A Ranger For The Holidays. Allie Pleiter
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stopped walking to stare at Lucy. “He’s not our rustler, Lucy. I’m sure of it.”
“Well, forgive me if I don’t put that much stock in those hunches of yours. Being sheriff means I have to depend more on solid evidence than your famous intuition.”
Amelia chose a new topic. “Well, Madam Sheriff, what new have you learned about our cattle thieves? Any closer to catching whoever is doing all this?” Little Horn had been experiencing a strange brand of crime spree, with cattle disappearing from wealthy ranchers’ estates while gifts of supplies and equipment had appeared to families in need. A cowboy version of Robin Hood.
“Some folks are downright scared, having their security violated and goods stolen. And they’ve a right to be worried. I don’t mind telling you I’m getting a lot of pressure to solve this case. The finger-pointing is going to get ugly if we don’t get a break soon.” Lucy pushed out a sigh, her breath a white whisp in the clear night air. “Then there are the folks who’ve received gifts. They’re grateful, but I know they can’t help thinking their gain might be at someone else’s expense. As to who’s doing it? I wish I knew.” She gave Amelia a sideways glance. “And I can’t say your fellow isn’t involved, Amelia. Have you thought about that he may be involved and not remember it? With this amnesia thing, he could genuinely believe he was innocent and still be guilty.”
Amelia hadn’t thought of that. “I can see that all of his memories aren’t happy ones. There’s something dark just beyond his reach—he’s even said as much—but it can’t be criminal. He uses phrases you do, which makes me think he’s in law enforcement.”
Lucy stopped walking and halted Amelia with a hand on her shoulder. “All the more reason for you to steer clear. I get that he’s handsome and in distress and all, but haven’t you sworn off us badge types since Rafe?”
“I’m helping him, not dating him, Lucy.”
“And what if one turns into the other?”
“Believe me, I won’t let it.” Bug pulled on the leash, in no mood to stand still on such a chilly night. “I trust the nudges I get to help somebody.” Amelia started walking again. “God’s never sent me astray yet, and I don’t think He’s gonna start now. Finn needs a whopping load of grace and a safe place to work everything through. I don’t think it’s any surprise to God that I’m the one who found him—I’m the one who was supposed to find him. I can help, so I’m going to help.”
“I’m not saying don’t help him. I’m saying don’t take him in.”
“He needs taking in most of all. You said it yourself—there’s no one looking for him. Can you imagine how that feels? He’s the worst kind of lonely. I can’t let him go through that in some hotel two towns over, not when Gramps and I are here and we’ve got the room and I’m the one who found him.”
“Well, I’ve been your friend long enough to know you’re gonna do this no matter what I say.” This wasn’t the first time Amelia had listened to a lecture from Lucy on overextending her helpful nature. She reminded herself that a friend who spoke the truth in love was a good friend to have, even when it felt exasperating. “Just promise me you’ll be careful, and you’ll listen if I have to come to you with information you don’t like.”
“Fair enough. And if Finn remembers anything I think you should hear, I promise I’ll tell you. Even if it proves my hunch is wrong.” She narrowed an eye at Lucy. “But it never is.”
“Yet,” Lucy corrected, wagging a finger at Amelia.
“Yet,” Amelia conceded. She was glad to feel the tension leave the conversation. “But really, have you got any leads at all?”
Lucy squared her shoulders. “The League Rustling Investigation Team and I have a theory or two.”
“Any you can share?” Amelia tried to be sensitive to Lucy’s official capacity and the sensitive information that often went with it.
“There’s a ranch hand, someone with a sketchy past who worked at three of the big ranches that got hit. He’d know the layout enough to get in and pull off the burglaries.”
“That seems like a strong lead.” Amelia loved to watch Lucy work on a case. She was an amazing strategist, a talented puzzle-solver who could see connections others missed. Little Horn was blessed to have her.
“There’s more,” Lucy went on. “This same guy just won a handful in the state lottery. That would puff him up enough to dare taking revenge on any ranch that let him go.”
“And it would mean he’d have the funds to give gifts to the struggling ranchers,” Amelia added. “I know you were wondering how our thief was turning all that livestock and equipment into cash for those other purchases so quickly.” It wasn’t as if a saddle went missing from one ranch only to appear on another—the taken items seemed to disappear, while different gifted items showed up out of nowhere.
“Only, I can’t connect him to the folks who’ve gotten gifts yet, only the folks who were robbed.”
“You’ll find the connection. You always do. And you’ve got the ‘Posse’ helping you.”
Lucy rolled her eyes at the nickname some of the townspeople had given the Rustling Investigation Team. “‘Helping’ isn’t always helpful. I had to make Tom Horton give me his gun on our stakeout the other night—he’s a little too eager to play ‘cops and robbers’ if you ask me. I’m glad to have Doc Grainger and Carson join the team, but we’re still not getting anywhere solid. Byron’s demanding answers, and he’s not alone.”
Byron McKay had been the first and hardest hit, so he had cause to be concerned. Only, Byron was tough to like under even the best of circumstances. He’d been mean to everyone lately, so Amelia could just imagine the kind of grief Byron must be giving Lucy for the fact that the identity of Little Horn’s ranch brand of Robin Hood remained unsolved. “Byron making your life miserable?”
“More than usual, and that’s saying something.” Lucy let out a weary sigh. “If we don’t solve this soon it’s going to be a hard, mean Christmas in Little Horn.”
Her friend’s words brought the ice from Finn’s eyes back to Amelia’s memory. Had Finn known nothing but hard, mean Christmases? Surely Little Horn could change that. Surely she, of all people, could change that.
Monday while Finn was back at Dr. Searle’s for more tests and treatments, Amelia went to visit her younger sister, Lizzie, to go over plans for Lizzie’s upcoming wedding. As she watched her sister slump onto the couch, Amelia would be hard-pressed to say who was having the more trying afternoon—her or Finn. “I’m tired of all this,” Lizzie moaned, hand on her forehead “Why do we have to plan everything so far in advance?”
Lizzie’s wedding plans couldn’t be classified as ‘far in advance’ by any stretch of the imagination. As much as she loved putting together events, and Lizzie really was the only family she had other than Gramps, Amelia was starting to regret her role as stand-in mother of the bride/wedding planner. “You want it to come off well, don’t you? You keep telling me you want the perfect wedding.”
“I do.” Lizzie sighed, gesturing to the stack of wedding magazines and notes scattered across the coffee table. “I want Boone and my wedding to be spectacular.”
“Well—” Amelia tried to keep the frustration from her voice “—spectacular can’t really be done at the last minute. It’s December, and you want to get married the first weekend in April. You’ve got a whole lot of great ideas here. You just need to make a few decisions.” She leaned in and gave Lizzie a supportive nudge. “Settling on a color scheme would go a long way to getting us organized.”
Lizzie sunk