Stronger Than the Rest (3 page)

Grant had remained silent for most of the meal. He felt responsible for Drew’s injury even though no one else blamed him. “It’s a few hours to Denver by train. Do you have help once you arrive? If not, I’d be happy to send one of my hands with you or go myself—just until you get settled at Drew’s.”

Alicia appeared to consider the idea for only a moment. “Thank you, Grant, but I’m sure I’ll do just fine.”

“I’ll go.”

All eyes shifted toward the quiet voice but no one else spoke.

“I mean, if you would like some company, Mrs. MacLaren.”

Amanda had spoken with Alicia a couple of times about her sister, Tess, and Tessa’s friendship with Drew. Amanda had never said it, but Alicia had gotten the impression that Tessa’s feelings for Drew were much stronger than the young woman wanted to admit.

“Why Tessa, I’d love to have you join me, if it’s all right with your parents?” Alicia glanced at Grant and Eleanor to judge their approval.

“I think it’s a marvelous idea,” Eleanor replied. “Tess loves to travel and she’s only been through Denver a couple of times when on her way to visit her aunt and uncle in Chicago.”

“Then it’s settled. But I’ll expect you to call me Aunt Alicia and not Mrs. MacLaren.” Alicia smiled at the young woman’s expectant face.

“Thank you, Mrs...I mean, Aunt Alicia. You don’t know what this means to me.”

But Alicia thought she did.

Chapter Three

Denver, Colorado

The associate circled the darkened building twice before opening a back door and slipping through. It was Sunday, just past midnight. The deserted streets were muddy from recent rain. He kicked his boots against the wall to loosen some of the caked dirt, then pushed his coat behind the handle of his revolver, exposing it for quick access. Even though he’d yet to encounter anyone else in this part of the building, he wouldn’t take any chances.

He made his way through the basement to a hidden door. It opened without a sound, exposing a staircase that few knew existed. The area was pitch black but he knew the way by heart and proceeded with caution up the narrow stairwell. Gun drawn, he worked his way to the top floor of the building and stopped, listening. When he was satisfied that no unwanted guests were in the office, he opened the door and peered inside. The only occupant was the one he sought.

“No one saw you?” the occupant asked.

“What do you think?” the associate responded. He’d done this same thing for weeks without anyone suspecting, yet his boss on the other side of the desk always asked.

“What have you learned?” The occupant of the desk had not looked up from the papers he scanned.

He’s a confident son of a bitch
, the associate thought. “He’s careful of what he says in front others. None of his people know all the details on any of his businesses. On the surface, he appears to be a legitimate businessman, but I agree with you. Something isn’t right. He’s too secretive—too vague with his orders. I did find what may be another set of books. They were in his wall safe along with a list of what appear to be names.”

“Appear to be?”

“They’re written in a code. It’ll take time to figure it out.”

“What do you think you’ll find?” The boss looked up for the first time. His razor sharp gaze pierced his visitor.

“Perhaps what we need to finish this job.”

Satisfied with the answer, the boss glanced back down at his papers. “What do you need from me?”

“The best decoder available. He’s in Baltimore but would come out here if I asked.”

“Ask him.” The boss stood from his desk, grabbed the overcoat hanging on a rack, and slipped it on. He followed the same procedure at the end of each visit—an obvious dismissal.

The associate turned, opened the door to the staircase, and left the way he had come.

******

Connor walked into Ira Walsh’s office and plunked down in one of the empty chairs that faced the desk. Walsh stood with his back to his newest—but perhaps most important—hired hand. Connor hadn’t been with him long, but he’d been recommended by a business contact that Ira had known for a long time. The one irritant to Ira was that Connor did not use a last name. No one seemed to know it. But Connor was a man with connections who got results, and didn’t care much about how he got them.

Ira stared out the window to the street below at the constant march of horses, buggies, and wagons. It was early winter, but commerce never seemed to slow down in the booming city of Denver. Everyone was there for a reason—land, money, power, a new start—and everyone arrived from somewhere else.

“Any news on the Widow Bierdan?” Ira asked Connor.

“It’s only been a few weeks since her husband died, but yes, I hear she has spoken of selling the ranch.” Eloise had moved out from the East to marry Gordon Bierdan, a man twenty years her senior. Most of the good ranch hands had left after her husband’s death. Connor figured it wouldn’t be long before Ira would send someone to Cold Creek to negotiate a sale by whatever means available.

“And the ranch on the other side? The Langdon spread?”

“He’s struggling. Grant Taylor has shown an interest in both the Bierdan and Langdon ranches, but I’ve heard of no offers. It would be a sizable investment for Taylor. He’d need to borrow heavily.” Connor threw this last out more to gauge Walsh’s reaction than as a statement of truth.

“Which could play in our favor,” Walsh said as he stroked his mustache. “If he doesn’t have the men or capital to take on two additional ranches, he’d still need Bierdan’s place for easy access to the Langdon land. If nothing else, Taylor could go after the widow’s property for the timber.”

What Walsh said was true. Gordon Bierdan’s ranch had supported him and his wife but there had never been enough money to expand. Sixty percent of the land was mountainous, with miles of excellent timber but little area for grazing. Gordon hadn’t had the vision to see the goldmine he held in lumber but Grant Taylor had. Unfortunately, Bierdan’s pursuit of vengeance against perceived wrongs by Taylor had tainted his judgment and ultimately lead to his death. No, Ira’s partner in the “cattle relocation business,” as Ira preferred to call it, had failed. Now he was left to expand his wealth and holdings without the deceased rancher.

Thinking it over, Ira believed Bierdan’s death had been the best possible outcome. Cattle rustling on a large scale could be profitable—had funded most of Ira’s operations—but was drawing more attention from the likes of Tom Horn and other Range Detectives. It was time to expand his existing businesses, such as the acquisition of land.

“Have you confirmed Dunnigan’s interest in the land?” Walsh asked.

“He’s still as interested as you are in the Cold Creek area. Has had his attorney, Drew MacLaren, send correspondence asking for a meeting once Mrs. Bierdan is over her mourning.”

“Yes, our crippled patron.” Ira knew of the MacLarens, and knew what had happened to Louis Dunnigan’s attorney in the Cold Creek shootout. He’d known almost from the day it had happened.

“Send a message to Mrs. Bierdan. Express my interest in her property and ask that she not accept any other offers until I’ve had a chance to present my terms. Let her know that I will be quite generous if she decides to sell to me.”

“Will you be the one handling the negotiations?”

“Yes, but from a distance for as long as possible. I may have someone ride ahead, scout out the situation, and learn if there are others interested in her land besides Dunnigan and Taylor. One can never be too careful. Isn’t that right, Conner?”

Connor raised his eyebrows, but nodded, then shut the office door behind him.

******

“Excuse me?”

Connor looked down at the pretty young woman who stood before him. “May I help you?”

“I hope so. We’ve just arrived on the train and are looking for this address.” Tessa Taylor held out the worn piece of paper.

Connor scanned the address, then paused at the name written at the bottom.
Interesting
. “Yes, I do know this address and would be pleased if you’d allow me to accompany you and …?”

“My aunt. Well, she’s not actually my aunt. She’s Mr. MacLaren’s.” Tessa nodded toward a woman who stood a few feet away on the train platform. The woman looked to be in her fifties. Her brown hair was streaked with gray and pulled into a neat bun, all tucked under a wide bonnet. She stood ramrod straight and her eyes widened a little as they locked on the man speaking with Tessa.

Connor’s gaze lingered on the older woman for a few moments before returning to the young lady. “I’d be happy to escort you and your aunt to Mr. MacLaren’s. I’m Connor.” He tipped his hat to Tessa.

“Pleased to meet you Mr. Connor,” Tessa began.

“Just Connor, ma’am.”

“Well, all right then, Connor. I’m Tessa Taylor and this is Mrs. Alicia MacLaren,” she responded as they walked over to stand beside Alicia.

“Mrs. MacLaren.” Connor made a slight bow to Alicia.

“Connor is it?” Alicia continued to scrutinize the stranger, not sure if she felt grateful or wary. There was something familiar about him. “You know the address. Does that mean you know my nephew?”

“I have had the pleasure. Now, if you’re ready, I’ll see to your trunks and we’ll be on our way.”

“Is Mr. MacLaren a relative of yours, Miss Taylor?” Connor asked as a way to spend the time while the buggy moved along.

“No. A friend. He visited us not long back and helped us with some problems at our ranch.” Tessa glanced at the handsome man. He wore his tan colored greatcoat over black slacks, white shirt, and black vest. His head was shielded from the sun by a black western style hat that was common in this part of the country.

“Tessa decided to accompany me, and since she knows my nephew—was present when he was injured—it seemed like a good idea,” Alicia added. She didn’t know why she felt the need to elaborate, but something about Connor made her want to prolong the conversation, see if something he said would help her figure out why he seemed familiar.

“I see,” was all the reply she got.

It wasn’t long before Alicia and Tessa were walking up the stone steps to Drew’s home, leaving Connor to guard the buggy. Tessa smoothed her skirt and tried to force down a case of intense nerves that had assaulted her when they pulled in front of the house. She took a deep breath as Alicia knocked once, then twice.

The door flew open and a deep voice greeted them. “May I help you?”

Tessa blinked at the tall, mature gentleman who answered the door. But he was no old man. He wore tan slacks with a white high-collared shirt, thin black tie, and tan vest. His coat was black with long tails that draped to within a few inches of the back of his knees. The hand that held open the door was large with thick fingers. He stood at least six-feet-six-inches tall and appeared to be solid muscle. There was a thin, jagged scar that ran from his left ear to the edge of his mouth.

“I believe you can,” Alicia answered. “We’re looking for my nephew, Drew MacLaren. We were given this address.”

“Ah, Mrs. Alicia MacLaren, correct? Yes, Mr. MacLaren speaks of you and his brothers often. I’m Mr. Jericho, his manservant. And you are?” He looked at Tessa.

“This is Tessa Taylor, Mr. Jericho. She is a friend of my nephew’s.” Alicia answered when it became apparent that Tess was still locked in her perusal of the large man.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Taylor. Mr. MacLaren is still at his office but I’m sure he’d want you to make yourselves comfortable. I’ll inform him of your arrival as soon as I see to your bags.”

Alicia and Tessa walked into the spacious front room as Mr. Jericho continued outside and crossed the few steps to the carriage.

“Connor.”

“Jericho,” Connor responded.

“You know who the women are, correct?”

Connor nodded as he lifted the trunks off the wagon. “How is MacLaren doing?”

“I work his legs every day and make sure he soaks in a hot bath each night, as the doctor recommended, but nothing yet. He’s frustrated but hasn’t given up.”

Connor settled on the carriage seat and took hold of the reins. “Let me know if there’s any improvement.”

******

“How are you doing, Mr. MacLaren? Any feeling at all?” Doctor Garland lifted one of Drew’s legs and began to poke, attempting to illicit a response.

“Nothing.”

Jericho had been working on Drew’s legs each day and night, applying the liniments and oils the doctor had prescribed, working them into his useless muscles. A couple of times Drew had thought he’d felt a twinge, but that was over a week ago, and nothing since.

“Helen, help me turn Mr. MacLaren over,” Doctor Garland instructed the middle aged woman who stood by the door. Drew had seen her on each visit, but she’d always remained silent. “Everything has healed fine. Not as much scarring as I’d expect. The doctor who did the surgery had a skilled hand. You were fortunate,” Garland said as they rolled Drew to his back.

“Fortunate?” Drew’s sarcasm escaped before he could contain it.