The railroad wants her land. I’ll stop them—no matter the cost …
Haunted by his outlaw past, Asher Tate has spent years hiding in the Montana wilderness, punishing himself for his sins. But when Lena, a fierce widow, asks for his help to protect her ranch from a ruthless railroad tycoon, Asher’s quiet existence is shattered. The railroad wants Lena’s land at any cost, and their corrupt leader is a man Asher knows all too well—an enemy from the darkest chapter of his life. As their fight against the railroad intensifies, so does the undeniable connection between Asher and Lena. Can they fight the enemy without losing themselves, or will the railroad destroy them both?
Helena, Montana, 1880
“Bella! What is it girl? What’s got you so het up?”
Asher Tate dropped into a crouch, shielding the growling Bella, his large Maremmano sheepdog from the howling wintry gale. An early storm had come off the back of the mountain, blacking out the stars and sending the mixed redwoods and aspens into a swaying frenzy. Usually Asher’s five acres of hill farm on Mount Helena’s west side would be sheltered from the worst of it, but some cruel trick of the season had blanketed everything in a thick crunch of snow.
“Steady girl, we’ve seen worse,” Asher sunk a work-scarred hand into Bella’s thick cream-white fur. He felt the dog trembling against him, but from agitation rather than the cold. The dog strained, letting out a tirade of sharp snarls into the dark.
Down toward the sheep barn. Asher clenched his teeth against winter’s bite. The large, broad-chested man hoped it wasn’t the pack of wolves that Horace Gould, Helena’s sheriff—and Asher’s oldest still-remaining friend—had warned him about. His sharp green eyes squinted into the dark, as the storm tore threads of his chestnut hair from its bun.
It was then that Asher heard them: An eddy in the wind brought to his ears the sudden bleating of his sheep. He had taken the precaution of locking them in their barn as soon as he saw the storm clouds start to pile up and the temperature plummet. But a determined pack of wolves could dig, tear and force their way into a shed, especially if they were freezing and desperate.
“Heel!” Asher commanded to Bella, rising from his crouch and lifting his guttering torch in the air, his other hand pulling his Colt Single Action Army revolver from its holster.
A thunderous bark broke his concentration as Hannah, his bear-like Pyrenean Mastiff broke her leash and flashed past them, straight towards the sheep barn.
“Hell!”
Bella tore from his side in the same movement, charging after her pack-sister and into the gloom.
“Wait!” Asher jumped forward after them. Hannah was huge, and Bella only a fraction smaller, but Sheriff Gould had said there were seven to nine wolves in that pack, and the alpha was a giant. Asher knew his dogs—his only companions at the ranch he had been building for the last three years—wouldn’t hesitate to defend, but he had no wish to see either of them hurt.
He ran through the snow-laden night. His boots, half covered in the raccoon-skin wrap that reached up to his calves, slipped on the treacherous ground. All of Asher’s land was on an incline, with his self-built log hut sitting at the top and his claim stretching out underneath. It was probably the difficult terrain that meant his ranch had been so cheap, and not snapped up by the mega-ranchers that were buying up entire swathes of lowland. But the sheep loved the wooded hillsides, and it meant Asher was mostly left alone—a situation that suited him down to the ground… even if it did mean he had to fight off an entire wolf pack on his own with nothing but two dogs, a torch, and a six-shooter.
“Hannah! Bella? Where you got to?” He skidded again, almost tumbling but turning it into a leaping slide that slammed him against the plank wall of the sheep barn. His dogs were gone, but Asher could hear their ferocious barking, mixed with the terrified screams of the sheep.
There! A section of barn skirting—a plank of wood that ran where the barn met the ground— had been ripped off and the dogs had forced their way in.
I asked Alexander to fix that before the storm!
Asher cussed, jumping through the drifting snow to the barn door. He banged the handle of his Colt against the frozen wooden beam to release it, flipping it out of the way and flinging the door open.
Dang! A tawny-colored shape shot past Asher’s lower body and into the night. He flicked a glance after it, but Hannah and Bella’s snarling dragged his attention back to the barn.
Coyotes. The first had fled past him as soon as he opened the barn door, but a second was in the corner, with Hannah and Bella putting their bodies between it and the terrified sheep. His livestock were wedged into a panicked, stomping huddle in the far corner, and even now, Asher saw them looking at the open door.
No way. He gritted his teeth, pulling the door shut behind him and dropping the internal metal bar into the ground. He couldn’t have his entire flock fleeing out onto the hillside. He might lose a whole lot more from the storm and whatever other critter decided it wanted an easy meal tonight.
“That means I gotta deal with you in here,” Asher turned to stare at the coyote in the corner of his barn. It’s snout was low and it’s feet were splayed in front of it, ready to pounce.
Hannah jumped forward, the mastiff’s paws thumping the ground. She barked with enough force to wake the dead.
“Careful! Back!” Asher demanded. Bella was a year younger than Hannah, she darted forward at the same time, but only after Hannah had started. The sheepdog would follow Hannah into the very jaws of hell if it came to it.
Asher raised his pistol. A grimace crossed his features. A wounded and desperate coyote was even more dangerous than a hungry one. As soon as he fired, it would be mayhem in here. The coyote was snarling ferociously, making small lunging steps left to right. Bella and Hannah were jumping in place, getting in the way.
“Bella! Hannah! Heel, go’damnit! Let me deal with this!” Asher snapped as he took another step forwards. He saw how this coyote was taller than the first, but also thinner. It’s fur clung to its ribs. It was probably the male, seeking to feed its mate.
I don’t want to kill you, but I will. I will for my flock. And my dogs.
The gap in the barn skirting was to the right of the coyote. There was no way the coyote was getting past him.
But maybe…
“Bella, Hannah—heel!” Asher snarled, jumping to the left as Bella followed his lead, pouncing to the left. Hannah stubbornly stayed where she was. Asher waved his torch wildly in the air.
That was all the coyote needed. It panicked, jumping to its right, and instinct forced it back to the scrape under the broken skirting. Hannah jumped forward after it. Asher heard the loud snap of her jaws as they clacked, but then the coyote was gone, and Hannah was worrying at the hole, with a large bit of coyote fur in her muzzle.
“Hannah, back! Heel, to me now!” Asher jumped forwards, throwing himself in the way as Hannah reluctantly noticed that he existed. He forced his dogs back from the gap, setting the torch in a metal sconce on the wall. The barn’s flickering and dancing shadows settled a little, although the sheep still moved back and forth restlessly in the opposite corner.
He wasted no time, crouching before the hole and beckoning his hounds to him.
“C’mere, there’s a good lady. And you Bella. Look at you, best girls in the whole world,” he held out his hands and the pair rushed towards him, covering him in wet noses and slobber.
“Good girls. My brave girls, let’s take a look at you…”
He made sure to check Hannah first, knowing she would have rushed in without thought. There was no blood on her muzzle, she had only caught the disappearing end of the coyote’s tail fur. As he scratched the back of her neck he smoothed his other hand down her throat, neck, shoulders and forelegs. All good. There were no whelps of pain and the only wet he felt came from melted snow, not blood. A quick check underneath her and her hind quarters confirmed the coyote pair hadn’t managed to get their teeth into her.
“Okay. Final job. I know, you don’t like this,” he asked for her paws, making sure to lightly squeeze them to make sure Hannah hadn’t ripped a claw or a pad in her fight. Once again, he was impressed with her brute strength.
“You’re good! Fit as a fiddle. What a girl, hey?” he gave Hannah a last scratch at the base of her tail before performing the same for Bella only to find that she was more excitable, but not injured either.
“Right. I can’t have you tearing off after them… by me now,” he said, pointing at his heels and giving a low whistle. Now that the threat was over, they followed his orders immediately.
He turned his attention to his flock, rolling up his sleeves. This was going to be a longer proposition.
Asher whistled to his dogs, separating out the flock as he eyed them all, before repeating the process and making the herd move in the opposite direction. He couldn’t see any sheep who had been injured; none of them were limping or refusing to get up.
That’s a relief. Hannah and Bella must have followed the pair of coyotes into the barn as soon as they had torn the skirting board. He dragged a bale of hay from the store on the platform that formed the loft, watching as the beasts eagerly rushed towards it. They were happy for another meal.
I’ll have to send Alexander to buy some more, especially if the storm holds out for a few days.
Asher counted his stock. Winter was a hard time on any farm. He had been economical with the feed and hay so far, and hoped he could keep his winning streak.
“Now then,” he turned back to the hole as Hannah and Bella obligingly settled by the door, worrying at their claws as they licked away the last bit of coyote scent. They would probably have a field day tomorrow, running around the ranch as they tried to track the creatures again.
Alexander.
Asher sighed, retying his hair back into its bun. He retrieved a spare half plank from the platform above, as well as the work tools. Black-haired, tall and willowy, Alexander was a good man. Horace Gould had recommended him as Alexander already helped oversee two other smaller ranches around the town of Helena—but he was also a young man full of fire and passion. All of twenty-five years compared to Asher’s thirty-eight, and busy building his own cabin and workshop.
Was I ever like that? Asher wondered as he started nailing the board on the inside.
“Yeah, maybe,” he muttered, half to himself and half to the dogs. The war had been in full swing by the time he was twenty-five, and he had served along with everyone else. Like thousands of other young men, it had broken his heart. A shadow passed over Asher’s mind. But what had been even worse was what he came back to.
“Dang it!” His hand slipped, and he banged the top of his thumb. Bella let out a sympathetic whimper.
“It’s alright, I’m not hurt. Just not keeping my mind straight, that’s all,” Asher murmured. He didn’t want to think about what came after the war. He didn’t want to think about finding his parents penniless with their farm ransacked by soldiers. He didn’t want to think about the sorts of desperate friends he made in that time; the sorts of friends who promised disheartened young men easy gold—brought with the sound of gunfire. Asher especially didn’t want to think about the year he served in Deer Lodge Prison for those decisions.
And now my pa and ma haven’t spoken to me in three years. Asher stared at the wood but didn’t see it. He deserved this life. He deserved to be on his own for the pain he had put others through.
Yeah, that was where idealism and passion could take you if you weren’t careful.
“Forget it.” Asher shook his head, thumping the last nail in place and sitting back with a glower. It was a rush job and he would have to do a better one tomorrow, but he doubted the coyotes would be back before then.
“It’ll have to do.”
He stacked a few extra planks of wood and his works back in front of the mend, before whistling to his dogs, grabbing his torch, and leaving the barn. Hannah and Bella at once took off around the structure, disappearing and barking as they ran the perimeter, returning a few moments later with their tails wagging.
“Yessir, you should be proud. You both did good tonight,” Asher said. He only wished he could feel the same simple pride that his dogs did.
Something tickled his nose. A smell that he wasn’t expecting.
Fire?
His eyes flickered to his cabin above him. The smell of burning gusted around him, hitting him hard. It was too strong to be coming from his chimney. Far too strong.
A trick of the storm caused the winds and snow flurries to lift. There was a red glow coming from across the hill. From Mount Helena’s west side.
“That’s got to be a mighty big fire in this weather…” Asher rocked where he stood. There were more ranches out there, small ones like his on cheap plots with small flocks.
A fire that big wasn’t going to be anything but an entire barn going up. It couldn’t be anything but deliberate.
Quinn Ranch Mount Helena (west side), Montana, 1880
No! Who did this! Why?
Lena Quinn grabbed the bucket of snow and ran towards the burning pyre that had once been her largest and most prized barn. The flames had already taken a hold of three walls, and they billowed upwards as they licked at the roof.
“The livestock!” She shouted—or tried to—because in the next breath she hacked, and her chest feeling like it was burning.
“Lena, ma’am!” A shape jumped to her side, a hand striking out to catch her wrist just as she slipped on the snow, half falling to the ground with great, wheezing coughs.
It was Danny, her cattle-man looming out of the flame-tinged night. His white hair was bedraggled and his beard uncombed, but he had still managed to put on his ten-gallon hat. Danny White was that kind of man; an older gentlemen who had seen it all, done it all, and just the sight of him gave Lena strength.
“The sheep. The horses!” Lena gasped for air.
Danny held her up, one hand pulling one of his large blue-and-white-checked kerchiefs from his pocket. “I got Chestnut and Ruby out. They’re down by the old maple.” He let go of her hand, scooping up a handful of snow with the kerchief and crushing it.
“Hold this to your mouth. When the snow’s melted, wet it and tie it around your face!”
Lena saw that he hadn’t taken his own advice. Her mind caught up with what Danny had just told her.
“Chestnut and Ruby? What about the others? Champion, Constance…” Lena’s heart hammered in her chest. She didn’t have many horses, but Constance and Ruby were going to be the first of her breeding mares next spring. They were the sweetest, gentlest, and steadiest horses and would have made excellent mothers.
Danny shook his head just the once. “Don’t think about it. You need to get out. Ride to the nearest ranch…”
What?
“I will not!” Lena shouted through the muffled kerchief. She took a step away from her foreman. She was aware her feet were cold, but they weren’t freezing yet.
My bare feet. I haven’t had a chance to find shoes yet.
The cold storm winds clutched at the thin nightgown Lena Quinn, all of just over five foot but as graceful as an Aspen tree, wore. She had a shawl thrown over it, but nothing else.
Never mind the cold! My ranch!
“Lena, this was an attack. We got to get you safe! The varmints that did this could still be around,” Danny called. It was then that Lena noticed he had his rifle in one hand. Lena ignored him, grabbing the dropped bucket full of snow and advancing on the cattle barn again.
In just the short time she had been talking to Danny, the fire had taken the roof of the main livestock barn. Worse still, turrets of fire were raging out of the windows near the top. A wave of heat hit Lena, making her eyes water instantly.
“Lena! Don’t be foolish! You can’t save them—they’re gone!” Danny shouted, but Lena took another step. She had to do something, even if it was pathetically small.
The barn door was open, although she didn’t know if that meant Danny had managed to save any of the sheep, or the animals had kicked their way free themselves. She couldn’t see anything but a burning red wall and gales of black smoke laced with snow.
Lena threw the bucket of snow. It disappeared in an instant hiss, the patch of wood that it reclaimed from the door lintel staying dark for a few seconds before the fire licked at it once again.
No. No it can’t be.
The utter futility of her one bucket of snow brought reality crashing around her. Numbness settled through her. She took in her destroyed barn, and then the blackened bodies of her animals—some of them still smoking on her yard floor.
“No. Everything that I’ve built. Everything that I’ve worked for…” Lena whispered. She turned slowly around, and saw the state of her farmhouse. It was damaged, but not burning. Every window had been smashed—it had been the noise of rocks being thrown through her windows that had woken her up.
“Lena. You’re going to catch your death. You need a doctor…” Danny was behind her. Lena was dimly aware that he had Chestnut, her horse, on a tight leash.
It was like Danny was very far away. She knew he was saying things but they didn’t mean anything. Nothing important right now, anyway. What could be more important than losing everything that she and Max had worked to build?
“This was our legacy. This was Max’s legacy.” she whispered.
“Lena! You’re not listening to me. The people who did this could still be out there, right now! I need you to get to safety ma’am!” Danny said. He said something else, about saddlebags and a long rifle. Lena didn’t follow. The next thing she knew she was on Chestnut, and Danny was shouting and pointing down the track.
“I’ll guard the farm, Mrs. Quinn! Don’t you worry! Just ride. Ride!” Danny shouted.
Chestnut sprang forward. Lena collapsed, leaning over the chestnut stallion’s neck and clinging to him fiercely. Sobs racked her body, and her eyes still stung from the smoke. She saw the edges of her land, the track running under the ridge line on which Chestnut galloped.
What? For a moment she thought she saw a figure standing between the trees. Could it be one of her attackers? Why would anyone do this? The Quinns had never hurt anyone! Was it bandits? Outlaws?
But the snow eddied, and her tears fell. The figure—if it had ever been there in the first place —had gone.
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