by Chloe Carley
“In a manner of speaking,” he replied, and it seemed that his tone changed.
Aline didn’t want to question him any more, and instead she turned her attention to the reins. Thomas handed them up to her and she soon had Scout doing circles of the yard, much to Thomas’ delight.
“I’m getting it, I’m really getting it,” she shouted, amazed at just how easy she was finding her first lesson.
“You’re a natural cowgirl. Come on, let’s ride out a bit,” Thomas said.
She brought Scout to a halt and Thomas climbed on behind her, putting his arms around her waist as a shiver ran through her. They’d not been this close before and his arms felt strong around her, the scent of leather rising from his boots.
“Where to?” she asked, turning slightly to look at him.
“You’re riding,” he said, smiling at her.
She urged Scout on along through the ranch yard and out onto the trail. The day was hot now, a shimmer covering the prairies, the grass still, for there was little breeze in the air.
“I feel so free,” she said as they rode along the trail.
“You’ll be saying you want to ride west into the setting sun next,” he replied.
“Not just yet. I’m happy in Lakestone,” she said. “Besides, I’ve got more riding lessons to have.”
“You’ve already mastered the basics. You’re a natural,” he replied.
They’d ridden about a mile from Lampeter Ranch, and Aline reined in the horse, stopping on a ridge looking out across the prairie. From there, the whole landscape was spread out, the trail to Westfort snaking off through the prairie and on into the horizon.
“Any more news on the cattle rustling?” she asked, and Thomas nodded.
“I guess you heard about Bison Gully?” Thomas said, and Aline nodded.
“I heard Clarence and Hector talking about it,” she told him.
“And what did they say?” Thomas asked, sounding interested.
“Oh, just that the ranch there’d been hit, ten head of cattle, they said,” she replied.
“Really, now how did they know it was ten head, I wonder?” he replied, though the question was rhetorical.
He seemed lost in thought for a moment and once more, Aline wondered if she’d said something wrong. What was it that put Thomas so at odds with Mr. Knox and the others?
“What are you going to do? I bet Mayor Gould is on your case still,” she said, as she pulled the reins back and urged Scout back toward the ranch.
“I’m going to ride out to Westfort. Yesterday, I got stopped by some pretty nasty characters on the trail, but this time I’ll be more prepared,” he replied.
“What sort of nasty characters? You need to be careful,” she said, a note of worry entering her voice.
All this talk of rustlers and outlaws was unsettling and she glanced around her, nervously imagining the worst at every turn.
“They were just hired hands, nothing would’ve happened. They’re just men who like to make out they’re something more than they are. They hold pistols and go around in a posse, but they don’t scare me,” he said.
“They scare me, though. What if someone tries to hurt you? Do say you’ll be careful,” she said.
She’d only known him a few weeks, but already she felt such a tender concern towards him, as though she’d known him a lifetime. Despite what Mr. Knox and Thomas had said, she still felt worried at the idea of outlaws running rough-shod over the prairie. The thought of Thomas out there alone made her feel terrified.
“Don’t you worry, Aline, I’ll be careful. They don’t scare me,” he replied as they rode into the ranch yard.
Clarence and Hector were carrying bags of grain from one of the barns, but Thomas ignored them as they rode by, clambering down off Scout once they were outside the ranch house.
“The final lesson for today—how to get down from a horse’s back,” he said, holding out his hand to her.
She turned, bringing her leg back over and feeling herself beginning to slide. She let out a cry, thinking she was about to topple backwards, but in an instant, his hands were around her waist and he helped her to the ground, laughing.
“I need to practice that a little,” she said, blushing at the thought of his touch.
“Listen, for your first time in the saddle, you’ve done quite remarkably,” he said.
“Oh, but I couldn’t have ridden like that if it weren’t for you behind me,” she said, shaking her head.
“Don’t say that, you’re a natural in the saddle. I’ll leave you with Scout,” Thomas said, patting the horse’s mane.
Astonished by his words, Aline shook her head in disbelief. “But… Scout’s your horse, I can’t just take her,” she said.
Scout stamped her hoof and nuzzled her head against Aline as Thomas nodded.
“See, she likes you. She’s yours, Aline—and besides, I’ll see the two of you often enough, won’t I?” Thomas said, handing her the reins and smiling.
She was astonished at the kindness of his gift. She’d only known Thomas for a few weeks and yet already he’d been kinder to her than any man she could remember. Blushing, she took the reins and patted Scout, who whinnied.
“Well, you’re too kind, Sheriff, but…” she began, as he shook his head.
“I’m not, I’m not at all, and it’s Thomas, not Sheriff,” he said.
She looked at him, wondering just how he could be so kind when he owed her nothing. Her experience of men had been such that it was the woman who owed them something, and they offered little in return. In the case of her late husband, everything—and for that she’d paid a heavy price.
“Then I must find some way to repay you,” she replied, “and you shouldn’t have to walk back to Lakestone when you arrived on a perfectly fine horse.”
“Getting to know you better is payment enough. And I won’t be walking back to Lakestone, you can take me on Scout. Come on,” he said, laughing, and hoisting her back onto the horse’s back.
Aline was only too happy to oblige, and the two of them rode out of the ranch yard and along the now familiar track back to the town. She couldn’t have felt happier, for with Thomas at her side it seemed that her old life had been left behind. Damon Hale was a distant memory and with a job, a home on her father’s ranch, a new horse, and the prairie grass stretching out endlessly before her, Aline couldn’t help but feel a sense of hope for the future.
But the best thing about all of this is the man sat behind me, she told herself, surprised at the force of her feelings. And, as she and Thomas rode into Lakestone, his strong arms around her, she knew the feelings in her heart went beyond friendship and would only grow further.
Chapter Sixteen
When Thomas entered the sheriff’s office the next morning, he found John Hoskins asleep at his desk. His head was resting in his arms and he was snoring gently. Thomas smiled, clearing his throat to no effect before slamming the door shut with a bang.
“What the…? Oh, is there… Sheriff, I…” the deputy stammered, leaping to his feet and straightening his shirt and badge.
“Good morning, John. I trust you slept well?” Thomas asked, looking the deputy up and down and shaking his head.
“I was only asleep a few moments, Sheriff. These long nights are …” he began.
“Don’t you mean, Susan Ford?” Thomas hinted, and John blushed a deep shade of crimson.
“I got no sleep yesterday, Sheriff. I was too busy thinking about taking tea with her folks this afternoon. Mr. Ford is such a stickler for things being right. I don’t want to put a foot wrong,” the deputy replied quickly, and Thomas laughed.
“He’s the grocer, John. I know his wife carries herself like she’s something special, but they’re no better than you. Just be polite, answer their questions and don’t eat too much seed cake,” Thomas replied.
“I promise I won’t fall asleep on the job again, Sheriff,” John assured him, still looking embarrassed.
“G
o on, get yourself away, and I’ll hear all about it later,” Thomas said, shaking his head.
“What’s your plan today, Sheriff? There’s been no more reports overnight, no sightings of the bandits,” John said, as he made ready to leave.
“I’m going to ride out to Westfort. They have marshals there, law and order—someone’s bound to have seen something,” Thomas said, following the deputy out onto the veranda.
“What about those men? The ones that threatened you?” John replied.
“I’ll take a more circuitous route. They don’t scare me,” Thomas said.
He’d decided on his course of action the evening before over dinner. After Aline had ridden back home to Lampeter Ranch, he’d taken his meal in the saloon, watching for anything suspicious. But Lakestone was quiet, too quiet in fact, and with no fresh leads, Thomas remained convinced that the answer lay in Westfort.
And if Harrison has something to do with it, then I’ll find out, he said to himself, selecting a horse from those tethered up behind the sheriff’s office.
It had been a rash decision to give Scout to Aline, but one he knew he wouldn’t regret. She was a natural on a horse and would take good care of Thomas’ faithful companion.
He chose a black foal who seemed a little reluctant, at first. But once Thomas was mounted on his back and had cantered a few paces up and down the street, it seemed they understood one another well enough.
“Ready to ride out to Westfort?” Thomas said, patting the horse’s mane.
The horse whinnied, rising up on its hind legs and charging off along the street.
“In a hurry, Sheriff?” Mr. Ford shouted from outside the grocer’s shop.
“Just doing my job, Mr. Ford,” Thomas called back, and in a cloud of dust he rode out upon the trail toward Westfort, hoping to find the answers he was seeking.
***
He didn’t take the direct route west. Instead, he rode the trail as far as Bison Gully and then headed north along a little used trail that had once led to a ranch some miles out of town. He’d no desire to encounter the outlaws again, but neither was he going to be turned back by the barrel of a pistol.
The trail was lonely and he saw no one for some miles, though far off in the distance he could see cowboys herding cattle back toward Lakestone. The landscape seemed almost peaceful, pastoral and safe. But beneath it lurked a menace and a fear. A cloud was hanging over the beauty of the plains, ready to unleash its storm at any moment.
What’s behind all this? Thomas wondered as he rode on toward Westfort.
He still suspected Harrison’s involvement. He could see all the hallmarks of their former way of life and whatever his half-brother said, Thomas knew that Harrison hadn’t yet reformed his ways. He was still the same as he’d ever been, his father’s son.
But what does that make me? Thomas thought, knowing that his father’s legacy still ran deep within him.
He’d tried long and hard to put the past behind him. But at times it still reared its ugly head, and there were days when his old life seemed almost attractive again. Back then, he’d been free. All that had mattered was the open trail and the outlaw’s life.
Now, he’d given himself responsibility. He was looked up to, respected, and expected to do his duty. It was a far cry from the days when he himself would readily have threatened a sheriff with a pistol, and rustled cattle from helpless ranchers.
As he came in sight of Westfort, Thomas slowed the horse to a trot. He didn’t want to ride in, guns blazing, and cause suspicion. He was known there and the arrival of a sheriff from out of town wouldn’t be greeted favorably by Marshal J.T. Williams.
Nope, I’m not going to get a friendly welcome, Thomas reminded himself, as he rode into the town.
Westfort was as different to Lakestone as chalk and cheese. There were no genteel ladies taking tea on the veranda of the hotel, or ranchers passing the time of day with one another outside the saloon. Westfort was a town where the shotgun ruled and a man took his life in his hands just by walking down the street. A town filled with all manner of strange folks, where law and order balanced upon a knife’s edge.
A few folks eyed him suspiciously as he climbed down from the horse’s back and made his way toward the marshal’s office. It was a large building at the center of the town, painted red, and outside were tethered up a whole number of horses as though there’d just been a ride out.
Thomas tethered his own horse next to them and stepped up onto the veranda, just as the door opened and Marshal Williams appeared. He was about ten years older than Thomas, with a ruddy face and dark hair. A scar ran down his left cheek, a reminder that Westfort was a hard place in which to enforce the law.
“I saw you coming along the street, Sheriff Redmond. Isn’t there enough lawlessness in Lakestone to keep you busy?” he asked, and Thomas shook his head.
“I’ve my share of it,” he replied and the marshal laughed.
“Lakestone’s a peaceful backwater compared to this place. You’re lucky to be there. But that still doesn’t answer my question. Why are you here on my turf, Sheriff Redmond?” the marshal asked, fixing Thomas with a hard stare.
Thomas knew that Marshal Williams had little time for him. He considered him too wet behind the ears to be sheriff of Lakestone, or sheriff of anywhere, for that matter. But Thomas was determined to discover the truth behind the bandits and he stood his ground before the marshal, his fingers playing in his belt buckles as he glanced up and down the street.
“Things haven’t been as peaceful at Lakestone these past few weeks. We’ve had a spate of rustlings on the ranches lying on the Westfort trail. That’s why I’ve ridden down here, hoping you might shed some light on it all,” Thomas said, and Marshal Williams’ face changed.
His voice sounded edgy as he replied. “Your… your rustling are none of my concern. I don’t know why you’ve even come here,” he said, himself glancing up and down the street as though Thomas’ words had ignited some fear within him.
“I’ve come here because I think the cattle are being pushed down this way and auctioned. Don’t you have any license checks or branding procedures?” Thomas asked, but at this the marshal laughed.
“This is Westfort, Sheriff Redmond. I’m lucky if an auction day passes without someone getting pistol whipped. Do you really think I’ve time to check every license and every branding that comes through these parts?” the marshal replied, shaking his head.
Thomas wanted to reply that it was perfectly possible, if the marshal simply did his job. But he knew he was on another man’s territory, and in Westfort it was better to count your friends than make enemies. He sighed, taking out his notepad in which he’d written the brandings on the rustled cattle.
“These are the brands—if you see them, I need to know,” he said, and Marshal Williams rolled his eyes.
“A hundred head of cattle comes to auction here every day, and that’s just the ones I know about. Give it up, Sheriff Redmond. You won’t find what you’re looking for here—your cattle’s gone and that’s that,” he replied.
Thomas knew he wouldn’t get any further with Marshal Williams. He either knew more than he was letting on or was being paid to look the other way and say nothing. Either way, he wasn’t going to be helping Thomas, who could tell he wasn’t welcome on Marshal Williams’ turf.
“You won’t mind if I look around a bit, will you?” Thomas asked and the marshal nodded.
“Just remember, Sheriff Redmond, your jurisdiction ended at the Lakestone limits. Don’t go poking around where you’re not wanted,” the marshal cautioned, and Thomas shook his head.
“All I want to know is where my cattle are,” he replied, and nodding to the marshal he made his way off down the street, feeling himself watched from behind.
Is this whole town in Harrison’s pocket? Thomas wondered to himself as he approached the cattle auction.
There was no shortage of furtive and suspicious glances as he made his way inside. The auct
ion mart was really just a big barn with pens on either side and an upturned soapbox in the middle. It stank of cattle and a haze of tobacco smoke hung in the air, catching the back of Thomas’ throat and causing him to cough and splutter.
“Can I help you with something?” a man asked.
He was small, almost bent over, with a worn-out old cowboy hat on his head and scuffed boots on his feet, which were twisted around awkwardly as though he’d once suffered some terrible injury. He eyed Thomas suspiciously as he hobbled over, muttering to himself.
“Sheriff Thomas Redmond from Lakestone. We’ve had some cattle rustling going on and…” Thomas began.