The Five Dollar Mail Book 3: The Road Home

24: Hobson's Choice

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Captain Scarcliff by Laura Hollingsworth. All graphics by me.

Book 1: The Green, Book 2: Lynch's Boys, Book 3: The Road Home, and the Riders & Kickers Anthology are available on Amazon under the name Regina Shelley. So if you hate waiting for chapter posts and/or want a more polished read, the finished product is available now.

Miss Lewis-Smythe had been right. There had been a time...and if Alex Scarcliff was being honest with himself, he knew that particular time was not even a week ago...that he would have reacted in the exact same way Lieutenant Collins had. He would have tossed the two pesky half breeds yelling at the gate into the brig and forgotten about them. And he probably would have been particularly ungentle with the younger of the two of them, simply to teach him to keep his big mouth shut when he was given an order.

Collins could barely tolerate the Crow scouts in the fort as it was. Scarcliff was amazed that the uppity breed showing up and giving lip in front of the troops didn't move the Lieutenant to unholster his pistol and shoot the man on the spot. And Scarcliff knew, in his heart of hearts, that if something like that had happened a week or less ago, he wouldn't have even concerned himself with it.

He remembered shoving a cocked and loaded pistol into the face of the Green River stagecoach driver and and inwardly cringed. The thought brought up the memory of Fiona's green eyes flashing with fury, and he felt embarrassed that she ever had reason to have that view of him. He glanced helplessly at her, knowing he had no other choice but to release Lynch's men if he didn't want her to hate him. Damn it. I can't let that matter to me. He gritted his teeth. But...God help me...it does.

She gave a glance back into the cell, her face impassive but her hands clenched and white knuckled. He wasn't sure she wasn't trembling.

He looked over at Collins as the two men were let out of the cell. The Lieutenant was barely concealing the fact that he was incandescent with rage. Scarcliff cringed again, sizing up the two prisoners. Judging from the look on his weathered and grizzled face, the older man was nearly as angry at the younger one as Collins was.

Scarcliff sighed and narrowed his eyes. "Let's hear it."

The older man gave the younger of the two one last scowl before turning his attention to Scarcliff. He was tall, bear-like and ungroomed, with coffee stains on his worn flannel shirt. His salt and pepper hair and beard tangled around his head and across his chin like overgrown sagebrush. "Like I told your men," he said in a deep, gravelly rasp. "We work for Mr. Lynch here. He's overdue home and we figured there was trouble. He's got Miss Lewis-Smythe with him...so we figured we best come get them both. They're needed back at the station."

Scarcliff raised an eyebrow at Mr. Lynch, who nodded. "Yes, Captain. That's Devereaux and Peltier. They work for me." Lynch turned his piercing gaze onto his men. He did not look happy. "What the hell's going on, here?" he said, in a tone that suggested he didn't really want to hear the answer. "Who's minding your station, Dev? And what's going on at the Green?"

"Couple of the Lewis boys from Ham's Fork are minding the place till I get back." Devereaux grunted, glancing at Fiona and then back at his employer. "Monahan ended up shooting a man that came out to the station to make trouble. Sheriff Holt's probably going to want to talk to you."

Scarcliff didn't think it was possible for the scowling furrows on Lynch's face to get any deeper. His face was puckered into a simmering rictus of barely contained anger. "One of those Yarl sons of bitches?"

Devereaux shook his head. "No. There's more to it than that. We'll talk later."

"You." Scarcliff turned his attention to the younger man, who looked to be far more Native than his middle-aged companion. He was slender and athletic, with strong shoulders and sleek, straight hair pulled back in a neat braid. Hairpipe and silver gleamed at this throat and he wore a Hudson's Bay blanket coat against the chill. Scarcliff drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You clearly like to run your mouth. Do you have anything to add?"

Peltier shoved his hands into his pockets and shook his head, glancing back over at Devereaux. He looked like he had plenty to say, but was intelligent enough to not say it. "No. "

Scarcliff nodded, relieved. If the man had said anything but 'no sir', Collins would probably have lost his damned mind. He glanced over at Fiona again. She was staring at the floor, her shoulders sagging with relief. She favored him with a tight, almost frightened smile and nod of thanks before cutting her eyes to the floor. "Alright...well," he said lamely, turning his attention back to Lieutenant Collins. "We need to go discuss this in my office. Lieutenant?" He put his hat back on and headed for the door. "Mr. Devereaux, Mr. Peltier...you can bunk with the scouts until we figure out what to do with you. Don't force me to make an example out of you. Mr. Lynch, you're responsible for these two. If they get into trouble, I hold you accountable."

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