A Cowboy Christmas. Janette Kenny
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fifteen thousand dollars. Unlike those American-born stallions, his mares’ dams and sires were listed in The English General Stud Book.
Two were with foal. Tara was due for a season, and he’d told the men to keep Cormac away from her. All to keep the pedigree pure.
Now the stallion he’d hoped to sell in America was stolen, and he damned sure didn’t have the money to replace him. The loss of that income dashed another dream of his to hell.
Reid ground his knuckles against the homemade table and ignored the stab of pain veining across his hands. He stared out at the ranch he’d thought was well-guarded. To think that old rustler had walked off with one blooded horse.
No, not a mere rustler.
Kincaid was a man bent on revenge.
Reid had thrown out bait, and the old rustler had rowed in on the river of bad blood that flowed between them.
He wasn’t surprised. Kincaid wanted retribution for being blamed for a murder he swore he hadn’t committed.
But the fact that he’d taken Reid’s horse was a clear sign that he knew he was Slim, the drunken cowpoke who accidentally shot a woman in Laramie two years ago. Maybe Burl had lied about paying to keep his real name secret. Maybe Reid hadn’t changed as much as he’d thought, though he surely felt like an entirely different man.
For damn sure Ezra Kincaid aimed to get his pound of flesh out of Slim’s hide. Well, Reid sure wasn’t about to make it any easier for him than he already had.
Reid had done his time for a crime he didn’t remember by going to England and agreeing to Burl Erston’s demands. But he hadn’t counted on Erston holding a rustling charge against his brothers over his head if he failed to do his bidding.
“I need to check on the horses,” he said to Booth.
His foreman downed the last of his coffee and pushed to his feet. “I was just heading that way. Wouldn’t be surprised if Grania didn’t foal tonight.”
He wasn’t surprised. The change in the weather and herd change would make a temperamental dam even more skittish.
Shane caught his attention. “I put that post in the barn. See what you make of the marks on it.”
“I’ll head over there first,” Reid said and moved to the door.
“You fetch Mrs. Leach’s friend from town?” Moss asked as Reid reached for the latch.
He got a grip on the cold iron and remembered that forlorn look on Ellie’s face when he’d left the house. “Yep. When I left, she was in the kitchen.”
“It’ll take a spell to get a decent meal on.” Moss hefted a porcelain dinner pail. “Got enough stew in here to fill your gut tonight. All she’ll have to do is whip up a batch of biscuits. If you want my help, that is.”
It sounded good to him on this cold, bleak afternoon. “Much obliged. I’ll take it up after I see to the horses.”
Moss stepped back with his offering. “I can do it. Hell, I intended to head up there anyway with a haunch of venison. One of the boys went hunting today.”
“Fine by me.” Reid tugged his Stetson down and turned his collar up. “Tell Miss Cade I’ll be up for supper in about an hour.”
“I’ll sure enough let her know,” Moss said.
Reid stepped out into the biting wind and pelting snow and damned his bad luck. Booth followed and they soundlessly trudged to the barn.
Their boots crunched the hard pack and the wind howled at their backs. It sickened Reid to think of the outlaw running the thoroughbred stallion in this treacherous weather. One slip on the ice could end the horse’s life.
He’d kept them guarded the past six months, but now it seemed impossible. Though the horses signified the break he needed to start over, he couldn’t ask any man to suffer this weather to keep an eye on them.
He could only hope if it was too bitter for his men to be out, it’d be too severe for Kincaid to strike again too.
He shouldered his way into the barn. Though cold, it was a welcome respite from the biting wind.
Booth strode to a post propped against a pen. “Take a good look at this about a foot up from the bottom.”
Reid crouched and inspected the fir pole. He saw what Booth and Shane had noticed right off. Bits of sisal were caught in the rough wood.
“He used a rope, all right.” He glanced at Booth. “After creating a distraction, why just steal one horse? Why not drive the whole herd away?”
“I wondered the same,” Booth said. “Maybe something or someone scared him off.”
He nodded, but he doubted that was the reason. Nope, this looked more like a taunt to him. Kincaid wanted him to know they were vulnerable. He’d want him jumping at shadows.
“I can’t imagine him striking at night,” Booth went on. “But I aim to keep an eye peeled on the stable and corral all the same.”
“Don’t expect you to stay up all hours in this weather.”
Booth laughed. “Part of the job, boss. I need to be on hand if that mare foals tonight.”
Reid was grateful his foreman watched his prize thoroughbreds. Still, he wasn’t about to head indoors to the warmth and enticing woman until he checked out his horses.
“Let’s go take at look at that mare.”
After easing a molasses pie into a hot oven—the one dessert she felt confident enough to make—Ellie paced to the back door and stared out the frost-etched window at the expanse of white. She’d lived in Denver for a decade, so she wasn’t a stranger to snow. But in the city, the winter landscape was broken up with scores of buildings, street lamps, lights glowing from homes and businesses, and people traveling on foot or in all manner of conveyances.
There was always noise of some sort.
Here, she’d never experienced such dense quiet. The only thing that broke the monotony of an endless white vista were the outbuildings standing dark and forlorn.
A frustrated sigh rumbled from her. She’d jumped at the opportunity Mrs. Leach offered her for two reasons. She’d get to spend Christmas with her pa. And hopefully, she’d be able to talk him out of taking the law into his own hands, as Mrs. Leach feared he was about to do.
Though her pa had known she was coming here, he’d stolen Mr. Barclay’s prize stallion and rode out of her life again.
The old pain of abandonment needled her heart again. How silly of her to think her pa would be glad to see her. That he’d at least hold off rustling for a few days while they shared a brief reunion.
She ran nervous fingers around her high, stiff collar. Would she ever see her pa again?
She rubbed her brow, annoyed with herself for getting her hopes up. And she was mighty annoyed with her pa, for now she was stuck here among strangers and cast in the role of housekeeper and cook until Mrs. Leach returned.
That time couldn’t come soon enough.
She took a deep breath and schooled herself to proceed as she’d promised to do. When her task was over, she’d take the train to California and the job awaiting her there.
Until then, Mr. Barclay deserved no less than her best.
Mrs. Leach had left her a sketchy map of the housekeeper’s domain, which helped immensely. A springhouse sat behind the house and a meat locker crouched nearby.
But what eased her mind was finding a note from Mrs. Leach. The good woman had addressed it to her and hidden it inside the pie safe.
In short, she told Ellie how she and the chuck cook worked in tandem regarding cuts of meat. All fresh game had to be requested,