Chapter 6
I know I’m not a good man, and that’s never mattered much to me. I managed to keep us all alive, and living is dirty business. I rode through Jacksonville today and saw an angel. It was the first time I wished I was closer to God.
—Austin Wilder’s journal, May 12, 1855
“H ow about we go out tonight?”
Austin looked over at his brother. “You go out every night.”
“Yeah. I do.” Flynn didn’t look the slightest bit chagrined at the accusation. “But we ought to get Carson to go out.”
“Carson doesn’t need to drink any more than he already does.”
“Granted. But we probably aren’t going to get him to stop drinking cold turkey. We might be able to get him to drink with other people around, instead of drinking alone.”
Carson’s decision to be the one to settle down, to get married, had been surprising. He was a pretty damn locked box on a good day. But since his wife had died, he had shut down completely. Yet he still showed up for family dinners. He made conversation. But when it came to the subject of how he was doing? He wasn’t sharing that information. Not ever.
He was a fan of self-medication. And Austin couldn’t say that he approved of the behavior. But he also couldn’t say that Carson had ever asked his opinion.
“I already told Dalton that we would be down there in about twenty minutes.”
“Damn. Give a man a chance to pretty up a bit.”
“What does that even look like for you?” Flynn shook his head. “It’s going to take more than a quick shower to get that ugly mug into shape.”
It was funny, because Austin was good-looking by any metric. He wasn’t conceited about it. It was just a fact.
“Yeah. That’s why I have such bad luck with women.”
He had always thought it was bad luck that the Wilder family was so damned good-looking. It was certainly how the original Austin Wilder had managed to snare himself a wife who had been too sweet, too pretty, and too good for the likes of him.
That love, that marriage, was also the closest he had ever come to redemption. Not that he had really taken advantage of it. But it was part of the complexity of it all, to Austin’s mind. He’d been a good husband, yet in many ways what people would call a bad man.
Over the years, though, other Wilder men had proven that they often used their good looks for bad ends. Their dad was a good example. Four kids with three different women, and he had done all of them wrong.
“I’ll be quick.”
He stood up as Cassidy rounded the corner. “Are we going out?”
“Didn’t invite you,” said Flint.
“I didn’t know that I needed an invitation to go to a public venue,” she said, looking fierce.
Cassidy was a half-pint, probably like her mother, though he had only met the woman the one time, and he had been too shocked by the fact that she was actually leaving her nine-year-old daughter on his doorstep to think much about her height.
Cassidy lived in a little house about a half mile down the road from his. On the same ranch property. Carson had bought a piece of land and built a new house on it when he had gotten married, a gorgeous cabin that sat on the edge of Outlaw Creek, where he ran his own ranching operation.
Flynn had inherited a piece of land from his maternal grandfather. Only a couple of miles away from the Wilder Ranch.
Still, they found themselves together most nights. And tonight was going to be no different. Though apparently they were going out on the town. Austin felt he’d had a little bit too much of town lately.
“You’re going to put a damper on things,” Flynn said, still sniping at Cassidy.
Austin ignored them, going into the bedroom to quickly change his shirt, boots, and hat.
“Want to be the designated driver?” Cassidy asked.
“Sounds like a job for you, sprout,” he said as they headed outside to the truck.
She scowled, but she still hauled herself into the driver’s seat. He and Flynn piled in next to her.
“Nice of you boys to ride bitch,” she said, starting the engine. Not for the first time he wondered if they had done Cassidy a disservice by . . . being the only influence in her life.
Though he wasn’t sure she would’ve fared any better if her actual parents had been around. Their dad had raised them, after all.
And as far as her mother went . . . she’d abandoned her daughter. So, really, there was nothing she could have taught Cassidy anyway. A person who would do that couldn’t possibly have anything to recommend them.
Flynn took his phone out of his pocket and dialed up Carson. “Hey,” he said. “We’re going out. Want to come down to the saloon?”
“No.” He could hear his brother’s surly voice down the other end of the line.
“We’re coming by your place,” Austin shouted.
“You can’t escape,” Cassidy added.
“Fuck you.” Carson’s words were loud and clear.
And true to their word, they pulled up to his house and squeezed him into the very small halfback seat in the truck.
“You didn’t have to come along,” Austin said.
“I did so. You would’ve come into the house and dragged me out.”
“They’re not going to serve you if you’re already drunk,” Flynn said.
“I’m sober, asshole.”
“Forgive me. It’s after five o’clock, so what the hell do I know?”
It took about five minutes for them to get into town proper, and the main street was already heaving with activity. Cars parked against the curb, and pedestrians crossing in and out of the crosswalk. It was the tourists who wandered outside the crosswalk. It drove him nuts.
Tourists didn’t do him a lick of good. He was a cattle rancher. It didn’t make any difference to him if people were traipsing around enjoying the wineries and country music concerts in the park.
That turned his thoughts back to Millie. She didn’t care about tourism either, not the way most business owners around town did. She served the local community. But she seemed to care a lot about the overall health of the town. And of course the legacy of her family. The spurious legacy, in his opinion.
He couldn’t spare any grief over her father, who had pigeonholed him in exactly the way everybody else in town did. Except he had done it with power. And that had been a pretty shitty thing. He grumbled as Cassidy drove around the corner and found a parking spot a good piece away from the bar.
“We’re overrun,” she complained.
“Damn straight,” said Flynn.
“Wow. I thought I was the sad one who was being forced to go out. You all sound grumpier than I do.”
“Hardly,” Austin said.
“If you don’t get out of this truck so that I can unfold myself from this back seat, you’re going to find out just how grumpy I am,” Carson said.
They piled out of the truck and headed toward the Watering Hole Saloon. The old brick building was lit up bright tonight with its old neon sign boasting a cowgirl in short shorts leading her horse to water. There was a line of motorcycles parked at an angle against the curb out front, and some rusted-out pickups on either end.
There was a different bar down at the other end of the street where there were no motorcycles. They served martinis, and they did not have a bar top with a bullet hole in it. They didn’t have bad checks taped to the wall, shaming the people who’d written them.
The floor wasn’t sticky with spilled liquor and the walls weren’t bowing out from the boom of overly loud live music.
Which were just a few of the reasons he never went to that otherbar.
Flynn led the way inside and Austin followed, with Carson behind him, and Cassidy bringing up the rear.
He could feel the energy in the room change when they passed through the swinging saloon doors into the party. Except, unlike yesterday’s meeting in the courthouse, this was his kind of party.
And if there was any place in town where the Wilders were greeted like friends, it was this bar. Because the truth was, heroes weren’t much of anything without outlaws.
This was the place that celebrated that truth.
“Howdy, Wilders,” said Gus the bartender by way of greeting.
“Howdy, Gus,” said Austin. “Beers all around. Whatever you have on tap that you like.”
“So generous,” said Flynn. “I didn’t know you were taking us all out for a night on the town, Austin.”
“Does that include me?”
Austin turned and saw that Flynn’s friend Dalton Wade had just rolled in. Dalton’s ancestors weren’t Rustler Mountain founders, but he was from a longtime ranching family up north in a town called Copper Ridge. He wasn’t from California, so that made him okay.
Austin was aware that it was petty to have an issue with a state whose border was only eight miles away.
But he had it all the same.
As was his right as an Oregonian, born and bred.
“Sure,” he said.
“Well,” Dalton said. “The rumors must be true. Austin Wilder has gone soft. You didn’t even pretend to tell me no. You didn’t even pretend you were going to throw a punch.”
“Excuse me? What rumors are there?”
“That you’re helping plan Gold Rush Days,” Gus said, setting a beer in front of him on the scarred bar top. “With that little librarian.”
“A Talbot,” Dalton said.
“I am aware of who the librarian is. Since I’m a card-carrying member of the library system.”
“Well, aren’t you full of surprises,” said Gus.
“It only surprises you, Gus, because you’ve never set foot in the library. And I know that because I’ve never seen you there. I have not gone soft.”
“You must have a little bit,” said Flynn, tempting his ire, because he was much more likely to punch his brother than he was to punch Dalton or Gus. “Because there was a day when you would never have done a single thing to help a Talbot.”
“Her father, sure. The dishonorable sheriff can rot in peace.”
A flash of Millie’s devastated face passed through his mind, and he felt guilty. Maybe he was getting soft. Because he sure as hell couldn’t remember a time before this when he would’ve felt guilty for wishing the sheriff exactly what he deserved.
He gritted his teeth. “Her father,” he said, reaffirming his pronouncement, “sure. But if you could’ve seen the way all those jackals were treating her, well, you would’ve jumped in too.”
“Probably,” Flynn relented, along with Dalton.
“Not me,” said Cassidy.
“Because you’re a woman. So you wouldn’t have felt honor bound to step in.”
“Haven’t you ever heard of women supporting women?” Cassidy said. “The sisterhood is alive and well, thank you very much. But not for a Talbot. Also, since when do you have honor?”
Damned little termite. She didn’t fear him the way she should.
“Harsh,” said Dalton.
“I’m harsh, Dalton,” she said.
“I’m familiar,” he said.
Carson didn’t seem to be paying attention. He was texting.
“Are you trying to talk Perry into coming down?”
“Maybe,” said Carson.
Carson’s friendship with Perry Bramble was one of those great mysteries in life. They had met as pretty small children and formed an instant friendship, even though they were as different as could be. Perry was as sweet as Carson was growly.
She’d been a little blond thing racing around the Wilder Ranch with them. She’d always been large-eyed and upset about the different illegal and dangerous pursuits they’d gotten up to, but she was loyal to Carson all the same.
Things had gotten very dark the last couple of years with Carson, and Perry had been right there, all the way. Just like always.
Even when Carson had gone away to the Army Rangers, Perry had stayed his best friend. She had been the best man in his wedding.
“If she’s still in the florist shop, she’ll probably head down.”
Austin had no doubt she would, because as far as he could tell, Perry would do anything for his brother. He had thought that maybe.... It had always seemed odd to him. That of all of them, Carson had been the one who’d gotten married, to a girl he had met while stationed out of town, even though he’d had Perry all along.
But then, he supposed with some people there just wasn’t chemistry.
“She’s on her way,” Carson said.
“Can we get another beer, Gus? We have one more joining us.”
This was another reminder of why they were still in Rustler Mountain. Because for all that they had issues with the town, they had a community within the community. A pretty big one too.
It wasn’t just the land—they had some damn good friends.
And he was not soft.
He was not going to let that bother him. No. He wasn’t. Because he didn’t answer to anyone. He was Austin fucking Wilder.
The swinging saloon doors opened, and he expected to see Perry walk in, but no. It was a grinning Heather followed by a nervous-looking Millie, in a floral dress that went down almost to her ankles.
She looked more like a member of the temperance society than someone out on the town.
And she had sure as hell had never been in this joint even once in her life.
He’d remember.
The only nice girl who ever came here was Perry, and it was only because Carson wrapped himself around her like the Dark Knight whenever she did. Heather Lin-Stewart and Millie Talbot were the last people he’d ever expected to see in this place.
“Did you invite guests?” Flynn asked.
He shot his brother a mean look. “I did not, Flynn, and I think you know that.”
“I don’t know anything about you anymore. Apparently, you go around saving mousy damsels in distress now.”
“Don’t call her that,” he said.
If his order made him a hypocrite, that was just fine.
Heather spotted them and smiled widely, grabbing Millie’s arm and bodily dragging her over to where they stood. “I wanted to thank you,” Heather said.
“Heather has had some wine,” Millie said, looking baleful.
“Really?” Flynn said, looking Heather up and down.
“I’m married, Flynn Wilder,” Heather said, lifting her ring. “But thank you. That is very flattering.”
She did indeed look pleased.
“We were having dinner,” Millie said. “We saw you walk in, and Heather wanted to extend her thanks for what you did at the meeting.”
The fact that Millie was leading the conversation and controlling it so forcefully was a little bit interesting.
“Is that so?”
“Yes, I told her that she should come in and thank you and buy you a drink,” said Heather. “Since you are her hero.”
That word again. It jolted him. It hadn’t escaped his notice the first time Millie had used it, but he sure as hell hadn’t intended to let himself marinate in it. Nor had he intended to remember it had even happened. But he did. It was pretty damned hard not to.
“Thank you,” said Millie. “Heather, some thoughts are inside thoughts.”
“No,” Austin said. “Heather doesn’t need to keep any thoughts inside.”
“Well, we agreed that it was pretty amazing, you just breaking in there like an outlaw. Like you were actually going to have a showdown with Michael. Who sucks,” said Heather.
“He does suck,” Austin agreed. Because he wasn’t going to argue with a drunk woman when she was right.
Carson laughed, which was a rarity. “Yeah. He’s the worst.”
“You know him?” Millie asked. She seemed to be engaging in the exchange in spite of herself. As if her desire to avoid being rude was at war with her desire to escape quickly.
“Oh yeah, a little bit,” said Carson. “Kind of from school. He was a prick then, and it doesn’t surprise me to know he’s a prick now.”
Her lips twitched. “Well. He isn’t . . . yeah.”
“Let’s get a table,” said Heather. “Sorry. I’m an organizer, I can’t help it. You know I manage all of the Wellspring medical offices in Medford. So it’s kind of my thing. Standing here, we are sort of cluttering up a major throughway.”
“Heather,” Millie said. “We should probably go.”
“No,” said Heather. “I told Allen that I would be home at midnight, so I’m going to be home at midnight. This is my night out. And we’ve never been here before. Oh my gosh, remember when we used to watch people use fake IDs to get in here in high school?”
Millie looked at Austin, helplessly, and he had the urge to step in and be her hero again. Although right now that would mean saying that they could leave. Or even should. He found himself reluctant to say that.
“Fake IDs? How would that even work here?” Cassidy asked.
“Oh, back in the day they didn’t check IDs here,” Carson said. “It was a free-for-all. How do you think we were out starting bar fights before we were old enough to drink?”
Austin laughed. “True, we had to get in the bar somehow.”
“They just didn’t check?” Millie asked.
“They didn’t care,” Austin said. “Not here. Of course, Gus keeps things a little more on the up-and-up. I think there was a crackdown when we threw one of the Hancocks through the plate glass window out front.”
“You did not!” Heather said, her eyes widening.
“I mean, I didn’t,” Carson said. “That was all Austin.”
“Well, he was being a prick.”
“There’s a cluster of tables over there,” said Flynn, interrupting Austin’s story. “We’ll push them together.”
Flynn, agent of chaos that he was, was clearly all too willing to engage in this diversion.
Probably, he was also happy to flirt with a married woman. Because it involved no commitment. She clearly wasn’t going to do anything with him, but he could flatter her endlessly, and really turn on the charm, and Austin supposed they would both enjoy it.
“Sorry,” said Millie. “Didn’t mean to crash your night out.”
“We’re more than capable of taking care of ourselves. If we didn’t want you to join us, we would’ve had you thrown out of the bar.”
“Yeah,” said Cassidy. “We’re not afraid of a fight. I’m Cassidy, by the way.”
“Millie,” she said.
“I know,” said Cassidy. “You’re the librarian that everybody says Austin has gone soft about.”
Millie looked up at him, her eyes wide, and he, who would never hit a lady, was about to drop-kick his little sister back up to the ranch. Right through that same window he’d broken once all those years ago. He wasn’t afraid to do it again.
“I’m not soft,” he said.
So much for standing firm in his outlaw reputation.
“Oh, I have no doubt,” said Millie.
Cassidy held back a snort and walked toward the table.
“Sorry about her,” said Austin. “Sisters.”
“I’m an only child,” said Millie.
“Wow. What’s that like?”
“I don’t know. What was having a lot of siblings like?”
“Loud. Annoying. Pretty great.”
He introduced Millie to the rest of the group, even though he was reasonably sure she knew well enough who everyone was. As soon as they had sat down, Carson got up, making a beeline to the door to grab Perry, who had just come in, her blond hair piled up on her head, looking every inch the sweet, angelic soul she was.
Carson led her over to the table, then stood behind her like a bodyguard. Austin had never really been able to sort their relationship out. It was obvious Carson was almost afraid of being a bad influence on her by exposing her to things like this bar, and himself, and yet he was with her most of the time.
He was glad Carson had Perry, but he couldn’t imagine befriending a soft little woman like that.
He looked back at Millie and felt something tug hard on his chest.
What a fucking annoyance.
“That’s Carson’s friend, Perry,” he said, his teeth gritted.
“I know Perry. She’s the florist. I mean, she was going to do the flowers for my . . . you know, the thing that didn’t happen.”
He grunted. “Oh. Right.”
“She talks about your brother a fair amount,” Millie said.
“Really? I was unaware the people in town talked about the Wilders in ways other than hushed tones of disgust.”
“No. But then. . . .”
“Yeah. I know. If anybody was going to be a hero, it was going to be Carson.”
“You said it, not me,” said Millie.
Well, of course she knew Perry. Perry might be friends with Carson, but she was one of the good ones about town. She wasn’t an outlaw.
Though, in fairness, Carson existed in the margins now too. When he’d joined the army, it had been like a baptism as far as the town was concerned. He was a born-again all-American hero.
He tried not to think about just how easy it was to fall into conversation with Millie.
He took another sip of his beer as the house band made its way out to the stage, the guys taking their positions behind their instruments.
Blame it all on my roots, I showed up in boots....
The whole bar seemed to swell.
This was the theme song of every damned person in this place. He didn’t need to know them to know that.
I got friends in low places....
Millie seemed to shrink into herself, while Heather lifted her arms up and began to dance in place.
Flynn had the good sense not to ask a married woman to dance, then went and found himself a dance partner who at least didn’t have a visible wedding ring, or a husband in town.
Dalton found a partner too. Perry sat, drinking her beer, and Carson did the same, as did Cassidy, resolutely keeping their seats.
Austin felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned and saw a pretty woman with long red hair looking down at him. “Care to dance, cowboy?”
“Sure,” he said.
Because he had gone out, after all, and what was going out if you didn’t have at least one dance with a pretty stranger?
But as he began to stand up, his eyes landed on Millie, and he found himself faltering. Wishing he was back in the library, actually, having a conversation about books.
He pushed that notion to the side, and went out onto the dance floor. It was a fast-paced song, followed by another one, and that suited him just fine.
“What’s your name?” he shouted across the space.
She wrapped her arm around his neck. “Valerie,” she said against his ear.
“Nice to meet you,” he returned.
But there was something missing from the moment.
He was a fan of casual hookups. They had always been the only option for him. Much as he didn’t believe in family curses , per se, there was definitely something happening with his family.
Whether it was the sins of the father being visited upon the sons or something else, longevity had historically eluded the Wilders.
So why plan for the future?
There were enough things in life that were hard, so he liked his hookups easy. This would’ve been one. On another night. But he had no doubt that tonight wasn’t going to be one of those nights. So he took one more dance with Valerie, then thanked her, and went back to sit at the table.
Next to Millie.
“I don’t mind if you dance,” she said.
“I didn’t come back to the table for your benefit,” he said.
“I didn’t mean . . . I just. . . .”
She did mind. That was why she’d said something. Because she did mind. It bothered her.
Maybe she was even a little bit jealous.
He could understand that. If another man came over here right now.... It wasn’t that he.... It was just that she was sitting with him. It was just that he felt responsible for her. This bar was not her scene, clearly. She wasn’t the kind of woman who came out to places like this. She had just gotten her heart broken.
He would be damned if he’d let some asshole start something with her and take advantage of her vulnerable state.
That was all.
She was a Talbot.
The evening wore on, and somehow, he spent it sitting next to Millie.
“We have to go,” Millie said, when it was creeping up on midnight. She reached across the table to touch Heather’s arm, and Heather broke away from her conversation with Perry. “I have been designated to drive you home.”
“All right.” Heather thanked everyone profusely for a great evening, and Austin couldn’t help but think she wasn’t going to have half as great a morning when her hangover came knocking.
“I’ll walk you out,” Austin said, standing. He wasn’t going to leave them to the mean streets of Rustler Mountain.
He was well aware that most people thought he was the mean streets of Rustler Mountain. But no matter.
Millie looked at him as if she was going to protest politely. “Don’t even think about it,” he said.
He tilted his head toward the door, and Heather and Millie followed him outside. Heather swayed slightly. “Just a second,” she said, “I need to run back inside and use the bathroom.”
Which left him and Millie standing out on the sidewalk.
“I’ll give you a call tomorrow,” he said. “Set up a time to go over this Gold Rush Days thing.”
“Oh,” she said. “Right.”
“You don’t like me, do you?”
She jolted. “What makes you say that?”
“You seem genuinely distressed to be in my presence most of the time.”
She shook her head. “I’m not. I . . . I have been imposing on you since the first moment I went up the mountain to ask you for help. I just feel a little bit self-conscious about that.”
“Is that all? It’s not because I’m a dangerous man who will never amount to anything?”
“You own a successful cattle ranch. And you’ve never hurt anyone.”
“No, I haven’t, but are you telling me that’s not my reputation in town?”
“People don’t actually talk about you all the time, Austin.”
That made him smile. In spite of himself.
He didn’t know why he wanted to push her. She was....
He actually couldn’t quite figure it out. Because he had an idea of what a Talbot was. But then, there was also her mother. There was Millie. She had always been kind when she was at the library. And not shy, really. She had been confident in what she was doing, whether it was giving recommendations or . . . scanning the bar-code.
But seeing her in a different environment, seeing her out of context, it was strange, and he couldn’t quite gauge her reaction to him. Whether it was that moment earlier when she had reacted with what seemed a little bit like jealousy, or the never-ending discomfort she seemed to feel in his presence.
“What did your mother think of me?” he asked.
She blinked. “I don’t know specifically. But I would guess that she liked you. Because you were at the library. She didn’t think that kids read enough anymore. You did, though.”
He felt he had passed some kind of test, and that was ridiculous.
“Yeah, but I was also getting into trou—”
“Sorry,” Heather said, pushing the door open and letting it close loudly behind her. “I feel better now.”
“Great,” he said. “Where are you parked?”
“Across the street,” Millie said. “Just there.”
She gestured to a sleek, blue car that was nestled against the curb.
“I bet you can make it just fine,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure we will.”
“Well, sometimes there are shootouts in the streets,” he said, deadpan.
“We would be the two that would be having a shootout,” she said.
He realized that was true. Because she was the last of the Talbots.
“Well, then I guess we’ll just keep our weapons holstered.”
“I guess so.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
She nodded. “Yes. Talk to you tomorrow.”
Then he turned on his heel and went back inside. Maybe he would change his mind about Valerie. Just maybe.
At least it would be in character, whereas the rest of this whole week had been decidedly out of it.