reins. The door to the shanty
opened a crack and the muzzle of a rifle glistened in the
sunlight.
"Loralee, that you?"
"It's me, Ginny. I need some help."
The door inched farther open, and a short,
sun-weathered figure emerged onto the listing planks that served as
a porch.
"What can I do?" The woman pulled a colorful blanket
tighter around her shoulders, her question hesitant.
"I need to leave my horse here."
Ginny eyed the sorrel and snorted. "Not much of a
horse."
"He belonged to a friend." Loralee felt the tears
rising.
The woman hopped off the porch, her gait belying her
wrinkled appearance. "He'll be safe with me."
Loralee handed her the reins. "Thank you, Ginny.
Jack's a good horse. Just a little long in the tooth."
Ginny smiled, her slow grin contagious. "We'll have a
lot in common then, he and I."
Loralee bit her lip, trying to decide how much to
say.
Ginny laid a time-weathered hand on Loralee's arm. "I
don't need to know."
Again, Loralee felt the tears rising. She fumbled in
her pocket, reaching for the coins she'd brought. She offered them
to Ginny.
The woman folded Loralee's open hand over the coins.
"I've no need for your money, girl. Now go quickly, before someone
sees you."
She hugged the old woman, who gruffly pushed her
away.
"Go on with you."
Loralee turned and hurried down the road. At least
Jack was safe. No one ever went to Ginny's. She was Ute, and even a
town like Silverthread had its untouchables.
She frowned, making her way across the bridge. She
really didn't have much to go on. All she really knew for certain
was that Duncan was dead. That and the fact that he'd left Jack
behind. Not exactly evidence of anything, but she couldn't shake
the feeling that something was very wrong. She rounded another bend
and caught sight of the line of cribs.
She needed Corabeth. Her friend would know what to
do.
*****
"I don't know what happened. I only know that
my father is dead and Michael is missing." Patrick ran a hand
through his hair and paced restlessly around the sheriff's office,
his mind still reeling from the shock. "There's got to be some kind
of connection."
Amos leaned back in his chair, his booted feet
propped up on his desk. "Best I can tell your father was
robbed."
"His pocket watch was gone." Patrick frowned at the
sheriff. "But I doubt he had anything else of value on him."
"I've seen men killed for a whole lot less than a
watch, Patrick. And everyone knew he carried it. Hell, wouldn't let
the damn thing out of his sight."
"My mother gave it to him. It was all he had left."
Patrick tried but couldn't keep the bitterness out of his
voice.
"Ain't no way round it, Patrick. Robbery's the most
logical explanation."
"Maybe, but that still doesn't explain Michael's
absence. And then there's the horses."
Amos leaned forward, dropping his feet to the floor,
his brows drawn together in consternation. "What are you talking
about?"
Patrick sat on the spindle back chair in front of the
desk. "Well, doesn't it seem a little odd to you that my father was
found on the road without his horse, and that Roscoe came home, as
pretty as you please, only without Michael?"
Amos waved a hand in dismissal. "Jack probably
wandered off somewhere."
Patrick frowned. "Not a chance. That horse can smell
fresh hay five miles away. And the ranch was in view. If Jack was
there, he'd be at home in his stall right now filling his
belly."
"Maybe the fellow who robbed Duncan stole him."
Patrick smiled, despite himself. "Only if the thief
was addle-brained. Jack isn't exactly prize horseflesh. In fact,
sometimes I wonder how he manages to make it from one day to the
next." He sobered, his mind returning to grim reality. "Something
here doesn't add up, Amos. I can feel it in my bones."
"Look, I know it ain't what you want to hear, but as
I see it, the facts simply don't support a connection. It's just a
lousy coincidence."
Patrick glared at the sheriff. The two events simply
had to be connected
opened a crack and the muzzle of a rifle glistened in the
sunlight.
"Loralee, that you?"
"It's me, Ginny. I need some help."
The door inched farther open, and a short,
sun-weathered figure emerged onto the listing planks that served as
a porch.
"What can I do?" The woman pulled a colorful blanket
tighter around her shoulders, her question hesitant.
"I need to leave my horse here."
Ginny eyed the sorrel and snorted. "Not much of a
horse."
"He belonged to a friend." Loralee felt the tears
rising.
The woman hopped off the porch, her gait belying her
wrinkled appearance. "He'll be safe with me."
Loralee handed her the reins. "Thank you, Ginny.
Jack's a good horse. Just a little long in the tooth."
Ginny smiled, her slow grin contagious. "We'll have a
lot in common then, he and I."
Loralee bit her lip, trying to decide how much to
say.
Ginny laid a time-weathered hand on Loralee's arm. "I
don't need to know."
Again, Loralee felt the tears rising. She fumbled in
her pocket, reaching for the coins she'd brought. She offered them
to Ginny.
The woman folded Loralee's open hand over the coins.
"I've no need for your money, girl. Now go quickly, before someone
sees you."
She hugged the old woman, who gruffly pushed her
away.
"Go on with you."
Loralee turned and hurried down the road. At least
Jack was safe. No one ever went to Ginny's. She was Ute, and even a
town like Silverthread had its untouchables.
She frowned, making her way across the bridge. She
really didn't have much to go on. All she really knew for certain
was that Duncan was dead. That and the fact that he'd left Jack
behind. Not exactly evidence of anything, but she couldn't shake
the feeling that something was very wrong. She rounded another bend
and caught sight of the line of cribs.
She needed Corabeth. Her friend would know what to
do.
*****
"I don't know what happened. I only know that
my father is dead and Michael is missing." Patrick ran a hand
through his hair and paced restlessly around the sheriff's office,
his mind still reeling from the shock. "There's got to be some kind
of connection."
Amos leaned back in his chair, his booted feet
propped up on his desk. "Best I can tell your father was
robbed."
"His pocket watch was gone." Patrick frowned at the
sheriff. "But I doubt he had anything else of value on him."
"I've seen men killed for a whole lot less than a
watch, Patrick. And everyone knew he carried it. Hell, wouldn't let
the damn thing out of his sight."
"My mother gave it to him. It was all he had left."
Patrick tried but couldn't keep the bitterness out of his
voice.
"Ain't no way round it, Patrick. Robbery's the most
logical explanation."
"Maybe, but that still doesn't explain Michael's
absence. And then there's the horses."
Amos leaned forward, dropping his feet to the floor,
his brows drawn together in consternation. "What are you talking
about?"
Patrick sat on the spindle back chair in front of the
desk. "Well, doesn't it seem a little odd to you that my father was
found on the road without his horse, and that Roscoe came home, as
pretty as you please, only without Michael?"
Amos waved a hand in dismissal. "Jack probably
wandered off somewhere."
Patrick frowned. "Not a chance. That horse can smell
fresh hay five miles away. And the ranch was in view. If Jack was
there, he'd be at home in his stall right now filling his
belly."
"Maybe the fellow who robbed Duncan stole him."
Patrick smiled, despite himself. "Only if the thief
was addle-brained. Jack isn't exactly prize horseflesh. In fact,
sometimes I wonder how he manages to make it from one day to the
next." He sobered, his mind returning to grim reality. "Something
here doesn't add up, Amos. I can feel it in my bones."
"Look, I know it ain't what you want to hear, but as
I see it, the facts simply don't support a connection. It's just a
lousy coincidence."
Patrick glared at the sheriff. The two events simply
had to be connected
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