An Uninvited Bride on his Doorstep by Ava Winters
Prologue
Near El Paso, Texas
April 18, 1874
Logan wiped sweat from his eyes and lowered his hat. The sun was setting behind him so there was no need to protect his eyes from shadows, but he lowered it anyway. He’d never been one for letting others see him cry and anyway, his brothers needed his strength right now, not his grief.
Truthfully, he was surprised at how much his grandfather’s loss affected him. He loved his grandfather, of course, but Harold Foley was well past his eightieth birthday when his heart finally gave out. Logan thought he’d reconciled himself to Harold’s death years ago. Traveling home from the elderly man’s funeral, Logan knew he hadn’t. Judging by the expressions on the faces of his parents and two brothers, they struggled with grief as well.
“Hey Logan?” a voice whispered to his left—his younger brother, Gregory.
“Yes?” Logan whispered back.
“Can you fall back with me a spell? I need to ask you something.”
“Sure, Greg,” Logan replied. He pulled back slightly on Canvas’s reigns, slowing the horse to a leisurely walk and falling behind his parents in the wagon. He reckoned Greg needed to talk to his big brother to sort out his feelings about his Pappy’s death. He didn’t feel at all up to giving advice or encouragement at the moment but it was his responsibility as the eldest to be there for his brothers. He would have to find the strength.
When Jay, the youngest brother, saw his two older brothers falling behind, he slowed his own horse.
“Let me talk to Greg first,” Logan said, softly enough so his parents couldn’t hear.
“Actually, he should see it too,” Greg said.
Logan detected a hint of anxiety in his voice and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. “What’s going on, Greg?” he asked.
Greg pointed behind them to the horizon, brushing a lock of his wavy brown hair from his forehead. He alone of the brothers inherited their mother’s waves. Jay and Logan had their father’s straight, sandy brown hair. “Do you see riders on the horizon?”
Logan squinted against the glare of the setting sun. He could make out several faint shapes that after a moment’s inspection, did appear to be riders. Logan counted a dozen in all. “Yeah, I see ‘em.”
“Me too,” Jay piped up. “Should we tell Pa?”
“Reckon we oughta,” Logan agreed.
He flicked Canvas’s reigns and the horse accelerated to a brisk trot, closing the distance to his parent’s wagon in a few seconds. Dale Foley glanced at his son, sorrow still showing in his heavy-lidded eyes. “What are you boys doing back there?” He asked in a voice as tired as his eyes.
“There’s riders, Pa,” Logan said. “I counted a dozen.”
The elder Foley’s eyes cleared almost instantly, and his voice enlivened and at the same time became even more serious. “Where?”
“Behind us.”
“Are they gaining on us?”
Logan looked behind him. The shapes were noticeably larger than they were a moment ago. “Yes.”
Dale quickly scanned the road ahead. By this time, Greg and Jay had ridden up alongside their father and when Dale turned back, he addressed all three of them. “We’ll ride behind that dune over there until the riders pass.”
“What’s going on?” Logan’s mother asked.
“There’s riders, Martha,” Dale said calmly. “It’s probably just a troop of rangers out of El Paso but we’re going to sit tight behind that sand dune until they pass.” He didn’t mention the other possibility that the riders were bandits who would see in the family an opportunity for easy money. Such bandits rarely left their victims alive to report their crimes.
Martha nodded and Logan noticed her eyes cleared and became alert as well. The only emotion that could have so easily overpowered their grief in that moment was fear. A pit formed in Logan’s stomach as they rode behind the dune.
Once behind the dune, Dale retrieved the rifles, handing one to each of the boys, then one to Martha and the last for himself. “Martha, stay by the wagon,” Dale whispered. “Greg, Jay, stay with her. Logan, come with me.”
Logan and Dale crept to the edge of the dune and peered around at the road. The riders were much closer now and Logan could see they rode in a wide fan shape about fifty yards abreast. After a few seconds it became apparent they were not Texas Rangers. After a few more it became apparent the riders were heading purposefully for the dune where the Foleys hid.
Dale swore under his breath and ran back to the others. Logan followed close behind.
“There’s a fight comin’,” Dale said. “Take cover behind the wagon and chamber a round.”
The boys nodded and complied. Martha followed suit. Jay’s lip quivered slightly, and Martha smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay, son,” she said. “Just listen to your father and me.”
Logan’s heart pounded as they waited for the riders. After a moment, he could hear the sound of their horses approaching. Soon, he could hear laughter and whooping as the men approached what they thought would be an easy target.
They’ll learn different soon enough, Logan thought to himself. Despite the confidence that thought expressed, Logan couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that slowly crept up his spine.
A moment later, the gang began riding around the corner, guns firing. As soon as Logan saw a rider, he fired his rifle. The outlaw fell to the ground, clutching his chest. Logan quickly levered another round into the chamber as his father and brother’s rifles cracked. Three more outlaws fell and a fourth flew from his horse as the animal stumbled over the corpses of its companions. The outlaw immediately leapt to his feet and ran for about ten feet before Martha’s round found his chest.
Logan heard a stream of curses from the other outlaws and the skittering of sand and gravel as they pulled their mounts to a stop and spun them around to avoid the sudden fury of gunfire that felled a third of their number.
“Get on out of here!” Dale yelled. “Unless you want to join your friends in the pit.”
“You first!” an outlaw cried. He spun around and fired wildly with his pistol. Dale fired and the man’s head snapped backward, a hole the size of a quarter stamped in his forehead just above his right eye.
“Who wants to be next?” Dale called. Logan knew his father would not react so violently if he didn’t feel he had good reason.
The reason became clear quickly enough. One of the outlaws shouted, “Who are you to threaten us? We’re the Sundown Gang! We ain’t afraid of you!”
As soon as he finished speaking, the outlaw spun around the corner and fired three rounds quickly before returning behind the corner.
“Ma!” Jay cried.
Logan and Dale turned. Logan’s blood turned to ice. His mother stood upright in the wagon clutching her stomach. Rivulets of blood ran between her fingers. She looked up at Dale with a confused expression than toppled out of the wagon, landing heavily on the ground.
“Martha!” Dale shouted. He rushed to his wife’s side, ignoring the enemy ahead.
“Pa, look out!” Logan cried. An outlaw aimed his handgun at Dale and fired. An instant later, both Logan’s and Greg’s rifles roared. The outlaw jerked twice in rapid succession from the two rounds then fell face first to the ground.
Dale scrambled back behind the wagon, grabbing his chest and grimacing in pain. Logan crawled over to his father. His heart burned from his mother’s sudden death, but he couldn’t allow himself to feel anything but adrenaline. Emotion would come later. “Fire at anything that shows it’s face on this side of the dune!” he shouted toward Greg and Jay.
Tears streamed down the younger boy’s face, but Greg’s hands were steady. He squeezed Jay’s shoulder and Jay took a ragged breath, then calmed and watched the other side. At sixteen, Jay had never fired on anything more dangerous than a mule deer. A year older, Greg had never fired on a man before but was forced to kill a bear once after it came on their camp. Maybe that gave him a calmer outlook when confronted with the danger they faced now.
The outlaws, having lost half their number, seemed reluctant to return. Greg motioned to Logan that he would watch the other side in case the gang tried to flank them.
Logan knelt by his father. The older man’s breath was shallow and a sheen of sweat shone on his face. He looked up at Logan, his eyes glazed.
“Take care of your brothers,” he rasped. “And take care of the horse ranch.”
“Pa, don’t talk like that,” Logan said. The tears he fought back when his mother died threatened again. “Greg! Jay! Bring me the possibles bag.” Logan knew there was nothing there that could help his father, but he couldn’t overcome his urge to try something, anything to save his life.”
Jay started for the wagon, but Greg placed a hand on his shoulder. Tears ran down his face too. Logan turned back toward his father, his own eyes swimming.
“Promise me,” Dale said.
Logan gulped and drew a shaky breath. Then he set his jaw and squeezed his Pa’s hand. “I will, Pa.”
Dale nodded. “I love you, son.”
After saying those words, he drew a final, rattling breath, then stilled.
Black fury filled Logan but instead of bursting into a rage, he found he felt completely calm and unnaturally alert and clearheaded. He crawled back into position and called his brothers over.
“We’re going to flank them,” Logan whispered. “Follow me. Jay, cover the rear.”
He led them around the other side of the dune. Five of the six remaining outlaws were huddled close to the dune, discussing what to do. One watched the opposite side of the dune, but none watched the side Logan and his brothers emerged from.
In a fluid motion, the three boys raised their rifles and fired. Three outlaws dropped. The other three didn’t bother trying to fight back but leapt onto their mounts and rode off. Jay and Greg quickly dropped two more of them. Logan leveled his rifle and stared down the sights at the third. He exhaled softly and squeezed the trigger and the final outlaw fell from his horse.
Logan watched as the horse continued riderless, until the animal disappeared on the horizon. As suddenly as it began the fight was over. Only the gradually softening reverberation of the gunfire off the ridge gave any sign eight people died here.
Logan turned to his brothers. Gregory and Jay were sobbing. He opened his mouth to speak, but the pain, loss, and fear finally overwhelmed him and instead he dropped to his knees and wept with his brothers.