The Maverick of Copper Creek by R.C. Ryan

would have had time to call for help, and Bear would still be alive.”
    â€œOr you’d both be dead. Don’t play this game with yourself, lass.”
    â€œBut what if—?”
    â€œI’ll not go there.” Maddock slapped his palm hard on the arm of his wheelchair and turned away from the table. Over his shoulder his burr thickened with passion. “Nor will you. Bear is gone, Willow. And if we’re to honor his life, we move ahead and make this ranch and this family a living testimony to all that he believed.”
    Though he heard her crying softly, he didn’t turn back to her.
    He waited until he heard her footsteps leaving the room.
    Alone in the kitchen, the old man buried his face in his hands and wept bitter tears.

Chapter Seven
    H ere we are.” Brady Storm pulled up in front of the row of buildings, before driving around to the back to park.
    Wylie’s Saloon looked like every other dingy bar in every small town. It sat on Main Street. An old wooden building that hadn’t seen a coat of paint in twenty years or more. A scarred heavy door that creaked and groaned every time it opened or closed. Inside, the smell of stale beer and greasy burgers hung like a cloud over a long wooden bar that bore the scratches of a thousand beer mugs. Tables and chairs were scattered around the room, with booths along the side and back walls. A small dance floor opened up the middle of the room, where two cowboys and their girlfriends danced to Tim McGraw singing about living like you were dying.
    The room was crowded with ranchers and wranglers, cowboys and drifters.
    â€œGot what he deserved,” Luther Culkin was saying. “My only question is how he managed to avoid being killed sooner.” Luther, tall, muscled, considered himself the toughest cowboy in a town full of tough cowboys. He wore his dark hair in a ponytail, not because of any need for fashion, but because he was too cheap to pay a barber. He’d rather spend his money on booze. The more he drank, the more he hungered for a good fight. “If I were to make up a list of men wanting Bear MacKenzie dead, I’d be here till midnight.”
    â€œWho do they think killed Bear?” one of the cowboys asked.
    Behind the bar, Wylie shrugged. “If Chief Pettigrew is to be believed, every man, woman, and child around these parts is a suspect.”
    Over their beers and whiskeys, looks were exchanged.
    And though everyone in the saloon knew everyone else, there was the nagging little thought that one of them just might be the vicious gunman who’d ended Bear MacKenzie’s fabled life. As soon as Whit and Ash stepped inside, the loud voices, the laughter died. For the space of several seconds, nobody made a sound as all eyes were fixed on the two men who had not only lost their father, but had lost him in the first murder most of this town could ever recall.
    As the two MacKenzie brothers moved toward the bar, a few of the wranglers found their voices.
    â€œHey, Whit. I’m sorry about your pa.”
    â€œThanks, Marty.”
    â€œAsh.” A cowboy stood and stuck out his hand. “Figured you’d come home for the funeral. Sorry about your loss.”
    Wylie looked up from the bar, where he’d been pouring drinks. “Whit. Ash. We all heard the awful news. Sorry…” His gaze was arrested by Griff and his words faded. He did a double take before regaining his voice. “Who’s this with you?”
    Ash had given some thought to how he’d handle the introductions to Griff. Wylie had just given him the perfect opening.
    In a clear voice he said, “I’d like you all to meet Griff Warren.”
    Nonie Claxton was staring at Griff as she sidled up beside Ash. “Since the bar’s nearly full, how about a booth?” She lowered her voice. “I’ve got a big one in the back. Away from the noise.”
    Ash shot her a grateful smile. “Sounds fine,