Silver Creek (The Parker Family Saga)

by G. L. Snodgrass

  Rebecca’s heart fell when she realized just how desperate the man was. If he didn’t kill Luke, he would be hung. But deep inside, she believed the man would be more upset at having failed in his grand scheme.

  Her heart ached with the thought of Luke walking through the door. Of watching him die before her eyes. His life draining away.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were to live happily ever after. They were to raise children together. Build a life, a home, do something that gave life meaning. Not be killed before they could even start. It was so unfair, she thought with a deep bitterness. They had been through so much and to finally find each other again only to have it torn from them.

  A sadness filled her as she realized just how hopeless it was. And as the day drug on the hopelessness only grew.

  Rebecca felt her eyes droop as she fought to stay awake. Her body ached with tension and her parched throat drove her thirst.

  “Please,” she begged through her gag.

  Tuthill turned and looked at her then shook his head. Suddenly she realized why he didn’t care. He was going to kill her anyway. He didn’t fear being judged by her. He didn’t worry about what people would think. In his mind, no one would ever know, so there was no need to keep up appearances. No need to take any risk.

  Sighing to herself, she let her shoulders slump as once more a wave of depression washed over her. The room grew silent. The only sound, the faint wind outside and the occasional call of a morning dove.

  She smiled to herself sadly, as a memory flowed into her. The three of them, Luke, Jacob, and herself sitting around the fire in the early morning listening to the distant dove calls. They had each tried to mimic the call. Only Luke had been able to capture the unique tone.

  He had always been so good at everything he tried, she thought. God, how she loved him. Her hero. Her friend. Her soul mate.

  Sighing, she closed her eyes as she thought back to that day on the trail and so many others just as special.

  Once again, the morning dove called. She sighed, wondering if it would be the last sound she ever heard.

  Then, suddenly, she realized it was not morning. But well past noon. The birds should be hiding from the sun.

  Her brow furrowed with confusion as she tried to understand. Then it hit her. Luke. He was here. She knew it with every fiber of her being.

  Suddenly that constant fear jumped to fill her. Desperate, she pulled against her ropes. She must warn him. Then, without thinking it through, she twisted and swung her chair to the side, just enough.

  Tuthill leaned forward to try and understand what she was doing.

  Rebecca ignored him as she leaned the chair to the side, just enough for her shoulder to reach the oil lamp and knock it to the floor. The glass chimney shattered, spilling coal oil across the floor, setting it alight.

  “What are you doing?” Tuthill yelled as he jumped up and began stomping at the flames. “You idiot,” he mumbled before he turned to stare at her, his brow narrowed. Then suddenly, she saw it in his eyes. He knew what she knew. That Luke had arrived.

  He spun as the front door burst open.

  Luke, her Luke stood there like a wall against danger.

  Both guns exploded. Luke’s and the banker’s. Her world froze as she tried to peer through the smoke and flames. Please she begged, her heartbreaking at the thought of losing him.

  Tuthill staggard into a wall then turned towards Luke, slowly lifting his gun. Luke stared back, then calmly cocked his pistol and fired again.

  The banker was slammed into the wall, his eyes staring off into nothing as he slowly slid down to rest on the floor.

  Luke watched him, his pistol never wavering until Tuthill slumped, dead.

  Rebecca could only stare at Luke. Her eyes desperately searching for any blood. Any hint of his wounds. He stood there alone. Once again risking his life for her.

  Their eyes met and he slowly smiled at her. He stepped in around the growing flames and lifted her and the chair up and out of the house and into the front yard. Removing her gag he shook his head. “I swear woman, you do cause a fella all kinds of trouble. I thought we were supposed to get married when I come home. And here you are, off with another man.”

  She looked up into his eyes then down at the ropes holding her. “If you don’t untie me, I’ll show you trouble. And what took you so long?”

  He laughed as he cut through the ropes. He took a breath to respond when she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, desperate to hold him. To have him hold her.

  “I ain’t ever letting you go,” he whispered into her ear as his arms wrapped themselves around her and pulled her in tight.

  “Good,” she said. “Don’t you dare.”

  Epilogue

  Rebecca held her breath as she fought to stop her nervous stomach from churning. Would Hanna be happy? She hadn’t seen her brother in four years and he was returning with a new bride. What would she think?

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Parker,” Luke said as he shifted the wagon’s reins over before he placed a hand over hers.

  That was so Luke, she thought with a smile. He knew her so well, like no one else in this world.

  “You don’t understand,” she said to him. “What if she isn’t happy with me?”

  Luke laughed. “Becky. Hanna has always loved you. Jake’s been home for a week so it ain’t going to be a surprise.”

  She bit her tongue. Burdening him with her fears wouldn’t help. No, she would simply have to wait until they got there.

  They traveled another two hours when Luke pointed out a large ranch house in the distance.

  “Is this all their range?” she asked her husband.

  Luke laughed. “We’ve been riding over their range for the last three hours. Our range, I guess you could say. Zion always did say we were partners.”

  Rebecca’s mouth opened in surprise. Luke was rich. She had never even asked. She had assumed they would hope to homestead something. But to be part of this. A large ranch on the eastern side of the cascades.

  “I feel like I am finally finishing something,” she said as she slipped her arm into his. “My Papa started us this way all those years ago. Oregon. And now, I am finally here. It is almost as if I am coming home.”

  He pulled the team to a stop in the yard outside the ranch house, then smiled down at her before leaning in to gently kiss her. “My home will always be wherever you are at, Becky.”

  She smiled up at him, her heart bursting with love. This man, her man.

  “Lucas Parker!” a woman’s voice called from behind them.

  Rebecca twisted to see Hanna with a baby on her hip. The tall Zion standing next to her, his arm around her shoulder. A half dozen children surrounded their parents. Jake stepped out of the house, a wide smile on his face.

  “Hanna,” Luke said to his sister. “You remember Becky Johnson. My wife.”

  The woman smiled as she shook her head while she wiped away a tear from the corner of her eye. “I was always worried that you two would never find each other again. But I guess what was meant to be can’t be stopped.”

  Rebecca sighed. She was home with the man she loved.

  The End

  Author’s Notes

  Thank you for reading ‘The Western Trail,’ the first book in the Parker Family series. The next book, “Silver Creek” will be coming out soon. This is the story of Luke and Becky set ten years after the conclusion of The Western Trail.

  I would love to know what you think of it. My readers make it possible for me to do what I love, so I am always grateful and excited to hear from you. Please stop by my website GLSnodgrass.com or send me an Email at GL@GLSnodgrass.com. Feel free to sign up for my newsletter. I use my newsletter to announce new releases and give away free books. Or you can follow me on Amazon Author Page Or via Bookbub at https://www.bookbub.com/authors/g-l-snodgrass. I also post on my Facebook page. https://www.facebook.com/G.L.Snodgrass/ f

  As always, I
would like to thank my friends for their assistance with this book. Sheryl Turner, Anya Monroe, Eryn Carpenter, and Kristy Rose. I couldn’t have done it without them.

  If you enjoyed ‘Silver Creek’ please tell a friend or two. And please help out by rating this book at Amazon, Bookbub, or Goodreads. Reviews from readers make a huge difference for a writer.

  I have also included the first two chapters of my book “Lonesome Valley Bride” the first in the “High Sierra” series.

  Again, thank you.

  Lonesome Valley Bride

  Chapter One

  Jack Tanner moved the gun on his hip to a more comfortable position as he leaned forward in his saddle to peer down at the valley below. Some places are more special than others, he thought. It had to be the prettiest valley this side of East Tennessee.

  At almost two miles long, about a half-mile wide, with a fast-flowing stream running down the middle. Long green grass covered the valley floor. Tall pines hugged both sides of the valley walls. The east side of the Sierra meant their winters would be milder. But enough rain and snowmelt to keep that stream running most of the year.

  Some family’s paradise he realized when he saw the long finger of smoke rising from the farmhouse down close to the valley entrance. A sense of envy filled him. It looked like his life of hard roads would continue.

  He sat there a moment admiring the view. “What do you think Duke,” he said to the dog at his side. “Think they’ll trade a home-cooked meal for a cord of chopped wood?” When a man spent as much time alone as he did, he just naturally talked to his dog.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’d cut two cords of wood for some biscuits.”

  The dog wagged his tail, obviously agreeing.

  Jack laughed, it had been a few lean weeks. They’d both gotten tired of beans and pemmican over a week ago.

  “Come on Blue,” he said to his horse as he nudged him forward. “Maybe they’ve got some oats they can spare.”

  As he broke through the tree line, he cut sign of wild mustangs. He shook his head. A good-sized heard, they probably used this valley on and off throughout the year. A man could cull enough to sell to the Army he thought as that envy feeling grew.

  After crossing the creek, he spotted an old mossy horned bull watching him. A nasty scar on the bull’s hip surprised him. There were few creatures brave enough to tackle such a beast. Maybe a grizzly.

  “Don’t worry,” he called out to the bull. “We’re just passing through.”

  The beast watched them pass, twisting to keep them under his stare.

  Jack guided his horse along the creek then glanced over his shoulder at the snow-capped mountains in the distance and adjusted his thinking. “Probably year-long water,” he mumbled to himself. A valuable asset on the eastern slope of the mountains.

  As he approached the house, he pulled up a bit away. He had learned long ago not to surprise a man. They had a habit of acting before thinking things through. Instead, he rested a moment and observed.

  A well-built log cabin, longer than most. An outbuilding. Combination barn and chicken coop. No kitchen garden though. A couple of horses in the coral connected to the barn. But no people. No wife out feeding the chickens. No rancher out checking his stock.

  Adding to the mystery. The smoke rising from the chimney had slowed. Someone was letting the fire die off.

  Slowly, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Something wasn’t right. He couldn’t place it yet, but he knew enough to go slowly.

  “Helloooo the house,” he called out to let them know he was there.

  No answer.

  Duke, panting next to him, looked up at him, silently asking if he should go in first.

  Then he found it, the thing that had set off his alarms. A red muddy spot just a few feet from the front door. And a square drag mark from the mud back to the front door.

  The unusual tint to the mud made his stomach clench up. Only blood turned dirt that color. A lot of blood. And no man butchers an animal in front of his door.

  Climbing down off his horse, he tied Blue to the corral rail then told Duke to stay. The dog glanced up at him with a questioning expression, obviously not liking the idea of his friend going in alone.

  Jack took a deep breath and adjusted the gun on his hip. Then, thinking it through, he reached back and removed his rifle from its scabbard. A man could never have enough firepower.

  As he passed the wet spot in the yard he read the signs. A man had been shot. The large boot prints and the size of the drag mark confirmed it. He could spot the elbow marks in the dirt where the man had pulled himself along the ground.

  A quick glance around told him that the boot marks were alone. Whoever had shot him had done it from a distance.

  “Hello,” he called.

  A grunt from inside the house surprised him. He had expected with that much blood they’d be dead long ago.

  “Can I come in? Do you need help?”

  There was a long pause then a deep voice said, “You the one that’s killed me?”

  Jack had to admire the man’s courage, he had always appreciated gallows humor. Heaven knew he had seen more than enough of it to last a lifetime.

  “No,” he said to the man inside. “If I kill a man, I do it close. You would have seen me.”

  The man grunted then told him to come in.

  Jack used his rifle to slowly push the door open then winced. The man sat on a wooden chair. One arm resting on the table, the other hand holding his stomach together. A flash of bad memories shot through Jack. Gut shot, the man was as good as dead. No one survived that.

  “Excuse me for not getting up,” the man said. “It seems my legs aren’t working right.”

  “What happened,” Jack asked as he scanned the room for hidden dangers.

  The wounded man shrugged. “Stepped outside to tend the stock and some fool shot me. What does it look like?”

  Jack ignored the bitterness in the man’s voice. “Anything I can do for you?” he asked as he stepped closer.

  “Water.”

  Once again, Jack winced. The battlefield doctors used to say never give a gut shot man water. It just hurried the process. But Jack figured a dying man’s wish took precedent. He grabbed a tin cup off the counter and filled it from a bucket.

  The man thanked him as he took the cup then sighed with contentment after a long drink.

  “Thought for sure I was going to die of thirst before the bullet finished its work.”

  Jack nodded as he examined the man. About his own age of thirty. He was well built but short. But then, most men were short when compared to him.

  “Any idea who could have done this?” he asked the man.

  The man shook his head then grunted as a bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face.

  “No idea,”

  A long awkward silence fell over them. Jack had spent too much time among the dying to push the issue. He would let the other man lead the way.

  Suddenly, the man scoffed and shook his head. “I was supposed to get married tomorrow. Do you believe that.”

  Jack cringed. “A jealous beau?” he asked, referring to the shooting.

  “No, couldn’t be,” the man grunted. “I ordered her through the mail. From St Louis. Supposed to arrive tomorrow.”

  Jack kept quiet. He had heard that more men were doing this. It sounded too desperate in his view. But, a man could make his own choices.

  The wounded man closed his eyes for a moment as if trying to gather himself. “Name is Nate Parker,” he said without opening his eyes. “Thought you should know so you can put it on the marker.”

  “I’m Jack Tanner,” he answered.

  The man opened one eye and studied him for a moment, his gaze flicking to the gun on Jack’s hip.

  “Heard of you,” Nate said through gritted teeth. “Thought you were up in the Dakota territory.”

  Jack shrugged. “Felt like moving on. Heard there might be work hereabouts, guarding
the gold shipments to San Francisco.”

  The man’s head sunk forward to rest on his chest. It could take hours yet, Jack realized. It was a long painful way to go.

  “Any particular place you want to be buried?”

  “Under the oak up on the hill,” the man said without opening his eyes. “I can watch over my valley from there.”

  “Any family I should tell?” Jack asked.

  The man sighed and grunted again. “No family. But maybe you could tell my Jenny. She comes in on tomorrow’s train. Tell her I’m sorry for dying on her. Her letters made me think she would make a good wife.”

  Jack frowned. “Do you want her to have this place?”

  The wounded man laughed then coughed hard as a trickle of blood spilled from his mouth.

  “A woman alone,” he said after he had regained himself. “Up here, in these mountains? Couldn’t … She couldn’t survive alone.”

  “Maybe sell it?”

  Again the man grunted. “Why would someone pay for land. It’s free from the government. Besides, it’s just too far away.”

  Jack nodded his agreement, It was a long way off but that perhaps was one of its best points he thought. Up here in the High Lonesome, a man could become lost, perhaps learn to live with himself.

  “I could leave it to you,” the man said. “But …”

  Jack’s heart lurched. Settle down here? Surprisingly, the idea appeared more tantalizing than he would have thought. Granted, a new urge to settle down had come over him the last few months. It was one of the many reasons he’d left the Dakotas.

  A need to put down roots could pull at a man. Establish something lasting. Something worthwhile. And this valley, a man could build a life here.

  “But?” he asked.

  The wounded man took a deep breath and held it. “But,” he continued. “You’d have to marry Jenny. Seems only right.”

  Jake sucked in a quick breath. There was always a catch. “Seems like a high price to pay.”