Page 145 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

The warmth drains from my hands despite the mug between them. “How close?”

“Mill Creek and Ashford. A gas station clerk recognized him, and another man matching his description was seen near a stock contractor’s property.”

“Has he been in Colter Creek?”

“We haven’t confirmed it.”

“Do you think he’s here for Red?”

Hank looks across the yard, where Red remains beside the fence with the coin moving through his fingers.

“I think Travis spent years blaming Red for everything that happened to him,” he says. “He made threats after the accident, but angry talk from years ago doesn’t give me enough to arrest him now.”

“It gives you reason to watch him.”

“It gives me reason to take every report seriously.”

The answer confirms more than he says. Travis isn’t a story from Red’s past anymore, and he’s close enough to reach Dusty Spur before anyone has time to prepare.

“I don’t think this is over,” I tell him.

“I’d listen to that instinct, but you need to use it wisely.” Hank meets my eyes. “You call me if Travis appears, and you stay away from unfamiliar vehicles. Don’t put yourself in danger.”

“I understand.”

“That answer would reassure me more if I believed you.”

“I’ll call before I run toward trouble.”

Hank’s mouth tightens as though he knows that’s the best promise he’ll get. “Make sure you do.”

Hank heads for the SUV, and the vehicle rolls through the gate a minute later. Work resumes around us because the horses still need feeding and the fence still needs repairing, yet the ranch feels more exposed than it did before Hank arrived.

Red heads back to the fence while Emmett disappears inside with Sadie, and across the yard Willy starts arguing with the wheelbarrow again as if Sheriff Hank never stopped by.

It’s a life unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.

After lunch, I sit with Sadie on the back steps while she works through the same three guitar chords. Her forehead creases as she moves her fingers and strums again, producing a dull buzz.

“It hates me,” she says as she studies the strings.

“The guitar wants you to prove you’re serious, so move your finger closer to the fret and try again.”

She follows my instruction and manages a clearer chord. “Is it like math?”

“Guitars hold longer grudges.”

Willy crosses the yard with a coil of rope over one shoulder. “Finally, someone respects the emotional complexity of musical instruments.”

Sadie looks up at him. “Your singing made it angry.”

“My singing has helped entire communities.”

Sadie laughs and tries the chord again, and the strings ring clean enough to brighten her whole face. “I did it.”

“There you go.”

Emmett comes around the house carrying two pairs of gloves and smiles when he sees her holding the guitar. “That sounded good, peanut.”