Harriet pulled the reins slightly, calling out to the high-stepping Hackney mare pulling the lightweight buggy she drove. For several moments, she simply sat and stared at the rambling timber and stone house in front of her. Blackbird Lodge, the main ranch house of Lost Lake Ranch had become her home. It was so good to be breathing the fresh Montana mountain air. She slumped against the padded back of the buggy's seat and sighed. Harriet was exhausted after her travels only rousing when a young man approached.

"Welcome home, Miss Harriet," he said, laying a gentle hand on the chestnut mare's nose.

"Thanks, Dwight, it's good to be home," Harriet said, allowing him to help down from the buggy. Leaning in, she picked up a large carryall. "My trunk is in the back. You might need help getting it inside."

"I'll take care of it and the rig, ma'am," Dwight settled the mare and called out for someone to come up from the nearby barn to help him.

Harriet had been in Boston for the last few months. Her younger sister had sent a request for Harriet to come visit and stay through the birth of her first child. Since Josephine's pregnancy was high-risk and she was mostly confined to her bed, Harriet had happily obliged. Oh, but how she missed Montana and....Quentin...as hard as that was to believe. 

Heading into the house, she dropped her carryall on the floor and began unpinning her hat while calling out, "I'm home! Anyone here?"

Quentin stood in the middle of the Ranch house's gun room. He was finishing buckling on the black gun belt and adjusting it so it rested comfortably on his hips, then he tightened it snug so it didn't move and could hold the weight of the guns destined for it. The belt had been custom made for him by the saddle maker in town. With all the trouble that had been slowly building, Quentin had decided it was time to be ready for whatever might be coming. He had been wearing a gun for years, and had used them extensively back when he had lived in San Francisco...hiring himself out to help people who had made a choice not to live or die by the gun. When he had come back here after his sister had been killed, he had only used his guns for field work and self-defense.

Cantrell walked over to the small table and picked up the strangest looking of the weapons. The weapon had started life as a lever action rifle chambered in .45 Long Colt. Quentin had visited the town gunsmith and explained what he had in mind and the man had proven as good as his reputation. The shortened weapon was only a bit longer than a full size cavalry pistol. The barrel and magazine had been cut down right past the end of the wooden forearm and the shoulder stock had been trimmed off just past the lever. The gunsmith had taken off the front and rear sights and had braised a brass bead to the barrel band at the end of the weapon. Quentin had practiced and found the bead worked fine for fast sighting and, if he took just a moment to aim, it functioned perfectly fine for medium distances. The loading gate on the side meant that Quentin could feed shells into the weapon constantly without the cumbersome reload speed of most revolvers. He pulled some shells from a box on the table and thumbed them into the loading gate, putting six into the magazine and then he worked the action and slowly lowered the hammer and fed a seventh round into the magazine. Quentin held it to his side and hooked the upper end into the special made holster and rotated it into the spring steel clip at the bottom end.

Quentin then reached and tugged a polished wooden box over in front of him. This box had come from San Francisco...pulled from a safe and shipped to him after a telegram he had sent to the place he had lived at for several years. A box representing a life he had figured was behind him, but the items inside had saved his life too many times not to make use of once more. He turned the catch and opened the lid, revealing a pair of revolvers. The pair of Colts inside were nickel plated with Bird's head grips. Both were identical...four inch barrels for a mix of speed and accuracy. The shorter barrels and bird's head grips made them smaller than normal Colts. Quentin had two holsters made for the belt. One was a cross draw forward of his left hip for right hand draw, and the other was angled behind his back so he could get at it with his left hand in an emergency. Both were also chambered for .45 Long Colt so one size round worked with all three weapons. Quentin had been practicing with all three for the past week after they had arrived. Quentin loaded both revolvers with five rounds so the hammers rested on an empty chamber. He slid one into the cross draw holster and the other behind his back, pushing both into the snug leather.

Quentin had already filled the belt loops with rounds and now he walked around in the gun room...feeling the weight and getting used to the sensation. The cut down Winchester was a novel feeling and Cantrell knew he would have to get used to it, but it was also reassuring in a lot of ways. There was a storm coming and one way or the other, Quentin was going to be standing after it passed.

The sound of the front door opening and then closing came faintly to Quentin but he only registered it peripherally while he was looking at himself in the wall mirror. Suddenly the familiar female voice called out and hit Quentin like lightning. His eyes widened and were matched by his reflection along with the sudden smile that washed across his face. He turned and ran out of the gun room and dashed toward the front foyer. Quentin slowed to a stop at the sight of Harriet and just stared at her for several heartbeats...he then gave himself a mental shake and ran closer, sweeping her up into a strong hug that lifted her feet off the floor and spun her in a full circle before he sat her down...

Harriet gave a slight squeak of surprise as Quentin swept her off her feet, literally and figuratively. Her heartbeat quickened and her eyes brightened at the sight of him. Quentin's enthusiastic greeting left her breathless and very, very happy. She had not been sure of her reception after her months' long absence. Even though she had written to him regularly, almost all of her letters had ended with a variety of reasons for delaying her return to Montana. Now, she took a step back and looked at the man that had somehow managed to steal into her heart.

"You are looking well," Harriet said although she felt it was a lame statement and in no way conveyed how happy she was to be home and to see him. She swayed a bit closer then, "I have missed seeing you...It is good to be home." Her twilight gray eyes glistened slightly, then she noted his attire, specifically the gun belt and a faint frown appeared, "I see you are ready for trouble. I think maybe we should have tea and you can catch me up," Harriet paused and then said again, "I have missed you."

Quentin grinned at her greeting, and he stepped back and spread his arms to let her get a better look at him.

"Being a gentleman rancher seems to agree with me..." Quentin then leaned in as she stepped closer and gave her a quick kiss before straightening. He saw her eyes move down to his gun belt and his good humor faded a bit.

"Right, this...There's been some trouble brewing...so I figured I needed to be ready..." Quentin nodded at her suggestion of tea and conversation. "That sounds fine..." He walked with her into the kitchen and gestured to the table.

"Have a seat, I've learned to make a pretty decent cup of tea...it helped remind me of you." Quentin busied himself with making the kettle...filling it and then setting it on the stove so it could begin heating. He stepped over and began assembling the tray of tea accessories, laying out the full array instead of just his usual items. Quentin then moved over and set it down between them and settled into the other chair...noting he was able to sit comfortably with the belt and was pleased with that discovery.

"So...how was the trip back home?"

"It was long and tiring, but I enjoyed the view of the changing countryside from the train. Josephine and the baby are doing good although that child is, as the Scottish would say, a  lusty bairn," Harriet replied with a delicate shudder. She gestured to the tea tray and kettle, "It's good that you've learned to fend for yourself. Gives Mary a break."  She tilted her head and looked around. Very little had changed in the house although it seemed very quiet. She assumed the now six-year-old twins, Cody and Nettie, were up in the schoolroom with their nanny. The silence of the big house was almost deafening, "And  you," she added softly, "how have you been?"

Quentin gave a shrug. "Oh, you know...working to keep the ranch running...dealing with the Steelgraves..." Quentin glanced around to make sure none of the family was around, then back at Harriet. "You remember the gunfight I told you about from a while back?...Well, that was the good time...They have been building strength and they don't care who they hire or bring in, as long as they have guns and aren't afraid to use them..."

The kettle began to whistle and Quentin stood and grabbed the handle with a cloth and turned, pouring the hot water into both cups and placing the kettle back onto the stove before resuming his seat.

"Anyway...Elias and his kin have had a few setbacks of their own but mostly sideshows compared to their main goals. Things are going to get worse long before they get better. I know it deep down inside, and I think we're going to need help if we're going to keep the Steelgraves at bay. Marshal Guyer means well but he doesn't have the numbers to keep order in town and help us."

"Then, we find help," Harriet replied firmly, "and we do whatever it takes to protect this place and the twins' inheritance. You and Shade surely know men that will hire on. What about Hannah Cory? I heard she left the marshal's office. She is an excellent markswoman and fearless on top of that. She couldn't live in the bunkhouse, but we could house her in one of the unused family cabins."

Quentin looked thoughtful, nodding slowly. "Hannah would definitely be an asset. If she's willing to help I would be happy to have her..." Quentin prepared his tea without thinking as he contemplated. "...We could use more than that for help. Even if everyone was here who would normally be here we would still be outnumbered. Problem is...we start hiring randomly, we chance maybe bringing in some of Steelgraves' own people in and end up with snakes within our own walls."

Quentin took a sip of his tea and then looked at Harriet. "You know of any gangs of hardened gunmen with a streak of goodness willing to help out a besieged ranch?" He chuckled at the very idea.

Harriet shook her head after taking a sip of the tea, "No. We cannot risk random hires. But you know people and I am certain Shade does also. Maybe Hannah as well." She tipped her head to one side, "And do not count me out in a fight Quentin Cantrell," she paused, "The tea is excellent, by the way."

Quentin smiled. "Thanks, I've had plenty of time to practice. My first attempts were pretty bad..." Quentin then straightened as if remembering something. "That reminds me, I want you to have my old hideaway pistol. It's in the gun room, and I think it would make a good protection for you, especially with the way things are going around here."

Harriet's eyes danced. She was accomplished with knives and throwing stars. Fang, her former guardian and more of a father figure than her actual father had been, had seen to that. He had also taught her some of his Far Eastern fighting styles, but more as a way for her to center herself when stressed which had been often in the olden days. Soon after arriving in Kalispell, Quentin had started teaching her to shoot. She had practiced on her own and even gotten some tips from Shade. While in Boston, she had continued her self-training by attending a new and somewhat outlandish shooter's club that actually allowed women clientele.

Rising to her feet, she nodded in the direction of the gun room, "Lead on. No time like now to show me the pistol and tell me more of what is going on around here," Harriet suggested, "I think you'll be proud of my progress with firearms."

Quentin gestured and fell in beside her as they headed in the direction of the gun room. "Progress? I seem to recall the police in a city like Boston would take a dim view of someone practicing shooting in their backyard...how did you manage that?"

Harriet waved a hand airily, "Oh yes, Boston's gun laws are very restrictive. Too much so, if you ask me," she said adamantly. "I took out a membership at a new shooting club that had an indoor range in town and property where they had an outdoor range and skeet shooting area. They also offered instruction. I learned as much as I could in the little time I had to spend at the club."

They walked into the gun room and Quentin moved to a nearby table. He picked up a cloth wrapped object and slowly unfolded the covering. He turned and showed the Colt revolver to Harriet, extending it toward her. This one was different than the two Quentin currently wore. It's barrel was even shorter and the sights were filed down a bit. Quentin watched her take the offered revolver

Harriet took the proffered pistol and smiled. "It feels great in my hand." She confidently checked to make sure it was unloaded before holding it out and down, sighting down the barrel. "I love it. My Deringer has limited capacity and is really only good for a close up threat. Fortunately, I've kept up my knife practice too. Fang was able to join me in Boston and travel back to San Francisco with me." It had been good to spend time with her firm's troubleshooter, former guardian, and very dear friend.

Quentin grinned. "I have a practice area out back. I expanded the one Shade had..." Quentin looked a little abashed. "...I figured I needed to get back in practice."

Harriet shifted the pistol to her right hand and lay her left on his arm, "I understand, Quentin. I read your letters time and time again and found a newsstand that got in the Kalispell paper...out of date, but still news. We need for Shade to get home too. If necessary, I will travel to Arizona and track him down or send Fang."

Quentin shook his head and rested a hand on hers. "You just got here...you're not going anywhere. If we have to go hunt for Shade you can send word to Fang, but for now you're staying right here..." Quentin grinned wider. "...Now, what would you like to do, next?"

Harriet almost blushed at Quentin's hand on hers and his question. She was no longer a schoolgirl though and not given to blushes and giggles even at the touch of his hand which she had longed for while away in Boston. 

Laughing, Harriet nodded at the pistol in her hand, "First, I want to go change into appropriate attire and then I want to go out to the practice field and try this out.  After that, a quiet dinner with you and the twins and catching up on all the news. Checking in at my office in town can wait until tomorrow. I have a ton of correspondence to go through, but not today."

Quentin nodded. "That all sounds excellent...I'll grab some boxes of ammunition and go out and arrange some targets..." Quentin started to turn then he glanced back. "...Otherwise I'll be tempted to follow you." He threw Harriet a wink then headed for the storage closet across the room, idly whistling to himself as he fished his keys from his pocket.

Harriet chuckled softly and watched Quentin for a moment before she headed up to her room to change. She stopped by the schoolroom long enough to say hello to the twins and meet their new nanny. After assuring them that she was home to stay, Harriet headed for her bedroom to change into a split riding skirt, soft leather boots, a button down blouse, and a vest with pockets to hold the ammo. It was not considered ladylike to wear a gunbelt, but she pulled a custom made belt and holster from her travel bag. She might have to have adjustments made to suit the gun Quentin had given her, but for now, it should suffice.

Less than fifteen minutes later, she had exited the house and headed for the firing range that Quentin and Shade had set up for the ranch's use. It was far enough from the house and barns to not be bothersome and close enough to walk to. A soft breeze teased tendrils of Harriet's dark auburn hair loose from the braid. So much for being practical and keeping my hair out of my face, she thought. Upon reaching the field, she called out to let Quentin know she was there.

"Hey, cowboy, come here often?" She called, laughing happily despite the very serious reason she wanted to start training with the new weapon.

Quentin finished setting up some empty bottles on the fence rail and glanced back over his shoulder. "I only come here for the women..." He poked a thumb at a rough wooden table back near where she was standing. "...Your ammunition is on the table, .44-40..." He stepped back and looked at his handiwork, then walked back toward Harriet. He stopped and then indicated the targets. "Shade and I decided to make a few different kinds of targets to practice our different skills." He pointed at some stuffed sacks hanging from ropes. "Those can sit still or swing so we practice on moving targets..."

Quentin then pointed at a few fence posts with square boards nailed to them. "Those are for drawing speed and accuracy..." then he indicated the bottles lining the two fence rails. "And finally some small target practice for when someone might be behind cover..."

Quentin moved around and stood behind the table with the ammunition boxes sitting on it. He nodded to Harriet. "Ladies first!"

Harriet took a deep breath and stepped up to load her new revolver. She had handled guns of that caliber during practice and training in Boston, but this was different. It was not that she wanted to impress Quentin with her newfound expertise, but she did want him to be proud of her. That made her a bit nervous and also threw her off. It had been many years since she had wanted to make any man proud of her and not be a disappointment to them. Her father had cured her of any expectations on that front.

She laughed a touch nervously, "Let me work my way up to moving targets," Harriet said with a smile. She had changed into a comfortable split skirt and tailored blouse before coming to the range. She had also put on her new custom-made gun belt and holster. To her delight, the pistol Quentin had given her slid into the holster, fitting it as if it had been made for it.

"I am not a fast gun," Harriet warned Quentin as she took her stance.

Quentin nodded as he walked from behind the table and stood beside her. "There's no real secret to being a good shot...the real secret is to be a good shot under pressure and fast enough when it counts..." He pointed toward one of the normal board on fence post targets. "...Slow is Smooth, and Smooth becomes Fast. Start out with your pistol in your hand and extended...fire at the board...if you hit the center regularly, then start with the pistol in the holster. Draw it steadily but not fast, cock the hammer once it is in front of you and fire as soon as you are sure of a hit. Repeat that until you can do it by feel. Then work on cocking the hammer between the holster and bringing it up, try to fire the moment it comes level...feel the accuracy instead of lining up the sights. Your muscles should tell you when you're right."

Quentin's right hand whipped around and drew one of his revolvers, it seemed to fly up from his waist and barely settled near his eye level before it banged, the puff of white smoke faded and a hole was within a coin width of the center of the board. "That's a lot of cartridges and time spent practicing, seasoned with more than a few real skirmishes. My first real gunfight I emptied the gun I wore and only hit my opponent once and he was as close as you are now. It's a lesson I was lucky to live to learn."

Harriet listened, filing away the information. However, when Quentin went into action, everything happened so incredibly fast, she was left blinking. She smiled at him, "I am glad luck was on your side. Glad for you and even happier for me."

Harriet left the revolver in her holster for the moment. Without moving or betraying her intent by facial expression, she whirled and did an arm movement that looked as if she were simply extending her hand really fast. In truth, she had twitched her arm muscles a tad, slid one of her throwing knives into her hand and threw it at one of the board targets all in one smooth move. Like Quentin, she moved as fast as a striking snake.

"Muscle memory. It's what Fang impressed on me when he was teaching me to throw and some of his fighting moves," Harriet told him and smiled at the memories. "I will put in the practice," she promised before turning to draw the pistol from the holster, pulling the hammer back as she took her shooting stance, arm extended, body angled slightly to reduce herself as a target. Taking a deep breath, she squeezed the trigger. As the last cartridge was spent, she opened the cylinder and dumped the brass into her hand, making sure it was cool enough to store in her pocket. Money could be saved by reloading their own or trading the brass in at the gunsmith.

Quentin glanced to make sure she was reloading and he walked across the distance separating them from the targets. He held up a hand and his palm and spread fingers covered all the holes on the board. "You have really improved. Your accuracy is getting very tight. If you can get your draw speed to match how you handled that knife, there are only a handful of men around here who would want to face you. Problem is, most people don't know you're getting this good, so you're going to have to prove it to someone...probably sooner than later."

Quentin finished setting some bottles on a fence rail that was part of their makeshift range. He walked back to the firing area and tugged the mare's leg from it's clip on his thigh. He pulled the hammer back then swung the chopped down rifle against his hip, bracing himself as he began firing...working the lever with short efficient strokes as he point fired at the bottles on the rail. He mostly hit with each shot he fired, missing only two on the first shot but getting each with the follow up. Quentin straightened and began to thumb shells into the loading gate of the mare's leg, turning to face Harriet as he was holding the short weapon across his chest, sliding the rounds into the weapon with his left hand. "This beauty will come in real handy someday...I can out reach a lot of handguns and can reload faster than someone with a loading gate..."

Harriet had followed Quentin's movements closely, filing the information of how he handled the weapon away in her head. She slid her pistol back into its holster, finding that she liked the way it felt on her hip. She continued to eye the mare's leg, considering her next requests. "First, I need a practical solution for carrying a gun when I'm not clad in split skirts or trousers. I simply cannot wear a gunbelt and holster with a gown or in court. Second," she pointed at the gun he was holding, "teach me."

Quentin finished reloading the mare's leg and stood holding it as he realized what Harriet had said. He blinked and held out the weapon. "This?...it's a little unusual but I think it has potential..." He extended his arm and let her take the cut down weapon. "I haven't put one in the chamber yet...get a feel for it before you give it a try."

Quentin thought a moment as he watched her experiment with the hybrid weapon. "Well...back East I remember some of the gentlemen gamblers tended to carry their revolvers in a..." Quentin moved his hands to indicate straps around his sides and pointed under his left arm. "...and the weapon rode here under a jacket or coat. Some of them were pretty adept at getting them into use when needed."

Harriet practiced with a few different holds to get a feel for the odd gun, then lowered it and considered what Quentin was saying about how to carry her gun. "I do usually wear a jacket when in town," she said. It was true. Harriet preferred skirts and tailored blouses with a vest or jacket over dresses. She might have to alter the tailoring on some of her jackets, but it would be a good option over trying to fit the pistol into a carryall, briefcase or handbag.

She paid close attention as Quentin coached her in the use of the hybrid gun. She acquitted herself respectably on the targets, but frowned. "Perhaps, I should stick to carrying my rifle in the buggy when traveling to and from Kalispell," she said. "This has a bit more kick than I can handle one-handed and two hands seems awkward to me."

Quentin nodded. "It's an unusual idea, but I have a feeling the Steelgraves won't be wanting a fair fight if they continue with their little scheme, and the last thing I want to give them is a fair fight..." He stood there reloading the mare's leg as they talked. "...I have also been thinking we might need to think about some more help. Men we can trust instead of just some hired guns to help handle those Evergreen thugs..." Quentin glanced over at Harriet. "...Would you have a problem if I sent out a few telegrams to some...old friends?"

Harriet stared out across the target range for several moments. The Steelgraves could not be trusted and the grudge between the ranches was old and deeply engrained. Evergreen was not going to back down and, for the sake of the twins, Lost Lake could not afford to. More and more, it was looking like a range war was coming. Harriet shivered slightly at the thought. "No, I do not have a problem with it. All things considered, it is likely a good idea. It is not what I want, but I do not see a way to avoid it either," she gazed at Quentin for a few moments before continuing, "I am not much use on the fighting end of things although I feel I can hold my own now. However, I might have some legal recourses I can take to protect the twins. I had hoped their age might serve as protection but I can't count on that. My best option is to make you and Shade bigger targets."

Quentin pushed a final round into the loading gate of his Mare's Leg before her words caught up in his mind. "How in the world are you going to be able to make me...and Shade, wherever he is...bigger targets than we already are? I half expect to hazard myself the next time I go into town."

Harriet did not answer right away. She was mentally running figures and legal precedent. Her idea would safely take the twins out of the picture for awhile and increase the pressure on Shade and Quentin. Of course she could achieve the same ends by simply removing the twins from the area. She shook her head trying to clear the mental cobwebs that had grown while she was away and not working.

"Technically, we would not have to resort to the legal maneuver that I have in mind, but it would be a second layer of protection for the children. The easiest recourse would be to simply send the twins away," Harriet said to Quentin. "Hopefully, removing them from the area would automatically protect them although Elias Steelgrave has a long reach. Alternately, I contact Judge Mandrill and see if he would modify his ruling until the twins reach majority. The ranch and all Thornton Legacy businesses would revert to you and Shade." Again Harriet shook her head, "I see flaws in both plans."

Quentin rubbed his chin as he pondered the two courses Harriet proposed. "I don't trust Elias not to spend the resources to send people after the twins...he's just that underhanded just to use them as leverage, and if he did end up hurting either one of them, I really don't want to spend the time it would take to burn Evergreen to the ground and sow the ground with salt...that's a lot of work." He picked up a cartridge from the table and tossed it randomly up in the air and caught it while he continued thinking. "...Any legal maneuvering of yours only picks who the biggest target would be of the three of us. All that does is change the size of the target, but if you think of anything that can only cause the Steelgraves headaches while they try to get their hooks into the ranch, then you should by all means do it."

"What about Fang?" Harriet asked Quentin, "I not only make the legal changes that means Steelgrave cannot get at the ranch by eliminating the twins and we send them to stay with Fang or have him come here to act as their guardian along with Hannah Cory."

Alistair Fang had been Harriet's guardian for many years before and after her father's death. He had taught her martial arts and how to throw and fight with the knives. Currently, he worked as her troubleshooter and fixer. She felt sure that Fang could protect the children.

Quentin nodded almost immediately. "Send for him. I would rather have him be the last line of defense for the children but here at the ranch. I want our enemies to have to get through the people here at the ranch AND Fang if they want the kids..." Quentin leaned against the range table and smiled. "It would be nice if Shade was here to help out, but I have an idea for some help. You'd like him...real unsavory sort."

"Unsavory?" Harriet's expression was pure wariness. "I would think that as far as unsavory goes, you and Shade have that covered." In the past, she had never hesitated to attack their character, particularly Shade's. However, this time, her tone was teasing. 

Quentin grinned at her tone as well as what she said. He knew that both he and Shade had not filled her with much reassurance about the future of the ranch, but things had come a long way since those early days. "Oh yes...I know you have a great weakness for unsavory scoundrels."

Harriet turned away from Quentin to stare at the rugged beauty of the mountains that surrounded them. From the range, she could see a glimmer of Lost Lake, the vast crater lake that lay just below the main the house, deep, blue and mysterious. Beyond were thick stands of trees, pines and old growth hardwoods. In between lay the meadows and fields that provided rich grazing for the ranch's herds of cattle and fine working horses. There were even a few bison that still roamed the lower regions of the mountains and, higher up, the mighty and agile mountain goats. Most days, one could hear the call of eagles and other birds of prey.

"This place, the twins, you...and yes...even Shade...are worth fighting for," Harriet smiled, "I'll send for Fang."

Quentin nodded. "We'll go into town tomorrow and send the telegrams...You for Fang and me for my friend."