Where the Four Winds MeetŠ

Free Online Romance Story

Written by American Author Sky Taylor

Westward, through the orange sunset threaded with wisps of crimson and purple, a silhouette of the neighboring ranch towered into view - her destination, Crooked River Ranch.  

Trembling with anger, Farrell urged the sorrel Mercury onward - riding at the speed of lightning through the oncoming dusk.  The rifle she fully intended to make use of was lodged into the scabbard, fastened to side-flank of the horse.

Leif Nighthorse had killed her great grandfather Abraham, and Farrell hungered for final vengeance!

Mercury's hooves pounded hard upon the parched earth, leaving a cloud of dust behind them and Farrell supposed that her ramrod, English, was hidden somewhere in the choking mass for he had uselessly tried to stop her back at her ranch.

A vast gate with pristine white palings beckoned her entrance and she ignored the massive ranch house, heading straight for the stables, her reckless unannounced arrival scattering the handful of cowboys milled in the clearing.

Before they had fully recovered, Farrell sprang from the sorrel, heaved out the rifle and aimed it in the distance.  With effort, her tiny finger pulled back the hammer as her teal blue eyes surfaced over the stunned crowd of cowboys, her small voice piercing the sudden hushed stillness as she demanded, "Which one of you is Leif Nighthorse?"

Farrell's eyes traveled slowly over the faces of the speechless males, her anger mounting amid their silence. When she would have confronted them again, she heard a horse draw up behind her, and then English's ragged, uneven voice was wagering with her guiltless conscience through the quiet, stagnant air.

"Don't do it, Farrell!  Nighthorse isn't worth it!"

But English wisely kept his distance, knowing what she was capable of doing.

How could she not do it, she silently mocked.  Leif Nighthorse had been a thorn in her great grandfather's side for months now - since shortly after she had left the area and Nighthorse had moved in. If she would have only known before now that great grandfather's neighbor was capable of such evil, she would have returned and solved the matter before his death - a death that probably would not have happened if not for Nighthorse.

As she had learned from the letter that English had given her this afternoon, this Nighthorse fellow was determined to make her great grandfather's ranch his own.  It had all been there in her great grandfather's handwriting, a letter than he had requested be given to her upon his sudden death. And this-this scum of the earth - Leif Nighthorse, had made the dear old man's life miserable for months. So no - she had no alternative but to scare the dickens out of this moron - to teach him a lesson. Oh yes, payback was lots of fun.

"You!" Farrell yelled out, aiming the rifle at one of the more panic-stricken figures cowed before her.

In reaction, the cowboy's voice came out as a stifled cry and she heard the click of his tobacco-stained teeth chattering in the midst.

"P-please m-ma'am.  I-I be Hiram Thorpe!" he finally managed, his voice sounding like a clicker as he cried out.

She had certainly put the fear of death into this poor fellow, she silently decided - hoping that he was supporting absorbent undergear because his wild look indicated that he needed such.

She clamped her pink lips together with a growing impatience then demanded, "Where's Nighthorse?"

Hiram's hand shook as he pointed toward the stables.  She followed his direction cautiously, then revolved her blue eyes back to him.

"Go get him!" she ordered stiffly.

Hiram's stark white face contorted and she knew he was a man unaccustomed to a woman's commands.  She was briefly amused as he stiffened and adjusted his pants, then spat out in a shaky voice, "No!  I'm not gonna-"

Her slim finger released the hammer and Hiram's worn straw hat went spiraling through the air, the other cowboys protesting with profanity and falling prostrate to the ground before her, perhaps fearing for their very lives.

"The little filly means business, Thorpe.  I'd listen to her," English advised, now standing beside Farrell, his accent alien amid the western setting.

Hiram gulped, his hand raking over his fair head, trying to determine if any damage had been inflicted.  A new seed of anger stemmed within him and as he mildly shook, he glared at her through the distance.

She cocked the rifle and threatened, "If Nighthorse isn't out here in ten seconds, you're going to start singing Dixie an octave higher, Mr. Thorpe."

She lowered the rifle, the barrel directed at the hidden zipper of the stone-washed jeans.

Hiram's eyes widened and he screamed out to the enclosure of the stables. "Leif!  Get the devil out here!"  A space of silence penetrated the air to an almost uncomfortable point and he amended, "Please?"

There was a movement by the left wing of the stables and from the shadows stepped a muscular mountain of a man.  

A paisley bandana was lassoed about his thick neck, his corded muscles stretching at the cotton fabric of his shirt.  His brows were two dark lines that lifted slightly over the vivid white corners of the narrowed eyes.

Farrell aimed the rifle at him, Leif shoving up the Stetson as he thoughtfully studied her tiny, curved form in silence, appearing to take his time and not missing an inch.

"So!  You're the moron responsible for killing my great grandfather," she shot out in a clear, angry tone.

She saw the stranger's brows draw together and he looked suddenly confused.

"I killed Abraham?"

The voice had been deep and mocking, and she tensed as he went on to laugh openly at her.

continue

 

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