The Edge of Misery: The Mitchel Brothers Series Book Two

13

But no matter the number of deep breaths he took to ease the painful lump in his chest, Declan couldn't shake his anxiety or the growing desire to return home to Wren. It didn't make sense.

Declan muttered an expletive and adjusted his hat.

Maybe that was the issue—there wasn't a problem to be worried over at all; it was only his heart being lonesome for her. And he hadn't even been gone more than twenty minutes, which meant the next eight hours until dinner were bound to be pure torture, so he better find a way to distract himself before he gave in.

Suddenly, a shrill whistle pierced the air, gaining Declan's attention, and he scanned the area for its source until he spotted Quincy ahead, waiving his arms while mounted on his sorrel named Rusty.

Nudging Sweetface into a gallop, Declan clenched his jaw, praying the long-time ranch hand wasn't about to inform him there were more mutilated heifers.

"Everything all right?" Declan asked, reining Sweetface in once he reached Quincy.

"Got four calves missin'," he said with a shake of his head and a worried frown. "Their mama's have been bellowin' for 'em all mornin' long, but the babies ain't comin'. So I's hopin' you might head out toward the muddy creek in the north pasture lookin' for 'em; I'll go lookin' in the east, see if they got stuck down the ravine—that's as close as Jeb, and Billy managed to track 'em so far. The other boys'll stay with the rest of the herd; make sure none of the others wander off 'fore we get back."

Declan's stomach clenched into knots as he asked, "D'you think Chet's behind it?"

"Can't say for certain," Quincy replied, concern plain on his face, "but can't rule it out none either since we haven't heard from the marshal yet to say they've caught him."

Declan stared between Sweetface's ears for a brief moment, torn between galloping home to ensure Wren, Eldon, and his family were safe and seizing the opportunity he'd all but been gifted to distract himself with for what could be the next several hours.

"How long have they been out looking for them?" Declan asked, pushing away the guilt that stabbed him for choosing the calves as he nudged Sweetface to fall in step beside Quincy.

The cowboy squinted at the sky, then looked at Declan, "'Bout three hours now."

"All right," Declan murmured.

"You good on rope?" Quincy asked, retrieving a coiled length from the back of his saddle and holding it out. "Better take this just in case."

Declan looped it around his saddle horn and nodded, "Appreciate it. Be safe out there."

"You as well," Quincy said with a tip of his hat before riding toward the east pasture.

"Well, Sweetface," Declan sighed, petting the horse's neck, "let's go see if we can't find us a wandering calf or two and bring it home to its mama."

Sweetface nickered and stomped her hoof, then, of her own accord, took off at a gallop heading northwest. Figuring it was close enough and hoping she might know something the rest of them didn't, Declan didn't correct her course until they approached the muddy creek, then reined her in and dismounted, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of fresh hoof prints.

He searched for hours without any luck until mid-afternoon when he found a set of three tracks wandering further north, following the sharp switchbacks of the creek; then, at reaching a grouping of dense undergrowth and ravine to his left, he was rewarded with a small chorus of distressed moo's.

"What d'you think, Sweetface? They take a tumble?" Declan muttered, scanning the mucky soil and torn roots where the tracks ended in a wide swath through the brushy ravine before being swallowed in thick vegetation and cottonwoods at the bottom.