Page 23 of In These Hills

“Are you kidding me, Dodge?” Kathleen had grasped his upper arm and squeezed tight. “Of course, I want to go. I want a fresh start. A place where people have no memory of what I did. A place where my daughter can grow up outside the shadow of my mistakes. Where I can help Bethie forge her own path and where she can be anything she wants to be.”

Then Kathleen had fallen ill, scarlet fever finally taking her, God rest her sweet spirit, and the dream of Wyoming had died with her. She’d known it, too. He’d felt it in the last gentle squeeze of her hand. Had seen it in her tear-filled eyes before she’d slipped away. He hoped she’d heard his strained, repeated whispers of assurance there at the last. He hadn’t wanted her entering eternity with that regret. Because he could never view Bethie as anything but a blessing. A remarkable, unexpected gift he’d spend his life providing for and protecting.

He noiselessly closed the door, then paused. Bethie had already lost the most important person in the world to her. How did he take this dream away from her as well? Yet, it was time he told her the change in plans. No matter how much it hurt him to do it. Maybe the gift he’d had special made for her would help make up for it in some small way. The leatherworker at the tack shop in Tullahoma had sure given it his best.

He shrugged into his coat and grabbed his hat from the hook by the door, then carefully slid open the top left drawer of his desk. He reached to the very back—knowing Bethie’s tendency to snoop—and withdrew the envelope, its contents having robbed him of sleep for days now.

He unfolded the document and read the title across the top. The United States of America, Department of the Interior.

He scanned the legal verbiage again, having reviewed it thoroughly two nights earlier once Bethie was asleep. His gaze slid to the signature of the land agent on the bottom left, then to the empty line adjacent to it on the right . . . that awaited his own pen. Every one of those four hundred and twenty acres in Wyoming were his, for now. Until he sold them. Which, according to the land agent in Cheyenne who brokered deals, could happen lightning fast or drag out for months. All depended on price and interested buyers.

The thought of selling still made his stomach churn. He’d saved for that land for nearly fifteen years. Had put aside near everything he’d earned, after caring for Kathleen and Bethie’s needs, for that purchase. But he knew it was the right thing to do, even if it meant possibly losing most of what he’d worked for all his adult life.

He retrieved his fountain pen, signed the document, and tucked the envelope into his coat pocket. Before mailing it, he’d talk to Uncle Jack to make sure they were on the same page, then he’d make it official.

The air outside hit him crisp and cool, and he latched the cabin door behind him and headed for the stables, Jessie trotting beside him. How to break it to Bethie was the question. Probably best to just state it outright. That’s how he’d want it done, if it was him. Quick and to the point. Don’t make him guess. Yet he’d learned long ago that females were a different breed, and he’d all but given up on trying to figure them out.

But life was full of unforeseen switchbacks. He’d learned that young, and, unfortunately, Bethie was learning that too.

Angry shouts drifted toward him, and he slowed his steps. Curses punctuated the argument, and he turned in the direction of the distillery downhill. A gunshot rang out, and he broke into a run, Jessie easily outpacing him.

As Dodge drew closer, he thought he recognized one of the voices. He commanded Jessie to stay and didn’t hesitate as he burst through the side door.

10

DODGE SKIDDED TO A HALT as Gideon Cartwright leveled his Colt .45 dead center on Micah Hackett’s chest. “I told you before, you lying son of a—”

“Cartwright!” Dodge yelled.

The man turned, a wild look in his eyes.

“Lower the gun,” Dodge commanded. “Now.”

“But, sir, you got no idea what he done to—”

“Doesn’t matter right now what he did, Cartwright. You’re standing smack in the middle of a distillery!” Dodge glanced at the handful of workers backing off to one side. “You get off another shot, and this whole place could go up in a fireball. Us along with it! So lower the gun and stand down. Then we’ll talk through things. Get to the bottom of it together.”

His face ruddy with rage, Cartwright begrudgingly complied, still glaring at Micah Hackett. “You’re a lying, cheating snake of a coward for doing what you did.”

“I ain’t done nothing she didn’t want me to do. Just ask her!”

Cursing, Cartwright raised the gun again.

“Hackett!” Dodge stepped forward. “Shut your stupid trap, you fool! ’Less you want your chest blown open. Now Cartwright, give me the gun. And we’ll talk it through like I said.”

“But I—”

“Now!”

With a desperate look that said he hoped Dodge would make good on his promise, Cartwright finally did as asked. Dodge released the hammer on the single-action revolver and checked the cylinder. Five bullets left. Cartwright had come to do business.

Dodge tucked the gun in his back waistband and gestured toward the door. “Outside, gentlemen.”

Hackett shot Cartwright a smirk as he passed, and Dodge was tempted to clock the idiot upside the head himself. The Hacketts were a surly bunch with egos to match. Micah worked on the line in the distillery and had a way of getting under a person’s skin, and enjoyed doing it, too. Two of his five brothers were farmhands, herding cattle and helping with the pigs. Hard workers, for the most part, but all three had mouths that wouldn’t quit and a loyalty to family that cut across all else. Wrong one of them, and you’d wronged them all. Still, whatever Micah had done, Cartwright wasn’t one to pick a fight without cause.

A bear of a man, Cartwright, once justifiably riled, didn’t forget. Some called him simpleminded, and he did have a peculiar innocence about him for a man full grown. But Dodge would take that over hotheaded pride any day.

He slammed the door behind them, tossing Jessie a firm look that said to stay where she was, while curious employees gathered to check out the ruckus. He held up a hand. “Everything’s under control, folks. Get on about your business.” The crowd slowly dispersed, though some hung on the fringe to see what would happen next. Dodge turned back. “Neither of you men are to speak until I ask you a direct question. Do, and you’ll regret it. You hear me?”