Billy Bneson JUNIOR!

 

Chapter 1

The Texas heat hung thick even at midnight, turning the Benson ranch porch into a sweat lodge. Billy cracked open another Lone Star and tossed his damp t-shirt onto the porch rail alongside his three brothers' discarded shirts.

"Damn heat won't break," Jake muttered, running the cold bottle across his chest. At nineteen, he was only a year older than Billy but always tried to be the voice of reason between them – though that wasn't saying much when it came to the youngest Benson boys.

"Better than that winter freeze last February," Ray said, automatically calculating costs in his head like he always did. At twenty-six, he ran the financial side of the family operation and never stopped thinking about the bottom line. "Lost half the herd to that storm – nearly broke us that quarter."

Josh stretched back in his chair, the oldest at twenty-nine and general manager of the whole operation. "Hell, that storm damn near finished us. If Pops hadn't had that emergency fund tucked away..."

"Good thing Rebecca and little Billy the Kid are asleep," Billy grinned. "Kid would be out here trying to drink with us."

"That boy's got Benson blood, alright," Josh laughed. "Yesterday he told me he wants to rope cattle like his Uncle Billy."

"Kid's got good taste," Billy said, taking a long pull from his beer. "Perfect night for sitting out here with my brothers."

"Sheriff Wade's gonna have you married off to Jenna before you know it," Jake said. "Man's been planning that wedding since you two were kids."

"Wade loves me," Billy grinned. "I'm practically family already."

"You are family," Josh pointed out. "My wife's his daughter, so we're connected to the Nelsons every which way."

"Speaking of family," Ray said, "Pops seemed better today. That new medicine's helping his joints."

"Good," Josh nodded. "Man's been working this land since before we were born. Deserves some comfort in his golden years."

The four brothers sat in comfortable silence, the kind that comes from working the same land their whole lives. Billy and Jake especially were inseparable, barely a year apart, while Josh and Ray handled the business side that kept the ranch running.

"Another round?" Billy asked, already heading for the screen door.

"Make it the last one," Josh said. "We got that fence line to check at dawn, and the bank meeting's this week."

Billy disappeared into the house, his boots echoing on the hardwood floors that four generations of Bensons had walked. When he came back with four cold bottles, sweat was already beading on his bare shoulders again.

They talked about cattle prices, the drought, whether Pops needed a new truck, and if some out-of-state developers were really sniffing around the county. Easy conversation between brothers who'd shared everything their whole lives.

By 2 AM, Jake was nodding off in his chair.

"Alright, I'm done," Billy said, draining his fourth beer. He stood and stretched, his back popping. "Y'all can sit out here and melt if you want."

He grabbed his shirt from the rail but didn't put it on – too damn hot inside the house anyway. "See you boys at sunrise."

Billy headed upstairs, tossing his shirt on the bureau and collapsing onto his bed in just his jeans. The oscillating fan barely moved the thick air, but exhaustion and beer won out over heat.

He'd been asleep maybe twenty minutes when rough hands grabbed him. Still groggy from beer and sleep, Billy tried to swing at his attackers, but a gun barrel was shoved between his teeth before he could make a sound.

The chloroform rag came down over his nose. Billy's struggles weakened as the chemical took hold, his body going limp. They zip-tied his wrists, slapped duct tape over his mouth, and carried him barefoot and shirtless into the Texas night.

Down the hall, eight-year-old Billy the Kid woke up needing to pee. He padded to the bathroom window and looked out just as three men were shoving someone into the back of a pickup truck.

Even in the moonlight, he recognized his uncle's bare back.

"UNCLE BILLY!" the boy screamed at the top of his lungs. "THEY'RE TAKING UNCLE BILLY!"

The house exploded into motion. Jake burst from the porch, shotgun in hand, but the truck was already roaring down the dirt road, nothing left but a cloud of dust hanging in the full moon's silver light.

The screen door slammed behind them, and Billy Benson was gone.

Chapter 2

The ranch house erupted like a kicked hornet's nest. Jake burst through the screen door, shotgun still in hand, sweat and panic mixing on his face.

"They got Billy," he said, his voice tight. "Three men, pickup truck. Gone."

Josh was already pulling on his boots. "How long?"

"Maybe two minutes. Kid saw the whole thing."

Sarah appeared in the hallway in her robe, little Billy the Kid clinging to her nightgown. The eight-year-old's face was streaked with tears, but his eyes burned with something fierce.

"They took Uncle Billy!" the boy said. "I saw them put him in the truck! He wasn't moving!"

"Call Wade," Josh said, reaching for his phone.

"No." The voice was small but absolute. Everyone turned to look at little Billy the Kid. "Uncle Billy said his family would hunt them down like dogs. That's us. We're his family."

Ray knelt down to the boy's level. "Kid, we need the sheriff—"

"Grandpa Wade IS family," Billy the Kid interrupted. "But we don't wait for nobody. Uncle Billy's hurting right now."

The adults exchanged looks. The kid was eight years old, but he was thinking clearer than any of them.

Tom appeared from his bedroom, pulling on his jeans. Behind him, Pops shuffled out in his pajamas, leaning heavily on his walking stick. Five generations of Benson blood stood in the living room, and the youngest was calling the shots.

"Rebecca's already calling her daddy," Sarah said, hanging up the phone. "Wade's coming. So are Horse and Ryan."

"What about the ransom?" Ray asked, his business mind kicking in. "If they want money—"

"Fuck the money," Jake snarled, still gripping his shotgun. "These bastards came into our house."

"Language," Sarah warned automatically, then caught herself. Nothing about this night was automatic anymore.

Little Billy the Kid walked to the gun cabinet and pointed at it. "Uncle Billy always said the Bensons take care of their own. Are we gonna sit here talking, or are we gonna get him?"

Josh looked at his son – eight years old and ready for war. "What do you think we should do, Kid?"

"Everything," the boy said simply. "Grandpa Wade uses his sheriff stuff to find them. Daddy and Uncle Ray figure out the money. Uncle Jake and Grandpa Tom get the guns ready. And I..." He paused, thinking. "I make sure nobody gives up on Uncle Billy."

Pops tapped his walking stick on the floor. "Boy's got more sense than the rest of us combined. Been a Benson for ninety-three years, and I ain't never been prouder."

Car lights swept across the front windows – Wade's sheriff's vehicle, followed by two more. The Nelson men came through the door without knocking, the way they had for thirty years. Jenna burst in behind them, still in her nightgown with a jacket thrown over it, her face white with terror.

"Where is he?" she demanded, running straight to Josh. "Where's Billy?"

Wade took one look at the assembled family and understood. "This ain't going through channels, is it?"

"Would you?" Josh asked his father-in-law.

Wade considered this for exactly two seconds. "Horse, Ryan – you boys are off duty as of right now. What happens next, happens as family."

Little Billy the Kid walked up to the sheriff and grabbed his hand. "Uncle Billy's tough, Grandpa Wade. But he's been gone too long already."

Wade knelt down, his weathered face level with his great-grandson. "What do you need from me, Kid?"

"Find them," the boy said. "Find them fast."

Jenna dropped to her knees beside them, tears streaming down her face. "I can't lose him, Kid. I can't."

The eight-year-old put his small hand on her cheek. "You won't, Aunt Jenna. We're gonna bring Uncle Billy home."

The house had been chaos five minutes ago. Now it hummed with deadly purpose. The Benson and Nelson families had work to do.

Chapter 3

Billy came to slowly, his head pounding from the chloroform and the crack to his temple. The first thing he noticed was the cold – concrete floor against his bare feet, damp air that smelled of rotting wood and motor oil. The second thing was that he couldn't move.

They'd lashed him tight against what felt like a thick wooden post. His wrists were zip-tied behind the column, then roped to it. His forearms were bound against the wood, and his biceps pulled back and tied tight behind it. A rope circled his neck – not tight enough to choke him, but tight enough to remind him it was there.

More ropes crisscrossed his bare chest and stomach, lashing his torso to the column so he couldn't lean forward or twist away. His legs were tied together at the thighs and ankles, then secured to the post. His bare feet pressed against the cold concrete floor – he'd been sleeping barefoot when they grabbed him.

Billy tested the restraints carefully. Every rope was pulled tight, no slack anywhere. He could barely move his fingers, couldn't shift his weight, couldn't even turn his head more than a few inches. They'd done this before.

"Well, well. Sleeping Beauty's awake."

Three men emerged from the shadows of what looked like an old barn basement. The leader was the one who'd held the gun – tall, lean, with graying hair and dead eyes. The other two were younger, harder-looking, with the kind of prison tattoos that told stories Billy didn't want to hear.

"Billy Benson," the leader said, pulling up a folding chair and sitting backward on it. "You know why you're here?"

Billy said nothing, just stared at him with cold blue eyes.

"Your family's got money. Lots of money. We want some of it. Simple as that."

Still nothing from Billy.

"Five million dollars," the man continued. "Your brothers got three days to get it together. After that..." He shrugged. "Well, let's hope they love you enough to pay up."

One of the younger men laughed. "Look at him, Curt. Kid thinks he's tough."

Billy finally spoke, his voice steady despite the throbbing in his head. "You boys picked the wrong family to fuck with."

Curt leaned forward, studying Billy's face. "That so? Well, we picked the right kid to grab. Youngest brother, baby of the family. Bet they'll pay anything to get their little Billy back."

"You'll be dead before you spend a dime of it."

The third man stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "Want me to teach him some manners, Curt?"

"Not yet, Ray Bob. Let him get comfortable first." Curt stood up, the chair scraping against concrete. "Besides, look at him. All tied up, can't move a muscle. That rope's gonna start cutting into his skin real soon. Those ropes get tighter when he struggles, and trust me, boy – you're gonna struggle plenty before this is over."

Billy tested the ropes again, felt them bite into his wrists and chest. The bastard was right – they were designed to punish any attempt to escape.

"Three days," Curt repeated. "After that, we start sending your family pieces of you until they pay up. Or until there's nothing left to send."

As the three men headed back up the wooden stairs, Billy called after them: "My great-grandfather's been killing men longer than you've been breathing. And my brother Jake? He's been waiting his whole life for something like this."

Curt stopped on the stairs and turned back. "You know what? I'm tired of listening to you already." He nodded to Ray Bob, who pulled out a roll of duct tape.

Billy smiled – cold and dangerous despite his helpless position. "You should have killed me when you had the chance."

Ray Bob slapped the tape across Billy's mouth, pressing it down tight.

"Much better," Curt said. "Enjoy the quiet, boy. You're gonna have plenty of time to think."

The basement door slammed shut, leaving Billy alone in the dark. But the Benson fire burned just as bright in the shadows, even behind the tape.

Chapter 4

By dawn, the Benson ranch house had transformed into a war room. Wade spread county maps across the dining room table while Horse and Ryan worked their laptops, pulling traffic cam footage and running license plate searches through unofficial channels.

Ray had three phones going at once – calling banks, liquidation specialists, and old family contacts who dealt in cash transactions that didn't ask questions. The math was brutal: five million in three days, when most of their wealth was tied up in land, cattle, and long-term investments.

"We can get two million liquid by tomorrow if we leverage everything," Ray told Josh, scribbling numbers on a legal pad. "But five million..." He shook his head. "We'd have to start selling land."

"Then we sell land," Josh said without hesitation.

"That's not the point," little Billy the Kid interrupted from his perch at Wade's elbow. "We're not paying these men anything. We're going to find Uncle Billy and bring him home."

Sarah set a plate of scrambled eggs in front of her grandson, but he ignored it. The eight-year-old hadn't eaten since the screaming started, too focused on every conversation, every phone call, every map detail.

"Kid's right," Jake said, cleaning his shotgun at the kitchen table. "We don't negotiate with these bastards."

Tom nodded agreement. "But we need to be ready for both. Find them fast, or have the money ready to buy us time."

Jenna sat curled in Billy's favorite chair, clutching one of his t-shirts. She'd been silent since the initial panic, but her eyes tracked every movement, every plan.

"I got something," Horse called from his laptop. "Security footage from the gas station on Route 9. Pickup truck, three males, timestamp puts them there twenty minutes after the grab."

Everyone crowded around the screen. The image was grainy, but clear enough: a dark-colored Ford F-150, extended cab, one of the rear windows partially covered with cardboard and tape.

"Can you enhance the plates?" Wade asked.

"Working on it." Horse's fingers flew over the keyboard. "But look here – driver stops to buy cigarettes and beer. Cocky bastard's not even trying to hide."

Little Billy the Kid squeezed closer to the screen, his face inches from the monitor. "I saw that truck! When they took Uncle Billy!" He squinted at the blurry rear plate. "The license plate started with BK something. I remember because those are Uncle Billy's initials – Billy Kid like me, but backwards!"

Wade and Horse exchanged looks. "BK narrows it down considerable," Wade said. "Run Texas plates starting with BK, Ford F-150s, last five years."

Ryan looked up from his own screen. "I'm cross-referencing with recent parolees, guys with kidnapping or extortion records within two hundred miles. With the BK plates, this just got a lot easier."

Billy the Kid climbed onto a chair to see the screen better. "I told you I'd help find Uncle Billy."

"You sure did, Kid," Wade said, ruffling the boy's hair. "You just gave us our first real lead."

Tom's phone rang. The room went dead silent as he answered.

"Tom Benson... What? ... No, we want to hear what you have to say."

He put the phone on speaker. A rough voice filled the room: "You got three days to get five million dollars together. Cash. No banks, no cops, no tricks. We'll call with instructions."

"Let me talk to my son," Tom said.

"Your boy's fine. For now. But every day you make us wait, things get... uncomfortable for him."

Wade was already signaling Ryan, who was tracing the call on his laptop.

"How do we know he's alive?" Josh demanded.

"Check your email in five minutes."

The line went dead. Everyone stared at the phone.

"Got it," Ryan whispered. "Burner phone, but it pinged the tower on Millfield Road. Fifteen-mile radius, but that narrows it down."

Sarah's laptop chimed with an incoming email. With shaking hands, she opened it.

The photo showed Billy lashed to a wooden post in what looked like a basement. Shirtless, barefoot, with duct tape across his mouth, but his blue eyes blazed with unbroken defiance even in the dim light.

Jenna made a small, wounded sound. Sarah covered her mouth with her hands.

Little Billy the Kid studied the photo with cold intensity. "Look at Uncle Billy's eyes. He's not scared. He's mad." The boy looked up at his family. "He's waiting for us to come get him."

Wade put his hand on his great-grandson's shoulder. "Then we better not keep him waiting."

The hunt was on.Chapter 4

By dawn, the Benson ranch house had transformed into a war room. Wade spread county maps across the dining room table while Horse and Ryan worked their laptops, pulling traffic cam footage and running license plate searches through unofficial channels.

Ray had three phones going at once – calling banks, liquidation specialists, and old family contacts who dealt in cash transactions that didn't ask questions. The math was brutal: five million in three days, when most of their wealth was tied up in land, cattle, and long-term investments.

"We can get two million liquid by tomorrow if we leverage everything," Ray told Josh, scribbling numbers on a legal pad. "But five million..." He shook his head. "We'd have to start selling land."

"Then we sell land," Josh said without hesitation.

"That's not the point," little Billy the Kid interrupted from his perch at Wade's elbow. "We're not paying these men anything. We're going to find Uncle Billy and bring him home."

Sarah set a plate of scrambled eggs in front of her grandson, but he ignored it. The eight-year-old hadn't eaten since the screaming started, too focused on every conversation, every phone call, every map detail.

"Kid's right," Jake said, cleaning his shotgun at the kitchen table. "We don't negotiate with these bastards."

Tom nodded agreement. "But we need to be ready for both. Find them fast, or have the money ready to buy us time."

Jenna sat curled in Billy's favorite chair, clutching one of his t-shirts. She'd been silent since the initial panic, but her eyes tracked every movement, every plan.

"I got something," Horse called from his laptop. "Security footage from the gas station on Route 9. Pickup truck, three males, timestamp puts them there twenty minutes after the grab."

Everyone crowded around the screen. The image was grainy, but clear enough: a dark-colored Ford F-150, extended cab, one of the rear windows partially covered with cardboard and tape.

"Can you enhance the plates?" Wade asked.

"Working on it." Horse's fingers flew over the keyboard. "But look here – driver stops to buy cigarettes and beer. Cocky bastard's not even trying to hide."

Little Billy the Kid squeezed closer to the screen, his face inches from the monitor. "I saw that truck! When they took Uncle Billy!" He squinted at the blurry rear plate. "The license plate started with BK something. I remember because those are Uncle Billy's initials – Billy Kid like me, but backwards!"

Wade and Horse exchanged looks. "BK narrows it down considerable," Wade said. "Run Texas plates starting with BK, Ford F-150s, last five years."

Ryan looked up from his own screen. "I'm cross-referencing with recent parolees, guys with kidnapping or extortion records within two hundred miles. With the BK plates, this just got a lot easier."

Billy the Kid climbed onto a chair to see the screen better. "I told you I'd help find Uncle Billy."

"You sure did, Kid," Wade said, ruffling the boy's hair. "You just gave us our first real lead."

Tom's phone rang. The room went dead silent as he answered.

"Tom Benson... What? ... No, we want to hear what you have to say."

He put the phone on speaker. A rough voice filled the room: "You got three days to get five million dollars together. Cash. No banks, no cops, no tricks. We'll call with instructions."

"Let me talk to my son," Tom said.

"Your boy's fine. For now. But every day you make us wait, things get... uncomfortable for him."

Wade was already signaling Ryan, who was tracing the call on his laptop.

"How do we know he's alive?" Josh demanded.

"Check your email in five minutes."

The line went dead. Everyone stared at the phone.

"Got it," Ryan whispered. "Burner phone, but it pinged the tower on Millfield Road. Fifteen-mile radius, but that narrows it down."

Sarah's laptop chimed with an incoming email. With shaking hands, she opened it.

The photo showed Billy lashed to a wooden post in what looked like a basement. Shirtless, barefoot, with duct tape across his mouth, but his blue eyes blazed with unbroken defiance even in the dim light.

Jenna made a small, wounded sound. Sarah covered her mouth with her hands.

Little Billy the Kid studied the photo with cold intensity. "Look at Uncle Billy's eyes. He's not scared. He's mad." The boy looked up at his family. "He's waiting for us to come get him."

Wade put his hand on his great-grandson's shoulder. "Then we better not keep him waiting."

The hunt was on.

Chapter 5

By the second day, Billy's world had shrunk to rope burns and cramped muscles. The restraints had done exactly what Curt promised – every struggle made them tighter, cutting deeper into his wrists and chest. His shoulders screamed from being pulled back behind the post for so long.

But Billy Benson didn't break. Every time the pain got bad enough to make him dizzy, he thought about his brothers on that porch, thought about his family's promise to hunt down anyone who crossed them, thought about the Benson fire that burned in all their blood.

The kidnappers came and went, taking pictures with their phones, making calls about the money. Billy watched them through narrowed eyes, memorizing faces, voices, habits. Curt was the leader, but he was getting nervous. Ray Bob and the third one – Danny – were getting drunk more often, and drunk men made mistakes.

Late on the second night, they came down with a bottle of whiskey and bad intentions.

"Your family's dragging their feet," Curt said, taking a long pull from the bottle. "Maybe they need some motivation."

Danny pulled out a folding knife, testing the edge with his thumb. "This'll get their attention."

Billy's pulse quickened, but he kept his eyes steady and cold. He'd been cut before – ranch work was dangerous, and Benson boys learned early that pain was temporary but fear was forever.

They cut him shallow at first – thin lines across his chest and arms that bled enough for the camera but wouldn't kill him. Billy bit down on the tape covering his mouth, refusing to make a sound.

"Tough little bastard," Ray Bob slurred, clearly the drunkest of the three. "Let's see how tough he really is."

The next cut was deeper, across his ribs. Billy's vision went white with pain, and he pulled so hard against the ropes that blood ran down his wrists where the zip ties cut in.

The effort was so violent, so sudden, that the duct tape finally gave way and flew off his mouth.

Billy sucked in a ragged breath and looked up at his captors with murder in his blue eyes.

"Go ahead, you bastards," he snarled through gritted teeth, blood running down his chest. "Torture me. You won't break me!"

The three men stared at him. In the basement light, with blood on his chest and his hair matted with sweat, Billy looked less like a helpless victim and more like something dangerous that happened to be tied up.

"Jesus," Danny whispered. "Kid's insane."

Curt grabbed his phone and took pictures of Billy's bloody chest, then headed upstairs without another word. The other two followed, suddenly sober.

Alone in the dark, Billy let his head fall back against the post. His chest burned where they'd cut him, but the fury in his heart burned hotter.

Twenty miles away, Sarah's phone chimed with new photos.

The family gathered around the screen in horrified silence. Billy's chest was streaked with blood, his face twisted with pain and rage, but his eyes...his eyes promised death to anyone who'd done this to him.

"That's enough," little Billy the Kid said quietly. The eight-year-old's voice was calm, but something in it made every adult in the room go still. "We're done waiting."

Josh looked at his son. "Kid..."

"No." The boy walked to the gun cabinet and pointed at it again. "They hurt Uncle Billy. They made him bleed. We're going to get him right now."

Wade checked his watch. "Ryan got a hit on that BK license plate an hour ago. Three possibles, all within that fifteen-mile radius from the cell tower."

"Then we go," Jake said, standing and reaching for his shotgun.

"All three at once," Tom added. "Split up, hit them fast."

Ray was already calculating logistics. "If we move now, we can hit all three locations before sunrise."

"I'm going too," little Billy the Kid announced, grabbing the binoculars from the shelf. "Uncle Billy needs me there."

"Absolutely not," Sarah said immediately. "You're eight years old."

"No, Grandma." The boy's voice was steady as granite. "This is my fault. I saw them take him. I have to help bring him back."

Josh knelt down to his son's level. "Kid, this is dangerous—"

"Uncle Billy's in danger RIGHT NOW!" the boy shouted, then got control of himself. "I'm going. I found the license plate. I'm going to help find Uncle Billy."

The room went quiet. Everyone looked at Pops, who'd been silent in his chair.

The old man tapped his walking stick twice against the floor. "Boy's earned the right to see this through. He goes."

"Pops—" Tom started.

"Jake," the old man continued, "you watch that boy like your life depends on it. Because it does."

Jake looked at his great-nephew, then nodded. "I'll keep him safe, Pops."

Little Billy the Kid grabbed a handheld radio from the equipment shelf and clipped it to his belt. "Thank you, Great-Great Grandpa."

Pops smiled grimly. "Bring your uncle home, boy."

The planning took exactly ten minutes. Pops would stay with Sarah, Rebecca, Mary, and Jenna. All the Benson boys – Josh, Ray, Jake, and Tom – would ride with Wade and his deputies in a convoy to hit all three locations.

Little Billy the Kid climbed into Jake's deputy cruiser, binoculars and radio in hand, sitting between Jake and Horse in the back seat.

"You stay behind us and watch through those binoculars," Jake told him. "You spot anything important, you radio it in. But you do NOT get out of this car. Understood?"

The boy nodded solemnly. "Yes, Uncle Jake."

The convoy rolled out into the pre-dawn darkness – three sheriff's vehicles loaded with Benson and Nelson men, ready for war.

The waiting was over.

But little Billy the Kid had other plans.

Chapter 6

The convoy split up at dawn, each team heading to one of the three possible locations from Ryan's license plate search. Ryan's deputy cruiser, with Jake, Horse, and little Billy the Kid pressed against the window with his binoculars, approached the old Henderson farm – abandoned for two years and perfect for hiding someone.

In the barn basement, Billy had been working the ropes for hours. The zip ties around his wrists had finally given way to constant sawing against the rough wooden post. Blood ran freely down his arms where the plastic had cut deep, but his hands were free.

Working with numb fingers, he'd managed to loosen the ropes around his forearms and biceps. The pain was excruciating as circulation returned, but Billy bit back any sound. He was working on the ropes around his torso when he heard voices upstairs – panicked, urgent voices.

"I don't like this," Danny was saying. "Family's got too much time to get organized. We should cut our losses."

"And go where?" Curt snapped. "We got no money, and they seen our faces."

"Kill the kid and run," Ray Bob said. "Better than waiting here for them to find us."

Billy's blood went cold, but he kept working the knots with desperate fingers.

"You hear that?" Danny suddenly said.

The unmistakable whir of a drone overhead.

"SHIT!" Curt yelled. "They found us! Move! MOVE!"

Billy heard boots pounding across the floor above, then the slam of the barn door. An engine roared to life.

He was alone.

Working frantically now, Billy got the chest ropes loose and started on his legs. The rope around his neck was still tight, but he could deal with that once his feet were free.

Outside, the pickup truck with BK plates came screaming down the dirt road directly toward the parked deputy cruiser.

"Contact!" Ryan yelled into his radio. "They're coming right at us!"

The truck's windows exploded in gunfire. Jake threw himself across little Billy the Kid as bullets spiderwebbed the cruiser's windshield.

Ryan and Horse returned fire from behind the car doors. The truck swerved, hit a drainage ditch, and rolled twice before coming to rest on its side.

The shooting stopped. All three kidnappers lay motionless in the wreckage.

"Stay down!" Jake ordered Billy the Kid, but when he looked over, the boy was gone.

"SON OF A BITCH!" Jake scrambled out of the car and ran toward the barn, his heart pounding.

He burst through the barn door and clattered down the wooden stairs, expecting the worst.

Instead, he found little Billy the Kid kneeling beside his uncle, carefully untying the ropes around Billy's ankles. The neck rope lay coiled on the floor, and Billy was sitting up, his arms and torso raw and bloody from the rope burns, but very much alive.

"Uncle Billy!" the eight-year-old was saying. "I knew you'd get loose! I knew you were too tough for them!"

Billy looked up at Jake with a tired but defiant smile. "Hey, brother. Miss me?"

Jake stared at his nephew – eight years old and fearless – then at his brother, bloody but unbroken.

"Jesus Christ, Kid. You scared ten years off my life."

Little Billy the Kid looked up proudly. "I told you I'd help bring Uncle Billy home."

Billy reached over with one raw, rope-burned arm and pulled his namesake into a careful hug. "You sure did, Kid. You sure did."

The Benson boys were coming home.

Chapter 7

A week later, the Benson ranch buzzed with celebration. Prime ribs sizzled on the grill, corn on the cob steamed in huge pots, and a beer keg sat prominently on the back porch next to coolers full of sodas. Both families – Bensons and Nelsons – filled the house and yard with laughter and relief.

Billy sat on the porch swing with his arm around Jenna, who hadn't left his side since the rescue. Every few minutes she'd lean over and kiss him, her hands never quite letting go of his shirt, as if she needed constant proof he was really there.

"Uncle Billy," little Billy the Kid said, plopping down on the porch steps and staring at them with eight-year-old curiosity. "Why does Aunt Jenna keep kissing you like that?"

Sarah and Rebecca exchanged looks from the kitchen doorway, both clearly uncomfortable with the public display of affection.

"That's enough, you two," Sarah called out. "There are children present."

Pops shuffled over and settled into his favorite chair, tapping his walking stick for Billy's attention. "Boy," he said quietly, "your girl's been through hell thinking she lost you. Let her be for now. But maybe tone it down some for the family gathering, eh?"

Billy grinned and kissed Jenna's forehead instead. "Yes, sir, Pops."

The afternoon filled with stories, laughter, and the kind of easy banter that only came when everyone you loved was safe under one roof. Tom regaled everyone with tales of Pops in his younger days, while Wade and his sons talked about the cleanup from the shooting.

As evening approached, Josh stood up and cleared his throat.

"Before we all get too full and lazy, we got something for our boy here." He nodded toward little Billy the Kid.

Ray and Jake disappeared into the house and came back carrying a long, wrapped package that was clearly trying to be disguised but fooling nobody about what it contained.

"What's this?" the boy asked, his eyes wide.

"Open it and see," Billy said, his rope burns still visible on his arms but his grin reaching ear to ear.

Little Billy the Kid carefully unwrapped the hunting paper, his hands trembling with excitement. When he lifted the lid of the gun case and saw the youth model .243 Winchester nestled in foam, his mouth fell open.

"Is this... is this really mine?"

"Your first rifle," Josh said solemnly. "But it comes with responsibilities. And lessons. Lots of lessons."

Billy carefully lifted the rifle from the case, checking the action and showing his namesake the safety, the trigger, how to properly hold it. "See this? This is how you check if it's loaded. Never point it at anything you don't intend to kill. Always treat it like it's loaded."

"Can I shoot it now?" the boy asked breathlessly.

"Not yet," Tom said. "First you learn gun safety. Then you learn to shoot. Then maybe this fall, we'll take you hunting for small game."

The boy just sat there, holding his rifle with reverent hands, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the gift and what it represented.

Pops tapped his walking stick three times against the porch floor, and everyone went quiet. When the old man spoke, his voice carried the authority of nearly a century of life.

"This boy showed more courage than most grown men ever will. He helped save his uncle through his own bravery and quick thinking. From this day forward, he will not be called 'the Kid' anymore." Pops looked directly at his great-great-grandson. "You are Billy Benson Jr. now. You've earned the right to carry that name with pride."

The newly christened Billy Jr. looked up from his rifle with tears in his eyes. "Thank you, Great-Great Grandpa Pops."

"Welcome to manhood, Billy Jr.," Pops said. "Now don't make us regret it."

The celebration continued long into the night, but something had fundamentally changed. The boy who'd snuck out of a deputy car during a gunfight to help his uncle was gone. In his place sat Billy Benson Jr., rifle in hand, ready to take his place in the long line of Benson men.