He would be right.
“Can I help you, miss?”
A young girl poured water into a glass in front of Keri, who asked, “What’s your special of the day?”
“Beef pot pie or chicken and noodles. Miss Lucy likes to give folks a choice, but it’s a good thing you got here before the noon rush, ’cause we tend to sell out, especially our pies.”
“I’ll take the chicken and noodles.” She’d never mastered the art of making noodles and ate them whenever she had the opportunity. “And a cup of hot coffee.” If she never drank another cup of tea, she’d be as happy as a cow in a clover patch. “So, is Miss Lucy here?”
The girl nodded. “In back, but she’s mighty busy gettin’ ready for the lunch crowd. If’n you know her, maybe you could poke your head in back and say howdy once you’re done eatin’.”
Keri nodded. “I’ll do that.”
She gazed around the room, spying guests at only two other tables. A man and woman sat in the corner, leaning across the table and talking softly. A young couple in love, she guessed. She sighed. Her uncle had hoped that sending her away to finishing school would help her to become a refined lady—something an old bachelor couldn’t teach her—and help her land a decent husband, the last thing she wanted. Would Uncle Will be disappointed? Truly?
Hanging her head to avoid eye contact with the pair of cowboys across the room, she drew her finger across the condensation on her water glass. All she’d thought about was getting home and getting back to normal, but maybe she should take things more slowly.
Uncle Will owned a decent-sized spread of land, but it paled in comparison to many Texas ranches. Money had always been a hard commodity to come by, which was why she’d taken to wearing cast-off pants from the ranch hands. Uncle Will knew how to mend them, but he didn’t know about sewing dresses, and the few times he’d bought her dresses, they’d hung on a peg in her room, adding color but not much more. She hated dresses, and many times she had wished she’d been born a boy. If she had, would her mother have found her more useful and kept her instead of getting rid of her, first chance she got?
A tantalizing scent moved her way, making her stomach complain with eager anticipation. The girl set a large bowl with fat chunks of chicken and wide noodles in a creamy yellow broth. Beside the bowl, the girl set a plate with two slices of bread. “Enjoy your meal.” She smiled and spun away.
Twenty minutes later, with her hunger sated, Keri stood, eager to see a familiar face. Every time she and Uncle Will came to town, they would eat at Miss Lucy’s. Keri’s only disappointment in the meal had been the fact that she’d been too full to eat a slice of pie. With the café filling up, she was eager to head back to the depot and see if Uncle Will had come by yet. If not, she’d have to assume he never received her telegram, and she’d rent a horse and ride home. They could come back for her trunk—not that there was much in it that would be useful on the ranch.
She ducked behind the curtain, and the delicious scents that had teased her senses earlier failed to affect her now that her stomach was full. Miss Lucy stood with her back to her, cutting generous slices of pot pie. Dirty bowls sat next to the sink awaiting washing, while nearly a dozen pies cooled in the security of the pie safe. Outside the back door, Keri could see the girl pumping water into a bucket.
Miss Lucy turned, wielding her sticky spatula like a weapon, and sucked in an audible breath. Curly red hair stuck out in all directions, and the normally pale skin on Miss Lucy’s face was bright red. Her green eyes assessed Keri. “Can I help you?”
For the first time since returning to Shoofly, Keri smiled. “Have I changed so much that you don’t recognize me?”
The woman narrowed her gaze and studied Keri, then her somber expression broke into a cheerful smile. “Not little Keri Langston? Why you’ve grown half a foot. And don’t you look like a lady!”
Miss Lucy’s smile dimmed, sucking away some of Keri’s delight. Was something wrong?
The cook crossed the room and wrapped her arms around Keri, giving her the welcome-home embrace she’d longed for. She hugged Miss Lucy back, tears stinging her eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Keri. Such a sad homecoming.”
Stiffening, Keri stepped back and peered up. “Sorry about what?”
Miss Lucy’s eyes widened. “You mean you don’t know?”
Keri shook her head, but she was beginning to wonder if the stifling heat of the small kitchen hadn’t gotten to the cook. “Know about what? I just got back less than half an hour ago. Came here to eat while I waited for Uncle Will. What’s happened?”
Chapped hands cupped her cheeks. Miss Lucy’s eyebrows drew together, her eyes filled with pain. All manner of thoughts raced through Keri’s mind.
“I’m so sorry to have to tell you, but your uncle passed away a week ago.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Brooks couldn’t keep from smiling, even when a beetle flew into his mouth. He spat out the critter and kept grinning. The farther north he rode, the happier he grew. Pecan, hickory, and oak trees stretched out their gnarly arms, offering a bit of shade from the heat of the sun. Cattle would thrive on the knee-high grasslands. Butterflies flitted from one wildflower to another. Yes sirree, the land was close to perfect.
Jester bobbed his head up, flicked his ears forward, and nickered. Brooks shook off his lollygagging and studied the two men riding toward him. Both were big and brawny, putting him in mind of a team of oxen. They were dressed like most ranch hands, and sat atop a pair of horses that made his gelding look small—which he wasn’t.
Trouble came in pairs, his ma had said, and this matched set had trouble written all over them.
Brooks grinned and tipped his hat, figuring to disarm them with friendliness. “Howdy, neighbors.”
The burly duo glanced at each other, and one man nodded. The man on the right pulled his rifle from the scabbard and laid it across his lap. Brooks figured they were just as wary of him as he was of them.
“Who are you, stranger?”
Brooks shifted in his saddle so that he could reach his gun faster, if needed. “I’m the new owner of Raven Creek Ranch, Brooks Morgan. Who are you?”
The strangers eyed each other again, so fast that Brooks would have missed it if he’d blinked. A grin remained plastered on his face, but keeping it there as his concern mounted was about as hard as riding a mustang bareback.
The man on the right dismounted. Brooks watched, angling Jester a bit to the right so that he could keep his gun hand out of view. A loud click pulled his gaze back to the man on the horse—and the gun that was pointed straight at him. His gut twisted, and his smile sagged. “I don’t have any money, so robbing me’s a waste of time.”
“We didn’t come here to rob nobody.” The man on the ground waved his pistol at Brooks. “Get down.”
Swallowing back his apprehension, Brooks dismounted. His mind raced, searching for a way out of whatever mess it was he’d just stepped in.
The Goliath on the ground reached inside his vest and pulled out a paper, which he shoved at Brooks. “Sign that.”
Curious, he unfolded the paper, his heart dropping to his boot tips as he read the bill of sale assigning ownership of Raven Creek Ranch to one Saul Dengler. He’d heard of the man back in Shoofly. Dengler was one of the biggest landowners in these parts—and now Brooks knew why. He wadded up the paper and tossed it on the ground. “I’m not signing that.”
Goliath backhanded him, knocking him into Jester and sending a sharp pain ratcheting through his jaw. The man picked up the paper, smoothed it out, and shoved it back in Brooks’s face. “Sign it or die.”
Keri patted Bob’s neck and nudged the gelding into a gallop. She had been quite surprised to find her uncle’s horse still stabled at the livery when she’d gone to rent one to ride home. Riding him again was like having a little piece of home—something familiar.
She scanned the area, watching for signs of things that didn’t belong. She may have been gone
two years, but she hadn’t forgotten how hard this land could be and how one needed to stay alert—and yet she loved it.
If someone twisted her arm, she might even admit she loved her uncle. For so many years she’d cultivated her anger toward Uncle Will, all because he’d taken her away from her mother and brought her to the middle of nowhere, but she’d fallen in love with the ruggedness of Texas almost from the start. Still, it had taken a long time for her to get over being upset at her uncle. Too long, in fact.
And now she’d lost him too. She wished she had one more chance to see him—to tell him she’d missed him. He’d been so good to her—a gentle, patient teacher—even though she’d been a brat, especially at first. She’d cried for weeks and lambasted him for taking her from her mother.
All she could remember about Grace Langston was her long, beautiful blonde hair and shiny dresses. She remembered the house with all the rooms and other women who lived there. Daytime was a joy, but Keri hated the night. Nighttime meant she was locked in her room and had to be quiet so the monsters wouldn’t find her. She’d hated the evenings when the monsters intruded with their deep voices and raucous laughter, sometimes causing the women to scream or cry. Sometimes she’d wake up in the mornings to find one of the pretty ladies had been beaten.
Keri shuddered. She hadn’t thought of that place in years, so why now?
She ought to be happy. Yes, her uncle was gone, and she would miss him, but she’d gained a ranch. Raven Creek was now hers, and she had so many ideas to pursue and dreams she wanted to accomplish. She would raise cattle, but training horses was what she loved most. If only the ranch hands—Nate and Jess—were still there, they would surely help her. They had been her best friends, especially Nate, but things wouldn’t be the same without Uncle Will. Why hadn’t she realized sooner how much she’d grown to care for him? Had her anger over his sending her away pushed aside all loving thoughts of the man who’d raised her and given her a home?
She shook her head. Yes, she would miss her uncle, but she couldn’t dwell on his passing. Nothing could bring him back. She had to focus on the future. It’s what he’d want her to do. She just hoped Nate and Jess wouldn’t mind taking orders from a woman. Some cowboys were funny about that.
In just a half hour, she could shed her fancy dress, don her pants, and get to work making Raven Creek Ranch one of Texas’s finest. She rode through a grove of trees and heard a horse’s whinny. Reining Bob to a stop, she listened. The horse she heard could be wild, but if not, that meant the animal most likely had a rider, and a rider could mean trouble. She reached for the rifle she’d borrowed from Marshal Lane and waited.
“Wrong choice, mister.”
Keri stiffened at the harsh tone of the stranger’s voice.
“String ’im up, Harley.”
Keri closed her eyes. She didn’t want trouble on her first day home, but a lynching generally meant the wrong person was going to die. Any decent man would take a troublemaker or outlaw to town for the marshal to deal with.
She checked the rifle, making sure it was loaded. She’d only have two shots, so she’d have to make the best of them.
Bob shifted and turned to his right as if wanting to avoid the goings on. Maybe she should just ride off the trail and skirt around the strangers. She didn’t want trouble with any of the area ranchers. She nudged Bob back the way she’d come. A few hundred yards back was a side trail she could take. Longer, but probably safer. Definitely the smart thing to do.
The noose tightened around Brooks’s neck, pinching his skin. He fought to suck in a breath of air, but the rope squashed against his throat. His pulse soared as his mind raced, searching for a way of escape. This couldn’t be the end—not when his future had looked so promising just a few moments earlier.
The strangers had tied his hands and lifted him back onto Jester, but not until after he’d put up a good fight. His jaw and fists ached from his effort.
He thought of his parents. They would never know what happened to him. Maybe they already thought of him as dead since he’d been gone so long. He ducked his head, wishing he’d been a better son. Wishing he hadn’t ridden off in a tirade of rebellion. Wishing he could go back and do things over—do things differently.
He closed his eyes as a bead of sweat dribbled down his temple, but he refused to die like a coward with his eyes shut. Forcing them open again, he stared at the two vigilantes.
He glanced skyward. God, this can’t be the end. I know I haven’t followed Your word and have broken many of Your commandments, but if You’ll help me, I promise to do better. Please, help me.
Goliath muttered something to his crony then swatted his hand in the air. Brooks’s restless horse snorted and took a step backwards, loosening the rope just enough that he could gasp in a breath. Burning pain encircled his neck from the bite of the rope, and his shoulders throbbed from his hands being pulled so tightly behind him.
One too many times he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Got any last words, mister?” Goliath tugged up on his britches, then pulled down his vest.
“This is wrong,” he rasped. “Didn’t do nothing.”
Pine needles from the branch above—the one the other end of the rope was tied to—rained down on him, tingeing the air with a sweet pine scent. Would that be the last thing he smelled?
“I’ll give ya one last chance to sign that bill of sale and live, mister. One way or another, Mr. Dengler will have Raven Creek.”
At the sound of hooves on the dirt road, Brooks glanced up to see a pretty woman clad in a fancy dress, riding astride like a cowboy. She pulled her horse to a quick stop and jerked a rifle from the scabbard, aiming it toward Dengler’s men. “What’s going on here?”
Goliath stepped forward, hands lifted in a placating manner. “Now you just turn yourself around and forget what you saw here, ma’am.”
She didn’t utter a sound. She glanced at Brooks then backed the horse around the bend. He breathed a sigh of relief, thankful the men hadn’t harmed her and grateful she wouldn’t witness his demise.
No, not demise—death. He wasn’t ready to meet his Maker—not when he had unfinished business that he needed to deal with and dreams of a ranch that would never be his now, but he closed his eyes with the woman’s lovely face etched on his mind. Not an altogether awful way to die.
“All right. Let’s finish this. Got supper waitin’.”
Brooks’s eyes snapped open. He licked his lips, trying to work up enough spit to tell them to wait. What use was owning a ranch if he was dead? “Wait,” the word came out as a limp whisper.
Peering out the corner of his eye, Brooks saw Goliath lift his hand, preparing to slap Jester on the rear. Brooks tried not to move and prayed Jester wouldn’t either.
“Whoa, boy,” he squeaked out.
The other man’s saddle creaked as he mounted and rode off, leaving only Goliath.
Forgive me, God, for all the dumb things I did and how I wasted my life.
“Let him go.” Brooks heard the feminine voice a split second after he heard a rifle cock. The woman had returned!
Brooks wanted to cheer and at the same time tell her to ride for the hills.
“Untie him.” The woman said in a cool, no-nonsense voice.
“He rustled my cattle and he’s gonna pay,” Goliath said, raising his chin in the air.
“No!” Brooks rasped.
“I doubt that,” the woman said, “but even if it is true, you need to take him to the marshal and not handle things on your own. Let him down.”
“Can’t do that.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“He’s a thief.” Goliath eased a step closer to her.
Brooks tried to shake his head, but the taut rope held it immobile.
The woman blasted a shot from her rifle, exploding the dirt between the toes of Goliath’s dusty boots. He leaped backwards, swirling his arms like a chicken with clipped wings, as he tried to regain his
balance. Brooks’s eyes widened, and his heart skipped a beat when his horse took half a step sideways. The rope pulled his neck up and to the side, tightening. His pulse galloped.
Was that shot deliberate or just plain lucky?
“Stay where you are, or the next shot won’t miss,” she hollered. “Untie that man. Now!”
Goliath gave Brooks a look that turned his blood cold. He knew the woman was about to watch him die. Brooks’s heart ricocheted inside his chest. He fought to draw what he knew was his final breath.
“He—yah!” Goliath slapped Jester on the rear. The horse jumped but didn’t break into a run. The noose gagged Brook’s throat, choking off all hope of his gaining a breath. A shot rang out. The rope suddenly loosened and a short stub of it fell across Brook’s chest and slapped Jester’s shoulder. The horse took off in a quick trot. Brooks held on with his legs and fought the rope, holding his hands captive as he gazed over his shoulder at the woman. If she ran out of ammunition, she would need his help.
Brooks turned back around. “Whoa, boy—”
His forehead collided with a tree limb. The jolt knocked him backwards out of the saddle and he rolled over Jester’s rump. His back smacked hard against the earth, and what little breath he’d managed to suck in gushed out. With his arms still tied behind him, they felt as if they’d been yanked from his shoulder sockets. Momentum jerked his head back, and it whacked something hard.
Pain ricocheted through his body like bouncing bullets. Church bells rang, and the canopy of leaves overhead blurred from green to black.
CHAPTER FIVE
Keri cocked the rifle again and aimed it at the big man. She hoped that the stranger had managed to get his horse stopped and his hands untied, but he was on his own now. At least he was still alive. The big man in front of her looked a bit dumbfounded as he stared up at the frayed end of the rope.
End of the Trail Page 4
