Treacherous Trails - Dana Mentink Gold Country Cowboys

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never got cow savvy. He had good hopes for the young filly.

      “Pretty,” Ella said.

      Yes, Owen thought. Why had he never noticed how very pretty Ella was? The late sunlight tinted her hair with the rusty hues of fall. Her hands were delicate and strong as they traced over Glory’s coat. More than pretty.

      Shaking himself from his odd reverie, he led her into the house.

      Ella went immediately to Betsy, who sat on a worn recliner, folding napkins on a tray table set in front of her. Ella kissed her and Owen left them to a moment of privacy. His mother was in the kitchen with his sister-in-law Shelby, looking at pieces of granite.

      “For their new fireplace mantel,” Shelby explained to him. His mother chuckled. “Betsy already pointed to her favorite. Want to weigh in?”

      “All look like rocks to me,” Owen said.

      Shelby peered at the samples. “This one has more feldspar, which gives it a pinker hue.”

      “Leave it to an assayer to say something like that,” his mother said with a smile.

      Owen was glad to see his mother looking happier than she had in a very long time. Their grief at losing Bree, Barrett’s first wife, would never completely disappear, but the whole ranch seemed somehow more cheerful now that Shelby had found a home there with his oldest brother.

      He’d never worried much about finding a life partner when he was an active duty marine. He wasn’t concerned about it in the slightest now either, because he intended to return to the marines as soon as humanly possible. So why was he suddenly hyperaware of Ella, sitting in the next room, laughing that belly laugh that had made him smile since she was a kid trailing after him?

      “Owen?”

      He realized his mother was looking at him. “Jack told me what happened. Are you sure you’re okay?”

      “Yeah. Hungry, is all.”

      “Hint taken,” Shelby said, gathering up her granite samples. “I’ll take these back to the cabin so we can get the table set.”

      His mother cocked her head, still looking at him. “How can we best help Ella?”

      “I’m gonna figure that out.”

      “We,” she repeated. “It’s not all on you, Owen.”

      But as he caught sight of Ella holding her sister’s hand, he did not agree. She was his childhood pal and his best friend’s sister. The buck stopped with him. He would save Ella Cahill or die trying.

       FIVE

      Ella felt the elephant in the room in the way the Thorn family studiously avoided any mention of her current situation. Mrs. Thorn ladled out creamy bowls of corn chowder accompanied by hunks of corn bread.

      Owen ate sparingly, she noticed, the lines of pain still prevalent on his forehead. Mr. Thorn chatted with his boys about the workings of their ranch and made sure to include Betsy in the conversation. Betsy beamed, nodding and even speaking a few words. Ella’s heart swelled. It was good for her sister to be around a family. The Cahills hadn’t exactly provided a ton of parental nurturing since their mother died when Ella was twelve. Their father, Shawn, was a hardworking, taciturn ex-military man who worked ridiculous hours as a long-distance trucker, relying on Ella and Ray to keep the household together and care for Betsy. The only time she’d ever seen him cry was at their mother’s funeral, a trickle of tears down his weathered face, quickly wiped away.

      After Ray’s first deployment, the responsibility for Betsy’s care had landed squarely on Ella’s seventeen-year-old shoulders, and she had developed a full dose of resentment. At first she’d thought her brother would finish his service and come home to help her, but one deployment led to another, and then he’d married and started a new family. Though she’d never told him so, she’d resented him for having choices that seemed to be denied to her and Betsy.

      And then when she was twenty two, Ray left for yet another overseas stint, then Owen left for his first deployment, and her father passed away. Ella had felt completely alone and mired in responsibilities that threatened to smother her. Thinking back on it, she relived the shame of how she’d acted out, gone to parties and started drinking, anything to escape what she felt was an impossible burden.

      But waking up in the passenger seat of veterinarian Zeke Potter’s van, the one she now owned, had been a wake-up call. She remembered the fear. How long have I been away from Betsy? How long have I left her alone? God both convicted her in that moment and changed her life.

      Zeke had taken her home from the bus stop where he’d found her passed out on his way back from tending the difficult birth of a calf.

      “Ella Cahill, you’re smarter than this,” he’d said. “If you want to learn about animals, come see me.”

      And she had. He introduced her to a local farrier who taught her a trade, and she started reading her Bible again, taking Betsy to church with her whenever she could. She’d become such a good farrier, in fact, that she’d been solicited to work with the team that supported the US equestrian athletes in the Olympics. Oh, how she’d desperately wanted to accept, but there was no one to take care of Betsy, so she’d declined and walked away from her one and only chance. That hurt badly for awhile, but God had changed her feelings and her heart.

      Yes, she’d given up the dreams she’d had for herself, but she was doing what she was meant to and the pain of deferred dreams had subsided to a soft, nostalgic ache.

      The years passed in a blur, Owen and Ray reenlisting and repeatedly redeploying. Ray coming home sporadically, and neither one ever bringing up her shameful behavior, though she was sure they both knew all about it. There were no secrets in small towns. How grateful she was that Jesus forgave, protected both her and Betsy on those wild and dangerous nights. The things that could have happened to her, to them both...

      Stifling a shiver, she ate gratefully, the savory soup and bread almost warming the cold places inside her. But there was an axe hanging over her head, tethered by a very fine thread. At any moment she feared Larraby would plow through the door with some new evidence that would convict her without doubt.

      Keegan, the youngest Thorn brother, sat back in his chair, wiping his mouth on the checkered napkin. “Okay, so I’m just gonna say it. I mean, I know we aren’t supposed to talk about your troubles, Ella, but I’ve seen someone out riding the trails at night on a motorcycle.”

      Everyone fell silent, staring at him.

      He shrugged. “I like bikes, so I pay attention to stuff like that. Jack told me he had seen the same thing when he was flying around in the Death Trap.”

      “Death Trap?” Ella asked.

      Owen shook his head. “His ultralight aircraft.”

      “Basically a toaster with wings,” Keegan said. “Anyway, there’s a biker using the trails around here.”

      Owen put down his spoon. “Who’s the rider? Same guy who tried to take us out?”

      “Dunno, but I was thinking maybe we can find out. That would help, right?” He eyed his brother with a sly smile. “The front fender probably has a little dent from Owen’s knee in it.”

      Owen didn’t smile back but Ella could see the amusement in his eyes. “A big dent.”

      Keegan laughed. “I stand corrected. I figured Jack and I can check out the ridgeline where I saw the guy riding. Follow the trail if there is one back to finding out where he came from. How ’bout it, Jack?”

      Jack nodded, pushing his plate away.

      “I’ll go too,” Owen said.

      “No.”

      Ella had not heard Jack argue with his brother before. His quiet voice

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