Staking Claims: Legends of the Landrun, #4

By Alanna Rodriguez and Judge Rodriguez

After being jilted at the alter & turning her back on her faith, Brigit McKennon rode to the Oklahoma Territory with the promise of a new beginning. Little did she know of the pain awaiting her after successfully running the landrun.

 

Sean Mallory is living his dream - his own plot of land and the freedom to live his faith.  But the landrun drops a broken woman in his lap that challenges everything he holds true. Can he keep from losing his heart to an unbeliever?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Landrun Publishing
• Release date: Jul 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201150686

Alanna Rodriguez

Judge Rodriguez was born and raised in Little Axe, Oklahoma. The son of U.S. Air Force Veterans, he followed the mility legacy of his family and served his own tenure in the U.S.A.F. A computer wizard by day, a reenactor, living historian and author by night. Alanna Radle Rodriguez was born and raised in Edmond, Oklahoma. The great-great granddaughter of one of the first pioneers to settle in Indian Territory/Oklahoma, her roots run deep.  A teacher's assistant (in the same district she attended as a child) by day, a reenactor, living historian, author and caregiver to her parents by night. Judge and Alanna met in a reenactment group and have a combined fourty-nine years of reenactment and living history experience. They both love the history of their home state, thoroughly enjoy doing research (especially if they can be in hsitorical garb), and relish working at the 1889 Territorial Schoolhouse in Edmond. They currently live near Edmond. The Marshal of Denver is the first installment of a long line of co-authored books written together in the Legends of the Landrun Series.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Brigit McKennon had never walked taller than she did now, even as she tripped over the boots that were two sizes too big. She had made it. Made it across the country by herself. Made it to the Indian Territory. Made it through the run without getting run over. More importantly made it to stake her claim. Her actual own piece of land. The little town of White was going to be perfect. She could feel it.

She looked back at Seamus, her mule. The stubborn animal seemed to happily trail behind her, carrying all she had in the world: a box with her Dutch oven, a few dishes, some food supplies, the saddle bags that held her family Bible, her mother’s rosary, and most importantly, her claim papers. It wasn’t much, but it was hers.

She readjusted her baggy shirt so it wouldn’t cling to her bound chest, and pulled up her three-sizes-too-big pants. Tugging the hat that hid her long hair lower, she smiled. For the most part, she was either left alone or treated like a young boy trying to be a man, which was perfectly fine by her.

Her parents would be so proud how their daughter had made her way. Thoughts of them came to mind as she headed toward the land office. She missed them. They were the type of people who were always happy-go-lucky even when the days were dark. She figured it had to do with that Irish charm they brought over with them when they escaped the potato blight. Irish charm she had, but it was hidden under a sorry attitude for life. There were just times she couldn’t even see the lamp for the darkness, but things were going to change. She was making it now, for sure. She, Brigit McKennon, was a land owner. She couldn’t wait to file the claim papers and get back her land. She felt a bit of her parents’ happy-go-lucky attitude bubble in her heart.

She was Brigit McKennon. Daughter of Irish immigrants. Natural-born American citizen, and soon to be land owner. Her step quickened and lightened. Nothing was going to keep her from this new chapter of her life. Absolutely nothing.

Down the road a bit, there was something blocking the way. She strained to make out what it was. Did she see it move? Was it an injured or dying animal? Or was it something else? As she got closer, she could tell it wasn’t an animal. What was it?

This time, she did see what it was. A man. And he groaned. She pulled on Seamus’ reins, encouraging the stubborn mule to hurry with her. She had to help the man. When she reached him, she dropped the reins, then hit the ground next to him on her knees.

Mister? she asked. You okay? Hey, mister? She reached out and touched his shoulder. He groaned. Mister?

A chuckle from somewhere behind her caught her attention and she looked over her shoulder. She looked to a clump of trees, but couldn’t see anyone.

Not sure that one’s gonna be worth it, Jeff. He’s kinda scrawny.

What was going on? Who was there?

Clothes shifting in the dirt brought her attention back to the man in the road. He was sitting up and grinning at her.

Her eyes went wide at the malicious look on his face. The last thing she saw was his fist coming toward her face.

PAIN. PAIN LIKE SHE had never experienced before shot through every fiber of her being. She just knew something was broken. If not everything. At least it felt that way. The heat from the sun cooked her and the ground she lay on gave no cooling. She had been attacked and left for dead. Well, they weren’t going to get rid of her that easily. For the first time in her life, Brigit McKennon crawled.

A DRESS. A WHITE DRESS. A white dress that was so beautiful it was fitting for the ancient Irish Queen, Boudicca, and it was hers...Brigit McKennon’s. She was standing at the front of the church, her heart so full of joy, and there, in the back of the sanctuary, was her groom, walking away from her. Pain pierced her heart. She reached her hand out toward the retreating back, calling out to him, pleading, begging him. But he continued to walk away. She cried out for him.

Shhh, a voice that was unfamiliar said. Easy. The voice was kind and gentle. You’re safe.

Something cool and moist brushed her forehead. She trusted the voice. Was it her mother? She was so tired. Oh, so tired, and she let go and succumbed to the darkness with one thought. Mam?

HER PARENTS. HER SWEET parents, lying in bed. She tried her best to take care of them when they came down with consumption, but her best just wasn’t good enough. She stood above their graves, letting the dirt filter through her fingers until...it was gone...like her family. Pain overtook her and she moaned.

Easy, that same, kind, unfamiliar voice cooed. You’re getting better, but you need to take it easy.

Take it easy?

How could she take it easy when even a shallow breath hurt so bad?

Chapter 2

Pain prodded Brigit back to consciousness. She groaned. Which made her ribs stab with pain.

It’s okay, you’re safe, the kind voice said.

Momma? Brigit asked, then coughed and immediately regretted both. Every breath was filled with gut wrenching pain. It hurts.

I can’t imagine, my dear, how much you must hurt. The doctor said you have a couple of broken ribs, lots of bruising and swelling, and possibly some internal bleeding, but no broken bones other than your ribs.

That wasn’t Mam. She forced her eyes open. Slits were all she could manage. The ceiling was very bright and looked paper thin, as did the woman in front of her. Where am I?

You’re in my family’s home, the woman said. Well. Our tent. The house isn’t quite ready for us to move in yet, not even to sleep in, really; but will be shortly. My son found you on the side of the road, beat up pretty badly.

Brigit groaned again.

Pretty smart, dressing like a boy, the woman said. Probably what saved your life.

She looked at her. What do you mean?

Well, if they knew you were a woman, they probably would have done worse, if you follow my meaning.

Brigit did indeed know what the woman was talking about. That was why...I was dressing...like that. It took everything in her just to talk. She was so weak.

Well, it was a smart thing to do.

Thirsty.

I’d imagine you to be a bit parched. The woman turned and got a glass of water. Gently, she lifted Brigit’s head and gingerly trickled water into her mouth.

The cool liquid felt so good, so refreshing to her tongue and mouth. Life was good, and then she swallowed.

It felt as if the renewing water was filled with boiling hot shards of shattered glass, lacerating her throat. She wanted to die. Tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes.

I’d wondered if that wasn’t going to be the case, but had to try. Give me a few moments and I’ll get you a warm drink to help sooth your throat. The woman disappeared.

Why, Lord? Brigit wailed. Why have you taken everything from me? First my family, then the only man who would have me...and now left for dead? What have I missed? I thought I was a good person. Did you not want me, either? It would have been better if I had died. Well, if you don’t want me, I don’t want you either. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone anymore, anyway. She must have been wallowing in her misery longer than she thought because the woman was back with a cup of steaming something.

Here, dear, the woman said. Try this. Once again, she gently lifted Brigit’s head and softly put the cup to her lips.

Brigit braced herself for the pain she was sure to come. It was there, no doubt. The warm liquid seemed to scald but whatever the woman laced it with did soothe some. It took her a little bit to finish the cup. The woman was patient, sitting there with her not trying to hurry her.

Thank you, Brigit croaked.

Does your throat feel better?

Brigit nodded. Who are you?

I’m Leslie Buchannan. My son, Richard, found you.

How long have...I been here? Oh, it hurt to breathe.

Three and a half weeks, Mrs. Buchannan explained.

Brigit groaned. That would explain part of her weakness and exhaustion.

Now, don’t you worry, Mrs. Buchannan reassured. The law has been notified and are on the alert.

Won’t do any good. Brigit wheezed, then grimaced as pain seared through her lungs and she laid her arm across her front. The effort didn’t help the pain. Probably say that...there are too many claim...jumpers out there...take one look at me...and say that I’m...lucky to be alive...to forget anything else.

It sounded like the woman shifted. But you don’t know that for a fact, Brigit.

She froze. How do you know my name?

We found it in your Bible.

My Bible?

Yes. Richard brought back your saddle bags and the few things he found strewn about on the ground.

Few things? What else did he find?

A rosary. Are you Catholic?

No. My parents were. More tears prick her eyes. It was my mother’s. She missed her parents. She really wanted, no, needed their company right now. She felt like a little child wanting her mam to pick her up, hold her in her lap and make everything right. But that wasn’t meant to be. She was on her own, now. No one to lean on. Something that Mrs. Buchannan left out in her list finally registered. Did he find...my mule...Seamus?

I’m afraid not.

She had the momentary thought of how it would feel if she spoke gently. Must have stolen him. A full sentence and it didn’t make her feel like she couldn’t breathe. A step in the right direction.

Richard said he found very little.

I had very little, Brigit muttered. The stinkin’ thieves even...took my Dutch oven...and dishes. A thought made her muscles tense and cause her breathe to stop. Did he find any paperwork? Any at all?

Paperwork?

Claim papers. Brigit was almost frantic. My claim. My land!

Oh, dear, Mrs. Buchannan soothed. I’m sorry, he didn’t find any paperwork, claim or otherwise.

She didn’t want to believe the kindly, older woman. No.

I’m sorry, Brigit. The saddle bags, rosary and Bible are all that Richard found.

She’d thought she’d lost everything before. Now she was learning what it really meant to lose everything. She finally let her tears flow freely while Mrs. Buchannan bathed her face with a cool, damp cloth.

Chapter 3

Brigit felt like she was going crazy, full-fledged insanity. She lay in bed in the old dress Mrs. Buchannan had given her to wear. It was a simple dress, yet thread bare, about ready to fall apart at any moment, and it was just a dress, no underclothes, no corset, no stalkings. Just the dress. She could understand that. That might be all they had extra. Clothes were a luxury few could afford, and she was grateful for the it nonetheless. She kind of missed the clothes she was wearing when she was attacked, but as Mrs. Buchannan explained, they were ripped beyond repair.

She scratched her arm and marveled how thin she was. She had lost a lot of weight over the past month. The Buchannans had given her food, but just enough. They were struggling in this new territory. Were any of the other settlers struggling this much as well?

The breaths she had taken this morning, were the easiest she had taken so far. Maybe it was time for her to take the bindings off. She’d best do it quickly if she was going to, before someone came in and caught her bare. Still moving gingerly, she stood and slipped off the dress, then began to unwind the wrappings. Once done, she took a slow, deep breath, free of pain, then quickly pulled the dress over her head again and secured the closures. Then she began to fold the wrappings. Once done, she set it on the chair by the bedside table. She took a deeper breath than she’d been able to since she was attacked. What a feeling to not have to worry about being able to breathe without pain. On the bedside table, her Bible sat with her mother’s rosary on top. She still wanted nothing to do with it. Tired from the exertion, she returned back to the bed to stare at the ceiling, the dust motes dancing and chasing one another in the rays of the sun. Haven’t I seen you before? she asked a dust mote. She was sure she had. She rubbed her face. Maybe she did need to be put in an asylum. She was talking to dust. Dust! It had been a month since the house had been completed; and they had gently brought her in the newly finished home, up to one of the rooms on the second floor. A room all to herself. All alone.

A knock brought her back to reality, and she eagerly looked at the door in anticipation. The piece of wood that sectioned the world from her was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, for it was a sanctuary, keeping the world from seeing her break and wallowing in her self-loathing. A curse, because it kept people who would be able to help from seeing her break and wallowing in her self-loathing. Two sides to the same coin, or door, in this instance. Finally, it opened.

Richard stuck his head in.

She was thankful to see a familiar face, but wary also. There was something about him, a feeling. He had never done anything to deserve her feelings of distrust. He had always been a perfect gentleman. But there was just something about him. A sense that he wasn’t at all what he seemed to be.

Up for a visit?

She smiled in hopes that she was hiding her discomfort. He had been so kind, bringing her board games or cards to play with her. In all honesty, if she could ignore the anxiousness, it did help her pass the time as she slowly healed. That would be very nice, Richard, thank you.

He smiled then shouldered the door open, checkers in hand. He had anticipated her saying yes. He propped the door open with the doorstop as he said, Thought we could play a few rounds, if you wanted to.

You’re very thoughtful, thank you. It was very hard to ignore the apprehension.

How are you feeling today?

Like a caged animal.

He chuckled. I can imagine. You’ve healed a lot in a short while, though. He put the checkers board on the foot of the bed, then took a seat on the corner of the mattress.

But I’ve still got a long way to go.

You’re doing great. It’s a long process. You were in really bad shape when I found you.

Within an inch of my life.

See? Richard smiled, holding out his hand as if he was holding out evidence for her approval. And you’ve already come this far. You’re doing well.

She appreciated the encouragement. She really did. Even if it was coming from him, but she was just so tired of not being able to go out. Thanks, Richard.

Do you want to talk or play? He motioned to the board game. Or both?

His grin was contagious and, against all of the warnings going off in her head, she found herself grinning as well. Both! She gently settled into a new position as Richard moved the board and scooted closer to the middle of the bed and to her before setting up the game. He was one of the few things keeping her sane at this point. As uncomfortable as he made her, she was very grateful for him finding her, bringing her to his home and family to take care of her the way he had. The way his family had. It had been a joint effort.

Hey, now, he said comfortingly, what’s this? He gently reached across and brushed at her eyes.

She couldn’t believe it. At a time like this, she failed to keep her eyes from leaking. She tried to back pedal in an effort to keep face. I was thinking about how grateful I am, how you brought me to your family’s home to be cared for when you found me. She sniffed like showing feeling was below her; especially in front of him. I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t.

A twinkle lit his eye. That much would be obvious, wouldn’t it? Without my invitation to stay here, you would have no reason to be here, now would you? Richard asked archly. His eyes glanced to the side, before he returned to look at her. I see you took your bindings off. Can you breathe better?

Much easier.

The twinkle turned into something else. Something dark.

She knew she could be in trouble. The uncomfortable feeling became overwhelming and turned to one of danger. Her tears stopped as her senses suddenly sharpened.

Aw, darlin’, don’t be bawlin’ like that. It was just a little teasing, he said as if she was still crying. Richard reached over the board to her and put an arm around her, pulling her into an intimate embrace.

All her self-loathing evaporated. Thank you, Richard. I’m better now. She tried to push away, but wasn’t quite strong enough.

I’ve been thinking. His voice was low. Some girl somewhere, would think it horribly romantic, but it raked her nerves raw. About how you can repay the kindness of our invitation. He let her go, got up and closed the door quietly, then came back to stand over her.

She knew what he had planned. Only if it’s honorable. She gave a hard shove, only to push him away a little bit. Get out of here.

I like a girl with spirit. He clamped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her to him, smashing her lips against his, her protests muffled.

She gasped when he left her lips. Leave me alone!

Time to pay up, darlin’. He moved his lips to her neck where he began to roam to who knew where.

Brigit screamed and used all her might to push him away. Somehow, she managed to wrench to the side and brought her elbow back into the side of Richard’s head, throwing him off-center momentarily.

He roared in anger and frustration as he straightened, raising his hand above his head.

A sharp sting across her cheek and a force that she had felt only when she was robbed, dazed her. It took a moment before she realized he had slapped her and throw a leg over her. He even had her arms pinned by his knees. Trapped. This was worse than when she had been robbed. The uncomfortable feeling disappeared. She couldn’t feel it. Actually, she didn’t feel anything. She didn’t feel anything but void, she didn’t feel any emotions. Nothing. Then, with a touch of his hand, something she never knew she had, came into action. Strength that she did not have coursed through her veins. She bit and she spat. Her hands that somehow had been freed, punched, scratched, all the while screaming her lungs out. Her fingernails, longer than normal from her recovery time, found his face and she dug in.

Richard thundered, covering his face. He staggered off her and the bed, cursing freely and throwing out a few choice words to describe her.

What is going on in here? Mrs. Buchannan’s voice demanded.

Brigit’s head snapped to the now open door where the older woman stood. Relief flooded her and tears once more began to pool in her eyes. She was saved.

She went crazy, Ma! Richard dropped his hands from his face to show his mother.

Mrs. Buchannan gasped and went to her son’s side, examining his face. What happened?

She started attacking me. Out of nowhere, for no reason.

The tears dried just as suddenly as they came. You’re lying! Brigit struggled to sit up, but sit she did. He was attacking me. Forcing himself on... She found she couldn’t say it all. He attacked me.

Mrs. Buchannan came over to Brigit and looked at her. She reached down and moved Brigit’s head to the side, then touched her cheek.

Brigit hissed from the pain of the touch. From the time the door shut to when Mrs. Buchannan came in was a blur.

I was setting up checkers when she just reached out and clawed me.

Mrs. Buchannan shot him a glance over her shoulder that told him to be quiet, then turned back to Brigit. Brigit, it’s alright. The older woman stroked Brigit’s hair like a mother trying to calm and placate a child. Even though you’re healing, you’re still sick. It’s only natural to act out with suppressed memories.

Brigit couldn’t believe it. This was no memory. She glared at Richard. This was assault.

Listen to her, Ma, she’s talking out of her head.

Shut your mouth, boy. I’m not telling you again.

He’s lying, Mrs. Buchannan. I know he’s your son, but he’s lying. She searched the older woman’s face for any kind of understanding or sympathy. Have I ever done anything to show you I’m a liar?

The older woman’s face went stony. That’s all I’m going to hear about it. Mrs. Buchannan went to the door, then turned and looked back into the room. You will respect us for allowing you to recover in the comfort of our home. I must say, Brigit. I’m disappointed in you. Attacking my son, to show your gratitude. She turned and left, her steps echoing through the hall, down the stairs, before they completely faded from ear.

Brigit sat there stunned. Why had Mrs. Buchannan not believed her? She was telling the truth. She wasn’t lying. She turned, looked at Richard and tasted bile in the back of her throat.

He stood there, standing straight as could be. His head was tilted back and a smug smile pulled at his lips. Slowly, with purposed steps, he came to the side of the bed and bent over her. Gloating. That was what he was doing. He reached down and pinched her cheeks between his thumb and fingers in a vice-like grip.

Brigit squeezed her eyes shut in pain. Ow! You’re hurting me.

Not enjoying the pain? His smile turned into an obscene smirk that was just as oily. Oh, I am. He took a deep shuttering breath. I’ll hurt you a lot worse if you try to blame me again. He squeezed her cheek harder. "And when you pay me back, I can make that as painful as I want. So you just watch yourself."

She glared at him, with all of the distaste and loathing she felt and then more. You won’t get away with this.

He laughed. I get away with everything I want to, sweetheart. I get everything I want. You just remember that. He roughly released her.

Not missing a beat, she spit in his face.

Without hesitation, he backhanded her, the world turning dark.

Chapter 4

For the last two weeks , Brigit walked on eggshells. When she first tried to leave, she was found by Mrs. Buchannan, and thoroughly beaten by Richard, thankfully no more of her ribs were broken. Having her senses knocked loose, she decided to not push it too hard. She was still weak, having gained little if any strength.

The bruises were almost gone, but still visible. The warm companionship she shared with Mrs. Buchannan had disappeared. It seemed that, when faced with the possibility of her son being a monster, she believed he was beyond reproach and the other party was at fault. Something told Brigit that Mrs. Buchannan would accuse a nun of dressing suggestively in her habit just to entice Richard into raping her. Brigit had to get out. If she didn’t watch it, she’d find herself in jail facing seduction charges. Maybe even thrown to the local pleasure house. That is, if this town had one.

She hadn’t even been out of the house! She had no idea what this town had. Was it a bustling metropolis? A dusty, tiny village with only a few ramshackle hovels? Or a quaint little town? Whatever the town of White was like, she had to get out. She had been working quietly to gain her strength back. She hadn’t gotten far, she was still so weak. But she’d been downstairs now. Moving from room to room. Stairs were the biggest challenge; but she was conquering them, as long as she took her time. Quite easily. Although, at the end of each trip, she needed a bit of rest. She was getting there. Today, she planned on walking the entire house in one, non-stop trek. The Buchannans were at church for a function, whatever it was, and she had the house to herself. She was going to get as strong as she could, as quickly as she could.

Better get to it. She quickly went through the rooms upstairs and was heading to the stairs, when she heard the front door open. She rushed back to the room designated as hers, quietly pushed the door closed, grabbed the deck of cards from the bedside table and had a game of solitaire going in the blink of an eye, her lungs burning with the strain. Smoothing her skirt out and playing a few cards, she concentrated on evening out her breathing, hoping no one would check on her and see her breathing hard. She prayed whomever had come in, wouldn’t hear her heart pounding off the walls of her ribs like it was in a cage.

The stairs creaked. Someone was climbing the stairs, one by one with slow determination. Then, down the hall with the same boldness. Now, her heart was racing, not with being caught, but of not knowing what was coming. Who was in the house? The Buchannans almost always hollered a greeting when they came in the door. The footsteps finally stopped. Right in front of her door.

Brigit froze, waiting. Waiting for what, she didn’t know. The bedroom door slowly began to open and she watched the widening gap for any clue of who it might be.

Richard. And here she was all alone, with no hope of rescue, even from Mrs. Buchannan. Maybe if she kept him talking, he wouldn’t attack her, and there might be a chance to run. Might. Richard! She placed her hand on her chest and dropped the hand holding the cards to rest on the bed, hoping her breathlessness came across as fear and nothing else. You scared me. I didn’t know who had come in. Did that sound as disingenuous to him as it did to her?

That slow, determined step resumed. I thought you might be resting and I didn’t want to wake you. There was something different about his voice. Something dark. As if something even more insidious was oozing from him.

Keep him talking. Brigit tried to play it off and took the time to slowly gather a breath. Just playing a quiet game of solitaire.

Oh. Closer and closer, he came with those dratted determined steps. Ma and Pa will be busy for hours at the gathering. He acted as if his words were all the explanation she needed. And I got to thinking. He was almost to the side of the bed. The time has come to pay up.

Brigit now looked up into the face of evil and knew she was in serious trouble. Despite her best efforts, she began breathing hard in fear. She took a deep breath.

Screaming won’t do you any good. On second thought, he paused for a moment, please scream. I’ll enjoy it all the more, that way. He swiped the cards away and out of her hand before he put his knee on the bed. No one will hear you, anyway. He placed his hand in the middle of her chest and shoved her back.

She yelped at the suddenness and found herself smashed under his weight. Fear took hold. She yelled at him to get off, to let her go, to stop. She screamed for help at the top of her lungs 'til her throat burned from the strain. A hard fist connected with her ribs and from somewhere...almost as if she was at the door watching this happen...she could have sworn she heard the snapping of newly mended bones, stealing her breath away. Everything went out of focus. The birds were still singing outside, the light breeze slightly rattled the window, the quiet of the house. Everything else disappeared. The only thing she was aware of, was Richard. And what he was trying to do. She couldn’t allow him to succeed. But how could she stop him? She wasn’t strong enough to even begin to fight him off. She seriously doubted that she had any power if she punched him. But she couldn’t just lay there and take it.

Richard moved his head next to hers. She rolled her head toward his and found his ear. He moaned. And she bit down with all her strength. He roared as he lifted himself up just enough to take the back of his hand to her cheek. She thought the slap he gave her the first time was the worst she had ever experienced. This one put even the beating she had when she got claim jumped to shame. It was so strong and forceful, things went black. How long she was out, she couldn’t tell. When she came to, she began to fight again. Anything and everything she could do. Struggle, fling her legs, her arms, claw, scratch, anything and everything.

But everything she did, was like a child batting at cotton. Whatever she dished out, was returned in true, pain-searing retaliation. She had to get out of there. To get away. Or she wasn’t going to make it. Another punch connected and she heard more ribs crack. Pain sparkled in her eyes, leaving her stunned and she didn’t seem to have enough air to scream.

Richard, apparently satisfied with where they were, raised up to his knees and began to undo his belt. In a move of desperation, Brigit reached over and grabbed the first thing she felt her finger tips touch. Her mother’s rosary. She knew what it was the instant she touched it. Not much of a weapon, but she had to try. Just as Richard arched his back to pull his belt free, she stabbed the rosary like a