The Long Trail (The McCabes Book 1) Brad Dennison (top 10 books to read .txt) 📖

to the mountains, north of that mining town. The Tahoe area. Dusty figured the grass must be a little better there, probably because of the spring run-off. But he did not know from personal experience. He had never been to Nevada before, and from what he had seen so far, aside from Haley, there was wasn’t a whole lot to make a man want to stay here.

He had left the Cantrell Ranch about three weeks ago, to find a piece of his past. To learn where he had come from. He had left for Nevada in search of a woman he had never met before. His mother.

Dusty had been raised by a man named Sam Patterson. An outlaw. The leader of a band of former Confederate guerrilla raiders who used military tactics to strike banks or trains. Sometimes they raided a farm or ranch for horses or supplies.

Dusty had never talked about any of this with anyone, even Mister Cantrell. Though he thought the old man knew there was more to Dusty’s past than he let on, because of the way Dusty wore his guns.

Dusty had never been an outlaw. Patterson had never allowed him to have a part in his gang’s criminal activities. He wanted Dusty to have a clear name, a clear conscience. But Dusty knew there was such a thing as guilt by association. He believed if the truth about his past became known, he would not be able to find an honest job, and might be forced to resort to Patterson’s lifestyle simply to survive. And there would be no way in hell a girl like Haley would want to be with him.

He eventually fell off to sleep, but found himself awake as the gray light of early dawn brought a ghostly glow to Haley’s bedroom. They had both rolled over in their sleep, so that she was curled in a ball, and he was curled behind her, conforming to her position, his arm draped over her shoulder, almost protectively.

He slid out of bed, as easily as he could manage so as not to awaken her. He pulled on his jeans, slung his new gunbelt over his shoulder – Dusty never wanted to be far from his gun, something he had gained from growing up on the run with the Patterson gang, and he padded out into the kitchen in his bare feet to make coffee.

Once the coffee was ready, he poured himself a cup and stepped out onto the porch to greet the morning. His gunbelt was now buckled about his hips, and his new pistol was riding low.

The barnyard was deserted. To the east, the sky was alive with crimson and orange. The breeze was still cool. He relished its touch, because by the time he rode out, it would be oven-like. He would be soaking with sweat and covered with dust, and that wonderful feeling of being freshly bathed would seem like a distant memory.

Dusty heard the hinges of the door squeak gently as it was opened behind him, and Haley stepped out in her bare feet. A blanket was wrapped about her shoulders, and pulled together in front to form a makeshift robe, which she held together with one hand.

“Good morning,” he said.

She gently placed a kiss on one shoulder blade. “You know, we have a good three hours before the morning stage arrives.”

Dusty rode out twenty minutes before the stage was due, but once his business in Baker’s Crossing was finished, he would be back. This he promised.

“I’ll be waiting,” she said.

He followed the trail over a flat stretch for what he figured was three miles, then up along a gentle, sandy slope. The ridge dropped down, gradually melting into the countryside.

It had occurred to him he would probably pass her father on the way to Baker’s Crossing. He thought maybe the idea of avoiding the man seemed preferable. At least for now. If Dusty were to tell him of the two outlaws who had been ready to victimize his daughter, once they were finished filling their stomachs, then the man would probably push his horses to their limit getting back to the way station as quickly as possible. But this was no longer necessary. The danger had passed. And Dusty did not want to do anything that would make Haley look bad. After all, her father would be able to do some figuring, based on the time of day and how far Dusty was along the trail, and determine Dusty had most likely spent the night at the way station.

Was Dusty falling in love? He did not rightly know. He was not sure he knew what love was. But he knew he cared about Haley and what people thought about her, especially those close to her like her father.

Dusty decided he would let Haley tell her father as much as she wanted to, in her own time and way, and then he would meet the man later. Once his visit to Baker’s Crossing was done. He turned his horse off the trail and rode for about a mile into the countryside, then turned his horse to ride in a parallel line to the trail.

The day was turning off hot, like he had thought it might. Sweat rolled down his back and soaked his hair under his hat. His horse’s hooves kicked up little clouds of dust. As good as that bath had felt, it was like it had never happened.

In the distance, maybe a half-mile further along between himself and the way station, he saw a cloud of dust. More than would be kicked up by a rider, but maybe enough to match four wagon wheels and a team of horses. Most likely Haley’s father. Dusty let the wagon move along for a couple of miles, then turned his horse back toward the trail, and picked it up maybe a half hour after her father had passed along.

Dusty rode on. The trail soon covered a long flat expanse, then