“You’re wrong, dear,” Bennet said softy. “Everyone deserves that kind of devotion.” He rose and crossed over to take her hands in his. “If you truly love him, then I’ve nothing to say but that you have my blessings—both of you.” They hugged each other, Beth drowning in her happiness, until she could feel strange movement from her father.
She pulled away from his embrace. “Father, are you laughing?”
Bennet rubbed an eye and said sheepishly, “I was just reminiscing about when I was courting your mother.” At her expectant look, he continued. “I used to go to dinner at your grandpa’s house after church, and one Sunday your mother and I were walking about, and she was showing me her father’s place, and there was the barn, and one thing led to another…”
Beth was horrified.
“Oh, no, no! Nothing
Beth was still scandalized. “No wonder Grandpa didn’t like you.”
Bennet chuckled. “Nope, he didn’t. I hope to get along with your young man better—as long as he minds his manners and behaves himself in my house!” Beth nodded happily and received a kiss on the forehead. “Now,” Bennet grew more serious, “go and help your mother and sisters pack. That wagon from Pemberley’ll be here any time now. Go on with yourself.” Beth left for the back of the house, and Bennet steeled himself for his talk with Darcy.
He walked out onto the front porch. There was Darcy, talking in low tones to one of his men, pointing towards the low hills at the entrance to the farm. The movement from the doorway caught his eye, and he dismissed his hireling to await Beth’s father. Bennet walked beside him and looked out into the moonlit darkness. They stood together for a time, not sharing a look or a word.
Finally, Bennet broke the silence. “You’ll take care of her?”
Darcy didn’t have to ask whom the older man referred to. “Yes, sir.”
Bennet sighed. “A man’s not supposed to favor one of his children over the others. It’s a sin. But, Lord help me, Elizabeth’s the child of my heart. When you’re a father, Will, you’ll understand.”
Will faced the man beside him and saw that Bennet seemed to have aged before his eyes. “Rest easy, sir— Beth will want for nothing. She’ll be comfortable, cared for, and safe. I pledge my life on it.”
“Henry rifles?”
Darcy shook his head, grinning. “No, sir. These are Winchesters—Model 1866 lever action repeating rifles. Fires the same .44 caliber cartridge as the Henry, but it’s more reliable. All my riders carry Winchesters.”
Bennet looked at the two cases, each with six rifles. “And you’ve brought along a dozen more?”
“Even at fifteen rounds, a man can run out of ammunition. Having two loaded rifles can make the difference in a gunfight. That last box is a case of ammo.”
Bennet shook his head. At almost fifty dollars a rifle and knowing that Darcy had two dozen men working for him, he was looking at more money than some farmhands would see in their lifetimes. “You’re a generous man, Will Darcy.”
Darcy shrugged. “If you want a man to do his job, you give him the tools he needs. Bennet, I don’t mean to rush anything, but the sooner the women are on their way to Pemberley, the better I’ll feel.”
Bennet called for his wife and daughters to prepare to leave. Turning to Darcy, he asked, “You’re sure about Pemberley?”
“Yes, sir. It was built to withstand Indian raids. I’ve sent Fitzwilliam to organize the defense of the house. It’s the safest place in fifty miles.”
The ladies made their appearance, Lily now in her own clothing. All were taken aback at the sight of the firearms, but none said a word as they were escorted outside. Darcy had Beth on his arm, and he was just reaching to lift her up into the wagon when a rider came in hot.
“Ethan,” greeted Darcy, “what news? Why did you leave your post in town?”
The young cowhand pulled up in front of his employer. “Whitehead, Mr. Darcy,” he panted. “Whitehead’s done come back early from Fort Worth. He an’ Denny an’ his riders were at Whitehead’s place in town when I left, and they didn’t sound too happy from what I heard.”
Darcy stared at his man, while José cursed something in Spanish. “They’ll be coming ’ere, boss,” he told Darcy. “What’ll we do with the women?”
“We can’t go through town,” said Ethan. “They’ll see us for sure.”
“Can we cross at the ford?” suggested a voice from the darkness.
“No,” said Bennet. “The water’s still too high from the rains. We’d be washed away.”
Darcy’s eye was caught by a glint of light from the hilltop, as the lookout used a mirror to flash a warning in the moonlight.
Darcy’s insides turned to ice. They were trapped and out of time.
Riding in the moonlight at the head of his army towards the Bennet place, a very angry George Whitehead wondered how everything could have gone so wrong so fast.
Whitehead had taken Collins and Denny to Fort Worth for a sort of victory celebration. The railroad was about ready to start buying up the useless bottomland he had stolen from Mrs. Burroughs. Everything had been in place. The riches from the railroad would allow him to turn his twenty-five thousand into his own political kingdom. Soon, either Miss Gaby or Miss Anne would be Mrs. Whitehead, and with them came half the county. With land and army, he would conquer the rest. After that—who knew? The governor’s house in Austin? A senator’s seat in Washington, D.C.? All things were possible.
Whitehead’s first clue that things might not be going exactly to plan was when his spy, Elton, told him that Darcy was one of the investors in the railroad. Elton assured him that the rancher was unaware that anyone else in Rosings knew of the project, but Whitehead was uneasy with this turn of circumstance. He chewed over this intelligence during the ride back to Rosings, wondering if adjustments to the plan might be necessary. However, upon his arrival in town he discovered that Darcy knowing of the railroad was the least of his worries.
All of George Whitehead’s dreams were threatened by a whore named Lily.
Whitehead cursed under his breath.
Whitehead stole a glance at Denny riding beside him. The damned fool was infatuated with Lily and demanded her in lieu of the hundreds Whitehead had promised. A bigger fool, Whitehead had agreed to the trade. He should have known better. Had his own bitter and unforgiving mother not shown him that there was no fury like a scorned woman? He should have had the girl killed.
Now everything Whitehead had built—everything that he had planned, dreamed, and killed for—teetered on the edge of the abyss. There was only one thing to do. What he could not win by guile he would take by the gun.
Two by two the riders moved along the trail leading from the main road to the house. Soon the party had formed a semicircle before the dark building, Denny in the middle and Whitehead over to his right. At the end was Billy Collins. Whitehead had insisted his pet bank manager accompany him on this bloody mission. He could not afford to lose any allies now, and after a few minutes’ work, Collins would be tied to him once and for all, being as guilty of murder as the rest.
