Topic: Shootout at the Ranch

Sam McAlister

Date: 2017-01-22 12:56 EST
Oakham Mount was ominously quiet when, the next day, two sheriffs from the Watchhouse rode up the main track to the house, together with the group who had insisted on coming from The Brambles. They'd done their best to make sure that word hadn't reached Rogier of what was planned, but something had gotten through. It was obvious in the way the regular hands ducked their heads and hurried out of sight; in the way the servants at the house looked on the group with wide eyes and made themselves scarce. It was patently obvious in the fact that half a dozen armed men were lingering in plain sight; their presence alone suggested that others were concealed.

The sheriffs exchanged a look, dismounting and turning their horses loose. The last thing anyone wanted in this scenario was a collection of panicked equines getting in the way and trampling folk.

"I told you so," Sam muttered under his breath as the sheriffs dismounted from their horses. He was reluctant to do the same, looking around to find some familiar faces among those who were lingering. "He's spoiling for a fight," he quietly warned the group as he got down from his horse. He would have called for a stable hand to take care of their horses, but none was to be seen in plain sight. The place was quiet, too quiet - the quiet before the storm maybe.

"Word travels fast," Evan remarked, but that was all he had to say. He'd feared this would be the case, but he wasn't going down without a fight.

"A bullet travels faster," one of the sheriffs, Annie Hayes, said just as quietly. The two official persons were women - something both Evan and Sam had had a little trouble choking down - well armed and confident in their ability to do their duty.

The other, Eliza Dunwiddy, let her gaze travel the courtyard space around them, noting the positions of the various thugs, aware that others would be concealed. She gestured to the one nearest the porch of the main house.

"Step inside and ask Sidney Rogier to come out and greet us, if you would," she said, adding in a louder tone, "As sheriff of these parts, duly sworn in by the city of Rhy'Din, I would advise anyone here present who plans to impede me in my duty that it would be a very bad idea."

Evan, and even Sam, knew better than to get in the sheriffs' way. Either Rogier would come out or he wouldn't. Evan had a feeling the man wasn't going to come peacefully, sheriffs or not. He was mentally counting how many thugs they were up against, should the shooting start and looking for places that one could use for cover. The way things stood, if shots were to be fired before they found cover, they'd be sitting ducks. None of this sat very well with Evan.

As it turned out, Rogier didn't need to be called out, already passing through the front door, looking dapper as usual. What wasn't usual was the sidearm holstered at his hip. He looked over the group as he stepped down off the porch. "What an interesting collection of visitors," he said mildly. "Mr. Lassiter, I won't say it's a pleasure. Mr. St.Clair and son, likewise. Sam, you're looking good for a dead man. Did you find your wife yet, or are you still searching the drifts?"

Evan said nothing but clenched his jaw. The man didn't even deserve a proper greeting, whether they were trespassing on his property or not. Then again, the property rightfully belonged to Sam, not Rogier, and they were there in part to take it back and make things right, but again, that was up to the sheriffs.

"You find Dobson yet?" Sam countered, tit for tat. If the man was going to goad him, he was going to goad him right back. "Wonder what everyone will say when they find out I'm the rightful owner of Oakmount." He knew he didn't have much chance with the hired guns. Rogier was paying them too much for them to switch loyalties. Their wages depended on Rogier staying in charge, but the hands and the house staff were another matter. "I wonder how many of those in your employ will be willing to work for a man whose been lying to them for years. It was my grand daddy who owned this land, and you ain't nothing but a thief."

Just the barest flicker in Rogier's expression betrayed his anger at Sam calling him out. "And just who is the more credible here, Sam?" he asked mildly, making a show of being an urbane gentleman still. "The established pillar of the community, or the homeless, unemployed wretch?"

Before anyone else could speak, Sheriff Hayes interrupted. "We ain't here to bandy words, Mr. Rogier," she said sharply. "We're here to arrest you on charges of conspiracy to commit murder, and grand theft. These gentlemen accompanied us because they have a proposition to put to you."

Rogier's brows rose, but the hired goons around him grew visibly tense. "Indeed?" he said, meeting the sheriff's eyes. "And why would I accept a proposition from men who clearly want nothing to do with me?"

Sheriff Dunwiddy frowned. "Because they're offering you the chance not to have all your dirty laundry aired at a public trial," she said in annoyance. "Sir."

Sam's face flushed in anger at Rogier's insults - at his own father's insults, though he was trying very hard not to let that sway him in any way. He'd already thought all this through and while he would have preferred a more peaceful means of resolving the conflict, he knew it was unlikely. He had to bite his tongue against saying anything further, allowing the sheriffs to handle the matter in a lawful way, even though there was so much more he wanted to say. He wanted to see the look on Rogier's face when he realized that Sam knew the truth - all of it. And most of all, he wanted to make sure the man got what was coming to him, dead or alive.

Rogier actually had the gall to laugh at that. "A public trial?" he scoffed. "My dear girl, there isn't a jury in this land who would dare to convict me, especially on such trumped up charges as these. But, by all means, detail to me this alternative of yours."

Jaw clenched in an effort not to lose her temper with the man, Sheriff Hayes straightened her back. "A duel," she said firmly. "Legally witnessed. One shot each. You win, you go about your business unmolested by the law. You're injured and your opponent is not, you're sent to jail to serve time for the attempted murder of the Lassiter children."

"And just who, may I ask, would I be dueling?"

There was a pause, and the sheriffs subtly shifted, their hands imperceptibly that much closer to their weapons. No one responded to charges like this unless they had an alternative of their own. "Mr. Lassiter has offered himself as your opponent," Sheriff Hayes told him.

"Has he now?" Rogier considered the group in front of him thoughtfully. "How considerate of him." His hand darted to the holster on his hip, grasping the gun to pull it out and fire off a shot in Evan's direction.

Sam McAlister

Date: 2017-01-22 12:56 EST
Of all the men and women Rogier could have picked for an opponent, Evan was the deadliest. He'd never considered himself a gunslinger, though he'd certainly killed more than a few men in his time. His aim was flawless, but it wasn't just about aim; it was about getting a shot off before your opponent shot you first. Evan was fast, but not suicidal. Rather than stand there and risk getting himself killed, as soon as he saw Rogier's hand move, he was rolling to the right to avoid the shot, before turning and firing his own weapon. It all happened so fast, it was hard to follow what was taking place. One moment, Evan was standing in one spot, and the next he had slid the gun from its holster, turned and fired a shot in return, seemingly without even pausing to aim.

And just like that, all hell broke loose. Across the wide, packed-earth space, shots rang out, thugs firing, sheriffs firing, everyone diving for cover. Screams erupted from inside the house, the female staff unused to this sudden declaration of violence; in the barrack rooms where the hands were on their lunch break, yells went up as men hit the floor for cover.

Evan fired a second time, just for good measure, before diving for cover, the others in their party doing the same. With all the bullets flying, standing out in the open was like asking for a death sentence. When Evan fired again, he didn't miss, nor did he waste any shots. While other men might fire wildly, he made each shot count, waiting for a target before taking a shot, shot after shot finding its mark. Sam, too, followed suit, but not quite as skilled with his weapon as Evan or even the sheriffs. There was too much shooting going on for him to tell whether he'd hit anything or not, ducking for cover as bullets zinged past his head.

Outnumbered, it was touch and go for a few minutes as to whether or not Evan and Sam's little group were going to be walking out of here at all. But Rogier's hired thugs had not counted on what happens when the source of fear and oppression is lying dead where his entire staff can see him. With a yell that was more like a Celtic queen gone berserk, Mrs. Prudey, of all people, burst out through the front door, armed with nothing more than her infamous long-handled spoons, and began to lay about her at the heavies taking shelter on the porch. No sooner had she come into view than some of the serving girls joined her, armed similarly with pokers and cast-iron pans.

Seeing the women joining the fray, the hands were quick to join in, and soon Rogier's hired guns were overwhelmed by the sheer number of people pressing down on them. Indeed, the chaos was such that it took a good while for the sheriffs to restore order.

As silence fell, there was one last surprise in store. From the attic window at the top of the house came an almighty ruckus, and first a rifle, and then the man who had been holding it, came thumping down over the slates, to land painfully in the dirt at Sheriff Dunwiddy's feet. At the window above, Jemima was just visible, eyes wide as she stared at what she had done.

"Well," drawled Bill St.Clair. "Least we know who's on whose side."

Sam was muttering curses under his breath as he fired shot after shot, pausing as soon as the hands and the house staff got into the fight, not wanting to hit any of them by mistake. There was little chance of that happening where Evan was concerned, but even he was reluctant to shoot when there was a chance of shooting an ally. All in all, there were more of them left alive than dead, even on the side of Rogier's men, but the sheriffs could take care of that. Evan stepped out from where he'd taken cover behind a barrel, a revolver in each hand, and a look on his face that told any of the thugs who'd survived that he wasn't afraid to use it.

Their own side hadn't all come out of the attack unharmed. Sheriff Dunwiddy had taken a bullet to her calf; Daniel St.Clair had a graze left by a bullet along the curve of his temple. One or two of the hands lay dead, brave men who had thrown themselves in front of firing guns to overpower the shooters. And Rogier lay dead. Evan's first bullet had taken him in the throat; the second in the heart. No man could survive that.

Miraculously, both Evan and Sam had kept their promises and had somehow managed not only to stay alive, but neither had suffered so much as a scratch. Despite everything, Evan took no joy in killing Rogier. It was just something that had to be done, and he'd known that in the end, it was always going to be either one or the other anyway.

"Everyone all right?" Sam asked as he, too, found his feet, dusty and shaken, but alive and well, after surviving what amounted to his first and hopefully last shootout.

"Samuel McAlister, if you were just bluffing about knowing all those truths, I will be so angry with you," Mrs. Prudey burst out, still holding her spoons like clubs.

Bill looked over at the woman and snorted with laughter. The two men unconscious on the porch by her feet were both sporting vicious bruises from those spoons.

Evan wasted no time, moving to go collect the unconscious men's guns before they could cause any more trouble. It was up to the sheriffs what they wanted to do with them, but at least, they wouldn't be able to shoot anyone. He'd thought it a bit foolish to come here without more backup, but they'd been lucky, so far.

"I ain't bluffing. How could I be bluffing about knowing the truth?" Sam pointed out, not understanding the woman's logic, but then were women ever logical?

"It's true enough, ma'am, we've seen the proof," Sheriff Hayes said. "Mr. McAlister, you got somewhere to contain these men until I can fetch up assistance to incarcerate them officially' And ma'am ....put down the spoons."

"Uh," Sam replied uncertainly, looking from Sheriff Hayes to Mrs. Prudey. "Reckon we could put 'em in the root cellar," he suggested. "With your permission, of course," he said, submitting to Mrs. Prudey's judgment.

Evan bent over Rogier's body. Even though he had hated the man and had no regrets about killing him, he still respected the dead. He closed the man's eyelids and paused to whisper a brief prayer over his remains. "Pardon for upsetting your household, ma'am," he said, as he moved to his feet, with a nod to Mrs. Prudey. He needed no introduction to know she was the housekeeper and the woman in charge.

"It isn't my household, young man, it's his," Mrs. Prudey pointed out, nodding toward Sam. "Might take him a while to get his butt up here and take control, though." She snapped her fingers at the hands who were lingering around them. "Take their belts and boots, anything sharp or dangerous on their persons, give them to the nice lady sheriffs," she ordered the men. "Then you drag them down to my kitchen, and we'll put them in the old pantry. Be a bit cramped, but they are not guests. Maud, you nip upstairs and find Miss Jemima. I think she's going to need someone - naming no names, Samuel - to tell her what?s really going on."

Evan arched a brow. It wasn't often he was referred to as a young man, but this woman was old enough to be his mother. He wasn't one to stand around useless and moved to help gather up the dead, while the hands dragged what remained of the hired guns to the pantry.

Sam McAlister

Date: 2017-01-22 12:57 EST
"You got a blanket?" Sam asked, as he approached Rogier's body not far from the porch. "Don't want Jem to see him like this," he said, appealing to Mrs. Prudey's good sense.

The cook nodded, sending one of her girls inside to the linen closet. "We can lay 'em all out in workshop," she said calmly, not at all bothered by the sight of death. "You, Ms. Sheriff ....you got a lawyer or someone on hand" Reckon we should witness this legal handover soon as we can. And for gods' sakes, someone find the medicine box, would you?"

As Mrs. Prudey handed out these orders, Bill and Daniel St.Clair were quietly ordering the hands, most to collect the unconscious or surrendered goons and secure them, but some to help gather the dead and give them a little dignity as blankets were brought out to lay over them. There was no way to hide the blood on the snow, though.

As it happened, Mrs. Prudey took charge, allowing Sam to take a moment to wrap his head around what had happened. "We're gonna need an undertaker," Sam remarked with a look around. Evan had made himself useful by helping the hands gather the dead, while Sam looked around a little dazed by it all.

"Give me one of your men to send down to the Watchhouse with a message, and we'll have all of this cleared up by the end of the day," Sheriff Hayes promised from where she was crouched by her comrade, busily tying a tight tourniquet about the injured limb.

As Mrs. Prudey opened her mouth, another voice made itself known. "What the hell is going on?" Jemima demanded as she appeared in the doorway. One sweeping look over the scene before her was enough to override that demand for information, though. "Bring the injured in here," she ordered, naturally taking charge of the house itself. "Send someone for Mr. Hale, I don't care what Sid says about it."

Sam exchanged glances with Mrs. Prudey, a worried frown on his face. "Uh, Jem," he said, moving to take her arm and lead her back inside. "We need to talk."

Sooner or later, she was going to find out that "Sid" was dead, and he thought she'd take it better coming from him than anyone else. And that was the tip of the iceberg, so to speak. He wasn't really needed in the yard anyway, so long as the sheriffs and Mrs. Prudey and Evan were in charge.

As it turned out, he didn't need to say it. His hesitation made Jem pause, frowning as she looked around once again. Her gaze dropped to the blanket-covered corpse at her feet ....to the hand that had not been covered, and the watch that adorned the wrist. And perhaps to Sam's surprise, there was no display of grief. Just a low sigh as she raised her eyes to his once again. "Well, I hope you know what?s going on. I doubt whoever takes over this place is going to want to keep me around."

"Not here," he urged her again, as he ushered her back into the house and led her toward the kitchen. Maybe this wasn't the right time for a cup of coffee or tea, but it would help calm both their nerves if they were doing something ordinary instead of standing on the porch in the midst of what was going on. "That's what I gotta talk to you about."

"Am I being arrested or whatever it is that happened out there before people died?" Jem demanded to know as she turned to follow him back into the house. Her mind was racing; she'd had a good thing going here for a long time. Just a few months more, and she wouldn't have minded this set back quite so much. "Look, I know you think I'm in love with him, but believe me, love was never part of the deal."

"No, you ain't being arrested and you ain't getting kicked out either," he told her with an exasperated sigh. "You better sit down," he warned her, though he knew she was strong enough to take the news standing up.

"What about the money?" she asked, sitting down with a thump. She knew how it made her look, but she'd had years of being considered little more than a gold-digger. Some secrets were so secret, not even her own mother had known them.

"What money?" Sam echoed, unsure what she was talking about exactly. Had Rogier been paying her to warm his bed, like a common whore" Sam didn't need her for that, but if she wanted to stay on and get paid for it, she was going to have to find some way to be useful other than window dressing.

"The allowance Sid's been paying me," Jem clarified, her jaw set as she looked him in the eye. "Look, the deal was ....I stay here and make him look good, he pays for ....he pays me." She drew in a sharp breath. "Everything he gave me for housekeeping and upkeep of the staff is accounted for, it's all in the books. There's nothing illegal going on here, and why am I even explaining this to you? Do you know who's going to kick me out?"

"You don't know, do you?" Sam asked, realizing that the truth had been kept from her, just as it had from him. "He never told you." Sam frowned, sighing again as he took a seat at the table, tea or coffee forgotten. He hadn't even bothered to put the kettle on. "Oakmount belonged to my grandfather, my mother's father. Sid ....was my father," he said, having a hard time swallowing that one, given what else he now knew.

"Holy crap." She thumped back in her chair, staring at him for a long moment. "God, Sam, I had no idea. I really didn't. My god, his own son and he ..." She paled, glancing toward the door as though expecting Rogier, or even Dobson, to come walking through and catch her talking.

"And he what?" Sam asked, unsure how much she knew or didn't know and how much he'd have to tell her. He'd preferred to not have to tell her anything, but it seemed Mrs. Prudey was the only one left who knew the truth. Was it any wonder the woman had always treated him with such kindness?

Jem fidgeted, but she figured she didn't owe any loyalty to a dead man, especially one who had behaved the way Sidney Rogier had. "He knew exactly what was going on yesterday," she said awkwardly. "He made sure Bridget overheard him; he knew you'd go. I think he wanted Dobson to finish you off along with the Lassiters. And to be honest, if I hadn't distracted him with one of my worst performances of a temper tantrum, he would have escorted Bridget off the land himself, and left no one any opportunity to give her a coat or directions. He intended for her to freeze to death, and any child she might be carrying with her."

As it happened, none of what she told him surprised him at all. He already knew most of it and what he hadn't known for sure, he'd assumed. "Jem, he killed my mama, all 'cause he wanted Oakmount to himself. What kinda man does that' To think his blood runs in my veins ..." He trailed off, face paling at the thought of that, but he wasn't his father, and he'd vowed never to be like his father. Sid Rogier might have spawned him, but that was all. He hadn't even been man enough to marry Sam's mother or give the boy his name. "Point is, nothing's changed, 'cept this place belongs to me now. You can stay long as you like. You do more'n your fair share of running things here."

Sam McAlister

Date: 2017-01-22 12:57 EST
"I could be your housekeeper," she offered, rushing to put a label on what she could be here. "Mrs. Prudey runs the kitchen like a fiend, but she hasn't been in charge of anything outside the kitchen for years, certainly not since I've been here. I know how everything works, how everything fits together, which suppliers we use and which businesses we buy from. Pay me a fair wage, give me somewhere to sleep at night, and I'll keep on doing that. I'll even do your accounts."

"Said I wasn't kicking you out, Jem," he assured her, wondering why she seemed so anxious to earn her keep. "I'll talk to Mrs. Prudey and we'll work something out. S'pect everyone around here'll be getting a raise now that we don't need to pay Sid's hired guns no more."

"You've got more money than you'll know what to do with," she told him - after all, the accounts had been her responsibility for years. Surely he won't miss a little of it' It's not like it'll last forever ....

He furrowed his brows, wondering why she kept on about the money when he'd already assured her that he'd keep her on. Nothing was going to change, as far as he was concerned, except that she wouldn't be warming his bed, like she might have his father's. "There something you ain't telling me, Jem?" he asked. Maybe he wasn't the brightest bulb, but he knew when someone sounded desperate.

For the briefest moment, panic flared on her face, the reaction of a woman who did have something to hide, and who hid it because past experience had taught her that it was the only way to be safe. "No! No, not at all," she said, far too fast to be believed, pushing herself to stand. "Shall I go and speak with Mrs. Prudey, then?"

"Jem, sit down," he told her, but gently - like a friend or even a brother, not someone who held his power or influence over her like Rogier might have. He hardly even realized yet that he had any power or influence, but those in his employ would likely be better off for it, so long as they didn't try to take advantage of him. "Please," he added, for good measure. It had been a long day already, and it wasn't looking like it was ending any time soon.

She froze, for a moment wide-eyed with something that might almost have been fear. Then she sat back down, abruptly. A casual observer might have thought she was being interrogated over something, she was so tense.

"We're friends, ain't we" That ain't changed. Nothing has changed. I don't know what?s going on or what you're keeping from me, but I wanna help. Whatever it is ....I'm in a position now where I can help, so please ....let me?" he asked, as gently as he could, resisting the urge to touch her hand, though his fingers twitched.

Her fingers clenched on her thighs as she struggled with herself, years of caution and secrecy warring with the friendship she'd always felt for him. Perhaps mercifully, friendship won out, and Jem opened her eyes, meeting his gaze with worry. "Have you ever had someone's future held over your head?" she asked in a low tone. "Someone you loved?"

Sam clenched his jaw. He couldn't say he had, quite the way she had put it, but Rogier had killed his mother for nothing more than greed, and he'd tried to kill his wife, just to spite him. He had no idea what it was Rogier had hung over Jem's head or whose life he'd threatened, but whatever and whoever it was obviously meant the world to her. "I love Bridget," he told her quietly, perhaps for the first time admitting it aloud to anyone but his wife. In his own way, he was trying to tell her that he understood that much, at least.

The look on Jem's face was heartbreaking. "I love my daughter." Oh, yes. She understood what he was saying. "And I haven't seen her for more than a day at a time for almost five years." The exact time she had been Rogier's mistress.

He arched a brow, surprised to hear that she had a child, a daughter, no less. He'd never known that or even suspected, but now that she'd told him, it made perfect sense. To know that she hadn't seen her in so long made his heart ache for her, and his hand at last reached for hers. "Then you'll see her. Soon as you can. Bring her here, if you want, but do it soon. Life's too short, Jem." As if what had happened there that day wasn't proof enough of that.

She gripped his hand so tightly their skin whitened. "She's in school," she explained quietly. "Her last year. She turns eighteen in May. Sid paid for her tuition so long as I stayed with him. It's only one more semester of tuition that needs paying for," she heard herself plead softly. "I'll work off the debt, Sam, I promise you. Don't turn her out of her school just before her exams. She's put so much into doing well."

"You ain't hearing me, Jem. I said nothing's gonna change. What kind of man you think I am that I'd throw you out and stop paying for your daughter's schooling?" he asked, looking almost insulted. She'd known him long enough, he hoped, to know him better than that. "Whatever you need, all you gotta do is ask," he assured her with a warm smile as he gave her hand a soft, reassuring squeeze.

"Every man who has ever paid my way in this world has been that kind of man," she told him quietly. "Until right now, I only ever knew one man who wasn't like that." She drew in a slow breath. "I'll work hard for you," she promised him. "And I'll help Bridget, any way she needs me to. And ....sometime soon, I'll introduce you to Dani." Her hand slid into her pocket, pulling out a tiny leather wallet, pushing it over to him. Inside was a single photograph of a young woman, around his wife's age, blonde-haired and brown-eyed, with a smile that could light up a room. "That's my girl."

Sam smiled as he glanced at the young woman's photo, seeing a little of Jem in her face and her smile. "She's pretty, like her mama," he said, with a smile as he handed the photo back. "Why didn't you tell me before" Afraid I might try to steal her heart?" he teased, though they both knew his heart was already spoken for.

She laughed a little, taking back the picture to tuck it safely in her pocket once again. "He didn't want anyone to know," she told him. They both knew who he was. "His favorite threat was turning her out on the street. So I kept my secret, for her sake."

"There's a lot of things he didn't want anyone to know," Sam said with a frown, remembering again what Rogier had done to his mother, and how he'd lorded his power over everyone in his circle. "Dobson's dead," he informed her, hoping she'd be as relieved as anyone else. "I shot him." He took no pride in that fact, but neither did he mourn the man's passing either.

"Good." It was as simple as that. Jemima knew Dobson had been a truly despicable man, and she felt no remorse at his death. "Did he manage to do what he was sent to do, or did you stop him with that shot?"

Sam McAlister

Date: 2017-01-22 12:57 EST
"I stopped him," Sam said, not bothering to fill her in on what dirty work Rogier had sent Dobson to do. She was better off not knowing the details, unless she asked for them. "Bridget's all right. She's safe. Thank you for helping her. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to her," he admitted with a serious look on his face.

"Mope around and be generally impossible to live with, no doubt," Jem informed him, able to smile simply because disaster had been averted more than once in the last twenty-four hours. "Let's get things straightened up around here, and you can send for her to join you. You're the master of the house now, Sam. Your way is law around here."

Sam frowned further at that. He was pretty sure he could make a go of running the ranch, but he wasn't going to be able to do it without help. "I got a proposition for you," he told her, coming to a sudden decision. "I know cattle, but you know more about running a business than I do. What would you say if I offered you a partnership?"

She paused, considering him for a long moment. "How about we make sure everything is settled legally in your name before you start trying to give pieces of it away?" she suggested with a faint smile. "Splitting your profits really is something you should talk to your wife about, even if she doesn't understand a word you say."

He chuckled for the first time in a few days. "You worried she might get jealous?" he asked, eyes bright with amusement. As gorgeous as she was, Bridget had nothing to worry about where Jemima was concerned. "I'll talk to her," he promised, nonetheless, though he didn't think Bridget would object.

"I'm old enough to be her mother," Jemima laughed, shaking her head. "Quite literally, in fact - she's almost the same age as my Dani. No, Sam. Decisions like this should be made with the partner of your heart, whether they truly understand the decision or not. You'll do yourself no favors by cutting her out of any aspect of your life, whether it is your intention or not."

"I said I would talk to her, Jem," he assured her again. Though he wasn't quite sure just how involved in the business end of the ranch Bridget would want to be, he supposed he should talk to her before he made any momentous decisions. "Do you think there will be talk among the hands that I am not capable?" he asked, letting her see a little of his own worries.

"Hands talk," she shrugged. "They all do, whether they're loyal to the master or not. There'll be some who will leave, I'm sure. Most will stay. You know as well as I do that he made a point of hiring only people who had nothing outside of this place. If you can make it somewhere they want to live and work, you'll have their loyalty, and they'll forgive any mistakes."

"I'll have to talk to them later," he mused aloud. That sort of went without saying. If he was going to be in charge of the ranch now, he was going to have to address the hands and the house staff and inform them of the changes and of what both he expected of them and what they could expect of him going forward. Though he might not have been raised to run a ranch, he knew enough about ranching to make a decent go of it, and what he didn't know, he'd learn.

"Save any speeches until tomorrow," she suggested. "I'm sure your wife has a few ideas about making life better up here, and for now, the priority is restoring order. Get them back on task - stables, securing the cattle; hell, they could even mend that fence around Mrs. Prudey's kitchen garden. Get them all into the house for a good meal - good food that Sid wouldn't let them have, and let them know you're starting as you mean to go on. Just don't make any promises until you know you can follow through on them."

"Like the ones I made to you?" he asked, brows arching upwards. There was one thing about Sam - he was a man of his word, and he never made a promise he couldn't keep. "Reckon I should get back out there, then. You gonna be all right?" He made no apologies for Dobson or Rogier's death. Neither man had many friends here, except for those whose pockets they were lining.

"He's gone," she said quietly. "There's nothing to grieve for there." Drawing in a breath, she rose to her feet. "Let's see to your people and get things in order. I'll talk to Mrs. Prudey and we'll work out who is doing what."

"We still gotta bury him, Jem," Sam pointed out. The man was his father, after all, and he at least deserved a burial. Maybe Sam would even pray for his soul, though he thought that was probably more than he deserved. "I need to send word to Brambles. Let Marin and Bridget know we're all right."

"He can keep for a day," she said in a gentle tone. "We'll commit him to the soil, but not here. Not on the Mount. He stole it, and if even half of the stories are truth, he did your family a terrible wrong. He does not deserve to rest here, Sam."

If there was anything she could have said at that moment that might have reassured him, it was that. In the end, all he really wanted or needed was her friendship, and it seemed he still had that. "Thank you, Jem. You're a good friend," he told her, giving her hand a final squeeze before letting go.

She paused, turning to embrace him briefly. "You've looked after me since the first day I set foot here," she reminded him. "I'd be a poor friend if I just forgot all that now you're in charge. Go, send someone for your wife, make sure what needs doing is done. I'll work with Mrs. Prudey and the others."

Sam nodded in agreement before turning to go. They had a lot of work ahead of them, but nothing really worthwhile was ever easy. For those at Oakmount, especially for Sam and Bridget and Jem, today represented their first day of freedom, now that they'd broken the yoke of servitude they'd once owed to Sid Rogier.

None of them were strangers to hard work here, and with Rogier gone, they'd see the fruits of their labor returned to them for the first time in decades. Like a phoenix from the ashes, Oakham Mount was rising again, freed from the misdeeds of one greedy man and his all-consuming thirst for power and wealth. If only he could see what they were going to do with that wealth of his ....Sid Rogier would be spinning before they got him in his grave.