Eagle Spread

By P. A. Moore

Duke Gould owns one of the biggest ranches in Wyoming and has held it against rustlers, lawyers, and nature. His single-minded focus on the ranch is total--until the arrival of Natalie Reeves. Natalie is fresh from high society in New York City and she's escaped to Wyoming, away from the machinations of her uncle and his son. Best way to do that is to get married as fast as she can.

• Language: English
• Publisher: P. A. Moore
• Release date: Jun 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301102839

P. A. Moore

P.A. Moore was born on July of 1951 in the USA. Moore pursued a Bachelor’s Degree in Science and Master of Science in her early 20s. After achieving her degree she took up teaching Microbiology at the same University. She later moved on to teaching Limnology at a Community College. During that time she met and married the love of her life, Don, and wrote her first book. The first novel was a mystery story, which she produced on her typewriter between 1976 in 1979. Shortly after she bought her 1st microcomputer, an Apple II, and rewrote that book on it. Moore then worked for the US Army Corps of Engineers for 7 years. Firstly, as a supervisor of the Michigan state scuba diving team. Later in Oregon as Head of her boat crew responsible for collecting water and sediment samples from the ocean and estuaries. Moore’s crew were the first responders, after the National Guard, following May 18, 1980’s major volcanic eruption at Mount St. Helens located in Washington state. Moore welcomed her first daughter in 1981 and succeeded in starting a microcomputer business that same year partnering with her husband. Knowing that the microcomputer business was a technology field with its ups and downs, she wrote her first business plan predicting that she would leave the microcomputer business when they started selling microcomputers out of Sears. Her second daughter was born in 1986. In 2004, she decided to pass over full Management of the business to her husband to attend Nursing school fulltime. In 2009, she became nationally board certified as a psychiatric mental health nurse practitioner. Moore currently in that practice and expects to continue for the next 2 years. Her future hopes are to retire into a fulltime Author, writing fiction novels to occupy the rest of her life. Moore has written dozens of research papers for the Corps of Engineers; 4 books in the Nanamarvion series; 3 books in the Imperial Consort series; Western novels and she continues to write fiction novels in her available time. Moore most recently started her own YouTube channel to provide her insight on psychiatric and spiritual matters.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I passed through the billowing dust stirred up by the stage’s passing, heading toward where it rocked to a stop in front of the apothecaries. That was the wrong direction to go and I knew it. I didn’t normally hold with slacking; and a month’s worth of supplies sat in back of me outside of Gibson’s store, waiting to be tied on the pack horses.

But in a sleepy, two bit berg like Ten Sleep, the stagecoach’s arrival ranked as a major event; and it’d been a while since I was in town the same time as it. Besides, Gibson had mentioned that the boys planned a to-do to honor its coming, or at least the coming of one of its passengers.

Sam Jenkins, the telegrapher; Tell Stringer; and a couple of older townsmen beat me to the veranda next to the stage. But they were the only ones there. And I wondered where the rest had got to.

The men all nodded at me, save for Tell. His eyes just sharpened as they fell on me, then slid away.

Fine with me! Couldn’t see any particular reason for making peace with such as he. I turned my attention to the stage.

Wash McCormich, who’d been riding shot-gun, jumped down from the driver’s box faster than I remember that long-limbed monkey ever moving before. He fairly leapt to open the door that one of the other men was already reaching toward. Then he pulled his battered hat from his head, wiped one hand on his pants, wiped it again on his shirt, and extended it into the coach.

A woman’s white gloved hand came out to take it, and I heard a Thank you, Mr. McCormich. in a musical, little voice. A dainty, booted foot followed the hand, and then a girl. Or maybe a woman. She was of an age where the face was that of youth, but from the neck down wasn’t. And both were worth traveling for.

Her brown eyes were enormous and held a twinkle, her nose was a button, and her upper lip stuck out the smallest bit more than the lower giving her a whimsical look. And everything from her white skin to the slight curve of her lips was as delicate as could be imagined. All in all she looked like she was made for petting, like a kitten or a puppy.

She paused on the step and looked around at the men with bright, clear eyes and lips softly parted as if in anticipation. For a moment no one on the veranda moved, then every man-jack there straightened and exchanged worried looks with the others.

Sam Jenkins had received a telegraph that a woman was coming on the stage, thus the fracas the boys planned. But everyone had assumed that it was another dance hall girl. No more than twenty, decent, white females lived within thirty miles in any direction of that part of the Big Horn basin, and even they were mostly either married, old, kids or homely. Matter of fact, even the homely ones were married, and their husbands considered themselves lucky, so long as they cooked well.

One thing’s for sure. No dance hall girl and mighty few decent women would be caught dead in the old, oddly fitting, travel dress that that girl wore. Growing up with four, younger sisters who pored over every fashion magazine that made its way into the Panhandle and who spent longer cutting and stitching their dresses than a barn could be thrown up, gave me an education in such matters.

Also, a tenderness sorta glowed about her. Too much tenderness for her to be a part of the hurdy gurdy set. Certainly no one but a skunk would want to see the little thing upset.

I wasn’t the only one to think so, either. Sam said, Maybe we’d better tell...

But that was as far as he got. Suddenly a tremendous shouting and firing of guns started up around the corner of Gibson’s store. A dozen cowhands came galloping around it. In their midst rode a slim, clean-shaven boy with eyes so bright a blue that you could make out their color even from the veranda. His hat was hanging by the tie string. And his longish, blond hair flew back in the breeze made by his passing. He wore a set of spankin’ new duds—which were further set off by the noose around his neck. Lou Colman’s son, Jimmy.

The crowd roared to a stop across the street. One of the men spurred his pony up onto the veranda there, and proceeded to stand on its saddle the better to toss the loose end of the noose over a crossbeam.

My attention, along with that of the other men at the stage stop, was divided between the girl and the ruckus, with the girl winning out a bit. She made a quick movement, not quite a start, at the first shouts, finished hopping out of the stage, and tripped quickly toward its back, the rest of us trailing afterwards. She stopped there and stared across the road with a sort of blinking surprise, then turned around and looked right up at me to ask doubtfully, Are they really going to lynch that man? Her accent was purely eastern. I’d heard a few cavalry officer’s wives speak like that.

I lifted my hat and ran a hand through my hair before saying, Well, actually...

But there was no stop to her, and I’d already taken too long to answer. Her eyebrows pulled together the slightest bit, and she said, It’s all a hum, isn’t it? They’re just doing this for the stagecoach passengers. Some cowhands did the same thing at a train stop in Kansas.

I shrugged, not wanting to be the one to give away the plan, but not wanting to have her angry at me either. Apparently that answer was enough. Suddenly, without her even cracking a smile, dimples appeared on her cheeks. Then she set her sights on Jimmie Colman and started off at a good click across the street—smack dab through the wheeling, half-broke broncs!

With an oath, I jumped to follow and nearly got kicked in the head for my troubles. I think Tell did get nicked for I heard him cuss behind me. But she made it without a scratch, partly because the boys on horseback were watching for their audience; and they set their mounts back on their haunches to get out of her way.

The next moment she’d hopped up on the veranda next to Jimmy Colman’s horse. She turned with a fine, theatrical air and said, How dare you men hang this man without a proper trial or...or...anything. And I’d heard that the west had become civilized!

Jimmy Colman stared down at her for maybe three seconds with astonishment stamped all over him; but, then one could just see him gearing up to deciding all over again to carry out the ruse. He straightened in the saddle and said in a fine, rolling voice, You can’t blame them, Miss. I’ve done them wrong. I deserve to die!

The other cowhands weren’t fresh out of a college back east like Jimmy was; and they looked considerably shaken at the sight of a pretty, respectable girl glaring out at them. Some of them traded worried looks just like those exchanged at the stage stop.

She clutched her hands together and brought them up to her bosom with drama enough to choke even Lotta Crabtree as she turned to Jimmy and said, You’re being very noble, sir. I can’t believe that you could have committed any offense so evil that you deserve to be lynched by this...this horrible mob!

The other boy’s looks grew to ones of consternation. Jimmie seemed to be swallowing her act, too, though in his case, he just puffed up a bit more.

Me? I was half tickled and half dumbfounded. I mean look at her! She sounded like a lady, looked like a lady—at least, a poor one. If she were a hurdy-gurdy, she would be bound to be dressed better. But damned if I’d ever seen either kind of woman with half that brass, for it was obvious by what she’d said to me that she knew the boy’s were hoaxing her.

Jimmy continued to strike a pose. I’m afraid that I’m the worse kind of black-heart, Miss. I stole a cow!

She clamped her lips together hard, and I knew it was to prevent a smile from escaping, but the boys must have thought her about to start crying or something. Her brows knitted, and she returned earnestly, I’ve heard of rustling. It’s very bad to steal one I suppose, but still, a cow can’t be worth a person’s life. And the dimples were much in evidence in that otherwise solemn face.

Ah! But I stole a round thousand of them...and some horses, too.

Still. They’re just animals, and you’re a man. And I can see that you have some nobility in you, Sir. Something worth saving! Her look was suddenly stamped with such hope and open admiration that the other boys started to glower. And damned if she didn’t flutter her eyes at him!

Jimmie wasn’t immune to it. If he puffed up more, he’d float away! In point of fact, he did look mighty fine. No old work clothes for Colman’s boy! His new duds included the fine plainsman that dangled down his back, which bore a fancy red band the same color as his red, silk bandanna. A beaded, fringed vest half covered the gold shirt; tooled, leather chaps covered his black, wool pants; and he was astride a beauty of a red sorrel. He said, Alas, if that was all I did, it wouldn’t be so bad. But I also blew a bank and had a might of trouble with a train a while back.

You mean you held one up? Well, her words quivered around the edges and her expression fractured a bit at that. A mutter rose up like a moan from the boys. I guess they thought her to be near tears.

But if Jimmy thought it, he didn’t seem to care. The unkind might say that, Miss. I say that the engine was looking a bit over-heated and in need of a rest. The passengers were so thankful they rewarded me!

She had herself back in order again and looked severely up at Jimmie. You joke about it! But whatever could have driven you to such a terrible course, sir?

Alas. My ma is ailing. My pa, he done left me and my eight brothers and sisters when I was just a kid. I had to support the family somehow. said the widower Lou Colman’s only son.

Ah. Poor thing! I see you’ve suffered terribly.

One of the other boys said sourly, Not as much as he’ll suffer by the time we’re through with him. There was a mutter of agreement as the men scowled at Jimmy, but he just glanced around at them with a look of unholy glee.

The girl didn’t see his look, for at the other men’s words, she turned to face the mob and said, You mean you’ll torture him first, you terrible men?

Another drawled, Just a mite of tarring and feathering before we finish hanging him. That should do it. And Jimmy Colman grinned over her head.

Well, I won’t let you! Better that he hang clean! And, Christ, if she didn’t whip around and slap Jimmy’s horse on the rump!

Jimmie gave a startled, warbling yell as his horse hopped forward. He’d galloped onto the street with his hands tied in front of him, and he clutched at the pommel to keep his seat.

It should have been alright, for the end of the noose was only thrown over the beam and not secured; but the rope caught on something. His yell choked off as the noose tightened.

The man who’d thrown the rope over the beams held the bridle of Colman’s horse. He stopped its forward progress, but that didn’t keep its hindquarters from whipping around. As the rope dragged him off sideways, Jimmie let go of the pommel to grasp the noose with his bound hands. That would have protected him from a choking until the boys could get to him, except for the fact that his right foot stuck in the stirrup of his cavorting horse!

That stirrup was pulling him straight when my gun pounded in my hand. Tell’s roared in my ear a fraction of a second later. But my bullet had already split the rope, and Jimmy Colman fell, more off his horse than on it.

And the girl stood there laughing! Taking in the commotion with the same wide eyes that had looked so innocent before! Only now there was a devil dancing in them. As things sorted themselves out the merest bit, and Jimmy Colman fell off his horse completely, then rose up, rubbing his neck, she said, Rustling, horse stealing, and robberies aside, I think you deserve hanging for lying to a visitor so. The cowhands all exchanged looks again. The rest of you too for that matter!

Then she turned on her heel and flounced off down the street!

Sam Jenkins tilted his hat back and said, Boys, I think you’ve all just been had. She must have heard for a gurgle of laughter floated back towards us.

One of the older men muttered, Not as `had’ as they’re going to be, though!

His words fair sent a shiver up my spine!

As I mentioned before, there were a pile of other things to do, but somehow I found myself following the rest of the troop as it went down the street to the Holy Roller, Ten Sleep’s only tavern. Some of the ladies in the area made periodic attempts to get the name changed, charging that it was sacrilegious, but they hadn’t succeeded yet.

On the way, somehow, we all managed to pass the one room shack that served as the town’s city hall and jail. It was built only of weatherboard and prayers, but even at that it was the most substantial building in Ten Sleep, always excepting Ma Sloan’s house. Inside the open door, I glimpsed the girl primly sitting across from Harry Wilson, the town’s de facto mayor, banker, and general handyman. I slowed down as I passed but couldn’t hear what they were talking about.

And I would have liked to, for I couldn’t make out that girl at all! I mean I would have sworn she was a gentlewoman; but slapping that pony like that and laughing... Of course, it wasn’t really such a bad thing to do unless you looked at it hind-sight wise. Who would think Colman’s foot in the stirrup and the rope would both get stuck? I’d seen rougher horse-play a thousand times.

Though, mind you, never coming from a gentlewoman!

Still, I could see a young, spirited one like her doing it. What I couldn’t see was her standing there laughing about it afterwards! That wasn’t brass. That was steel! The biting kind. Most women would be weeping with pity over pretty Jimmie and his red neck.

But, if she was a hurdy-gurdy woman, what was she doing talking to Harry Wilson instead of heading directly to the saloon?

Once I had a warm beer in hand, I listened as hard as any of the other boys to the explanation that Wash McCormich and the stage’s driver, Stiff Caldwell, gave. They ended up at the tavern too, having been seized to do some explaining, though it’d make them late on their route. Stiff said, How was I to know what kind of fool thing you’d set out to do?

Jimmie Colman said, Well, you might have guessed! Don’t we always have a shindig when a new girl comes to town?

But I particularly mentioned in the wire that she was a gentlewoman! Which comment relieved my mind a mite. I hate seeing girls her age lowering themselves to the gutter.

Sam Jenkins cussed and said, I thought the telegraph said `gentile’.

Well, even if it did... Stiff said in surprise, ...what made you think you could give these boys the go-ahead to act like fools?

Sam returned the surprised look with interest and answered, Doesn’t gentile mean loose? As groans went up, he said defensively, But a Mormon man I knew always called scarlet women that.

As everyone shook their heads over such dim-wittedness, Jimmie Colman muttered, Damn, I hate looking like a fool in front of the first pretty girl that’s come this way in ten years!

One of the men asked, What’s her name anyway, Stiff?

And where’s she from? Another said.

Stiff answered, Natalie Reeves. Hails from back east. Didn’t say where. Says she’s here to see her uncle, James Reeves.

One of the boys crowed, Rooster Reeves? That pretty thing’s related to Rooster? One or two of the others gave hoots of laughter.

Stiff looked around. Why? Who’s he?

The bartender, a sawed off chunk of rusty barb-wire named Macolski—No first name that I’d heard tell of. Just Macolski—rumbled, Only the most cantankerous, old trapper in the Big Horns.

This was no exaggeration, either. Rooster Reeves was as ornery as a rabid coyote, particularly to ranchers and cowhands, for he didn’t like the way they’d taken over the wild lands. This despite the fact he ran a few head himself.

His cabin sat on Cloud Peak just east of my own. I saw him occasionally while out tending cattle. He always steered clear since the first time we met.

I’d been branding a calf. Hearing a break-barrel slamming closed and a hammer being cocked, I looked over my shoulder into the barrel of his shotgun. He thought I was one of Lou Colman’s boys rustling one of his dozen or so steer and came close to blowing my head off before I convinced him to recheck the blurred brand on the calf’s mother, which was lingering nearby. He didn’t even bother to beg my pardon then, but had cussed me for coming on what he called his land. Which it wasn’t! I had the deed to that and the land his cabin sat on. But you bet I didn’t argue with the crazy old coot, not with his finger still on the trigger.

The other boys were giving Stiff similar examples of Rooster Reeve’s character. As they talked, Tell’s smooth voice came from my other side. That was a neat shot you made, Duke.

I answered shortly, Thanks. It was the first time he’d addressed me in the better part of a year—since the last time his boss, Lou Colman, and I had tangled during the fall roundup. But I knew what had brought him up to scratch this time.

It had been a neat shot, if I do say so myself. Not everyone could split a rope from fifteen feet away with a pistol—and on the first shot of a fast draw, too, no less.

In fact, I generally couldn’t myself.

And anyone with a reputation like Tell Stringer’s had best know his competition. He had the biggest name of any of Lou Colman’s gunmen. A name he liked too much.

He played and looked the part, too. He had one of those long builds that stayed skinny more from the action of too many nerves than because of eating habits. Those nerves showed themselves again in his constantly moving eyes and in the way his long-fingered, right hand hovered over his holster, tapping the handle. He enjoyed wearing fancy duds that he didn’t enjoy getting dirty, and he kept his mustache trimmed short and just so. His manner of talking was more careful than most westerners, too. All the same, I’d bet my boots against him coming from a good family.

He took a swallow of whiskey from a glass held in his left hand and added, I hadn’t heard that you were known for being fast.

I’m not. I lied while beginning to regret the impulse that had made me shoot through the rope. I’d gotten enough of a name down in Texas to make me a target for up and coming slingers. It wasn’t something I cared to repeat. Lucky draw.

He gave a mirthless laugh, his thick lips twisting under his narrow mustache. Lucky shot too, I suppose.

Uh-huh. Dang!

The other boys started to move, giving me an excuse to turn away from Tell. But an itch stayed in my back, where he was.

Colman was saying, You just keep quiet, Turkey! You know you can’t talk around women. Just let me make the apologies for all of us.

One of the older men said dryly, Then what?

Jimmie Colman smiled in a manner that I didn’t much care for and said, We’ll just have to see about that; but game pretty as that shore calls for bagging. And there were a few more uneasy—even jealous—looks as everyone piled out of the Holy Roller behind him. Jimmie had a reputation with the petticoat set; but he’d been back east too long if he thought he could treat a good woman the way he treated the ones in the tavern.

We soon found ourselves in front of the jail as Miss Reeves and Harry Wilson stepped from it. Harry’s watery, blue eyes widened as he said, Well, what’s all this, boys?

Colman stood at the front of our mob. We just came to beg Miss Reeve’s pardon for the misunderstanding we had earlier.

As pert as you please, Miss Reeves said, Oh, there wasn’t any misunderstanding. I knew what was going on well enough. How’s your neck, Mr...

Colman. Jimmie Colman.

She just nodded. He hurried to add, Fine. Just fine. Gotten worse rope burns while out riding the range.

One of the boys behind him said, Since when did you ever... A friend slapped him in the belly before he could say more. But the rest of the words didn’t need to be spoken to be understood. Jimmie had almost as big a reputation for avoiding work as he did for pursuing women.

I’m glad. she said. I really didn’t think the rope would stick.

Then Turkey Gobbler, Jimmy’s sidekick and the same man who’d thrown the rope over the beam, said, It just got caught on a nail, Ma’am. Weren’t yore fault. then subsided into red-faced silence with his adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat. He got his name by virtue of the length and redness of that throat.

She said, "Ah, I see. Well then, all’s forgiven on my part if you will forgive