The Renegade's Redemption

by Stacy Henrie

  “Will you at least finish plowing the field you were working on?” she urged.

  Mr. Grady didn’t answer. Instead he increased his agitated retreat to the barn. But Ravena wasn’t giving up.

  Before she reached the barn doors, the man came barreling out on his horse. Which meant he’d made up his mind and had the mount already saddled before he’d come into the kitchen to tell her that he’d quit and wanted his wages.

  “I’ll be takin’ what I earned this week,” he said, jerking his horse to a stop beside her.

  Straightening her shoulders, Ravena leveled him with her firmest look. She might be a lone woman running the place now, but she wouldn’t be cowed or swindled. “I’ll pay you for five days of work, not six.” She let the declaration hang in the air a moment before adding with a more entreating tone, “Unless you’re willing to work the rest of the day. Then I’ll pay you for six days.”

  He glared down at her. “I already done told you, I ain’t staying.”

  She clenched her teeth, frustrated by his decision and his barnyard vernacular. “Very well.” After fishing the required cash and coin from her apron pocket, she dropped them into his outstretched hand. “Good day, Mr. Grady.”

  He sniffed with disapproval as he pocketed the money, then dug his heels into his horse’s flanks. Head held high, Ravena stepped back to avoid the kick of dirt from the animal’s hooves. But her bravado ran out before the pair disappeared down the road.

  Now that she’d lost another hired hand, the contents of the letter in her other pocket weighed heavier than a steer on her mind and heart. She moved to the porch and sat on the step. Pulling out the letter, she smoothed the wrinkles from it. If only she could smooth the troubled ripples in her life as easily.

  Dear Miss Reid,

  First let me offer my condolences at the loss of your grandfather. I never met a more gentle man and I’m grateful for my association with him these past few years.

  Regarding the four brothers he planned to bring to your farm this summer, I’m afraid I do not have the most comforting of news. After I received your letter sharing the sad tidings of your grandfather’s passing and your limitation in providing any additional orphans with necessary housing, I felt it best to conduct a search for a permanent placement for the boys here in Boise but to no avail.

  Here at the orphanage, we are quite at capacity at present. And unfortunately these boys, along with several of our older orphans, who have not found permanent homes either, will be joining the Orphan Train when it comes through on the first of July. As you are no doubt aware, the likelihood of the boys staying together once they leave here is quite low.

  If you wish to follow through with your grandfather’s wishes to provide a home for these four brothers, I would urge you to make the necessary plans posthaste. I will not be able to detain their departure. I eagerly await your response.

  Sincerely,

  Miss Gretchen Morley

  Tears succeeded in blurring her vision this time as Ravena repocketed the letter. Those poor boys. Of course she wanted to honor her grandfather’s wishes to bring them to the farm. As much for them as for herself. If she could fulfill Grandfather’s wishes in these last plans he’d made before his death, then perhaps she could finally feel she had done enough to atone for nearly turning her back on him and the farm all those years ago.

  Wiping the back of her hand at the useless moisture in her eyes, she shifted her gaze beyond the barn to the unfinished structure that sat there. Her grandfather, a skilled craftsman as well as farmer, had framed the outer walls of the ground floor. But his death had robbed the incomplete edifice of its talented creator, leaving the posts to look like leafless trees eyeing the distant sky.

  How was she to provide a home for four more children without a bigger house? How could she feed and clothe the children she already had if a large portion of her money went to hiring workers? And that was if she could find someone to hire who’d be willing to stay until the plowing and planting were done. Otherwise, she wasn’t sure what she’d do.

  Even with the help of thirteen-year-old Jacob, the oldest of the orphans currently living at the farm, the two of them couldn’t finish the plowing and planting on time. She needed an able-bodied man willing to work for little wages. One skilled in house building as well as farming would be even better. It was a rather tall order.

  Movement by the barn drew her attention. Nine-year-old Mark and his seven-year-old brother, Luke, peered around the corner. No doubt they were the owners of the offending snake Mr. Grady had been complaining about. “Mark, Luke, come here, please.”

  The towheaded boys walked toward her, their chins dipped low to their chests. Sure enough, Mark carried a snake in his hand.

  Though two years separated their ages, they looked as if they could be twins with their matching blond hair and brown eyes. They reminded her of a set of twins she’d known growing up—Tex and Tate Beckett. Even just the memory of the Beckett brothers caused a physical ache to lodge in her chest, especially any thought connected to Tex. He was the man she’d loved fully and agreed to elope with eight years earlier. Only Tex never came for her.

  Which was good, she reminded herself. He’d saved her from making the two biggest mistakes of her life—leaving her grandfather behind and trusting Tex with her heart.

  Pushing aside the painful recollections, she waited for the boys to shuffle to a stop in front of her. A shiver passed through her at seeing their reptile up close. She feared snakes every bit as much as the horses did. “Do you remember what I’ve told you, boys, about bringing snakes around the horses?”

  Mark shot her a sad look. “We ain’t supposed to do that.”

  “Aren’t supposed to do that,” she gently corrected. It was her duty to raise these children up right, and she would do it. A visit to their teacher might be in order to stress the importance of grammar and proper speech now that school was in session again.

  “But it’s a real beaut, Miss Ravena.” Mark grinned, his sorrow forgotten, as he held the snake aloft.

  Ravena scooted back against the porch column, eager to put distance between herself and the slithering creature. “Be that as it may, the rule still stands. As does the consequence. You, boys, will need to take over mucking the stalls for Jacob this week.”

  Mark and Luke exchanged pained glances.

  “And,” Ravena added, “if Mr. Grady were still here, you would need to apologize to him.”

  “Mr. Grady left?” Luke asked, his tone a mixture of regret and curiosity.

  “Yes, he’s left. Now please take that thing and release it somewhere beyond the fields.”

  Mark frowned and eyed the snake dangling from his fingers. “Do we have to?”

  Standing, Ravena fought an audible groan. “Yes,” she intoned firmly.

  They started to walk away, their heads low with dejection once more, then Mark turned around. Luke did the same. “If Mr. Grady’s gone then how are we gonna...” Mark smiled sheepishly. “I mean going to do spring planting without any help? Can we still get those new brothers you told us about?”

  Fresh apprehension washed through Ravena at hearing her own unanswered questions posed back to her. “We’ll figure it out, Mark. All of it. About the planting and bringing those new brothers to the farm.”

  Satisfied, the boys scampered off. Thankfully they didn’t see the droop to her shoulders or hear the heavy sigh that escaped her lips as she picked up her dish towel from off the rocker.

  “Let my words be true, Lord,” she prayed as she entered the house. “Please let them be true.”

  * * *

  He might die. Right here on the front step of his childhood home. Gripping his side, Tex managed to haul himself off the new horse he’d bought from a livery in Boise that morning. How he’d survived his escape from Casper, the train journ
ey west to Idaho, and the thirty-mile horse ride north from Boise to his hometown was beyond him. Some might say he’d had help from above, but Tex scoffed at the idea. He and God were as distant as he and his brother.

  Or at least as distant as he and his brother had been. That was about to change when he came face-to-face with Tate again today.

  Apprehension battled with the pain in Tex’s gut as he stumbled toward the door. Would Tate take one look at him and throw him out? Tex couldn’t say he’d blame Tate if he did. He’d probably do the same if their roles were reversed, given the way things had ended between them. His excessively serious brother, older by five minutes, might say Tex had gotten what he deserved. Tate might even call the law on him.

  The thought sent a shudder of dread through Tex and had him tugging the brim of his hat lower. He nearly turned around...but he didn’t know where else to go. If there was any chance of shelter to be found here, he had to try.

  “Can I help you?” a man asked as he exited the nearby barn. He had a few years on Tex’s twenty-nine.

  “I’m looking for...” Tex swallowed. It was a struggle to say his brother’s name for the first time in years. “Is Tate Beckett around?” Perhaps this man was a hired hand.

  But the man shook his head. “Sorry. Beckett doesn’t live here anymore. He sold me the place eight years ago. Said he was leaving the area for good.”

  Tate wasn’t here? Tex sagged against the porch railing in disbelief. This was a possibility he’d never even considered. His brother had loved this land. While Tex had tolerated farm work, Tate had loved it, even when they were young. Why would he up and leave a place and an occupation he’d prized? And where had he gone?

  “You all right?” The man peered hard at Tex. “You a relative of Beckett’s?”

  He didn’t need anyone recognizing him—not as Tate’s twin and certainly not as the Texas Titan. “Much obliged for the information, mister.”

  Mounting his horse left him sweating, despite the pleasant afternoon, and aggravated his wound even more. The makeshift bandage beneath his new set of clothes would likely be bloodied again. With great effort, he kept himself in the saddle and turned his horse.

  Where should he go now? The question had barely entered his head when he found himself guiding the horse away from the road toward the shortcut between his old home and the next farm over.

  He’d go to Ravena’s; she’d likely still be there. If anyone loved this place more than his twin brother, it was Ravena Reid.

  A feeling of dread and anticipation pushed through Tex’s cloud of pain at the thought of seeing her again. It was quickly followed by a surge of memories, most prominent being the afternoon, eight years ago, when he’d last seen and spoken with her. They’d planned to run away together that night—had arranged for him to come and fetch her. But his brother had caught Tex as he was leaving. After that horrible fight, with Tate accusing him of ruining Ravena’s life, Tex had run off alone, without a word to the girl he’d planned to marry.

  He’d thought he’d never see her again, had believed she was better off without him. Now he had no choice but to turn to her. He needed to find somewhere safe where he could rest, or he’d run the risk of collapsing in the middle of the road...and no doubt find himself waking up in a jail cell.

  Would she and her grandfather let him stay? Even a night or two in a real house, without being on the run, would surely help him heal faster.

  Tex swiped at his brow with his sleeve. The temperature felt as if it kept soaring. Or maybe that was his fever. He’d contracted one at some point during the train ride to Idaho. In another hour or so, he’d probably be shivering with cold. And then there was the near-constant dizziness.

  Trying to block out his intense discomfort, he turned his mind to Ravena once more. Would she be as beautiful as he remembered? It wasn’t hard for him to conjure up the image of her dark, wavy hair, deep brown eyes and the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Tex had met plenty of women since leaving home, and yet, none of them affected him the way Ravena had. None of them had seen past his causal, lighthearted, adventure-seeking demeanor to the real man beneath, either.

  The Reids’ farm came into view, causing Tex’s heart to flip painfully in his chest. He’d never allowed himself to believe he would ever come back. If he hadn’t deserved Ravena years ago, he certainly didn’t now. Fortunately, she and her grandfather, Ezra, weren’t likely to know about his unlawful profession. And he wanted to keep it that way.

  At the edge of one of the fields, which he absently noted was only a quarter of the way plowed, he climbed off his horse. If he thought facing Tate would be hard, facing Ravena was sure to be a thousand times more difficult.

  Something akin to the fear he’d felt when the sheriff in Casper had recognized him twisted in Tex’s stomach now. Could he face Ravena after all these years? What if she had learned he was an outlaw after all? His breath whooshed harder and faster through his lungs as the dizziness intensified. Tex tried to focus on leading his horse and staying upright. But after a few moments, the edges of his vision began to curdle like two-day-old milk and he found himself falling. The last thing to register in his mind was the feel of warm dirt against his face.

  * * *

  “Miss Ravena, Miss Ravena.” Mark’s frantic cry could be heard clear back to the kitchen.

  What now? she wondered, wiping flour from her hands onto her apron. If their snake had gotten loose somewhere it wasn’t supposed to... “I’ll be right back, Ginny. Keep forming those biscuits, please.”

  The ten-year-old girl nodded, her red hair framing her pale face. She typically said little, even though she’d been with them for nearly a year now, but she was a quick learner and an efficient helper in the kitchen.

  Ravena met Mark and his brother in the hallway. “What’s going on?”

  Hands on his knobby knees, Mark leaned over, trying to catch his breath. Luke copied his brother’s stance. “There’s somethin’ you gotta see, Miss Ravena.”

  She forced a patient smile. “Ginny and I are making biscuits for supper. If it’s another snake...”

  “Not a snake,” Mark said, panting. “It’s a person.”

  “A person?”

  Luke slipped his hand in hers and tugged her toward the front door. “He’s dead, out in the field.”

  Ravena stopped short, horror coursing through her. “Dead? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Mark gave a solemn nod as he rushed to push open the screen door. “He’s lying in the dirt, not moving. Luke even poked him with a stick and he still ain’t moved.”

  “Hasn’t moved,” she murmured. Were the boys serious? She almost wished it were a snake that had them overly excited.

  “You gotta come see, Miss Ravena,” Luke said, his eyes wide. “Besides, his horse is just standing there.”

  If what they were saying was true, she couldn’t very well leave a...a dead person in her field. Though what exactly she’d do with him, she didn’t know. First Mr. Grady and now this. But she refused to be beaten down by this day.

  Taking the rifle from its pegs above the front door, she followed the boys outside and across the yard. She cast a glance at the barn where she knew Jacob was working and six-year-old Fanny would be playing with the new litter of kittens. Should she ask Jacob to tag along? But she dismissed the thought. She had the gun and it wasn’t as if she’d never seen an expired person before.

  Still, she gave a quick prayer for protection and a little added bravery as she trailed the boys to the fields. If she weren’t on such a morbid errand, she might have paused to take in the view—one she never grew tired of. The farm sat on a hillside bench, overlooking the valley, the river and the mountains beyond. A stream ran along the edge of the property and boasted several nice-sized shade trees.

  “There’s his horse,”
Mark said, pointing.

  Sure enough, a lone horse munched on the grass at the edge of one of the fields. The one Mr. Grady had left only partially plowed. Ravena shaded her eyes with her hand and was able to make out a figure lying facedown in the dirt.

  Her heart sped up as she strode toward the body. The gentleman was tall and dressed like a cowboy or a farmhand, though even with the small amount of dust and dirt on his clothes, she could tell his were new. Ravena crouched beside him and set the gun within easy reach. There didn’t seem to be any obvious reason for the man’s demise. No limbs twisted at odd angles, no visible head injuries, no blood that she could see. And yet something had caused him to crumble in her field.

  She watched the back of his coat for movement and felt immense relief when she saw it rise and fall with breath. A sick or injured man was a far cry better than a dead one.

  “He’s still alive,” she announced in a half whisper, though she didn’t know why she felt the need to speak quietly.

  “How come he don’t...doesn’t...move then?” Mark asked from where he and Luke stood behind her.

  “I believe he’s unconscious.” She glanced past the man, in the direction he appeared to have been riding before his collapse, and frowned. Why would a stranger take the shortcut between her place and the old Beckett farm instead of using the road?

  Luke placed his hand on her shoulder in an oddly comforting gesture. “What are we going to do, Miss Ravena?”

  She studied the man again. “We are going to gently roll him over and see if we can get him to come around. Hopefully long enough to tell us who he is.”

  Placing her hands along his arm and side, she nodded toward his legs. “Boys, you push from there.”