Praise for End of the Trail
End of the Trail may be Vickie McDonough’s best book yet. Skillfully blending action and romance, she gives readers a story of families lost and found that will linger in their memories long after the last page is turned. I highly recommend this book!
—AMANDA CABOT, author of Summer of Promise and Christmas Roses
The Morgan family saga continues with a heartwarming story of love and adventure with a prodigal son and rancher’s niece. With a mixed cast of characters and surprises along the way, McDonough gives you a compelling story of faith to sink your teeth into and savor until the very last word.
—MARTHA ROGERS, event and workshop speaker, and author
Far more than your ordinary cowboy story, End of the Trail touches a place deep within you, a place where lies, betrayal, abandonment, and broken promises live; a place where two young people must overcome hardship and find family, loyalty, faithfulness, and above all, love. You’ll cry, you’ll laugh, and you’ll feel. But most of all, you’ll enjoy.
—MARYLU TYNDALL, author of Legacy of the King’s Pirates series
From the moment Keri saves Brooks from being hanged, sparks fly and smiles abound. Vickie McDonough’s romantic tale exemplifies the renewing power of love. End of the Trail is utterly charming.
—CHERYL ST. JOHN, author of The Wedding Journey
In this story of a loveable, but rascally prodigal, Vickie McDonough weaves an endearing story of how Brooks Morgan reconciles with his family as well as with his God. The love interest is provided by Keri Langston, a feisty young woman whose ranch Brooks wins in a poker game. McDonough deftly leads the reader through a tangled web of events that comes to a satisfying conclusion at the “End of the Trail.”
—GOLDEN KEYES PARSON, speaker and author of the Darkness to Light series
End of the Trail delights with a fresh plot that takes turn of events not normally scene in historical fiction. McDonough effectively show how God turns what is meant for evil into good. A book to be treasured.
—DIANA LESIRE BRANDMEYER, author of A Bride’s Dilemma in Friendship, Tennessee
End of the Trail is a novel of faith and forgiveness. The book overflows with surprises, intrigue, and Texas charm. Readers will love this story!
—ANN SHOREY, author of Where Wildflowers Bloom, Book 1 in the Sisters at Heart series
TEXAS
TRAILS
END OF THE TRAIL
VICKIE MCDONOUGH
A
MORGAN FAMILY
SERIES
MOODY PUBLISHERS
CHICAGO
©2012 by
VICKIE MCDONOUGH
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Edited by Pam Pugh
Interior design: Ragont Design
Cover design: Gearbox
Cover images: Veer and iStock
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
McDonough, Vickie.
End of the trail/Vickie McDonough.
p. cm. — (Texas trails: a Morgan Family series)
ISBN 978-0-8024-0408-4
1. Texas—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3613.C3896E53 2012
813’.6—dc23
2011050522
We hope you enjoy this book from River North Fiction by Moody Publishers. Our goal is to provide high-quality, thought-provoking books and products that connect truth to your real needs and challenges. For more information on other books and products written and produced from a biblical perspective, go to www.moodypublishers.com or write to:
River North Fiction
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820 N. LaSalle Boulevard
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Printed in the United States of America
This book is dedicated to my agent, Chip MacGregor, who came up with the idea for a series written by multiple authors and who asked me to be a part of it.
To Susan Page Davis and Darlene Franklin, my coauthors in the Texas Trails series. Thanks for joining me on this fabulous journey. It was great working with you both.
And to Moody Publishers for catching the vision of the Morgan family and buying this series. Thanks to the artists for our beautiful covers, to the editors for making our stories shine, and all the behind the scenes folks who helped bring this project to life. You all have been great to work with!
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
WACO, TEXAS, 1886
You’re a good son, Brooks, but your father is right.” Brooks stared at his mother, halfway stunned that she’d sided with his pa against him. “You don’t feel I do my share of the work around here either?”
Annie Morgan winced and gazed out the parlor window, not looking at him. She might not admit in words that she agreed, but that tiny grimace told Brooks she did. He ducked his head, hating the feeling of disappointing his mother. He’d always been her favorite child. He craved her warm smile, but that was hard to be found just now. Still, he pushed aside disturbing feelings and retrieved his charming smile—the one his ma said could make a die-hard Texas cattle rancher invest all his money in a herd of sheep—and squeezed between his ma and the window.
She flicked a glance up at him then it swerved away. “Don’t try to charm me. This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have coddled you so much.”
His grin faltered. Now she sounded like his father. “You didn’t coddle me.”
“Yes, she did. She still does.” Melissa’s voice sounded from upstairs, followed by quick footsteps on the stairs.
He spun around, glaring at his bossy older sister. “Nobody asked you.”
“I’m getting married soon, and with Josh gone off to medical college, that means you’ll be the oldest sibling at home.” She reached the bottom of the stairs and shifted the basket of dirty clothes to her other hip, cocking her mouth up on one side. “It’s time you start acting like you’re sixteen instead of six.”
Brooks clenched his fist. As much as he might like knocking that know-it-all look off Melissa’s face, he would never hit a female.
“That’s enough, Missy. Get the laundry started and then check on Phillip. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” Ma turned her gaze on him as Melissa—smirking—slipped out the door. Ma’s brown eyes were laced with pain and something he couldn’t quite decipher. “Your sister is right, but she shouldn’t have said what she did. After you nearly died in that fall from the hay loft when you were four, I kept you close. Too close. Wouldn’t let you out with your father to do chores anymore. I blamed him for not watching you. He warned me not to be so overprotective, but I was stubborn and wouldn’t listen.”
“No, Ma—”
“Let me finish.” She held up one hand, palm out. “You know how much I love you, but my coddling you has made you soft. Spoiled
.”
Brooks winced. Never had his ma said such a thing to him, and he didn’t like the uncomfortable emotions swirling around inside him because of it. She really thought he was spoiled?
“You’re nearly a man now, and you need to start acting like one. It’s time that you quit taunting Phillip and helped your father more.”
“But I do—”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Not nearly enough.” She looked deep into his eyes. “What if something happened to your father? Would you know enough to take over running the ranch?”
“Of course I do.” He stated the words with bravado, but inside, he felt less sure. Not sure at all, in fact.
“Well, I’ve said what needed to be said, now it’s up to you. It’s time you grow up, son.”
Brooks stared at his mother. She’d never talked to him so firmly. So harshly. He felt betrayed by the person who loved him the most. He stomped outside, slamming the door behind him. If he’d been eleven, like Phillip, he’d probably have cried, but like his ma said, he was a man now—or almost one.
He did his share of work. Hadn’t he just filled the wood box in the kitchen and hauled in a bucket of water? Ma had no call to lay into him like she had.
Just because he and his pa had argued after breakfast.
Because he didn’t want to mend fences and shovel horse flops all his life. Josh got to follow his dream and go to medical school. Why couldn’t their pa see Brooks had dreams of his own? He glanced at the barn then back at the house. Maybe it would be worth cleaning the stalls to get back on his ma’s good side—and maybe then she’d make some more of those oatmeal cookies with raisins and nuts that she’d baked for the first time last week. His mouth watered just thinking about them.
Blowing out a breath, he moseyed to the barn. What he’d really like to be doing right now was fishing or swimming in the pond with Sammy or visiting pretty Sally Baxter. He ambled into the barn, dragging his boots and wrinkling his nose at the smelly hay in the floor of the stalls. His pa had left the muck there just like he’d said he would.
Jester lifted his head over the side of one stall and nickered. Brooks strode over to the black gelding and stroked his nose. “Nobody understands me, boy. I’m not like Pa. He likes working hard, getting sweaty and smelly, but I don’t.”
The horse nodded his head, as if agreeing with him.
“Hey, you want to go for a ride?” Casting aside thoughts of work, he bridled and saddled Jester and led him out of the barn. A long, hard gallop would do them both some good.
“Just where do you think you’re going?”
Brooks jerked to a halt at his pa’s deep voice. “Uh … riding.”
Pa shook his head. “No, you’re not. There’s work to be done. Get back in there and muck out those stalls.”
Hiking his chin, Brooks glared at his pa. “Maybe I already did.”
Riley Morgan stared at him with those penetrating blue eyes. “I wish you had, but I can tell by your reaction that you haven’t.” He shook his head, his disappointment obvious.
Brooks gritted his back teeth together. It wouldn’t matter if he had cleaned the stalls, his pa wouldn’t be pleased. Nothing he did made Pa happy. “I’m sorry to be such a disappointment to you.”
Phillip trotted around the side of the barn. “Pa, Pa, look at the frog I caught.”
Brooks glared at his little brother. How come he couldn’t do stall duty? He sure had to do it when he was Phillip’s age.
His pa’s harsh expression softened, and he tousled Phillip’s light-brown hair. “That’s a mighty fine frog, son. Did you finish weeding the corn like I told you?”
Nodding like a little cherub, his brother smiled. “Sure did, and I got some of the beans weeded too.”
“Good job, son. Go in and show that nice frog to your ma.”
“Look at my frog, Brooks.” Phillip held up the common-place critter.
“Ain’t nothin’ special about it. Just a dumb ol’ toad.”
Phillip’s happy expression faltered.
“Go in the house, Phillip.”
The boy nodded and shuffled to the house.
Brooks ire mounted. When was the last time his pa had told him he’d done a good job?
The smile on Pa’s face faded as he spun back around. “That was a cruel thing to do. Just ’cause you’re upset doesn’t give you the right to hurt Phillip’s feelings.”
Brooks shrugged, feeling only a tad bit guilty.
His pa reached for Jester’s reins but Brooks yanked them away and scowled, matching his father’s expression.
“I want that barn cleaned out, or you can go without dinner. The Good Book says if a man doesn’t work, he shouldn’t eat.”
“Fine. I’d rather not eat than mess with that muck.”
“I guess I was wrong in giving you that gelding. A man who can’t clean up after his horse doesn’t deserve to have one. Give me the reins.”
“Why?” Brooks backed up another step, tugging Jester along with him. The horse was his best friend.
“You stuffed yourself full of your ma’s cooking this morning, but did you even give a thought to feeding your horse?”
Brooks hung his head at that comment. He’d forgotten again to feed Jester.
“Harley Jefferson came by earlier asking if I had a good riding horse for sale. I’ve just about decided to sell him Jester.”
Brooks’s eyes widened, and he felt as if he’d been gut shot. “You wouldn’t.”
“I don’t want to, but obviously it will take something drastic to get your attention. You’ve got to learn to pull your weight and tend this place. It will be yours one day.”
“I don’t want it. Give it to Phillip since you love him so much.” Brooks’s frown deepened.
Pain creased his father’s face, but Brooks hardened his heart against it. He was sick of being told he was no good. And he wasn’t about to let his father sell his horse.
“I love you too, son, and that’s why I’m working so hard to teach you to become a man. I just hope it’s not too late.” He shoved his hands to his hips and stared out toward the plowed field. “I joined the war when I wasn’t much older than you. It’s time you grow up, son.”
Tears stung Brooks’s eyes in spite of his resolve to not allow such sissy behavior. He was so sick of hearing how his pa had fought in the war. It wasn’t his fault there was no war for him to fight in. He was sick of being bossed around. Sick of his whole family.
He threw the reins over Jester’s neck and leaped into the saddle. He kicked the horse hard, causing him to lunge away from his pa’s frantic attempt to grab the reins.
“Get off the horse, boy. You hear me?”
“I’m no boy. And since no one here realizes that, I’m going somewhere else where I’ll be appreciated.” He kicked Jester hard in the side again, and the horse squealed at the unusually harsh treatment, but he leapt forward.
“Brooks. You come back here right now. Stop!” Fast footsteps chased after him.
Sitting straighter in the saddle, Brooks ignored his pa’s ranting and squeezed away the moisture in his eyes. He’d stay away a few days—maybe a week—and when he returned, everyone would be happy to see him again. At least he hoped they would. And ma would bake those oatmeal cookies to celebrate his return.
But deep within he knew the truth—they would all be happier without him. All he’d ever done was cause them trouble.
He turned Jester to the west. Maybe by the time he visited every town in Texas his family would forget how much trouble he’d been and welcome him home.
And maybe Houston would get a foot of snow this winter.
CHAPTER ONE
CENTRAL TEXAS, 1896
Lightning skittered across the granite sky. The boom of thunder that followed spooked Brooks Morgan’s horse into a sideways crow hop so unexpectedly that Brooks had to grapple for the saddle horn to keep from losing his seat. He tightened up on the reins and guided Jester back onto the trail. He
had hoped to make it to the next town before the storm let loose, but it looked like he was in for a soaking. He didn’t mind a good washing down, but Jester hated rain.
Rocks crunched beneath Jester’s hooves as he trotted up the trail. A gnawing in the pit of Brooks’s belly made him wish for a home-cooked meal, but those were hard to come by for a drifter like him. He glanced up at the ominous sky as another bolt of lightning made him squint. Tugging down his hat, he pulled Jester to a stop atop the hill to get his bearing. The sky looked as if twilight had already set in, though it was just two in the afternoon. Another bolt of lightning zigzagged from heaven to earth, with an explosion that set Jester prancing. Rain was one thing, but Brooks had no hankering to get hit by lightning.
He clucked out of the side of his mouth, and Jester leapt forward with no more encouragement. The black horse was as game as any, but send a little rain his way, and you could almost see a yellow stripe appear on his back. They topped another hill, and a small town came into view, barely visible because of the sheet of rain that was falling between Brooks and the place. Several lights flickered, welcoming him.
He reined the horse down the hill, thankful that the rain hadn’t reached him yet to make the passage slick. At the bottom of the valley, he nudged Jester into a gallop. The horse slowed when the first raindrops hit him, but then stretched out into a long-legged gait that ate up the ground. Something hard hit Brooks on the shoulder, and he glanced sideways to see who had lobbed the object, but not another soul was out in this weather. Another rock hit the back of his hand, then the sky let loose in a storm of hail.
Brooks hunkered down. Rain was bad enough, but hail could kill a man. He reached the end of town, reined Jester to a trot, and rode him right up onto the boardwalk. The horse was the only thing of value he owned, and Brooks wasn’t about to let him be pounded by hail. He slid off, rubbed his shoulders where the frozen rocks had pelted him, and listened to the loud thunking on the roof overhead. A layer of white had nearly coated the street.
End of the Trail Page 1
