A Daddy For Her Triplets. Deb Kastner

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.”