Rage at Rancho del Oro

By Lee Wonnacott

Bounty hunter and commissioned Texas Ranger Henry Elliot had followed the trail of Rafe Winston across seven states. Never thought to be of considerable intelligence, Winston continually frustrated Elliot by being one step ahead across valleys, deserts and towns. Petty theft, armed robbery and cold-blooded murder lay in the wake of Rafe Winston.
Professional tracker Rig Preston is recruited by Elliot to find Winston. On the stagecoach headed for home, Preston’s fiancé, Chianne LaCosta shoots and wounds Rafe Winston, one of the holdup men. The enraged Winston vows revenge and plots her torture in his hands.
Gunfighter and acquaintance Ginger Whelihan joins the team because he knows Winston can name Whelihan in more than a few criminal deeds. The gunfighter calls in reinforcements from south of the border which presents a unique law enforcement opportunity to Elliot.
Rancho del Oro is a wealthy, wine growing ranch in Southern California and home of Chianne LaCosta’s parents. She retreated there to recover her strength and shake the worry of a lethal outlaw bent on her destruction.
There was someone faster with a gun and deadlier than Winston calling the shots and Rancho del Oro becomes final stand for murderous revenge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lee Wonnacott
• Release date: Jan 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507069806

Lee Wonnacott

On any given day you can find her speeding on the Five, harassing the clerks in Wal-Mart or sitting in her car with a DoubleDouble. Her religion is the National Football League and an Oakland Raider fan since 1967. She prefers a Sheriff over a city cop, a pickup over a coupe and a Colt.45 over a 9 mm. She’s a sucker for children under three and anyone in their 90’s. She will happily put you on hold until next week. Every book she writes feels like her first one.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The corral at Fester’s Stables in Shreveport was a mite crowded when Henry Elliot tied up at the rail. After arranging grain, a rubdown, and a couple of juicy carrots for his horse, Elliot laid coins on the counter and walked out into the dusty street. He had business with the sheriff or marshal or whoever was now the authority in this town.

As Elliot approached the Cat’s Paw Saloon, a tall, lean man with a long narrow face and terror in his eyes came running out into the street. A shorter, chubby man with long bouncing blonde curls ran after him, shooting a Colt back into the saloon behind him. The heavier man stumbled in the street and yelped as he took a shot in the leg.

Elliot cleared leather and dropped the taller man with a shot to his thigh, wounding him.  The second man turned and made the foolish mistake of firing in the general direction of Elliot. The man was lifted off his feet by the bullet’s impact to his chest and dropped limp into the dust.

The wounded taller man scrambled off into an alley between the buildings, leaving a bloody trail behind him. A scruffy dog startled and came running out of the alley carrying something in its mouth and then ducked under the saloon porch.

Elliot craned to see if any other lucky shooters would happen into his aim, but none did. He holstered his weapon and continued over to the sheriff’s office. Three deputies had observed the gunfire as they stood out on the porch drinking coffee.

Nothing changes around here, does it? Elliot said, laughing as he slapped one man on the shoulder and moved into the office.

We’re just another shootin’ town, mister. Elliot could hear the deputy chuckling

What can I do for you, mister?  We’re kinda busy here right now. The sheriff was a heavyset man with a black shock of straight hair swept back from a heavy brow ridge and dark eyes rimmed with black lashes. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days and scraped his dirty fingernails over the black and gray stubble as he looked at Elliot.

Name’s Henry Elliot out of Santa Fe. I’m lookin’ for a man that might have come through here in the last week or so.

Elliot unfolded the likeness drawing of Rafe Winston and laid it on the wooden counter.  The sheriff squinted at it, leaning on his arms to steady himself. The deputy took a look as well, and Elliot saw him raise his eyebrows and open his mouth as if to say something.

Rafael Winston. He looks like any one of twenty men standing in the saloons here, Mr. Elliot. The sheriff rubbed his chin.

Another deputy came in, wiping his hands with a bloodied rag, and looked at Elliot. Linderman is dead. Good shootin’, mister.

Elliot nodded. Has your Mr. Linderman been a bother lately, sheriff?

Elliot handed the likeness to the second deputy. The man held it up to the sunlight coming through the window and frowned. He screwed up his lips, then shook his head as he handed it back to Elliot.

Not that I’m aware of, the sheriff said. I mean, aside from picking fights, being drunk in public, and singing off key over at Kelly’s, naw, he’s not a bother.  Or wasn’t a bother, I should say.  The sheriff tried to tuck in his shirt over the round girth of his belly.

Enjoy your stay in Shreveport, Mr. Elliot. We’ll be here in case you decide to shoot someone else. Elliot saw the sheriff wink, and two of the deputies grinned as he walked outside.

***

The ride into Shreveport had been uneventful for Elliot. He stopped to help an older man and woman with a wheel on their carriage. A couple of young boys chased a loose pony that Elliot rounded up and handed them the lead rope. At a water hole a man lay snoring in the shade with empty whiskey bottles to both sides of him. The tempting card game in the tiny burg of Morgan Hill almost caught him, but he had resisted and ridden on.

Henry Elliot was a known gunfighter, card player, bounty hunter, and undercover officer for the Texas Rangers. He was tall, broad through the shoulders and chest with black hair that he kept neatly trimmed above his ears.  Watery blue eyes stared out at the world unless he was riled up, and then folks talked about how there was rage in the eyes under his hat. He also had an eye for the ladies, and was feeling the itch for some feminine company during his stay in Shreveport.

The distinguished two-story Place DuBois Hotel was cool and well-appointed with a private chef and silent staff that was always discreetly traversing its carpeted hallways. It was a favorite place to stay for Elliot. In his line of work, the more silence, the better. Over the next two days his private meetings went well and he read through the letters and telegrams that came in for him, but nothing solid on Rafe Winston. Elliot bathed, shaved and went looking for warm, soft and luscious entertainment in the cosmopolitan town.

On Friday evening Elliot walked across the street to the uniformed doorman at the Hanover Hotel, and after a small tip was offered, Elliot gained entrance. The darkened ballroom was crowded with dancers, smoke and conversation. There was a ten-man band beating out a lively tune and couples swung around the floor. In the bar, Elliot gripped the shoulder of his old friend, John Dixon, who had helped Elliot with a minor financial transaction earlier in the day. 

Well, I’m glad to see you made out tonight, Elliot, Dixon exclaimed with a grin.

You made it sound enticing, my friend, and far be it from me to bypass an enticing evening, Elliot said with a laugh.

The two men leaned back against the bar and surveyed the crowd.

So, point out these beauties that you are so enraptured with, Dixon. Time’s a wasting here. Elliot tossed back the shot glass and set it on the bar.

Two women seated at a table near the windows had turned to gaze at Dixon and Elliot.

No, those ladies are looking to part you from the coins in your pocket. Dixon mentioned to Elliot that there were several professional women in the room.

Let’s go into the ballroom and I’ll see if I can find a couple of enticing young ladies.  I’ll warn you, though, they might be husband hunting, if you know what I mean. Dixon winked to Elliot who chuckled as he led the way out of the bar.

Dixon paused inside the ballroom door and scanned the tables around the perimeter.

I see ‘em.  This way.  And don’t forget that I warned you. Dixon escorted Elliot over to a round table covered in a white tablecloth where three younger ladies sat laughing.

Julia Swanson, Katie Llewelyn, and Moriah Jackson, please allow me to introduce a friend of mine, Mr. Henry Elliot.

Dixon smiled at the laughing girls who sat around the table crowded with bottles and glasses.

With a slight bow, Elliot tried out one of his winning smiles. Good evening, ladies.

Julia Swanson was a stunning redheaded beauty. Elliot could feel her green eyes sliding down his physique as she lifted her lilac ball gown and reached for his hand. Good evening, Mr. Elliot.

Katie Llewelyn looked cool in her pale green gown. Evening, Mr. Elliot, she said in a subtle southern accent. A faint hint of roses came from Miss Llewelyn, and Elliot noticed a beauty mark near her mouth as she smiled.

Moriah Jackson tussled with the hem of her peach colored dress that had caught on the chair leg. She smiled and said, Evening, Mr. Elliot.

Miss Jackson leaned on the table and reached for Elliot’s hand. He frowned slightly, looking at her, then realized that she had lost her balance but quickly recovered.

Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Elliot. Between shoes that are too tight, a dress that keeps fighting me and a man who won’t let himself get thrown into the passions of love, I’m just a bit off tonight. Moriah Jackson tossed her head and waved her hand in dismissal with a grin as she sat down.

Dixon stood tall and looked around the room. Where is Chianne?  I wanted to introduce her, too.

He leaned a bit closer to Elliot. She’s the firecracker of the bunch.

Julia Swanson stood up, and with a long white-gloved hand gestured to the doorway across the room. She may be a firecracker but she is also a card sharp. She’s in there sitting with some men playing poker.

Julia mocked shock and irritation, then giggled and sat down. Dixon took Elliot over to the doorway and they peered in.

At the far table near the window sat a woman with expressive brown eyes and a white smile in a strapless yellow taffeta gown, her dark brown hair piled in messy curls on top of her head. She sat with one elbow on the table, holding her chin in her hand as she gazed at the four other men. Elliot could see them talking, but the general din of conversation in the room was too loud for him to hear anything distinct.  He could see her laugh and turn over her cards, then slam both hands down on the table in victory.  Elliot smiled and chuckled at the sight. Dixon sidled up and leaned into her and nodded back to the doorway. Chianne looked over at Elliot and smiled.

The pretty young woman lifted a layer of taffeta as a makeshift apron and pulled her winnings into it. She rose, and with a little curtsy, thanked the other players, then followed Dixon back across the floor. She was tall at five feet eight, with a slender waist. Elliot suspected there were generous hips under the gown. He noticed that those brown eyes were flecked with gold as she smiled at Elliot.

Miss Chianne LaCosta, please allow me to introduce Mr. Henry Elliot. Dixon stepped back a little to give her room to step forward.

How do you do, Mr. Elliot? Please forgive me for not shaking your hand. I wouldn’t want to lose my hard-won coins and bills. Those gentlemen most definitely did not want to give them up so easily. Chianne did a small curtsy instead. She had a clear, direct voice and carried herself tall and straight.

Elliot grinned and adjusted his cuff as he admired the low-cut bodice that held full rounded curves. The pleasure is mine, Miss LaCosta.  It looks like you’ve had better luck tonight at cards than I did.

She nudged Dixon. I promised the girls that I’d buy a round with my winnings. John, would you order drinks, and one also for Mr. Elliot, please?

She had a big smile with a little exclamation of greeting to Dixon who chuckled. Together they counted out her winnings from the taffeta and Dixon went off to order drinks. The light fabric settled down over her body and she smoothed down the wrinkles. Elliot frowned as he tilted his head to catch the faint scent of sage. Chianne moved her head to one side, looking at him.

Is something the matter, Mr. Elliot? You looked puzzled. Chianne gripped a chair and fussed with her shoe. When she stood back up, Elliot grinned.

Forgive me for being so forward, Miss LaCosta, but are you wearing sage? His eyes were wide and his lips smiled in a grin.

At last!  A real man who can tell what a real woman smells like!  You are a treasure, Mr. Elliot. Chianne laughed as Elliot started to chuckle. Yes, it is sage.  Most men don’t care for the scent and it keeps them from drooling on my shoulder when we dance. She winked at Elliot.

Elliot almost laughed out loud. Men tend to drool on you, do they, Miss LaCosta?

Some do, yes. I’ve had to burn more ball gowns because of them. She could not keep a straight face as Elliot looked at her in amazement. She burst out laughing at his demeanor and then told him she was joking.

I see why they call you a firecracker. Elliot shook his head, still laughing at the idea of flames leaping off such a fancy dress.

Come sit with us, Mr. Elliot. She took his arm as they started to walk away. Maybe we’ll see if we can start a riot or something.

Once back at the table they pulled up a couple of chairs. Dixon brought in a tray of drinks and they toasted the night. Katie and Moriah went off to dance with partners, and just as Elliot opened his mouth to invite Chianne to dance, she stood up. I’ll be right back. I see old money over there.

She patted Elliot’s shoulder as she passed, her yellow taffeta rustling. Elliot looked over at Julia Swanson, who was smirking over her glass.

It’s sort of an inside joke, Mr. Elliot.  Chianne thinks it’s a hoot to find every mature man in the room and ask them to dance.  Their manners from that generation are so impeccable that none of them refuse her. See? Julia gestured to Chianne being guided in small steps around the ballroom. She looked enthralled and mesmerized by the conversation of her partner and nodded and smiled with joy.

Elliot was amazed and shook his head watching her. The music stopped and she stood applauding with her partner, laughing with her head back. Elliot saw that her amusement looked sincere. She held his arm while they walked back across the room to his table.

Elliot turned back and looked at Julia, who was flipping a silver case over and over as she watched the floor. So, do you girls come in here often?

Julia laughed and let her hand cover the small case. Oh, good grief, no.  We’re here tonight all dressed up so that our Miss Moriah Jackson can impress the pants off her Mr. Brian TenClay.

She waved her hand in dismissal. I don’t know why he should be so impressed with the way she wears a ball gown or her conversational talents.

Is Mr. TenClay her intended?

He doesn’t know it yet, but I believe so. She laughed and slapped the table and that made Elliot laugh. He poured them another shot of whiskey and they toasted the soon to be happy couple.

Oh look!  Chianne has found another one. Julia waved with exaggerated gusto.

Chianne flicked her fingertips in a discreet wave and winked as she went by in the arms of a tall thin man that looked to be in his eighties.

Elliot laughed. Maybe I should step over and ask Mr. TenClay about his intentions towards our Miss Moriah Jackson.

Elliot’s eyes twinkled over the edge of his glass as he sipped. Julia clamped her white- gloved hand over her mouth and screamed with laughing eyes.

Oh no!  Please don’t do that!  I’ve seen the poor man almost have a heart attack when a door slammed behind him.

Julia’s eyes got misty as she laughed. They talked about the merits of shy, timid but wealthy husbands while they watched Chianne make the circuit around the ballroom floor. Julia was laughing at a comment by Elliot when Chianne walked back to the table, fanning herself. She lifted the shot glass and tossed back the drink, then gestured for Elliot to pour another. He filled the glass to the brim.

Elliot grinned, looking up at Chianne. She lifted her glass in a toast. Here’s to faster horses, younger men, and more money! Elliot laughed, stunned to hear the four ladies at the next table rise and drink with them. After a few moments, he had to wipe the tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes.

Chianne walked over with the bottle to the next table and poured drinks for the four middle-aged laughing women. Ten minutes later she came back with a rosy flush.

Where is Moriah?  Does she have a ring on her hand yet from TenClay? Chianne winked to Elliot, who started chuckling at the mental image of a shaking Brian TenClay.

Dixon came back to the table with his arm around a blonde lady who was laughing at some joke and set down a large bottle of an amber liquid.

We are not allowed to drink this. The man told us it will make us crazy, and you know, we are already that. My darling acquaintances and beloved friends!  You are hereby designated to sacrifice your bodies and souls by drinking every ounce. Dixon looked like his eyes were having trouble focusing.

Elliot held up the tall bottle and examined it. I believe this is tequila from Mexico.

Chianne took the bottle from his hands and held it up to the candlelight. 

No, it’s not. There’s no worm. She set the bottle down and put her hands on her hips in exasperation.

Elliot’s mouth dropped open. Worm?  How do you know about the worm in Mexican tequila?

I know about the worm in tequila the same way I know about Chateau Lafitte Rothschilde ’37, Japanese sake, and Russian vodka. Because I drink it, Mr. Elliot. She waved her hand in a lasso over her head. I haven’t been spending my time sipping mint juleps on the front porch. 

Chianne slammed her hands down on the table making all the glasses jump and everyone laughed. Pour me one more. I’ve got to gird my loins if I’m going to go do battle with the white hairs.

She stood tall and her eyes scanned around the room with a smirk. Elliot was laughing too hard to pour the whiskey, so Julia did the honors. Elliot caught Chianne’s hand when she turned away, as Dixon and his young lady sauntered off to dance.

I was hoping that we could dance. Elliot lifted his chin, and for a moment his eyes widened as Chianne brought her mouth very close to his.

Sorry, my handsome Mr. Elliot. Even with your excellent physique, suave words, and masculine confidence, you just aren’t old enough to get on my dance card. She grinned and whispered, One of the ladies next door has been admiring the fit of your slacks.  You should dance with all of them. Maybe you’ll get lucky! 

She laughed and pinched his cheek before walking away, her yellow taffeta dress swishing as she went.

Elliot shook his head. When he looked over at the ladies next door, all four of them lifted their glasses to him. With a wry grin, he stood up and asked the nearest one to dance. She laughed and around the floor they went. Twice, Elliot went by a slow moving Chianne in the arms of different white-haired men. One by one, he danced the happy ladies around the floor to jaunty music.  In one turn, he saw his friend at the table with Julia, Katie, Moriah, and Chianne as the five of them examining the tequila bottle.

The other ladies with Chianne LaCosta seemed to be amused by the antics of Moriah but more entertained by the young lady in the yellow taffeta. Miss Chianne LaCosta was a true firecracker. Spunk, wit, beauty, and it seemed she could drink and play cards. If she had been a man, Elliot would have endeavored to become friends and the idea made him laugh out loud.

It was a quarter after midnight and Elliot stood chatting in the bar with a man who ran a river ferry when Chianne walked in and slid her arm through Elliot’s. She gave him and the man a brilliant smile. In a loud whisper, she asked, Is this the man for our party of three, darling? The river ferryman spilled his drink and coughed, his eyes huge.

What? Elliot excused them. He hustled Chianne out of the bar back into the ballroom and turned her around to face him.  She was laughing so hard tears ran down her cheeks. She had to hang onto Elliot’s arm to keep standing upright.

You have had too much to drink, I believe, Miss LaCosta. Elliot sat her down in a chair at the table where Julia, Katie, Moriah and Dixon looked from Elliot to Chianne and then back to Elliot.

Dixon held up his hand with his eyes wide open. Wait! Did she do that threesome thing to you?

Elliot nodded and everyone burst into laughter. Chianne held a white cloth napkin up to her face as she screamed in laughter. The ladies next door who had been sharing the tequila looked puzzled over the laughing group. Chianne went over and sat down next to them and told them what had happened. All of them stomped their feet and pounded the table in laughter. Then, as Elliot’s mouth hung open, they all got up and headed into the bar.

Oh my God. That was the best one ever. Chianne wiped her eyes and stood up.

Elliot chuckled and turned to walk away.

Oh, John. I believe your Mr. Elliot hates me for playing a trick on him. She sighed and leaned her head back with an arm over her eyes.

It’s working, Moriah whispered.

Chianne peeked out from under her arm and saw Elliot glaring at her. She put her arm down and sat up straight, looking at Elliot.

Julia, are my loins still girded? Julia pushed her half glass of whiskey across the table and Chianne glanced at it. She took in a deep breath and looked at Elliot.

Mr. Elliot, aside from the previous offered and declined threesome, I offer my small apology. Is there anything I can do to make up for my gross lack of tact and general silliness this evening? She clasped her hands together and leaned forward a little with a soft smile.

He shook his head and adjusted his cuffs. You could dance with me.

Chianne stood up, tossed back the shot of whiskey, wiped her mouth with the white napkin, and took in a deep breath. She held out her hand to Elliot.

As Elliot took her hand, Chianne winked. Elliot took her around the floor in silence.  She let her fingertips rest with a light touch on his arm and gazed over his right shoulder. She was a feather in his arms and the light scent of sage came drifting to his nose. He could feel her warmth through the thin dress and her little diamond earrings glinted in the candlelight.

Nothing to say, Miss LaCosta?

I always wait for my dance partner to say something charming before I respond, Mr. Elliot. That way I don’t seem like I’m just another nosy golddigger.

I see. I’d like to ask you a personal question. It’s something I’ve been wondering all evening. He felt her stiffen a little, yet she had a smile on her lips.

Are you any relation to Gianni LaCosta at the Faraway Inn over in Williams Creek, California?

Elliot was surprised as she stopped dancing and took a step back. He still held her right hand, but in a split second her eyes had grown cold and dark. The smile was gone and her left hand was a fist.

You would be wise to let go of my hand, Mr. Elliot.

Elliot loosened his grip, then let go of her hand and watched her turn and walk back to the table where she sat down with her party.

Elliot moved to the edge of the dance floor near the doorway to the bar. His last vision of Chianne LaCosta was her pulling the pins out of her long curls and shaking her hair out to a tangled mess. He shook his head as he stepped out onto the sidewalk and lit a cigarette.

He had struck a nerve by mentioning Papa’s name.

***

The packed card room was a blue-hazed lounge, and the broad lobby had more men waiting to come in and sit down at a table to play.  Rafe Winston sat at a table, smoking in a wrinkled blue plaid cotton shirt and a pair of clean dark slacks over his brown boots. His shaggy blonde hair was still damp and swept back as his dark eyes scanned the room.

Winston had won about six dollars, then lost almost all of it.  He then went up twelve dollars, but over the next hour lost six more. Winston clenched his jaw, shifted in his chair, and tried to relax his tense shoulders to no avail. He just could not seem to get the cards and lost the last six dollars, then two more he pulled out of his pocket. 

Shaking his head, he stood up and walked outside onto the boardwalk and watched people go by. He had no money for a hotel or a meal or a drink. His pocket watch told him it was just after four o’clock in the morning.  But he did have a horse and a way out of this town.

Three blocks over on the way to the stables, Winston passed a darkened warehouse with the front doors padlocked.  His fingers jingled almost a dollar in change in his pocket as he scanned the building. The ugly feeling of desperation had been creeping up his spine and he grimaced remembering the hungry feeling in the pit of his stomach. He walked around back and saw a window propped open on the second story and he quickly looked around for anyone watching.

Winston scaled up the building and went through the window into an inky blackness. There was a noise and movement deeper inside and Winston froze, moving further into the darkness. A night watchman came by and then went down an aisle and disappeared. Winston began to sneak up behind the night watchman, but before he could, the man turned around with a club and slammed it into Winston’s jaw. The watchman turned and started to run, but stopped and threw a wicked left fist into Winston’s ribs, more out of fright than aggression. The blow dropped Winston down to one knee before the watchman slammed the wooden club into Rafe’s temple.

Seeing stars, Winston rolled into a heap and tried to scramble up. He caught the watchman with a right hook, then twisted back his left arm until he heard the bone snap. The watchman screamed. Winston picked up a loosed board from the floor and hit him over the head, knocked him out cold. The man fell in a heap to the floor, bleeding from the fresh cut on the back of his head.

Winston rifled through the man’s pockets. The branded leather badge on his uniform read Fred Klugman. There were paper receipts and some cash in the man’s pockets. Winston shoved the five dollars into his slacks.

Winston took the watchman’s lantern and tried to find the door leading out of the warehouse. He put the lantern down and tried to open a door, but it was locked. Winston stumbled around looking for a tool to use to force the door, stepped wrong and fell against a crate.  Glass broke, opening a bloody gash on his left hand. Winston tore off a strip from his shirt