A Mail-Order Bride Arrives to Find Her Groom Dead, Until a Half-Apache Rancher Offers Protection

Chapter 5

Dawn broke cold and pink over the Blackwood ranch. Abigail hadn’t slept—every sound had jerked her awake, certain Jenkins and his men had found them. But the night had passed without incident, and now Mrs. Red Feather was tending Ethan’s shoulder with practiced efficiency while he gritted his teeth and didn’t complain.

“You’re lucky,” the older woman said. “Another inch and it would have shattered bone.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it. Jenkins can’t shoot straight when someone’s firing back.”

Mrs. Red Feather made a dismissive sound and began bandaging the wound. Abigail watched from the doorway, the journal still tucked in her coat pocket. She hadn’t let it out of her sight.

“The marshal should arrive today,” Ethan said, pulling his shirt back on carefully. “We need a plan before he does.”

“Tell him everything,” Abigail said. “Show him the journal, the deed. Let him arrest Burke and Jenkins.”

“Wallace is one man. Burke owns half the town—the sheriff, the doctor, probably a few of the businessmen. Even if Wallace arrests him, Burke won’t see trial unless we have ironclad proof.”

“The journal is proof.”

“It’s Thomas’s word. Hearsay.” Ethan stood, testing his shoulder. “We need Burke to confess or act openly. Something Wallace can’t ignore.”

“How do we make that happen?”

Before Ethan could answer, hoofbeats sounded outside—multiple riders, approaching fast. Mrs. Red Feather grabbed her rifle. Ethan moved to the window, his own weapon already in hand.

“It’s Wallace,” he said, relaxing slightly. “And he brought deputies.”

They watched as five men dismounted—US Marshal Wallace, a grizzled man in his fifties with cold blue eyes, and four younger deputies who looked like they knew their business.

Ethan opened the door before Wallace could knock.

“Blackwood,” the marshal said, tipping his hat. “Got your message about Thomas Wheeler. This the widow?”

“Miss Montgomery,” Abigail corrected, stepping forward. “We weren’t married yet.”

Wallace studied her with the same assessing gaze he’d probably used on a thousand witnesses. “I understand you arrived in Copper Ridge the day after Wheeler was buried.”

“Yes, sir. I was told it was influenza.”

“That’s what Doc Miller certified. You have reason to think otherwise?”

Abigail glanced at Ethan. He nodded.

She pulled out the journal and handed it to Wallace. “Thomas kept a record. He believed Calvin Burke wanted his land for the silver underneath it. He was killed three days before I arrived—convenient timing for someone who wanted to claim the property.”

Wallace read in silence, his expression giving nothing away. When he finished, he looked up at Ethan. “You believe this?”

“Wheeler sent me a letter before he died. Asked me to protect Miss Montgomery if anything happened to him. He knew someone was coming for him.”

“That’s not proof of murder. Could’ve been paranoia.”

“Then explain why Farley Jenkins and six armed men ambushed us last night,” Abigail said sharply. “Explain why they demanded papers from Wheeler’s house and threatened to kill us when we refused.”

That got Wallace’s attention. “Jenkins attacked you?”

“Shot Ethan. Chased me for a mile. His men are probably still out there looking.”

Wallace turned to one of his deputies. “Ride into Copper Ridge. Bring in Farley Jenkins and Calvin Burke for questioning. If they resist, arrest them.”

The deputy left at a gallop. Wallace returned his attention to Abigail and Ethan.

“Tell me everything. Start from when you arrived, Miss Montgomery.”

They spent the next hour going through it all—Thomas’s letters, the deed transferring ownership, the mining claim filed in Prescott, Jenkins’s threats, Burke’s financial control over the town. Wallace listened without interrupting, taking notes in a small leather book.

When they finished, he closed the book and sighed.

“This is a mess,” he said bluntly. “Even if Burke killed Wheeler—and I’m not saying he did—proving it will be near impossible. Doc Miller won’t recant his influenza diagnosis without hard evidence. The town’s too afraid of Burke to testify against him. And without witnesses, all I’ve got is a dead man’s journal and your word against a banker’s.”

“What about the ambush last night?” Abigail demanded.

“Your word against Jenkins’s. He’ll claim he was trying to recover stolen property, that you and Blackwood fired first.” Wallace rubbed his face tiredly. “I’ll investigate. But unless I can get someone to flip—someone who was there when Wheeler died—Burke walks.”

“Then we make someone flip,” Ethan said quietly.

Wallace’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t want vigilante justice, Blackwood. You stay clear of this.”

“I’m not talking about vigilante justice. I’m talking about giving Burke enough rope to hang himself.”

“How?”

Ethan looked at Abigail. “We announce publicly that Miss Montgomery owns Wheeler’s ranch and the mining claim. We make Burke think he’s lost. Desperate men make mistakes.”

“That puts her in immediate danger,” Wallace protested.

“She’s already in danger,” Ethan countered. “At least this way we control the when and where.”

Abigail’s mind raced. It was risky—insanely risky. But Ethan was right. Hiding wouldn’t solve anything. Burke would keep coming until she was dead or gone.

“I’ll do it,” she said.

“Miss Montgomery—”

“Marshal, I traveled four thousand miles to build a life here. Thomas died trying to give me that chance. I won’t let his death be for nothing.” She met Wallace’s eyes steadily. “If announcing my ownership forces Burke into the open, then that’s what we do.”

Wallace looked between them, then shook his head. “You’re both insane. But all right. We’ll do this carefully. Controlled. My deputies will be positioned around town when you make the announcement. If Burke or Jenkins try anything, we’ll be ready.”

“When?” Ethan asked.

“Tomorrow. Gives me time to get men in place.” Wallace stood, gathering his notes. “In the meantime, Miss Montgomery stays here. Blackwood, you keep her alive until then.”

“That’s the plan,” Ethan said dryly.

After Wallace and his remaining deputies left, Abigail sank into a chair, suddenly exhausted. “Do you really think this will work?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.” Ethan sat across from her. “But I know Burke. He’s not the type to let something go once he’s decided he wants it. When he hears you own the claim, he’ll come for you. And when he does, Wallace will be waiting.”

“And if Wallace isn’t fast enough?”

“Then I will be.”

The certainty in his voice should have been reassuring. Instead, it made Abigail’s chest tighten with an emotion she couldn’t name. This man—who she’d known for barely two days—was willing to die to keep a promise to someone else. It was the kind of loyalty Thomas had written about in his final letter.

Trust him. He’s honorable to his core.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked quietly. “Really. It’s more than just a promise to Thomas.”

Ethan was silent for a long moment. Then: “When my parents were killed, the authorities did nothing. Said it was an Indian raid, case closed. No investigation, no justice. I was seventeen, alone, with no way to fight back.” He looked at her, and in his eyes she saw old pain, old rage. “I won’t let that happen to someone else if I can prevent it. Thomas was a good man. He deserves justice. And you deserve the life he wanted to give you.”

Abigail’s throat tightened. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We’re not out of this.”

“But we will be,” she said, surprising herself with her own conviction. “We will be.”

The next morning dawned clear and bright. Abigail dressed carefully in her best remaining dress, pinned her hair, and checked the revolver Mrs. Red Feather had given her. The weight of it in her pocket was becoming familiar. Comforting, even.

Ethan waited by the wagon, his shoulder freshly bandaged but moving easily. “Ready?”

“No. But let’s go anyway.”

The ride into Copper Ridge was tense. They didn’t speak, both scanning the landscape for signs of ambush. But the road remained empty until they crested the final hill and the town spread before them.

Marshal Wallace’s deputies were already in position—Abigail spotted them on rooftops, in alleys, anywhere with a clear line of sight to the main street. Wallace himself stood near the General Store, talking quietly with Harold Dawson.

A crowd had gathered. Word had spread that something important was happening, and frontier towns didn’t get much entertainment. Abigail saw curiosity on most faces, but on a few—particularly those standing near the bank—she saw calculation. Hostility.

Calvin Burke stood on the bank steps, a tall man with silver hair and a politician’s smile. He watched their approach with the confidence of someone who believed he’d already won.

Ethan helped Abigail down from the wagon. “Stay close to me,” he murmured. “If shooting starts, get behind the water trough.”

“Cheerful thought.”

“I’m a cheerful person.”

Despite everything, Abigail almost smiled.

Marshal Wallace stepped forward, voice carrying across the crowd. “Folks, I’ve called this gathering on official business. Miss Abigail Montgomery has a legal claim regarding the late Thomas Wheeler’s property, and I want it witnessed proper.”

Murmurs ran through the crowd. Calvin Burke’s smile didn’t waver, but his eyes hardened.

Abigail took a deep breath and stepped forward. “My name is Abigail Montgomery. I was engaged to marry Thomas Wheeler. Before his death, Thomas legally transferred ownership of his ranch to me.” She pulled the deed from her coat. “I also hold the mining claim for silver discovered on that property, registered in my name in Prescott.”

The murmurs became shouts. Burke’s smile vanished.

“That’s a lie!” someone yelled—one of Burke’s men. “Wheeler died owing the bank! That land belongs to Mr. Burke!”

“The deed is legal and notarized,” Wallace called back. “I’ve verified it myself. Miss Montgomery is the lawful owner.”

“This is outrageous!” Burke descended the bank steps, his voice booming. “Thomas Wheeler borrowed fifteen thousand dollars from my bank. That land is collateral. I have every right—”

“You have rights to collect the debt,” Wallace interrupted. “Not to seize property that’s no longer in the debtor’s name. Wheeler transferred ownership before he died. Your beef is with his estate, not Miss Montgomery.”

Burke’s face flushed red. “This is obviously fraud. Wheeler was coerced—”

“Wheeler was of sound mind when he signed,” Abigail said clearly. “And his letters prove he intended to marry me and share his life with me. The transfer was a gift between engaged parties. Completely legal.”

“Letters can be forged—”

“Not by a woman who was still in Boston when they were written,” Wallace said coldly. “Mr. Burke, unless you have proof of fraud, this claim stands.”

The crowd erupted. Some cheering, some shouting angrily. Through it all, Abigail watched Burke. She saw the moment he realized he’d lost—saw the rage crack through his careful facade.

“This isn’t over,” he said quietly, looking directly at Abigail. “That land has debts attached. You’ll never be able to pay them. And when you default, the bank will take everything.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to make sure the mine pays out,” Abigail replied. “Silver prices are quite good right now, I understand.”

Burke’s hands clenched into fists. For a moment she thought he might actually attack her right there in the street. Then he turned and stalked back toward the bank, three of his men following.

Farley Jenkins, however, didn’t leave. He stood at the edge of the crowd, staring at Abigail with open hatred. When Wallace’s deputies moved toward him—clearly intending to bring him in for questioning about the ambush—he melted into the crowd and disappeared down an alley.

“Let him go,” Wallace muttered to his deputies. “We’ll pick him up later. Right now, I want Miss Montgomery somewhere safe.”

They retreated to the General Store, where Harold Dawson offered them coffee and a back room away from prying eyes. Abigail’s hands shook as she accepted the cup—delayed reaction setting in now that the danger had passed.

“You did well,” Ethan said quietly.

“Burke looked like he wanted to kill me right there.”

“He did. Still does.” Wallace leaned against the wall. “Which is why you’re staying under guard until I can prove Wheeler’s death wasn’t natural causes.”

“How long will that take?”

“Depends on whether I can find anyone willing to talk. Doc Miller, one of Burke’s men, someone who saw something.” Wallace grimaced. “Could be days. Could be weeks.”

“I don’t have weeks,” Abigail protested. “I need to start working the mine, start paying off Thomas’s debts—”

“You need to stay alive,” Ethan interrupted. “The mine isn’t going anywhere.”

He was right, but the helplessness was suffocating. She’d come West to take control of her life, not to hide while men decided her fate.

“Marshal,” she said slowly, “what if we didn’t wait for someone to talk? What if we made them show their hand?”

Wallace frowned. “What are you suggesting?”

“I announce that I’m moving into the Wheeler ranch. Starting operations. Make myself visible, vulnerable. If Burke wants me dead, he’ll have to act quickly before I can start profiting from the mine.”

“Absolutely not,” Ethan said flatly.

“It’s too dangerous,” Wallace agreed.

“It’s the only way.” Abigail met their eyes. “You said yourself—without proof, Burke walks. So we create a situation where he has to reveal himself. We set a trap.”

“Using you as bait,” Ethan said angrily. “No.”

“It’s not your decision.” She turned to Wallace. “Marshal, you can position your men around the ranch. Watch for anyone approaching. When Burke or Jenkins make their move, you catch them.”

Wallace looked torn. “It could work,” he admitted slowly. “But Blackwood’s right—the risk to you is enormous.”

“I’ll stay at the ranch with her,” Ethan said. “Provide protection until Burke shows.”

“You were shot two nights ago.”

“I’ve been shot before. I’m still here.”

Wallace sighed. “You’re both crazy. But all right. We do this carefully. My deputies surround the property, hidden. Miss Montgomery stays inside the house. At the first sign of trouble, she gets to the root cellar and doesn’t come out until I give the all-clear.”

“Agreed,” Abigail said quickly, before Ethan could object again.

“This is a mistake,” Ethan muttered.

“Probably,” Abigail agreed. “But it’s my mistake to make.”