Page 46 of In Her Shadow

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Frank’s perspective sharpened as Bob Anderson stood before him, the deadly brand in one hand, the pistol in the other.He set the brand down against the grate in his living-room fireplace .

“Didn’t expect you to show up tonight,” Bob spat.“And I sure didn’t expect you to bring the Sheriff and Deputy with you.I had...other plans for you.”

The man Frank had thought he knew, the small-time cattle farmer with dirt under his nails and sweat on his brow, harbored an unimagined darkness.

“Plans?”Frank’s voice came out gruff, trying to mask his unease.His eyes flickered to the exit, calculating the distance, the time it would take to make a break for it.But with Bob’s finger twitching on the trigger, any sudden move could be his last.

Bob chuckled dryly, a sound devoid of any real humor.“Oh yes, plans.But you’ll get your lesson anyway.”

“Lesson?”Frank croaked.He thought of Jenna and Jake, his best shot at survival.They were out there somewhere, and he needed to stall to give them time.

“History, Frank.Yours, mine—our town’s.”Bob’s gaze didn’t waver, and he seemed to be reciting a script written long ago in his mind.

Frank knew he needed to keep Bob talking.“Why is history such a big deal for you?”he quipped, trying to buy time.

Deftly and without wavering the aim of his gun, Bob reached out and opened a cabinet and took out a propane torch.

“Because,” Bob said, lifting the torch, “I want you to know why.”

Bob’s aim faltered for a second as he lit the torch.Trying to take advantage of the moment, Frank lunged for him.But Bob swung the hissing frame so close that it singed Frank’s clothing, forcing him back again.

“Sit,” Bob commanded.

Now that Bob held two weapons on him—a torch and a gun—Jake had no choice but to comply.Bob set the propane torch down on the fireplace hearth so that it was heating the brand.

“But we do have to hurry,” he continued, a manic edge creeping into his voice.“Sheriff Graves and Deputy Hawkins will be back soon, and I can’t have them interrupting our lesson.”

Trying to keep his eyes off the brand, Frank stared down the barrel of Bob’s gun.“So, what’s this all about, Bob?Family feud?”

Bob’s lips twisted into a sneer.“Not just any family feud,” he spat out.“This is about blood and betrayal.About justice for my several-times-great grandfather, Mitch Bishop.”

“Your grandfather?”Frank said, the truth hitting him a like a blow to the chest.

“Exactly,” Bob said, the word slicing through the tension.“The founder of the Big Sky Ranch.A man with vision whose land stretched farther than the eye could see.But it was stolen from him, bit by bit, until all that was left was this tiny farm.”He gestured broadly at the humble surroundings, a bitter edge to his voice.“And now, I’m its keeper.”

“Okay, your ancestor got a raw deal.But what’s that got to do with me?”Frank asked.

“Wilkes Doyle,” Bob hissed, the name dripping with venom.“Your ancestor, the one who started the first feed store in Trentville.He was no simple businessman.He was a conspirator, an opportunist who poisoned cattle—Mitch’s cattle—with his feed.Helped to weaken my family’s hold on the ranch, allowed it to be picked apart by vultures.”

So, this was the root of Bob’s vendetta.Wilkes Doyle, a name that echoed through Frank’s own lineage, now linked to treachery.He struggled to reconcile this version of history with the one passed down through his family, stories of a hardworking man who helped build Trentville from the ground up.

“Poisoned feed?”Frank repeated, incredulity lacing his tone.“That’s a hefty claim, Bob.”

“It’s the hard truth, Frank,” Bob snarled.“It’s been a long time coming, but justice has a way of catching up.The land remembers, and so does the blood that’s tied to it.”

As it rapidly grew hotter in the torch’s flame, the orange glow of the brand reflected in Bob’s eyes.

“Generations,” Bob said with a fervor that transcended mere anger.“Generations of watching and waiting, knowing the truth but being powerless to right the wrongs.The land was ours, Frank.It should’ve stayed ours.But your ancestor helped steal it from us, and for that, the debt is still unpaid.”

“Revenge is a poison, Bob,” Frank ventured.“It seeps through the generations, doesn’t end the cycle.It only creates more victims.”

Bob sneered, his eyes never leaving the heating metal.“Poetic words, Frank.But they’re just words.They can’t change what’s been done, nor what I’m about to do.Your family lived comfortably, prospered even, while mine scraped by.”

***

Jenna emerged into a small clearing.Here, the canopy broke and revealed an expanse of midnight blue, speckled with uncountable stars.But the tranquility was short-lived.As Jenna tilted her head back, taking in the celestial display, she was thrust into the grip of a vivid memory.She saw it again—the fiery tree-shaped mark, the same haunting image from last night’s dream, burning into the sky itself.

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