Unforgiven

He had the idea that marriage would change her. It often amazed her that her own father didn’t know her at all.

“On your way out you might tell your brother’s fiancée that at this altitude she’s going to get burned to a crisp out there,” WT said to her.

“Don’t bother,” Carson said. “Cherry likes to find out things on her own. Anyway, she can take care of herself.”

As her father and brother left, Destry grabbed a couple of Margaret’s famous fried pies, wrapped up a couple for Russell Murdock, their ranch foreman, and finished her coffee. She was on her way out when the phone rang.

She picked it up to save Margaret the effort. “W Bar G, Destry speaking.”

The voice on the other end of the line was low and hoarse. It could have been a man or a woman’s. “You tell that brother of yours we don’t want the likes of him around here.”

“Who is this?” she demanded, but the caller had already hung up. As she returned the receiver, she saw Margaret looking at her and knew it wasn’t the first time someone had called threatening Carson.

“People who call making threats hardly ever do anything more,” Margaret said, turning back to her fried pies. “I’d be more afraid for anyone who tries to come on this ranch. Your father’s been carrying his .357 magnum since your brother came home.”

So he’d been expecting trouble. That made her all the more worried for her brother. She scooped up the pies, said goodbye to Margaret and headed for the barn. Since his accident, her father had put in a paved path down to the barn, even though he no longer rode.

As she saddled up, she promised herself that for a few hours, she was going to put all of her worries aside. She loved the ride up into the high mountain meadows and the feel of the horse beneath her. So many ranches now used everything from four-wheelers to helicopters to round up their cattle, leaving the horses to be nothing more than pasture ornaments.

She much preferred a horse than a noisy four-wheeler. Her horse Hay Burner, a name her father tagged the mare, was one she’d rescued along with another half dozen wild horses from Wyoming.

Destry had fallen helplessly in love with the mare at first sight. She was a deep chocolate color with a wild mane and a gentle manner. She’d taken well to cattle and cutting calves out of the herd.

As Destry rode out to join the ranch foreman and the ranch hands for the ride up into the Crazies, she breathed in the scent of towering pines and the smell of saddle leather.

Meadowlarks sang from the thick groves of aspens as white cumulous clouds bobbed along in a sea of clear blue. The air felt cool and crisp with the sharp scent of the pines and the promise of fall in the changing colors of the leaves. Overhead, a bald eagle circled looking for prey. Nearby a squirrel chattered at them from a pine bough.

“Everything all right at the house?” the ranch foreman asked as Destry rode beside him.

Russell Murdock had let the others ride on ahead of them. He’d been a ranch hand when she was young and had worked his way up to foreman. He’d been with the W Bar G longer than anyone except Margaret. Destry considered them both family.

In his late fifties, Russell was a kind, good-natured man with infinite patience with both the ranch hands and WT. He’d been the one who’d dried her tears when he’d found her crying in the barn when she was a girl. He’d picked her up from the dirt when she’d tried to ride one of the ranch animals she shouldn’t have. He’d also been there for her when Carson had left and Rylan had broken her heart.

“It’s an adjustment for Carson,” she said.

Russell smiled over at her. “He’s staying?”

She met the older man’s gaze. They’d been too close over the years for her to lie to him. “WT thinks he is. I guess it will depend on this new evidence in Ginny West’s murder investigation.”

Russell nodded knowingly. “You know there’s talk around town...”

“I’ve heard. I’m hoping as long as Carson stays on the ranch there won’t be any trouble.”

Russell looked worried but said no more as the trail rose up through a mountain pass and the sound of lowing cattle filled the air. Once they reached the ridge, the foreman rode on ahead to catch up with the others.

Destry lagged behind to stop and look at the view of the ranch. She heard someone ride up beside her.

“Quite the spread, wouldn’t you say?” Lucky leaned over his saddle horn and looked to the valley below. “I heard your brother is back. Does that mean he’s going to be running the place now?”

Pete “Lucky” Larson had been with the W Bar G since he and Carson graduated from high school together.

“You’d have to ask him,” Destry said, hoping that would be the end of it.

“Kind of hard to ask him since I haven’t seen him. Wouldn’t you think he’d at least ask me in for a drink? After all, we go way back.”

She glanced over at the cowboy. Pockmarked with a narrow ferretlike face, Lucky made her a little uneasy lately. It was the way he looked at her, as if he thought she needed being brought down a peg or two.

“I figure if Carson is running the place, he’ll want to give me a nice raise, don’t you think? I know I’ll never get to live like your old man, but I’d like to live better than I do.”

Ranch hands on the W Bar G were well paid. Lucky was probably overpaid, if the truth were known. “Carson’s been pretty busy,” Destry said. “But if you think you’re due for a raise, you should take it up with Russell. He’s the ranch foreman.”

“Is that right?” His gaze brushed over her like a spider web, making her want to brush it off. “Carson’s busy, huh? Not too busy to be asking around about a poker game, though. You should tag along to the next game. Maybe you’ll get lucky,” he said with a wink. “From what I’ve seen, you don’t get out much.”

“But you’re going to have more time to get out,” Russell said, startling them both since they hadn’t heard him approach. “You can collect your pay, Lucky. I’ve put up with your lip as long as I’m going to.”

“I was just visiting with the boss lady,” Lucky said and looked to Destry. “Isn’t that right?”

Destry looked at him and felt a shudder. Was it possible Lucky had been in the woods behind her house watching her? “Like Russell said, collect your pay. I think you’d be happier on some other ranch.”

“You’re making a big mistake, Boss Lady,” Lucky said as he reined his horse around and shot her a furious look.

* * *

NETTIE WATCHED AS Sheriff Frank Curry pushed back his Stetson and kneaded his forehead for a moment before glancing up. Hands on her hips, she scowled down at him from the back doorway of the store. He’d taken his sweet time getting out here, and for a good ten minutes, he’d been stumbling around in the pine trees behind the store. What was the fool doing? Certainly not figuring out who’d broken into her store.

Frank had weathered well for his age, sixty-one, only three years older than herself. He even still had his hair, a thatch of thick blond flecked with gray. He no longer wore it in a long ponytail like he had when he’d roared up to her house on his motorcycle and asked her out all those years ago.

While his hair was shorter, he now wore one of those thick drooping mustaches like in all the old Westerns. His shoulders were still broad, and he looked great in the jeans he wore with his uniform shirt and cowboy boots.

“You’re not going to catch whoever broke into my store by wandering around out there in the woods.”