Chapter 2
Ronan rolled his shoulders back, trying to remain upright in the saddle even though days of riding with only a few hours of rest each day were wearing on him. He had stopped to change horses several times in the journey from Fort Worth to the small town of Blue Valley, in the Oregon Territory.
And yet, the closer he got to the small piece of inheritance he had—the land that was waiting for him to make it his own, the promise of escaping the past—the more relieved he felt.
This was going to be a fresh start. He was going to be in a town where not a single person knew his name. Nobody would know of the things he hadn’t done or the regrets he carried with him.
He kept his head down and his hat tipped low as he rode through the woods. Avoiding the main roads had made his journey longer, but he didn’t want to risk someone he knew tracking him down.
A greenish hue was cast over the world around him, birds whistling as they flitted from one branch to another, leaves rustling in the wind. The heady scent of lavender filtered through the trees, and he thought he saw flashes of purple swaying in the distance up ahead.
The rush of a river reached his ears. It would be a good place to stop and check his map, make sure he was still headed in the right direction.
It was only when he heard the distinct click, the sound of a hammer on a pistol being pulled back, that Ronan pulled his horse to a stop.
His hands tightened on his reins as a man appeared on the path in front of him. Bushes rustled, branches breaking. When he looked over his shoulder, more men stood behind him. They all wore dark colors, bandanas covering half their faces, hats tipped low, greed in their eyes.
“Whatever it is you want, I don’t have it,” Ronan said, his voice low and calm.
Though he knew there would be robbers on his journey, he had been lucky enough not to encounter any until now.
The man in front of him lunged. Ronan flicked the reins, but he was too slow.
Hands gripped his biceps hard, hauling him to the ground.
His shoulder hit the hard dirt with a thud, pain radiating through it.
Branches scraped at his skin, fists found his flesh.
A boot landed against the side of his ribs, drawing a scream from him.
His pocket watch tumbled from the pocket of his shirt, and the glass cracked.
“He has it,” one of the men said.
Scrambling, Ronan grabbed the watch and shoved it back in his pocket. They could do what they liked to him, but they weren’t going to get their hands on the watch. Not if he could do anything to stop it.
Ronan couldn’t fight back, not when it was two against one. It had been too long since he had gotten enough rest to have the energy to even try. All he could do was try to block the punches and curl up, hoping to avoid any broken bones.
“Stop!” a shout echoed through the woods.
The fists and feet stopped. A shot cracked through the air, sending the robbers scattering into the woods.
Ronan struggled to push himself up, pain spreading from his ribs through his torso. His hands ached—someone had stepped on them in the scuffle. Warm blood trickled down his face, and as he put his hand to his head, his fingers came away wet and sticky.
“You all right?” a man asked, sitting astride a dappled gray horse and staring down at him.
With a deep breath, Ronan pushed himself to his feet, but it was short-lived. He went tumbling to the side, hitting the ground hard the moment he tried to take a step. His head cracked against the ground, stars dancing across his vision.
“Shouldn’t have been traveling through these woods this late in the day,” the man said, getting down from his horse and standing over Ronan. He offered his hand to Ronan. “Come on, we can get you cleaned up at the river. There’s a town nearby. Should be able to get you more help there.”
Ronan eyed the man, unsure of him. “Why are you in the woods if you know about them?”
The man’s mouth twitched slightly, but a smile never formed. “Prefer to stay off the main roads.”
Though Ronan didn’t trust that answer, he was avoiding the main roads for the same reason. Well, one of his reasons was the same.
It wasn’t enough to deem the man untrustworthy, but there was something about the look in his eyes that had the hair on the back of Ronan’s neck standing up. He had been a sheriff for years. He knew better than to ignore the instincts telling him to be cautious.
Still, with the way Ronan’s head was spinning, there was no way he was going to be able to get himself to town. So, he slipped his hand into the man’s, letting him help Ronan to his feet.
Wincing, Ronan put a hand to his side. Maybe his ribs were more bruised than he thought.
“Yeah, that doesn’t seem like it feels so good.” The man looped his arm around Ronan’s waist. “Looks like your horse ran off. Don’t know what you’re going to do without it, but there’s probably someone in town willing to sell you one for a good price.”
“Hope so.”
The man grabbed his horse’s reins, leading it along with them. “We’re going to go slow, and if you feel lightheaded from the blood loss, let me know, and we can take a break. Once we’ve got you cleaned up, you can ride, and I’ll lead the horse.”
“Thank you.”
The man nodded. “Have to help people out in these parts. Being out here in the West isn’t for the faint of heart, now more so than ever. I hear things with the gangs in the area are starting to get worse.”
Ronan grimaced as pain shot through his leg. He hadn’t noticed someone kicking him in the leg, but then again, there were so many hands and feet hitting him that it wasn’t a surprise he didn’t have time to think about where all was going to ache.
“I heard something along those lines,” Ronan said, though he wasn’t interested in talking about gangs. He had seen enough of them to last a lifetime.
Blue Valley was supposed to be quiet. Somewhere he wouldn’t have to worry. A place where he could build a ranch in peace and not have to spend every moment of his life looking over his shoulder and wondering if someone was going to come after him for putting them in jail.
“How are you feeling?” the man asked, pausing for a moment and shifting his weight slightly.
“A little dizzy.” Ronan put his hand to his head again, this time coming away with more blood. He looked down at his legs, finding blood seeping through his trousers, a small cut in the material. What it was from, he didn’t know, but now that he had time to feel it, it was starting to hurt more.
“Well, that’s not good either.” The man helped support his weight as they walked along, Ronan limping, his leg throbbing more with each step. “Doesn’t look like it’s broken though.”
“Well, at least there are small miracles then,” Ronan said, sarcasm dripping from his tone.
“You’re bleeding a lot, though,” the man said as they drew close to the tree line, the rushing of the river getting louder. “You’re going to want to try and stay awake.”
“I know.” Ronan gritted his teeth. “How much blood is there? What does ‘a lot’ mean?”
The man looked him over. “I don’t know how to define a lot, but there is more than I would ever want to be bleeding.”
Ronan groaned as they stepped through the trees, reaching the edge of the river, lavender scenting the air heavily. The man lowered him to the ground, kneeling down beside him. Ronan’s head started spinning, the edges of his vision growing a little dark and fuzzy.
“I don’t feel so good,” he said, his voice wavering slightly, his head pounding.
“Stay awake.” Cool water hit his face, but the heavy feeling in his head was dragging him down.
Soon, he couldn’t keep his eyes open.