The Long Trail (The McCabes Book 1) by Brad Dennison (books that read to you .txt) 📕

was when it came to a firearm. She doubted there were many who would disagree. The list of who could touch his guns was limited. Zack Johnson and her brothers were the only three she could think of at the moment. And maybe Hunter, but that was it. It was so unlike Aunt Ginny to step over boundaries.

Bree had to admit she liked Dusty, though she hardly knew him. He was cute. She could have almost died when he stepped into the kitchen and she was such a mess! There was a smoothness to Dusty, a fluidity in his manner, an ease in the way he moved. He stepped down lightly when he walked, reminding her of a cat, and though he wore hard-soled riding boots, he made hardly a sound as he walked along the floorboards. In fact, he even reminded her of Pa a little, but his eyes were darker. There was a certain quality she couldn’t quite describe about in the look in his eyes. Sometimes tranquil, like a still pond, other times smoldering.

But to let him touch Pa’s guns?

She turned on her heel and returned to the kitchen, and busied herself at the dry sink, washing dishes.

Eventually, Aunt Ginny returned to the kitchen. “I was going to see if you needed any help out here, but you seem to have things under control.”

Bree turned to face her, suds clinging to her hands and wrists. “Aunt Ginny, you know Pa would never want a stranger touching his guns.”

Aunt Ginny seemed to draw herself up a bit, rising to full posture, her jaw firmly set, and she leveled he Gaze at Bree. “I believe we already covered this subject.”

This time, Bree was not going to back down. She stood her ground, he gray eyes flashing with the temper she inherited from her father. “Well, it wasn’t covered well enough. I want to know what’s going on.”

“Nothing that concerns you. Not at this moment, anyway.”

“It seems to me anything that going on under this roof, the roof of my home, concerns me. Especially when it comes to letting a perfect stranger do something that would make Pa angry.”

“I don’t think it would. Not in this case.”

“Well, we’ll have to let Pa decide that, won’t we?”

Aunt Ginny’s gaze softened a bit. “Sabrina,” she seldom called her niece Bree, “there are things afoot that I’m not quite ready to discuss yet. Do you trust me?”

Bree nodded. When it came down to the brass tacks, Aunt Ginny, Pa, and her brothers were the four she trusted most in the world.

“I know you’re no longer a child,” Aunt Ginny continued. “But there are things going on that I’m not quite ready to explain. I have to ask you to trust me, and to let it go for now.”

Bree felt the anger draining away. She let out a sigh. “All right. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

Aunt Ginny’s left brow rose a notch. “As do I, child.”

Dusty stepped onto the porch, his rifle held ready in his hands.

“Hunter?” he said into the darkness, no louder than he would have had Hunter been standing at his side. A call could carry on the night air, and he didn’t want it to carry much beyond the ranch yard.

From off to the right of the porch, Hunter stepped from the darkness, seeming to almost materialize from nothingness. He held a Winchester, and a pistol was belted at his right hip. “All’s quiet, so far.”

“Where do you suppose Johnson is?”

Hunter shrugged. “Half-way between here and there, I reckon. Five miles lay between this house and his. Traveling by dark, and trying to move quietly, he’ll be riding a good part of the night. But he’ll be all right. There ain’t too many better than Zack Johnson at staying alive.”

“Why don’t you go in and get some coffee? I’ll spell you.”

“You talked me into it.” Hunter stepped up onto the porch.

“Leave the door ajar,” Dusty said. “The sound of a door shutting can carry in the darkness, and I’d rather not let anyone who might be out there get a fix on our movements. And tell Miss Brackston – Aunt Ginny,” he corrected himself, “to blow out the lamp in the front part of the house, and to let the fire burn down. Even from a distance, one of us passing by a lighted window could create what would look like a flicker in the light, and anyone watching the house would have a better idea of where we were.”

“You sure know this business, don’t you?”

“All too well.” Dusty hadn’t meant that to sound as cryptic as it had. “Why don’t you go in and grab that coffee?”

Hunter laid a hand on Dusty’s shoulder and stepped into the house.

Dusty waited, not moving from the porch, but standing motionlessly, allowing himself to blend into the darkness should anyone be watching the house. After a few moments the light from inside dimmed, as the lantern standing on the table by the gun rack was blown out. Good, Dusty thought. They were heeding his advice. Only then, with the window much darker, retaining only a faint glow from the kitchen at the back of the house, and from the fire crackling low in the hearth, did Dusty step down from the porch and into the night.

Dusty knew if the house was indeed being watched, it was probably from a distance. A rider could sit unobserved in the trees at the edge of the meadow, where Dusty had himself watched the house but a week earlier. The moon would be up in a few hours, and once your eyes adjusted to the dim light of the night, you would probably find a remarkably good view of the house. Even though you wouldn’t be close enough to pick up the details, any motion would be quite visible.

Dusty walked past the barn, to stand beyond the edge of the ranch yard. In the early evening darkness he couldn’t see it, but about