Love's Sweet Revenge by Rosanne Bittner Page B

coming,” he told Lloyd, sincerity moving into his eyes. “If something had gone wrong, they would have gotten ahold of your mother.” He winced when Lloyd tore open the back of his shirt. “Go through those men’s gear and see if you can find some identification,” Jake called out to Pepper and Cole.
    â€œThe bleeding is slowing. I’ll put whiskey on it anyway, just for safekeeping.” Lloyd walked over to his horse and took a flask from his saddlebag, along with a roll of gauze.
    Jake glanced at a shaken Randy. “You really all right? You’re not hurt anywhere?”
    She walked up to him and leaned against his chest as he moved an arm around her. “I’m fine.”
    Lloyd returned with the supplies, and Randy felt Jake jerk when Lloyd doused the deep cut with whiskey, then pressed the gauze against the wound and held it there a moment.
    â€œI’d rather drink some of that whiskey,” Jake told him.
    â€œI expect you would.”
    â€œI suppose I’ve added another scar to my back,” Jake grumbled.
    Lloyd glanced at his mother. Randy saw the pain in his eyes at knowing the scars on his father’s back were nearly all put there by Jake’s own father when Jake was just a little boy—by the buckle end of a belt. “I suppose so,” he answered quietly, “but I don’t think it will have to be stitched up. We’ll let Brian look at it when we get back.”
    â€œGod knows it’s a good thing your sister married a doctor,” Jake tried to joke. “He doesn’t need a practice of his own. His family keeps him busy enough.”
    Lloyd smiled sadly. “Yeah, well, if you’d learn to stay out of trouble, we wouldn’t need him so much.”
    â€œHey, Jake!” Cole called out as he rummaged through the clothing on one of the bodies. “Do you ever leave a man alive when you get into something like this?”
    â€œSometimes,” Jake answered, taking a Lone Jack cigarette from a pocket on the front of his shirt and lighting it.
    â€œRemind me to stay on your good side,” Cole answered sarcastically.
    â€œJust don’t try rustling any of my cattle,” Jake joked, taking a deep drag on his cigarette. “When I start shooting, I generally figure it’s best to plant the bullet where I can be sure the man shooting at me can’t shoot back anymore.”
    Lloyd made ready to wrap some gauze around the wound.
    â€œLeave it,” Jake told him. “I’m more concerned about your mother. Just give me my jacket and one swallow of that whiskey.”
    â€œI’m just fine, Jake,” Randy reminded him.
    â€œNo, you aren’t. You might have messed up that shoulder, and I know what something like this does to you emotionally.”
    Lloyd handed his father the jacket and the flask. Jake took a deep swallow of the whiskey, which told Randy he was in pain, because he never drank otherwise, at least not around her. He had too many bad memories of his cruel, drunken father beating his mother. She glanced at Lloyd and knew he realized the same.
    Jake handed Lloyd the flask and grimaced as he tugged on his jacket. He pulled Randy close again. “I’m goddamn sorry, Randy. We had such a nice morning.”
    â€œYou didn’t ask for this.”
    Jake kept Randy close as he watched Cole and Pepper rifle through the pockets and saddlebags of the dead men. “How in hell did you know there might be trouble?” he asked Lloyd.
    â€œThat courier from Denver, Jason Hawk, saw them from Echo Ridge. He was on his way to us with some news, and he knew we wouldn’t likely be herding cattle to Denver this early in the season. When we heard there might be rustlers out here, we rode half the night trying to catch up with them, or with you—whichever came first. I was hoping you’d miss them altogether, but no such luck.”
    â€œJason never comes out in the