Page 91 of Cherry Tree Ranch

My breathing becomes laboured as I take this in. I bite the insides of my cheeks to keep myself from crying. She circles her horse in front of Blue and tries to catch my eye. I look up. We watch each other through the thick fog. She burned down the orchard. Earl killed Joaquin. How much worse could it get?

After several moments, I break the silence.

“So,” I say quietly, “I was coming to find you because I’m pretty sure your ancestor, Earl Drake, killed Cash’s great-great-great-uncle on my ranch. Now I need to know what happened to my ancestor, Daisy. She died there too.”

Kaylee pulls a sleeve over her face, slicked with tears and snot. “I’m sorry. What?” She sniffles and her eyes squint like she’s heard me wrong. “You heard me about the fire, right?”

“Yeah. I heard you.” I swallow hard. “I don’t have words for that right now.”

She pulls her horse’s head up as it grows impatient and paws the ground. “Dahlia?”

“What?”

“Why would that guy, Earl, have killed Cash’s great-great-great-uncle?”

“He wanted to take over my ranch and others’. He felt entitled to graze his cattle wherever he pleased. Kaylee, he killed people and sheep because of it.”

Wheels are spinning in her mind. Her eyes dart around. “No! No, no, no…” She covers her mouth.

“What?”

She shakes her head vigorously. “You need to come with me.” Before I can argue, she whips her horse round and begins cantering off.

*

I tie Blue up next to Kaylee’s horse at the hitching post. Blue welcomes the rest and drinks down the bucket of water I fetch him. Kaylee wouldn’t slow down long enough for me to tell her Blue needed a break, but the misty air helped keep him cool.

I follow Kaylee into the office attached to the barn. None of it is as fancy as I thought it would be. It’s simple and functional – a concrete floor, bookshelves against the walls stuffed with binders, and a plain metal desk. The furniture may be simple, but the room is cluttered. Kaylee flips on lights as she tells me about her mom.

“She used to say our family’s history had a secret. If anyone in town ever brought it up, I was to tell them to talk to her. If we’re going to find something, my bet is it’ll be in here.” The dirty floor crunches under our feet as I consider how her mom worked to protect her. “Dahlia, she never told me what happened. But if what you’re saying is true, then that must be it and I’ve got to know.”

“Yeah, me too,” I say. “That’s why I’m here.”

She kneels before a filing cabinet and cranes her neck to look at me. “When do you think it was that Cash’s great-great-great-uncle died?”

I lean a hip against the desk and cross my arms. “It was in September of 1926. Daisy died then too.”

“OK. How did you find out?”

“There’s an antique desk in my barn where my great-great-grandma and aunt left documents and letters.”

“Wow, that’s neat.” She fingers through hanging folders in the bottom drawer, then slams it closed. She goes through every drawer in the cabinet until she’s standing on tiptoe to look through the top. When she’s done, she purses her lips and rests her hands on her hips, walking circles round the office. “Hmm. Nothing there.”

There are high shelves around the entire room with old photos, horse-show ribbons and rodeo buckles. The walls are plastered with photos of black Angus bulls, Kaylee riding barrels, and one of her mom with a newly born calf in her arms. She and her mom are like twins, except her mom’s hair was short and she appears to have worked hard her whole life.

“What are you looking for?” I ask, walking to the corner of the room and picking up a branding iron. It’s the same symbol that was on Rhett’s hat when we found Blue.

“Anything about this place’s history. My mom kept everything, if you couldn’t tell.” She reads the spines on binders on the bookshelves. I join her.

“What can I do to help?” I ask, the binders seeming like a dead end.

She turns in a circle, and tugs frustrated fingers against her scalp. “That hutch.” She points. “Will you check through the drawers and cabinets?”

“Sure.” I replace the branding iron. On the opposite wall is a black hutch with brass handles. The first drawer I open is full of receipts and tax documents. I handle it all carefully, hunting for dates in the 1920s and Earl’s name. There’s nothing from before 1983.

The second and third drawer contain vaccination and breeding records, brand inspections and a handful of random items – pens, syringes, ear tags.

“Anything?” Kaylee asks.