Heart Of A Lawman

Just in case.

But even a city as small as Albuquerque had growing problems that made Bart’s gut quake, not for himself, but for those he loved. He’d lost a wife to violence less than a year ago. He wasn’t going to give up his kids, as well.

After his mother’s death, Daniel had secretly joined a gang and had gotten into trouble defacing the high school with cans of spray paint. Bart wondered what he hadn’t gotten caught at. While he’d made his son swear to quit the gang, he knew the promise he’d wrung out of the boy was illusory. Peer pressure would get him in the end and he’d be sneaking out with his friends again. It was only a matter of time unless Daniel was removed from the path of temptation.

And Bart was willing to do anything to protect his kids…even sell his soul.

He stared out at the devil’s playground.

Rich, volcanic-based grasslands stretched around them as far as the eye could see. An optical illusion that plains gradually gave way to mountains. Though they were in the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo range, the foothills here were nearly seven thousand feet up.

Clear air. Piercing blue sky. A slice of heaven.

At least the land itself was….

They’d reached the pinñon-and-ponderosa-pine-limned rimrock, their future spread out before them in all its splendor. The road here was dotted with dark green cedar, rusting scrub oak and the occasional grayish juniper bush.

The skin along Bart’s spine prickled as he started the descent into the canyon cut by Silverado Creek, a fat ribbon of water that twisted and turned and rushed across the Curly-Q. Now its function was merely to appease thirsty cattle and to provide a water table for the surrounding grasslands, but at one time, the creek had serviced the mine, which lay farther up the canyon and connected to town by a road that was now all but impassable.

The first hairpin curve thrilled Bart as always, and, also as always, his stomach was ready for the second. What he wasn’t prepared for was the state of the road, rutted by washout rains. The vehicle dipped and bounced its way down and red dust swirled around them. One spot was so bad that he found himself clenching his jaw so that he wouldn’t bite his tongue.

What had his father been thinking—not taking care of the only road out before it became near-impossible to fix?

“I want you two to give this a chance,” he said as the house drew in sight. The sprawling adobe backed by a handful of outbuildings looked the same, too, he noted. “If you can’t do it for me, then do it for your grandpa.Remember, we don’t know how long he has.”

Again, he glanced in the rearview mirror and caught the stricken expression Lainey was quick to hide.

“But Grandpa’s got Uncle Reed and Uncle Chance,” Daniel mumbled.

“If they decide to return.”

Certainly neither Reed nor Chance were anywhere in sight. No one was. The handful of dusty old pickups—the newest of which had to be twenty years old—were ranch vehicles. Though he hadn’t counted on his half-brothers agreeing to the deal, Bart experienced a moment’s disappointment. Unsure that anything would drag Reed and Chance back into a situation they’d all hated, he’d still wondered what it would be like—the three of them riding herd together again. Maybe this time they were old enough to make peace with each other. Maybe they were wise enough to make it work.

But Reed and Chance didn’t have families to think of. They had no reason to accept the devil’s bargain the way he had.

Bart almost expected the old devil himself to be waiting for them as he pulled into the front yard and two yapping dogs rushed the truck. But Emmett Quarrels was nowhere in sight.

Instead, Felice Cuma, his father’s housekeeper of nearly thirty years, flew out the front door, called the dogs and ordered them back to the barn. A smile of welcome flared fine lines around her dark eyes and full mouth. She had passed sixty, but Bart thought Felice was still a fine figure of a woman and couldn’t imagine why she wasted her life keeping someone else’s home when he was certain she could make one with a man of her own.

Lighting on Daniel as he unfolded all six feet of himself from the front passenger seat, Felice’s eyes went wide. “Chico, you’re a man now!”

Daniel grinned at Felice and rushed forward so they could give each other a big hug.

Arms folded across her chest, Lainey straggled behind. No smile loosened the tight grip that held her mouth in a flat line. Felice stepped out of Daniel’s bear hug and stared at the girl, her hand going to her throat as if she’d just been struck speechless. And her dark eyes suddenly went luminous, Bart noted, as if she were holding back tears.

“Ah, chica,” Felice finally said, her voice trembling, “you’ve grown so beautiful. You look exactly like your sainted mama.”

Lainey softened a little and allowed a hug, if not with her brother’s open enthusiasm. Expression concerned, Felice sought Bart’s gaze over his daughter’s head. He shrugged and spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

“Hey, Felice,” he said with affection.

“Mr. Bart. It’s good to see you. You’ve stayed away far too long.”

He knew Felice meant more than the last year and a half. That’s how long it had been since he’d stepped foot on Curly-Q land—since well before Sara died. They’d driven their kids to the ranch for a visit every summer. Bart had sometimes stayed the night, but he’d always gone off on his own—usually back to Albuquerque where he buried himself in work—and then had to come back weeks later for the three of them.

Sara really had been a saint, Bart thought, considering she’d been able to deal with the old tyrant for weeks at a time, while Bart had trouble tolerating his own father for a day. Amazingly enough, the old man had treated his grandkids with far more respect than he ever had his own sons when they were growing up—maybe he’d learned something from his past mistakes, Bart hoped—and so both Daniel and Lainey had always looked forward to their visits to the Curly-Q.

Good thing, or Bart never would have agreed to the deal.

“Daniel, Lainey—how about getting your bags.”

“Right,” his son groused, shuffling back toward the vehicle, his daughter silently following.

Most of their things were already there—Bart had sent a truckload ahead and Felice had made certain the kids’ rooms were set up with familiar treasures in hopes that they would adapt to the move more easily. For a moment, he watched them, intent on unloading the vehicle, shoving at each other in their best, normal brother-sister fashion.

Suddenly, Lainey screeched as Daniel pulled back and raised his arm, her camera in his hand.

“Hey, maybe it’s time I learned to use this thing,” he taunted.

“Give that back, Daniel!” she yelled as the automatic camera whined and clicked several times. “Stop that! You’re wasting my film!”

“Maybe I’m creating art.” Her brother’s taunt was followed by more whines and clicks.

“Da-a-ad!”

“Give your sister her camera, Daniel,” Bart said quietly. “Now.”

Daniel lowered his arm and a livid Lainey grabbed it from him. She gave the instrument a quick once-over, as if to make certain it was all right. Her hands trembled as they ran over the camera that had belonged to her mother. Bart wanted to cuff his son, who knew exactly how important that camera was to his little sister.

“That was my last roll, you moron!” Lainey yelled. “Now I can’t take pictures of anything! I hate you! I hate this place!”

Bart’s insides wrenching, knowing it was the camera she was really freaked out about even if she wouldn’t say so, he promised, “I’ll get you more film later, honey.”

But Lainey wasn’t talking to him or her brother. She grabbed what bags she could handle and stomped toward the house. Apparently unconcerned, Daniel buried his upper body in the back of the vehicle.

Sighing, Bart finally turned his full attention to Felice.

“Where is everyone?” He avoided asking about his brothers. “Curt…Laredo…Enrique?”

“All gone. The only one left from the old days is Moon-Eye and he’s picking up supplies.”

All gone.

All driven away.

No wonder his father had been so anxious to turn the ranch into a family corporation, Bart thought. Undoubtedly, he figured that way his sons couldn’t walk out on him again.

“We’ve had a couple of hands come and go since spring,” Felice was saying. “Only one stuck—Frank Ewing.”