rel="nofollow" href="#ubbfe71fa-86eb-5ea3-b61f-a2f608903ad4">Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter One
Brave Rock, Oklahoma
May 1889
Gideon couldn’t have heard right. His ears must be clogged. Or he was dehydrated, which would explain why he’d misunderstood the cavalry officer. Extreme thirst and heat could do that to a man.
Glaring at the fortyish man who’d introduced himself as Private Jesse Wellington, he demanded he repeat his previous statement.
The polished buttons marching down the middle of Wellington’s navy blue uniform rose and fell with his long-suffering sigh. Tall and distinguished, the officer had streaks of silver at his temples that lent him a sage air. “I’m here to inform you that your claim to this land has been challenged.”
Challenged? “You’re joking, right?” After all, he’d planted his stake deep into the earth with his own two hands.
On April 22, the day of the land rush, thousands of settlers had raced to claim a piece of this Oklahoma prairie for themselves. Thanks to President Cleveland and his decision to make the Unassigned Lands available to settlers, scores of people from all parts of the country had seized the opportunity to start over, to build new and better lives for themselves and their families, he and his brothers included.
The private smirked. “The United States Army isn’t in the habit of joking about such matters, Mr. Thornton. Mrs. Evelyn Chaucer Montgomery, along with her brothers, Theodore, Brett and Reid Chaucer, are disputing your claim.”
His gut knotted up below his sternum. Chaucer. A name embedded in his consciousness, going as far back as his toddler years to the time of the war between the states, a name associated with trouble and turmoil, hatred and discord. The Chaucers—Southern sympathizers to the core—despised his family for their loyalty to the North and its cause. That they had turned up here, in this start-up community of Brave Rock, struck him as downright suspicious.
Beyond Wellington’s left shoulder, three men stood shoulder to shoulder, their olive skin and European features marking them as Chaucers. Because they were familiar to him and uninteresting, he skipped right over them to focus on the slender female dressed in head-to-toe black. Her head was bent so that her bonnet’s brim hid the top half of her face.
Gauging from her gold-kissed skin and the black-brown hair whispering against her nape, Chaucer blood ran through her veins. The vague recollection of a twin sister drifted through his memory. Before he could pin it down, however, he noticed another member of their party. A small child. A boy with disheveled black hair and huge brown eyes in a face that hadn’t yet lost the fullness of toddlerhood. A boy around the same age as his Maggie....
Shying away from the life-sucking grief, Gideon slammed the gateway to the past shut. Wrested his gaze away from the small figure clinging to his ma’s skirts and planted it firmly onto the soldier.
“I’ve been here eight days, Private. Why are they just now disputing the claim?”
“Because we had a funeral to arrange, you—” Theo leaned forward. Brett put up an arm to block him.
“You’ve wasted your time. These people have misled you.”
Wellington didn’t so much as blink. “They contend that Mrs. Montgomery’s late husband, Drake, staked this plot and that it rightfully belongs to her and her son, Walter.”
Montgomery. The inexperienced rider who’d foolishly followed him the day of the land rush? His gaze flew to the widow’s face, now fully visible beneath the curved brim, delving into eyes the color of thick, sticky molasses. The exotic beauty countered his scrutiny with open challenge, her dainty chin uplifted and her high forehead lined with determination. Slashing black brows arched above flashing, thick-lashed eyes, and rounded cheekbones were balanced by a lush pink mouth. Disdain radiated from her bristling stance.
“I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am,” he said directly to her, with effort not allowing his gaze to lower to the boy at her side, “but you’re mistaken. Before the land rush, I studied the maps carefully and chose this plot because of its distance from town and proximity to this offshoot stream. I discovered a shortcut, a path hazardous for anyone who isn’t a strong rider.”
He recalled the exact moment he’d realized someone was trailing him. The surprise. The urgency, the drive to reach the land first. He had waited too long for this opportunity, hadn’t been about to let it slip through his fingers. “I planted my stake. When I looked back, I saw Montgomery’s horse stumble and pitch sideways. He was crushed.”
A quiet gasp drew his attention once more to the female. A small hand pressed against her son’s back tucked him closer to her, as if her touch alone were enough to spare him life’s harsh realities.
Eager to be done with this unpleasant scene, Gideon pushed out the rest of the story. “I checked on him. Saw that he was alive and in desperate need of medical help, so I sought out my brother’s fiancée, Alice Hawthorne. She’s a skilled nurse. I thought—” He scraped a hand along his unshaven jaw, the bloody images coming into focus. “We were too late to save him. By the time we returned, Mr. Montgomery had already passed.”
“You’re lying.” Her voice was huskier, deeper than he’d expected.
His spine stiffened. “Be very careful, madam. That’s a serious accusation to levy at a complete stranger.”
Rather than cower at the current of steely warning in his voice, she took a step forward. “I want to see the stake.”
“As do I.” Theodore glared at Gideon, the heat of old rivalries stirring to life in his dark eyes, punctuated by the once-straight nose that was now slightly offset.
Ignoring him, Gideon looked at Wellington, who nodded in agreement. “In order to sort this out, we need to see it. Shall we walk or ride?”
He weighed his options. Refusal didn’t appear to be one of them. Besides, the sooner he proved his case, the sooner he’d be rid of the Chaucers. “It’s about fifteen acres south of here.
