Page 8 of Storm in Montana (Montana Becketts, Wild Spirit Ranch #3)
Wayne’s expression hardened as he watched the cluster of miners and townspeople. The silver strike had brought more than prosperity to Gumption. It had brought men with greed in their eyes and quick tempers, the kind who saw the law as an inconvenience rather than a protection.
A murmur ran through the crowd, building as more people joined them.
Brodie moved, positioning himself between Annalee and the gathering storm.
She touched his arm, a gesture some may have interpreted as her seeking protection, but he recognized the steady pressure of her fingers for what it was.
She was reminding him she wasn’t some helpless girl needing shelter.
It was then he noticed the gun in her hand, hidden in the folds of her riding skirt. How had she drawn it without him seeing? This woman was full of surprises.
The tension in the air thickened, and Brodie caught Wayne’s eye. Both men recognized the signs of trouble. The way the crowd shifted, the undercurrent of voices, the precise moment when the thin appearance of civility began to crack. Whatever was coming, they wouldn’t have to wait much longer.
The violence erupted with the sudden force of a mountain storm. Two prospectors, one tall and raw-boned, the other built like a barrel, lurched from the crowd into the street, their boots kicking up clods of muddy snow as they collided.
Brodie’s hand found his revolver even as Wayne stepped forward, their movements speaking of long practice handling such disruptions. The crowd drew back, forming a rough circle around the fighting men. Their faces showed the peculiar mixture of horror and fascination violence often inspired.
“That’s enough!” Wayne’s voice cut through the morning air, sharp as a whip crack.
The fighters paid no attention, locked in their private battle. The tall one landed a blow sending his opponent staggering back, blood spraying from a split lip. The barrel-chested man recovered quickly, lowering his head and charging like an enraged bull.
Brodie drew his revolver in one smooth motion, the metal cold against his palm. “Break it up!” The command carried the weight of authority, but the men were beyond hearing.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Annalee shift position, moving to higher ground on the boardwalk. Her hand rested on her hip, holding the six-shooter at the ready. The sight sent a jolt of pride through him.
The tall prospector stumbled against a wooden crate, sending it crashing to the ground. Its contents, mining supplies from the look of them, scattered across the street. Wayne moved to intercept the barrel-chested man.
Brodie acted without conscious thought, closing the distance in three long strides. He grabbed the tall prospector’s collar, using the man’s own momentum to spin him away from his opponent. The prospector’s fist swung wide, missing Brodie’s jaw by inches.
“I said enough!” Brodie’s voice carried the promise of consequences, backed by the revolver still steady in his free hand.
The barrel-chested man tried to press his advantage, but Wayne caught him from behind, pinning his arms. “Settle down, or you’ll both see the inside of my jail.”
The crowd’s murmuring grew louder, a mix of disappointment and relief coloring their reactions. Brodie kept his grip on the tall prospector’s collar, feeling the man’s rapid breathing and the tremors of spent anger.
“He jumped my claim,” the prospector spat, blood staining his teeth. “Tried to steal what’s rightfully mine!”
“Liar!” The barrel-chested man strained against Wayne’s hold. “The claim was marked three days ago with my mark!”
Annalee’s voice cut through the chaos, clear and commanding. “Those marks won’t matter much if you’re both dead in the street.”
The fighters glanced her way, perhaps shocked to hear such words from a woman. Brodie used the moment to force his captive around, meeting the man’s wild eyes.
“You want to settle claim disputes? There are proper ways to do it. This isn’t one of them.”
Wayne nodded, his mustache bristling. “We’ll sort this out proper-like in my office. After you’ve both cooled your heels in separate cells.”
The crowd began to disperse, the entertainment over. Brodie maintained his grip until Wayne had secured the barrel-chested man’s wrists with iron cuffs. Only then did he release the tall prospector, watching as Wayne’s deputy, summoned by the commotion, led both men toward the jail.
Annalee descended from the boardwalk, her skirts swishing against boot tops. She surveyed the scattered mining supplies with a critical eye. “Silver fever. It burns hot and leaves nothing but ashes.”
Brodie holstered his revolver, studying her face. The gun in her hand a moment ago had disappeared. She showed no sign of fear or distress, only a clear-eyed understanding of human nature he hadn’t recognized until now.
“You handled yourself well,” he said quietly.
“Did you expect anything else?” A hint of challenge colored her tone.
“No,” he admitted. “Not from you.”
The morning sun had climbed higher, throwing their shadows sharp against the trampled snow. Around them, Gumption resumed its normal rhythm, but something had shifted in the air. The fight was a reminder that civilization in this growing town balanced on a knife’s edge.
Wayne approached them, brushing mud from his duster. “This is just the beginning,” he said, his voice pitched low. “Silver brings out the worst in men. And the worst is yet to come.”
Brodie nodded, feeling the weight of Wayne’s words.
Beside him, Annalee stood straight-backed and steady, her presence both a comfort and a complication.
They’d come to Gumption seeking answers about missing cattle.
They had found something else. A town teetering on the edge of chaos, and perhaps more questions than answers.
The morning’s violence left a bitter taste in the air. Wayne led them into his office, where a worn ledger lay open on his desk, its pages marked with the careful notation of missing cattle and unexplained tracks.
“Local ranchers have lost cattle under mysterious terms,” Wayne said, his finger tracing a column of numbers. “Started small. One or two head here and there. Now we’re seeing whole groups disappear overnight.”
Brodie leaned over the ledger, studying the patterns. Beside him, Annalee’s shoulder brushed his as she pointed to a particular entry. “These tracks you mentioned, heading north or south?”
“North, mostly. Toward the silver camps.” Wayne’s expression darkened. “But they vanish in the rocks. Whoever’s doing this knows the territory.”
The implications hung heavy in the cramped office. Cattle rustling was nothing new in the Montana Territory, but this felt different. Organized and calculated, while taking advantage of the chaos the silver strike had brought.
“How can I help?” Brodie asked, straightening.
Wayne shook his head, closing the ledger with a decisive snap. “For now, we can handle it. I’ll let you know if I need more men. Watch yourself, Brodie. Silver makes men desperate. Desperate men make dangerous enemies.”
Outside, their horses waited patiently, steam rising from their flanks in the cold air. Brodie helped Annalee mount, though she didn’t need his assistance. Her gloved hand rested briefly on his shoulder, the touch lingering a moment longer than necessary.
They rode out of Gumption in thoughtful silence, the town’s problems weighing on their minds. The sun had burned away the morning frost, leaving the trail muddy and treacherous. Their horses picked their way carefully along the trail, forced to move slower than their morning journey.
“Are you bound for Philadelphia in the spring?” Brodie asked suddenly, the question emerging from some deep place he hadn’t meant to expose.
Annalee’s hands tightened on Cricket’s reins. “My place is here at Mystic and Wild Spirit Ranch.” She turned to face him, her expression direct. “Did you think I’d run away to the city?”
“Your mother mentioned plans…”
“Ma mentions many things.” A smile played at the corners of her mouth.
“You wouldn’t have noticed, but I’m not the same girl who dreamed of Philadelphia’s ballrooms and fancy parties.
I’ve seen them and was properly impressed.
Montana is my home. The ranch, the mountains, Mystic, even dusty little towns like Gumption. ”
The weight sitting in Brodie’s chest since hearing of her possible departure lifted. “It’s a hard life here.”
“Harder than being some society wife, bound by rules and expectations?” She shook her head. “I’ve seen enough of my cousin’s world to know where I belong.”
They crested a rise, Wild Spirit Ranch spreading before them in the afternoon light. The house stood proud against the mountain backdrop, smoke rising straight from its chimneys in the still air.
Brodie reined his horse to a stop, reluctant to end their time together. “Would you do me the honor of joining me for Saturday lunch?”
The question hung between them, loaded with meaning beyond a simple meal. Annalee’s face softened, though her eyes remained sharp and knowing.
She dismounted with fluid grace, leading Cricket toward the barn. Just before she disappeared through the wide doors, she turned back. A smile spread across her face, bright as the winter sun overhead, and gave a crisp nod.
The barn door closed slowly between them, leaving Brodie alone with the implications of her unspoken answer. The air grew heavy with promise and possibility, while somewhere in the northern hills, mysterious hoofprints led toward silver camps and dangerous men.
He touched his hat brim, a gesture to the empty doorway, then turned his horse toward Mystic. Saturday suddenly seemed very far away, and the trail north called with increasing urgency. But for now, the memory of Annalee’s smile warmed him more than any pursuit of lawless rustlers.