Hello to all who enjoy dropping
in and contributing to “Cowboy Kisses”. It’s my turn to post today and I have a
request. Below is the first chapter of a book I’m currently working on and I’d
like you to read it and give me some honest feedback (even if it hurts!). LOL
Do you like the characters?
Does the story start strong
enough?
What do you like or dislike
about it?
If it’s not written clearly or
is confusing in any way, could you let me know what I could do to make it
better?
And, heaven forbid, if you see
edits I’ve missed, please let me know. Thank you.
Lorraine Nelson
Chapter
One
The Brazos
River Cattle Ranch, North
of Granbury, Texas
Kaylynne
Harper-Brown leaned back on her heels in the mud and dirt, pausing briefly to
wipe the sweat from her brow. She’d been filling sandbags for hours and there
seemed to be no end in sight. The heavy rains were still falling, threatening
the livelihood of her family as well as neighboring properties.
It was a
dirty, backbreaking job and they had to work fast to beat the rising
floodwaters. The crew she was on had worked tirelessly to secure about a mile
of riverbank, thereby saving her parents’ farm. Now they’d moved to another
low-lying area in danger of flooding.
She
glanced over at her son, leaning on his shovel, a frown creasing his forehead
as he looked toward the river. Kaylynne was proud of him and his determination
to help. At twelve years old, he’d worked as hard as any man or woman there.
He’d been at her side from the start, working tirelessly to save their farm.
“How are you holding up, Jamie?”
“I’m
good, Mom,” he said as he turned back to her, “but I sure wish the rain would
let up.”
“Yeah, me
too.” She rose to her feet, stretching out her legs to relieve the cramps. “My
turn to shovel.” Jamie held the next bag open while she shoveled it full, then
tied it off as he grabbed another bag. Another pair of hands, gloved and much
larger, reached to pick it up and place it on the makeshift dam. She looked up
into blazing blue eyes and quickly averted her gaze as she felt her stomach
plummet alarmingly. Brett Rawlings was
back.
“Hi,
Kaylynne. Thanks for coming to our rescue.”
He spoke
loud enough to be heard over the rushing water and the heavy equipment in use
shoring up the bank with large boulders in the hard to access areas. His voice
still had the power to make her knees go to jelly.
“No
thanks necessary. When did you get home?”
“A few
days ago, but I’ve been busy moving ranch stock further inland, away from the
worst flooding areas.”
She
nodded and began filling another bag, her thoughts in turmoil. He’d been gone a
long time, but one heated glance from those penetrating blue eyes and her heart
was all a flutter. That way lay danger and heartbreak. Better to keep her mind
on the job at hand. But why, oh why, did
he have to come back when she resembled a mud wrestler?
“Who’s
your helper?” Brett asked as he swung the next bag up over his shoulder.
“My son, Jamie.
Jamie, this is Brett Rawlings. His family owns this ranch.”
“Hi, Mr.
Rawlings.”
Kaylynne
could tell by his suspicious glance at Brett that he wasn’t impressed. His next
words confirmed it.
“You just
now coming to help?”
Brett
glanced down at the boy, his cowboy hat dispersing a rivulet of water. “Yes, I
had to secure the ranch and the animals first.”
Jaime
just shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “Whatever,” and tied off the filled
bag he was holding.
Much to
Kaylynne’s chagrin, Brett stayed and worked beside them, tossing the heavy bags
on the dam as if they weighed nothing. Wherever he’d been, he hadn’t lost any
muscle. His blue jeans, rain and mud soaked as hers were, clung to him like a
second skin, but his slicker prevented her from ogling his upper body. Just as
well, given the circumstances.
It was
late in the day when the Fire Chief, Eric, called a halt. They’d saved another
spread.
“Where to
next?” someone asked.
“Home,”
said Eric. “I just got word that the river’s threatening to take out the bridge
into town. Anyone needing to cross had better get moving.”
“Thanks,
everyone. My family truly appreciates the help you’ve provided us,” Brett
called.
A general
exodus ensued. Jamie took the shovel from her overworked hands and they walked
toward where they’d left the truck parked. Kaylynne was surprised when Brett
stepped up beside them.
“Will you
make it home all right?”
She
glanced his way and noticed the look of concern plastered across his features.
“I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, Brett. We’ll make it home.”
He
stopped dead in his tracks, but she continued walking with Jamie until they
reached the truck. She felt his heated gaze on her back, watching her as she
climbed inside without once looking back…but
damn, it was hard.
***
Brett stood looking after them until the truck
was lost to sight. Frustrated, he reached up a hand to scratch his head,
knocking his hat askew. A rivulet of cold rainwater flowed down his back,
reminding him that his work here was done, for now. He had to go check on the
herd again. The storm had forced him to move the cattle to a higher pasture,
but he hadn’t had time to ride the fence line. If a section was down, it could
mean disaster for ranch stock if they managed to get entangled in the barbed
wire, and for the farmer on the next spread. That is, if the weather hadn’t
already destroyed his crops.
He strode
to where he’d left his horse tied to a low-hanging branch and, putting one foot
in the stirrup, swung his other leg up and over. He’d never wanted to be a
rancher, but damn, it felt good to be on a horse again. Starlight whinnied his
excitement as Brett gave a flip of the reins. The black stallion reared his
head and took off, his sure-footed strides covering the ground as fast as any
vehicle could in this downpour, maybe even faster. Brett slowed when they
reached the ranch yard, deciding to grab a bite to eat before setting out for
the high country again. His mother was in the kitchen when he entered.
“Brett,
you’re soaked to the skin. You’ll catch pneumonia if you don’t soon change into
some dry clothes.”
“Can’t
yet, Ma. Gotta take a run back up to the north pasture and check the fencing.”
“It’ll
take hours for you to ride those lines. Better eat first. Go wash up.”
Brett
smiled crookedly. To her, he would always be a little boy. “Yes, Ma.”
He washed
up and decided to change clothes anyway. Might as well be comfortable for the
first leg of his journey. When he returned to the kitchen, she had a steaming
mug of coffee waiting for him and had filled a plate with her hearty, homemade
beef stew. A basket of biscuits sat in the middle of the table. “Smells good.
Thanks, Mama.”
“I’m
packing a lunch and a thermos of coffee to take with you, just in case you’re
out longer than expected.” Concern was etched on her expression as she turned
to him. “You remember where the line shacks are?”
He
swallowed a mouthful of food and took a sip of coffee before answering. “Yes,
Mama.”
“Why
don’t you take one of the ranch hands with you?”
“I
thought about it, but they’ve all worked hard moving cattle and securing the
riverbank. They need rest.”
“So do
you.” She sighed. “But still, it needs to be done. We can’t afford to lose any
more cattle.”
“Any
more? How many have you lost?” This was the first he’d heard of a loss. “When?”
“Your
father was concerned about the drop in the herd. He was working long days and
even longer nights, staying out to keep an eye on the herd. Doc thinks that’s
what brought on his heart attack.” Miriam sniffed and wiped a tear from her eye
with the corner of her apron. “Thank God his horse knew the way home.”
He rose
and gathered her into his arms, comforting her as best she could. Normally an
effusive, independent woman, she’d been devastated by his father’s death. Barry
Rawlings had only been fifty-seven. Always in perfect health and excellent
physical condition, his heart attack had hit a devastating blow. “I’m sorry,
Mama. I should’ve been here to help out.”
She
pushed away from him then, placed a loving hand on his cheek, and spoke. “You
had your own path to travel. I understood that, Brett, even though your father
didn’t, at least at first. But you are our only son. He never stopped missing
you and left you the ranch, hoping you’d come back.”
Her words
hit home, filling him with an equal sense of pride and bewilderment that his
father would do that. True, he and his father had made their peace over the
years, but he’d always made it plain that he regretted Brett’s choice of
becoming a lawyer. “No way. Why would he leave it to me? The ranch is yours.”
“No, I
have a home here for as long as I live, but the ranch is now yours. That’s the
way he wanted it.”
“So
that’s why you wouldn’t sell.”
“I
couldn’t. I wouldn’t anyway. This is the only life I know. Town isn’t for me.
Besides, I have the children to consider.”
“Speaking
of which, where are the little rascals?”
She
smiled fondly. Brett knew taking care of her grandchildren wasn’t easy for her,
but those kids gave her the strength to keep going. She’d said so many times in
the past few days.
“They’re
in the barn with Mimi’s latest litter. I swear that cat has populated every
home in the county with her offspring.”
Brett
chuckled as he resumed his seat at the table and finished eating. “That was a
terrific meal, Mama. Thanks. I need to pack a change of clothes and head out
while there’s still daylight.”
“Don’t
forget to grab your lunch and thermos on your way out the door. It’s in that
Ziploc bag on the counter.”
He nodded
as he headed for the hallway and the steps leading to the second floor. It didn’t
take long to pack a change of clothes. They kept the line shacks supplied with
bedding, towels, and necessities, so if he had to stay out on the range
tonight, he would be comfortable enough. His mother was nowhere in sight when
he returned to the kitchen, so he grabbed his lunch and went outside.
Shawnda
and Erik, his sister’s kids, came running to escape the downpour.
“Hi,
Uncle Brett. Where you going?” asked six-year-old Erik as they reached the
covered verandah. The boy had the red hair, freckled features, and rugged build
of his father.
“Gotta go
ride me some fence line, sport. Mama tells me we have cattle missing and I’m
about to find out why.” Erik’s hat tilted back as he looked up. “You two better
get inside and into some dry clothes. Your grandma has dinner ready.”
“Okay,
see you Uncle Brett,” said eight-year-old Shawnda as she ushered her brother
inside.
Shawnda
was tall and willowy for her age. And beautiful, in a fresh, country-girl kind
of way. If Robert and Brenda had survived the accident, they would be so proud
of those two.
Brett
crossed the ranch yard to the barn. One of the ranch hands had curried his
horse and he looked ready for another run. “Thanks, Oscar,” he said as the man
finished cinching the saddle. Brett tied his waterproof duffle across the
horse’s back. His lunch and thermos he placed in the saddlebags.
Oscar
watched as he secured his supplies. “Where ya headed, boss?”
“The
north pasture. Probably won’t be back until late tomorrow.”
“You want
that I should go with you?”
“Not this
time, Oscar. If there are a lot of repairs that need doing, I’ll be back to put
a crew together.”
“Ride
safe then.” He tipped his hat in farewell.
Brett led
the horse outside, stepped into the stirrup and threw a leg over, mounting in
one fluid motion. “Come on, Starlight. Time’s a wastin’. Giddy up, boy.”
Starlight needed no further encouragement, the slightest tug on the reins
guiding him in the right direction as he cantered through the muddy yard. When
they reached the pasture, Brett let the reins go slack to allow the horse to
have his head, and they raced over the acreage, defying the weather and the
discordant accompaniment of thunder crashing in the distance.
He slowed
Starlight to a walk as they approached the north pasture, swinging to the left
to follow the fence. They were already losing daylight and the nearest line
shack was a mile away. He’d only traveled a short distance when he spied a
sagging stretch of barbed wire. One of the posts had broken off at ground level
and would have to be replaced. Brett dismounted, grabbed a roll of red ribbon
from the saddlebag, and cut off a strip with his jack knife, tying it to the
line as a marker.
The rain
had let up some, so he walked with the horse the next little way, finding a
section of broken line. He marked it as he had the other one, then mounted up
and rode farther down the line. He came to a heavily treed area and dismounted
to better see the line where it weaved through the shrubbery. No problems
there, but it was getting difficult to see in the fading light.
A swift
glance ahead told him he wasn’t far from the line shack. It was positioned
among the next stand of trees. He dug a flashlight out of the saddlebag and
continued walking. If he could finish scouting this section before full dark,
he wouldn’t have to back track in the morning.
Finally,
he secured his horse in the lean-to near the cabin and trudged up the steps. He
set the saddle and supplies on the floor, found a woolen blanket, and took it
back outside with him. He spread it over Starlight to help counter the effects
of the storm, then grabbed an armload of wood before returning inside. Someone
had stocked the wood box with kindling and birch bark, so it wasn’t long before
he had a fire in the fireplace burning brightly. One more trip out to the
spring and he had a bucket of fresh drinking water.
He
started the wood stove in the kitchen and put a pot of water on to boil. Once
heated, he washed up and changed clothes, laying the wet ones over the backs of
chairs he’d placed in front of the fire. They’d be dry by morning. Brett picked
up the thermos and lunch bag before sitting in the only armchair. High-backed
and firm, it had seen better days, but its comfort hadn’t diminished over the
years. Now he truly felt as if he was home.
The
crackle of the fire made the small cabin feel cozy. It was only one large room,
with bunk beds off to one side and a kitchenette at the other end. He bypassed
the coffee and settled for a glass of cold spring water to quench his thirst as
he ate. His thoughts turned to Kaylynne. She was even more beautiful than he
remembered, but that prickly, ‘hands off’ attitude really got to him. Was she
still mad at him for leaving? He snorted a laugh. She hadn’t stayed angry for
long, not if she could marry his best friend mere weeks after he’d left. Maybe
she hadn’t loved him at all.
Tired
from the energy expended this day, he started to doze off. He rose to his feet,
made the bed, stoked up the fires against the dampness, then stripped and
crawled between the sheets. Sleep claimed him almost immediately.
The fire
had burned out when Brett was jerked from a sound sleep by the sound of an
engine. He slipped on his jeans and crossed to the window, peering out around
the corner of the curtain. A semi pulling a stock trailer drove past, not
slowing or stopping.
Brett
finished dressing, pulled on his boots and outerwear, then grabbed his gun and,
opening the door, slipped quietly into the darkness beyond. His heart pumped
furiously as adrenalin kicked in. If he was dealing with rustlers, he could be
heading for trouble, but he had to know. He wished his cell phone worked out
here so he could call for back-up.
The truck
slowed to a stop quite a distance from the cabin and a man jumped down from the
passenger side. Brett stayed within the shadows, getting as close as he dared,
and watched by the meager light of the truck’s tail lights as the man opened
the rear door and let down a ramp. He went inside the trailer and reappeared
leading two fully saddled horses.
The
driver left the truck running, turned on overhead floodlights, and jumped down
to join his friend. They rode off into the herd, lassoed two of the Brazos
Ranch longhorns, and led them to the truck. The men secured the cattle to a
nearby tree, grabbed two more ropes, and headed out to repeat the process.
Brett had
his answer as to where their cattle were going, and it wasn’t anything to do
with the fences. Damn! They were definitely rustling Brazos
cattle. Brett wondered if he could get close enough to get the plate number off
the truck and trailer. If he got caught, he could end up face down in the
mud…dead. He paused to wonder if his father had happened upon them, causing his
heart attack. It seemed more than likely.
The men
came back with two more head of cattle and rode off again. It’s now or never. Brett kept to the shadows and the density of the
surrounding bushes as he made his way to the vehicle, groaning his frustration
at not having pen or paper. He pulled up his shirt, picked up a muddy stick and
did his best to write the number on his stomach, hoping it wouldn’t smudge. He
eased the shirt back over it, then heard the horses returning. Brett hid
amongst the trees and waited for them to ride off again.
“It’s too
muddy and wet tonight, Callan. I’m shiverin’ in my boots,” said one of the men.
“I’m not
sure when I can get the trailer again. You sure you don’t want to grab a couple
more while we’re here?”
“Yeah,
I’m sure. Let’s load up and be off.”
“Okay,
boss.”
Brett
watched as they rode their horses into the truck, each hauling a steer behind
them. Two more trips and they emerged to close up the trailer and jump in the
cab. The truck circled in the field to turn around and Brett almost panicked
when the bright floodlights shone in his direction. When it kept going, he
breathed a sigh of relief, watching as it turned south onto the county road.
Brett
retraced his steps, heading for the cabin. How did they know he’d moved the
stock to the north pasture? Who was Callan? Was that his name or a nickname?
And who the devil was he working for? How did they even know of the north
entrance? The men hadn’t seemed at all familiar, but he’d been gone a long
time.
The
entire community was hard at work trying to save their homes and livelihood
from the massive flooding, and here they were, stealing from them. His angry
strides ate up the distance as he advanced on the line shack.
Once
inside, he closed the door and lit the oil lamp sitting on the table. He
shivered. He’d only brought the one change of clothes and he was soaked. Brett
checked the items hanging in front of the fire. Still damp. He stirred the
coals to life and added more wood, then found a length of rope and secured a
makeshift line from wall to wall. He stripped and draped his wet clothes over
the line, hoping they’d dry by morning. Wrapped in a blanket, he laid back down
for what was left of the night. His watch…his waterproof Rolex…was no match for
the season’s downpour. It had stopped at a quarter to ten and Brett knew it was much later than that.
He didn’t
think he’d sleep with his newfound knowledge of the rustling, but his body knew
better. When next he opened his eyes, it was morning, and the sun shone bright
through the dusty windows. The rain had finally stopped.
Brett
yawned and stretched, then rose to gather his clothing and get dressed. A quick
check resulted in the thermos of coffee having gone cold, so Brett dumped it in
a saucepan and set it on the stove to heat. After stepping outside to answer
the call of nature, he returned to finish the packed lunch his mother sent with
him and down his coffee. He tidied the cabin and headed out to saddle
Starlight. They were going home to report the rustling, and by God, if the
rustlers had caused his father’s death, he’d insist on murder charges being
laid.
