Page 127 of The Rancher Who Swore Off Love
“I was fourteen, Ace.” Jonah’s jaw pressed against the top of Ace’s head, pinning him still. “Fourteen years old, standin’ outside your flophouse with my ribs showin’ through my shirt.And you smiled at me. You put your hand on my shoulder, and you said, ‘I’ll take care of you, son.’ And I believed you because my papa had just died with blisters on his throat and I needed somebody—anybody—to say those words.”
Ace’s thrashing slowed. His boots swung once more, then hung still.
“But you didn’t take care of me. You used me. Same way you used every kid who walked through that door hungry and scared. Same way you tried to use my sister.”
“It’s a fortune, you stupid—”
“It’sdirt.” Jonah squeezed until Ace wheezed. “It’s dirt and rocks and whatever’s left of a dead man’s greed, and it ain’t worth one hair on her head.”
Grace smiled as she cried.
“We’re done, Ace.” Jonah lowered him until his boots touched the ground, but kept his arms locked. “You’re done threatenin’ my sister. You’re done diggin’ up their land. You’re done with me. Eleven years, and I’m tellin’ you right now—you’re done.”
The fight drained out of Ace. His shoulders sagged. His legs buckled. Jonah held him upright like a sack of grain.
Logan ran up to Grace in four strides, stepping over the collapsed table, and took her arm. “You all right?”
“I’m fine. I—”
“Don’t say a thing.” He hugged her. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”
She leaned into him. Her cheekbone throbbed, her wrists burned raw, and her shoulder ached deep in the socket. But his heartbeat hammered through his shirt fast enough to count, and the warmth of him bled through the fabric into her skin.
He turned back to Ace.
“Jonah, Thomas, tie ’em up. All of ’em. Hands and feet.” His grip on her waist tightened. “We’re takin’ ’em to the sheriff.”
Epilogue
The moment Logan rode his group down Main Street—five riders, three tied-up men slung across saddle backs like flour sacks, and a woman with a bruised face holding the lead rope—Sheriff Briggs set his coffee on the porch rail of his office and stood up to greet them.
If Logan had been in his place, he too would’ve accepted that his morning had just gone sideways in the most paperwork-intensive way.
“Logan Foster,” Briggs squinted. “You wanna tell me what in the Sam Hill—”
“Ace Pike.” Logan jerked his chin at the lead horse. “Gang boss outta New York. He and his boys dug up my ranch, cut my fences, scattered my cattle, and took my wife hostage. The skinny one’s got a knife wound. The other one’s got a bullet in his arm.”
“You shot a man?”
“He aimed a pistol at me first.”
“Fair enough.” Briggs drained his coffee. “Bring ’em inside.”
They hauled Ace and his two goons into the jail. Ace went quiet, which suited Logan just fine; the man had talked enough for three lifetimes. The goons stumbled and whined about their injuries, and Briggs told them to shut up with the same bored authority Logan listened to him use on drunk miners every Saturday night.
Then Briggs turned to Jonah.
“And this one?”
Logan’s chest tightened. Because the honest answer required giving up Jonah, too—if Ace started running his mouth, which he would. Men like Ace dragged everybody down with them.
But that was Grace’s brother.
And, no matter the past and the mistakes he’d made, he’d repented for them. Logan had to forgive him. Wanted to forgive him. But, the sheriff wouldn’t just—
“I worked for him.” Jonah straightened up. “I helped him get access to the ranch.”
“Jonah, you don’t have to—” Grace grabbed his arm.
