âHi.â
Gramps studied her sons for what seemed like minutes before he nodded. It was then that Molly saw the sheen of tears in his tired eyes. He sat up and braced both hands on his knees.
âYouâve done a fine job raising these boys of yours, Molly. A fine, fine job.â
âThat her?â Lance whispered, staring out from the alley between the café and hardware store. He motioned with his head toward Molly Cogan.
She walked out of the Sweetgrass bank, glancing up at the man beside her. He wore a Stetson and walked like a cowboy.
Monroeâs gaze followed his fellow Loyalistâs to the other side of the street. It surprised him that a cantankerous old guy like Wheaton would have a granddaughter this attractive. From what he understood, sheâd been divorced a number of years. A woman whoâd been that long without a husband might appreciate some attention from the right kind of man. Heâd heard redheads could be real wild women in the sack.
He quickly banished the thought from his mind. Itâd be a mistake to mix business with pleasure. And it could end up being a costly mistake. Once this matter of getting hold of the ranch was settled, heâd show her the difference between a Montana man and a city boy.
Oh, yeah. Monroe had heard all about those men in California, especially in the San Francisco area. Those gay boys sure didnât know what to do with a woman. Seemed they were stuck on each other, if you could imagine that! The whole damn country was going to hell in a handbasketâbut not if he could help it. Thatâs what the Loyalists were all about. They were a militia groupâbeen around for ten years or so. At their last meeting, more than a hundred men had crammed the secret meeting place to show their support for the changes he and the other Loyalists were planning to bring about. Of course some folks who didnât know any better took exception to the cause. Walt Wheaton, for one. The old cuss was as stubborn as they came. Monroe had done everything in his power to convince the rancher to sell out. Subtly of course. Guarding his own identity and his position of power in the organization was crucial. Only Loyalists knew him as Monroe, and although heâd attended the last meeting, no one in Sweetgrass had any idea how deeply involved he was with the militia. His cover was useful and too important for Loyalist purposes to break.
After a careful study of possible sites for their training grounds, the group had decided old man Wheatonâs property was the ideal location. But Walt Wheaton had remained inflexible. As his banker, Dave Burns was in a position to put the pinch on him, but it hadnât worked. When things hadnât fallen into place, the head of the Loyalists had sent Lance to help them along. Monroe didnât think much of Lance, but he kept his opinions to himself.
In a last-ditch effort to keep violence out of the pictureânot that he was opposed to using force, if necessaryâheâd convinced the powers-that-be to give him one last chance to reason with the old rancher. He hated like hell to see a hothead like that fool Lance get credit for obtaining the property when he might finesse the deal himselfâwith a little assistance.
That was when he put the pressure on a third cousin of his to make the old man an offer he couldnât refuse. Now that Waltâs granddaughter was in town, they might finally make some headway. The ranch was on its last legs, Burns had seen to that, refusing Wheaton any more loans and calling in the ones he already had.
âHow much longer is the old guy gonna live?â Lance asked, cutting into his thoughts.
âNot long,â Monroe said under his breath. If necessary heâd let Lance give Wheaton a good shove into the hereafter, but heâd prefer to avoid that. Too messy. And the last thing the Loyalists needed was a passel of state cops and reporters looking in
Gramps studied her sons for what seemed like minutes before he nodded. It was then that Molly saw the sheen of tears in his tired eyes. He sat up and braced both hands on his knees.
âYouâve done a fine job raising these boys of yours, Molly. A fine, fine job.â
âThat her?â Lance whispered, staring out from the alley between the café and hardware store. He motioned with his head toward Molly Cogan.
She walked out of the Sweetgrass bank, glancing up at the man beside her. He wore a Stetson and walked like a cowboy.
Monroeâs gaze followed his fellow Loyalistâs to the other side of the street. It surprised him that a cantankerous old guy like Wheaton would have a granddaughter this attractive. From what he understood, sheâd been divorced a number of years. A woman whoâd been that long without a husband might appreciate some attention from the right kind of man. Heâd heard redheads could be real wild women in the sack.
He quickly banished the thought from his mind. Itâd be a mistake to mix business with pleasure. And it could end up being a costly mistake. Once this matter of getting hold of the ranch was settled, heâd show her the difference between a Montana man and a city boy.
Oh, yeah. Monroe had heard all about those men in California, especially in the San Francisco area. Those gay boys sure didnât know what to do with a woman. Seemed they were stuck on each other, if you could imagine that! The whole damn country was going to hell in a handbasketâbut not if he could help it. Thatâs what the Loyalists were all about. They were a militia groupâbeen around for ten years or so. At their last meeting, more than a hundred men had crammed the secret meeting place to show their support for the changes he and the other Loyalists were planning to bring about. Of course some folks who didnât know any better took exception to the cause. Walt Wheaton, for one. The old cuss was as stubborn as they came. Monroe had done everything in his power to convince the rancher to sell out. Subtly of course. Guarding his own identity and his position of power in the organization was crucial. Only Loyalists knew him as Monroe, and although heâd attended the last meeting, no one in Sweetgrass had any idea how deeply involved he was with the militia. His cover was useful and too important for Loyalist purposes to break.
After a careful study of possible sites for their training grounds, the group had decided old man Wheatonâs property was the ideal location. But Walt Wheaton had remained inflexible. As his banker, Dave Burns was in a position to put the pinch on him, but it hadnât worked. When things hadnât fallen into place, the head of the Loyalists had sent Lance to help them along. Monroe didnât think much of Lance, but he kept his opinions to himself.
In a last-ditch effort to keep violence out of the pictureânot that he was opposed to using force, if necessaryâheâd convinced the powers-that-be to give him one last chance to reason with the old rancher. He hated like hell to see a hothead like that fool Lance get credit for obtaining the property when he might finesse the deal himselfâwith a little assistance.
That was when he put the pressure on a third cousin of his to make the old man an offer he couldnât refuse. Now that Waltâs granddaughter was in town, they might finally make some headway. The ranch was on its last legs, Burns had seen to that, refusing Wheaton any more loans and calling in the ones he already had.
âHow much longer is the old guy gonna live?â Lance asked, cutting into his thoughts.
âNot long,â Monroe said under his breath. If necessary heâd let Lance give Wheaton a good shove into the hereafter, but heâd prefer to avoid that. Too messy. And the last thing the Loyalists needed was a passel of state cops and reporters looking in
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