Page 6 of Somewhere Along The Way (Mackinnon #3)

His father, John Mackinnon, had been the traditionally ignored second son of a duke, and consequently he was a man of noble birth with no title and no fortune to inherit.

In his younger days, John Mackinnon had been a bit of a hothead, and after a falling-out with his father, he lost his temper completely.

He left Scotland at the age of eighteen, sailing to America with nothing more than one battered old trunk, a few dollars in his pocket, and no future.

In time he married the daughter of another kindred soul who had traveled to America on the same ship.

After two years in North Carolina, John left, bringing his wife Margaret and his son Andrew to Texas.

Another son, Nicholas, was born on the way.

The young family had settled in Limestone County at a place not far from Waco called Council Springs, on the banks of Tehuacana Creek.

Life was good to them there, the black land rich for farming, the grass up to a horse’s belly and good for grazing.

By 1836, John and Margaret had a fine spread and seven growing children.

Little did they know it would all soon change.

In May of 1836 the Comanche raided Parker’s Fort, carrying off five captives, one of them the Mackinnons’ only daughter, six-year-old Margery.

A year later, when John and five of his six sons were away from home, searching for Margery, the Comanche struck again, this time killing Margaret and their son Andrew.

A year after that, John Mackinnon was scalped, leaving behind a legacy of five young, orphaned sons.

The boys made a real effort to farm their land after their pa died. After a few years of trying to make it on their own, the Mackinnon boys began to give up. One by one, they drifted away from the old family place and Texas.

Nicholas, the oldest, was the first to go, going north to find their mother’s brother, who owned a shipping line in Nantucket.

When he announced his intent to leave, Tavis, who was a few years younger, decided to go with him.

Not long before they left a letter came, asking Nicholas to come to their grandfather’s home in Scotland to inherit a title.

Nick laughed and tossed the letter to Tavis. “Are you interested, Tavis?”

Tavis wasn’t much of a talker, but he shrugged a lot. “It’s your letter,” he said with a shrug. “You go.”

“I’m more interested in the sea than any title.”

“Me too,” Tavis said, tossing the letter back to Nick.

Nick answered the letter, declining for himself and explaining that the next oldest Mackinnon, Tavis, had declined as well.

A few months later, the youngest brothers, the twins Alexander and Adrian, left to join the Texas Rangers.

Ross, who always felt left out, was left behind. He didn’t know what he wanted to do.

It was about this time that Ross discovered he had something that women liked. Something they wanted. That was when his troubles began.

Ross wasn’t always to blame. All the Mackinnon men had been blessed with good looks, but Ross was blessed a little more than the others.

He was tall and black-haired, with the bluest eyes this side of heaven, and there was a certain roguish magnetism about him that made women take notice right off.

Yet there was a strength and independence of spirit that was a legacy from his ancestors.

And like his forefathers, he was a combination of grit, guts, and determination; he was possessed of a certain resilience, a streak of resignation and pitiless ferocity—a hard shell that hid a sentimental soul with an undying loyalty and love for family.

He was easygoing and good-natured and a bit of a tease, and when he laughed, women wondered if it was the sound of the laugh that attracted them or the overall effect of that enchanting sound coupled with his beautiful smile.

More than once he had hightailed it out a bedroom window with his pants slung over his shoulder and his boots tossed out ahead of him.

But only once had he had to ride off without time to pull on his clothes.

He had decided then and there that it was the last time he would ever ride a horse without his pants on.

A man could go lame doing that.

He always made the mistake of thinking each new town would be different, but before long an irate husband or a matrimony-minded papa would come looking for him. Up to now, he had always managed to stay one jump ahead of them, but it was just a matter of time. He knew that.

There were times he felt his fast-paced life was catching up with him.

Pleasures had a way of being paid for with peril and pain.

Sooner or later, even the best cowboy was tossed on his backside by a gentle horse.

His time was coming. He knew that. The question was, what would become of him when it did?

Something will turn up. It always has. Ross let out a long sigh and reached for the letters.

The first one was an offer to buy the Mackinnon place.

He tossed it aside and picked up the second letter.

He opened it and read the same request that Nicholas and Tavis had both refused—a request that he come to the home of his grandfather on the Isle of Skye to inherit a title that was his by right of lineal descent, since his father was dead and his two older brothers would not come to Scotland.

Ross’ first reaction was to laugh. A moment later, he leaned back in the kitchen chair and crossed his long legs, propping them on the table, not mindful of the way his spurs were gouging the tabletop as he looked the letter over again, lingering for a moment on the note scratched at the bottom.

“If your destiny lies in Scotland, you will come. Fate leads the willing, and drags along the reluctant. ”

If your destiny lies in Scotland…

He pondered that for a moment. Did his destiny await him there?

It was such a strange, far-off place, unknown yet familiar because he had heard his parents speak of it so often.

Funny how the mind worked. He couldn’t recall his parents’ faces too sharply, yet he could distinctly remember the soft Scottish burr, their use of such words as lass and dinna , words Ross and his brothers still used from time to time.

Scotland. So familiar, yet so unknown.

The more he thought, the more he decided there wasn’t much reason for him to go traipsing off to a foreign place.

It was his parents’ home, not his. His place was here.

In Texas. He put the letter back into the envelope and laid it on the table.

He didn’t know where his destiny waited for him, but he didn’t think it waited in some far-off place halfway around the world.

Ross picked up the letter. Walking to the fireplace, he was about to toss it into the flames when he heard the sound of horses thundering into his front yard, running as if they were in a powerful hurry. From somewhere outside a voice cracked out and penetrated the silence like a rifle shot.

Silence followed. Then a voice broke through the stillness.

“Mackinnon, this is Hank Evans. You better come on out here. I’ve got the preacher and the sheriff with me, and I aim to see that you right the wrong you’ve done to my Sally Ann.

You come on out now, nice and peaceful-like, and there won’t be no trouble. ”

“Shit!” Ross said. He wasn’t exactly in a marrying mood right now, and if he had been, it wouldn’t be to no gal picked out for him by some angry, lead-packing papa. Ross might not have bedded Sally Ann Evans, but he knew for a fact that even if he had, he wouldn’t have been her first.

“Mackinnon, you’ve got five seconds to make up your mind, or we’re coming in after you.”

Putting the letter in his pocket and not bothering to pack up any belongings, Ross climbed out the back window and silently made his way to the barn.

A minute later the barn’s back doors burst open and he rode out, his horse’s hooves skimming over the soft earth as if they were shod with fire.

Ross heard the shouts behind him, the sound of horses in pursuit, but he knew they wouldn’t catch him now.

He was in Mackinnon territory and he knew this land as well as he knew his own face.

Ahead of him, he saw a full moon hanging in the sky, its mellow light glistening white in grasses stirred by the wind.

From behind him came shouts and the pounding of many hooves.

Digging his spurs into the sorrel’s flanks, he leaned low over his horse as a shot whizzed over his head.

Down, down, down into a narrow ravine he rode, the sound of his laughter drifting behind him like a flaming arrow, pointing the way.

He was a bonny fighter with an adventurous spirit, a man as passionate as he was reckless. He was a man who would risk death and defy the world for what he believed in, for the woman he loved. A man who would laugh in the face of danger and quietly slip away.