Wildfire Creek (2 page)

Luke positioned himself several yards away from where the gang had used a line to string their horses. All had remained saddled. The only item missing for a quick escape was the gold. He could see Dutch crouched at the corner of the rickety house, checking his guns again and stifling a yawn. It had surprised both men to see no guards posted. Luke figured Flatnose had become more arrogant as time passed and their crimes had gone undetected. He’d always believed stupidity played a key role in catching most outlaws.

He glanced up to see Dutch’s signal, indicating movement inside. Not a minute later, several men walked out carrying saddlebags, plus small metal boxes balanced on their shoulders. They were silent as they trekked the short distance to their horses and secured their loads. Once finished, they started back inside, not once looking around, even though the early morning light made it easy to see.

As soon as they were out of sight, Luke moved with quiet confidence toward the horses. He checked the saddlebags on one horse, found nothing, then moved to the box. Surprised it had no lock, he lifted the lid to find it filled with gold. He quickly checked one more before signaling Dutch and reclaiming his position behind a stand of bushes a few yards away.

“Hurry up. We need to move,” Flatnose’s voice boomed through the quiet morning air. He stepped aside as several men walked past him, heading for their horses, and carrying more boxes.

Nine men stood with the horses, including Flatnose. Dutch signaled Luke as the last three men stepped out of the house and onto the porch.

“Hands up, gentlemen.” Dutch leveled his pistols at the outlaws as their hands moved for their guns. “I wouldn’t try it,” he warned and glanced toward Luke, who’d drawn his weapons and pointed them toward the men standing near Flatnose.

“Everyone stay where you are and don’t move.” Luke made his way toward the cover of a large boulder, where he’d left his rifle, keeping his eyes focused on Flatnose.

No one moved until a laugh broke out from one of the men Dutch had covered—the same man Dutch had seen with Flatnose hours before. “You really think you can take all of us?”

“Doesn’t matter. You and Flatnose will be the first to die.” Luke’s words slipped out as shots blasted near the house. He shifted his gaze from Flatnose long enough to see two outlaws lying motionless. It was seconds too long.

Fifteen seconds seemed like minutes as bullets flew, men shouted, and bodies fell. Later, Luke wouldn’t be able to recall how he’d made it behind the boulder with a wound to his head, or how Dutch had taken two hits and still remained alive. When he woke, he found himself face down in the dirt, a small pool of blood under his head.

Luke pushed to his feet, feeling nauseous and dizzy. He didn’t stop moving until he found Dutch trying to tie a kerchief around the wound to his leg with his one good arm, the other one hanging useless.

“How many did we get?” Dutch’s jaw clenched at the pain ripping through his body.

“I counted six, including the two on the porch.”

“Five got away.” Dutch rested his back against the house, angry they’d let so many escape.

“Why didn’t they stay around to finish us?”

“You don’t remember?”

Luke shot a disgusted look at Dutch before lowering himself to one of the porch steps and resting his head in his hands. “I don’t remember much after you shot the first ones.”

“Not a second passed before you plugged the two closest to you, then spun and hit one more. I hit another before taking shots in my leg and arm as Flatnose and the rest of his men mounted and took off. One of their bullets must have grazed your head.”

Luke looked toward the bodies several yards away. “Guess I’d better load them on horses and deliver them to the sheriff, along with any gold the outlaws left behind.”

“Then what?”

Luke leveled his gaze at Dutch. “If Pinkerton gives the okay, we follow them to Montana.”

Chapter One

Splendor, Montana Territory

Two months later

Water from the falls a mile away could be heard over the rippling creek where Luke Pelletier sat contemplating—he wasn’t quite certain about what. No one would accuse him of being an introspective sort, given to long hours of self-reflection. Immediate action had always been the force which drove him, becoming second nature during his youth in Savanah and during his time fighting for the Confederate Army against the Northern Aggressionists.

Several weeks earlier Luke had returned to Redemption’s Edge, the ranch he and his brother, Dax, owned. He and Dutch had followed the outlaws into Montana before losing them over the rough terrain. They didn’t have any leads. All they knew was Flatnose had a ranch somewhere in the massive territory. It didn’t take long for the citizens committee to notify Pinkerton they no longer required their services. Dutch had been reassigned to a case in Denver, while Luke rode home.

He reached down to pluck a flower from the edge of Wildfire Creek, the place he went to relax from the never-ending activities around the ranch. He rolled the stem between his fingers before placing it in the running water to watch it drift from sight.

Ever since Dax had married Rachel Davenport, he’d struggled. A constant state of unease plagued him, causing Luke to doubt his decision to stay in Montana. The restlessness had nothing to do with Dax and Rachel’s marriage. He’d encouraged it, been glad when Dax came to his senses and asked her to marry him. Something else troubled Luke, but he had yet to identify the cause.

He watched as a small rock struggled to keep its spot on the edge of a short drop off into the creek. It clung to the spot as the fast moving stream pounded against it, as if telling the stone it didn’t belong there. Luke rested his arms across his bent knees and focused on the one rock, finding himself hoping it withstood the water’s onslaught. His mind drifted to the last two years and the enormous changes he and Dax had experienced since leaving their Savannah home to search for new lives away from the war’s destruction.

He ended his final assignment for the South in a role he’d undertaken numerous times during the war—Southern spy gathering information which could be used to thwart the Union Army. He’d known they’d suspected his intentions, but the Northerners finally accepted him as a Southern boy with sympathies toward the Union cause. It had taken time to build the ruse, using family contacts and friends he and his family had developed over many years in the merchant business.

Although based in Savannah, they’d transported and sold goods throughout the Eastern seaboard. The list of people they called friends had been long and illustrious, allowing them to enter some of the finest homes. Luke even courted the daughter of an affluent New York banker. The war had ended the courtship, as well as life as everyone knew it—especially those from the South.

He focused once more on the small stone, which stubbornly held its spot, refusing to be dislodged. A few yards away, a tree branch made its way through the current, inching closer to the rock. It whirled as the water pushed it one direction, then another before sweeping over the place where Luke’s stone clung tenaciously to the ledge. When the branch moved on, the rock was gone, uprooted by the strength of the broken limb. He wondered if he also grasped for something out of his control in an effort to fight off the growing feeling of detachment.

For most of his life he’d distanced himself from Dax, never feeling quite as capable. He loved his brother, would do anything for him, but he always felt as if he lurked somewhere on the edge of Dax’s shadow.

When their younger brother, Andre, was born, Luke obtained the status as the middle brother—an almost invisible son in a family made up of individuals with distinct personalities. Their father counted on Dax to continue and grow the family businesses. Their mother doted on Andre. Luke became almost invisible, spending much of his time in the stables, helping train horses while building a reputation as the rascal of the family. He’d come and go at will, solidifying his standing as somewhat of a rogue, although a charming one. Early in life he’d made up his mind he wanted nothing more than to find adventure wherever he could, never committing to the ties of marriage and children.

The sound of voices pulled Luke from his musings. He glanced around and listened intently, rising in a quiet, fluid motion, pulling his Remington .44 from its holster. The voices came again. Most of their Indian neighbors were friendly, even visiting the local doctor when their own medicine failed. Others were hostile. Hunger and what they considered travesties against their people by the white man drove some to raid local ranchers and, on occasion, kill. A couple of years before, a group of eastern Montana Sioux had reportedly taken several white settlers prisoner. They’d never been seen again.

He’d left Prince, his palomino stallion, in a nearby pasture to graze on the thick grass. The voices came from the opposite direction, across the creek from where he stood. He stepped backwards in quiet strides, bending low, taking cover behind a large boulder partially surrounded by shrubs and pines, and waited.

The Indians made their way down the opposite slope toward the stream, stopping directly across from where Luke had rested a few minutes before. He guessed them to be part of the Blackfoot renegade band led by Long Feather. There’d been numerous complaints of missing cattle and the ranchers were quick to blame the renegades. From what he’d heard, Long Feather’s band tended to raid and steal from their traditional enemies rather than ignite the wrath of the white man’s army. However, desperation could make any man take risks to care for his family.

They stood in a small circle and spoke in quiet voices. Luke guessed they were a hunting party in search of food. One pointed upriver, while another seemed to think they should head downstream. It appeared they’d made the decision to retrace their steps up the hill when Prince let out a loud whinny, followed by another.

Luke glanced toward his horse, then back at the group, who’d stopped and looked around for the source of the noise. All carried bows and quivers filled with arrows. They readied them as they crossed the creek, drawing closer to Luke’s hiding place. He raised his gun and fired into the air, hoping they’d stop or turn back. They ignored the warning.

“You’re on Pelletier land,” he shouted, stepping from behind the protection of the boulder.

The man in the lead stopped for a split second to stare at him, then charged.

He fired another two shots at their feet. It was enough to stop them and give him time to sprint toward Prince and swing into the saddle, tapping his heels against his horse’s side. It was all the encouragement the animal needed.

He felt an arrow fly past his face before feeling another pierce his shoulder, a sharp pain spreading down his arm. Luke transferred the reins to his other hand, slumped low over Prince’s neck, and glanced behind him. They’d disappeared.

“What the hell?” Bull muttered when he spotted Luke riding in, the sleeve of his shirt covered in blood, an arrow sticking out of his shoulder. “Whoa, Prince.” Bull raised his hands, signaling the horse to stop before catching the reins as well as Luke’s body as it began to slump from the saddle. “Dax, Rachel, come quick!” He cradled him in his arms and climbed the front steps to the door as Dax pulled it open.

“Rachel,” Dax called and directed Bull to a back bedroom, where he positioned Luke on his side.

“What is…?” Rachel’s voice faded when her gaze landed on her brother-in-law. She hurried to the bed and began to inspect the injury before turning to Dax. “Get my bag, hot water, clean towels, and whiskey.”

“I’ll get the hot water, boss.” Bull headed toward the kitchen as Dax took the stairs two at a time, heading for their bedroom.

During the war, Rachel had been a Union Army nurse, working in some of the most primitive conditions while trying to keep men alive long enough to provide treatment. Almost a year ago, she’d traveled to Splendor to help her uncle, Doctor Charles Worthington, with his medical practice. Until a few minutes ago, she’d been enjoying a relaxing Sunday with her husband.

Rachel cut Luke’s shirt away, careful to avoid pulling the area around the wound. She touched the arrow’s shaft, trying to judge if it had lodged against a bone. It didn’t budge. He moaned, then began to stir.

Dax laid her bag on a table at the same time Bull walked into the room with a pot of hot water, followed by their resident cook and housekeeper, Bernice.

“Luke, can you hear me?” Rachel asked.