Showdown with a Ruthless Rival (Preview)

Chapter One

“It’s a lot more dangerous out there than you think it is, Deanne. They don’t call it the ‘Wild West’ for nothing.”

Bruce Hanson was making his weekly visit to his sister and her kids in suburban Chicago. Suddenly, over dinner, she had shared a preposterous idea with him.

“I could continue on with my seamstress work, maybe design custom dresses for the local ladies,” Deanne continued excitedly as if she hadn’t even heard his warning. “The children and I could homestead a few acres at the same time. Uncle Sam is giving land away for free out there, you know? We could feed ourselves with our crops and sell the rest! It would be a lot more money than I can make here in Chicago.”

“You’ve never even had a backyard garden,” Bruce chuckled. “What do you know about working a farm, sis?”

“We helped mum and dad with their garden at home, didn’t we?” Her eyes flashed with determination. “Well, the children can help with the farm chores. Isn’t that right?”

She looked around at her six children gathered at the table, ranging in age from three to twelve-years-old.

The kids nodded at their mother and then smiled innocently at Uncle Bruce.

Oh, boy, he thought. She’s already sold them on this crazy idea.

Bruce was Deanne’s older brother. A thirty-five-year-old ex-policeman, he had spent a dozen years touring the criminal underworld of Chicago, apprehending men and women who had committed every vice and crime in the book. He had seen the worst that human beings can do to each other, and didn’t like the idea of a single mother traveling alone with her children to settle in a western town. They would be far too vulnerable.

“And how are you going to find the money to pack up this whole lovely brood, travel hundreds of miles, and set up shop out there on the wild frontier, my dear sister?”

“Thomas left us little nest egg, remember? I haven’t touched it since he died. Plus, we’ll have some money left over after paying the mortgage on the house. And…” she paused and smiled sweetly at him. “If you would be able to make us a little loan, we would be all set to make a new start.”

“Wow,” Bruce marveled. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this already, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I have,” Deanne replied, pulling a sheet of paper out of her apron pocket. “Here’s what our expenses would look like.” She handed the paper across the table to him.

Deanne McKenzie was three years younger than Bruce. Widowed since age twenty-nine with six kids to care for, she had become a seamstress working from home. With a mortgage on the matrimonial home to pay, however, they were still perpetually short of money. Every week, Bruce stopped by with food and an envelope of cash to help them out.

He looked over the list of expenses. She had thought of everything; from train tickets to crop seeds.

Thorough as always.

He handed the list back.

“Tell you what, sis, I’ve got a job coming up in Dakota Territory. While I’m out west I’ll keep my eyes open, see if I come across any towns that would be a good fit for you and the kids. How does that sound?” He looked at the children. “Fair enough, everybody?”

Their faces lit up and cheers of approval erupted around the table.

“I’m not promising I can find anything right away, you understand?” he said in a business-like voice. “But I’ll keep my eyes open.”

Thomas Jr., a freckled eight-year-old with sandy blonde hair, looked at his uncle with a serious expression. “Do you think you can find a town where I can learn to be a cowboy?”

Bruce smiled. “I’ll try, Tommy.”

“And maybe with some wild Indians close by?” the boy added. “I’d really like to meet a wild Indian.”

“Well, remember this is 1885. They say there’s not many wild Indians left anymore. Most of ‘em have settled down on reservation lands now, Tommy.”

“Please, Uncle Bruce?” the child pleaded.

“Well…” Bruce folded his arms over his chest and frowned like he was considering the matter deeply. “Hmm…” Then he burst into a grin and tousled the boy’s hair. “Okay, you got it, partner. I’ll keep my eyes peeled for cattle ranches and Indian camps. Deal?”

“Deal!” Tommy said excitedly. He reached across the table and the two of them shook hands.

After supper was over and the kids were busy washing and drying dishes, Deanne walked Bruce to the door.

“I hope you weren’t just humoring us about keeping your eyes open for a good town out west,” she asked.

Bruce looked at her and marveled.

Busted again. She always seems to know what I’m thinking.

“I’m that bad an actor, huh?” he said.

“I’m serious about moving out there, Bruce. There’s no future for us in Chicago anymore.”

“Maybe someday you’ll meet another man who’ll sweep you off your feet like Thomas did?”

“Do we have to talk about that again? I don’t want another man. And I can’t make enough money here as a single mother to support the children. Don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate all you do for us. It means a lot, brother. But I’m a strong woman and want to be independent. I just can’t find any way to do that in Chicago. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” He nodded. “I just don’t like the idea of you and the kids going west all by yourselves. Maybe I’ve seen too much crime over the years, but there’s so much that can go wrong in a situation like that.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine!” She took his hand at the doorway. “You fret too much. I can take care of myself and the children. I wasn’t born yesterday, you know?”

“I know, sis,” Bruce replied. “You’re one of the strongest women I’ve ever seen—taking care of the six of ‘em like that while working as hard as you do.”

“Will you at least let me know what the towns and cities are like, then? I won’t ask you to try and find us a place for us to live, just tell me what it’s like. Okay?”

“All right.” He chuckled. “You win, as usual.”

“Thank you so much!” She kissed him tenderly on the cheek. “And thank you again for helping us with the cash and groceries. We really appreciate all that you do.”

“No problem, sis.”

“How’s your business doing?” Deanne asked.

After fifteen years as a Chicago policeman—risking his life every day for too little pay—Bruce had become a private investigator in the city. It paid well and he liked the freedom of being his own boss. Recently he’d begun getting the occasional job out west, too.

“It’s going well. I really like these out of town jobs; it’s great to get out of the city and see the country a bit.”

“I can imagine.” She smiled wistfully. “All that fresh air and wilderness.”

“Yes, it’s great. See you in two weeks, Deanne.” He put on his hat and stepped outside. “I’m leaving for Dakota Territory in a couple days.”

“Be careful out there.”

“I will.”

He tipped the brim of his hat with a smile and walked away.

Chapter Two

Neema Martin was very much looking forward to visiting her mother and father. Married less than a year, she now lived a day’s ride from the family ranch near Taylor, Montana.

“I can’t wait to see them, Andrew,” she exclaimed to her husband. “It seems like a year since we’ve been back to visit, even though it’s only been a couple months now.”

“Am I really such a bore that time drags by for you?” he asked with a frown. “Aren’t newlyweds supposed to be so much in love that time speeds by like a freight train?”

Neema looked over at him as their two-seat carriage bumped and jolted down the road.

Yes, they certainly are supposed to be in love. And the bride never regrets her mistakes, either.

“Why must you criticize me for every little thing I say?” she snapped, irritated by his trying to start an argument when they were almost at the ranch.

“Ha, so it’s true?” Andrew cackled. “You answered my question with a question of your own. That’s what folks do when they don’t wanna give an honest answer.”

“Let’s just try and enjoy our visit with mama and daddy, okay? Can we call a truce, please? No arguments, I don’t want them to suspect we’re not getting along.”

“That’s an understatement,” he replied with a scowl. “But okay, whatever you like. Let’s pretend we’re happy newlyweds.”

“All right then,” she said sharply.

Neema was twenty-two-years-old, the petite, curly blond-haired daughter from the largest ranch in the Taylor area. She was known as a meek and quiet woman but it seemed like there had already been more arguments with Andrew than she had had with anyone in her whole life.

She admitted to starting her share of them, however, and didn’t like that uncomfortable truth about herself.

Lord, I never had a clue how nasty I was until I married this man. I hope we can learn to live together happily some day.

Her mother had told her that the first years of marriage were the most difficult because they were full of adjustments. “It takes some time for spouses to get to know one another, dear, and get used to one another,” she had advised.

Neema held onto this advice every day, hoping that her marriage with Andrew would improve. There was no other choice but to hang on to it. In 1880’s America, divorce was a scandal almost unheard of.

Our relationship has to get better, she thought as they rode along, it can’t get any worse!

“Thar she blows,” Andrew called out as they rounded a bend in the road. “The little town of Taylor. Don’t blink or you’ll miss it!”

Taylor was indeed a small ranching town. Set in the rolling range of the Yellowstone Valley, snow-capped mountains could be seen in the distance as travelers arrived from the east.

“Do you have to make fun of my hometown every time we’re here?” she complained. “So what if it’s not a big place like Billings? That doesn’t make it any better or worse, does it?”

“Maybe for you it don’t, my love. But I like the hustle and bustle of the city better.”

Andrew Martin’s father grew rich as a land speculator during the founding of Billings in 1882. A boy of just eighteen when his daddy’s wealth began to skyrocket, Andrew developed a taste for money, the things it could buy, and the fast life of a frontier city.

A thin, plain looking lad of average height, with black, greased-back hair and a pencil mustache, he liked to dress like a dandy in expensive suits that bespoke of his status as the only son of a wealthy man. He was also fond of the friends and fast women that this status attracted.

Which made Andrew’s proposal to the wholesome daughter of a cattle rancher somewhat of a puzzle to his inner circle. That is, until they found out that his fiance’s family were as wealthy as his father had been.

“Next stop for the happy newlyweds: the Stewart ranch!” he said with sarcastic excitement, whipping the reins.

When the couple rolled up in front of the Bar S ranch house, Neema’s parents were waiting for them.

“Welcome, welcome!” her father boomed out. “How was your drive, folks?”

“It was lovely, daddy. Good to be home again.”

“Good to see you, little girl. How are you doing, Andrew?” he asked.

“Couldn’t be better, sir! Great to see you.” he boomed.

Andrew helped Neema exit the carriage and watched as she hugged her father. Her mother, Nancy, approached and gave their son in law a warm hug.

“How are things in the Magic City?” she asked.

“Growing like gangbusters as always, Mrs. Stewart. We can barely cope with all the newcomers. Folks can’t build houses fast enough.” He grinned.

Billings had gotten its nickname because the town was growing so quickly that people joked it was like magic the way it sprang up. Thus Magic City was born, and Andrew loved the fast life there.

***

After the couple had settled into the guest room upstairs, they came down to the den for drinks before supper. It was a large, comfortably furnished house, as befitted the owners of the largest ranch in the Taylor area.

Pierce Stewart sat in an upholstered chair that was covered in tanned cattle hide and conducted himself with the dignified demeanor of a cattle baron. At age fifty, he was an energetic, tall man with long white hair and a beard to match. Some people said he resembled a painting of a biblical prophet. Pierce’s temperament, however, was unmistakably that of the hard-nosed businessman.

“Did my daughter tell you about the big parcel of rangeland I picked up west of town, Andrew?”

“No, sir.”

No, we were too busy arguing for me to tell him, daddy. Neema thought bitterly.

“Yep, five hundred hectares of prime rangeland. Great buy!”

“Excellent, sir,” Andrew said smoothly.

“I don’t understand why you bought a piece of land so far away, daddy. It’s all the way on the other side of Taylor.”

“It’s simple, little girl: to stop O’Reilly’s ranch from outgrowing us.”

“Why do you want to stop him?” Neema asked, perplexed at his reasoning.

His only answer was a chuckle.

“I think it makes good sense to limit the growth of business rivals—as long as it’s done in an ethical way, of course,” Andrew offered.

Pierce gave him a nod and a smile.

“What in the world is ethical about trying to limit the growth of another ranch? I’m sorry, Andrew, but that sounds really selfish and mean-spirited to me,” Neema said.

He threw an annoyed stare at her.

“What do you think about this, mother?” Neema asked.

Nancy was a couple years younger than her husband; a beautiful woman in her late 40’s who had blonde hair like her daughter.

“I think it’s one of the mysteries of the world that men always have to have their enemies,” she said diplomatically. “But it is what it is, Neema.”

“Well, it doesn’t seem right to me at all,” her daughter insisted. “What do you have to gain by it, daddy? What’s in it for you to keep Mr. O’Reilly’s ranch from growing?”

Pierce chuckled again, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “It’s just a way to protect our livelihood, that’s all.”

“But we’ve already got more than we need. You and mother have got all the money you could ever spend. How much is enough?”

“Help me out here, Andrew,” Pierce asked with a sigh. “Why is it that we terrible men have a burning desire to beat our rivals?”

“I agree with you, sir, it’s just self-preservation. We always want to protect what’s ours. It’s natural to feel that way.”

“But protecting what’s ours shouldn’t come at the expense of someone who’s not trying to take it from us,” Neema repeated. “That’s not right.”

Andrew glared at his bride but perhaps being mindful of where he was, he didn’t respond.

“Neema, why don’t we go out to the kitchen and see how dinner’s coming along?” Nancy asked. “All this man-talk is boring me.”

“But mother, I really want…”

“Come along dear,” Nancy insisted, getting up from her chair. “Let the men discuss their business.”

“All right,” she agreed reluctantly.

***

“What were you up to in there, Neema?” Nancy asked when they were alone. “That’s not like you to challenge your father like that. A woman shouldn’t embarrass her husband, either.”

“All Andrew talks about is business,” she complained. “I thought it would be good to try and understand it a bit better, that’s all.”

Nancy looked at her with a knowing smile. “Come on, Neem, don’t keep things from your mother. I could feel the tension between you and Andrew. How are things at home going?”

“We’re fine,” she lied.

“Really?” Nancy pressed, raising an eyebrow. “Have you been arguing much?”

“No. Why do you ask that, mother?”

“Because I’ve been around a long time, Neem. I’m twice your age, remember? I know what marriage tension looks like. Your father and I have experienced it many times over the years.”

“You have?”

“Yes, of course. Every couple does,” she said reassuringly. “It’s just a normal part of marriage.”

“Is it normal to fight all the time, though?”

“Sometimes that happens for a while in a marriage. How long has it been going on between you and Andrew?”

Neema looked down at the floor in embarrassment. “Since the beginning, actually. It never really stops for long.”

Nancy took her daughter’s hand. “I’m sorry, dear. I had no idea.”

Neema put her arms around her mother’s neck and began to cry softly.

“It’s terrible, mother. We fight every day. I hate it!”

“Has he ever hit you?”

“He raised his fist at me once, that’s all.”

“Well, that’s a good thing. I mean, some men beat their wives till they’re black and blue,” Nancy sighed.

“I hope that daddy has never hit you.”

“No, no. Nothing like that. But we’ve had our rough patches, let me tell you. Every marriage does.”

“Even right from the start sometimes?” Neema asked tentatively.

“Sometimes,” Nancy replied. “You’ve just got to hang in there, Neem. Be strong. It’ll get better in time.”

“You’re right, mother.” She nodded, taking out a handkerchief and wiping her nose. “It’ll get better.”

It surely can’t get any worse.

Chapter Three

As he rolled westward on the Northern Pacific Railroad, Bruce Hanson sat gazing out the window at a vast expanse of prairie. It looked desolate to him: no landmarks, no trees, no towns. Nothing but long grasses waving in the wind as far as the eye could see. This was his third journey west and the sight of the featureless landscape of the Great Plains had made him feel depressed every time.

It was the opposite when the foothills began to rise out of the prairie. Then Bruce’s spirit began to rise, seemingly in exact proportion to the land rising up from the prairie—bit by bit, mile after mile—until by the time he caught his first glimpse of the Rocky Mountains in the distance his heart began to soar.

The investigator sat in the train seat, stroking his large handlebar mustache thoughtfully, brown eyes looking glumly at the endless expanse.

No towns or cities to report on out here for you, Deanne. No wild Indians for Tommy, either. Nothin’ at all! On the other hand, there’s no pickpockets or murderers either. No crime syndicate. Guess there’s an upside, too.

For distraction, he reached into his vest pocket for the fiftieth time and drew out a sheaf of notes about the job that Monty and himself had waiting in Dakota Territory.

Monty Montelone was Bruce’s friend and assistant investigator. He was brought onboard for jobs that needed an excellent tracker, or an excellent fighter, as well as certain other skills. Monty was Italian-Catholic from a rough Chicago neighborhood, a boy who grew up scrapping in the streets and could keep his wits about him in any situation.

Bruce looked at his sidekick sleeping in the seat across the aisle, the large stomach rising and falling, bowler hat pulled over his eyes. Monty was several inches shorter than his own six feet, and ten years younger, but he made up for it in brass, brawn and humor.

“Hey, fatso!” Hanson called playfully.

Monty snorted and stirred, then raised his head and looked around him.

“Where are we?” he asked groggily.

“Middle of nowhere.”

“Well…this I gotta see.” He yawned. “Bein’ it’s my first time in the Wild West.” He stood up and accidentally hit his head on the overhead luggage rack. “Merda, merda!”

Then he stumbled across the aisle, fell into the seat beside his boss and peered curiously out the window. “I’ll be damned,” Monty whispered, “you’re right, Bruce. This is the middle of nowhere. Downright shocking for a guy who’s never been further than the west side of Chicago.”

“I was just gonna look over my notes about the job,” Bruce said. “We should be there by tomorrow morning. Wanna join me?”

“Sure, why not. This prairie’s too exciting to look at very long; hurts my eyes.”

“Like I said, it’s a pretty straightforward case,” Bruce began.

“Right. The kind that always blows up in your face.”

“Farmer’s son disappeared. He’s been hanging out with a local gang of outlaws. The old man figures the boy either crossed one of his comrades and got killed or has signed-on full time for a life of crime. Either way, he wants the kid back—dead or alive.”     

“Oooh, I’m likin’ it already,” Monty purred sarcastically.

“Any questions?”

“What time does the bar-car open? You said this trip is all expenses paid, right?”

“What do you think this is, Montelone, the Orient Express? The only bars on this train are the ones in the windows of the bank-car with the money in it.”

***

The next morning their train arrived in the small town of Apple Creek, a few miles east of Bismarck, Dakota Territory. The two men disembarked, and their client met them at the clapboard shack that served as the station house. He had a couple of horses for them tethered to the back of a wagon, saddled and ready for action.

After a brief conversation, the middle-aged farmer gave Bruce a hand-drawn map of the area, bid them a stern, “Godspeed” and rode away in his buckboard.

“Fun-loving fellow, isn’t he?” Monty quipped as the man sped away in a cloud of dust.

“Well, I’d be a little down in the mouth too if I lost my son to a gang of outlaws.”

“Yessir, I reckon so,” Montelone said in an imitation western accent. “Hope we don’t have to bring the Prodigal Son back here for the poor guy to bury him.”

Bruce had gotten a description of the seventeen-year-old boy who had gone missing, a lad named Samuel, and directions to the last known place where his gang resided.

After he and Monty went for a hearty breakfast and bought supplies for their saddlebags—they didn’t know how long or how far afield the investigation would go—the two of them mounted up and set out. Their destination was a log cabin located some twelve miles northeast of town, reputed to be the residence of Samuel’s gang.

Bruce’s plan was straightforward: first, make a stealthy approach and case the joint to see what kind of activity was going on around the cabin. The gang was known to have about half a dozen members. How many horses were present onsite? Who was coming and going from the door?

The second part of the plan depended on what they learned from the first. If the gang appeared to be there, the investigators would make a cautious but friendly approach, find out if Sam was with them, and then talk to the boy in private and try to convince him to return home. If that didn’t work, they would remove him forcibly.

If the gang was not at the cabin, they would investigate the scene for more information and decide on their next move based on what they discovered.

***

The two men followed Apple Creek northeast. It was a pleasant spring day: new leaves fluttered on the trees that grew in occasional clumps close to the creek, birds sang and larked in the sunshine. The landscape was still mostly flat but the occasional small rise or hill could now be seen, which brightened Bruce’s spirits a little after the long journey across the plains.

After a half-day’s ride, they caught sight of the cabin. It was built near a grove of trees and seemed large enough to house a family. A small tent was pitched alongside one wall.

“I think we may have hit pay dirt,” Bruce said as he peered through his binoculars at the site. “You see that tent next to the cabin?”

“Yeah,” Monty replied. “Usually means a place is at full occupancy if someone pitches near it, right?”

“You got it. Six men wouldn’t fit in that shack, so someone would have to sleep outside.”

They picketed their horses out of sight behind a low rise then took turns observing the scene with their glasses to discover more clues about who was there.

As one man after another exited the building to relieve himself on the prairie grasses, walk over to the creek for a bucket of water, or check on the horses, it became clear that it was not a family but a group of men occupying the premises.

“Eight horses picketed nearby,” Monty reported. “Looks like the farmer was right, this is the gang.”

“Yeah, we haven’t seen anybody who matches Samuel’s description, though. It’s gettin’ on to late afternoon. Why don’t we head over there and pay ‘em a little house call, Monty, and see if the boy’s there?”

“Sounds good to me.” He nodded.

The two of them checked their weapons. Each was carrying a Colt pistol in his gun belt holster and they now loaded a shell into the firing chamber. These had been left empty to guard against an accidental shot in the leg while they were riding. In addition—as was common to men on the trail in wild country—each carried a knife in a leather sheath on his belt.

“Okay, let’s go,” Bruce said when the weapons were checked and ready.

They stepped into the saddle and rode slowly in full view toward the cabin, several hundred yards away.

About halfway there, they saw the door open a crack and somebody peering out at them. No one came outside.

When the horses were a dozen yards from the door, the two investigators reined in. “Hello the cabin!” Bruce called out.

“Howdy!” a voice yelled from behind the door. “What do ya want?”

“We’re lookin’ for a youngster named Samuel Gray. Got some information that he might be here.”

“Who wants to know?” the voice asked gruffly.

“We’ve been hired by his folks to find him. Is he here?”

“Nope,” the voice replied flatly. “He’s on his honeymoon.”

Bruce looked at Monty with raised eyebrows. His partner smirked and shrugged.

“Where we can find the lovebirds? We need to talk to Samuel,” Bruce said.

“He headed up the crik two days ago with a little Calico Jane from Bismarck. There’s an abandoned cabin about an hour’s ride north. Just make sure ya knock before goin’ in.” The man cackled salaciously from inside.

“Thanks. You fellas got any coffee on? A cup of grind would sure go down good about now.”

“You the law?” the voice asked warily.

“Nope. Friends of the family,” Monty answered.

“You don’t look like friends of the family.”

“We never took to farming. Prefer an easier way to make a livin’, if you know what I mean?”

The door swung open to reveal a disheveled, bearded man in his mid-thirties. “Never cottoned to farmin’ none myself,” he smirked, “too hard on the back. Come on in have a cup, then.”

The investigators discovered that five men were living inside the cabin, which made it feel very cramped indeed. The resulting smell was fetid and unpleasant, and Bruce wrinkled his nose as he walked in. Three bunks were stacked on one side of the shack, crudely nailed into the wall. Two bedrolls leaned against another wall, which indicated that the remaining outlaws slept on the packed earth floor.

All of the men appeared to be in their twenties and thirties, and Bruce guessed that seventeen-year-old Samuel—the runt of the litter—was the one who slept in the tent outside.

The two investigators stayed just long enough to confirm that Samuel was not there, and gleaning whatever other information their hosts cared to reveal—one never knew what would be useful to an investigation—they took their leave.

“Whoo-wee! That place was rank,” Monty exclaimed as they rode northward on Apple Creek. “I’ve been in better smelling garbage dumps. You think they were telling the truth about Samuel not being there?”

“Seemed like it, Mont. Except for the tent, I didn’t see any sign of a sixth man being about.”

“Me neither.”

“We’ll know for sure in an hour…I reckon,” Bruce said in a western accent.

“I think you’re starting to like being in cowboy country, boss.” Monty grinned.

“Hell of a lot better than working as a Chicago cop, let me tell ya.”

***

A rundown cabin soon came into view on the banks of the creek, even more dilapidated that the first. They reined in and deployed the binoculars once again to case the place.

Two horses were picketed nearby.

“Looks like we may have found the happy couple,” Bruce murmured in a low voice.

A tall, bony lad with red hair exited the cabin and walked down to the creek with a bucket in his hand. He was naked from the waist up, barefoot, wearing ill-fitting pants with suspenders.

“Good day to you, Mr. Gray,” Bruce whispered. “Matches the description his daddy gave us, right down to the suspenders. Looks like him and Calico Jane are inside enjoying their honeymoon, Monty.”

“What’s the plan, boss?”

“Let’s wait until Sam goes back into the cabin, then give ‘em a friendly knock on the door; watching the back of the shack for any unexpected exits, of course.”

“He wouldn’t run out and leave his new bride all alone, would he?” Monty joked.

“Let’s mount up, he’s going back inside.”

Bruce decided to let Monty make the introductions as he was closer in age to Samuel and would be less likely to spook the boy.

When they drew near the cabin, Bruce held back a bit so he could see the rear of the house. Monty dismounted and rapped on the door.

The surprised cry of a woman came from inside. A few moments later, a voice came from behind the door. It was the thin, high voice of a boy. “Who’s there?”

“Samuel?” Monty asked.

“Who wants to know, mister?”

“My name’s Monty Montelone. I’m wondering if I can have a word with you.”

“Go away! We’re on our honeymoon here.”

“Sorry to disturb you and your bride, Sam. I just need to talk to you for a minute. It won’t take long.”

“About what?”

“Your family asked us to come see you.”

“What’s it about? Are ma and pa okay?”

“It’d sure be easier to talk if you opened the door,” Monty replied in a friendly tone. “We won’t hurt you none.”

“Who’s the guy on the horse?” Sam asked suspiciously.

“My friend, Bruce. He’s okay. He won’t hurt you neither.”

“Just a minute…”

As he stood and waited, Monty turned around and gave his boss a thumb’s up.

Bruce guessed that the newlyweds were hurriedly dressing inside the cabin and talking about what to do next. He held his position on the horse, just in case the boy made a dash for it.

After a minute, the door swung open and Samuel slipped outside, closing it behind him. “What’s this about?” he asked, buttoning up his shirt.

“Your family asked us to come and bring you home,” Monty said.

“No thanks. I’m done bein’ a farm boy. Besides, I’m a married man now. You two fellers go back and tell ma and pa I’m on my own from here on in.”

“He and your ma are worried about you, son,” Bruce called to him from his horse. “Why don’t you come on back with us? Let ‘em meet your new wife so you can set their mind at ease that you’re okay.”

“No sir, I’m stayin’ put! You fellas might as well ride out right now. Give ma and pa my best, will ya?”

As he turned to go back inside, Monty grabbed hold of one skinny arm. “Sorry Sam, we gotta be taking you back with us.”

“The hell you are!” He wriggled and tugged against Montelone’s vice-like grip, but the heavier man began to drag him away.

Suddenly the door flew open and a woman stood there brandishing a massive Bowie knife in her hand. “Leave him alone or I’ll stick this through your heart, you bastard!” she shrieked.

Monty and Sam both froze.

The boy gawped at her as if it was the first time he had seen this ferocious side of his wife’s personality. “Carlita, go back inside. I can handle this.”

“You could have fooled me, Sam.”

Carlita was a plain looking, raven haired girl of about Sam’s age. Her dark eyes radiated a desperate look of menace. She had thrown on one of her husband’s shirts, and beneath the shirt tails her long legs were naked—a fact which didn’t escape Monty’s attention.

“Hold on there, Mrs. Gray,” Bruce called in a reassuring tone. “Why don’t you and Sam come with us back to town and you can meet the in-laws? I’m sure they would like to meet you.”

She looked at Bruce as if thinking about throwing the knife at him. “Shut up! I’m not stupid. I know what you’re trying to do. The Grays have sent you here to take him away from me…from his whore.” She looked desperately at Sam. “Don’t let them take you away from me. We’ll never see each other again.”

Monty also noticed that Carlita had missed doing up a couple of the buttons on her husband’s shirt. He gawked at one breast that was partially exposed; a feature of women’s apparel unknown in 1880’s America—or at least the circles Monty moved in.

As the big man gawped, Sam felt the grip relax on his arm and seized the opportunity to break free. He pulled away with a jerk and skittered around the corner of the cabin, causing Bruce to launch his horse forward in pursuit.

As Carlita watched Sam run away, Monty grabbed her wrist and twisted it to the side until she dropped the knife. Then he pinned the woman’s arms behind her and snapped on a pair of handcuffs.

“You son of a bitch!” She snarled. “You just ruined our happiness.”

“Sorry to spoil the honeymoon but it’s just business. If we don’t bring him back with us, we don’t get paid.”

“Then it’s a damned shitty business!”

Sam ran for the horses tethered nearby. Bruce—anticipating where he might be heading—dashed around the other side of the cabin and cut him off. The boy stopped moving when he saw the Colt pistol pointed at him.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, son,” Bruce advised.

“Why not? I don’t care!” he replied, tears welling in his eyes.

“Your papa told us to bring you back dead or alive. I’d prefer alive—but it’s up to you.”

“I’d rather be dead than a farm boy again, mister—pullin’ weeds and gettin’ beat by my daddy. So you go ahead: take your best shot. I don’t care no more.”

“You’re a married man now, Sam. Josiah won’t beat on you. He’s got no call to keep you at home anymore, either. In fact, I bet you’ll get a kick out of the look on his face when he finds out you got hitched.”

Sam was silent for a moment. “Never thought of it that way.”

“You’re your own man now, son, like you said. You can do whatever you like. But we need to get you back first so we can collect our paycheck. Fair enough?”

The boy sighed and nodded, obviously preferring the odds of returning home over dodging a shot from the pistol.

“All right then, good decision” Bruce said, dismounting to put the cuffs on him. “Don’t worry, we’ll bring Carlita along with us, too.”

---

“Showdown with a Ruthless Rival” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

After a decade working as a tough Chicago cop, Bruce Hanson has begun a successful business as a private investigator in the city. When his business starts expanding in the far West, he finds himself enjoying the rugged wilderness and small-town life of the frontier. Trouble ensues however when a gang of kidnappers holds the daughter of a cattle baron hostage. At that point, Bruce realizes that it will require all of his skills and the help of his sidekick, Monty, to track down the shadowy figures. How will Bruce succeed in getting the rancher’s daughter back when he refuses to pay a ransom? Will he manage to avoid getting himself killed in the course of this dangerous undertaking?

With the passing of time, the kidnappers are running out of patience, demanding the ransom without further ado, otherwise, they swear to spread deep sorrow on their way. As if this wasn’t enough, the unexpected actions of the hostage’s husband make the criminals fly into a rage. How will the legendary duo stall the kidnappers while they figure out a way to free the young couple? Will Bruce’s experience and wit help him rescue two innocent people and preserve his widespread reputation?

While Bruce and his sidekick try to trace the ruthless criminals, tensions come to a boil and multiple dangers lurk behind shadows. In this excessive cat and mouse game, will Bruce capture the merciless abductors before it’s too late, or will he fail to carry through the most important task of his career?

A pulse-pounding drama, which will make you turn the pages with bated breath until the very last word. A must-read for fans of Western action and romance.

“Showdown with a Ruthless Rival” is a historical adventure novel of approximately 60,000 words. No cliffhangers, only pure unadulterated action.

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