“Gentlemen!” Logan’s commanding voice cut through the tension. “Stop acting like schoolboys! Put your hands down.”
As if stunned by his forceful manner, the two backed off and stood glaring at each other. Even Kristin was startled, but she shouldn’t have been, she reminded herself. As an army officer, Logan had years of experience handling men in emotional situations.
“That’s better,” Logan said. “Now we can talk. I don’t know who shot me. I’d dismounted to look at something on the ground, and the bullet came out of nowhere. When I couldn’t get back on the horse, I walked until I passed out. After the doctor found me, she could’ve left me for dead. I’m alive because she didn’t.”
“Maybe she was the one who shot you. Did you ever think of that? Why else would the lady doctor—” Webb’s voice oozed sarcasm. “Why else would she be wandering around out here alone?”
“I was taking a shortcut home,” Kristin said. “My mare shied at some birds and threw me. The rifle I had was slung on the saddle. I couldn’t have shot the major.”
Webb snorted. “Unless you already had.”
“The mare came home with the rifle in the scabbard,” Webb said. “I checked the gun before I moved it into the buggy to come back here. I’ll swear an oath that there were no missing bullets. Anyway, why would my sister save the life of a man she’d shot? Your story’s full of holes, Webb. I don’t know who shot the major, but it had nothing to do with us.”
“We’re wasting time,” Kristin said. “We need to get this man into the buggy and get him home where he can rest and I can treat the wound properly.”
“Not so fast.” Webb had moved to block the door. He hadn’t drawn the pistol he was wearing, but its presence was a threat. “Nobody’s going anywhere until I get some satisfaction. Blake, I still doubt your story. But I’ll be willing to forget the matter on one condition.”
Blake didn’t respond. A muscle twitched in his cheek. It was all he could do to keep his temper in check.
“Go on.” Pain creased Logan’s features. Kristin saw it and heard it in his voice. While the two men argued, she opened Sarah’s bag. Among other useful items, she found a bundle of clean wrapping strips and a vial of laudanum. Taking the spoon she found, she gave him enough to ease his pain and make him drowsy.
Webb was making his demands clear. “If my cousin still intends to buy this ranch, I want your promise, Blake, that you won’t step in ahead of him or interfere in any other way. If you’re as innocent as you say, that will be proof enough for me.”
“And if your cousin doesn’t want to buy the ranch?”
Webb shrugged. “Then it’s anybody’s game. Agreed?” Webb extended his hand to seal the promise.
Fury smoldered in Blake’s eyes, but he accepted the handshake.
“Fine.” Kristin moved back to Logan’s side and began wrapping him in the blanket for the move to the buggy. “Now let us get the major back to our house. We’ve got a spare room, and a closetful of medical supplies that my mother left. He’ll get the best possible care.”
“No.” Webb stood rooted in place, refusing to move. His hand rested lightly on the ivory grip of his pistol.
“Please, he needs care. I know he’s your relative. If you have any regard for him at all—”
“Of course I do. He’s my own flesh and blood. But I won’t have him going to your place, where you can do anything you want with him and fill his head with a lot of lies. We’ll take him to the Homestead in your buggy. If you’re so all-fired concerned about his welfare, you’re welcome to come inside and stay till he’s stronger. Then somebody can see you home.”
Clearly, Webb wasn’t going to back off. And Logan’s life was still in danger. The longer the delay, the more critical his condition would become. She needed to get him somewhere safe and clean and warm, where she could take care of him—even if it was the Calder mansion.
She gave her brother a pleading look. “Can you drive us there, Blake? Then you can take the buggy home. Please, a man’s life is at stake. We don’t have time for a standoff between you and Webb.”
Seething, Blake gave her a grim nod. With the tension between the two men as volatile as gunpowder, Kristin knew that it was up to her to take charge.
“I need to tend to the major’s tourniquet,” she said. “I’ll sit with him in the back of the buggy while Blake drives. Webb, you take the horses back to your house and meet us there. Have a bed ready and also some hot water and plenty of towels.”
Logan was hovering on the edge of laudanum-induced sleep. Kristin used the wrapping strips to make a sling, looping the cloth behind his neck and under his right arm to hold everything in place. Then she bundled his upper body in the blanket. “Help me get him to the buggy,” she ordered. “Now hurry!”
* * *
Mason Dollarhide studied the woman who sat across the room in the brocade-covered chair that had always reminded him of a throne. Although they’d exchanged occasional letters, he hadn’t set eyes on his mother since that night twelve years ago when she’d ordered him onto the train to save him from a forced marriage to a pregnant immigrant girl.
Amelia Hollister Dollarhide was still the queen of her ranch kingdom. But time’s bitter gifts had hardened her nature—the husband whose ambition had ended their marriage, the son who’d fled in disgrace, the lover who’d wearied of being her lackey. Now she was alone except for her dogs and her paid employees—a solitary monument to her own iron will.
“As I recall, Mason, I told you not to come home without a suitable bride,” she said. “Surely, it couldn’t have been that difficult.”
Mason shrugged. In all these years, nothing had changed. His mother wanted a daughter-in-law with money, manners, family connections, and a spotless reputation. The trouble was that Mason’s taste had never run to the kind of girl who’d keep her legs crossed until she had a ring on her finger. Besides, with so many ladies willing to fall into his bed, why should he tie himself to just one?
“I met your bastard the other day,” Amelia said. “He looks like a Dollarhide. Nobody would guess he was yours—not until they noticed his green eyes.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mason said. “For all I know, there could be more of your grandchildren out there in the world. I never stuck around long enough to meet any of them. But chances are that I planted my seed in some fertile ground.”
“Oh, stop it!” To Mason’s amusement, she shuddered. He enjoyed needling her. It gave him a feeling of power over the woman who’d exercised so much control over his early life.
She picked up the crystal glass from a side table and sipped the wine the butler had poured for her. Her aging hand still wore the emerald ring Blake remembered.
“So what brings you home after all this time?” she asked. “It couldn’t be love.”
Mason lit a Cuban cigar, inhaled the mellow flavor, and blew the smoke out into the room. “Maybe I came back to help you manage my inheritance. You’re not getting any younger, Mother. Maybe it’s time to step back and enjoy your golden years. You could take up something like cross-stitch or china painting.”