Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Blackjack Bluffs, Promised County

Dawn arrived cold and pale, sunlight creeping through the eastern sky in ribbons of pale gold that did nothing to thaw the bitter cold of winter that lingered in the air. It would be warm again by midday. Deceptively so. The toil of a day’s labor might even convince them to do away with a layer or two but come nightfall the temperature would soon drop again; and without a fire he and his companions would not long survive many nights like the last.

It was not the first time Oscar Diaz had slept outdoors in the mountains. But without a coat or so much as a blanket for cover, he could confidently say that this was the worst time of it he’d ever had. He was not a young man anymore.

He and the six captives who had chosen to follow him after the escape from the mine had made their bed amidst a stony patch of brush. It jabbed and cut at his sensitive skin, but it provided some cover from the eyes above and was softer than sleeping on the hard ground without it.

The aching muscle in his back screaming as he carefully sat up, Oscar searched the surrounding area for any sign that the men who had pursued them for days had caught up. Though he doubted they’d bother much with sneaking if they had.

Wind-carved walls of sandstone loomed on either side of the lip they rested on, the mountain around them silent and still. Relieved, Oscar roused his companions, and having no food stores or hope among them to find it until they reached their destination, they began another day’s dreary walk through the bluffs, following the river cutting through the bottom of the ravine.

Oscar led the way, shale crunching beneath his boots as he carefully navigated the rocky terrain. He’d been born in hills not far from these ones. His people had been taught to speak Spanish and take pride in the blood of Spaniards flowing through their veins. In order to survive they’d learned not to speak of the others, and had forgotten the languages they’d spoken before, the names of their forebearers barred from their Spanish schools. And survive his people had, through the colonization of California under Spanish rule and then the bloody cry for Mexican independence that led to brother fighting brother. They’d built, and lost, and rebuilt, again and again, on this land. Always subject to the whims of more powerful men and the wars they waged. Yet still surviving, as Oscar knew he simply must now again - for Alex.

Alex was the reason he lived. Oscar’s reason for everything.

When he’d woken in chains in that cave after being beaten and thrown away by his alpha it had been easier than not to play the helpless omega in distress, desperate for an alpha protector. The distress was genuine. The blood still oozing from his lacerations and the pain throbbing in his bones were all too real a reminder of his tenuous position. And there had surely been more to come, enslaved by those wicked lawless men.

He supposed he ought to be grateful that alphas were such swine or he might not have escaped them at all. But even a battered old bird like him could still hold appeal, and Nelson’s right hand had been so eager to play at being on the same level as men like Rich Nelson and Mac - leaders of men rather than just followers. Absurd, when it had taken little more than a pair of big dark eyes and a few honied words to convince the fool that he was so irresistible an alpha that even a captive omega couldn’t help but fall helpless under his spell and want nothing more than a chance to bear his pups.

Oscar had nearly given himself away, grinning in triumph when that greasy outlaw Victor had revealed they were in the old Creel mine. Long before the Owens brothers, the Nelsons, or any of these Americans were a stain upon this land—before they’d called it the Black Jack Bluffs — Oscar’s people had called these mountains Del río blanco.

A lifetime ago, Oscar’s father had raised and tended sheep for the Don, and Oscar’s madre would send him up into the hills to bring supplies and important news to his father and brothers. He hadn’t roamed these exact paths, but in any case, Oscar knew the region well and which direction they must go in to reach the town of Stockton. Where hopefully they could throw themselves on the mercy of the local deputy - and pray to God that he had not already been bought out by Mr. Vecna.

It was not like the old days, when Sal’s grandfather the Don had ruled everything between here and San Jose with an iron fist - but Sal’s influence still cast an impressive shadow. How far that shadow reached, Oscar couldn’t say for certain but he was sure they’d have to get a hell of a lot further away than Stockton before they were outside of Vecna’s net.

Oscar didn’t know the six terrified souls who had chosen to follow him rather than the bullish men in the bunch, who had insisted that the group of escapees would make it further on foot through the valley. But he imagined that they too had their people to return to, and so he prayed to the Madonna with every step he took that he wasn’t leading them to their deaths.

Sorely did they need divine protection, because they were moving too slow and he knew it with a dreadful sixth sense that needed no pocket watch or map to measure by.

But with a pregnant woman and a young child in the mix, there was no going any faster. Oscar’s body still ached from the fierce beating that Mac had given him, but he was better off than any of the others. His clothes were in good condition, and he had not been chained long enough for his ankles to bruise and bleed, nor was he half starved.

At noontime when the sun was almost directly overhead and the group had begun to lag more than they could afford Oscar directed the pair of beta ranch hands who seemed the most able, to assist the woman and carry the pup. He was grateful that the men did not grumble or take issue with following orders from an omega.

He himself moved to the rear to help old Josiah, an alpha who had to be seventy years of age and not a day younger. He and his son had been indentured together, but the son had died weeks before the escape from an infected wound. The old alpha’s back was bent like a question mark, and from all that he had shared with the group in the dark fearful moments before sleep, he was alone in the world. But he plodded on, stumbling step after step, with ragged breaths - determination weaved through his brittle scent.

With each step, the shale crumbled ominously beneath their boots, a reminder that carelessness could send them sliding down the mountainside to an early death as surely as any gang of outlaws. A half hour or so later, Oscar paused once more, allowing his gaze to sweep over the horizon, keen eyes probing the hills around them for telltale signs of pursuit—a flicker of movement, the glint of sunlight on metal, anything suggesting they were no longer alone in the harsh expanse of the bluffs.

Satisfied, if only for the moment, that they had not yet been overtaken by Nelson and his men, Oscar allowed the group to stop for a short break. He’d swiped Victor’s canteen off of the alpha before freeing the other hostages, but it had only been half full. He passed what little there was left to the mother and her child who accepted it with grateful eyes.

Sitting, he let his mind go blessedly numb and closed his eyes for a beat. A short while later he checked the small silver pocket watch he wore clipped to his waist sash—a gift from Mac during happier times. Noting that more than five minutes had passed, he urged the group up again.

“For pity’s sake, the pup aint more than six.” chastised the last member of the group, a beta woman whose name she would not give. “We haven’t eaten in days. Give us a moment more.”

"Knights Ferry is about fifteen miles ahead – rough terrain the entire way. Those men are on horseback, and we’ve already lost whatever lead we may have had. Let us pray they assume that all of us took the easier route through the valley, for I fear it’s the only real chance we have."

Oscar held the beta woman’s gaze firmly, though compassionately. He knew they were all well past tired. But he also knew what would happen if they stopped any longer. He did not say it for the pup’s sake, but he could see it in the woman’s eyes that she’d understood his meaning: they were going to be lucky to make it out of this alive.

~*~*~

The Western Union Telegraph Company

Received: San Francisco, CA 

Dated: 9th of February

From: Promised Land, CA

To: Justice Walter Atkins, 640 Clay St, San Francisco CA

Daideo. Married and settled in Promised Land. Will explain later. Urgent. The pox! Three cases and one old man dead. No hospital. Medicine sent by train likely to be stolen by outlaws. Sheriff away. Otherwise well. 

Your Stevie. Though not so little anymore.

~*~*~

Mudfield. Promised County

February 9^th

Billy adjusted the cinch on his saddle one last time, the leather creaking under his callused fingers as he tugged it tight. The chill of early morning bit into his face and hands, the only parts of him covered neither by coat or hat, and he shivered, reaching to pull the kerchief tied around his neck up over his nose. Laying a hand over his breast pocket the tension in his shoulders relaxed a little, comforted that Max’s gift was still right where he’d tucked it. It might have been smarter to use them, but they were such pretty things with their hand stitched cherries it seemed a shame to soil them so soon.

He was warm enough. God knew with the warm spell they were having it would be practically balmy by midafternoon, but these winter nights could still catch a man by surprise — cold wind coming off the sea and down from the mountain tops. He was just glad to have the stench of the place somewhat dulled, and his old rags were suited just fine for that.

After leaving Promised Land the sheriff had pushed them to ride without stopping until sundown, in order to make up for getting such a late start in the day. Some would call it luck that they’d seen the lights of Mudfield just as the sun was sinking over the horizon, thinking a town must mean a hot meal before a warm bed for the night, but there hadn’t been any room for such a large group of riders besides the stables.

Mudfield wasn’t much of a town as far as boom towns went, but it earned its name. They had a saloon with a hotel attached and a few ramshackle tin structures, and it was nothing but muddy track and plank houses from the main street to the black diamond coal mine that had put the place on the map. It was brown, dull, and it smelled like hogs and horse shit.

Billy swung up into the saddle, the familiar weight of Cam shifting beneath him as he settled, every muscle in his back protesting from a night spent on hay-strewn dirt in that godforsaken barn behind the saloon. Straw still prickled against his skin under his shirt, and the chill clung to him like a bad memory, but at least the posse was moving out—Hopper already barking orders to the others, horses snorting and stamping in the mud, ready to shake this mudhole of a town and push on toward the bluffs.

“All these long faces. You sure you don’t want to trade places with my pony Hagen? “Argyle teased, poking fun at Tommy’s sluggish movements. “And have to carry you? No thanks.” Hagen grumbled, making the taller alpha laugh.

Argyle had always been something of an early riser but Billy didn’t think the other alpha had actually slept at all. Billy hadn’t fared much better himself getting his mind to settle, what with the ache in his chest that kept pulling him back home to his mate. To Steve.

Thoughts of the omega came to his mind unbidden— the way Steve had looked waking up in Billy’s arms, all soft and doe eyed. The way his eyes always searched for Billy first thing, and he would smile once they’d found him, like he was worried maybe that it had all been a dream. Steve had scented so sweet to him in his contentment yesterday morning… Billy still didn’t know how he’d managed to let him go.

The ache twinged a little sharper in his chest and Billy huffed, shoving the thoughts down and locking them away in the back of his mind. So much for their bond settling down. It would be a while before either one of them felt calm or secure again in it after all of this upheaval. He did wonder if the strong compulsion in the omega’s scent wasn’t Steve’s body reacting to all the stress, trying to reel his alpha and keep him close for protection.

A hell of a defense mechanism if it was, cause Billy felt like he was pulling out stitches with every step he took that wasn’t back to where he really wanted to be.

There’d been a particularly intense moment the day before when he’d felt the bond pull tight all of a sudden, and he’d just known even from that great distance that Steve needed him. He’d been pulling on the reins to turn back before he even realized what he was doing.

Whatever had made the bond react that way had passed almost as quickly as it had come— which was even worse in its own way. It had taken hours for Billy to convince his anxious mind that the abrupt end didn’t mean that Steve was gone.

It wasn’t right, when a man’s only comfort was the fact that he’d know if his bond to his mate had been brutally severed, because his miserable mind was happy to torment him with a million what ifs, regardless of the facts of things. It was going to be another very long day and they couldn’t get moving fast enough as far as he was concerned.

Billy looked over to where the preacher was saddling up his mare, moving just as sluggishly as the rest of the posse. Carver hadn’t said more than a few words all morning, and Billy had caught that same faraway look in his eyes more than once. He didn’t have to wonder about it,  Carver having left a wife and two children at home. Poor bastard.

Sighing Billy nudged Cam forward, falling in beside Argyle, when a shout cut through the morning haze—a young beta, barely more than a boy, barreling toward them on foot, his face twisted in panic, clothes smeared with mud and dirt. "Help! Please, somebody!”

The few townsfolk loitering on their porches watched the boy stumble down the muddy street, calling frantically, but made no effort to move. Their weathered faces told the whole story without a word having to be said. These men worked hard and thankless just to afford the little they had and had learned long ago the best way to keep their noses clean was to keep it out of others business. They weren’t bound by this land or each other by much more than a few shared hopes, if they still had energy enough for them.

“Please!” The pup pleaded with the onlookers, searching for a compassionate face and finding only stony apathy. “It's Pa—that bastard’s trying to steal his girl and it's turning ugly!"

“Told him no good would come of takin up with that china woman. I’m not getting between an alpha and his bone, no sir.” A grizzled beta in stained coveralls muttered under his breath before turning around with a shake of his head and loping back into the saloon. Billy watched the boy deflate before he turned in their direction. For a fraction of a moment he froze — wary of strangers — and then his eyes fixed on the iron badge pinned to Hopper’s chest.

“Sheriff! Sheriff wait.”

Hopper reined in, keeping his horse calm as the kid ran over.

“Who’s doing all that hollering?” he asked, eyes narrowing as the kid—Dugan, he gasped out between breaths—clutched at his stirrups. His name was Dugan Farley and he and his father worked up at the coal mine. They had a cabin not far from the stacks, and Dugan’s father had recently taken up with a Chinese woman whose husband had died on the passage over.

“Folks was hoping the Forman would put her to work paying off their bondage— none more than Seth Gerden, and he was real sore when Pa paid her debt and brought her home instead.”

It was an easy enough tale to follow. Belles were scarce, and the ones with sense wanted mates who wouldn’t beat on them or struggle keeping food on the table - which was not the situation for laboring bucks without their own land. If there was ever a case to be made for the real value of a feminine touch Mudfield was making it, one squealing hog running the street at a time. In any event, nothing set men against each other faster than a belle and if this Mr. Gerden really had been looking forward to having a light skirt around it wasn’t much of a surprise that things had come to blows. All it really took was a little too much drink or an alpha being a little too close to rut for petty arguments to end in blood.

But unlike Dugan Farley’s neighbors, the sheriff couldn’t turn his back on trouble when it was calling his name.

“Could be dangerous Hop, if either of them are rutting.” Billy warned, more for the others than for Hopper. Even with the Red Hands in his sight, Hopper wasn’t going to leave until he’d done all that he could to ensure peace was restored. “And the longer it takes us to get to Jamestown the more likely word will get around to Nelson and his boys that we’re coming. We might lose the element of surprise.”

“Time to earn your badge then Deputy. You, Argyle, Carver and McKinny stay here and settle the dispute.” Hopper decided, his tone leaving no room for argument. “The rest of us will ride on towards Rock Creek. You should catch up to us long before then, but we aim to be in Oakdale by nightfall. Miss us there and I’ll leave word for you.”

“Hop, are you sure?”

“No arguments.” Hopper answered almost before Billy was finished asking, but then in a softer lowered tone he added, “I need Powell with me to wrangle all these unseasoned lawmen, and I trust you to handle this. Be quick about it and we’ll see you in a few hours. Yeah?”

Billy nodded, still very tense. He didn’t much like the thought of the group splintering, but it couldn’t be helped.

The sheriff instructed Dugan to lead Billy and the others before signaling for the rest of the posse to ride out with him. Billy watched them go, until he was pulled back by the pup.

“Hurry. It’s this way.” the young man urged, anxious to get back to his father.

He led them through the muck, toward a cluster of rough-hewn cabins hugging the edge of the mine dug into the hillside. As they neared, they encountered a woman running down the path, her long dark hair in tangles about her shoulders.

Seeing them she reached up with dirt-streaked hands, gesturing wildly as a stream of what Billy had to assume was Chinese poured out of her mouth.

“We’ll take care of it ma’am.” he assured her, though he had no idea whether or not she understood him. “Patrick, stay with her.” he ordered and McKinny nodded, hanging back as the others rode on.

They followed the path around a curve  that opened up to chaos already unleashed—two alphas locked in a brutal tangle on the ground, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and the sharp spike of rut scent that made Billy's hackles rise.

The bigger of the two — a hulking brute with wild eyes and bared teeth— had a wiry fellow with brownish hair pinned beneath him, fists pounding into ribs with wet thuds, and then Christ the alpha on top lunged down and sank his teeth into the other fellow’s neck, tearing a guttural scream from the man.

“Pa!” Dugan bolted forward with a desperate yell and Argyle pushed his horse forward to try and stop him, but the pup was nimble as well as driven. Not stopping, he weaved around the struggling animal to throw himself into the fray. But the rut-maddened alpha swung an arm like a battering ram, knocking the boy aside into the mud with a sickening crack on the head that left him sprawled like a rag doll. Billy’s revolver was already in hand before the young man’s body hit the mud.

"Gerden! Stand down, or we'll drop you where you stand!" he roared, and the big alpha’s body twitched violently under the force of the command. Unfortunately he was too far gone for it to hold— red shot eyes locked on Billy with feral rage, blood dripping from the alpha’s chin.

The pungent scent of the alpha’s rut — like burning prairie grass — spiked in the air, the only warning as he shoved up to his feet and charged with a roar ripping from his throat.

“Look out!” Argyle called out as the alpha barreled straight for Billy’s horse like a locomotive off its rails. Heart slamming in his chest, Billy’s finger tightened on the trigger just as a shot cracked through the air. The bullet punched clean between the charging alpha's eyes, dropping him mid-stride into the filth, body twitching once before going still.

Billy was a quick draw and a confident shot but even he was reeling from how quickly everything had gone. He turned his head toward Carver, the preacher’s pistol still pointed at the dead man on the ground.

When he looked up slowly there was an odd sort of blankness in his eyes.

On his dappled pony, Argyle let out a long low whistle of appreciation. “That was a mighty clean shot, Preacher.”

Carver snapped out of his daze long enough to holster his pistol.

“He was lost to the rut. No command would have stopped him.”

He said it like he expected one of them to argue but of course neither of them did.

“I’d have got him myself if you were just a hair slower.” Billy shrugged.

Silence descended, broken only by the sound of young Dugan's ragged sobs as he crawled to his father's side, and wheezing as the alpha clutched at the ragged wound on his neck. It was seeping blood through his fingers. Billy holstered his piece and swung down nearly in sync with Argyle who kneeled to assess the boy while Billy looked over the wounded father.

He pressed his kerchief against the bite wound to staunch the flow of blood, the fabric soaking warm and sticky under his palm.

“Stay still. He thunked you real good on the head but I don’t think the cut is deep.” Beside him, Argyle murmured to the boy, feeling through his blood matted hair. But young Dugan wasn’t at all concerned for himself.

“But what about Pa?”

“He’ll live.” Billy guessed. “That alpha’s teeth got pretty deep but nothing vital looks like it’s missing.”

“What about his glands? Are they—” Dugan swallowed back a sob. His voice warbled to the breaking point as he forced out a horrified, “what if he can’t be an alpha no more?”

Billy opened his mouth to answer, but the preacher beat him to it with a harsh snap from where he still sat mounted on his horse.

“If your father can’t be an alpha without full use of his glands then he wasn’t much of an alpha to begin with.”

Argyle’s eyes found Billy’s and his dark eyebrows arched. Carver wasn’t acting like himself.

“Easy.” Billy warned Jason, before focusing back on the boy and adding in a firm but much gentler tone. “He’s right though. I know an omega who is three times the man that lump over there probably ever was. And he has no problems handling his business.”

“Damn fool,” Billy spat peevishly at the body of the dead man. Charging like that at armed men—rut or no, it was suicide. “He’s dead cause he let pride convince him he was entitled to a belle just cause he had a knot to stick em with. Gender never made the man, and glands don’t make an alpha. You hear me?”

The boy gave a short nod, but it was aborted by a flinch of pain. The cut on his head was bleeding heavily but since he was up and talking fine, Billy figured that was as good a sign as any.

The crunch of footsteps on the stony path yanked Billy's head up, his hand twitching toward his revolver before he registered McKinny leading the Chinese omega up the path, her dark eyes wide with fear as they locked on the body sprawled in the mud. The gunshot must've drawn them and now here they were, Mckinny's lanky frame steadying the woman as she hurried forward, a sob catching in her throat at the sight of her fallen alpha.

Billy waved Mckinny over, barking orders for help getting the wounded man inside the cabin, and together they hoisted Farley's limp weight, Argyle taking the legs while Carver gripped under the arms, all of them shuffling through the muck toward the door that the woman held open for them.

Mckinny ducked inside first, rummaging for a hot poker from the dying embers of the hearth to cauterize the ragged neck wounds. Billy and Argyle held Farley down while he hollered to the heavens, the sizzle of his flesh filling the air with a stomach-turning stench that made Billy's gut twist. At least god granted the man the mercy of passing out immediately after.

The wound closed, together they lifted Mr. Farley and heaved him onto the bed made up in the corner.

“If we’re done in here, I’ll go and get the horses ready to ride out.” Argyle proposed, with a wrinkle of his nose. Billy nodded. It stunk to high heaven in the one room cabin, even with the shutters thrown open on the window.

“I’ll get an account of things for Hop and find out from the pup if there’s any kin to get word to for the dead.”

Billy fished a scrap of paper and some charcoal from his kit and followed the others outside to where Dugan and the omega — Miss Lee — were waiting. When he’d gotten all that he could from the boy and reminded him to make sure his father’s wound stayed clean Billy looked around, eyes searching the shrubby slope for some sign of Carver, who had announced that he would bury the man he’d killed while they tended to Mr. Farley.

It was smart thinking, to bury the body far from the cabins to avoid the spread of sickness and the animals it could attract; but Billy was impressed the man had been able to drag the body so far as to be out of sight by himself.

“Reckon our preacher took Gerden around the bend.” He pondered aloud, his gaze searching out and meeting Argyle’s. The taller alpha gave Billy such a look that he almost laughed out loud.

“That’s not the only thing around the bend right now. I think the man is flirting with separation fever.”

“We’ve only been gone a day.” Billy frowned, amusement dying as he considered it. “Carver was gone longer than that just delivering last rights to old man Davis down in Bear Wood.”

It didn’t seem likely, but Billy also couldn’t deny that Carver was certainly acting distant and erratic enough to be experiencing some sort of bond illness.

It wasn’t really a fever that took over alphas, not the same way that omegas became physically ill when separated from their mates for too long. It was more like madness of the mind. An omega who was bond sick or hurt would keep trying to pull their alpha to their side, and the longer it went on the stronger the pull would be. Bonds were powerful, and that kind of thing took a toll on a man’s mind after a while.

Separation fever had driven many an alpha to extremes before, and it surely would again. Billy nearly pitching himself off his own horse over a moment of pain from his mate was evident enough, but their bond was new and raw. Carver had been bonded for years and should be long settled by now.

“Maybe Katherine’s pregnant?” Argyle suggested with a small shrug, and Billy was the one to give him a look this time. “I wouldn’t have bet on it either, frail as she is, but something is pulling on the man. I don’t know where the rest of his mind is at, but only half of it’s here with us and that’s dangerous.”

Over by his grey pony Patrick made a soft whistle through his teeth and they both looked over at the same time. McKinney jerked his head toward something behind them, and Billy looked and saw that Jason had returned and was walking toward them up the path.

“I’ll keep an eye on him.” he vowed. Because there was nothing to do about it now. Hopper needed every gun they had, and they couldn’t afford to tarry much longer in Mudfield.

Silently they mounted up, waiting for Jason to reach them and mount his own horse before spurring their mounts, riding hard to catch up with the sheriff before the day bled out.

~*~~*~

North of Jamestown, February 10th. Morning.

Mid-morning found Nelson and half his crew gathered around the campfire, a stained pan and half a dozen dirtied bowls stacked beside it, all that remained of the morning meal. The men in the crew in no hurry to draw lots to see who would get stuck with the cleaning — and no one in doubt that the mean task would go to the newest recruit.

The men were in good spirits on account of their good luck catching up to those escaped indentured in the valley. The group had moved fast in the hours of head start they’d had, but the Red Hand’s horses were swift and the bullets in their rifles even swifter.

True to nature the terrified slaves had formed a pack and traveled together in a group, when it would have been smarter to scatter — though they had certainly tried that before the end. Nelson was relieved that at least one of his worries had been put to rest. The territory was too vast and too wild to cover every nook and cranny. His chances of tracking them all down would have been a lot slimmer if they hadn’t been so keen on sticking together.

They’d gunned the first thirty-five escaped captives down right there in the red dirt, regrouped and split off to search for the strays after agreeing on a rendezvous near Victory ridge, where they now camped after two days of roaming the valley ferreting out runaways.

Dan Blythe and the two with him were the only men not to return so far, and luck having, it would be with a full body count when they did.

Nelson had lost his leverage against Sal, but that was better than Sal knowing he’d gone behind his back. Nelson still had his gems. If he was patient, another opportunity to hang Sal would come. And as long as the men still believed that control of the mines would fall to Nelson and they would be getting their cut of his stash and more besides, then he could count on their loyalty.

The thunder of hoofbeats in the distance announced the arrival of the remaining party. Soon Dan Blythe and his two companions crested the ridge, dust billowing behind them as they rode hard into camp. The outlaws idling around the campfire perked up as the three men wheeled their horses to a stop, eager for action.

"Well?" Nelson demanded, rising from his perch on a flat rock. "I trust you've got good news for me."

"I reckon we got the last of em.” Blythe replied, a feverish glint in his eye. There was blood splatter up and down his front.

"Got six of em who was holed up in that cave system along Creel Creek. But we don’t have to worry about those little birdies singing no more." He patted the rifle at his side with obvious pride.

"Six." Nelson's voice dropped dangerously, doing a quick calculation in his head. They were short. "What about that omega, Diaz, was he one of them?"

Six was seven too few. Loose ends that Nelson hated to leave but could live with, figuring that in their condition most of those indentureds would die in the wilderness anyhow before they could reach help. If by some stroke of luck they somehow survived, they would be too terrified to ever be seen again. If they had any brains at all they’d disappear and put as many state borders between themselves and Sal Vecna as possible.

But Senior Diaz wasn’t like the rest. That cunning Spanish whore had heard and seen too much; and he wasn’t likely to leave well enough alone when his whelp remained in the crosshairs. They’d already bungled things by losing the pup to the sheriff.

Finally noting the expression on Nelson’s face Blythe's smile faltered. "None of you get him either?” He paused, looking around, and when he received nothing but silence in return and a few shakes of the head, he scratched his chin. “Well I’ll be damned. They must have headed up into the bluffs instead of following the valley. More the fool they, that’s deadly terrain up there and the air’s thin. Probably fell off the side of the mountain by n—"

The coffee pot flew past Blythe's head, missing his skull by inches, and shattering against a boulder. The camp fell silent as Nelson upended the cooking fire with a savage kick, sending embers scattering. Men, scrambling back in fear for their persons as he seized the cook pot next and hurled it into the brush.

Nelson roared, the cool composure he used to maintain the appearance of always being in control evaporating like morning dew, along with his confidence that he could still make it out of this blunder unscathed.

“Things aint as bad as all that Boss! We still get a decent slice with Vecna in charge. We can find another opportunity to —”

"We’ll all be dead fool!" Nelson interjected, seething. “When Vecna finds out we kept those indentured alive he’ll know we were planning on setting him up! We have to silence the bitch. So get out there and find him!” He snapped, kicking over a stack of supplies, sending tins and canteens rolling across the ground.

The members of the Red Hands watched in wary silence as Nelson continued his rampage, tearing through the camp like a whirlwind. The man they knew as Rich Nelson had always been cold and calculating—his current display of unbridled fury was all the more terrifying for its rarity.

But then, a sharp whistle pierced the air capturing their attention. The gang of outlaws looked up to where their lookout Michael Boone stood upon a large lip of protruding rock.

"Boss! We got a rider coming in!" Boone said, arm raised to point toward the south.

Nelson froze with his hand halfway to his pistol and turned with the others to see a lone horseman, little more than a speck of dust for now on the horizon, but he was approaching at a steady pace. The men on the ground gathered their weapons and mounted their horses without having to be told, ready for whatever trouble might be headed their way.

But as the rider drew closer, Nelson recognized the distinctive red bandana he wore at his neck — though not the man. It was a runner working for Vecna. The man reined in his horse at the edge of camp, eyeing the armed men with wary eyes before settling on Nelson.

"Mr. Nelson?" the messenger ventured hesitantly, gaze settling on their leader. "I been riding for damn near a week looking for you. Mr. Vecna expected you to head back south after you was done with those indentured."

“Did he? Well me and my boys don’t run on Mr. Vecna’s clock. Do we boys?”

Nelson looked around at his men, but he didn’t wait for them to voice their agreement. “We have our own business to mind, and I reckon you’re here on Sal’s business. That right?”

Even more wary now after such an unfriendly reception, the man wisely stayed mounted. Ready in case he needed to flee.

"Mr. Vecna sends his regards," he said, nervous gaze flicking around at the destroyed camp. "He's got a proposition for you and your boys."

"That right? Well, don't keep us in suspense. Deliver your message."

The runner cleared his throat, his hands clutching the reins a bit tighter.

"Sal says he’s tired of Sheriff Hopper poking around his affairs." The man reached into his jacket, producing a folded letter which he extended toward Nelson. "He means to bring the county under his control and set up a new sheriff. He's paying double his usual rate for hired guns."

A murmur went through the group of outlaws and Nelson chuckled as he took the letter.

“You hear that boys? Mr. Vecna’s fixing to make us rich men.”

The messenger’s shoulders relaxed, put at ease by the thought that Nelson and his crew were easily swayed by a few dimes of higher pay.

"Yes. All able-bodied men are welcome. But you and your boys” the messenger nodded toward the gathered outlaws, “he wants you to take care of Hopper personal-like. The sheriff left town a few days ago with a posse and they’re headed this way. That’s how I figured out you were still out this way. But I’m more curious how he knows."

Nelson ignored the man’s blabber, his blood running cold as he scanned the contents of the letter. Unsigned of course, but the spider on the seal was too unique to be a forgery.

It seemed Sal was done playing too shy to dance with the sheriff and the timing couldn’t be worse for Nelson. If Vecna took control of the county - which he would, there was no way Nelson could make a clean getaway with those gems. Sal was going to learn that Nelson had tried to double cross him, if not from Diaz or one of the other escaped captives, then from one of Nelson’s own men as soon as the water got hot enough. Blythe the rat would turn on him at the first opportunity.

Calmly, Nelson folded the letter and tucked it into his vest pocket.

In one fluid motion, he drew his pistol and fired. The runners’ eyes widened in shock, his hands clutching at the sudden bloom of red spreading across his chest before he toppled from his seat.

The camp fell silent again, every man frozen in place as Nelson holstered his weapon and dismounted from his horse.

"Well boys’ things have gone from bad to worse," he announced, kicking the dead messenger's boot. "From the sounds of it, Diaz already ran his mouth to the sheriff and god knows who else. If Vecna hasn’t heard what we’ve been up to by now, it’s only a matter of time."

“I think we oughta run.” Blythe muttered, staring at the dead messenger slumped in the dirt. “We can make for Kansas; I know a few fellas that way and the name Vecna don’t mean nothing to nobody there."

“This aint a fight we can run from. He’ll have every bounty hunter from here to the coast looking for us. Man’s rich enough for it and doesn’t let go of a grudge.” Nelson surveyed his men as the words landed, carefully studying each of their faces as his mind worked to figure out a path forward. A few like Blythe looked angry finding themselves caught between a rock and a hard place, but most were just old fashioned frightened. Fear made men malleable.

“Whatta ya reckon we should do then, Boss?”

"I reckon we need to split up. One group to take care of Diaz and the other to deal with the sheriff and his men. Gather round." he commanded, gesturing them closer with a sharp flick of his wrist. Obediently the men formed a circle around him, tension crackling between them like static before a storm.

Nelson crouched down into the dirt, using his finger to sketch a crude map there as he laid out the plan forming in his mind.

"Diaz is an old name in these hills. Smart money says he avoided the valley knowing the horses would have it rougher in the high passes. But him and those indentured are beaten and half starved. They won’t last long. So where would he take them?”

“Jamestown’s closest to the mine.” One of their number, Jones, suggested and Nelson shook his head.

“Vecna controls that area and Diaz has more to lose than the others. He’ll be looking for his son, which means he’ll be headed to the sheriff.”

There were a lot of miles between here and Promised land. Too many to hope to cover on foot.

“I reckon Stockton’s the only rail town they have a hope of reaching." He finished, circling the spot on his makeshift map.  On the rail the others could escape to wherever they thought wisest and Diaz could be in Promised Land within an hour. And the fastest way to get to Stockton from here was to take the riverboat in Knights Ferry.

The way Nelson saw things, they could ride hard and risk breaking their necks trying to chase the wily omega in unfamiliar hills—risk the omega slipping into some crack or crevice and giving them the slip. Or they could play it smart.

"Jones, Boone and Hughs you boys head for Knights Ferry. Blythe, you take Miller and Watts. Ride for Stockton to close the net. When they show themselves, kill them. Then meet us back at mine." Nelson traced another line in the dirt. "The rest of us will double back and set up here, where Creel Creek cuts through the bluffs.”

If that runner had spoken true the sheriff and his men were following their trail, and they would have to pass through there.  The creek was fed by two mountain springs. The water, fast and deep, had carved a steep canyon in the hillside.  It was the perfect spot for an ambush.

With Sheriff Hopper dead, there would be nothing left to challenge Sal’s hold on the territory. He’d be preoccupied and with Diaz and his brat dealt with the men would feel safe returning to the mine to collect their cut of the stash.

Sal would either think it was an accident or foul play when the mine blew with them all inside; but he wouldn’t shed any tears over it. More importantly, he wouldn’t wonder too hard if any of them had survived the blast. He’d have no reason at all to search for mean old Rich Nelson… who would be on his way to his new life.

~*~*~*~

Promised Land, February 9th

The day before

The staircase of the saloon creaked beneath Steve's boots as he ascended to the second floor, leaving the noisy bar and its patrons. Behind him, the children clambered closely on his heels, eager to put distance between themselves and the men drinking below—Mike and Lucas bickered in whispers, and Dustin's excited breathing stirred the dust motes that danced in the shafts of sunlight cutting through the worn wooden slats.

The landing at the top of the stairs was narrow, barely wide enough for two people to stand side by side. Steve counted about five equally narrow doors in the short hallway beyond, but he concerned himself only with the first one immediately on his left where there were three small figures huddled against the wall.

Suzi sat with her siblings, Tabby curled up in her lap and Tanner fidgeting restlessly on her other side. The sound of the creaking stairs drew the attention of the pups, all three perking up at the sight of Steve and his companions.

"You’re back!" Suzi greeted them with a small wave. “How was your retreat?!”

“Yes. And Mr. Harringrove and I had a marvelous time. Thank you for asking, Suzanna.”

“I’m very glad.” Suzi beamed up at him for a moment before her brow wrinkled, puzzlement all over her features. “But what brings you here?”

"You do. And Tanner, and Tabby." Steve answered with a smile, crouching to their eye level. “We all miss you quite terribly on the farm. Especially miss Tabby’s singing in the morning.” He tapped the little girl’s nose and she broke out into a bright grin that just about melted his heart.

There was nothing sweeter than pups at her age. Old enough that their scents were starting to soften but still smelling strongly of that unmistakable combination of soft violet, honey, and milk that clung to all young pups. Those notes had all but faded on Max and her friends, as clear a signal as any that they were drawing closer to presentation, which would bring along their adult scents — and adult worries.

Straightening, Steve looked to Suzi and asked, "Is your sister inside?"

The girl nodded, a strand of dark hair falling across her face. "Miss Holloway’s in there with her. She told us to wait outside." She hesitated, glancing past Steve to Max and the others. She added with poignant air. "I think they are discussing grown-up matters."

From behind the door, Steve caught the muffled rise and fall of voices.

"It’s boring." Tabby pouted, jutting out her lip. "I want to play with Mr. Awggy."

“She means Mr. Argyle. She has trouble with her R’s.” Suzi quickly explained. Glancing down at her sister she squeezed the younger pup’s shoulders, jiggling her as she comforted. “He’ll be back soon Tabby, I told you. We must be patient.”

Smiling, Steve reached into his pocket.

"Yes, and I think—" he paused, fishing for a couple of coins and holding them up once he had them. "Mr. Argyle would appreciate a sweet surprise with his tea. Don’t you? Shall I trust you to take everyone to the general store? I hear there is delicious penny candy to be had."

Sulk forgotten, Tabitha sat up, nodding her head so vigorously that her head appeared to flop on her neck and Steve laughed.

He pressed the money into Suzi's small hand for safe keeping and stood to address the entire gang of pups.

"Why don't you all head down there for a spell? Get something sweet while I have a word with Miss Eden."

Predictably, a minor burst of bedlam followed with the girls jumping and clapping their hands together, while the boys oscillated between listing the best candies Mr. Adams offered and pleading with him for twenty-five cents more in order to buy peppermint sticks which were reputedly two penny a piece; the two youngest pups picking up on the excitement with giggles and squeals of joy.

Steve relented just to hurry them along, giving Suzi another quarter, which she carefully tucked into her pinafore pocket, her smile barely containing her delight as she herded her siblings along with the chattering group, down the stairs and toward the promise of sweets.

Once the children had left, Steve entered the room after a short knock, not waiting to be bid entry. Suzi’s behavior had piqued his curiosity. The children — god love them — were entirely too wrapped up in this dangerous business with Mr. Vecna, and he was certain after that look they’d exchanged that whatever Miss Holloway had to discuss with Eden, it had something to do with him. He wanted to know why, and what connection the madame could possibly have to all of this.

The room was as a simple square room, mostly dominated by a wide iron framed bed. A nest of twisted sheets, shirts, and pillows had been made in it, that scented strongly of the pups as well as Argyle. He assumed that the unfamiliar notes of amber and poppy in the air belonged to the pale omega sitting up in the middle of the bed.

There was a strong resemblance between Eden Bingham and her younger sister: with pale skin, big almond eyes, and jet-black hair. She was too skinny to be fashionable, and what skin was visible in her nightgown was littered with healing bruises and abrasions; but even underweight, unwell, and stinking bitterly of distress any eyes could see that she was a beauty.

If Suzi took after her when she presented, Eden would certainly have her hands full. Steve rather hoped that Argyle’s affections proved to be in earnest — though from the way the scents of alpha and omega had already mingled so pleasantly in the room it was hard to see how they could not be. Naturally no two scents could be as complimentary as Steve’s own and his alpha’s, but the pair seemed well matched.

Which was what made Miss. Holloway’s behavior so curious to him. He could not fathom why she would be wary of Argyle’s suit, but she must be, to stand there as she was encouraging the younger woman to abandon the premises and return with her to the brothel.

Steve cleared his throat and the beautiful omega stopped mid-sentence, her posture stiff as she turned to face the doorway where he stood. He noticed that she was dressed in the same dark pants and burgundy coat she’d worn the day he’d rescued the girls from Mr. Blythe. She must be wearing something to cover her natural scent because Steve could only detect the vaguest hints of linen and something medicinal coming off her. She must be intending to ride off somewhere, as excepting that one instance he’d never seen her dress in anything but boldly fashionable dress.

She must be going somewhere dangerous, if the pistols holstered to her side were any indication.

"Harringrove," Miss Holloway had never sounded less welcoming. "We are in the middle of a private discussion. Leave us.”

Ha! That impervious bark might have worked on someone else, but Steve had no intention of leaving now.

"I apologize for intruding," he replied, stepping fully into the room, floorboards creaking beneath his boots. He shut the door softly behind himself with a pleasant smile fixed to his face. Ignoring the other omega entirely he approached the bed, to gingerly take one of Eden’s pale hands in his own.

“I’m Steven Harringrove, but you must call me Steve. I would have come to meet you myself with the children from the first, but I was married the day you returned and my alpha and I are only just returned from our bonding retreat.”

“I know who you are.” Eden admitted in a very soft voice, her scent flowering with joy and something bittersweet, like shame.

“If not for you I may never have seen my siblings again.” The smile she gave him was weak, but genuine. It was hard to tell whether she was always so soft-spoken or if it were merely a result of her condition.

“Any decent person would have done the same learning the girls were taken by those awful men. You must think nothing of it.” He reassured her, with a gentle squeeze of her hand. He sat down on the edge of the bed, pretending not to notice either Miss Holloway’s sharp intake of breath or the widening of Miss Bingham’s eyes.

It wasn’t exactly true that he didn’t intend to exact a price for his good deeds, but it was all for good, and forgiveness for a moment’s rudeness was not too much to ask for in exchange for a life. It was a terribly rude thing to venture so close to an omega’s nest and risk leaving traces of ones scent behind uninvited; but Miss Bingham was visibly exhausted, distressed, and it was all but guaranteed that in such a state she would be easily swayed by Miss Holloway’s familiarity and the false promise of safety that it provided.

Steve was at a disadvantage but there were ways to minimize it. She would have scented the children when they were reunited, and as often as she could after that, to ground them as well as herself.

How could she associate his scent with anything but the memory of that profound moment when she’d held them again for the first time, and thanked god for her answered prayers?

Just as Steve expected, Eden said nothing of his presumption and continued as if they were old friends and there was nothing odd about them rubbing shoulders in her nest at all.

“But it wasn’t just those evil men. You stood up to Mrs. Taylor and the pastor and took them on when you didn’t even know me. I don’t know if I could have found them again if they had been taken from here.”

“Suzi knew that you would never abandon them and that you must be in some trouble, which is how she found it herself.” Steve chuckled. “I could hardly stand by and do nothing while Maxine’s friends were sold down the river could I? It’s what any good neighbor would do. Now think no more or it, and tell me. How is your recovery coming on? You look astoundingly well for all that you’ve been through. Better than I’d fare I’m certain. Argyle must be taking good care of you."

Eden’s pale cheeks filled with a blush as she nodded her head, eyes darting down to where her hands twisted the blankets.

“Mr. Eastman has been very attentive to my needs.”

Steve startled for a moment, realizing he’d never heard Billy use the alpha’s last name before, or anyone else for that matter. It was telling. He was going to tease that all the best alphas were attentive to an omega’s needs, but Miss Holloway intruded before he could get it out.

“Yeah, Argyle’s been a real saint. Up until he left her here alone all because he was being a knot head.” The omega’s unusually bare mouth curved into a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. “But as I was just explaining to Eden, he’s gone now and there’s no telling how long for so it would be best if she and the pups returned with me to the Hollow House.”

She looked down to Eden again, something unspoken in her pressing gaze as she finished softly. “It's not safe here. You know that, Sugar."

Steve frowned, perplexed. He’d assumed that all the pet names that Miss Holloway had called him in the past were just her way of being insolent. The audacious madame who laughed in the face of good society and was crass and overly familiar just to get under their skin. And yes, while he didn’t doubt that was part of it, there was something about the weight in the word that made it feel solid. Like something real.

It pushed everything else she’d done in their acquaintance under different light. From taking the Binghams in, to financing their wedding party, Steve was realizing that they’d never had a single interaction where she wasn’t at heart trying to prevent some harm from coming to someone.

Her sharp tongue and her aloof attitude were just a mask for how deeply she must care for others, to consistently give so much of herself with little in the way of reward. She’d paid for a party she’d known she would not be truly welcome at, just to watch him whisk her very best friend away into a life she’d never be welcome in.

She was so achingly beautiful and clever, it was still impossible for Steve to believe that any alpha wouldn’t fall madly in love with her, but he knew that was not the case with Billy and now he understood why.

They could be twins the pair of them.

He had misjudged her, Steve finally admitted to himself. And for no other reason than he was too stupid and jealous to look beyond the surface.

“I’m wondering who will keep Eden and her siblings safe with you gone, Heather,” he wondered softly, and the other omega’s eyes snapped to him in surprise to hear him use her given name, before they narrowed on him suspiciously.

Steve gave her a pointed once over, before returning her stare. “I couldn’t help but notice that you seem to be heading somewhere. I’m curious to know where.”

“I bet you are. But curiosity killed the cat as they say.” She shot back with a sharp smile. “And contrary to what you may think Dove, life for a whore aint all legs up and goose feather pillows if you catch my meaning. My belles know how to defend themselves and they take care of each other.”

“I don’t doubt that.” he replied, not unkindly. “One can only hope that each one is as brave, kind, and clever as their mistress has proven to be. They must admire you greatly, and if they do in fact resemble you in any way, then I know they would not willingly let any harm come to Eden or the children. But you must know there are things that they can’t — that you can’t — protect them from?”

“Oh, such as?” Heather sneered, and it was obvious that she was still not listening to him. Not yet. But Steve wasn’t about to be deterred.

“The realities of her situation. Having come under Mr. Eastman’s protection,” he emphasized, knowing that she was clever enough to realize the importance of the alpha giving Eden his name the same way he had. “She cannot then turn around and disgrace it by going back to a house of ill repute, no matter the reason.”

A furrow appeared in the middle of Heather’s brow, but infuriatingly she dismissed the words away a moment later with an irritated wave of her hand.

“Oh pish. Argyle doesn’t give a fig about what the gossips will say. He’ll just be glad she’s safe.”

“You’re certain of that are you? Why then, didn’t he send her to you in the first place?”

The question seemed to have finally brought the other omega up short, and for a long moment the room was completely silent.

“I can tell you why. I will concede to your expertise about alphas in general, but forgive me for saying so Heather, you have a lot to learn about alphas in love. It is true that they are sometimes foolishly possessive creatures. But all the same, once an alpha has staked their claim they do not like having doubt cast over it. You’ve already realized it yourself. Argyle did not send Eden and the pups to our farm because he could not stomach the implication that another alpha provided for her what he couldn’t. Silly as that may sound.”

“It’s more than silly. It’s damned stupid!” Heather seethed, crossing her arms in a fit of pique. “I’ll tell him so myself but trust me darlin he’s not gonna care about any of that if something happens. He’d never forgive himself if she or the pups were hurt over his pride.”

“That is not in doubt. What I doubt, is that even an alpha so virtuous as Argyle — to overlook Miss Bingham’s lack of family and questionable reputation — wouldn’t suffer greatly while their omega was the subject of hateful gossip. Whether it is true or not, everyone will see her at fault, and the kindest thing anyone will say is that she lacked faith in her alpha’s protection. He is good enough to pretend otherwise, but he will suffer. They both will.”

It was quiet for a moment, as if the words had drawn all the air from the room. It left the three of them suspended under the heavy weight of truth, and for a moment a mask fell over Miss Holloway’s expression, practiced and unflinching, her mouth set in a contemptuous smirk. Were it only herself she worried for, Steve had little doubt that she would do exactly as she pleased, reputation be damned—but Heather’s gaze kept flicking back to Eden’s hunched shoulders, the sight of the younger omega’s smallness in that vast bed undermining whatever clever retort she might have conjured.

A truth, however unfair was still truth.

“Mr. Eastman has been so good to me I hardly know how to repay him. First to save my life and then to make it so that the pups and I can stay together while I recover.” Eden spoke hesitantly after a long moment, her eyes meeting Heather’s plaintively. “And he seemed certain that they will prevail over the outlaws, and that all will be well.”

“The sheriff and those with him can handle themselves. Billy and Argyle will look after each other. They always do.” Heather responded delicately, torn between frightening the younger woman too much and her obviously pressing need to make her heed the danger she seemed far too certain of for Steve’s comfort.

“But you think their action will embolden Mr. Vecna to try and retrieve the book Mr. Jameson stole from him.” he guessed, vindicated when Heather’s sharp eyes snapped to him in disbelief.

“So you know.” she stated simply, because there could be no doubt of his meaning. Eden’s gaze swiveled between them. “He knows about Vecna and the mines.”

“But how—”

“Because his alpha’s bond drunk, that’s how.” Heather snapped, before Eden could even finish. "He’s as good as killed you if things go sour. Anybody who knows about that damned book becomes a target for Vecna. I can’t believe Billy would risk so much just because he’s a besotted fool!”

“I think the only thing foolish here, is how everyone with any knowledge of what Vecna and those outlaws have done has been keeping secrets.” Steve shot back. “Everyone has either carried on as if they expect to save the world all by themselves or they’ve neglected to consider the true cost of their silence. If Argyle had known about the book, there is no doubt in my mind that Eden and the pups would be on the farm with me right now. But his so-called friends have denied him the truth, along with the ability to protect Eden and the children. If you think he will not be injured by this, you are both fools.”

Eden’s hand flinched within his and Steve gave it a bolstering squeeze.

“I don’t blame you my dear, and I am sure that once you explain neither will Mr. Eastman. But you simply must see, that you cannot add to these lies of omission by returning to the brothel. No good will come of it.” To Heather, Steve turned and said. “You think you’re saving them both from heartbreak by whisking her back into your nest and attempting to handle this on your own, but that is precisely what will ruin them. I beg you to think of what the cost will be if the trust between them is broken.

There was long beat in which he stared at her, and she stared back at him, neither looking as if they had any plans to budge. And then Heather sighed, shoulders slumping, her carefully constructed mask melting away like wax until she looked very young— and very tired.

“Alright, you’ve made your point Sugar. Damn your eyes.” she muttered, though there was no real venom in it. She moved to sit on the edge of the bed, opposite Steve, creating a triangle with Eden between them. The younger omega looked between the pair with wide, uncertain eyes.

"He's right, Honey." Heather admitted, taking Eden's other hand. "But you have to listen to me now," She squeezed Eden's fingers, her voice dropping to a gentler tone than Steve had ever heard from her. "Sal isn’t gonna hesitate if he knows where you are. Don’t tell anyone where you are going and leave out from the stable. Cover yourself from prying eyes."

Eden's brow furrowed, her hand clutching fearfully at Heather’s. "But why can’t you stay? Why do you have to go right now when things are so uncertain?"

"Because we’re in trouble Love. I am sending a letter to Mr. Pinkerton, along with what evidence I have gathered against my father to persuade him to send reinforcement. He won’t like the thought of Nelson slipping the noose." Heather replied, her gaze meeting Steve's over Eden's head.

"The sheriff will be occupied with my father and his men, and the smartest move that Sal can make is to move in and take control of the county. He might not be able to hold it if folks come behind the sheriff and take up arms to protect their land, but there are too many single bucks in the territory who are easily bought. He’ll promise them money and land for their support, and they’ll see it’s ripe for the taking. The marshals need to come, but I fear even if Mr. Pinkerton sends them it won’t be in time.”

Steve was very familiar with the Pinkerton’s National Detective Agency. His grandfather on the Murray side had firmly believed Scottish born Mr. Pinkterton was a national hero and a model example for all men to follow with the grit to better their situations; but to the Raleigh Harringtons he was a mean-minded thug. Chief among his sins (above even his extortionary prices) was his ardent support for the abolition of all forms of slavery. Steve had always suspected that the truth of the man was not as black and white as either side had painted it.

He suddenly had many questions for Miss Holloway — such as how a woman from a backwater territory on the western front had come to be in such close acquaintanceship with a powerful man like Allan Pinkerton, whose private police protected the assets and persons of the nation’s most powerful men. It seemed likely that she’d become entangled in the gem scheme because of her father, and it made sense that someone might approach her for information about his activities.

But he recognized that now was not the time to get to the bottom of it. The far more pressing issue at hand was the threat looming over Promised Land, because she unfortunately had the right of it. Even if Mr. Pinkerton sent a hundred officers here from Chicago, by the time the effort was coordinated, Mr. Vecna would have done away with anyone with evidence of his crimes. And with the backing of the local judge, it was unlikely he would ever pay for them.

“No it won’t be.” Steve agreed. “Our hopes lie with the sheriff and the men returning safely to arrest Mr. Vecna before a revolt should become necessary."

Heather stood with a brisk nod; the leather she wore creaking. "After I send the letter, I'm riding out to assist the sheriff," she confirmed Steve’s suspicions. “Cause if it comes down to a fight we’ll need as many of them back in one piece as we can get."

Before she left, she promised to speak to Detective Walker to have him keep an eye on them at the farm.

“She’s gonna need a lot more than you, Joyce Byers, and a pistol if Sal comes.”

Heather seemed to think that as long as Mr. Walker thought there was a chance of getting his hand on Mr. Vecna’s book of maps, he wouldn’t risk Eden falling into the enemy’s hands.

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Steve alone with Eden in the small room. In the quiet that followed, Steve could hear the muffled sounds of the saloon below, glasses clinking and men laughing. For a short moment, Steve stared at the closed door thinking about endings. He did not believe that Miss Holloway would take up arms against her own father, unless she had no other option — unless the end was upon them.

But how would it end? Would Steve’s dreams of tending to their farm and raising a family with his alpha end in blood and dust? He was not naive enough to suppose that this love that he had only just claimed, wasn’t just a fragile bird that could be ground beneath the heels of wicked men and their ambitions.

The thought of Billy dead seized his mind and the visions that came with it made Steve feel violently ill. He grabbed his chest, angling himself from the nest in the event that he was sick, and struggled to breathe through the nausea.

“Mr. Harringrove, are you well?” Eden asked, reaching for him in concern.

“I’m fine.” Steve answered with a wobbly smile, silently rebuking himself. Pull yourself together! He knew the intensity of the reaction was due to the newness of their bond, but he truly would never forgive himself if Billy was distracted on his mission because Steve couldn’t control his blasted imagination.

Steve had a strong alpha, and they were part of a strong community. Their sheriff was just, and the men and women willing to fight with him were brave.

But he knew Salvador Vecna, without ever having to be in the same room with the man. He knew him because the blood of industrial giants flowed in his veins, and he’d stood in rooms with men of his ilk his entire life. As horrible a thing as it was to look in the eyes, look it he must, otherwise he was going to lose his love — his very life.

Blood and dust. And to the victor the spoils.

So what will you do? That was the only question for him now. The proper thing was to sit back, wringing his hands, hoping that somehow his alpha would prevail. That was what the virtuous belles in the popular novels would do, hands folded in prayer as the barbarian beat down their doors.

That was not however, what Steve Harringrove was going to do.

‘Empires do not stand on the shoulders of the meek’ his grandfather Duke Harrington used to say. ‘And neither do houses.’

Promised Land was his home now. It was where he and Billy would build their home and their children would grow. No one was going to destroy that while he had breath to stop them.

"Eden," he prompted, reaching for the other omega’s hand, "what happened to Mr. Vecna’s book?”

The girl startled at the tightness of his grip and tried to withdraw it. He did not let her. Keeping his tone unassuming and his scent soothing, he continued.

“Heather must know that book is her best chance of persuading the Pinkertons to come. I’m sure she asked after it.”

Miss Bingham’s free hand twisted nervously in the blankets, her eyes darting away from his.

"I’m sorry, but it’s gone. I lost it when I fell down Widow's Ridge.”

The lie hung in the air between them, as obvious to him as if she'd painted it across her forehead. Her scent was brittle but not sour and though she couldn't quite meet his eyes that could be blamed on embarrassment or shame. What she couldn’t know was the nervous way she nibbled the corner of her lip was the exact same way that Suzi had when she’d fibbed to him about what was keeping Max, the morning of the wedding.

"Eden," Steve admonished, his voice gentle but firm, "I don't believe you lost it."

Her head snapped up, eyes wide and startled. "I—"

"No one risks what you did unless they're desperate. You're frightened," he continued, studying her face. "And you have every right to be. Your entire life has been about keeping your siblings safe, hasn't it? Staying one step ahead of disaster. Others might call it a selfish choice, but I understand why you would try and keep it."

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she hastily wiped it away. "You don't understand. You don’t know what it’s like to be alone with nothing. To not know what horrors the next hour might bring, but that when they come no one will care enough to save you. Our parents, Jameson..." Her voice caught. “Everyone is gone. And now, Argyle and even Miss Holloway…”

“You fear for them, and you fear for what happens to you and those sweet children without anyone to shelter you.” he shook his head with a small tsk of his tongue and let her sit with her own imagination for a tense moment before gentling his grip, stroking her hand.

“But Eden, those maps and what they lead to are not the security that you think they are. They lead to death. When that alpha comes to collect his property, he won’t leave any witnesses to his crimes. Not even the children.”

He took no satisfaction in the pain that flashed through her eyes and the sudden souring of her scent with fear— but it was necessary. As was what he did next.

“But you aren’t friendless and without protection anymore. You, Suzi, Tabby and Tanner will never want for anything again. That I can promise you. Because I would do just about anything to protect those children.”

Her fearful eyes met his once more, drawn by the gentle compulsion in his scent. For a moment they searched his face, and met with the soft sincerity of his countenance, slowly the tension began to drain from Eden’s body.

Steve’s smile for her was perfectly tender and soft, the soft scent of rose thick in the air as he grasped her chin and lifted her lowering head to wipe gently at her tear-stained cheeks.

It was not the same as what the alphas did, according to popular thought, but Steve had figured out long ago that the differences didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if his scent made a person docile rather than fearful, nor that his voice could not reach a timber of command true enough to force the compliance of a mature alpha. He did not need to force an alpha to heel, if they decided to do it themselves.

“It is a feeling I know that we share. You would prevent the pups from harming themselves with some dangerous folly, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d never let them get hurt. Not if I could stop it.” Eden nodded tearfully in response to the question, fresh ones pouring from her eyes as he drew her fully into his embrace. The hand tucked behind her head brought her close to his scent gland, and she did not resist the push, burrowing her face against his neck like a pup seeking comfort. It did not surprise him how quickly she took to gentling. She had lost her mother before she was ready to become one herself. She was not even twenty yet.

“Of course you would, sweet little dove.” Steve purred softly into her ear. “And you’ve done so very well at protecting them. But you poor thing, so young yourself and with such a precious burden to bear. You must be so very frightened of making a mistake.”

Eden sobbed, and Steve patted her back, cooing softly.

“There, there, you mustn’t hold it all in. You’ve been so brave, it’s no wonder you’re tired. I will take this burden from you; but I can only help if you listen to me.” Steve pulled her away from the comfort of his scent, stealing himself against the way her pitiful whine pulled at his heartstrings.

“You will listen won’t you, and do as I say?”

Miss Bingham started nodding even before he had finished, leaning forward as if she meant to fall into his lap and never come out of his shelter again. It was truly adorable, and a little sad. For it was more evidence of how truly close to the end of her strength she was.

She won’t have to carry such weight once this is over. He’d make sure of it.

“No no, sit up. There’s a good girl. I’m afraid neither one of us has time to give into low spirits. You must put yourself together for Suzi and the little ones, and I must keep my word and find a way to ensure all will be well. Yes?”

“Yes of course Mr. Harringrove. I’m s-sorry for making such a mess of you.” Eden sniffled in response, wiping at her face and glancing apologetically to the wrinkled neck of Steve’s shirt.

“Think nothing of it. Now. You know where the book is don’t you? Tell me the truth.”

When Miss Bingham did not react negatively to being commanded like an errant pup, Steve relaxed, satisfied with his victory. Conscious of it or not, Eden Bingham had decided that he was someone she trusted to know what needed doing. Someone she trusted to lead the way.

And that suited Steve just fine.

~*~*~

Steve left the saloon with a purposeful stride, his mantle billowing behind him in the afternoon breeze. Winter here was a strange beast because the day had been warm enough that the breeze was a pleasant thing — like an ideal spring back home.

The folded paper in his pocket felt impossibly heavy for something so light. It was a crude map sketched on the back of a church pamphlet, the corners worn from being handled too often. Eden had kept it hidden in a small tear she'd made in her mattress, tucked away where not even her siblings would think to look.

"Mr. Nelson has been skimming gems from the shipments," she had whispered, her voice barely audible even in the quiet room. “He and his crew are keeping a secret stash of them in the Jamestown mine.”

A chill had danced down Steve’s spine. Billy and the others didn’t know about what the outlaws had hidden up there, or how hard they would surely fight to escape with it. The leader of the gang had already proven that he was not above murder.

“Mr. Jameson found out — he said that once he had evidence, that the law would deal with Mr. Vecna, but since nobody else knew about Nelson’s stash he was going to take it, and no one would be the wiser. He said that he would come back, that he wanted to take me and the children away. I thought he was just talking foolish.”

“But I guess it was true, and Nelson must have caught wind of his plans, because the poor man was caught breaking into Mr. Vecna’s office. The book of maps was all he had time to grab. They were in pursuit, so he hid the book on Widow's Ridge. He might be alive if he hadn’t, but poor Mr. Jameson… he wanted to keep his word. He came back for me just like he promised he would. He left me this before they caught up with him. He must have known what they would do."

Frightened and alone after Jameson’s murder, Miss Bingham had kept the map and the whereabouts of Mr. Vecna’s book a secret, unsure whom she could trust or what to do next.

“When that detective came and I realized he and Miss Holloway were looking for the book I knew I should tell them, but if I did, I would be giving up a chance to secure the future for my siblings.”

So she’d gone to Mr. Burle instead, because he knew the area and Mr. Jameson had said she would need someone strong enough to move stone to get the book. She’d made a deal with Vecna’s cowboy for a cut of the gems, but in the end he’d betrayed her.

Steve stopped the wagon in front of the general store catching a glimpse of the children inside, their faces bright with delight as they examined jars of colorful candies at the front with Joyce and Marty Shelby.

The young alpha’s eyes lit up when Steve entered, but he restrained himself to a polite good afternoon befitting an unattached alpha greeting a mated omega.

“It’s good to have you back.” he added, when Steve had wished him a good afternoon in turn. He seemed oblivious to the tension coiled tightly within Steve’s chest, and he hoped that meant he was doing a sufficient job of projecting outward calm.

“Mr. Harringrove, look what we got for you!” A chorus of young voices cried for his attention as Tanner rushed over to press a small brown bag into Steve’s hands with a big proud smile. It was full of little yellow candies dusted in sugar. He could tell by the strong scent wafting under his nose, but he’d have known what they were on sight alone.

“Oh lemon drops! How lovely. How did you know just which one I’d want?”

“I helped. I know you really must like lemons ‘cause Mrs. Byer’s jam made you lick your fingers.” Max answered, and Steve felt the back of his neck flush with embarrassment when Marty Shelby stifled a surprised chuckle.

“Did it?” How very odd. Wouldn’t it be just the thing if— no! He couldn’t even think it.

“How observant of you Max. That jam was quite delicious.” Steve admitted with a sheepish shrug, before resting his hand on the young pup’s head to smooth it back into place. “Thank you Tan. It’s a very sweet gift from a very sweet pup.”

“The children just finished settling a debate on whether it would be rude of Miss Tabitha to get rose candies for her sister.” Joyce said, turning towards him. Her smile dimmed, and her eyes looked over him in concern. It was possible some of his distress still lingered in his scent, but he was hoping that it was just because she knew him better.

“Rose is yummy!” Tabby insisted with passion that suggested she would defend that position with her life.

“Yes, but you should get her one that compliments her scent, or at least one that doesn’t remind her of another omega.” Dustin said knowledgeably. “Isn’t that right Steve? I read it in Walden’s ‘Social Expertise and the Art of Courtship’.”

“But why have you been reading that? It sounds so boring.” Michael demanded, wrinkling his nose, making the other boy blush.

Steve hummed, biting back a smile. “You’re right Dustin. When getting a gift for someone you admire, you wouldn’t want to make the mistake of getting them something that was reminiscent of a rival, or that clashes with their scent. It shows lack of thought.”

Dustin beamed triumphantly at Michael. “See! I told you. Eden is going to think Tabby likes Steve more than her.”

“And I told the children, that I sincerely doubt that Miss Bingham’s bonds with her siblings are so fragile that they can be injured over a preference for hard candy.” Joyce sighed, the corner of her mouth twitching upward in amusement at the end as she met Steve’s gaze. “You pups do get the silliest ideas in your heads sometimes.”

“Mrs. Byers is also very wise Dustin. I don’t think Tabby has much to worry about. I think her sister will be touched Tabby thought of her. In any case, poppy and rose complement each other quite well.” Steve pretended he did not see the smug smile and the pink dart of little Tabby’s tongue as she stuck it out at the older pup.

He’d taken up as much time as he dared. The debate settled, he tried to hurry them along. “But if you’ve all made your purchases, you had better head home now. I have an important errand to run before Will’s ma and I need to be over at the Drakes.”

“Does that mean we are coming to stay with you?” Suzi asked hopefully and Steve nodded. He was grateful she had not asked it outright, and he said nothing of Eden joining them, mindful of who might overhear. His confirmation sent a wave of excitement through the group of children. Tabby bounced on her toes, nearly dropping her paper bag of rose candies in enthusiasm.

The older pups exchanged poignant glances, the wheels turning behind their eyes. Michael leaned toward Lucas, whispering something that made the other boy nod vigorously.

"We should get going then," Michael said, suddenly all business as he straightened his cap. "It'll take longer walking with the babies and it’ll be getting dark soon.”

He, along with Will, started herding the two youngest pups toward the door, and Steve held it open as the excited group filed out onto the wide wooden porch.

Outside the porch Joyce knelt down, her skirts pooling around her as she adjusted Tabby's ribbons and straightened Tanner's collar.

"Now, I want you all to pay attention," she instructed, her tone stern. "We expect the chores to be done before we get back. Don’t worry about closing up the barn. But animals fed, and tools put away for the night boys. Girls, you make sure the fires are lit and ready for cooking and you can get started on peeling the potatoes when you’re done. And it’s straight back to the Harringroves, hear me? No wandering off to look at interesting rocks or chase after ghosts. Am I understood?"

“Yes ma’am” they chorused dutifully.

Steve fixed Suzi with a particularly meaningful look. "Keep everyone together. Don't the little ones out of your sight even for a moment, you understand?"

"I won't, Mr. Harringrove." Suzi promised, slipping her hands into Tabby and Tanner's.

"Of course you won’t. You’re a good girl." he nodded, satisfied.

The children clattered down the steps, their chatter and laughter filling the air as they set off down the road. They turned back every few paces to wave, Tabby's enthusiastic arm-waving nearly causing her to trip.

Steve and Joyce watched until they turned around for the last time, and did not turn again.

With the children well out of earshot, Joyce turned to him, her eyes searching his face. "Well? And what about our Miss Eden?"

Steve glanced around, noting the men leaning up against the porch post not terribly far from where they stood. Gesturing for Joyce to follow, he stepped down off the porch and answered in a lowered voice.

“We will collect her after we return from the Drakes. It should be just around dark then.”

Joyce's eyebrows rose. "Why the delay?"

“Because Miss Holloway is certain that the men will have a devil of a time bringing the gang to heel, and that in the meanwhile Mr. Vecna will not be sitting on his hands, and I agree with her.”

“You suppose he will want to find that thing Jim warned us never to speak of?”

Steve confirmed her worst fears with a slow nod and the beta woman grew very quiet and still.

“I see.”

Joyce had gone pale. And Steve had no doubt she truly did see, just what they were up against. Although the scent of fear that tickled his nose was not overpowering like an omega or a pup in distress, it was noticeable. Tart on his tongue like lemons.

“Well.” To her credit, she rallied quickly. “Then we shall have to be ready for him.”

“Precisely.”

“He’ll have hired guns.” She replied, thinking aloud. “Deputy Callaghan will get behind him. He’ll know if he doesn’t submit Vecna is likely to kill him first. With all of the real fighting men gone and those that are left unlikely to risk their necks for a cause they have no stakes in, he’d be standing alone.”

The sheriff had warned them outright that the deputy was not the sort of man keen to stand for principle if he had to do it alone. But with strong enough backing he could be trusted to do the right thing.

“He isn’t going to be alone. We are going to make sure the community comes together and stands with him, just like the sheriff said.” Steve vowed and Joyce gave him a droll look.

“Yes but how? It was a tall enough order when we just had to bring people together to look for poor Edward. But now we are talking life and death. My one hope is that foreboding glint in your eye means you have thought of some plan.”

“Truly no. My plan is to stick to the plan. With a few small additions.” he answered, a touch slyly. “As you said, we’re already on a mission to bring the town together. Mr. Munson’s nephew is as good a reason to rally as the next. My hope is once people see for themselves the change they can make, they’ll be more apt to try again.”

“Yes but, Steve, against Mr. Vecna?” Joyce pulled him gently to a stop, her gaze intent on him. “It would be a mistake to underestimate the power he has. People will be very afraid.”

“Then we shall have to give them something more powerful to stand behind.”

That was the very reason behind the errand Steve had decided upon, and why he and Joyce found themselves tying up the wagon in front of the sheriff’s station ten minutes or so later. The squat timber structure stood at the far end of the main street, before the road narrowed and sloped downhill toward the stretch of pathways where the poorest members of the community had constructed tin houses for shelter.

A heavy stillness hung about the place, broken only by the occasional creak of the wooden sign swinging in the afternoon breeze.

Steve pushed open the door, the hinges creaking in protest, and stepped inside with Joyce close behind him. Inside, the air smelled of sweat, gun oil, and old paper—wanted posters curling on the walls like autumn leaves. Behind the thick oak desk that dominated most of the room he glimpsed the jail cells with their thick adobe walls and barred doors. Sitting behind the cluttered desk was Deputy Callaghan, speaking to a tall man in a long dark coat with a slouch hat pulled down low over his eyes.

Steve noticed first the way the man stood with his feet braced slightly apart as if he were getting ready to draw, and the way that he had angled himself so that his back was not completely to the door. And then he recognized his familiar profile.

At the sound of their entry Detective Walker looked up, his piercing gaze assessing them quickly before it softened to something more neutral.

"Mr. Harrington. Mrs. Byers." Walker bent his head to them politely, not a full bow but given their setting he could be forgiven for coming off informal. “What brings you by? Everything’s alright I hope?"

Steve's gaze remained fixed on Walker, his presence there setting off warning bells in his mind.

"It is Harringrove now, as you must have heard.” he replied in a measured tone. He ignored Walker’s line of questioning altogether to press his own. “And I might ask you the same, Detective. I would have thought you’d have been first in line to join the sheriff. Or are you no longer chasing the outlaws?”

Detective Walker blinked, giving the smallest pause before his eyes dipped downward in an almost bashful expression, before he admitted, “ah well, I’m afraid that when we met I wasn’t a hundred percent truthful about the work that brought me here.” Steve already knew that, but he feigned surprise, letting the bitter notes of hurt and disappointment start to seep through his scent.

The alpha rushed to explain himself. “I was hired to track down the Red Hands. It’s a long story, but they are not my employer’s true target.”

Behind the desk, the deputy cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Detective Walker has asked me to assist him with a warrant to arrest Wayne Munson. I was just explaining to him that he’s gonna have to wait for Hop to come back and put the paperwork in with the judge.”

Steve’s blood ran cold, and beside him Joyce’s eyes went wide with shock.

“And I was just reminding Deputy Callaghan, that I am well aware of the fact that the county judge has more important matters to concern himself with than the goings on in Promised Land.” Walker added stiffly, refusing to acknowledge either the awkwardness or the tension in the room as he refocused on the deputy.

“Judge Stromburg was quite happy to bestow this office emergency judicial powers that surely have not yet been lifted, given the speed with which the sheriff has been able to pursue Nelson’s gang. Am I wrong?”

“Well no, but that don’t change anything.” Callaghan huffed, annoyed to be caught out. “You still need the sheriff to get the warrant and he aint here Walker. You’re welcome to head up to Knights Ferry and ask the judge personal, it’s only about two days ride with a good horse.”

“As I said, I’m finding it very hard to believe that he left you without power to make an arrest.” Walker scoffed. “If I didn’t know better, I might worry you were trying to buy time in the hopes that when the sheriff does return standing in my way will be his problem.”

Were the situation not so dire, Steve would have laughed because the crestfallen expression that fell over the deputy’s face left little doubt that he’d been hoping to do just that.

“But what on earth has Mr. Munson done worth being arrested?” Joyce demanded to know. “He’s a fine man, and he’s been a pillar here for years.”

The deputy sighed. “That’s what I’m trying to tell Mr. Walker. Wayne’s place was one of the first establishments on the street. His friends may not be as fancy as some, but he’s got them. And I don’t know how you city boys feel about your whisky, but around here folks don’t like it much when the well runs dry.”

“Oh hang the whisky Phil!” Joyce shot at him with a peeved glance. “Mr. Walker, folks around here don’t like it too much when outsiders come in threatening their neighbors. If you mean to unjustly harass Mr. Munson, you won’t find folks standing by.”

“So I have been warned. I am here seeking a warrant ma’am in the hopes of avoiding bloodshed.” Mr. Walker answered, but the coolness in his gaze left the impression that he wouldn’t hesitate to act however he felt necessary. Bloodshed or otherwise.

But not on Steve’s watch.

“Oh dear.” He heaved a heavy sigh, his hand clutching at his chest.

Both alpha’s made a motion as if they meant to reach for him as the air thickened with the scent of distress. They both seemed to think better of touching a newly bonded omega, even with his alpha away.

“Mr. Harringrove are you unwell?” Walker asked, shifting closer. Perhaps in order to be of assistance if Steve should swoon. Which was rich indeed considering that Joyce was right there, and she had things well in hand. But alphas truly were all the same.

“You know, it’s a shame Joyce.” Steve said, still clutching at his chest like he was catching his breath. “I thought Mr. Walker so noble when first we met. I was so frightened, and Mr. Hargrove so gruff, that when he swore he would not leave until he was satisfied my honor was kept, I thought it was because he was everything an alpha should be. I could almost have thought him my hero. But I see now, how foolish I was.”

He watched as Walker's face darkened, but before the alpha could speak, he continued, "I hope your employer appreciates the lengths you’re willing to go to for money Mr. Walker. You will have to forgive me if I cannot.”

The detective’s tightened, the muscles along it flexing like ropes pulled taut under his skin, and Steve let the silence stretch, the sting of his words landing exactly where he wanted them—right in the alpha’s pride. Deputy Callaghan was looking absolutely gob smacked, everybody in the room frozen and watching the alpha whose honor Steve had just denounced to see how he would react.

From the first, Walker had been a puzzle that he’d not concerned himself with solving, but he could see now that had been in error. Unraveling the truth of the man and his intentions now would be too difficult when Steve knew next to nothing about him, and almost certainly everything he did and said was covered in a layer of subterfuge.

Steve did not have the time to waste, so he must push the detective to reveal himself instead. And he knew of no quicker way under an alpha’s skin than through their pride.

The air in the sheriff’s office grew thicker, heavier, as Walker’s controlled scent shifted gradually filling with something acrid, like embers catching on dry tinder.

“That was unkind, Mr. Harringrove,” he said at last, his voice low and edged with frost, green eyes sharp on Steve as if he had just been slapped in the face.

Steve’s pulse quickened, heat rising in his chest, but he held the alpha’s gaze, refusing to flinch.

“If I am unkind, then I dare not ask what that would make you.” he replied with precise softness.

“I determined to do my very best to make good of your kindness before, if you recall, when many would have thought it wiser to do all that I could to return to my kin— whatever the consequences for your part in my situation. Would you believe I thought that would be unkind?”

Steve did not have to feign fury as his voice climbed to a sharp cutting pitch, bordering on a shout. “I thought: we mustn’t let harm come to noble Mr. Walker. And now here you are chasing your coin, mistreating the innocent, while lives hang in the balance. You turn your back when the life you made certain I must accept is about to be torn from beneath my feet. My alpha may die. Damn you! Where is the kindness in my child never knowing their sire?!”

Steve clamped his mouth shut, pressing his gloved hand over it as if to contain the damning words from tumbling out – but it was already too late. His scent spiked with regret, bitter with notes of panic. He hadn’t meant to go that far, but even the suggestion that Billy could die made him feel that he was losing his mind.

Beside him, Joyce’s hand flew to her mouth, her breath catching in a soft, sympathetic murmur, her eyes glistening with that maternal concern. “Oh, you poor thing.” she whispered, reaching out to touch his arm gently, her fingers warm and steady against his sleeve. He couldn’t bear to meet her eye.

He didn’t know in truth whether he was carrying or not. It was early yet, to know if he’d caught on their bonding retreat, but not too early for signs if Billy’s rut before that had been fruitful…

But surely the odds of falling pregnant the very first time he laid with an alpha proper were slim? And Steve had yet to notice any of the signs he’d been taught to look for: no changes in mood, appetite, or scent, no unusual attentiveness from others. He wasn’t clinging to his alpha like a limpet nor had any powerful nesting instincts taken hold of him. Steve would have no suspicions at all.

If not for that one small thing: lemon drops.

His mother couldn’t stand anything flavored heavily with lemon, on account of how much she’d craved it while she carried him. It was not as if he had any proof that he was any more partial to the taste than he’d always been. Except of course that Max had noticed his fondness for lemons, because she’d caught him licking jam from his fingers like an ingrate — or Billy.

It was not a comfortable thing to imagine carrying a pup at a time like this, nor how he would prefer for news of his condition to spread were  it true; but oh, how his heart yearned for it to be true the minute he thought of his alpha.

Callaghan’s chair scraped back, the deputy’s face had slackened with surprise, eyes wide as they dipped down to Steve’s trim waist.

“You and Billy are expecting? Does he know?” he asked, pity lacing his tone.

“Not for certain.” Steve responded tersely, thinking quickly he added. “It was too soon to see a doctor, and my alpha did not want to risk my health with the pox setting in.”

The deputy blanched at Steve’s fib, his scent simmering with pent up frustration. “You’re not taking baskets to the sick are you? Pardon my saying it, but that’s a hellofa risk in your condition.”

Well, that’s at least one of them in the net Steve thought.

“I am sure every member of the Charity Belles could find good enough reason not to take risks, Mr. Callaghan, but that will not help our neighbors. Poor Mrs. Carver can’t do it all, the woman has nearly driven herself into the grave.”

“Yes, darling, but think of the pup. Nobody would want to see you or your child hurt.” Joyce admonished softly, and the deputy leaped to add his agreement.

“That’s exactly right. There’d be hell to pay with your alpha if I let a dove in your condition overextend themselves, and I can’t imagine your kinfolk would be too happy neither. He’s a railway man your pop aint he? I reckon he’s looking forward to meeting his grandson. Just think about that before you—”

“Oh bully my father. Let him sue the entire county, I don’t care. It is not my father risking his life so that I may have the liberty of bringing clean linens and tinctures to the sick. It is my alpha. My Billy. Promised Land is our home and I will not sit by while friends and neighbors suffer, no matter what my condition.”

The deputy’s face had gone colorless. Naturally his mind had gotten stuck on one tiny little detail.

“Your pa would really sue the entire county?”

From where he’d stood silently watching the interaction, Detective Walker chose that moment to speak again, drawling with an almost mocking lilt.

“You’ll find that Douglas Harrington could buy every judge from here to Washington if he needed to.”

Steve didn’t smile outwardly, though inside was another matter altogether. Walker was assisting him, which meant he must either have want or need of Steve’s good opinion. Only time would tell which it was, but he could use either.

“I can assure you that while what Mr. Walker says is true, it won’t happen.” Steve said firmly, shooting the detective a peevish glance, before turning back to the deputy. “I shouldn’t have even suggested it. It was just temper. As long as I am unharmed there is no reason at all for Mr. Harrington to involve himself in our affairs here in Promised Land. Now, can I rely on you Deputy for your assistance, or must I look elsewhere?”

The alpha stood straighter, at attention.

“Yes, of course Mr. Harringrove. Anything I can do to help.”

“Wonderful. I knew I could count on you.” Steve praised, and Deputy Callaghan’s chest puffed with pride.

“I’m just doing my job, Mr. Harringrove. If I can’t do more than a belle in your situation then I ought to throw away the badge. What do you need?”

“I need a telegram sent to this address.” Steve withdrew a small, folded piece of paper from his pocket and held it out to the deputy. Callaghan took it, opening it to read the contents and his eyes bugged.

“640 Clay Street— the supreme court office?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“This is addressed to Justice Atkins.” he continued, waving the paper for emphasis as if Steve did not already know what was written there. “Do you really expect an answer?”

“He’ll answer me.” Steve was quite confident. If not because he was the only child of Walter’s beloved god daughter, then definitely because there would now be written evidence and witnesses to the fact that he had been prewarned of a potential outbreak of the pox.

If Steve’s memory served him, hundreds had died in the smallpox outbreak of ‘68 before they’d managed to fend off the disease, and much of the thanks was owed to breakthroughs in vaccination. But controlling the disease had been a long, expensive, effort — the hot topic of conversation at a supremely boring dinner he was now grateful his father had forced him to attend.

Even in the span of a few years since the last outbreak the population had more than doubled with new settlers. He doubted many of them had been through vaccination. A few isolated cases could quickly overwhelm the herd if the proper measures weren’t taken while there was time to take them.

“Please send the message, exactly as written.” he urged, and Callahan nodded grabbing his hat from off the desk.

“I’ll send word around to your farm when the telegraphy at the post lets me know there was a reply.”

“Oh you won’t have to wait that long.” He replied breezily, ignoring the man’s astonished expression. “You should hear back within the hour and when you do, bring it to me at the Drake’s without a moments delay.”

He did not wait for the Deputy to give his agreement before he turned to go. Instruction given, their business was concluded and Steve made it known with the turn of his back and his purposeful stride away to tend to his own business, Joyce following at his side.

It was one of the rules of power, that one must act as if they were due submission because those who had never known power knew it well, and most reacted instinctively to the hallmarks of authority. That left only those strong-minded individuals who saw the path laid for them and insisted on going outside it. Those sorts of people required what Duke Harrington used to call with a wink, maneuvering.

Steve did not have to waste any energy thinking up ways to outmaneuver Deputy Callaghan. Detective Walker was the one he needed to be certain would move to where he needed him on the board. He held his breath, counting each step in his head as he and Joyce walked, waiting to see if the alpha would take the bait.

From behind them Steve heard quick footsteps, Detective Walker hurrying to catch up with them just as they reached the door.

“Mr. Harringrove. Can I have a word?”

Check.

Steve’s mouth curled in a smile of triumph, before schooling his expression.

“If you must. A very short word. Outside.” He answered, pushing through the doors without waiting for the detective’s agreement.

He was certain now that Walker would follow.