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“Hold still, little one, or you’re going to get jam in your hair again,” Julia said with a laugh, holding her wiggling toddler’s hand as she cleaned the mess from his face.
The soft morning sunlight poured into the Parsons’ ranch kitchen, highlighting the warm, homey scene. Julia tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her other hand deftly managing her son, who had inherited both Grover’s boundless energy and mischievous smile. A plate of biscuits sat untouched on the table, as the child seemed far more interested in playing with the wooden spoon Julia had given him as a distraction.
“Breakfast turning into a battle again?” Grover’s voice boomed as he stepped through the doorway, brushing dust from his shirt. He leaned down to press a kiss to Julia’s temple and ruffled the toddler’s hair.
“I think he’s winning,” Julia replied, smiling up at her husband. “How’s the herd looking?”
“Healthy, but I spotted Harold from the neighboring ranch riding up. He looked like he’s got something heavy on his mind.” Grover poured himself a cup of coffee, his brow furrowed as he leaned against the counter. “Reckon I should go see what he wants.”
“Harold wouldn’t bother you this early unless it was important,” Julia said, concern softening her tone. “I’ll keep breakfast warm.”
As Grover made his way to the porch, the toddler shouted, “Papa!” and reached his arms toward him. Grover chuckled, lifting his son for a quick toss in the air before settling him back in Julia’s arms.
“I’ll be back soon,” Grover promised, but there was a seriousness in his eyes that Julia recognized too well. Trouble had a way of finding them.
Grover stepped out onto the porch, the creak of the old boards beneath his boots sounding familiar and steady. Harold Wallace, the neighboring rancher, was dismounting his horse, a weary look on his sun-weathered face. Harold had always been a man of few words, but the tightness in his shoulders and the way he adjusted his hat gave Grover a clear signal—this wasn’t a casual visit.
“Morning, Harold,” Grover called, stepping down to meet him. “What brings you out this early?”
Harold exhaled deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mornin’, Grover. Hate to bother you, but I’m in a bind. A bad one.”
Grover gestured toward the porch. “Come on in. Coffee’s fresh.”
Harold shook his head. “Can’t stay long. I’ve got cattle missin’, Grover. More than a few. Found signs they were driven off during the night. The boys and I tracked them as far as the creek before the trail went cold.”
Grover’s jaw tightened. Cattle theft wasn’t unheard of, but it had been years since anything like this had happened in their quiet corner of the territory. “How many?”
“Close to fifty head,” Harold replied, his voice low. “That’s a third of my herd, Grover. If I can’t get them back… I don’t need to tell you what that’ll mean for my ranch.”
“You got any idea who might’ve done it?” Grover asked, his mind already ticking through possibilities.
Harold hesitated, looking out toward the horizon as if the answer might appear there. “I hate to point fingers, but the tracks we found… they headed toward the eastern hills. That’s near where the Red River band camps during the season.”
Grover’s brow furrowed. He’d dealt with the Red River band before, a small group of Comanche who traded in the area. They weren’t known for trouble, but tensions with settlers could flare up quickly if blame was cast without proof.
“I’ll help you track the cattle,” Grover said finally. “But Harold, you know we can’t assume anything. I’ll talk to Sam, see if he can ride out with me.”
Harold nodded, relief washing over his face. “I knew I could count on you, Grover. I’ll head back and let my boys know.”
As Harold mounted his horse and rode off, Grover stood for a moment, watching the dust trail he left behind. Trouble indeed, he thought, but something about this didn’t sit right. He’d need more than a few tracks to piece this together.
Grover returned to the kitchen to find Julia balancing their son on her hip while pulling a fresh pan of biscuits from the oven. She glanced at him, catching the storm brewing in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, setting the pan down and shifting their son into the high chair.
“Harold’s lost fifty head of cattle. Tracks point east, but…” He paused, rubbing his chin. “It doesn’t add up, Julia. The Red River folks don’t usually mess with ranchers, and fifty head’s a lot to hide.”
Julia’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Do you think someone’s trying to frame them?”
“It’s possible.” Grover grabbed his hat and rifle, resting them by the door. “I’m heading to town to grab Sam. We’ll start tracking from Harold’s place.”
Julia stepped closer, her hand resting lightly on his arm. “Be careful. Whoever’s behind this isn’t afraid to steal in the dead of night.”
Grover nodded, leaning down to kiss her. “Always am, darlin’.”
As he left, Julia watched him go, a familiar mix of pride and worry settling in her chest. Trouble had indeed found them, but she had no doubt Grover would face it head-on, just as he always did.
*
Grover found Sam lingering at the blacksmith’s shop in town, chatting animatedly with the smith about his newest revolver. Sam was the kind of man who could find camaraderie anywhere, and his easy grin only grew wider when he saw Grover approaching.
“Well, if it ain’t the newly minted family man,” Sam called, leaning against a post. “To what do I owe the honor, Grover?”
“We’ve got a job,” Grover said without preamble. He filled Sam in on Harold’s missing cattle and the tracks leading east. “Harold’s spooked, and if we don’t sort this quick, he’ll rile up half the town blaming the Red River folks.”
Sam’s expression turned serious, the joking glint in his eyes replaced by a focused sharpness. “Cattle rustling’s bad enough, but throwing the Comanche into the mix? That’s a powder keg waiting to blow. When do we ride?”
“As soon as you’re ready,” Grover said. “Harold’s got his hands full keeping his boys from charging off without thinking. We need to get ahead of this before things spiral.”
Sam tipped his hat to the blacksmith. “You keep that revolver warm for me, Bill. Sounds like I’ll need it sooner than I thought.”
Within minutes, the two men were on their horses, heading for Harold’s ranch. The ride was quiet, the weight of the situation hanging between them. Grover had known Sam long enough to trust his instincts, and he’d need every ounce of that sharp wit to unravel the mess ahead.
When they arrived, Harold was waiting at the edge of his property, his weathered face drawn tight with worry. “Glad you’re here,” he said, shaking Sam’s hand. “I’ve got my boys combing the south pasture, but we didn’t find much.”
“We’ll take it from here,” Grover said, swinging down from his horse. “Show us the tracks.”
Harold led them to the creek, where the faint impressions of hooves marked the soft ground. Grover crouched low, running his fingers over the disturbed earth. The tracks were deep, a clear sign of cattle being driven in haste.
“They’re headed east,” Sam said, studying the trail with a practiced eye. “But it’s sloppy work. Whoever did this wasn’t trying to hide their tracks.”
“Or they wanted us to follow,” Grover muttered. He straightened, scanning the horizon. “Let’s see where this leads.”
The trail led them through a patch of rocky terrain before veering sharply toward a stand of trees. Grover dismounted, motioning for Sam to stay alert. The air was still, heavy with the midday heat, and every creak of leather or rustle of brush seemed unnaturally loud.
As they moved deeper into the trees, they found a small camp—abandoned but recent. A ring of ashes marked where a fire had been, and scattered around it were scraps of fabric and a few broken tools. Grover’s eyes narrowed as he picked up a piece of rope. It was frayed at one end, as if it had been cut in a hurry.
“They were here not long ago,” Sam said, his voice low. “Could be they saw us coming.”
Grover turned the rope over in his hands, his mind racing. “This doesn’t look like Red River work. These knots… they’re standard rancher’s knots.”
Sam crouched beside him, nodding in agreement. “Could mean whoever did this is more familiar than Harold thinks.”
“Or someone’s trying to stir up trouble,” Grover said grimly. He stood, scanning the ground for more clues. “Let’s head to the next stretch. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
*
The trail eventually led them to the edge of the Red River band’s camp. Grover raised a hand to halt Sam, his sharp eyes scanning the scene ahead. It was quiet, with no sign of the chaos that would follow a large herd of stolen cattle. Children played near the river, and a group of men sat sharpening tools.
Grover dismounted, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. Sam followed his lead, staying a few steps behind. As they approached, a man Grover recognized as Mato stepped forward, his expression calm but wary.
“Grover Parsons,” Mato said, his voice steady. “Why have you come?”
“Morning, Mato,” Grover said. “I’m looking for some missing cattle. The tracks led this way, but I can see you’ve got nothing to do with it. Thought I’d pay my respects and clear the air.”
Mato studied him for a moment before nodding. “You are wise to look before making accusations. The cattle you seek are not here, but I have seen men driving a herd east, toward the foothills. They did not stop here.”
Grover felt a weight lift off his chest. “Thank you, Mato. We’ll head that way.”
As they mounted up again, Sam cast a glance at Grover. “Looks like Harold’s foreman might have some explaining to do.”
Grover nodded, his jaw set. “Let’s find out just how deep this goes.”
The sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon by the time Grover and Sam reached the foothills. The air was cooler, the shadows stretching long across the landscape. They followed the tracks Mato had described, eventually spotting a distant clearing. A herd of cattle milled restlessly within a crude wooden pen, their branded hides clearly marking them as Harold’s.
Grover raised his hand to signal Sam, both men slowing their horses as they neared the clearing. A group of men sat around a campfire, their voices carrying on the breeze. Among them was a figure Grover recognized instantly—Harold’s foreman, Hank Porter.
“Looks like we found our thief,” Sam muttered, his hand drifting to his revolver.
Grover’s lips tightened. “Not yet. Let’s get closer and see what else we can learn.”
The two dismounted, tying their horses to a nearby tree and creeping toward the camp. From behind a cluster of bushes, they could hear the men talking.
“Wasn’t smart, cutting through Red River territory,” one man grumbled. “We’re lucky they didn’t catch us.”
Hank snorted. “They’re too busy keeping their heads down after the last dust-up with the settlers. By the time anyone figures out what happened, we’ll be long gone and these cattle will be sold.”
“Harold’s gonna be ruined,” another man chuckled. “Serves him right for docking our pay.”
Grover exchanged a look with Sam. It was worse than they’d thought—Hank wasn’t just stealing cattle; he was settling a grudge and using the Red River band as scapegoats.
Grover leaned closer, whispering, “We’ll circle around and catch them off guard. You take the left; I’ll come in from the right.”
Sam nodded, his expression grim. They moved quietly, positioning themselves on opposite sides of the clearing. With a sharp whistle, Grover signaled the start of their move. Both men stepped into the open, revolvers drawn.
“Drop your weapons!” Grover barked, his voice cutting through the chatter like a whip.
The men scrambled to their feet, some reaching for guns, others hesitating. Sam fired a warning shot into the dirt, the crack echoing sharply. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned, his grin belying the steel in his tone.
Hank froze, his eyes narrowing as he recognized Grover. “Parsons,” he spat. “Didn’t think you’d stick your nose where it didn’t belong.”
“It’s my business when you’re stealing from my neighbor and trying to stir up trouble with the Red River folks,” Grover said coldly. “Now, toss your guns and step away from the fire.”
One by one, the men obeyed, grumbling as they threw their weapons to the ground. Hank hesitated, his jaw clenched, but Grover stepped forward, his revolver steady. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
With a snarl, Hank threw his pistol to the dirt. “You’ve got no proof of anything.”
“Plenty of proof right here,” Sam said, gesturing to the herd. “And your boys over there just confessed.”
Grover nodded toward the ropes near the pen. “Tie ’em up, Sam. We’ll take them back to town.”
By the time they returned to Harold’s ranch, night had fallen. The cattle were safely back in their pasture, and Harold was nearly in tears as he thanked Grover and Sam. Hank and his men were handed over to the sheriff, who promised to see them face justice.
Back at the Parsons’ ranch, Julia was waiting on the porch, her arms crossed but a warm smile on her face. Their son was asleep in her arms, his chubby fist clutching her braid.
“Took you long enough,” she teased as Grover dismounted and made his way toward her.
“Just a little adventure,” Grover said, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You know how it is.”
“I do,” Julia replied, resting her head against his chest. “But it’s good to have you home.”
Sam appeared behind Grover, tipping his hat. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Parsons. I kept him out of trouble.”
Julia laughed softly. “Thank you, Sam. Stay for supper?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Sam said, his grin returning. “But only if Grover lets me tell the story this time.”
Grover chuckled, leading them inside. As they sat around the table that night, the warmth of family and friendship filled the room, a reminder that no matter what challenges came their way, they’d face them together.
OFFER: A BRAND NEW SERIES AND 2 FREEBIES FOR YOU!
Grab my new series, "Legends of the Lawless Frontier", and get 2 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!
Hello there, I really hope you liked my new western adventure story and the extended epilogue! I would be very happy to read your thoughts below.
This was outstanding. I really couldn’t put it down. It was a perfect mixture of suspense, bravery, sadness and romance.
Thanks you so much for this compelling story.
Ps . You are one of my favorite authors.
Hi,
Didn’t like having to buy the short second book to follow the story to the end. I think both books could have been combined together and saved your reader’s a bit of money….!!!!!
Epilogue was ok as far as it went ..??