Page 1 of Heart of Stone

CHAPTER1

“Stone! Hey, Stone! You came back!”

Stone stopped in the middle of uncinching Raider’s saddle and glanced up to find Little Sam coming toward him, pushing his way through the press of cowboys and horses crowding the stable. The young man’s face was split with a wide grin, and Stone answered it with a slight, tired smile of his own. Little Sam had been laid up with a broken leg when Stone and the other hands had left Yellow Knife for Abilene two and a half months before, and no doubt he wanted to hear all about the cattle drive he’d missed, but Stone was too tired to talk much. Unfortunately, that didn’t deter the younger man, who followed him into the stall.

“Course I came back. Why wouldn’t I?” Stone asked as he draped his saddle over the stall’s gate and turned back to remove Raider’s blanket.

“Well, you were talkin’ about stayin’ in Kansas before you left.” Sam picked up a brush and began to work on Raider’s pale golden coat. “I thought maybe you meant it.”

Stone shrugged. Hehadthought about it, but Abilene hadn’t seemed all that different from Yellow Knife, or San Antonio, or Santa Fe, or Tucson, for that matter. He’d been slowly working his way east for the last ten years, but no matter where he went, it still didn’t feel like home. He was beginning to think that no place ever would.

Sam was watching him, pale blue eyes alight with curiosity, and Stone knew he would have to answer. He didn’t make friends easily, but Little Sam had attached himself to Stone from the moment Stone had arrived on the Circle J a bit over a year before, seeming to view Stone as an older brother. Sam was barely twenty and full of energy with sandy hair, innocent eyes, and a puppy-like enthusiasm for everything that made him a favorite with all the hands. Cutting him off was more than Stone, who had a reputation of being as cold and silent as his name, could manage.

“Changed my mind,” he said. “Kansas ain’t no better’n here. We made it in good time, didn’t lose too many head, and Stevenson got a good price at market, so we all got a bonus. I reckon I could stay on for another year.”

Sam nodded. Driving cattle from southern Texas to railhead market in Kansas could be profitable or disastrous, depending as it did on so many factors, like weather, the health of the cattle, the quality of the grazing, and whether or not they ran into rustlers. Jim Stevenson, the owner of the Circle J, drove five thousand head of Texas Longhorn along the Chisholm trail every year, and mostly he made money at it, but some years were much better than others. Fortunately for Stone and the other hands, this year had been a good one.

“Glad to hear it.” Sam grinned at him again. “You got to tell me all about the drive. But first, there’s news here, too. For you.”

“What?” Stone blinked in surprise, and then he frowned. He didn’t like the sound of that; he was of no importance to anyone, and that was the way he preferred it.

“It ain’t bad.” Sam bit his lip. “Or at least, I don’t reckon it’s bad. You got a letter, that’s all. Got here a couple of weeks after you left. Ms. Stevenson said she figured she’d keep it in case you came back with the others, and if not, she’d send it on to Abilene after you. Looks like it already got sent on a few times anyway.” He looked envious. “A real letter! I ain’t never got a letter in my life. Who could be writin’ you?”

“No idea,” Stone replied. He’d never gotten a letter before, either. Why would he? There wasn’t anyone to write to him; his mother was dead, and he didn’t have anyone else, no friends or family but his horse. He was curious, but it was tinged with dread; surely it could only be bad news, if it had followed him who knew how far. When he moved on, he always did tell the foreman where he was headed and left on good terms, but that only made sense, because a man never knew what might happen. Stone might not have friends, but he tried not to make enemies, either. “It’s waited this long, I suppose it can wait until I get Raider settled.”

“Sure.” Sam looked disappointed, but then he grinned. “Look, I’ll get water and feed for him so you can finish curryin’, okay?”

No doubt Sam was hoping that Stone would let him see the letter–not read it, but just see what it looked like–in return for the help, and Stone nodded, watching as Sam scurried off. At least the boy hadn’t suggested that Stone leave off dealing with his horse until after going to pick up the letter. Anyone with any sense knew a cowboy’s horse came before anything else.

“Who in tarnation would write to me?” he muttered, and Raider twitched his ears

With Sam’s help, Stone finished taking care of Raider, but instead of heading to the bunkhouse with the other hands, he made his way to the large, neat timber house where Mr. and Mrs. Stevenson, the ranch’s owners and his employers, lived. He removed his hat and knocked on the back door.

Mrs. Stevenson, a kind, sturdy woman in her fifties with iron gray hair and a plump figure, opened the door. “Why hello, Stone! Glad to see you came back. I reckon Sam told you about the letter, eh? You’d have thought it was for him, the way he’s been carryin’ about it. Come on in, and I’ll fetch it for you.”

Stone stepped into the kitchen, which was clean and tidy, and smelled wonderfully of baking bread. “I’ll just stay by the door, ma’am.” He looked down at his dirty boots. “I don’t want to track all over your floor.”

“All right,” she replied, then bustled out of the room. A few moments later, she was back, holding an envelope of brown paper which he could see had writing all over the front. She handed it to him, shaking her head. “Looks like someone really wanted to get ahold of you. It’s been forwarded twice from the first address.”

“Huh.” Stone took it, looking at the front. It had originally been sent to the Lone Pine Ranch in Oklahoma, where he’d been working two years before, and they’d sent it on to the Cut Notch, his last place before he’d come to work for the Stevensons. He supposed it was a good thing he’d told them where he’d been headed, or else the letter would never have reached him at all. “Thank you, ma’am. I’m much obliged to you for holdin’ it for me.”

“Pshaw, it wasn’t a problem, Stone.” Mrs. Stevenson smiled and patted his arm in a motherly fashion. “You’re a good worker and a good man. I’m glad you didn’t stay in Abilene.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Stone felt his neck heating at the compliment. For some reason praise always embarrassed him, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Er, if you’ll excuse me, ma’am, I should be goin’.”

“Of course,” she replied, shooing him toward the door. Then she paused. “And Stone, if that letter has somethin’ that you need help with, let me know. You’ve got friends here.”

“Much obliged.” Stone turned and left the cozy kitchen. Now that he had the letter in his hand, he was burning with curiosity. And there was only one way to satisfy it.

CHAPTER2

May 14, 1887

Barrow and Morgan, Attorneys-at-Law

47 Main Street

Reno, Nevada

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