Her Man On Three Rivers Ranch. Stella Bagwell

      “Yeah,” Blake mumbled. “But after all these years, Joe, how can we ever find enough evidence for the law to make an arrest?”

      “We found the rowel. We know Dad was here on this part of the ranch even though he’d told the ranch hands that day he’d be riding a good five miles west of the ranch house. If we can find the reason why he wound up here instead, we’ll figure things out.” Joseph reached for Blake’s shoulder and gave it an encouraging shake. “Come on, brother. You’ve always stuck with me on this. Don’t start losing faith now.”

      Blake tried to smile—something he admittedly didn’t do very often. It wasn’t that he was a grouch or a negative person. It was just that smiling and laughing felt awkward to him. His family often called him the judge. They didn’t understand that ever since Joel had died, the heavy weight of running this seven-hundred-thousand-acre ranch had landed squarely on his shoulders. Not only did the family’s financial security depend on Three Rivers’s solvency, but there was also the family legacy to continue. Hollisters of past generations had first built Three Rivers back in 1847. It was Blake’s job to see the ranch remained sound well into the next generation. With that kind of responsibility, he didn’t have much urge to laugh or smile.

      “I’m not losing faith, Joe. I only wish some sort of definite clue would turn up. And I—” He paused, his gaze scanning the rocky terrain dotted with thorny chaparral, chollas and the occasional mesquite tree. “When I look around this place, I start imagining Dad and what he must have gone through that day. I wonder if he was fighting for his life. Or did someone ambush him from behind and he never knew what hit him? The questions stab me right in the heart.”

      “I feel the same way, Blake. Everyone in the family wonders about those things. Especially Mom.”

      Blake released a heavy breath. “She rarely mentions Dad’s death. She only talks about the good memories.”

      “That’s because those times are the most important thing to her. The wonderful years Dad was alive and with us,” Joseph replied. “Not the way he died.”

      Amazed at Joseph’s calm, perceptive attitude, Blake turned his gaze back to his brother. For years Joseph had been driven to find the answers to their father’s death. As a deputy, he’d used every spare hour he could find to pore over the case that the late Sheriff Maddox had ruled an accident. But now that Joseph had fallen in love with Tessa and made her his wife, his priorities, even his attitude, had definitely changed. Instead of being driven, he took things in stride. Instead of going around with a scowl on his face, his expression was one of composed strength.

      It was hard for Blake to believe that love and a coming baby had made such a change in his brother, but the evidence was standing right in front of him. And the reality left Blake more than envious.

      “Yeah. The most important,” Blake muttered.

      Joseph gently slapped a hand against the middle of Blake’s back. “Come on. Let’s head back. It’s my day off and I promised to meet Tessa in town. She’s still buying things for the nursery. I don’t know how much more stuff she’s going to squeeze into that room. Our little one isn’t going to need clothing for at least two years. She’s already bought our child a pair of cowboy boots.”

      Blake’s lips twisted into a semblance of a smile. “Guess she’s planning on the kid being a rancher. God help the little tyke.”

      The two men began to climb up the steep bank of the gorge.

      “Why do you say it like that?” Joseph asked. “You, of all people.”

      Blake didn’t bother to answer until he and his brother were both out of the gorge and walking toward a work truck parked a few feet away.

      “Ranching is not an easy profession,” he reasoned. “Some people think we just buy a herd of cows, then they eat grass and have babies and that’s all there is to it. Easy, right?”

      Joseph glanced over at him. “Some people think all you have to do to be a deputy is pin a badge on your chest. But we both know that nothing worthwhile is easy.”

      “Does that include being a husband?” Blake asked.

      “Sure,” Joseph joked. “I’ll say it’s as hard as hell and you’ll run and tell Tessa.”

      The two men climbed into the cab of a white ton truck with the 3R brand displayed on both doors. As Blake settled himself behind the wheel and started the engine, he said, “I wouldn’t repeat such a thing to my sweet sister-in-law. I was just curious. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve never been a husband before.”

      Blake put the truck in motion, and as he steered it in the direction of the ranch house, he could feel Joseph’s keen gaze boring into the side of his face.

      “You really are curious, aren’t you?” Joseph asked.

      “Why not?”

      “Why not? You never bother to look at a woman, much less date one. Not after Lenore.”

      Scowling, Blake jerked the wheel to avoid a boulder. “Hell, Joe, did you have to bring her up? Besides, it’s not like I’m over-the-hill and washed-up. I’m only thirty-eight. I still have time to hook up with a woman.”

      “How’s that going to happen? You rarely step off Three Rivers.”

      “You might be surprised, little brother,” Blake said coyly. “I might’ve already met one.”

      As the truck bounced over the rough terrain, Blake glanced over to see Joseph gaping at him.

      “Floorboard this damn truck,” Joseph told him, his voice taking on a note of excitement. “We need to get back to the ranch and knock a board off the barn!”

      Rolling his eyes, Blake said, “Let’s not take the celebrating to that extent. But I did have coffee with a woman a couple of days ago. A mighty pretty one, too.”

      Joseph squared around in the seat. “Did you dip into Mom’s peach wine before we headed out here?”

      “What kind of question is that? Don’t you think I might know a girl? A pretty one?”

      “Well, yes. I just never figured—Who is she?”

      Right now she was little more than a nice, sweet memory. One that Blake couldn’t get out of his head. “Do you remember Paulette Anderson? Years ago, she used to do sewing and mending for Mom.”

      “Sure. I remember. Nice lady. In spite of being married to that good-for-nothing Avery. I had to arrest him once. Drunk as a skunk. Driving all over the road. It’s a miracle he hadn’t killed himself or someone else. I’m pretty sure he lost his driver’s license after that.”

      My brother, Aaron, wouldn’t offer to help. When I came back—to help Dad—I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing.

      Katherine’s remarks about her father suddenly traveled through Blake’s thoughts. Without knowing much about her family life, he’d not fully understood what she’d meant. He’d figured her parents’ divorce had caused a rift with her father, but she’d decided to put it all behind her.

      Frowning thoughtfully, he said, “So you’re telling me that Avery Anderson was an alcoholic. I didn’t know.”

      “I thought everybody around here knew that.” Joseph shook his head. “What do the Andersons have to do with you having coffee with a woman, anyway?”

      “She’s their daughter. Katherine. Her name is O’Dell now. Did you know she’d returned to Wickenburg?”

      “No. Guess she came back to bury the old man and settle his estate. Which couldn’t have been much.”

      Blake inwardly winced at his brother’s remark. He understood Joseph wasn’t being snobbish. He was simply speaking the truth. The Andersons had lived in a very modest house on the outskirts of town. They’d never had much in the way of material things.