Old habits die hard. Douglas had never forgotten how to pick a lock or get in and out of a building without being seen. He’d spent several years living on the streets of New York City, surviving by his wits and his criminal skills, before he met his three brothers and his baby sister, and headed west. Before that, he’d been in an orphanage. Granted, he’d been only a boy when he’d perfected his criminal technique. But it was like making love to a woman. After you learned how, you never forgot.
His experience as a petty thief came in real handy now. So did the rain, for it kept the night owls inside their homes. Boyle’s men weren’t a problem, just an inconvenience. Douglas stashed the buggy in a cove near their lair on the hill overlooking Sweet Creek, then crept up on the four men and listened to their conversation in hopes of gaining some useful information about their boss. He didn’t learn anything significant. Other than taking Boyle’s name in vain several times because he’d assigned them this miserable duty, the men spent the rest of the time boasting to one another about the number of shots of whiskey they could swallow in a single sitting. They were incredibly boring, and after listening to their whining complaints for almost twenty minutes, Douglas hadn’t heard anything significant. He was about to make a wide circle around them and continue on when Boyle’s men decided to leave their posts and go back into town for the night. Not only had the weather finally gotten to them, but they were also certain their boss would never find out.
Their laziness made Douglas’s task easier. He made six trips on his sorrel back and forth from the general store to the buggy with supplies Isabel would need, then headed across town to Dr. Simpson’s cottage.
He didn’t knock. He went in the back door because, just as Isabel suspected, Boyle was keeping a close watch on the physician. He had a man stationed out front. Douglas spotted the guard leaning against a hitching post across the street with a rifle in one hand and a bottle of liquor in the other. There wasn’t anyone watching the back, however. Douglas figured Boyle had ordered one of his men to do just that, but like the complainers up on the hill, he’d probably sneaked home too.
Douglas had forgotten that Isabel had told him Simpson was married. His wife was tucked in nice and tight beside him, sleeping on her side with her back to her husband. All Douglas saw was a puff of gray hair above the covers.
He didn’t use his gun to wake the elderly man. He simply put his hand over the doctor’s mouth, whispered that he was a friend of Isabel Grant’s, and asked him to come downstairs to talk.
The doctor was apparently used to being awakened in the dead of night. Babies, Douglas knew, often came during that inconvenient time. Although the physician seemed wary, he didn’t argue with him.
His wife didn’t wake up. Simpson shut the door behind him and led Douglas to his study. He pulled the drapes closed and then lit a candle.
“Are you really a friend of Isabel’s?”
“Yes, I am.”
“And your name?”
“Douglas Clayborne.”
“You don’t intend to hurt Isabel?”
“No.”
The doctor still didn’t look convinced.
“I want to help her,” Douglas insisted.
“Maybe so, maybe not,” Simpson replied. “You aren’t from around here, are you? How do you know our Isabel?”
“Actually, I only just met her. Her husband sold me an Arabian stallion a couple of months ago, but I was expanding my business back then and couldn’t come for the horse until I’d hired some extra hands.”
“But you’re a friend. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
Simpson stared at him a long minute, slowly rubbing his whiskered jaw until he had worked out whatever it was that was bothering him, and finally nodded. “Good,” he said. “She needs a friend as big and hard-looking as you, young man. I hope to God you are hard when it comes to protecting her. You know how to use that gun you’re wearing?”
“Yes.”
“Are you fast and accurate?”
Douglas felt as though he were undergoing an inquisition but didn’t take offense because he knew the physician had Isabel’s safety uppermost in his mind. “I’m fast enough.”
“I saw your shotgun on the table in the hall,” Simpson said. “Are you also good with that weapon?”
Douglas didn’t see any harm in being completely honest. “I prefer my shotgun.”
“Why is that?”
“It leaves a bigger hole, sir, and if I shoot someone, I shoot to kill.”
The doctor grinned. “I expect that’s the way it ought to be,” he remarked.
He sat down behind his desk and motioned for Douglas to take a seat across from him.
He declined with a shake of his head.
“How’s our girl doing? I sure wish I could see her. I expect she’s getting big and awkward about now.”
“She had the baby last night.”
“Good Lord Almighty, she had the baby? It came much too soon. What’d she have? A boy or a girl?”
“A boy.”
“Did he make it?”
“Yes, but he’s thin, terribly thin . . . and little. His cry is real weak too.”
Simpson leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “It’s a miracle he survived. Besides being weak, is he acting sick?”
“I don’t know if he is or not. He sleeps most of the time.”
“Is he nursing?”
“He’s trying to,” he answered.
“Good. That’s real good,” he said. “His mama’s milk will fatten him up. Tell Isabel to try to nurse him every hour or so until he’s stronger. He’ll only take a little each time, but that’s all right. If the baby refuses to eat, or can’t keep it down, then we’ve got a real problem on our hands. I don’t know what good I could do for him if he gets into trouble. He’s too young for medicine. We’ve just got to pray he makes it. A chill will kill him, so you’ve got to keep him varm all the time. That’s real important, son.”
“I’ll keep him warm.”
“I don’t want to sound grim . . . It’s just, you have to understand and accept the facts. There’s a good chance the baby won’t make it, no matter what you do.”
“I don’t want to think about that possibility.”
“If it happens, you have to help Isabel get through it. That’s what friends do.”
“Yes, I will.”
“How is she doing? Did she have any problems I should know about?”
“She had a difficult time with the laboring. She looks all right now.”
“You helped her bring the baby?”
“Yes.”
“Did she tear?”
“No, but she sure bled a lot. I don’t know if it was more than what’s expected. I’ve never delivered a baby before. I ask her how she’s doing, and that seems to embarrass her and she refuses to talk about it.”
The doctor nodded. “If she were in real trouble, she’d tell you for her son’s sake. Try to keep her calm, and be real careful about upsetting her. Isabel’s a strong woman, but she’s vulnerable now. New mothers tend to become emotional, and I don’t expect Isabel to be any different. The least little thing might set her off, and she doesn’t need to be fretting about anything. Paul Morgan’s wife cried for a full month. She plumb drove her husband to distraction worrying about her. The woman cried when she was happy and when she was sad. There wasn’t any rhyme or reason to it. Eventually she snapped out of it. Isabel’s got more serious problems to deal with. I don’t know how I’d stand it if I had Boyle breathing down my neck. I’m sure worried about her son though, coming early like he did, and I know she must be worried too. If the baby makes it, are you planning to stay with our girl until he can be moved?”
“Yes, I’m staying. How long do you think that will be?”
“At least eight weeks, but ten would be even better if he’s slow to put on weight. I’m mighty curious about something, son. How’d you manage to get to Isabel’s ranch in the first place?”
“It was dark and I was taking the most direct route, using the moonlight to guide me, until it disappeared and the rain started. I almost ran into Boyle’s lookouts by accident then. They were so drunk they didn’t hear me. I wondered what they were doing hiding out in the rain,” he admitted with a shrug. “But I wasn’t curious enough to find out. I’m glad now I didn’t stop.”
“It was dangerous riding down the mountain path in the dark.”
“I took my time, walked some of the way, and the light in Isabel’s window provided a beacon for me.”
“Are you sure you can get back to her tonight?”
“I’m sure.”
“I wish I were younger and more agile. I’d try to get to Isabel in the dark too, but I don’t dare chance it at my age. I was never very good with horses. They scare me,” he admitted. “I’ve fallen more than I care to recollect. Now I use a buggy, and my wife helps me rig the horses up every morning. Besides, even if I could get there, Boyle might hear about it and then my Trudy would get hurt. No, I can’t chance it, but I thank the Lord you came along.”
“You told me there wasn’t anything you could do for the baby now,” Douglas reminded him.
“I could be a comfort to Isabel. She’s like a daughter to Trudy and me. After Parker died, I asked her to move in with us, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She’s determined to stand on her own two feet. Trudy pleaded with her to at least stay with us until after the baby was born; then Boyle got wind of our plans and put a stop to it. My wife found a nice little cottage down the road from us, and we wanted Isabel to consider moving in there and raising her baby in Sweet Creek. She’d be as independent as she wanted, yet close enough that we could lend a hand every now and then.”
The doctor’s affection for Isabel made Douglas like him all the more. “I’ll take good care of her and the baby,” he promised.
“Have you noticed how pretty she is yet?”
Douglas felt like laughing, so absurd was the question. “Yes, I noticed.”
“Then I’ve got to ask you what your intentions are, son.”
The question blindsided him. “Excuse me?”
“I’m going to be blunt, and I expect I’ll rile you. Still, I’ve got to ask. After she recovers from childbirth, do you plan on dallying with her?”
He’d never heard it put quite that way before. “No.”
Simpson didn’t look convinced. He suggested Douglas pour each of them a shot of brandy, waited until he’d given him a glass, and then leaned back in his chair to think about the situation. “It might happen anyway,” he remarked
“I’ve only known Isabel for—”
Simpson interrupted him. “You just promised me you’d stay with her for ten weeks, remember? You’re a man of your word aren’t you?”
“Yes, and I will stay, but that doesn’t mean I’ll . . .”
“Son, let me tell you about a man I happened to run into in River’s Bend.”
Douglas could feel his frustration mounting. He didn’t want to hear a story now. He wanted to talk about Boyle and get as much information about the man as he could.
The doctor wasn’t going to be rushed, if the way he sipped his brandy and stared off into space were any indication. Age gave the older man the benefit of Douglas’s attention and respect, and so Douglas leaned against the side of the desk and waited for the tale to be told.
It took Simpson over thirty minutes to tell his story about three couples who got stranded in a snowstorm and stayed together in a miner’s shack for the entire winter. By the time the spring thaw came, the six of them had formed what the doctor called an undying friendship. Yet five years later, he happened to meet one of the survivors and asked him several questions. To the doctor’s amazement, the gentleman couldn’t remember the name of one of the men he’d spent the winter with.
“That’s the point of my story,” Simpson said. “Yes, sir, it is. You’re going to be living close to Isabel for a long time, and I want you to remember the fella I just told you about. He pledged his friendship, went so far as to call the other two men his brothers, yet once he got on with his life, he plumb forgot about them.”
“I understand,” Douglas said.
“Do you? Isabel has a good heart, and she sure is an easy person to love. It’s the future I’m worried about, after you take care of this business with Boyle and go back home. You are going to do something about the tyrant, aren’t you?”
Simpson had finally gotten to the topic Douglas wanted to discuss. “It seems I am,” he said. “Tell me what you know about Boyle.”
“I know the man’s a monster.” His voice echoed his disgust. “The only reason I’m still breathing is that he thinks he might have need of my services in the future. He’s threatened to kill me, but I don’t think he’d do it. Doctors are hard to come by in these parts. He’d hurt my Trudy though. Yes, he would.”
“Isabel told me that only a few men in this town have had the courage to stand up to Boyle and that you were one of them. Why won’t the others help?”
“Everyone that I know would like to help, but they’re afraid. They’ve seen what happens to those good men who have tried. If one of them so much as whispers about doing something to help Isabel, word gets back to Boyle, and then the instigator gets hurt bad. Both of Wendell Border’s hands were broken after he told a couple of men he thought were his friends that he was going to find the U.S. marshal everyone’s been hearing glory tales about. The lawman was scouring the territory, looking for some wanted men, but Wendell never got the chance to go hunting for him. Boyle’s men got to poor Wendell before he could even leave town. While I was setting his broken hands, I promised him in a whisper that I’d find a way to get help here. I promised him I’d pray too.”
“Were you going to go hunting for the lawman?”
“No, I’m too old and worn out to go hunting for anyone. My Trudy, fortunately, came up with a better idea. Twice a week I go into Liddyville to see patients there. It’s only two hours away from Sweet Creek by buggy,” he added. “My wife told me to use the telegraph office there and send wires to all the sheriffs in the territory. She thinks one or two might want to help us. I took it a step further and sent wires to two preachers Wendell told me about and asked them to help with the hunt for the marshal. I still haven’t heard back from anyone, but I’ve got this feeling that if the Texan hears about our trouble, he’ll come, especially if he knows a mother with a brand-new baby needs help. Why, he’ll drop everything and come running.”
“Why do you think—”
Simpson wouldn’t let him finish his question. “If the rumors are true, the marshal accidentally caused some women and children to get killed during a bank robbery in Texas. He didn’t know they were inside and being used as shields when he and his men rushed in. From what we’ve heard about the robbers, they would have killed them anyway, but the marshal still blames himself. Oh, he’ll come all right . . . if he hears of our trouble. Sure wish I knew the fella’s name. It would make chasing him down easier, I expect.”
“You’re looking for Daniel Ryan,” Douglas told him. “My brothers have been searching for him too.” He paused when he heard the creak of the steps behind him. “Did we wake your wife?”
“No, but she’s used to snuggling up against me and she must have awakened when she got cold.”
“Would you mind telling her to put the gun down?”
Simpson was astonished. “Do you have eyes in the back of your head? Trudy, put that away and come in here. I want you to meet Isabel’s friend. He’s promised to help our girl.”
Douglas turned around and nodded to the woman. “I’m sorry I disturbed you and your husband,” he began.
Trudy laid the gun on the desk and rushed forward to shake Douglas’s hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong for a woman her size, for the top of her head barely reached his shoulders.
“The doctor and I were praying for a miracle. Looks like we might have gotten one. I know you aren’t Marshal Ryan. You’re big like we were told he was, but you don’t have yellow hair and blue eyes, and our preacher gave us a good description of the lawman so we’d recognize him if he came into town. We pray every Sunday that the dear man will hear of our troubles and come here. Could you be a friend of the marshal’s? Did he send you here?”
“No, ma’am, he didn’t send me here.”
She couldn’t hide her disappointment. “But you’re still going to help our little girl?”
Douglas smiled. The Simpsons’ affection for Isabel pleased him. God only knew, she needed good friends now, and it was nice to know she had two champions in Sweet Creek trying to look out for her.
“Yes, I’m going to help her.”
She squeezed his hand before she let go. “Doctor, I expect I’ll go into the kitchen now.” She waited until her husband nodded agreement before she looked at Douglas again. “You won’t be leaving until I’ve packed some leftovers for you to take.”
“You’ll have to work in the dark, Trudy,” her husband told her.
“I expect I’ll manage. I’ll light a candle and put it in the hallway. No one can see inside, doctor.”
“Ma’am, I really should be heading back to Isabel.”
She shook her head at him and left the library in a near run.
Simpson chuckled. “You might as well relax, son. Trudy isn’t going to let you leave without a bag full of her home cooking. Sit on down in a chair, proper like, and tell me why your brothers have been searching for the Texan. Do you have troubles where you come from that need the law?”
“No,” Douglas answered. “Ryan helped one of my brothers. The fact is, he saved Travis’s life.”
“So you’re wanting to thank him.”
“Yes, but also get back a compass he . . . borrowed.”
“Now, that sounds like a mighty curious tale.”
“I’ll tell you all about it some other time,” Douglas promised. “When I was coming here, I noticed your town has a wire service, and I was wondering why you had to go to Liddyville to send your telegrams.”
“The only way you could have seen the telegraph office is if you’d been inside the general store. It’s in the back room. Why’d you go in there?”
“To get some supplies.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“No.”
“Good,” Simpson whispered. “You broke in, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you snap the lock or break a window?”
Douglas was a bit insulted by the question. “No, of course not. Cooper won’t know I was there unless he does a close inventory.”
Simpson was grinning with pleasure. “I hope you robbed Vernon Cooper blind. His brother, Jasper, runs the wire office, and both the scoundrels are in Boyle’s back pocket. No one in Sweet Creek dares send a wire from here unless they want Boyle to know about it, and that’s why I used the wire service in Liddyville. Just on principle Trudy and I get all our supplies there too. We’d rather go without than give either one of the Coopers our hard-earned money.”
“If Ryan were to show up and arrest Boyle, would the man whose hands were broken testify against him?”
Simpson shook his head. “I expect Ryan will have to find another way to get rid of Boyle,” he said, “or run his henchmen out of town first. Wendell’s too scared to testify. He’s got a wife and two young daughters. He doesn’t dare say a word against Boyle, or his family will pay the consequences. The poor man. He’s got crops that will be ready to harvest in a couple of weeks, and with broken hands he’s going to have to watch them rot.”
“Won’t some of the town help him?”
“They’re afraid to do anything that might make Boyle mad.”
“Why does he want Isabel’s land?”
“He’s telling everyone he wants to put his cattle there to graze. He has a lot of land surrounding his ranch house, but he rents that out to some foreigners who buy cattle down in Texas and have them brought up to his land to fatten up. Boyle’s made a fortune over the last fifteen years, but he’s greedy, and he wants more.”
“If he wants to use Isabel’s land, why doesn’t he do it? She couldn’t stop him, and he has to know that.”
“He doesn’t just want her land, son, he wants her too. He’s real blatant about letting everyone know she’s going to belong to him. Why, he struts around town like a fat rooster inviting people to the wedding. Folks say he started lusting after her the second he saw her.”
“Why is he waiting? He could force her to marry him now.”
“You don’t understand Boyle the way I do. Pride’s involved. He wants her to beg him to marry her, and he figures if he makes her desperate enough, she’ll do just that.”
“Did he kill her husband?”
“If the bullet hadn’t gone through his back, I would have suspected Parker accidentally killed himself. I’m not speaking ill of the dead, you understand. I’m only stating facts, and the fact is that Isabel’s husband was about as useful as a kettle with a hole in the bottom. The man had grand notions about all sorts of things. He treated Isabel good though, real good. And he was kind to crazy old Paddy, even though he knew Boyle would hear of it and be furious.”
Douglas was intrigued. “Being kind to an old man infuriated Boyle?”
“It’s perplexing, isn’t it? Paddy came to Sweet Creek straight from Ireland and had lived here for as long as I could remember. Boyle came along about ten years ago and squatted on the land adjacent to where Isabel is living now. Within a year he started building himself a grand three-story house, and when it was finished, it was as fancy as any you’ll see in the East, I’ll wager you. He filled it with new furniture he had shipped from Europe and then had a big party the whole town was invited to so he could show off the palace. Even Paddy was invited, but something happened that night that started the feud between the two men. No one recollects seeing the two of them together during the shindig, but from that night on, Boyle tormented Paddy with a vengeance. Folks started calling the Irishman crazy then because no matter how often Boyle came after him, Paddy laughed about it. You know what that crazy man told me while I was patching him up one evening? He said he was going to have the last laugh. Can you imagine? The funny thing is, he did.”
“How’d he do that?”
“Well now, I’m getting to that, son. Paddy was dying of consumption. He hung on until one Saturday night, because he knew that was when Boyle always went to the saloon to play cards. I happened to be there that night too, and I’ll tell you it was the strangest dying I’ve ever seen. Paddy had dragged himself out of his sickbed, came into the saloon, and then laid down on the floor. He folded his hands together on top of his chest as though he was already in his coffin and announced he was going to die in a few minutes. That’s when things turned mighty peculiar. Boyle knocked a chair over running to the old man. He knelt down beside him, waving me and everyone else away, and then he grabbed hold of Paddy’s shirt and began to shake him, shouting, ‘Tell me, old man. Tell me who it is.’ ”
“What happened then?” Douglas demanded to know, fascinated by the bizarre story.
“It got even more peculiar, son, that’s what happened. Paddy gave Boyle a big toothless smile and whispered something only Boyle could hear. And then he laughed. As God is my witness, Paddy died laughing. Boyle went crazy. He started choking the dead man and screaming vile names at him. Two of his men had to pull him off the Irishman so the funeral cart could come and collect him, and I heard one of his men ask him why he hadn’t killed Paddy years ago. Boyle was still reeling from whatever it was the Irishman had said to him, and all he would mutter was that he couldn’t kill him without knowing. The following day Trudy and I went to say our good-bye to old Paddy, and I swear to you when I looked in that coffin, that crazy old man had a big smile on his face. Isn’t that the darnedest story you ever heard?”
Douglas agreed with a nod. The doctor let out a loud sigh, and then said, “Boyle got over whatever was bothering him as quick as could be and started in pestering Isabel and Parker Grant the following week. No one saw him kill Parker, but everyone believes he did. I expect he thought our girl would fall right into his hands then, being pregnant and helpless and all. That was his big mistake because there isn’t anything helpless about Isabel. Naturally she’s vulnerable because of the baby, and I figure Boyle, with all his money and power, thought he could snatch her right up.”
“Does he have marriage in mind?”
“Oh, he wants her legal,” Simpson replied. “Since she hasn’t started begging him yet, we think he’s waiting for the baby to come along. He’s a smart one, Boyle is. Most mothers will do anything to feed their little ones. Isabel’s a fine woman, but too pretty for her own good. I lied to Boyle, told him the baby wouldn’t come until the end of September, and Isabel didn’t start showing until she was well into her fifth month, so Boyle has no reason to think I’m lying. I don’t know if the extra time will help much, but I’m hoping Boyle will continue to leave her alone until he sees for himself that the baby’s here.”
“Doctor, the food’s packed up,” Trudy called from the hallway.
Simpson immediately stood up. “What else can I do to help?” he asked.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d send a wire to my brothers telling them I’ll be delayed.”
The doctor motioned to some paper and a pen. “You write it all down, and I’ll see to it first thing in the morning.”
“Do you usually go to Liddyville on Mondays to see patients?”
“No, Tuesdays and Fridays are my usual days, but I could come up with a reason to go early.”
“There isn’t any need for that. Besides, you shouldn’t change your routine.”
“Are you planning to bring in some help soon?”
“Yes.”
“I expected you would,” he replied. “I ought to mention something important first. Boyle’s going to be leaving to attend his annual family gathering in the Dakotas. He’s never missed one in all the years he’s lived here, and everyone expects him to leave real soon. You don’t want him to bring more men back with him, and I know he’ll do just that if he gets word Isabel has evened out the odds. Besides, it’s too risky to move the baby now, and you don’t want to be worrying about Boyle’s men setting her place on fire. They’ll do it as sure as thunder follows lightning if they know you’re inside.”
“How long will Boyle be away?”
“It varies from year to year. There’s just no telling. Last year he was gone six weeks, but the year before he was back in a month. I heard it’s a big family get-together he attends, and because he’s considered to be the most successful of all the relations, he likes to stay a spell to get their adulation.”
“I’m going to write down a second message I want you to send when the time comes, and I want you to promise me that if you hear from Ryan, you’ll let me know. I’d like to have a word with him.”
“How am I going to get word to you?”
“I’m going to come back every Monday night to check in with you.”
“Just to find out if I’ve heard from the marshal? Son, that sounds like you’re getting false hopes up. The chances of locating him are mighty slim.”
Douglas shook his head. “That isn’t my main reason for checking in with you, sir. If I don’t show up, you’ll know something’s wrong, and that’s when I want you to send the second telegram. Do you understand?”
“I do,” he agreed. “You’ll be careful coming back here?”
“Yes,” he promised. “I wish there was a way I could get Isabel and the baby to you and your wife though.”
“You’d be bringing trouble to town if you tried. Boyle checks in on her, and I’m sure that one of his men will take over the duty while he’s gone. If she isn’t where she’s supposed to be, they’ll tear this town apart looking for her. It won’t do any good to take them to Liddyville because he’s got friends there too, and there isn’t another town close enough to be safe for that newborn. You’ve just got to stay put, son. If you don’t let Boyle’s men see you, they’ll continue to leave Isabel alone. You don’t want that monster coming after you. No, sir, you don’t.”
Douglas didn’t agree. “Just as soon as Isabel and her son are safe, I’m going to want Boyle to come after me. Fact is, I’m looking forward to it.”
The doctor felt a cold draft permeate his bones. Isabel’s champion had smiled when he made his last comment, but his eyes told another story. They were cold . . . deadly.
Simpson took a step back before he realized he didn’t have to be afraid. He followed Douglas into the kitchen and whispered additional advice. “When the time comes, you’ll need help, son. There are twenty-four men working the ranch for Boyle, and every one of them is no good riffraff looking for trouble. With Boyle leading them, that makes twenty-five in all.”
“I’m not worried. My brothers will come.”
Simpson’s wife heard the remark. “How many brothers are in your family?” she asked.
“Five now, including my brother-in-law.”
Simpson looked incredulous. “Five against twenty-five?”
Douglas grinned. “It’s more than enough.”