“You inferred he and Miss Collier are friends.”
“He’s been spending a lot of time at her bakery.”
“A shop she opened right before the rustling started, and despite few customers or goods to sell, the woman lives well.”
“The clever Miss Collier is notably seen in town during each rustling incident.”
“And you suspect her of more than gossip, don’t you?”
“If Haze is the brains behind the gang rustling, and has played me for a fool all these months.” His friend’s serious expression became grim. “I’ve no business being sheriff. The man is dumber than a mud fence.”
“And Miss Collier?”
“Is guilty of more than being offended that you wouldn’t walk her home. Of what exactly, I’ve no proof.”
To his surprise, Nate found he missed his friend’s earlier good humor and offered support. “You’re making progress.”
“Too damn little.”
The truth of those harsh words weighed heavy on the two men. Over the next few miles conversation dwindled until they were barely exchanging a word. Each had been lost in their own thoughts for some time as they reached the anticipated fork in the road. When the friends moved a few feet off the road and pulled up, they focused on the reason for Nate’s side trip.
“You think Alice is ready to come home now?”
The Rolfes’ long-time housekeeper was like a second mother to Nate and his siblings. He gazed off to the south. She’d left several months ago to help her son following the death of his wife. “Hope so.”
“Jed was… poorly when I stopped by.”
Drunk, as he’d been at the funeral? The one brief letter Alice sent hadn’t mentioned trouble but Nate sensed something was wrong. Concerned, he’d asked Matt to drop by Jed’s place when the sheriff was in that part of the county last week. He looked back at his friend. The pity reflected in the other man’s gaze seemed to confirm his notion. With a nod, he acknowledged the information.
“Come over when you get back.”
“Will do.”
The two men parted ways. Matt continued west, heading toward Fir Mountain, while Nate aimed for a small farm near Ashwood. As much as he longed to be heading home too, riding south granted something he treasured, time alone. Between working on the Bar 7 with his brothers while his parents were away and helping Matt, it was rare to have a moment to call his own.
With almost a day’s ride ahead, he avoided towns and other travelers whenever possible. Nate had had his fill of people. By late afternoon, he felt more like himself than he had in a long while. He made camp in an empty meadow at dusk despite noting a few nearby farms.
Rain drizzled off and on. His tiny campfire provided more light than warmth. Jerky made a sorry dinner and his saddle a hard pillow. It wasn’t the most comfortable night Nate had ever spent but he considered it far better than taking shelter with strangers.
Late the next morning Nate rode up the road toward Redwing Farm. Grey clouds covered the sky, lending an eerie light to the day. He pulled up then reached into his pocket for the crumpled bit of paper his brother, Sam, had jotted down crude directions for him.
Nate studied the scribbles. A glance around seemed to confirm he was in the right place. He turned onto a rutted path kindness could call a road, riding slowly around a stand of tall fir trees, letting Jack pick his way forward. Minutes later, he crested a hill and headed for the house set in the center of a few other scattered structures.
The recent rain dampened the earth, muffling Jack’s hoof beats. He slowed his horse to a walk as he approached the wood-frame home. Dark and silent, with windows shuttered, the simple building looked deserted. No smoke drifted from the chimney.
Concerned, Nate scanned for other signs of life. Gently sloping fields stretched empty for a good distance around. The only signs of life came from a precious few chickens. This time of year, the lack of crops didn’t disturb him but he’d expected to see more animals as well as a person or two.
Nate dismounted, looped his reins around a porch post then walked up to the door. No one responded to him knocking. At a loss, he returned to Jack and climbed back in the saddle.
The stillness pricked at his nerves even though silence didn’t normally bother him. On his homestead only the sounds of nature filled most days. The quiet he found at River’s Bend was peaceful. But here… what he felt was… disquieting.
Leather creaked as Nate shifted in the saddle, searching for someone, anyone. No one moved about tending chores. Not a flicker of movement caught his eye. The corral didn’t confine one four-legged creature. Overall, the farm appeared neglected, almost deserted.
For a second, Nate flirted with the idea that his brother had given him wrong directions, then he dismissed the idea. Sam’s handwriting might be horrid but the man was a stickler for details. It was far more likely he’d read them wrong.
A gust of wind pierced the outer layer of his coat. Nate hunched his shoulders, chilled, as he considered options. After last night’s cold camp, he’d been looking forward to the warmth of a roaring fire, a hot meal, and a comfortable bed. Irritated, he was about to go in search of a neighbor for help when the sight of a board leaning against the barn stopped him cold.
Redwing Farm.
Although the cracked sign confirmed he was at the correct place, Nate felt frustrated rather than relieved. Worry weaved through his thoughts. Alice had known he’d arrive today. Well, she likely expected Sam, but still, she should be here, waiting.
Where is she?
His gaze scanned the area yet again. This time, from a new vantage point, Nate caught a flash of white on the side of the house. He urged Jack forward, riding past the building. On the far side, he discovered a woman with her back to him, battling to remove sheets from a clothesline in the rising wind. Silent, he pulled up and studied her for a moment although he knew she wasn’t the one he sought.
While he’d never thought to ask her exact age, Nate knew Alice had to be in her fifties. Her hair, once as dark as the night, now had liberal streaks of silver. The woman in front of him was bundled against the chilly weather in a long, dark coat but nothing covered her head.
The long, tangled remains of her braid whipped in the wind, holding his attention. The color, a rich ginger shade of red, drew Nate to her, a moth to a flame. His gaze never left the woman as he dismounted. For the first time he felt empathy toward those women who’d pounced on him upon recognition. This woman’s appearance compelled him. He left his mount ground-tied and strode straight to her, trying to make his approach as loud as possible so she wouldn’t be startled.
The wind ripped the sheet corner out of Hannah Brook’s hand again. Frustrated, a huff of air passed her lips as she tried to wrestle the linen into submission, but even the aggravating task couldn’t hold her full attention. Worry gnawed at her, causing distraction. Her gaze kept returning to where Alice and the kids had vanished into a clump of scrawny oak trees. Sam Rolfe should arrive by midday and she wanted to be elsewhere before then.
Although the older woman had repeatedly assured Hannah the Rolfes wouldn’t harm her or her daughter, she couldn’t quite believe it. The fiery tone Michael used when he’d spoken of his relations remained one of her most vivid memories of him. The easygoing man became downright grim at the mere mention of his family. He’d been emphatic, warning her to stay away from them, but never really explained why.
Maybe if we’d had more time…
Hannah