Dana Mentink - Cowboy Christmas Guardian

Barrett was surprised to see another truck already parked in front, a familiar fully loaded model with shiny green paint.

Ken Arroyo’s vehicle.

Barrett debated whether or not to put his truck in Reverse and return another time. Instead he sucked in a breath as he heard loud voices coming from inside the saddlery. One was Joe Hatcher’s low rumble and the other a higher-pitched, feminine timbre, which made his breath catch. Shelby? She had not waited for the police to accompany her before she confronted Hatcher with her plan. Barrett groaned inwardly. Typical.

Chris Larraby pulled up in his police vehicle next to Barrett. He hastened from the car and entered the shop. Barrett hesitated only a moment longer before he followed Larraby in.

“You need to be reasonable,” Shelby was saying. She did a double take when she saw Barrett, but she did not move away from her position across the counter from Hatcher.

Hatcher looked anything but reasonable. His nostrils flared like an enraged bull’s. “Don’t care what your fancy papers say.”

“That’s why I asked Officer Larraby to come,” Shelby said, calmly.

“Sorry I was late,” Larraby said. “Something came up.”

“Gonna strong-arm me, Chris?” Hatcher said.

“Nothing like that, Joe, just calm down.”

Shelby shook her head. “I have a legal right to go in that mine and he’s here to see that you comply.”

“That right?” Hatcher said, staring at Larraby. “You gonna force me?”

“Let her do her thing,” Larraby said. “She’s within the law.”

“And if you interfere,” Shelby said, “you’re breaking it.” Her expression softened a bit. “Look, I don’t want to make this hard on you. I’m here to assess the mine. That’s all. That’s my job.”

Hatcher’s eyebrows drew together in a scowl. “And if you decide there’s gold worth mining down there, I have to let your uncle dig up my place?”

“That’s not my decision to make. I’m only a fact finder.”

“Well, find your facts somewhere else,” he snapped. “I’m not gonna let you snoop around my property.”

Shelby crossed her arms. “Why not, Mr. Hatcher? What are you so afraid that I will see?”

Time seemed to stop for a moment as the two locked eyes. Then Hatcher slammed a hand down on the counter. “I ain’t afraid. It’s the principle.”

But Barrett had seen the evidence and he knew Shelby had, too, the flash of emotion that darted across Joe Hatcher’s face. Fear. What was the source, Barrett wondered.

He felt a presence at his elbow and looked down at the petite Emmaline. The blond-haired woman was probably in her early twenties, yet she had the appearance of a teen. She chewed her lip, arms folded protectively around her, brown eyes wide.

Barrett nodded at her. “A little disagreement. Going to be okay.”

She gave him a grateful smile. “I hate yelling.”

Probably heard a lot of that with Joe Hatcher for a father, Barrett figured.

Larraby’s radio crackled and he listened to the dispatcher for a moment. “I have to go. Let the lady on your property.”

“Now?” Hatcher demanded.

“Now.”

“That an order?”

“I don’t want to make it into one. Just do it.”

Shelby and Barrett followed Larraby out to his car. Emmaline trailed behind.

“Thank you, Officer,” Shelby said.

Larraby scowled. “Don’t thank me. I don’t like strangers coming into town and upsetting the locals. Personally, I would react the same way Joe is. Do what you need to do. Get in and get out.”

Shelby’s cheeks pinked, but she did not reply.

“Aren’t you going to stay in case things go bad?” Barrett said.

“Joe’s not going to do anything.” Larraby yanked open his car door. “And I’m a cop, not a babysitter.”

“This isn’t safe, with everything that’s happened,” Barrett growled.

“If you’re so concerned, you go with her.” He slammed the door and drove away.

Hatcher stalked out of the saddlery. His face was splotched with anger.

“Are you taking me to the mine entrance now, Mr. Hatcher?” Shelby asked.

He didn’t answer but his expression was murderous. He started up the gravel path that cut around the shop and into the trees. Rocks ground under his booted feet. He did not look back to see if Shelby was following.

“That’s the way to the mine,” Emmaline said, chewing her lip. “It’s hard to find if you don’t know what you’re looking for.”

Shelby smiled and thanked the young woman. “You must be Emmaline. They told me in town you lived here with your dad. I’m sorry I’ve caused so much ruckus.”

“Daddy doesn’t like ruckus unless he’s the one causing it.” She sighed. “Better catch up with him if you want to find the mine. I would go with you to help but...” She shivered. “My mom used to explore all the time. She was kind of an amateur geologist, I think. I never liked it. It’s so lonely up there. There are strange sounds, and at night...” She shrugged.

“I’ll make sure I’m not here at night,” Shelby said with a gentle smile at Emmaline. “Thank you. I’ll go catch up with him.” She hurried after Hatcher.

Barrett tried to think of something to say to stop her, but he came up blank.

Emmaline eyed the saddles in Barrett’s truck. “Did you need those tended to, Mr. Thorn? If you bring them inside, I can write up your order.”

“Thanks.” Barrett hauled the saddles into the shop.

While Emmaline scrawled out the order on a notepad, he was thinking about Shelby.

It’s so lonely up there.

In light of what had happened the previous night, Barrett was angry at Larraby for driving off and leaving Hatcher to lead the stubborn Shelby.

If you’re so concerned, then you go with her.

He wasn’t concerned, not about Shelby. The woman would do whatever she dreamed up, regardless. No, he wasn’t worried about her.

Except that his stomach muscles were taut and the niggling in his nerves would not be ignored.

Barrett Thorn often thought he’d become another person since Bree died. An observer of life instead of a participator, a guy who let life roll past him like a river while he watched, rooted to the bank. But there was one thing that had not changed about him—that gut sense of right and wrong that his conscience would never let him ignore. Right now, his gut was hollering loud and clear that Shelby Arroyo should not be left in the hands of Joe Hatcher, no matter how much his father believed in Hatcher’s character.

Sighing heavily, he thanked Emmaline and left the shop, grabbed a flashlight and his hat from his truck and headed up the slope the two had taken.

“Mr. Thorn,” Emmaline called. “Are you going up there, too?”

“Yeah,” he said, yanking his jacket zipper. “Looks like I am.”

* * *

Shelby had to jog to catch up with Hatcher. She did not try to make small talk, just did her best not to slow his progress. As she trotted along, she could not help but wonder if the ground underneath her feet was laced with veins of quartz that might yield a rich gold strike, an assayer’s dream. A tremor of excitement rippled through her at the thought that she might literally be standing above the answer to Uncle Ken’s problems.

After several recent conversations, Uncle Ken had finally confided to her that his real estate business had been languishing. She knew the lawyers for Devon had been costly, too.

It stoked the feeling of guilt inside her. Uncle Ken had supplemented her meager earnings to pay for her college. He’d been more of a provider than her own folks, with her mother spending whatever money her father sent. She could never understand why her mother insisted that Shelby and Erin live with her instead of their father.