Violet had crossed the porch to the front step as if she had every intention of walking over and taking her father’s place.
He bounded after her. “Violet, stop!”
A gunshot rang out, and an instant later, a bullet whizzed past him. It was far enough away that whoever had fired it had likely done so as a warning, perhaps to stop him. The men might be willing to hang Violet’s father, but they wouldn’t dare killSterling. They’d never get away with it, and they obviously knew it.
Warning or not, he didn’t halt until he reached Violet. He threw himself in front of her, shoving her behind his body. “No!” The word ripped from him and contained all the anguish that had been racing through him since the moment he’d realized she’d gone outside.
Thankfully, she was more compliant than Hyacinth and didn’t try to break free from his grip on her.
His breathing was labored, and his heart pounded against his ribs. But he took a deep breath because he had Violet in a safe place, and he didn’t plan to let her go.
At the same time, he knew he couldn’t let Mr. Berkley die, especially with Violet and Hyacinth watching. Her father deserved the consequences for gambling away his family’s money and safety. But he didn’t deserve to hang for it.
With one hand pinning Violet behind him, he aimed his gun toward the man holding Mr. Berkley. He was a giant of a man with a red face that had a wide scar across one cheek. He held himself with an authority that marked him as the leader. “Tell your men not to shoot again.”
In the distance by the barns, several of Sterling’s ranch hands had their guns trained upon Claude’s men, who were spread out and had taken cover behind other outbuildings, feeding troughs, and watering barrels. It was clear the men had come with the intention of fighting, and Sterling didn’t want to chance any bullets coming anywhere near Violet.
“If you want a stand-down,” the big fellow responded, “then hand over the women.”
“That won’t happen.”
“Then you leave us with no choice but to bring about justice for this man’s swindling.”
Violet shifted, her head poking out from behind Sterling. “Could my father work off his debt at the saloon?”
Sterling pushed her back out of sight. She was raising a valid question, but he doubted Claude, or any saloon owner, would be willing to set a precedent of hiring the men who racked up debt with them.
On the other hand…
Sterling’s mind sped with a new possibility. “How much money does Mr. Berkley owe the Red Cap?”
Claude’s henchman shook Mr. Berkley. “Tell everyone what you owe Claude.”
Shoulders slumped and head bent, Violet’s father didn’t look up.
“Tell them.” The fellow’s voice rose with anger.
Violet’s dad mumbled something.
“Louder.” Claude’s man slapped Mr. Berkley across the head.
“Two thousand dollars.” This time Mr. Berkley’s voice was clear but also filled with self-loathing.
Behind him, Violet released a breath that contained her defeat. Two thousand was more than an average man made in a year by far. In fact, it would take most ranch hands five years to earn that amount.
But Sterling had close to that amount—the money he’d earned and saved for years. When he’d been engaged to Violet, he’d planned to use it to build their house as well as purchase all the furnishings they would need for every room.
The problem was that he didn’t have exactly two thousand. He was short by a few hundred.
He turned his sights to the herd grazing on the bales of alfalfa the ranch hands had fed them this morning. He could sell off some of the steers to make up the difference.
But with the blackleg that had run through his herd, he’d already lost too many. While he was beginning to feel confidentthat the vaccination Thatcher had administered would stop the spread to more livestock, Sterling wasn’t entirely sure yet. In addition, he still had the rest of the winter to get through, with the usual losses that came when cattle got sick, got lost, or froze to death.
Already, his dad would be disappointed to learn of the problems. If Sterling sold some off and depleted the herd further, Dad would be really upset, would maybe even give the ranch administration job to one of his other sons—probably Coleman, who had always been the favorite.
Exactly how many cattle would it take to make up the difference with the two thousand dollars?
Sterling swiftly began calculating. Their newest breed was going for a premium price because the Durham provided a better cut of meat. If he could get twenty dollars a head, he would need to sell at least a dozen, if not more. He would probably find a market for the beef up in Leadville. But getting the steers all the way up to the high mountain town would be difficult with the recent snow.
