up enough to care where he was. They’d brought fifty head of cattle with them. His dad sold them off one by one. After three years he didn’t have enough cows left to sell to pay for a lawyer for his son. The horses he’d bred with pride a few years ago had withered into nags.
Reaching the gate, Rowdy was surprised it had been closed. Sheriff Barnett had written twice over the last five years. Once to tell Rowdy that his father had died, and once to tell him the place was still his. Rowdy guessed the sheriff wanted him to know that he had a home; he couldn’t have known how little the place meant to Rowdy. It was just something to sell so he could make a fresh start where no one knew him.
As he saw the shack of a house and the barn, he thought of burning the place down, but he knew memories would shift through even the ashes. His father hadn’t been a bad man, only a weak one. He’d loved one woman and when she’d died he couldn’t seem to find his footing, not even to finish raising his only son.
When the sheriff and some men came to get Rowdy before dawn five years ago, his father’s only words had been, “I’m sorry.” Not, “I’ll help.” Or “I don’t believe you could shoot anyone.” Just, “I’m sorry.”
The night before there had been a gang of boys drinking and firing off guns down by the creek bordering Darnell land. One was shot. With no one to stand beside Rowdy, the drunk’s son was an easy target. Everyone wanted to lay the blame somewhere.
Rowdy shoved the memory aside as he rode up to the house. He wasn’t surprised to find the sheriff waited on the porch. Barnett had put on a few pounds in five years and his hair looked whiter, but he still had the same sad eyes that seemed to say he’d seen too much in this world.
“Darnell.” He nodded in greeting.
Rowdy swung down. He owed the lawman. If it hadn’t been for Barnett, the judge wouldn’t have considered his age at the sentencing and Rowdy would have drawn far more than five years. The sheriff had also rounded up a few strays his father hadn’t taken the trouble to chase and sold them, along with the corral stock, to pay the taxes on this place for five years.
“I figured you’d be looking me up,” Rowdy said as he offered his hand.
Barnett gripped his hand. “Just stopped by to say hello, son.”
Rowdy waited. Barnett had been the only man in town who hadn’t wanted to string him up five years ago. “I want to thank you for—”
“You don’t owe me nothing, but I would like to give you one last piece of advice. If I were you, I’d keep low and just stay long enough to sell the place and move on. No sense looking for trouble.”
Rowdy nodded. “I agree. This place has never been home. If I could make a few bucks, I plan to head south. There’s a man down near the border who said he’d give me a job breaking horses when I got out. I figured I’d look him up. Maybe buy a little spread down there in time.”
The sheriff moved toward his horse. “I’ll get the word out that you’re looking for a buyer. With the rodeo in town, it should get around fast. I wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t have an offer within a week. Captain Hayes to the north will probably make you a fair one. He’s gobbling up land as fast as he can lately. You’d think he had sons and not daughters.”
“That would be fine with me. I don’t much care who takes it off my hands.”
Barnett shoved his hat back and seemed to pick his words carefully. “You know, son, you were mighty angry when you left.”
Rowdy almost said he’d had a right to be, but he knew nothing would change the past. “I still fire up now and then before I think,” he admitted, remembering the fights he’d had in prison. “But all I want to do is sell this place and move on now. I’m not looking for any trouble.”
The sheriff smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. I’m getting too old for any new worries.”
Rowdy watched the sheriff climb on his horse and ride away with only a wave. He wasn’t sure he had a friend in Barnett, but at least the man seemed fair and at this point in Rowdy’s life that was about the best he could hope for.
He checked the barn, then decided to unsaddle his horse and let her graze on wild grass growing in the corral. Walking through the house, he found it just as he’d left it, filthy. It had to be his imagination, but the smell of whiskey seemed to linger in the air. More to use up energy than out of any need to clean the place, Rowdy opened all the doors and windows and swept a layer of top soil out of the house.
At sunset he pulled his bedroll from behind his saddle, deciding to sleep on the porch. It was too hot to build a fire. Besides, he didn’t even have coffee to boil anyway. The jerky and hard tack in his saddlebags wasn’t worth eating.
He fell asleep listening to the sounds of freedom around him. Tomorrow he’d ride into town and win the first event. He hadn’t even checked to see what came first. He didn’t care.
Just after dawn he woke to the smell of blueberry muffins. He hadn’t tasted one since his mother died, but he’d never forget the aroma. He opened his eyes. Laurel Hayes sat three feet away on the steps.
Rising, he raked his hair back and mumbled, “What are you doing here?”
She smiled. “Watching you sleep.”
“I don’t think that’s proper,” he said.
“Probably not,” she agreed. “I don’t think I’ve ever done anything that wasn’t proper. I might as well start with you.”
He growled at her and to his surprise, she laughed. It seemed to him that if she had any sense, she’d be afraid of him.
He studied her, all prim and proper in her white blouse and navy riding skirt. She didn’t look quite so “old maid” today. He had a feeling her rich daddy would shoot him on sight if the old man thought he was even talking to Laurel.
When he frowned, she added, “I brought you a good horse.”
He stood, dusting off his clothes. “I don’t think the Captain would like me riding one of his horses.”
“It’s not his, but if you don’t want the mare, I’ll just take my muffins and go.”
“Wait.” Rowdy shook sleep from his head. “How about I think about the offer while I test the muffins?”
“All right.” She pushed back her wide brimmed hat and studied him with the same look she’d given most of the stock in the corral yesterday. “You want to wash up and make coffee first before you eat?”
“No,” he said, then backtracked when he saw her frown. “I can’t make coffee. No supplies around here. All my father left was the pot, but I could wash up.”
She watched as he went to the well and drew up water. “I’m surprised the rope and bucket are still here,” he mumbled as he washed.
“I put them there last year,” she said. “I ride this way often and I like to stop to water my horse. Hope you don’t mind.”
It hadn’t occurred to him to mind. “You happen to bring a towel too?”
She laughed and tossed him the towel she’d spread over the basket of muffins.
He dried and placed the towel on the nail by the well. “Great, I got the towel wet so now I guess I’ll have to eat all the muffins.” He took the first one from her hand and asked, “Now tell me how come you own this horse?” If she had horses and maybe even cattle, she’d have no use for half the herd they might win.
They walked toward her mount. A lead rope had been tied to the saddle horn. A chestnut mare was at the other end of the rope. At first glance it appeared ordinary, but Rowdy didn’t miss the look in the animal’s eyes. Intelligent, he thought. He downed another muffin while he circled the horse.
“I don’t own him,” she said when he returned to her side. “You do.”