Heritage And Honor E-Book

Pamela D. Hart

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Charlotte Mason, also known as Charley, is the headstrong, independent heiress of Bar M: a family-run ranch with high traditions and morals.

But all is thrown to the Montana wind when two cowboys claim the same bloodline runs through their veins. When the only person who can support their claim is murdered, Charley must team up with those in question to find the truth.

Soon, Charlotte will learn that knowing the truth has its consequences.

Set in a beautiful horse ranch in Montana, Pamela D. Hart's Heritage And Honor is a compelling mix of light western romance and cozy mystery.

Leseprobe

HERITAGE AND HONOR

PAMELA D. HART

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

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About the Author

Copyright (C) 2021 Pamela D. Hart

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Edited by Chelsey Heller

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

Daddy, thank you for teaching me the value of family and the worth of honor. I love you.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My love of writing developed from all the books I read and the stories that played in my head. Talking to myself is commonplace and my love of words is ingrained deep within. My favorite genre has always been romance with history thrown in. Heritage and Honor is no different.

My research into Great Falls and Helena, Montana, lead me to fall in love with the state. It's history rich. From Paris Gibson, the true founder and first mayor, of Great Falls, to Josephine (Chicago Joe) Hensley, the Queen of the Red District. I couldn't help but intertwine their history with the Masons.

But my book wouldn't be possible if not for my real life. My history. My experiences. And of course, some very important people who have supported and loved me along the way.

My husband, David. Your unwavering devotion and support has helped me grow as a woman, a wife, a mother and an author. Thank you for always believing in me. Defending me. And being proud of me. You are the love of my life.

Dalan, my firstborn. Your passion for life and tenacity has never ceased to amaze and inspire me. I am so proud of you as a son, brother, husband, and friend. And soon, you'll be a father. I know you'll be an excellent daddy. You are my sunshine. I love you more than the sky.

My second and youngest son, Austin. Your quiet resolve and unfathomable heart will take you far. Not just in personal relationships but in the medical field as well. You are intelligent and compassionate—wonderful qualities, I must say, for a doctor. I hope you accomplish all your dreams, my sweet angel baby. I love you more than the sky.

And my dad. What can I say, Dad? I know I gave you a run for your money, to borrow the cliché. I didn't make it easy on you. But you never faltered. You love me unconditionally. I never once doubted that. I hope I never disappoint you.

And to the mother of my heart. Mom, my dad didn’t choose wisely the first time. But he sure hit the jackpot when he married you. Thank you for your love and loyalty to my daddy. And thank you even more for taking my brothers and me into your heart and making us your family.

Aunt Tina, I owe it to you for introducing me to reading at a young age. And from there, my love of words grew. Thank you for always loving me and believing in me.

Donna Russo Morin, thank you for your optimism and guidance. You helped me secure confidence in myself and in my novel. May we work together again.

CHAPTER1

The bright shafts of afternoon sun cut through the barred window and mingled with dust and cigar smoke, forming a billowy blanket. The pot-bellied stove popped and crackled, spitting its fervor into the small room.

Charley’s pulse throbbed and her muscles clenched. Sheriff Cutler barely looked at her. He sat behind his desk and examined his cigar, its end chewed and mangled. He ignored what she’d just told him. To Charley, that could mean one of two things—either the man didn’t like her, or he just didn’t like taking information from a woman. Either way, it made Charley wary of him.

She’d liked the former sheriff. It was too damn bad he’d passed away three months earlier from a heart attack. Sheriff Adams had been dignified. Brave. Caring, even. She’d never had a problem with him. He had always respected her.

But this one…well, Cutler wouldn’t even stand when she entered the room. And the way he’d ignored her complaint—it was plain unacceptable.

She slapped her hat across her left thigh. “Sheriff, it’s the third time this week.”

Sheriff Cutler blew smoke from his mustache-lined lips. “Miss Mason, I done told ya, I have stage robbers to catch.”

Her eyes burned and twitched from the smoke. What the hell kind of cigar was that? It certainly wasn’t the kind her father smoked. Her father’s cigars filled her nostrils with a soft, almost sweet aroma. This cheap cigar smoke, mixed with the smell of stale coffee, made her stomach lurch. And the sheriff continued to piss her off.

She cleared her throat. “Well, Sheriff, that’s your job. And it’s also your job to find out who’s killing my cattle.”

Cutler dropped the cigar to the floor and smashed it with his worn black boots. He stood, his chair rolling back with a squeak and hitting the wall behind him. He pulled at his belt, catapulting his belly over the pock-marked desk. “Howz about you have yer brother come see me?”

“My brother...” she wanted to smash his face with her fist. Charley knew most men weren’t keen on independent women, but her father had always told Charley she could do anything. Even what a man could do. And running their ranch along with her brother Andy was just what Charley did.

Cutler squared back his shoulders. “Wearing pants don’t make you no man. Understand?”

Charley squinted at him. “You mean like how wearing that badge doesn’t make you a sheriff?”

Cutler sucked in air and coughed. “I don’t have time to play Pinkerton for your dead cattle.”

Charley laughed. “‘Play Pinkerton.’ That’s funny, Sheriff." She pointed to his shirt. "You wouldn’t know a clue if it jumped on that badge.”

Cutler’s face turned red and his eyes closed to slits. “Now listen—”

“Never mind.” Charley held up her hand. “My family and I will handle it. Thanks for nothing.” She turned and walked out of the office. She stepped on the boardwalk and shut the door, the SHERIFF sign rattling against the worn wood. “Son of a bitch.”

She heard a gasp and looked to her left.

Mrs. Haines and her daughter Emily stood outside the newspaper office. Mrs. Haines clicked her tongue, grabbed Emily by the arm, and led her into the general store.

Charley rolled her eyes. Dammit. Nothing like the town busybody and head of the Women’s Church League hearing you cuss. Well, Mrs. Haines could wag her tongue about how unladylike Charley was. Wouldn’t be for the first time. And Charley was too pissed to send a cheeky retort their way.

To hell with Mrs. Haines and her prim, proper daughter. And to hell with the sheriff.

Charley looked across the street. The sign for the Broken Spur Saloon sang to her like a harmonica on a trail drive. A drink—or two—might just ease the fury burning in her gut.

She grabbed her long hair from off her neck and twirled it onto the back of her head, then forced her Stetson on top. With a jingle of spurs on wood, she stepped off the boardwalk and headed to the saloon.

Charley shoved open the batwing doors, making them bounce off the interior frame with a rickety bang. She looked around. Not too crowded here. A farmhand at the bar and two cowboys at a table in the corner.

Charley glanced at the one wearing the tan Stetson, sitting in a chair that he leaned back against the wall. His hat sat low on his forehead, but that didn't hide his chiseled features: thin nose, defined lips, square jaw. Strong, handsome features. She could tell he was watching her, but she was too far away to see the color of his eyes.

I’ll bet they’re beautiful.

Now why in the world would she even think that? Her go-round with Cutler must have messed with her head. She walked to the bar.

“Hey, Fred,” Charley called. She laid a silver coin on the dull surface, then tugged each finger of her gloved hand, removing the brown leather. She repeated the process with the other hand and arranged both gloves next to her coin. All the while, jumbled thoughts tumbled around in her head.

She and Andy had found butchered cattle on their range for almost a week, and the sheriff hadn’t lifted a finger to help. Which didn’t surprise Charley. The man wasn’t worth the contents of a spittoon. But he was the law, so she’d gone to him for help. All she’d gotten was a headache and the urge to drink herself into a stupor.

Fred came into the saloon from the back room and wiped his hands on the towel tucked into the waistband of his trousers. "Howdy, Miss Charley." He set a glass on top of the bar, pulled out a bottle from underneath, and looked at her with raised eyebrows. Charley nodded and Fred poured the liquid. "How's it goin'?"

“I’m horns and rattles.” She downed the whiskey in one gulp and set the glass on the counter. “Pour me another, please.” Charley swallowed that one down lickety-split. She pressed her lips together, then said, “You need better whiskey.”

He chuckled. “Miss Charley, ya say that every time ya come in here. That’s my best stuff.”

Charley laughed. She always liked to tease Fred. “I know, but you haven’t listened.” And neither had the sheriff.

“Something wrong?”

She pounded a hand on the bar. “Sheriff Cutler’s as useless as a saddle on a goat.”

“What’s he done now?” Fred asked.

“So you’re still dressin’ like a boy,” a familiar voice suddenly said.

Charley turned around and came face-to-face with her ex, Jesse Gardner. Her stomach flipped, and she clenched her right hand near her Colt .44. She didn’t know if she wanted to punch him or shoot him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

Jesse shot her one of his infamous lopsided grins. “Aw, come on, Charley. Don’t get your back up. Buy me a drink.”

Her fingers itched to grab her gun, but she couldn’t kill a man just for being a scalawag. “I wouldn’t buy you a sermon on Sunday, Gardner. Now go cuddle a cactus.” Charley turned back toward the bar.

Morgan and Warren Ramsey sat at a corner table in the Broken Spur. Their beer mugs and a deck of cards spread out on the faded, scratched tabletop.

Morgan took a sip of his beer. “Warren, I hope we didn’t waste a week riding out here.”

“We have to get hired at the ranch first.” Leaning forward in his chair, Warren rested his elbows on the table and placed his chin on his folded hands. “Then we’ll get part ownership. Just like we’d planned back in Helena before we left home.”

Morgan raked a hand through his sandy-blond hair, grabbing his hat off the table and stuffing it on his head. “Getting hired on at the Bar M is one thing. Getting part ownership is another.”

“Morg, I’ve never let ya down, so don’t lose faith in me now. Besides, we have a foolproof plan.”

Morgan leaned forward. “Let’s go over it again. We know the son Andy does the hiring. There are two daughters. Charlotte does some ranching, and the youngest, Katherine isn’t involved at all.”

“She’s real ladylike, that Katherine. So I heard.”

Morgan nodded. “I’ll go to the ranch first and see if this Andy will hire us.” He took a sip of his beer. “Since the ranch breaks and sells mustangs, you can get hired as a bronc buster.” He shifted his weight and leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs.

“Me, a bronc buster? Why?”

“Because you’re damn good at it, and a good bronc buster is hard to find.”

“I’d rather be a cowhand, Morgan. I don’t want too much attention and—”

Morgan suddenly righted his chair and gazed at the door. “Who’s that?”

Warren looked toward the door and shrugged. “How would I know? Just some whippersnapper, I reckon.” He laughed. “Someone should fatten him up a bit.”

Even with the denim trousers and button-down shirt, Morgan could see she wasn’t a he. She had a long neck and her waist curved to small hips and thighs. Surely, Warren could see all that, too.

Morgan stared at the girl. She looked around the saloon, her gaze resting on him briefly, and then she walked to the bar. Her chin set, head high, and back as straight as a blade of grass reaching for the sun.

Soon, some cowboy came up to her, and after a few exchanged words, the girl turned her back on him. The cowboy grabbed her wrist and pulled. A Stetson flew in the air, and long blond hair tumbled out from underneath.

“Warren, look again.”

Warren looked up from his cards and opened his mouth, but Morgan held up a hand. He pushed away from their table, stood as he slid the edge of his long duster behind his gun, and then strode to the bar.

Jesse held Charley’s wrist. She tried to tug it away. He tightened his grip, sending stitches of pain up her arm. “Let go of me.”

“You always were purdy when you were mad,” Jesse said with a crooked grin. He bent his head closer. She twisted and pulled her wrist free.

Charley moved back a step, rubbing her throbbing right wrist. A man suddenly appeared beside her.

“I don’t think the lady wants your attention.” The stranger’s deep voice filled the saloon.

Charley looked at the stranger’s profile. It was the cowboy from the corner table. His hat still sat low on his head, and sandy-blond hair peeked out from beneath the back. He stood tall. Taller than her, and taller than Jesse.

“This ain’t none of your business, mister.” Jesse took a step forward.

Charley heard a click. The stranger held a gun. She hadn’t even seen his arm move.

“I’m making it my business. Now leave.” His tone unyielding as he aimed the revolver at Jesse’s chest.

Charley watched the play of emotion on Jesse’s face. He didn’t want to heed the stranger’s warning. He looked at her, his eyes sparking like flint on steel. He wanted to fight with her some more. She held her breath. Jesse had always taken too many chances. Didn’t seem like he’d changed one bit in five years.

Jesse pointed at her. “This ain’t over, Charley.” He turned and walked out of the saloon.

The stranger holstered his gun and bent down to retrieve her hat. He handed it to her and tipped the brim of his tan hat. “Ma’am, I think this belongs to you.”

Charley took her hat and looked up into his face. She felt the pulse of her heart in her veins. “Oh, um. Yes. Thank you.”

She could see the color of his eyes now. And truth be told, she’d never seen that shade of green before; lush as a morning’s meadow, yet as inflexible as a cold branding iron. His long, thin nose sat above defined lips set in a stern line.

“None of that was necessary,” she said.

“Well, ma’am, from my perspective, it was. I always help a lady in need.” His gaze took an unhurried stroll down her body, lingering on her legs, then back up to her face. “Although with those trousers, I’m only assuming you’re a lady.”

Charley’s stomach tightened. “I didn’t ask for your assistance, mister. And I certainly didn’t ask for your opinion of my character.”

He laughed, the sound coming from deep within his chest. “Listen, I didn’t come here for trouble, although I ended up finding some. Why don’t you run along? Cuz like I said, I’m assuming you’re a lady, and ladies don’t belong in saloons unless they're working girls.”

Did he just compare her to a saloon girl? The jackass. She whacked her hat against her thigh. “You wouldn’t know a la—”

“Miss Charley?” Fred scooted out from behind the bar and stood next to her.

Charley looked at the stranger, then to Fred and back again. She let out a loud sigh. “Dammit.” Fred hated fights in his place. Something always got broken and needed fixin’. She didn’t want to be the cause of any hardship for him. Even though she could pay for damages, she couldn’t pay for Fred’s mental comfort.

Charley grabbed her gloves and placed her Stetson on her head. “This isn’t over.” She waved her gloves at the stranger’s face. “If I ever see you again, and you stick your nose in my business, you’ll be sorry.” She patted Fred’s shoulder and marched out of the saloon.

Morgan stared at the swinging batwing doors. “What was that?”

“That was a woman you don’t wanna tangle with.” Fred walked back behind the bar.

Morgan shook his head, then rejoined his brother at the table. Warren was laughing at the spectacle.

“Have your laughs, big brother.”

“You were right. That was a woman. And what a woman.” Warren laughed again.

“What kinda woman walks around dressed like that?” Morgan took a gulp of his now-warm beer. “Those trousers showed...well, they showed she was a woman for Christ’s sake.” Morgan couldn’t erase the image of her stomping out of the saloon.

The denim material had hugged every curve of her lower body. Her hips had swayed like a porch swing. He’d seen, and liked, the curve of her waist, hips, and backside. And they were all attached to long, long legs…and now everything was etched in his mind.

Damn, he didn’t need a woman messing with their plans. He took another swig of his beer.

“She sure was a spitfire,” Warren said. “She didn’t swoon right into your arms, either.”

Morgan grunted. “I don’t know what territory you live in, but not all women swoon into my arms.”

“Morgan, you always have women swooning into your arms. And men who want to shoot you.”

“Are you talking about that little redhead back in Wolf Creek? She didn’t swoon at me.”

“Only because the dude she was with wanted to shoot ya. He found out who you were and pulled his gun. To his demise, the fool.”

Morgan shook his head. He hadn’t wanted to kill the fellow, but the man wouldn’t back off. When the fellow had pulled his gun, Morgan didn’t have a choice but to defend himself. “It’s not my fault fast guns want to make a name for themselves, Warren.”

“I know that. Your height sure as hell doesn’t help. You stand out like a saddle blister.”

“Hobble your lip.”

Warren raised his hands. “Sorry. You may be my younger brother, but you certainly ain’t my little brother.”

Morgan was two years Warren’s junior and four inches taller. He didn’t mind being tall. Hell, he didn’t mind being fast with his pistol, either. He just didn’t like being a target for every gunslinger looking to put a notch on his grip.

And he didn’t like women in saloons unless they were ladies of the night. That spitfire had class. Morgan had heard it in her voice and had seen it in the way she carried herself. And she was filled with fire. She'd tried to hold her emotions in check, but Morgan sensed her passion just beneath the surface. One day, it would burst out. Maybe he’d be around...damn it. He didn’t need this right now. “Someone needs to turn her over his knee.”

“Oh, we’re back to her again?”

“No.” Morgan shook his head. “I mean, she shouldn’t be in here.”

“Why not?”

“She’s a lady, Warren. And she has class, despite those trousers.”

“So you want to bend a ladyover your knee? Interesting.”

Morgan narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Okay, enough. Back to business.”

Warren nodded and took a sip of his beer.

“I’ll head out to the Bar M. You meet up with me, and we’ll talk to this Andy about getting hired on. The first part of our plan will be in motion.” Morgan knew once they had set their plan into action, there was no turning back. He also knew he had no desire to stop. It was all or nothing.

CHAPTER2

Outside the Broken Spur, Charley mounted Omega and kicked her into a full gallop. She wanted to get to the Bar M. Home. It would shield her from handsome strangers, who were a mixture of gallantry and boorishness. And it would protect her from Jesse, who was up to God knew what.

Charley took the main trail to the ranch. Trees lined both sides of the path, creating a canopy against the late afternoon sun. It didn’t take long for her house to come into view.

It was a large house. Two stories high and ornate in many ways, with its columns and numerous French doors. But it had always been home to Charley. A place she’d felt safe. She'd always felt loved growing up in the grand Bar M house.

Charley rode the short distance to the courtyard, thoughts still awhirl. Jesse was back. Her stomach tightened. Aunt Lydia would catch on that something had happened. Charley didn’t want to explain Jesse just yet. And she didn’t want to explain the stranger at all. He’d unnerved her.

He was a fine-looking man. Charley wouldn’t deny that: tall and bold, with green eyes that had stared straight into her soul. His clothing had stretched taut across muscle and sinew, touting power and virility. He emitted dominance. Damn him.

Charley dismounted in front of the veranda. I will not think of him. She tethered Omega to a post by the front steps. Cal, their most loyal ranch hand, would take care of her precious animal. Charley patted Omega’s rump, then made her way to the front door.

She closed the door with a soft click and looked around the grand foyer. No sign of her sister Katherine or Aunt Lydia. She crept across the marble floor to the parlor.

Once her boots hit the carpet, she walked to the liquor table near the French door. She poured herself a brandy and swirled the amber liquid in the glass.

Jesse Gardner was back.

She hadn’t seen him since he’d left five years earlier. She certainly hadn’t missed him. Leaving had been the best gift he’d ever given her, even if it hadn’t been of his own free will.

Charley didn’t blame him. Her father’s legal power and political influence were enough to scare the hide off a buffalo. And it had terrified Jesse. He’d already experienced the inside of a cell and didn’t want to go back. He had left without so much as a by-your-leave. Not that he’d needed Charley’s permission, but it would’ve given her satisfaction to see him shin out and never return.

Charley tilted the glass to her lips and tossed back its contents. She closed her eyes and savored the burn as it rolled down her throat. She touched the handle of her gun. If he ever threatens me, my family, or this ranch again, I’ll take care of him myself.

Charley heard the swoosh of fabric. Opening her eyes, she turned and found Aunt Lydia swishing into the parlor.

“I thought I heard you come in.”

Charley smiled. “I always said you had a crystal ball hidden in your skirts, Aunt Lydia.”

“Fiddlesticks.” Aunt Lydia kissed Charley on her cheek. “Having known you all your life, it’s not hard to predict what you’ll do.”

“I suppose twenty-three years has given you sufficient insight.” Charley reached for the decanter.

Aunt Lydia gasped. “What happened to your wrist?” She reached for Charley’s arm. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, Charley.” Lydia clasped Charley’s hand and turned it over. “You have a bruise all around your wrist.” Her voice rose to a frantic pitch.

“We just determined that nothing gets by you, Auntie.” Charley pulled free from her aunt’s grasp and poured herself another drink.

“Enough of the brandy, Charley. Whathappened?” Lydia placed her hands on her hips and tapped her toe on the floor.

Charley swallowed her brandy. “Jesse’s back.” She looked into her empty glass and sighed. “He came to the Broken Spur and started some...um...trouble.”

Lydia raised her hand to her throat. “What? You let him get rough with you?” Lydia’s mouth hung open, and Charley gently pushed it closed. Lydia swung at Charley’s hand with both of hers as if swatting a swarm of mosquitoes. “This isn’t funny, Charley.”

“Who’s laughing?” Charley made her way to the sofa and sat with a big floof. “I didn’t let him. It all happened so fast. I didn’t have a chance to do anything. Then some stranger came over and defendedme.” And had made her look incompetent.

“What did he do? This stranger, I mean.” Lydia sat next to her.

“He ordered Jesse to leave.” Charley tried to concentrate on what she was telling her aunt, but the stranger’s image kept forming in front of her.

“That couldn’t have gone well. What did Jesse do?”

Charley tightened her jaw. “He left.”

“What do you mean ‘he left’?”

“Exactly what I said. He left. He mumbled something and—” Charley waved her hand in the air, “—walked out the door.”

“That certainly doesn’t sound like the Jesse I remember.”

“Well, you never saw Jesse around a man like this.” Charley looked at her aunt. “He’s the type that commands respect with just his presence. He’s tall—taller than Jesse by at least four inches. He’s got broad shoulders and his voice...even Jesse couldn’t ignore a voice like that.”

Lydia grinned. “Handsome man then.”

Charley sat upright. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, nothing.” Lydia pulled a loose thread on her skirt. When it came free, she rolled it into a small ball with her forefinger and thumb. “I just assumed with him being tall and broad-shouldered that he’d have to be handsome, too.”

“Stop that, Aunt Lydia.” Charley balled her hands into fists and squeezed. “Just because he’s handsome doesn’t mean he can poke into my business and start ordering me around.” She plopped back against the sofa cushions.

Lydia laughed. “Ah, so he ishandsome, and he got you all flustered.”

“He’s as irritating as a saddle-sore.”

“Saddle-sore or not, no one gets you in a dander, Charley. Especiallya man.” Lydia laughed, then turned somber. “But what are you going to do about Jesse?”

“I don’t know. I have to find out why he came back. If Father hears about it, he’ll come back from Washington straightaway.”

“What about Andy? He didn’t like what Jesse did to you any more than your father did.”

“No one liked what Jesse did, but that won’t stop him from thinking up another scheme. I need to handle this before Father finds out.”

Lydia patted Charley’s leg. “I have faith that you will not only handle it, but handle it skillfully.” She stood. “Dinner will be ready shortly. I'll see you in the dining room.”

Charley watched her aunt leave the parlor, but the clip-clop of hooves pulled her to the French doors. She lifted a curtain to peer out the window, and watched her brother Andy throw his right leg over his horse’s neck, land on the ground, and hand the reins to Cal.

She looked at her wrist. Damn it. She’d never be able to hide the bruise from Andy. She dropped the curtain and went to meet her brother.

Andy opened the door and entered the foyer. “Hey, sis." He tossed his hat on the foyer table.

“Hi, Andy." Charley crooked her arm. "Want to escort me to the dining room?” They entered the dining room, arm in arm. Aunt Lydia smiled as she placed dishes of food on the table. Katherine was already seated with a book in her hands. Without looking up, she bobbed her head, sending her blond curls to bounce around her heart-shaped face. Andy kissed Aunt Lydia's cheek and winked at Katherine, then sat at the head of the large mahogany table.

Aunt Lydia sat next to Katherine and tapped her on the wrist. Katherine placed her book to the side and obediently folded her hands. Lydia bowed her head and made the sign of the cross. “Dear Lord, bless this bountiful meal, these children I love, and Gerald and Constance. Thank you, Lord, for your numerous blessings on this family. Amen.”

Andy crossed himself. “Can you pass the beef?” Between mouthfuls, he said, “I found three more dead head today.”

“Three?” Charley wiped her mouth and looked at her brother. Tall and thin, his lanky frame disguised his solid muscular build.

Andy stared at Charley, his fork frozen midway to his open mouth. His hazel eyes homed in on her wrist. “What the hell happened to your wrist?”

“We can talk about that later. How many—”

“No, Charley, we’ll talk about it now!”

“Jesse’s back,” Lydia said.

Andy looked at Aunt Lydia. “What?”

“I was at the Broken Spur and he showed up,” Charley said.

Andy looked back at Charley. “He just ‘showed up’?”

“No,” Lydia interrupted again. “He also started some trouble, as you can see on her wrist. And some stranger chased him away.”

Charley would’ve laughed at Andy’s head jerking from left to right, but none of it was humorous. Dead cattle. Jesse’s return. Arrogant stranger.

Andy released his fork, making it bounce off his plate with a ping. “Jesse grabbed you and a stranger chased him out of Fred’s?”

“Yes, Andrew.” Charley wished she could shoot bullets from her eyes. Instead, she rolled them. “Without him, who knows what Jesse would’ve done.”

“Charley, that’s not what I meant.” Andy covered Charley’s hand with his. “I just want to know what Jesse’s doing back in town. And who is this stranger?”

“If I knew the man, I wouldn’t be calling him a stranger, now would I?”

Andy pulled his hand away as if he had petted a porcupine. “Guess not.”

“Your father won’t be pleased to hear Jesse’s returned,” Lydia said.

Katherine clapped her hands together. “Maybe he and Mother will come home. They've been in Washington for way too long.”

Charley shook her head. “Kat, that’s exactly why we need to keep this quiet.”

“Charley, it took the cowhands and me to threaten Jesse to get him gone the last time. And Father used every legal means at his disposal. I’m surprised Jesse didn’t land back in jail. Or did you forget?” Andy grimaced at her.

“And you called off your wedding,” Katherine said. “I would’ve died with the entire town talking about me.”

Katherine had been a sickly child, having contracted scarlet fever when she was only four years old. The long-term effects from the disease had left Katherine with a weak heart and an even weaker constitution. So yes, Charley could well imagine that delicate Kat would've died of shame.

Charley let out a deep breath. “I didn’t forget anything that bast—”

“Charley,” Lydia said.

“Aw, hell...heck, Aunt Lydia. You know darn well what I mean. And as far as the town is concerned, Kat, I wasn’t happy about their gossiping, but I endured.” Charley would never admit how mortified she’d been, but she held her head high every time she went into town. She refused to let anyone see her with her chin down or her shoulders slumped. She was a Mason.

“I understand your concern, Charley. However, your father would want to be informed, at the very least. Whether or not he comes home is irrelevant,” Aunt Lydia said.

Charley looked at her aunt. Lydia’s ash-blond hair was pulled back and fashioned into a knot, emphasizing her heart-shaped face and high, wide cheekbones. Charley felt a twinge of guilt at the creases on her aunt’s forehead, knowing she'd contributed to many of them.

“Aunt Lydia,” Charley pleaded. “I need to find out what Jesse’s up to first.”

Lydia wrung her napkin. “Charley, if something were to happen—”

“I can take care of myself.”

Andy flung himself back in his chair. “Like you did today?”

“That was a fluke,” Charley said slamming her fist on the table. It quivered, making liquid sway in glasses and dishes clatter.

“Remember yourselves,” Aunt Lydia said. “Charley, I’ll give you a few days. A week at the most. If you don’t find out what that scoundrel is up to, I’m telegraphing your father.”

“I agree with Aunt Lydia,” Andy said. “In the meantime, I’m having someone watch you.”

“Andy, I’m not a babe.”

“It’s for your safety, Charley. He got rough with you today, for God's sake. And he’ll pay for that. I promise.”

“Andy’s right. Besides, we have Kat to consider,” Lydia said.

Katherine glanced up from her book she’d picked back up and looked around the table. “Why do I have to be dragged into this? He didn’t bother me before.”

Lydia covered Katherine’s hand with her own. “There’s no telling what Jesse’s capable of, honey.”

Charley heaved a sigh. “I don’t want to discuss this anymore. Besides, I went to see the sheriff today about the prior dead cattle. He was no help.”

“Did you really think he would be?” Andy asked.

“Actually, yes, I did. He is the law in this town. We’ve found dead cattle on our property for the past five days. Someone’s butchering them, and it’s not Indians. They don’t kill cattle and leave them for the buzzards.” Charley traced the edge of her plate with a single finger.

“I’m gonna post more night guards,” Andy said.

Not looking up from her plate, Charley said, “We may have to hire a few more hands.”

“Will that be a problem?” Katherine's feigned interest in the ranch wasn't terribly convincing with her nose in a book.

Andy pushed his empty plate toward the middle of the table, leaned back, and winked at Kat. “It won’t be a problem, kitten. We have the best reputation in the state. That’s why the slaughtered cattle are so puzzling.”

“Do whatever it takes, Andy.” Charley pushed her chair back and stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll turn in early.” She left the dining room and made her way to the second floor. When she reached her bedroom, she went to her four-poster bed and sat down.

She yawned. It wasn’t that late, but she was tired. She felt as tight as a fiddle string.

Dead cattle. Jesse’s in town. Damn it all to hell.