Reed would want to know.
As she stepped back out of the cabin an hour later with a burlap bag filled with what she would need, a distant movement caught her attention. Lifting her hand to shade her eyes, she watched as two men rode towards the ranch.
A dozen memories and lessons flashed through her as she turned back inside to grab her uncle’s scattergun off the wall. She was holding it with both hands. Not threatening, but ready if it was needed.
Her heart relaxed when she saw the gold star on Sheriff Reed’s chest flash in the afternoon light. Heavyset, with a short gray beard trying to hide large jowls and a double chin. She had always liked the man. What is more, her uncle had respected him.
“Miss Rebecca,” he said with a tip of his hat. “Is your uncle about?”
Rebecca studied the man next to the sheriff. A typical cowboy, in his thirties. Scuffed boots, denim pants, a sweat-stained cotton shirt, a battered hat. Three days of beard. Nothing remarkable. Just like any two dozen on the main street in town.
The man looked at her with a strange expression. Not a lustful male gaze. Not even a hint of interest. It was as if he were inspecting a rock he found in the middle of the desert. Just one more thing to be ignored.
“I just buried him,” she said to the sheriff as she nodded up the hill. “I was coming to town to tell you. Someone shot him in the back. Left him on the trail. I don’t know what happened to his horse.”
The sheriff's eyebrows rose halfway up his forehead before he glanced over to the man next to him. Swallowing hard the sheriff looked down for a moment then back up.
The look of shame and regret in his eyes made her stomach turn over. This was bad. Maybe even worse than finding her dead uncle laying in his own blood.
“I take it he didn’t come home before you found him?”
Rebecca took a deep breath and shook her head. No, the last time she had seen him he had ridden away without her telling him she loved him. Without reminding him of how thankful she was that he was her uncle. A wave of guilt washed over her as once against she felt the tears welling up in her eyes.
“No,” she managed to say in answer to the sheriff’s question.
The man next to the sheriff shook his head, “It don’t change things. I got the papers.”
Sheriff Reed sighed heavily, “Rebecca Johnson, this here is Henry Travers.”
She nodded an acknowledgment then turned back to the sheriff and silently asked why he was here.
The sheriff took a deep breath as he looked up the hill to the grave at the top. He then turned back to her and said, “He’s got a bill of sale that says your uncle sold him the ranch. Stock and supplies. Everything.”
“WHAT!” Rebecca gasped. “No, that is impossible.”
The sheriff frowned as he looked down, unable to meet her gaze. “It was witnessed by three men. Two of whom I trust. Talked to them myself.”
Rebecca fought to understand. Sold the ranch? Why? A brief memory flashed to the front of her mind of her uncle lamenting the thought of her being out here in the middle of nowhere. “A young woman should live in a town,” he had said. “Not caring for a broken-down farmer in the middle of nowhere.”
Was that why?
“He got a good price,” Mr. Travers said. “A thousand in silver.”
Again, her mind rebelled. A thousand dollars? It seemed preposterous.
The sheriff shifted in his saddle. “I come out here today just to make sure things went peaceful. I was worried your uncle might have changed his mind. But, if he wanted to give the money back. I wasn’t going to force him off.”
“It’s gone,” she said. “He didn’t have it on him. Not when I found him.”
The sheriff nodded sadly. “I was afraid of that. Someone must have followed him from town. This area seems to be attracting some of the worse.”
Rebecca’s world spun about her. The ranch, her home, gone. No, this was impossible. Things were so not right and she could see it in the sheriff's eyes. He knew it too. Her uncle had unexpectedly sold the ranch then been killed and the money stolen. How did this man have a thousand dollars in silver? He looked like he hadn’t had more than thirty dollars in his pocket his entire life.