To the Uttermost: A Better Country, #2

Chapter 1

COLORADO

January 1878

OWEN LOCKART TUGGED his hat low, but the gray sky still spit ice pellets in his face.

Tomorrow, Lafe Worchester would hang. But today, he rode north toward Denver, hands bound behind him.

The man deserved no less than hanging after he and the rest of Vic Guilford’s bunch had murdered old Mr. Ervin and his wife for nothing more than a half-full bag of gold pieces. Too bad the marshal had apprehended only Worchester.

A thick layer of icy snow crunched beneath Owen’s mount’s hooves. Given the low-hanging clouds, they’d have another couple of inches by nightfall.

He shot a sideways glance toward Ben. They rode behind Worchester, while Ernest and Quincy took the lead. Sure wish Marshal Aimes had caught the rest of them.

Ben swiped his gloved hand across his jaw, face reddened by the cold. Wish Ernest hadn’t let the marshal talk him into deputizing us. You know Ma doesn’t like it.

She worries too much. Owen let a smile crack his frozen lips. Besides, all of us but you are grown.

Ben scowled. Eighteen is grown enough.

Quincy turned in the saddle and braced a hand on his gelding’s rump. You ain’t even shaving, boy. Should’ve left you behind to see to Ma.

Ben pulled off his hat and slapped it against his leg. Snow and ice went flying. She’s got Pa. He swung his hat toward Worchester. And you never know what Guilford might try to keep this one from hanging.

Worchester mumbled a couple of curses.

Ernest glanced over his shoulder, brows drawn down in eternal seriousness. Guilford won’t try anything. He doesn’t care about him. Not with trying to keep ahead of Aimes’s posse.

Ben straightened his shoulders. You don’t know that. Wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye out. The marshal wouldn’t take kindly to us losing his prisoner. He looked around. Or getting ourselves shot to pieces.

Quincy let out a laugh. Looks like the boy’s scared.

Owen leaned to the left and gave Ben a light punch on his shoulder. Don’t worry about Guilford. He’s nothing but a coward. Just like all his men.

Worchester wrenched around and glared at Owen.

Owen straightened. Maybe you call gunning down an old man and his wife something different where you’re from, but around here, it’s nothing but cowardice.

Worchester spit in the snow and let out a stream of curses foul enough to make Ben’s face turn even redder.

Owen spurred his mount, came abreast of Worchester, and gripped the front of the man’s coat with almost numb fingers. You’ll hang for what you did to them.

Let him go. Ernest’s voice came low and calm. Be too good for him if you finished him off before he had a chance to swing.

Worchester exhaled a white cloud of putrid air, and Owen jerked his fingers from the man’s coat. He’d let the man get under his skin. Probably what Worchester had planned all along.

He pulled back on the reins until his mount drew even with Ben’s. Guess you’re right, Ernie. He forced a slow breath. Seems like you always are.

Ben groaned. Don’t go encouraging him. Thinks just ’cause he’s the oldest he knows everything.

Quincy turned around and grinned. Sure, he thinks it all right. Especially now that he’s an old married man with a baby on the way.

Owen tucked his right hand into his coat pocket. With the sluggish rate they’d been traveling, they wouldn’t reach Denver until dark. Yet they couldn’t risk a faster speed given the six inches of snow covering the ground and obscuring rocks, roots, and holes that could twist or break a horse’s leg.

But as long as Worchester made it into Denver by tomorrow, none of that mattered. The judge would try him and find him guilty, and Judge Patterson had made quite a name for himself by hanging the condemned the same day the trial concluded.

The wind kicked up, buffeting Owen’s coat, face, and neck with a mixture of ice and snow. To his right, a stand of pines bowed, branches weighted by snow and twisted by the wind. Ahead, a snow-covered outcropping of rocks loomed, pines clinging in the crevices.

I’m froze clear through. Worchester’s reedy voice grated through the air. Wouldn’t hurt nothing to stop for an hour or two. Maybe build a fire and have some coffee.

Did the man think any of them cared about his comfort?

Quincy’s shoulders stiffened. Might as well enjoy it while you can. I’ve heard it’s hot where you’re headed.

Ben laughed, but Worchester only cursed.

Owen brushed snow from his mount’s mane. No doubt, Worchester had earned hell.

Worchester’s shoulders slumped, and he balled his bound hands. Of course Marshal Aimes hadn’t possessed a decent pair of handcuffs. The man hadn’t arrested anyone other than a drunk in ten years.

Ernest glanced over his shoulder. Shouldn’t be more than three or four hours to Denver. We’ll get a couple of rooms for the night and head on back come morning. No reason to stay around and watch him hang.

That figured. Ernest had never had a stomach for violence. Even well-deserved violence.

Wouldn’t bother me to stay around and see it. Ben pressed his whitened lips into a thin line. Mrs. Ervin never did anyone ...

Rifle fire cracked from the rocks. Ben pitched to the side, hands to his chest. Ernest slumped over his mount’s neck, and his horse surged forward. Quincy crashed to the ground.

Worchester kicked his mount into a gallop and bent forward.

Owen’s mount reared. He jerked his rifle from his scabbard and pushed from the saddle. Pressure slammed his gut.

Snow pummeled him. Drove the air from him. Forced the rifle from his hand. The sky stretched above, a pale gray.

Warmth spread over his middle, and agony twisted through him. Ben, Ernest, Quincy. They’d been hit, maybe killed.

He had to get to them. Had to help them. Had to ...

Black spread over the gray.

Looks like you got ’em. Worchester’s voice. I was hoping you had something like that planned, Vic.

Victor Guilford. The man who’d killed him.

TEN MILES NORTH OF Cantonsburg, Texas

August 1878

NOTHING COULD GO RIGHT today.

First, Matt had fallen headlong on the floor and bloodied his nose in addition to skinning his palms. Then, little Katie had cried for an hour for no apparent reason.

Now this.

Sally Reiner jerked a handkerchief from her apron pocket and wound it around her sliced finger before any more blood could weep onto the cubed potatoes.

Curling her injured finger into the protection of her fist, she turned from the counter.

Three pairs of eyes stared up at her. Seven-year-old Samuel reached his dirty hands toward her clenched fist. Let me see.

Five-year-old Matt swiped a hand under his swollen nose. And one-year-old Katie shoved her thumb in her mouth.

From his chair by the table, Doyle smiled.

She tucked her hand—stinging finger and all—into her apron pocket. You told me you’d keep ’em occupied while I got supper goin’.

He folded his arms over his chest, and his smile widened. Looks like they find you more interesting.

They’ve seen me for their whole lives. Ain’t nothin’ interestin’ ’bout me. She scooped Katie off the floor and plopped her in Doyle’s lap.

He settled the girl on his knee and jiggled her. Matt, Samuel, get over here. Let her finish cooking. Don’t reckon neither of you want fingers in your stew.

Matt giggled but hurried to Doyle’s side, Samuel behind him.

Sally stalked to the counter. Never did see three more troublesome rascals. She ladled water into a bowl and tossed the potatoes in. At least the blood would rinse off somewhat. No need to waste that much food.

Doyle laughed. If you had some of your own, I bet they’d make these three look like angels.

They look a lot more like angels when Harry and Rose are around. And Harry and Rose needed to get back. How much time did it take to deliver a couple of horses to a ranch just outside of Lone Rise? And I ain’t even married. Don’t go startin’ on me.

Could be if you’d give George Lenson’s boy the time of day.

Georgie? That boy ain’t got the sense of a flea.

Doyle snorted, and both Samuel and Matt cackled.

Well, you could have a whole long line of them asking to court you if you’d try a little.

Sure. All the boys in town would line up for a skinny, freckled, frizzy-haired girl. I ain’t got time for ’em. Ain’t. Rose had tried for years to convince her to give up the word in addition to banishing the rest of her country talk. Not that it had worked. I’m busy enough as it is.

With one hand, she fished the chunks of potato from the bowl and settled them on a towel.

Looks like they’re back.

Sure enough, the squeak of the wagon and the thud of hooves filtered through the open windows and door.

She dumped the potatoes in the pot already holding carrots and onions. After setting the pot on the stove, she turned to the open door.

Samuel and Matt dashed to their parents, while Katie squirmed on Doyle’s lap.

He tipped his head to the girl. You want to take her? Make it look like you’ve had everything under control?

Nope. I ain’t got enough hands, and she’s wild.

Harry strode inside, Matt tucked under one arm, Samuel clinging to his other. Rose slipped in behind them.

Sally leaned against the counter. Thought you’d never get back.

Harry swung Matt to the ground and extracted his left arm from Samuel. Discomfort creased lines around his eyes. Even after ten years, that shoulder was still stiff from the bullet he’d taken. These rascals give you trouble?

I busted up my nose. Matt pointed at it and stared up at Rose.

She knelt before him and rested her hands on his shoulders. Her windblown dark braid lay over her left shoulder, and a fine layer of dust coated her dress.

Rose pursed her lips. You’ll be just fine. She stood. Now, both you and Samuel need to refill the wood box, and it looks like we’re getting low on water.

The boys retreated outside without a single question or dirty look. Unlike their behavior this morning and afternoon.

Sally pulled her hand from her pocket and crossed both arms. Sure am glad you’re back. Didn’t think you were ever comin’.

Rose collected Katie from Doyle and rested her on her hip. Does Harry need to take one of them out behind the barn?

Samuel and I already paid it a visit. He talked back to me one too many times. Other than that, they was just runnin’ ’round to no end. Askin’ a thousand questions. Gettin’ in my way. Fallin’ all over the place. And Katie was cryin’.

Rose shook her head. That storm last night kept all of us up. I think they’ll be taking a nap before supper. She walked to the stove and smiled. And you’ve already started it. Why don’t you sit down? I’ll put Katie to bed and finish up. Samuel and Matt will join her once they’ve finished their chores.

Sally pulled a chair away from the table and sank onto it. With the way today was going, Rose would see bloodstains on the potatoes.

Harry pulled his hat from his head and tossed it to its resting place on the hook beside the door. A couple of steps carried him to the table. He leaned his hip against the edge and frowned. A sure indication he had troublesome thoughts running through his mind.

Not that she needed more trouble. Might as well say it. No need to let it bother you like that.

A slight smile curved his lips, then faded. Guess you can read me too well. Rose and I went through Lone Rise on our way to Watkins’s ranch.

Nothin’ wrong with that. She pasted a smile to her face despite the twisting of her gut. Too bad the twisting was real and the smile fake. Nothing good ever came of Harry acting this way.

He ran his hand through his hair, and his gaze sought the table.

The twisting turned to a knot. You’re startin’ to scare me.

He met her eyes. Saw a poster for your brother by the sheriff’s office. Said he’s wanted for murder.

What? She shoved to her feet, and her chair skittered back. For sure, Vic had been a no-good drunk drifter ten years ago, and a few years ago, Harry had brought home a poster claiming Vic was wanted for bank and stagecoach robbery. But murder? He wasn’t ol’ Ed Burton. He was her brother.

Even if he’d dumped her and scarcely spoken another word to her after Rose had taken her in.

Murder? What use was repeating herself? She couldn’t change what he’d done, and she couldn’t bring back whomever he’d killed.

Didn’t want to have to tell you something like that. Harry propped his foot on a chair.

She tightened her grip on the bloody handkerchief, and her cut finger throbbed in protest. Ain’t your fault he’s gone and killed somebody. And I’m glad he’s left these parts. Glad I’ll never have to see him again.

A miserable lie given she’d once dreamed of him straightening up and coming to live here with the rest of her family. But Harry didn’t need to hear any of that nonsense.

Footsteps tapped over the floor, and Rose wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Katie’s little hand grasped for her nose.

Sally captured the reaching hand. Don’t even think about it. I ain’t gonna let you do it.

Rose gave her a gentle squeeze.

Oh, what was the use? They both knew her and her many weaknesses too well.

She returned Rose’s embrace and slipped free. Thought I’d take Katie on a little walk. That’ll give you time to get supper together.

Rose smiled and handed her the baby.

Doyle pushed to his feet. Might do me good to stretch my legs. Been sitting around too much.

At least Doyle wouldn’t allow her to get caught up in thoughts she didn’t need to be thinking.

Rose raised both eyebrows. Are you sure you’re up to that? I don’t want you wearing yourself out.

He strode to the door. I’ve had that piece of lead in my chest for twelve years. Don’t reckon it’s going to kill me now.

Sally grinned. I’ll go slow enough for him to keep up. Don’t worry ’bout him.

No need to focus on that no-good brother of hers. Whatever he’d done, Vic Guilford was miles and miles from Cantonsburg.

CANTONSBURG, TEXAS.

Two months of searching had led Owen here. Two long months that had taken everything remaining of the man Vic Guilford had left lying in the Colorado snow, had left alive when he should’ve killed Owen as he’d killed Ernest, Quincy, and Ben.

Now, he’d kill Guilford. He’d kill him if it were the last thing he ever did.

Owen pulled rein in front of the general store, dismounted, and fastened his gelding to the hitching rail.

But he had to find Guilford first.

He strode into the store, legs stiff from hours of riding, clothes and skin coated in dust.

Help you? A gray-haired lady looked up from the counter. Though her bun tilted up the corners of her eyes, a sincere smile lifted her lips. I haven’t seen you around here before.

He stopped at the counter and rested his hands on the edge worn smooth by many hands. I was wondering if you could give me directions to a ranch owned by a man name of Reiner. Heard he was looking to hire on a few men.

What better place to start looking for Guilford than with the family who’d taken in the murderer’s younger sister? Either Guilford would ride in to visit her or she’d know his whereabouts. 

Yet given that the man never stopped moving around and no one seemed to know where he was, maybe the sister didn’t know either. Maybe this was nothing more than another hopeless chase. Just like the last two months.

Mister?

He blinked. Sorry. Lost in my thoughts.

She gave another warm smile and patted his hand.

He pulled away and clasped his hands behind his back. He didn’t need her misguided sympathy.

She cocked her head. Are you feeling poorly, son? You don’t look well.

Losing three brothers, taking a bullet to the gut, and lying in bed for months on end tended to do that to a man. Long ride. Been out of work for a few months. Just looking for a steady job.

Lying meant nothing if it got him a step closer to finding Guilford.

She smoothed her hands down her apron. You were asking about Harry Reiner’s ranch. I can save you a ride out there. He was in here a few minutes ago to get his supplies and said his next stop was the feed store.

What’s he look like?

She smiled, and red touched her cheeks. He’s a good-looking man. Light brown hair and hazel eyes. He’s got Sally with him today. She’s a sweet little thing. Red hair. You won’t miss her. She gave him a quick wink. About your age too, I think. Maybe a year or two younger.

As if he’d ever have feelings for Guilford’s sister. Though faking such an attraction could prove useful in determining Guilford’s location.

He forced a smile. Thanks for your help. I’ll head over there.

It’s right next door. The lady’s words followed him out the door and into the hot August air.

Sure enough, a wagon sat in front of the feed store. A red-haired girl perched alone on the seat, elbows resting on her calico-covered knees.

A few steps carried him to the side of the wagon. He might as well start winning her trust while he waited to talk to Reiner about a possible job. Not that the man was truly looking for hands. That had been another convenient tale to gain information.

She didn’t look up as he propped his hand on the side of the wagon.

Morning, miss.

She startled upright, blue eyes wide. Frizzy strands of hair that had escaped her braid framed her freckled face. A face nothing like the hardened planes of Guilford’s visage that stared at him from a poster tacked to the feed store.

Tightness banded around his chest.

Mornin’. She smiled.

Guilford’s sister. He had no reason to return that smile. No reason and every reason.

It settled stiff on his lips. He had nothing kind to say to this girl. If anything, he should wrench her from the wagon by her blue calico collar and shake her until she told him where he could find Guilford.

Yet that would get him nowhere except inside the Cantonsburg jail.

She angled toward him and steadied a Henry repeating rifle propped against the seat. Maybe she was more like her brother than her features proclaimed. I ain’t seen you ’round here before.

Ignorant. That’s what she was. Most likely hadn’t had more than a couple of years of schooling, if that.

I’ve never been through this area before, but I heard I might find work around here.

Plenty of ranches ’round here. She shifted her gaze from him to the feed store, as if waiting for Reiner to appear and end the conversation.

This wasn’t going well at all. He’d in no way earn her trust if he made her dislike him from their first meeting.

He forced another smile. I’m Owen Lockart. Rude of me not to introduce myself.

Sally Reiner. She stuck out her hand, forcing him to clasp it.

Work-worn fingers met his own in a brief but firm grip. She was no lady. She was nothing more than a murdering outlaw’s kin.

He pulled away as soon as she released the pressure. Pleasure to meet you.

The door to the feed store swung open and emitted a man.

Sally tipped her head to the building. Harry might know of some ranchers needin’ help. Might want to ask him.

Owen turned to face the man striding toward the wagon. Close to Owen’s six feet, Reiner walked with an easygoing gait that belied the revolver holstered at his hip and the glare he shot at Owen. The man’s gaze slipped over Owen’s shoulder, and the tension eased into a smile.

Sally’s expression must’ve put his worries to rest. No doubt, Reiner had thought him up to no good concerning the girl. While that might be true, it wasn’t the danger the man had feared.

Harry, this is Owen Lockart. He’s lookin’ for work. I told him you might know somethin’.

Reiner’s gaze again pierced him. That so, Lockart?

Yes, sir. Given the faint lines fanning from Reiner’s eyes and the strands of gray peppering his short beard, the man must be nearing forty. Worthy of at least a modicum of respect.

Reiner tucked his thumbs in his belt. Where’re you from?

If Owen played this right, he’d be able to talk the man into hiring him. Wouldn’t hurt to make a little money while he gained Sally’s trust enough to find out about Guilford and waited for the murderer to pay her a visit.

If not, he’d have to locate another rancher willing to give him work and devise another way of getting close to Sally.

South of Denver.

Reiner ran a hand along his jaw. Your folks run a ranch there?

Owen nodded. About a thousand acres. Cattle and horses.

Reiner narrowed his eyes. They didn’t need you around?

The man had no right rooting in his business. I felt the need to make my own way. See some of the country and find out where I want to start a ranch of my own when I save up enough.

Reiner offered a ghost of a smile. Seems like I tried that myself a few years back. Ended up right where I started.

Reiner didn’t seem the sort to run with Guilford’s type, even if the steadiness of his hard stare spoke of many a confrontation.

The man folded his arms over his chest. You running from something?

Owen managed a laugh. I wouldn’t have stopped here if I were.

Reiner’s mouth quirked again. I’m guessing you know how to tend cattle and horses. If you’re willing, I could use you for a couple of months.

The best offer he could expect. I’ll take you up on that.

You’ll be working six days a week with a few light chores on Sunday. Pay’s a dollar a day plus meals and a place to sleep. Can’t offer more than that, so don’t think about asking.

Sally’s light laugh echoed behind him.

You’ll treat my family with the same respect you would your own, and if I catch you doing otherwise, it won’t end well for you. The man extended his hand. Now, if I haven’t scared you off, you can ride back to the ranch with us.

Owen clasped Reiner’s hand.

One step closer to killing Guilford.

Chapter 2

WELL, ROSE, WHAT DO you think of the new hand? Harry took a seat in one of the wingback chairs.

Sally dropped onto the leather sofa beside Doyle. What could Rose think? She’d talked to the man for less than a minute before Harry had shown him to the bunkhouse.

Rose lowered herself into the wingback beside Harry’s. From what I can tell, he’s well-mannered. But time will tell if he’s got a good work ethic.

Harry rested his hands on his knees. I bought a dozen mares from Will Lockart up around Denver a few years ago. He’s a good Christian man and runs a fine ranch. I don’t think one of his sons will cause trouble. But if he does, I’ll send him on his way.

He turned his gaze to Sally. You were talking to him before I came out of the feed store. What’d you think?

He looked real tired. Like he’s been sick. Dark shadows under his eyes and a face all too pale gave testimony to that. Not to mention, his tall frame could use another twenty pounds. With his wavy brown hair, eyes of the same color, and broad shoulders, he wouldn’t look bad if he learned to eat. But I don’t think he liked me much.

Rose glanced at her. What made you think that?

Harry grinned at Sally. What’d you do to him? Threaten to shoot him with the Henry?

Nah. He was just lookin’ at me funny. Like he was waitin’ for me to do somethin’ wrong.

Doyle let out a low laugh. Wouldn’t take him long to wait for that.

Everyone had it in for her tonight. If you weren’t sittin’ there lookin’ all pathetic sippin’ on that willow bark tea you hate, I’d smack you.

Doyle drew his hand to the right side of his chest and contorted his face.

Doyle. Rose folded her hands in her lap. Don’t encourage her.

Encouragin’ is good. Sally raised both eyebrows. Least that’s what you always say. This was her true family. A family no murdering brother had a part in. If only that rough sketch of his likeness that’d been hanging outside the feed store would leave her mind in peace.

The corners of Rose’s mouth twitched. The proper kind of encouragement. Which that was not.

Doyle smiled, drained the rest of his tea, and stood. I’m worn out. Think I’ll head to bed.

Rose furrowed her brow. It’s still early.

He set his cup on the counter, his movements a little too slow. Don’t be worrying about me, Rosie. I’m all right.

Harry rested his hand on Rose’s knee, but her frown didn’t disappear. Even after Doyle closed the front door behind him.

If only she could do something to erase Rose’s guilt over the bullet Doyle carried in his chest. That no-good Burton had put it there. Not Rose.

Yet those times were best left untouched. They’d all come too close to dying. Or too close to living under Burton’s control.

Sally pushed from the sofa. He’ll be all right. He gets tired just like the rest of us.

I know. Rose rested her hand over Harry’s. And you’d best keep reminding me of it.

Speakin’ of bein’ tired. I’m goin’ to bed. Trip to town took longer than I thought it would. She embraced Rose, then wrapped her arms around Harry. Night.

Quick steps carried her to her room, one of the two rooms Harry had added to the house once Samuel was born.

After changing into her nightgown in the dark, she fell in bed on top of the quilt. No use using it tonight. Heat pressed over her even though August would soon fade into September.

She rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. Too bad the rough lines depicting Vic’s features imprinted themselves on the back of her eyelids.

Sure, he’d possessed the same square jaw, straight nose, and wild, dark hair ten years ago. But his eyes, even in the sketch, held an unfamiliar hardness. A hardness that shouted he could shoot a man in cold blood and leave his body for the buzzards.

A murderer. Her own brother.

She forced her eyes open. Better to stare at a dark ceiling than to let him take up residence in her mind.

She had family. Harry, Rose, Doyle, Samuel, Matt, and Katie. They weren’t—nor would they ever be—murderers. They loved her, and they’d never run off and leave her. Even more, God loved her, and