Smokin' Six-Shooter

That was when Grayson finally went through Rebecca’s things and found some old letters she had written before she died.

In a letter to Grayson, Rebecca had explained that she’d written five letters, one for each son, to be read on his wedding day. Her dying wish was that her sons would marry before thirty-five—and that the bride be a Montana cowgirl.

While Kate had heard that the brothers drew straws to see who would fulfill their mother’s wishes first, she’d known the brothers well enough to know they would try to get out of the pact. But amazingly, she’d seen Rebecca’s wishes coming true with all but two of her sons.

Although Lantry had no intention of ever marrying, he hadn’t left the ranch. What had made them stay, Kate felt, was family.

As for Russell, well, she believed he’d never met a woman who interested him enough to pursue her.

Kate and Grayson had had a few rough spots since their marriage, but everything had finally settled down.

That’s why seeing this change in Russell intrigued her.

“How was your day?” she asked Russell now, curious.

He’d been smiling to himself all through the meal. Normally he ate quickly and went back to work, excusing himself by saying he had too much to do to just sit around.

Tonight, though, he seemed lost in thought, unusually distracted, especially since his father and the rest of the ranchers and farmers were worried sick about the lack of moisture this spring.

“Fine.” He looked bashful suddenly. Like his father and brothers he was a very good-looking man, with Grayson’s dark hair and his mother’s intense blue eyes.

“Nothing unusual happened?” Kate probed.

Russell realized that everyone was staring at him, waiting.

“Nothing happened. I just almost killed some city girl today.”

“What?” Kate exclaimed.

“Don’t worry, she was unscathed.” At everyone’s urging, he told them about coming over a rise in the combine, not expecting anyone to be on the road since no one had lived in the old Beaumont place for years and the road dead-ended a mile up.

“She was sitting in her fancy rental car, right in the middle of the road on her cell phone,” he said, getting the appropriate chuckles and head shakes. Kate could tell he was embarrassed, not used to being the center of attention in this family.

“Where was she from?” Grayson asked.

“Midwest, from her accent, but definitely big city. You should have seen the shoes she was wearing.” Russell shook his head. “And when she tried to open the gate…”

“Open the gate to where?” Shane wanted to know.

“The old Beaumont place, isn’t that what it’s called?”

“Why would she go in there?” his father wanted to know.

“Beats me. It’s what she wanted so I opened the gate for her. I warned her it was private property. She didn’t seem to care. I think she thought I was joking when I told her about the rattlesnakes.”

“Oh, I hope she was all right,” Kate said, worried. “You just left her there?”

Russell laughed, seeming to relax, maybe even enjoy himself. “She wasn’t like a stray dog I was going to bring home.”

“Still, if she was that inept, she could get herself into trouble.”

Russell nodded. “I’m sure she will, but believe me, she didn’t want my help—or my advice.”

No, Kate thought, she was sure the woman hadn’t, but city girl or not, she’d certainly made an impression on Russell—something not easy to do.

DULCIE SHUDDERED. Laura Beaumont’s young daughter had found her body? That poor child. That poor, poor child.

The horrible dread Dulcie had felt earlier at the farmhouse swept over again.

I wasn’t that little girl.

Where had that come from? Of course she wasn’t Laura Beaumont’s daughter. Why had she even thought such a thing?

Just because of her earlier reaction to yellow curtains and the groaning weather vane? Just because she couldn’t shake the sense of dread and fear?

Or because of the obvious? She’d inherited the property from a woman she’d never heard of and a woman her parents had never mentioned to her.

Dulcie recalled Renada’s reaction when she’d told her. She cleared her throat. “How old did you say this child was?”

“Four or five, I think. I’m not sure anyone knew for sure.”

Four or five would make the child about twenty-eight or twenty-nine now. Dulcie had just turned twenty-eight.

“What was the daughter’s name?”

“Angel.”

Angel. Dulcie felt a surge of relief that lasted only an instant. Of course the girl’s name would have been changed if she was adopted.

Dulcie couldn’t believe what she was thinking, but the kids at school and even their parents used to ask her if she was adopted because her parents were so much older than the other parents.

But if she’d been adopted, her parents would have told her. They wouldn’t have kept something like that from her.

Like the way they kept the property in Montana from her?

Her heart began to pound as she thought of her elderly parents, her mother’s years of trying to conceive without any luck, her mother finally getting Dulcie so late in life. Miracle? Or lie?

Everything could be a lie, including her real name.

“What happened to the daughter?” Dulcie had to ask.

Arlene sighed. “She was found drowned a couple weeks after her mother’s murder.”

The shock reverberated through her.

“They found her under some brush in the creek. She’s buried at the cemetery at Old Town Whitehorse next to her mother.”

Dulcie was so stunned it took her a moment to speak. “She’s dead?” She couldn’t be Angel Beaumont. She thought of the little girl and felt horrible for the moment of relief she’d experienced.