Chapter Thirty-one

Blake Wilkie was a bear of a man, both in temperament and size. Standing six foot seven inches, he weighed two hundred sixty pounds, most of it muscle from a life spent ranching. He watched Tibbs and Harper ride toward town and then headed his mount for his own home.

Arriving at his ranch house, he congratulated his waiting hired hands on a job well done and surveyed the confiscated cattle in one of the fenced-in fields. Under the direction of his foreman, his branding team was already changing the brand on each of them. Wilkie had a phony bill of sale to show he had purchased these cattle from a ranch with the brand the men were placing over Tibbs and Harper's Circle TH brand.

Blake assured these men, whom he had handpicked, that they would receive a large bonus for this day's work and for keeping their mouths shut about what had happened. He warned them not to discuss it even with the remaining cowhands that were out on the range with the large Wilkie herd. Then he growled, "Anybody know where Howard is?"

The two ranch hands who had brought Wilkie's drunken son home from town glanced uncomfortably at each other.

"I think he's in the house, sir," one of them supplied.

Blake stormed across the ranch yard and up the porch steps.

"Sure wouldn't want to be in Howard's boots about now," one of the cowboys remarked, and the others nodded.

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"Howard!" Blake stormed through the living room, the dining room, the kitchen, calling for his son. When he reached the study, he found Howard struggling to his feet from the couch, obviously severely hungover.

"Pa, I was just coming to help you… with the raid on Tibbs and Harper's place." Howard stumbled forward, grabbing the desk to stay upright.

Blake stomped across the room. "It's done already. And as usual, you were worthless!"

He backhanded Howard. In his woozy condition, Howard was knocked to his knees. From there, Blake jerked his son back to his feet and proceeded with lambasting him as he delivered blow after blow. Blake's final strike landed Howard flat on his back.

Towering over his son, he bellowed, "Why can't you be a real man, like Jess Harper?"

Howard glared up at his father. No matter how much the old man wanted to be rid of Harper and Tibbs, no matter how much he hated Harper, Blake Wilkie still respected the Texan. He had made that clear to Howie on one occasion after another.

Jess Harper don't have no quit in him.
Jess Harper would have tamed that mustang.
Harper wouldn't have let a steer get away like that.
Harper can outride you six ways to Sunday.
Harper sure can hold his whiskey better than you.
Harper could whip you in a fistfight with one hand tied behind him.
Harper would have only needed one shot to take that wolf down.
Harper can shoot better blindfolded than you could with eight eyes.

Harper this… Harper that…

During the past few months, over and over again Howard had listened to his father hold Jess Harper up as the perfect example of a rancher. The perfect example of a man.

His father went on about…

Harper's courage.
His strength.
His endurance.
His dedication.
His common sense.
His bargaining skill.
His negotiation ability.
His intelligence.

Well, Howard knew he himself had some brains. He was better educated than most. He was good with bookkeeping. He felt he would be able to offer advice about the ranch finances and could make good management decisions, if only his father would let him be involved in something like that.

But the one time Blake Wilkie had assigned his son to oversee the purchase of some stock, Howard had failed to close the deal at a good price. He had cost his father a lot of money and had apologized for it. And he believed he had learned from his mistake. But his father refused to give him another chance to prove himself as a ranch owner rather than a ranch hand.

Blake Wilkie would allow no control over─or even what he saw as interference in─the operations of his ranching empire. Not even from his son. All he wanted from Howard was for him to be a top ranch hand, which was something Howie had little interest in or talent for.

It had been hard enough for Howard to try to influence his father to see him in any capacity other than daily ranch work, and increasingly difficult to gain his father's respect for his limited abilities as a cowhand, before Jess Harper showed up in Willow. Now, with the constant comparisons to Harper, it had become impossible.

Lately, the comparisons were extending even beyond the ranch. His father was continually coming home and telling Howard how much the men in the town respected Harper. How much the women admired him. How even the mayor and the sheriff spoke highly of the man who was previously known for his reputation as a gunslinger, but was increasingly becoming known as a good citizen whom others could count on for help, humor, and proper handling of any situation.

In Blake Wilkie's eyes, his son fell short in all capacities, especially when compared to Jess Harper. And he made sure Howard knew that.

Why? Why did he do that? Howard wondered.

Was it in an attempt to motivate his son to work harder? Or was it simply to display Blake's disappointment that there was no hope for Howard ever to improve enough to measure up? Howard didn't know the reason for his father beating him down with his words and his fists. And he didn't care anymore what excuse Blake might come up with if he cared enough to try to explain it. Because no reason was justification for the abuse his father heaped on him.

He thought about leaving home. But the fact was, his father was a very wealthy man, and Howard was the only child he had. Howard would inherit this ranching empire. He felt he deserved to inherit it, and he would stick around and make sure he did. But how could he endure until that day arrived?

What came as a final knife to Howard's spirit this time, though, was what his father said as he stomped away. Leaving Howard laid out on the floor, Blake snarled at him in contempt, hurling over his shoulder the ultimate insult.

"Harper would be a son I could be proud of."

It was at that moment, wiping the blood from his chin, that Howard Wilkie made a silent vow. He would not rest until he saw his father's dead body.

And Jess Harper's too.