A Daddy For Her Triplets

The targets the Robin Hoods were pursuing didn’t have much rhyme or reason to them, even with the additional clue of the valentine card. At first they’d gone after the larger ranches and Byron had even been twice robbed. Some folks were pillars of the community. Others, like Byron, likely had made some enemies along the way.

Now the thieves were sometimes reversing their behavior, leaving gifts for those they considered needy instead of robbing. At best it was hit or miss and not typical criminal behavior at all, the medieval Robin Hood notwithstanding.

James and Libby, on whose property he lived, were also possible targets. Their ranch was also small but unlike Olivia’s meager holdings, the Everharts were relatively prosperous. It was hard to say whether the thieves would think it was worth their time to target their ranch. Clint lived in a small cabin on the land. He didn’t have any enemies that he knew about and he tried to be a good person, but he wasn’t well-known in town. For all he knew, the Robin Hoods would use him as an excuse to rob the Everharts. Then again, his presence might be enough to deter any criminal activity.

Those thieves better hope they never had to mess with him, because he wasn’t kidding around.

But what about the times he was away from the ranch? He spent many nights out in the Deep Gulch Mountains working as a trail guide and in search and rescue. He couldn’t be everywhere at once.

And now he had Olivia and her boys to consider. What was he going to do about them? Odd that the Barlows hadn’t even been on his radar before this evening, but if he’d learned one thing in his years as a foster child, it was that life could change in the blink of an eye.

As of now, he would do whatever he had to in order to get these thieves behind bars. On that one subject, he agreed with mouthy, arrogant Byron McKay, although Clint was willing to pitch in to catch the thieves and Byron expected everyone else to do the work for him. Entitlement was his middle name.

The man didn’t know when to hold his peace. Even his kids were clearly tired of his ranting. Both Gareth and Winston looked as if they’d rather be anywhere but standing by their father. Gareth kept glancing at a small group of teenage girls who were giggling and gossiping. Winston just stared at his feet.

Clint’s gaze zoomed in on the young men. In some ways they fit the profile of the thieves. They were male teenagers who knew their way around a ranch.

He considered bringing that point up to Lucy but then quickly discounted the notion as not worth mentioning. The McKays’ ranch had already been robbed twice. It wasn’t as if Byron’s own sons would rob their father. Anyway, they were both too high in the instep to get their hands dirty.

There were so many teenage boys running around here that it would be impossible to narrow the field without interviewing each and every one of them, and even then, they might come up with nothing. Most of these young men had been born on ranches and worked cattle with their parents.

Jed Parker and Chris Cutter were fooling around with the sound equipment. It looked as if they might be sneakily rigging it up to play some of their music and taking over from the band. They could very well be the thieves the town was looking for.

Clint sighed. It seemed everyone was a suspect.

“What if they’re right?” Carson asked, his expression grim. He leaned against the Sweetheart Wall and gestured at the missive. “About the Cowboy League, I mean. Are we doing enough to help struggling ranchers around here? We’ve got a few programs going, but we also throw events like the Valentine Roundup. Do you think anyone else in the area feels slighted besides these young men?”

“I know how much the league helped me after Luke’s death,” Olivia said, her voice both strong and thoughtful. Whatever her fears, she wasn’t going to voice them to the team. Clint respected that. “If I recall correctly, y’all came out and helped me mend fences. And then several of you painted the barn for me one weekend.”

She brushed a dark strand of hair behind her ear and continued. “I’m not the only one who has benefited from the league. Don’t forget the programs and scholarships we offer to the young people. Future Ranchers, for one. The Stillwaters have done a lot with the teenagers in that program. Think about all the students we’ve helped over the years, and there’s far more to that than monetary value. They feel our backing, the love and support the league members offer them.”

The small group erupted in murmurs of agreement. Clint was impressed. The small-statured quarter horse breeder had turned out to be an impressive orator. Who would have thought?

“Tyler Grainger, for example. He was able to go to school and become a doctor because of the league. We have a real sense of community in Little Horn. The league was formed to help ranchers look after their own, and that’s exactly what we do. My great-grandma Lula May would be proud.”

As Clint recalled, Lula May was the only female member of the original Cowboy League. That was back when women didn’t usually have much of a say. She must have been one tough lady—much like her great-granddaughter.

“You think other ranchers feel that way? That the league is beneficial?” Carson asked, not sounding completely convinced. “Obviously someone doesn’t.”

“The missing town-limit sign,” Lucy said, shaking her head. “‘Welcome to Little Horn, Texas.’ I get it now. That’s what this is about. The message they’re trying to send. They don’t believe the league supports our community, or maybe they don’t feel like they are being acknowledged in it.”

“I can’t speak for everyone, but I know all my friends and neighbors respect the league,” Olivia assured Carson.

The rancher snorted in derision.

Clint clenched his fists. Somebody needed to give the man a good shaking, and at the moment he’d be happy to be the one to do it. Byron was vice president of the league, but that was just for show and so he could throw his weight around. If he started picking on Olivia, Clint would not apologize for his next actions.

“Folks ought to look after their own and not depend on the league to bail them out.” Byron flung an arm around each of his sons’ shoulders. They squirmed and looked miserable, and who could blame them? “Thanks to my own hard work, my sons will never rely on charity.”