The New Girl In Town. Brenda Harlen

cried and held their arms out to me, calling ‘Mommie! Mommie!’ It broke my heart. Dear Lord, it hurts. It hurts so much I don’t think I can bear it. I want to die. Without my babies I have nothing to live for. Please, God. Please. Let me die now. Please.’”

      Matt exhaled a long sigh and slowly closed the journal. A heavy silence hung in the room.

      Colleen Rafferty was dead. The rush of disappointment and grief took Zach by surprise. For Pete’s sake. He had no memories of her. Until he’d seen that photograph he hadn’t even known what she looked like. Why did it bother him so much to learn that she was dead?

      “Well, that’s it. Now we know,” J.T. said finally.

      Zach gave a little snort. “Yeah. Now we know. For all the good it did us.”

      Chapter One

      The horse snorted and danced in the narrow chute. His ears lay back flat to his head and his eyes rolled, showing white all around.

      “Better watch ’im, Zach. This here’s one mean side-winder,” one of the handler’s cautioned.

      Zach nodded, studying the furious bronc with satisfaction. Hellbent was a good draw. Zach knew if he could hang on for the count he’d finish in the money. Maybe even in first place.

      Ignoring the canned music and the announcer’s deep baritone blaring from the speakers, the crowd cheering on the contestant in the ring, he kept a wary eye on the fractious animal and eased down from his perch on the side of the chute and into the saddle. Immediately he felt the horse’s muscles bunch. Squeezing his knees tighter, he wound the reins around his left hand.

      “Up next in the chute, from Gold Fever, Colorado, is Zach Mahoney.”

      A cheer went up, and Hellbent tried to rear, hammering the gate with his hooves.

      “Zach is— Whoa! Watch out there, Zach. You got yourself a mean one today.”

      Between them, Zach and the handlers subdued the horse, but he felt the animal quiver with rage and knew he was in for a wild ride. He tugged his Stetson down more snugly on his head. Wrapping the reins tighter around his gloved hand, he adjusted his position and paused to gather his focus. When he was ready, he raised his right hand.

      The gate flew open and Hellbent leaped out into the arena, eleven hundred pounds of bucking, snorting fury, his massive body arching and twisting and spinning.

      Zach’s hat went flying on the third buck. In rhythm with the violent movements, he raked his blunted spurs over the horse’s shoulders and kept his right hand high in the air while his upper body flopped back and forth in the saddle like a rag doll. Every time Hellbent’s front hooves hit the ground Zach felt the jarring impact shoot up his spine all the way to the top of his head.

      The crowd in the stands became a blur as the horse spun and pitched and did everything in his power to dislodge him. Never had eight seconds seemed so long. Zach’s thigh muscles began to quiver from the strain of gripping the horse’s flanks, but he gritted his teeth and hung on.

      After what seemed like forever, in his peripheral vision he saw a pickup rider move in, and an instant later the horn blared, signaling the end of the ride. Zach grabbed the pickup rider’s arm and shoulder, lunged from the saddle and swung to the ground.

      “What a great ride! Let’s give Zach a big hand, folks,” the announcer urged.

      While the crowd clapped and cheered and the pickup riders caught Hellbent and led him away, Zach scooped up his hat, gave it three hard knocks against his pant leg to remove the dust, set it back on his head and ambled for the pens, doing his best to not limp. With each step pain shot through his left leg and hip—a nasty little memento from the enraged bull that had given him a toss four days ago. Damn. He was getting too old for this.

      Most of the cowboys on the rodeo circuit were in their twenties. Some were even in their teens. Zach’s mouth took on a wry twist. Yeah, and there’s a reason for that, Mahoney, he thought. By age thirty-six they’re either too busted up to compete or they’ve wised up.

      Not until Zach reached the exit gate did he allow himself to look over his shoulder and check his score. Yes! The ride had put him in the lead. Not bad for an old man.

      By the time he made his way through the clutch of riders and handlers and accepted their congratulations, the last contestant was picking himself up out of the dirt, and Zach knew he’d won the top purse in the bronc riding event. Maybe even Best All Around, as well, but he wouldn’t know that for an hour or so when all the events were over. He’d come back then for the finale, but in the meantime he was going to his RV to apply heat to his aching hip and leg.

      After retrieving his saddle and bridle, Zach slung them over his shoulder and headed back to his motor home in the camping area behind the rodeo arena. Halfway there a man in a FedEx uniform intercepted him with an overnight letter.

      Zach frowned. Who the devil would be sending him a registered letter? He turned the envelope this way and that, but the return address was too faint to make out in the dim light of the parking lot.

      When he stepped into the RV his cell phone was ringing. Zach dumped the saddle and bridle just inside the door, tossed his Stetson on the sofa and snatched it up. “Yeah, Mahoney here.”

      “Zach, it’s J.T.”

      Surprise darted through him. He hadn’t heard directly from either of his brothers since they’d they parted company in Clear Water, Montana, nine months ago.

      No matter how much Kate and Matt’s wife, Maude Ann, might wish otherwise, the brotherly connection just wasn’t there.

      “Yeah, what’s up?”

      “Have you gotten an overnight letter from the Manning and Manning law firm yet?”

      Zach checked out the return address on the envelope he still held. “It just came. I haven’t had a chance to open it yet. How did you know about it?”

      “Because Matt and I each received the same letter a couple of hours ago.”

      “Oh? What’s going on?”

      “You’re not going to believe this. The letters are from Seamus Rafferty’s attorney, Edward Manning, notifying us of the old man’s death and that we’re beneficiaries in his will.”

      “You’ve got to be kidding.”

      “Nope. The old coot passed away yesterday. I called the law firm and talked to Edward Manning. He’s waiting to hear from us before scheduling the funeral so he can allow plenty of time for us to get there.”

      “The hell you say. I’m not going to that old devil’s funeral.”

      “I understand how you feel. That was Matt’s first reaction. Mine, too. But the Rocking R meant a lot to Colleen. She obviously felt it was our heritage. If Seamus leaves us so much as one square foot of the place, we owe it to her to accept it.”

      Zach rubbed the back of his neck and looked up at the ceiling, torn between resentment and a nagging sense of obligation and loyalty to the mother he couldn’t remember. Damn. He didn’t need this.

      Although…J.T. did have a point.

      He sighed. “All right. I’ll go.”

      The January wind swooping down the snowy mountain slopes cut to the bone, causing several people to huddle deeper in their coats and shiver. Gray clouds scudded overhead, heavy with the threat of more snow to come. The dank smell of freshly dug, frozen earth hung in the air. From the nearby stand of pines came the raucous cawing of a raven, and in the valley the cattle lowed mournfully, as though aware of the event taking place in the small family cemetery on the slope above the ranch house.

      “Dear Lord, we commit unto your keeping the soul of Seamus Patrick Rafferty.” The minister picked up a handful of dirt and dropped the frozen clods onto the coffin. “Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. May God have mercy on your soul.” Clutching