democratic tastes. “Are we done with the lecture now? Because I have another engagement.” Another of those suitably vague phrases.

Lucy surveyed her daughter with a squinty-eyed gaze. “He’s gone? This Ito man has left town?”

“Gone, Mother. Perhaps for good. You’ll be happy to hear any number of fine upstanding Englishmen are out to murder him.”

She sniffed. “You needn’t be facetious.”

“I’m not. Although I’m hoping mightily that he survives. And if I decide to accept his marriage proposal, you’ll be the first to know.” She couldn’t resist a last little goad.

“Very droll, I’m sure,” Lucy returned, surveying her daughter with a jaundiced eye. “Will you be living on a ranch in the wilderness, then?”

“I might.”

“And I might be the next pope.”

“You wouldn’t be the first pope to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh.”

“I don’t appreciate your humor.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

“I can see that you wish to be rude when I only have your best interests at heart... as always.” Lucy’s lower lip quivered as it did when she chose to play the noble, self-sacrificing mother.

Jo elected to be merciful and forbearing as usual. Her mother could no more help being self-centered and vain than she could sprout wings and fly. She was pretty, flirtatious and quite sure the world revolved around her. And if men liked her, she saw no reason she shouldn’t profit from their interest. “Forgive me, Mother. I didn’t intend to be rude. And Mr. Ito is gone now, so you needn’t worry.”

Lucy’s expression lightened. “You see, darling. I do know best. You can be such a sweet girl when you want to. Haven’t I always said so? And I just know you’ll find a much more acceptable beau and all this rubbishy tittle-tattle will blow over like it always does.”

This probably wasn’t the time to point out to her mother that the tittle-tattle concerning her affairs was heating up. “I’m sure you’re right, Mother.” It was easier to agree; hadn’t she always? There was little point in arguing with her mother in any event. Lucy had never been wrong.

She had better things to do than argue with her mother anyway.

She had to procure—surreptitiously, of course—a map and directions to Flynn’s ranch.

F
lynn had sent scouts ahead on his swift ride north and the ambush he’d been expecting was reported to him as he and his men came up on the south fork of the Sun River. The Empire had upwards of a hundred men concealed in the alder bushes and cottonwoods lining the creek banks.

Which meant he and his small crew would have to swing clear around to the western boundaries of his land to avoid them. He had no intention of riding into an ambush.

He was tempted to pick off some of Empire’s hired guns with the high-powered Winchesters they carried, but easy as it might be to use his enemies for target practice, it wasn’t sensible to draw their attention. He and his men were badly outnumbered. Raising his hand, he pointed west, wheeled his mount, and lightly spurred his sleek paint. He and his men would take the long way home.

It was almost morning when they rode into the ranch yard, the charred remains of his barn and stables silhouetted against the pale dawn. Home was always his refuge though and he was glad to be back, even dead tired, even faced with certain conflict and an extensive job of rebuilding. He’d been raised here—on the best land in the territory, his father had always said. Perhaps his father was even right. But of one thing, Flynn was sure. Empire Cattle was going to rue the day they’d come to burn him out.

“Get some sleep,” he said to his men as they rode past him on their way to the bunkhouse. And he thanked them all for their loyalty. Then, turning his horse, he rode toward the main house, wondering if he would be able to sleep with his thoughts in tumult. Should he attack or defend—where and when and how? How were his horses and cattle? Were they safe? How long would it take to bring in supplies and rebuild? But beneath the practicalities and strategy the constant, looping conundrum racing through his brain was the question of Jo’s status. Would she stay or go? And what would he do if she left?

But the moment he lay down, he fell asleep. Two sleepless nights prior to his urgent journey home, no doubt, contributed to his instant slumber—as they did to the nature of his dreams. The romantic imagery was saturated with lush memories of Jo and of the passions they’d shared. It seemed not to matter that he was at risk, under possible attack, that a sensible man would have put aside desire and concentrated on survival.

Nothing mattered in his dream world, but fevered pleasure and blissful consummation. A faint smile graced his face as he slept.

❧

Not so when he woke and heard the extent of the damage he’d sustained: three men with burns, one barn and two stables in ruins, fourteen horses dead, fifty injured. It was a daunting homecoming.

Over lunch, he and his foremen discussed their options.

“How many men are ready for battle?” Flynn asked.

“Eighty, eighty-five. We need to leave some men to ride herd on the cattle,” McFee replied.

“We could call in thirty more from Kinnert’s crew,” another of his men suggested. “They don’t take kindly to the Empire either. Had too many of their fences cut.”

“Are there men from other outfits we can trust?” Flynn could hire men like The Empire did, but guns for hire were a certain style of man; he preferred a degree of loyalty when he had his back to the wall. And after the latest attack on his ranch, he wanted unequivocal victory this time. He wanted to annihilate the Empire Cattle Company once and for all.

He was tired of fighting.

He wanted an end to the conflict.

He didn’t want to raise children as he’d been raised—in the midst of continuous war. The moment the aberrant thought crossed his mind, he tried to discount it. Children were an anomaly in his world, the notion of a family, madness. But a second later he imagined having Jo with him, here, on his ranch and the degree of pleasure he felt couldn’t be so easily discounted.

“How many rifles do we have?” he asked, brusquely, wrenching his mind back to the issues at hand, to survival. “And how’s our ammunition supply?”

Before long, a battle plan had been devised and riders had been dispatched to bring in the men they’d need to supplement their crew. If the Empire didn’t attack first, they’d ride out in two days, burn the Empire Cattle Company to the ground, dispose of their hired guns and send the blue-blood managers back to England dead or alive.

In a more perfect world, such violence wouldn’t have been necessary. Flynn’s neighbors would have stayed within the boundaries of their ranches, and the best grazing land in Montana wouldn’t have been coveted by those who had no right to it.

But since that ideal world didn’t exist, he would need well over a hundred men, triple that number of weapons, several thousand rounds of ammunition, and collective cool nerve and deadly aim to right those imperfections.

Then perhaps someday, he could raise a family in peace.

❧

While Flynn and his men were planning their strategy, Hazard was facing Trey across the broad expanse of his desk. “Are you sure those gunmen were bound for the Empire?” “Reilly usually gets his facts straight. They were asking directions for the Empire when they got off the train. Had prime horseflesh with them, too, he said. Those mounts were taken off with scrupulous care. One of the gunmen threatened to shoot anyone who caused them harm.”

“The men came in from Wyoming?”

“That’s what Reilly said. The Diamond Bar west of Cheyenne runs a rough crew. He was guessing they’d been recruited there.”

“The Diamond Bar is another English-owned outfit as arrogant as the Empire,” Hazard noted. “They called Tom Burley a nigger at the Cattleman’s Club in Cheyenne. Hell, Tom is ten shades lighter than we are. But I guess they don’t like dark Irish either.”

“And you’re thinking about teaching them some manners.” “I’m just thinking Flynn could use some help if the Empire is bringing in trash from Wyoming.”

“When do we leave?”

“Late tonight or tomorrow morning. I have to talk to your mother.”

Trey grinned. “Good luck.”

Hazard smiled. “It’s not luck so much as diplomacy that’s required. And your mother understands. She would prefer a reasonable solution, of course, as would I. I’ve never understood why people can’t stay on their own land.”

“If we knew the answer to that, we wouldn’t have to fight to hold our properties, would we?”

“Maybe someday,” Hazard said with a sigh. “And in that more charitable future, Daisy might have her wish and the courts can deal with men like those at the Empire.”

“In the meantime,” Trey murmured, a sardonic edge to his voice, “I’ll make sure my Colts are well oiled and loaded.”

❧

“Must you, Jon?” Blaze set her coffee cup down and gazed at her husband over the debris of their luncheon.

“If the Empire is bringing in hired guns from out of state, they’re serious. Flynn’s going to need our help.”

“I thought he had enough men of his own.”

“If he doesn’t need us, we’ll come back.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Soon. Late tonight.”

“You’re already packed, aren’t you?”

“I wanted to talk to you first.”

“And if I were to say, don’t go?”

“Darling, please, you know how important it is to protect one’s borders. We’ve been fighting this battle for years.”

She gave him a rueful smile. “You’ll be careful, won’t you?” “We always are. Trey and I are bringing thirty men with us—enough to ride north unmolested.”

“And Jo likes Flynn, doesn’t she?”

“It looks that way. Another reason to help him, I thought.”