McShannon's Land, Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1
Colorado Territory, 1871

“There’s no fool like an old fool.”

Shaking his head, Nathan Munroe started across the town square to break up the tussle on the porch of Neil Garrett’s saloon. Looked like another summer Saturday evening in Wallace Flats was about to heat up.

Supper-hour quiet had settled over the town, with the exception of Neil’s place. The dark windows of the false-fronted businesses around the square reflected the deep blue of the twilight sky, while lamplight glowed from the houses clustered on the back streets. The scent of fresh-cut lumber drifted from the saw mill, now silent for the day. A lone dog shambled past the well and along the track leading north into open country, following a rabbit trail. Nathan’s stomach growled. He wanted his supper, too.

For no obvious reason, the man on the porch had just slammed his fist into Jake Montrose’s gut. Well and good – if you insisted on picking a fight with a man twenty-odd years younger, six or seven inches taller and at least thirty pounds heavier, then you’d damn well better strike first. But afterwards, why did the fool just stand there waiting for Jake to get up? Nathan drew his Walker Colt and broke into a stiff-legged run.
He stopped dead when he got close enough to see the smaller man’s face clearly. It had been ten years, but he couldn’t be mistaken.

“Good Lord, Mr. McShannon, is that you?”

Jake’s assailant broke into a broad grin. “Now then, Nathan! I’ll warrant enough years have gone by for you to call me Colin.” The Yorkshire accent was heavier than Nathan remembered, but he hadn’t forgotten that voice.

“Yeah. It’s been a while.”

Colin’s blue eyes held an unrepentant gleam. His lean face had weathered a bit since Nathan had seen it last, but his slight, wiry frame was as straight as ever and he clearly hadn’t lost his streak of deviltry.

“It surely has. I’m afraid this is my fault, lad.” He glanced at the man lying winded at his feet. “I took exception to Jake’s poor sportsmanship at cards. I was watching him and two other lads playing poker and they invited me to join them, but they weren’t counting on losing.”

“I’ll just bet they weren’t. And I’ll also bet you didn’t tell them you’d cleaned the pockets of every player in Morgan County at one time or another. Trey told me you were coming for a visit, but I didn’t know you’d arrived.” Jake started peeling himself off the porch floor, and Nathan kicked his feet out from under him. The kid had been a thorn in his side for too long.

“Jake, I can’t decide between giving you a good pistol-whipping, or shooting you and being done with it. Get lost before I make up my mind, and don’t let me see your face for at least a week.”

Jake muttered something under his breath, but he’d taken Nathan’s measure more than once and knew better than to argue. He scrambled to his feet and took himself off, his arms wrapped around his midsection. Colin relaxed his fighting stance as he looked Nathan up and down.
“Trey wasn’t lying when he told me you had a rough war, lad.”

Nathan didn’t often think of it that way. He’d lost half his left arm and taken shell fragments in his leg at the battle for Richmond, but by rights he should have died. He could move fast enough when he had to, and his right arm served him just fine in a fight or a shooting fracas, thank you very much. He considered himself lucky.

A tall, dark-haired man about Nathan’s age parted the saloon’s swinging doors and stepped onto the porch. “Dad, are you – oh, Nate, you’re here. Everything all right?”

“Hey, Trey. Yeah, it is now.” Nate flashed a grin he knew would irritate Colin’s son. “I’m glad I happened along. Your father sure knows how to pick a dancing partner.”

Colin snorted and drew himself up to his full five foot four, dark blue eyes flashing. “I’m obliged, Nathan, but I was doing just fine on my own.”

His son let out an exasperated sigh. “Dad, this isn’t the village pub in Mallonby. You’d better wait ‘til you’ve been here a while before you start picking fights. Nate, you’d best come in and get Jake’s friends before all hell breaks loose. Martin’s had just about enough of them, and so have I.”

They stepped inside. Nathan scanned the laughing, drinking crowd of homesteaders and ranch hands seated at the saloon’s rough wooden tables. One of the girls who rented Neil Garrett’s back rooms left the card game she was watching and moved to the bar, favoring Nate with a flirtatious smile on the way.

“Evening, Sheriff. Quiet night?”

“Evening, Kerry. So far.”

Kerry tucked a strand of ebony hair behind her ear, then let her fingers drift down her neck to her pretty collarbone. The frothy blue concoction she wore didn’t leave much to the imagination, and the warm floral scent of her perfume reached Nathan through the haze of tobacco smoke between them. Her voice hinted of smooth whiskey and sin.

“Come back in later, if you aren’t too tired.”

Nathan’s face heated as his body reacted to her invitation. Normally he’d have accepted without blinking, but not with Colin standing behind him. The man hadn’t seen him since he was eighteen.

You know me, Kerry. Early to bed, early to rise. Some other time, maybe.”

With a seductive little laugh, Kerry leaned back against the bar and trailed a finger across the scarred oak surface. “Too bad I’m a sucker for a blond. Let me know if you change your mind.”

Trey came up beside Nathan, almost shaking with suppressed laughter. Trying not to blush like a schoolboy, Nathan tipped his hat to the girl.
“You make it tough for a man to say no. I’ll see you one day soon, Kerry.”

Kerry slowly wet her lips, then sidled her way back to the card players. Nathan completed his visual sweep of the room. He knew everyone there, except for a hard-faced, middle-aged man standing at the bar, and the big redheaded fellow sitting at a table with Jake’s friends, his shoulders rigid and mouth set with temper. Nathan wasted no time shouldering his way across the room, gun in hand, with Colin and his son behind him.

“Luke, Bruce, go home. Your evening is over. If you can’t afford to lose your money, don’t gamble with it.”

Both men glared at Colin. Luke spoke, his voice low and sullen. “We’ll see you again, old man, and next time you might be alone.”

The redhead shot out a hand and grabbed Luke by the collar. “Mind your tongue, lad, or it’ll get you into trouble. You were fairly beaten and you know it.”

His voice went with his English face. This must be Colin’s son-in-law. Colin stepped out from behind Nathan and lifted a hand. “Easy, Martin. There’s no harm done, and this isn’t home. Let the lad go.”

“That would be smart,” Nathan added quietly. He didn’t relish the thought of tangling with this one. “I’ll see that it ends here, and like Colin said, there’s no harm done.”

The redhead glanced at the gun in Nathan’s hand and released Luke. Nathan breathed a sigh of relief and marched him and Bruce to the door. On the way back, Nathan saw the older stranger at the bar watching him in the mirror behind it, noting his badge. Something about the man looked familiar, though Nathan knew he hadn’t seen him before. He slotted the face into his memory and returned to the McShannons’ table.

“Now, Colin, tell me exactly why you decided to plow into that boy.”

Colin had the grace to look a little shame-faced. “First, let me introduce Rochelle’s husband, Martin Rainnie. Martin, here’s an old neighbor of ours from years ago, Nathan Munroe.”

They shook hands. So this was the man who’d married Trey’s pretty, blonde twin sister. Growing up in Georgia, Rochelle McShannon had been the kind of girl who dangled half the county boys on a string without even trying. Colin cleared his throat and went on.
“As for what happened here, we’d spent a hot day haying and decided to come to town for a beer afterwards –”

“A beer, not a brawl,” Martin muttered under his breath.

Ignoring him, Colin picked up a half-empty glass, held it up to the light, then took a mouthful and swirled it around critically. “This isn’t the Split Crow’s bitter, but it’s not bad. Any road, while we were having our drink I started watching Jake and his friends play cards. After a few minutes Jake looked down his nose at me and said ‘Want to join us, old man?’ I didn’t like his tone, but I just smiled and asked him what they were playing. ‘It’s called poker’, says Jake. ‘Don’t they play it where you’re from?’”

Nathan could just picture it. Jake and his friends would have had no idea what they were getting into. “So you played dumb and ended up in the game.”

“Aye, that was more or less the way of it. We played for a while –”

“Too long,” Trey put in. “You couldn’t be content with winning a few dollars to prove your point. You had to clean them out.”

“It wasn’t my fault they kept betting, was it? Then Trey decided it was time we started for home, but the lads didn’t want me to go without giving them a chance to win their money back. They looked ready to make trouble, so I suggested that Jake and I discuss it in private.”

Nathan quirked an eyebrow at Trey and got a disgusted look in return. “Don’t look at me. He asked for it.”

Nathan allowed himself a grin. As boys he and Trey McShannon had hated each other, and Nathan had a crumpled nose to remind him of it, but he couldn’t deny that fate had a sense of humor. Since meeting again here in Wallace Flats with nine years and a war behind them – a war in which they’d fought on opposite sides – they’d struck up something that, for lack of a better name, would have to be called a friendship. In spite of it, Nathan still enjoyed seeing Trey frustrated.

“So, Colin, you went outside and slugged him before he could get set. Smart. Jake’s a strong kid and he can handle himself in a fight.”

Colin’s chin jutted. “So can I. With my size, I had to learn young. I taught Trey well enough, didn’t I?”

Trey threw his father an annoyed glance and scraped back his chair. “I’m sorry about this, Nate. We’d better be heading home.”

Colin put a hand on his son’s shoulder and lowered his voice to a coaxing burr. “Trey, I haven’t seen Nathan for ten years. Surely we’ve time for another quick drink before we go.”

Seeing Trey’s irritation, Nathan couldn’t resist prodding him. “Of course you do. Why don’t you all come to my office? I’ve got a bottle of whisky that Mother’s cousin sent me from Savannah at Christmas. It’ll taste fine on a warm night like this. I’m working, but I’ll have one and you three can share the rest while we catch up on old times.”

Colin beamed at him. “That’s handsome of you, Nathan. Are we agreed then, Trey? Martin? Then let’s go.”

Without waiting for dissent, Colin made for the door. Martin was quick enough to follow. Outmaneuvered, Trey got out of his chair with a sigh.
“Thanks, Nate. Dad really needs you to egg him on.”

Nathan chuckled and slapped him on the back. Seeing Trey’s father somehow made him feel younger than he had in a long time. “You know, he just might have been able to handle Jake. Don’t be a wet blanket, Trey. Come on.”

They crossed the square to the small pine building that served as Nathan’s living quarters, as well as the sheriff’s office and town jail. The three cells at the back stood empty now, but chances were they’d be filled with familiar faces before morning. After a year as sheriff of Wallace Flats, Nathan knew the town’s drunks and rowdies well.

Mrs. Grant at the boarding house normally sent his supper along at about this time. With a glance out the office window in that direction, Nathan stepped into his bedroom and pulled the whisky bottle from a crate under his bunk. A wash stand and a threadbare overstuffed armchair completed the room’s furnishings. He thought for a second, then smiled and pulled out a second bottle before returning to the office. His perverse sense of humor was riding him tonight. He’d confiscated the moonshine from a couple of Dale Turner’s hands last week. He’d tasted it, and it packed real punch. No use keeping it to himself.

The others had pulled chairs up to the desk, which sat in the corner by the window. Nathan cleared his paperwork away and reached to the shelf behind him for glasses.

“To old times, Colin.”

Colin tossed back half his drink. He looked from Nathan to Trey and back again, shaking his graying blond head. “Old times. Sidonie’s been gone ten years, and you and Trey have survived a war. When I first saw him yesterday, I scarcely knew him. I’m a grandfather four times over. Where has the time gone?”

Nathan took a sip from his glass. Cousin Cade knew his whiskey. One of the few luxuries of his youth that Nate still missed. Yes, ten years was a long time. A lifetime.

“I know what you mean, but you haven’t changed that much. You look like you could still leave the competition in the dust in a horse race.” No doubt Colin still rode hell-bent for leather like he used to back in Morgan County, like he had on English racecourses as a boy. “I’m looking forward to seeing Rochelle again.”

Trey’s mouth quirked in a half-smile. “The last time I tasted rye like this was – I can’t remember when it was. Chelle’s looking forward to seeing you, too. Last night at supper she asked if you were still as much of a pain in the arse as you used to be.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I said you were, more or less.”

Nathan laughed, as much at himself as at Trey’s remark. With her willowy figure and willful spirit, Rochelle McShannon had turned heads as a girl, Nathan’s among them, though he’d never considered pursuing her. She would have told him to go to the devil for Trey’s sake, and as a farmer’s daughter, she hadn’t measured up socially to the son of Morgan County’s second largest planter.

Now Rochelle was married to this big, solid Englishman, who owned a fine farm according to her brother. Trey had a thriving homestead, a happy marriage and a baby daughter, while Nate, the son of privilege, had a two-by-four room off the town jail. Yes, fate had a sense of humor, but he wasn’t complaining, especially about his bachelor status. The thought of that kind of commitment had always made him restless.

Colin finished his whisky and smiled when Nate refilled his glass. “Ah, that hits the spot. Thank you. Now tell me what you can about the Morgan County folks.”

There wasn’t much to tell. Nathan hadn’t been home since the war. By the time his wounds had healed well enough for him to travel, he’d had no home to return to and no time to spare for sentiment. He’d needed to pay heed to the future, not the past.

“Well, Father had a stroke a year after the war ended. He didn’t deal well with losing our place. Mother lives with her sister in Savannah now, and they’re comfortable. My Aunt Ellen had the sense to put a lot of her money in gold in an English bank before the war, so she came through it not too badly off.

“Most of the larger places at home are still standing, though they’ve changed hands or become two-horse farms compared to what they were. I get letters from a few of the folks. Cathy Sinclair married Tony Ferrar. Clara Hughes is still a spinster, and likely always will be, but that’s no shame at home now.” Nathan grinned at Trey. “Of course, Clara was too sour for most of the boys before the war, though you didn’t think so for a while, did you, Trey?”

“A very short while. Clara was pretty, but she had the tongue of a wasp.”

Someone knocked at the office door. Nathan answered it and took his supper tray from Mrs. Grant’s hired girl. The smell of fresh hot biscuits and chicken stew made his stomach rumble again, but he hadn’t completely lost the manners of his youth.

“Thanks, Emma. Look, I’ve got unexpected company. Could you bring around another tray with stew for three?”

Emma peered past him at the men sitting around his desk. “Sure, Mr. Munroe.”

“Good. Tell Mrs. Grant I’ll be in to settle my bill tomorrow.” Nathan set the tray on his filing cabinet, returned to the others and spoke as if he were standing in the front hall back at Cedarhill, his old home, welcoming guests. “Gentlemen, I’ve ordered supper. May I offer anyone another drink?”

It seemed the first whisky had been enough to take the edge off Trey’s impatience. He shrugged and held out his glass. “Why not? I told Beth not to wait supper for us.”

“Trey wrote us about what happened last summer, Beth being kidnapped in broad daylight and the two of you getting her back,” Colin said. “We all owe you, Nathan.”

All Nathan remembered of the rescue of Trey’s wife was a blur of pain and fever, thanks to the bullet he’d taken that day. He did recall voices…one in particular, not exactly soft, but low and feminine. He still heard that voice in his dreams now and then. Nathan pushed the thought away and took another small sip of his drink.

“That’s what they pay me for, Colin. Four grandchildren. No wonder Jake called you an old man.”

“Old, hell!” Colin tossed back a healthy swig of whiskey. Trey gave him a teasing sideways glance.

“Well, Dad, you are pushing fifty. That’s venerable.”

“Venerable! When you’re old, people treat you with respect, which is something I evidently didn’t teach you.”

The look they exchanged gave Nathan a strange feeling he wouldn’t admit was envy. He’d never seen that kind of pride and affection in his own father’s eyes. Trey and Colin couldn’t have looked less alike, but there had never been any mistaking the bond between them. Nate wondered if that wasn’t the main reason he and Trey hadn’t gotten along as kids.

“Martin has a daughter from his first marriage, and he and Chelle have a daughter and son of their own,” Colin went on. “Then there’s Trey’s wee bit of a lass. What about yourself, Nathan? You never lacked for female company at home. When do you plan on settling down?”

“When hell freezes over. I’m a free man, Colin, and I like it that way. There’s supper.”

Nathan went to the door to meet Emma and brought their meal to the desk. His guests dug into the rich, fragrant chicken stew with a relish. Carefully keeping a straight face, Nate uncorked the moonshine bottle and tipped a measure into everyone’s glass.

“Try this. It’ll help your digestion.” He lifted his own glass, which still contained some of the whiskey he’d been nursing. None of the others seemed to have noticed that he hadn’t finished his first drink. “Your health, gentlemen.”

They all took a swallow of moonshine. Nathan struggled to hold back a laugh as he watched them. Martin’s eyes widened and his face nearly matched the color of his hair. Colin sputtered and shook himself. Trey put his glass down with a gasp.

“Good Lord, Nate, where did you get this?”

“Took it from a couple of Dale Turner’s boys.” Nate grinned. “Wakes you up, doesn’t it?”

“Wakes you up? Hits you between the eyes is more like it. Puts me in mind of Rafe Nelson’s ‘shine at home.” Trey took a tentative sniff of the clear, heady brew. As Nate hoped, he’d had enough whiskey to still the voice of caution. He tried another mouthful. “Goes down easier the second time.”

Colin and Martin followed suit. With full stomachs, it took some time for the alcohol to get into their systems, but within a few minutes Colin sat back in his chair, owl-eyed.

“This stuff kicks like a mule.”

Nathan smothered another laugh and became all concern. This was getting more entertaining than he’d hoped. “Sorry, Colin. I didn’t know it was that strong. Come here and lie down for a minute.” He took Colin by the shoulders, helped him out of his chair and steered him into the first cell in the row. Trey’s father slumped on the bunk as Nathan returned to the desk.

Martin looked to be deep in thought, but Nate guessed he was dealing with a spinning head. “Bloody rotgut. Have you poisoned us, then?” Martin heaved himself to his feet, lurched into the cell and dropped onto the end of the bunk. The chains holding it to the wall clanked in protest.

Two down, one to go. Trey sat hunched over the desk, holding his stomach. Nathan put a hand on his shoulder.

“I really am sorry, Trey. Come on, you’re not going anywhere for a while. I’ll look after your team.” He took Trey’s arm, led him into the cell and dumped him in a semi-conscious heap next to Martin. Then Nate locked the cell door and went out, whistling, to do a round of the town.

There’d be interesting times at the McShannon place tomorrow. Hell, things might get interesting when he let them out in the morning, but he had saved Colin’s neck in that fight, whether the man cared to admit it or not. And life had been a little too quiet in Wallace Flats this summer, anyway.

****
The saloon crowd was spilling out onto the porch now in a pool of light and noise. Nathan made his way inside and found a spot at the bar. Neil Garrett, his lank, thinning red hair tied back in a ponytail, set a cup of coffee in front of him and went back to filling glasses.

Nathan turned around and leaned on the bar to watch the crowd. He hadn’t been there long when the same middle-aged man he’d noticed earlier spotted him from across the room. That nagging feeling of familiarity returned. Where was it coming from?

The stranger crossed the room to join him. “Evening, Sherriff. Got a minute?”

“Yeah. New in town, aren’t you?”

“Just passing through. Actually, I’m looking for my daughter. She wrote a couple of years ago that she was working in Wallace Flats.”

“Here in the saloon?”

“She didn’t say so, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Name’s Robert Carswell, and my daughter’s name is Laura.”

Laura Carswell. Lorie Carter. Nathan willed himself not to show his surprise. That feeling of recognition made sense now. The family resemblance was strong. “I’ve never known anyone by that name. Can you describe her?”

Carswell hesitated, as if searching his memory. Of course, Lorie had been a kid the last time he’d seen her. A sixteen-year-old kid with nowhere to turn.

“She’s about five foot three, dark hair, hazel eyes. The kind of girl men notice.”

Oh, yeah. Dark chestnut hair that tumbled over slender shoulders, a challenging light in gold-flecked hazel eyes, a swish to her hips and a rare gift for profanity. That was Lorie. A man would have to be blind not to notice her, but it seemed a callous way for a man to describe his missing daughter.

Lorie had been working here in the saloon when Nathan arrived in Wallace Flats. He’d glimpsed her in Neil’s back hallway and made up his mind to get to know her. It had taken some doing, but he’d managed it. Then, she’d pulled up stakes and disappeared without a word.

But she’d come back to Wallace Flats when he was wounded. It was Lorie’s voice Nate heard in his dreams. She’d sat by his bed and told him she wouldn’t forget him, and he’d feigned sleep and let her go back to her new life.

It made sense at the time. Lorie couldn’t start over in Wallace Flats. People would never forget what she’d been, and Nathan couldn’t afford to leave his job. The timing had been wrong – or that was what he told himself when he thought of her in the middle of the night.

He knew she hadn’t been close to her family. She’d never said much about them, but a girl didn’t take to the road as a whore unless she was out of options. No father worthy of the name would let that happen. Nathan looked into Robert Carswell’s familiar eyes and lied through his teeth.

“Sorry, doesn’t ring a bell.”

Lorie’s father took the denial with an impassive face. He wore dusty trail gear like most of the other men in the saloon, and wasn’t carrying a gun.
Nothing about him stood out. Nathan knew Lorie had been in Wallace Flats five years. Why was her family looking for her now?

Her father shrugged and let his eyes run over Kerry, sitting at a nearby table with two ranch hands vying for her attention. His pupils dilated, and
Nate found himself wanting to belt the man. Robert Carswell wasn’t too concerned for his daughter to have an eye for a girl the same age. He turned back to Nate with a smile.

“Well, thanks for your time anyway, Sheriff. Buy you a drink?”

Nathan stifled his anger and nodded toward his coffee. “Thanks, but not while I’m working. Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

He slid onto a stool as Carswell walked away. Neil Garrett paused in front of Nate on his way down the bar.

“So you’ve met Lorie’s father. What d’you think?”

Nathan watched in the mirror behind the bar as Carswell left the saloon. “He asked you about her? What did you tell him?”

“Nothing.” Neil filled a mug with beer and set it in front of Nate. “I take it you did the same.”

“Yeah. I didn’t like his looks.”

Neil’s green eyes flashed in his sallow, pockmarked face. He might rent his back rooms to women as a matter of business, but Nathan knew he treated them decently and didn’t allow his customers to abuse them. In his way, Neil had cared about Lorie.

“Nor did I. Someone will tell him, though, you can bet on that.”

“Yeah.” Nathan tasted his beer and made up his mind. He knew Lorie was in Denver. She’d told him so the night she said she wouldn’t forget him, when she didn’t think he could hear her. He might well regret it, but he didn’t see that he had a choice.

“Neil, I figure Lorie would want to know if her past was going to come back to haunt her. Guess I’ll be heading to Denver for a few days. See you when I get back.”