Page 53 of The Cowboy Who Came Home

Mitch nodded, and Link smiled as he left the room. He’d showered already, and he wore his church clothes, so he’d definitely be making the drive to town for services. Mitch flipped his phone over and over, and then he texted Uncle Ward.

Anything you need from me this morning?

He got to his feet and padded out of the bedroom and down the hall, where the scent of ham, cheese, and butter filled the air. Honor’s nose went nuts, but her focus stayed on the back door, which Mitch opened for her. She trotted down the steps to the grass that surrounded this grouping of cowboy cabins.

Nine men lived and worked here at Shiloh Ridge full time, and during the busier times—branding, calving, breeding, and the round-up—they brought in temporary men and women too.

He turned back to the kitchen to find Link and Cutter laughing about something, and all he could do was imagine what they might sound like. Funnily enough, he had voices for everyone in his life, male and female, and he smiled at Link for a moment before his phone went off.

Uncle Ward had said, Yeah, we need an extra man on rotations this morning. You’ve got it?

I’ve got it, Mitch texted. He loved saddling a horse and riding with others as they moved their livestock from pasture to pasture. He hadn’t gotten in the swing of their rotations yet, but Mitch wouldn’t be doing it alone.

He never got to do much of anything alone.

And yet, he felt more isolated from people than ever. Why, he wasn’t sure. He hadn’t ever wanted for a dance partner last night. He’d been surrounded by people, music, noise, life.

At Shiloh Ridge, it was nigh to impossible to find anywhere that didn’t have another person within rock-throwing distance, and Mitch should be glad of that. But he wasn’t.

He wanted to hide, and that meant less eyes on him. Less people checking to make sure he understood. Less of everything.

“Omelets,” Cutter said without signing it. But Mitch could read lips extremely well, and he turned back to the door to look for Honor. He didn’t see her, and it was early enough that he simply opened the door a crack. She’d nose her way back in when she returned, and Mitch went to join his cabinmates for breakfast.

Cutter wasn’t dressed for church either, but he’d at least put on jeans and a shirt. Mitch wore basketball shorts and nothing else, but no one said anything about his attire.

“You’re not going to church?” Link asked, and he signed as he spoke.

Mitch shook his head, and reminded himself to sign slower than he normally would. He’d just returned from a dog training facility in Virginia where half of the people who worked there spoke solely in sign language, like him. They could sign faster to one another, but here, if he did that, no one could understand what he’d said.

Well, Momma and Daddy could, but no one else.

Uncle Ward needed someone last-minute, he told Link and Cutter. He picked up his fork and smiled at Cutter. He touched his chin and pulled his hand back, the sign for thank you.

Cutter grinned, as he’d already tucked into his breakfast, and Link hesitated. He likely wanted to pray before they ate, but in the end, he said nothing before diving into his omelet.

An hour later, Mitch had been on horseback for thirty minutes, and he’d been assigned the caboose role in the movement of their animals that morning. It was his job to make sure every last cow got pushed out of the pasture they were in and moved over to the one where Ward wanted them.

He rode behind everyone at a slow pace, his eyes roaming the trees and down into the gulch to make sure not a single head was missed. This part of the ranch had fared decently well during the flooding, and if anything, it was far easier to find stray cattle now that so many branches had been cut back and cleaned up.

They’d come across a pile of them every so often, and Mitch had no idea what the plans were for the debris. They sometimes did a controlled burn, but he suspected Uncle Ward, Uncle Ace, and Uncle Bishop would eventually go around and pick it all up. They’d take it to the family firewood pile, especially now that summer had arrived.

He had fond memories of his teen years spent here on the ranch. They had bonfires in the evenings all throughout the summer, and plenty of food and cake for every birthday. Aunt Sammy never let an opportunity go by where she could make someone feel special, and Mitch loved how she brought him a cupcake every year on his birthday.

The day had heated already, but Mitch didn’t mind so much. He wore long sleeves to protect his skin from the sun, and his cowboy hat kept the UV rays off his face, neck, and ears too. He looked up into the bright blue sky, wondering if a more perfect day existed.

A sigh pulled through his body, and his thoughts roamed through possible conversations with his father. Daddy had left Shiloh Ridge to get a veterinary degree. Surely not every Glover male had to be a cowboy here on the ranch.

He twisted to reach for his water bottle, and a flash of red crossed his field of vision. He blinked, and it disappeared. Mitch instantly pulled on the reins to get his horse to stop. Honor did too, and she looked up at him with her tongue hanging out of her mouth.

Mitch looked to his left again, sweeping, sweeping, sweeping to find that crop of crimson. He’d seen it. He knew he’d seen it.

It fluttered again, and Mitch’s heartbeat did the same. He could use his voice, and he yelled, hopefully to get the attention of the man up ahead of him. Mitch couldn’t see Jed anywhere, but that flash of red filled his peripheral vision again.

There was something there that shouldn’t be, and Mitch pulled his horse to the right to go find out what. Honor trotted along with him, and then she went ahead.

What looked like a hand lifted into the air, and Mitch’s pulse went wild. He pulled out his phone and released the reins. His horse slowed to a stop as Mitch tapped out a text. Since he spent so much time texting, he had fast fingers, and he had a text fired off to everyone who lived and worked on the ranch in under five seconds.

I just found someone by the fence line in field twenty-four.

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