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

They reined up, and a deep voice with a sandpaper edge called back, “That you, Hunter?”

Hunter leaped from the porch. “Hold your fire! Fred! Dusty! Hold your fire!”

Fred had already left the upstairs window. Dusty emerged form somewhere to the side of the riders.

Dusty said, “Do you know them?”

The riders turned with a start – it was not until Dusty spoke that they realized there was a man off to one side.

Hunter would know the deep, rough voice of Josh McCabe anywhere. “Yeah. It’s all right. Who’s with you, Josh?”

Hunter was surprised to hear Zack Johnsons’s voice. “Just me. And two of the hands Josh hired to replace Reno and the boys.”

“Zack? I thought you had gone home.”

Dusty was now standing before the porch, and Fred was emerging from the front door. Behind him was Aunt Ginny.

“I did. I told Ramon what the situation was. With him and the boys standing ready, I changed mounts and headed off to the line shack to get Josh.”

Aunt Ginny stepped forward. A knitted shawl, looking gray in the early morning light, was pulled tightly about her shoulders. Spectacles were perched on her nose. “Zack, you rode all the way to the line shack after riding clear across the valley?”

“Yes’m. Johnny would have done the same for me.”

He was correct, she knew. She had seldom seen brothers who were as close as Johnny and Zack. It was the warfare, Johnny had said. Fighting the Comanche, and pursuing border raiders across the Rio Grande into Mexico. Being shot at together, and even having to kill together. It creates a bond stronger than any other. Except, Johnny believed, the bond of parent to child.

“Why don’t you all come in out of the cold?” she said. “I’ll put some coffee on.”

“What I would really like, ma’am,” Zack said, “is to grab a little sleep before I head back. I’ve been riding hard all night.”

“Of course. The bed in the guest room is made up. You know you’re always welcome.”

Fred took the horses to the stable to strip off the saddles and give the animals a good rubdown after the ride from the line shack. The two riders who had returned with Josh - one of whom was Long - stripped their bedrolls from their saddles and headed to the bunkhouse to stretch out.

Josh let his gaze linger on Dusty for a moment, then pushed past him to climb the steps to the porch.

“Who’s the gunhawk?”

Aunt Ginny said, “Mind your manners.”

After coffee, Hunter and the young gunhawk rode back to town. Aunt Ginny thanked them again, and told Dusty he was always welcome. Josh thought about that as he had a hot bath and pulled on some clean clothes. A white shirt and a neatly folded pair of levis taken from a dresser drawer. Dusty made him feel somehow uneasy.

Aunt Ginny had quickly fried up some chicken and served it with mashed potatoes and some of the previous night’s biscuits. She didn’t normally serve a lunch so elaborate, but she knew Josh would be hungry from his ride in from the line camp, and she also invited Josh’s two new employees to join them. When Zack came downstairs, as the meal was commencing, she invited him to join them, too. She had been letting him sleep, figuring she would serve some left-overs to him if he slept through the meal.

As Zack cut into a piece of chicken, he said, “Where’s Dusty?”

Aunt Ginny replied, “He and Hunter left for town shortly after you went upstairs.”

Josh asked, “What is it with this Dusty? Just who is he, anyway?”

Aunt Ginny and Zack exchanged a quick glance – if Josh had blinked he would have missed it – but he did not blink and he did not miss it.

Aunt Ginny replied, “A young man Hunter hired to help at the saloon.”

“Since when does Hunter hire gunhawks?”

“I wish you would not use that word. I have always loathed it.”

“But that’s what he is, isn’t it?”

Zack changed the subject. “So, I wonder what Johnny found at that auction?”

“He should be home anytime,” Ginny said.

After lunch, Fred gave Zack a fresh mount, and Zack was on his way home.

Josh stood on the porch watching as Zack grew tiny in the distance, until he was eventually swallowed entirely in it.

Josh always felt best when his belly was full, he was freshly bathed, and in clean clothes. Yet, he was not content. Something was gnawing away at him, and it was not that gunfighter working for Hunter.

Bree stepped out onto the porch. Her hair was falling loosely to her shoulders, and she wore a gray vest over a white blouse, and a matching gray split skirt and black riding boots.

Josh said, “I hope you’re not thinking of going for a ride. It wouldn’t be safe with them riders up there in the hills.”

“Oh, I think I would be safe enough if I had my big brother with me.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Come one, Josh. Or, is your backside too sore from that long ride this morning?” she asked playfully as she stepped down from the porch.

“I said, ‘no,’” Josh snapped, his normally rough voice growing to a full roar. He had not meant to be that abrupt. He quickly softened his voice, as softened as it could get. “It’s too dangerous to be out riding around, Bree. Even with one of us with you.”

He was on edge, and tried to cover, but not well enough to fool her. She knew him too well. A lifetime of growing up alongside him. “All right, Josh. What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” He glanced away.

She climbed the steps back to the porch. “You’ve always been able to talk to me. Why not now?”

He reached out to the porch railing with both hands, and leaned his weight onto it, letting one foot drift forward. His gaze was fixed on the far side of the meadow, and his shoulders were bowed as though he was carrying a heavy pack. Bree wanted