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  “Old man? Do you mean Leland Chappell?” Ben scratched his head, recalling the fellow who’d lived—and died—on the land, the man who had willed the property to Tom Henderson. “Chappell’s been gone for three years. I thought you came out to Colorado last summer.”

  Her face paled. “Well, yes, that’s right. I did only come back earlier this year.”

  “But you’d been here before.” Ben watched her features closely. She’d realized her story didn’t fit together. She was a quick thinker, he’d give her that much. But what was she hiding?

  “You’re right. I did come out years ago, soon after my mother passed away, but like I said, that old man was living here.” She shrugged then looked up with a sweet smile gracing her face. “He was quite a hospitable sort. I visited with him one afternoon, chatted with him about the gold.”

  “Did you tell him who you were?”

  “No reason to do that. As far as he knew I was just passing through, had heard the legends about the gold, and wanted to inquire.” She laughed. “Actually, I told him I was writing a dime novel. He was only too happy to tell me everything he knew, which, unfortunately, wasn’t much.”

  She seemed suddenly nervous. Ben replayed her words through his mind again, and sure enough, questions arose. There was something more to the story, something Della wasn’t telling him. Something that ruffled her.

  She got to her feet and paced through the small quarters, then stopped and glanced toward the door, almost as if she were expecting someone to appear—or something to happen.

  “Is something wrong?” Ben asked, still apprehensive about getting caught with Della inside the bunkhouse. “What is it?”

  She rubbed her hands across her upper arms as if warding off a chill. “I—I don’t know. I thought I heard something. It must be my imagination, that’s all.”

  Then Ben heard it too. Footsteps, then heavier steps, wild neighs and shrill whinnies. He jumped from his seat and raced across the bunkhouse. When he threw open the door, he saw a blur of motion as a dozen wild horses stampeded from the corral, headed toward the foothills.

  The back door of the ranch house slammed shut and Tom came running outside.

  “Holy hell! What’s going on out here?”

  “Someone’s spooked the horses,” Ben said, already headed toward the now-empty corral. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder, relieved that no one else saw Della scurrying out of the bunkhouse.

  “Damn it to hell!” Tom threw his hat down on the ground. “Weeks of work, all shot now.” He wheeled around. “I hired you to keep an eye out, Ben. You want to explain how this happened?”

  Ben’s face heated. “I wasn’t doing my job,” he admitted. “I let myself get distracted. I won’t blame you if you fire me.”

  “Fire you? Hell, no.” Tom retrieved his hat and shook his head. “I’m a mite upset, sure enough, but you’re the only man I’ve got that I can count on.” He glanced around. “Your father sneaking around anywhere?”

  “Haven’t seen him tonight. My guess is he’s probably at the Red Mule.”

  “I hope you don’t mind if I do a bit of checking up.”

  “Don’t mind in the least, Tom. If my old man has anything to do with this, he needs to pay.” He glanced toward the distant hills. “You want to go after the horses?”

  “Wouldn’t do any good. They’re still wild and they’ve got their freedom now. We won’t be getting those mares back.” He glared at Ben, then his expression softened. “It’s too late tonight to do anything. Tomorrow, we’ll get an early start, ride out toward the valley. We might be able to rope a few and bring them back. At the least, we’ll see where they are. We can make plans for another drive to bring them back in.”

  Ben hung his head. He couldn’t recall ever feeling worse. “This is my fault, Tom. I’ll make it up to you.” He thought back to the moments before the horses had broken loose. He’d heard footsteps. Della heard them, too. In fact, she seemed to be listening carefully for something before all hell broke loose. Had she somehow known something was about to happen? Had she deliberately come to the bunkhouse to distract him? And where was his father?

  So much for being vigilant.

  * * * *

  Early the next morning, Tom and Ben saddled up and rode west toward the mountains in search of the horses. Some could easily be brought back, others would probably be lost and never found. The knowledge that he was at least in part responsible for the loss of so many fine animals weighed heavily upon Ben’s shoulders. Like his boss said, he’d been hired to do a job. He didn’t like letting people down.

  At the same time, his curiosity about Della and the information she’d given him intrigued Ben. Sure, life could hold a lot of coincidences, but he doubted this was one of them. Odd things had happened, and now, it turned out that Joe Love’s daughter was living right there on the Henderson place? If he were a betting man, he’d wager that the two were connected somehow.

  But there was the rub.

  How could Della be involved? She knew no one in Sunset other than the Henderson family, and she rarely left the horse farm. Whenever she did go into town, either Ben, Tom, or Lucille accompanied her.

  Ben stared off into the distance as he rode alongside Tom, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of the horses. All the while, thoughts ran through his head. Finally, he could hold them back no longer.

  “All right, let’s get this all out in the open. This is about the gold. I still don’t think my father is behind it, but somebody is trying to run your family off the land.”

  “It won’t work. We’re not going anywhere.” He gripped the reins and gave Ben a long, appraising look. “I hope you’re not going to try to convince me to leave. That might almost make me think you were working against me.”

  He’d lost Tom’s trust. Few things in life could hurt more.

  “I know your family’s welfare is uppermost in your mind,” he said, looking directly into the man’s eyes. “I know, too, you can be a bit stubborn. I think you need to consider the facts.”

  “Which particular set of facts are you talking about?”

  “Who lived here after Love got himself shot up? It was a family by the name of Robinson, if memory serves me right.”

  “It does. But nobody scared them off if that’s what you’re getting at. They heard the stories about Love, and they packed up and moved on their own. The missus didn’t cotton much to living in a place where a man had died a violent death.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. You didn’t know them, did you? You can’t be certain about their reasons for leaving.”

  “I don’t see what difference it makes anyway. That’s old history, Ben. Water under the bridge, as they say.”

  “What about Leland Chappell?”

  “What about him?” Tom frowned. “For sure, nobody ran him off. You know as well as I do, he died in his sleep.”

  “You said he was a cantankerous old sort, set in his ways.”

  “Yeah, and a good man. A very good man.”

  Ben nodded. Although he’d never made Chappell’s acquaintance, he knew of the close bond Tom had shared with him. His death had hit Tom hard.

  “From what you’ve told me, he doesn’t sound like the sort who would scare too easily, not like that family. They were willing to high-tail it out real quick. Chappell wouldn’t go.”

  Tom pushed his hat back. “What are you getting at, Ben? Are you suggesting maybe there was some sort of foul play involved in Leland’s death? Are you thinking maybe somebody got rid of him?” His eyes darkened to a stormy blue. A sudden quiet settled over him. Tom’s thoughts seemed far away. Finally, he shook his head. “You know I was the one who found Leland. Damn, but that was an awful thing. I rode out early that morning, planned to help him with a few chores around the place.” He closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath. “Odd thing, Ben. The moment I rode into the yard, I knew something wasn’t right.”

  “Was anything out of place? Did you see anything? Hear
anything?”

  “That’s been years ago. Of course, sometimes, it’s so clear in my head and in my heart, feels as though it happened yesterday. I don’t believe in spirits of the dead lingering on earth or any of that sort of thing, but, you know, there are times when I almost think I do feel Leland close by, times when I walk into the old barn still expecting to find him there.”

  “Was there ever any trouble before? While Chappell was living, I mean. Anyone ever ransack his rooms? He ever talk about anything suspicious in nature?”

  “Not that I recall.” Tom gripped the reins tighter. “I think you’re on the wrong track, Ben.”

  “Maybe so,” he admitted.

  Tom remained silent for a minute, obviously chewing a bit on their conversation. His face screwed up. “If I find out someone was responsible for Leland’s death, Ben, I’ll kill him. I swear, I will.”

  “Take it easy. I’m just throwing ideas out, trying to put the pieces together. I’m sure as hell not making any accusations.” For some reason, he didn’t yet want to divulge Della’s true identity nor repeat any of the information she’d shared with him. “Mostly it’s just a feeling I have in my gut, Tom. We both know my father had nothing to do with Chappell’s death. Pa was locked up, safely behind bars at the time. There’s no disputing that fact. He never knew the man. At the time, I don’t think he knew anything about Joe Love, either. I don’t think he knew a thing about the gold.”

  “We’ll get it figured out eventually. But one thing is certain. I’m not letting anybody run me off my land, Ben. Cowards run. Real men stay and fight for what’s theirs. As for my family, I’ll take care of them, too.” He studied Ben again, then nodded. “I’m counting on you to help, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know. I swear, Tom, I won’t let you down again.”

  “All right. Let’s find us a few horses. With luck, we can make it an early day. I’d like to spend Christmas Eve with my wife and children.”

  Hours later, dejected, cold, and tired, they rode toward home. They’d caught only a single mare, not much to show for the long day’s work. A bitter wind blew from the north, promising that more snow would fall soon. The chill in the air went through to Ben’s bones, and he looked forward to getting back to the bunkhouse, building a fire in the stove, and warming up again.

  Along with the coldness, he felt something else, and as much as he wished it were only imagination, he knew it to be only too real. It was that damned prickly sensation, that crazy feeling that all the hair on his body was standing on end. Instinct took over. He pulled back on the reins and snapped his head around toward the south.

  “Damn it to hell! Over there, Tom.” He pointed toward his right.

  The man beside him wheeled his horse around. “What is it? What did you see?”

  Ben blinked and shook his head. “I’m not sure. I thought I saw something moving.”

  It could be anything, of course. A wild animal. Tall grass blowing in the wind. His gaze roamed over the landscape, searching for anything out of place. “There!” he shouted again as he caught sight of a big man – one he’d seen before. “I’m going after him.”

  Tom remained behind, clutching the mare’s rope. Ben gave chase, riding fast and hard, but by the time he reached the place where he’d seen the hulking figure, the big man had disappeared.

  “Damn it.” Ben reined up and cursed again. The stranger could be anywhere.

  Ben knew all too well how many places there were to hide in those foothills. As a boy, he’d hidden out in a cave for several days to prevent his father from finding him. Of course, he’d had Joshua and Cody nearby to keep an eye on him, to bring him supplies, and ensure his safety.

  But a man could survive even without help. That fellow was holed up somewhere nearby.

  Had he been the one to open the corral and spook the horses? But why? Another gold-seeker?

  Ben scratched his jaw and wished he were a wiser man. If he were, maybe he could figure out the answers to all the questions and put an end to the trouble.

  For now, there wasn’t time enough. The skies had grown dark, and after he and Tom returned home, Ben planned to ride into Sunset. Late or not, he meant to call on a pretty young lady there. He had a book of sonnets to give her.

  “Come on, Ben,” Tom called. “We’d best be getting back. Not too likely you’re going to find that fellow now. It’s Christmas Eve,” he reminded him. “I need to be home with my family.”

  “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” Ben managed a grin. “I’ve got a few things to do, too.”

  By the time they reached the horse farm, the sun had disappeared, leaving only a cold, dark night.

  After washing off the grit, grime, and the unmistakable smell of horse, Ben put on a fresh set of clothes, grabbed his black hat, and tucked his precious package beneath his arm. As he stepped outside, the back door of the house opened. Lucille came toward him, pulling a heavy shawl around her shoulders.

  “Could you spare a moment, Ben?”

  “Of course. Is something wrong?” He glanced toward the house.

  “No, not at all. Everything is as it should be, and I owe you an apology.”

  His head snapped up. “For what?”

  Lucille slipped her hands beneath the cloak then held out her strand of pearls. “Your father didn’t steal them. I was wrong to accuse him, Ben.” Her eyes glistened from the cold, or was it also from unshed tears? “I shouldn’t have been so quick to judge, so quick to assume the worst.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Ben said, holding his arm out to her. “Let me help you back inside. It’s cold out here.”

  “Yes, thanks.” She fell into step beside him.“I truly never meant to cause harm. I know I over-reacted. I found the pearls earlier this evening. I must have dropped them. Faith had them in the playroom.”

  “No harm done, Lucille,” he assured her. “My father’s moved on. He’s doing odd jobs in town. Everything’s worked out for the best.”

  She nodded. “Yes, of course. I’ll be honest, Ben. I wasn’t comfortable with him here. I’m glad he’s gone. Still, it was wrong for me to jump to conclusions the way I did.”

  Ben chuckled. “I know somebody else who does the same thing. Maybe it’s part of being female.” He grinned and opened the door for her. “Merry Christmas, Lucille.”

  Chapter Nine

  Each year on Christmas Eve, the Phillips family gathered in the parlor at sunset for a festive celebration. Emily loved Christmas. When she’d been a child, the holiday always meant gaily-wrapped presents beneath the tree, Mama’s holiday cakes and pies, sweet cinnamon candies and peppermints, and fresh oranges tucked inside stockings hung on the fireplace mantel. Once upon a time, she’d actually believed in Santa Claus. In fact, she’d believed in the jolly, bewhiskered fellow for a good many years. She wished now she could go back to those childhood days, those simpler times when she could make wishes and, as often as not, they came true. Of course, she knew now that it was Pa, not Father Christmas, St. Nicholas, or any other legendary figure who brought the gifts she cherished.

  Earlier that morning, Kat’s husband had cut down a lovely spruce tree and brought it to the house. Emily and Mama had worked together for most of the afternoon, adding ornaments, bows, tinsel, and tapers, but then Mama had been called away. The Woodsen family was about to get a brand new baby for Christmas. Soon after she left, a heavy snow began to fall. Mama would not be able to make it home until the weather cleared.

  Alone, Emily lit the candles one by one, reflecting on how many things had changed over the years. Kat now celebrated Christmas Eve in her own home with her husband and children. Mama did very little holiday cooking and baking these days since she was usually too busy attending to her midwifery or caring for Pa. His days were numbered; he wouldn’t be with them forever. Each year when Christmas came around, Emily wondered if this might be their last together. The thought brought a tear to her eye. For all his faults—and her father had many—she loved him dearly. />
  With the candles glowing brightly, she stepped back to gaze upon the magnificent sight. The sweet scent of pine filled the air, mingling with the aroma of hot spiced cider and frothy cocoa. For a moment, her spirits lifted. Christmas possessed a special magic.

  All too soon, the heaviness returned to her heart. She sighed and turned, surprised to see her father standing in the doorway, watching her.

  He looked so much older now than he had appeared even a few months before when she’d gone away to school. How could he have aged so much in such a short time? His skin had an unhealthy pallor to it, and his shoulders stooped more now as he shuffled across the room. Despite the ravages ill health had brought upon him, one thing hadn’t changed. He still had the biggest, brightest smile she’d ever seen. Even his old blue eyes twinkled.

  “Naughty or nice?” he teased, reaching for her hands. He asked the same question every year. It had become as much a part of the family ritual as the brightly-decorated tree and the shimmering tinsel.

  She bent forward and kissed his cheek. “Nice, of course, Pa.”

  “I doubt that. You’re all grown up now, sweetheart, and I suspect you’re as mischievous as ever.”

  “Of course I am,” she quipped, “but you don’t expect me to admit it, do you?”

  Pa squeezed her hand. “Come sit down with this old fellow, and let’s have a little chat.” Still holding her hand in his, he turned and led her to the sofa with its thick horsehair-stuffed cushions and arms. Once he took his seat, Emily grabbed one of the afghans Mama had crocheted and threw it over his legs. She carefully tucked the edges in to keep him warm.

  “So, tell me, my little one, is that fellow getting serious?”

  The question took her aback. She stopped tucking and peered up at her father. “Do you mean Benjamin? I really don’t know what to say, Pa.” Emily averted her gaze.

  “Say what’s in your heart.”