Free Wyoming Woman by Elizabeth Lane

gentle, like tears.
    She thought of Jacob and Josh, so playful and full of innocent fun. Remembering their antics, she could not believe they had been among the raiders who’d paid a call on old Miguel. But cold reason told her otherwise. One of them had been with the marauderstoday. She had seen his face. If that was possible, anything was possible.
    The image of her darling brothers—or, heaven forbid, her father—brutalizing a helpless old man drew the ugly knot in the pit of her stomach so tight that she wanted to retch. On top of that, another worry suddenly seized her, this one all but paralyzing her with dread.
    What if they were caught? What if they were arrested and sent to prison? That would kill her mother. It would kill her father, too, whether he was involved with the others or not. Rachel fought down rising waves of panic. She had started out believing the sheep man’s troubles with the ranchers were none of her concern. Only now did she realize they had the power to tear her family, and her happy, secure world, apart.
    â€œWho have you told about this?” she asked, masking her terror with concern. “Did you send word to the authorities?”
    â€œThe authorities!” He laughed roughly. “You mean those stooges the Cattlemen’s Association pays to keep the peace in these parts? Why bother to tell them? They’d only look the other way.”
    Rachel allowed herself to breathe, but her throat felt as if she were strangling, and the fear remained, thick and cold and heavy inside her.
    â€œThe cowards who ganged up on Miguel were masked.” Luke’s tone was flat with anger. “There’s no way to identify them. Even if there were, what’s the penalty for burning a sheep wagon and beating upan old Spaniard? Any judge who valued his job would call it boyish mischief and throw the case out of court.”
    Rachel exhaled slowly and allowed the strained conversation to slip into silence. She did not trust her self to ask the question that was screaming in her mind. It was horrific enough, the acts that had been committed against a helpless sheepherder. But what if the old man were to die of his injuries? Then the crime that Luke, in his disgust, had called boyish mischief would become a crime of murder.
    The rain was pouring around them now in a steady drizzle. Rachel could scarcely remember when it had begun to fall. The lamb in her arms shuddered itself awake and began to struggle, bleating for its mother. The jangle of sheep’s bells echoed through the dark ness.
    â€œHow much longer?” Rachel raised her voice above the sound. She was cold and wet and sore, and she wanted nothing more than to leave this man who had opened the door into a world of nightmares. She wanted to be home, with her parents and her brothers. She wanted to hold each one of them in her arms and forget this miserable day had ever happened.
    â€œNot much longer.” Luke’s answer, coming so long after her question, startled her. “Look ahead. You can see the light.”
    Struggling with the lamb, Rachel leaned to one side and peered around Luke’s broad shoulder. Through the rainy darkness, her straining eyes caught a glimmer of light. Soon, she thought. Soon there would be food and warmth and an end to this interminable ride.
    The dogs had caught the scent of home. They raced ahead, hurrying the tired sheep. Luke nudged the horse to a brisk trot, but the animal needed no urging. Mud splattered under its hooves as it surged into the darkness. Strands of wet hair whipped Rachel’s face as she clung to Luke’s silent back.
    They passed beneath the shadow of a high gate, but Rachel could see little of the buildings that lay beyond. The light they had seen appeared to be coming from a single window in the low, dark house. Nothing moved within that small square of brightness, but as the sheep swept across the yard, the gate to a fenced pasture swung open.