Page 85 of If the Boot Fits

Not trusting her voice, Samantha nodded and led him into the house. The moment they stepped into the kitchen, Mrs. Stewart swooped in and engulfed Clint in a hug.

“Oh, my boy. I’m so glad you’re home.” She sniffed as she released him, then grabbed the corner of her apron and wiped her eyes. “You must be starved. I’ve got biscuits ready and will scramble up a big batch of sausage and eggs now that you’re back. Here.” She reached into a towel-covered basket, pulled out a biscuit, and pressed it into his hand. “Now go on and see your daddy. I’ll call you when the rest is ready.”

“Thanks.” Clint met Samantha’s gaze, a light in his eyes that reminded her of a smile.

She touched his arm. “Do you want company, or would you rather see him alone? He’ll probably sleep a while longer. Dr. Abbott dosed him with ether before starting the sutures.”

Clint gave her his best I’m-a-man-not-a-boy look and stepped away from her to move toward the hall. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Just remember, you’re not alone, Clint. In this or in anything. You have family and friends who love you and a God who is willing to carry your burdens.”

He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes softening as he met her gaze. “Thanks, sis.”

She watched him go, a prayer on her heart that God would heal the wounds Duke had inflicted.

“Here.” Mrs. Stewart handed her a pair of biscuits wrapped in a napkin. “Take these out to the fellas who brought our boy back. Tell them there’ll be a feast ready for them in twenty minutes.”

“I will.”

Samantha smiled. It was just like Mrs. Stewart to try to erase sour circumstances with good food. Her biscuits were up to the task, fluffy enough to lighten anyone’s mood. Samantha had partaken of one herself while they’d been waiting for the doctor to arrive.

Her gaze traveled to the road, searching for Ida Mae. She should’ve been back by now. As should Martin. Dr. Abbott mentioned that Martin hadn’t waited for him. He’d headed right back out to the ranch after informing the doctor of Eli’s condition. Had Martin decided to search on his own? Maybe he ran into Ida Mae, and she’d taken it upon herself to show him the way to the cabin. They couldn’t have known that Clint had been found.

Samantha turned her gaze back to the barn, determined to curb her worries. The sheriff had matters in hand. Clint was safe. The others must be, too. Yet unanswered questions poked holes in her peace.

Firmly setting those questions from her mind, she pasted a smile on her face, then strode into the barn, where she found the hands rubbing down their horses.

“Biscuits from Mrs. Stewart,” she called in lieu of a greeting.

The men turned and tipped their hats to her.

“Thank you kindly, ma’am.” Red Watson, who got his name from the flame-colored beard he wore, stepped forward and helped himself to one of the snacks she offered.

“It’s you who deserve the thanks, Red, for bringing my brother home safe.” She turned to Zeke Jones to include him in her appreciation. “Both of you. I can’t thank you enough.”

“How’s the boss man doin’?” Zeke asked as he reached for the second biscuit. “Clint told us ’bout the shootin’.”

“Dr. Abbott expects him to pull through.”

“That’s good to hear.” Zeke chomped off half the biscuit with one bite.

“It will be a good while before he’s back in the saddle, though.” Samantha shook out the crumbs from the napkin, then stepped deeper into the barn. A third horse waited for attention, his head bent to the water trough.

“Is that Duke’s horse?” She’d been so focused on her brother, she hadn’t noticed what horse he’d ridden.

“Yes’m.” Red drew alongside her. “Clint took him when he made his escape. Said that Ellis fella was lyin’ in wait at the line shack. Got the jump on Duke and gave Clint the chance to get away.”

Asher was the one who’d confronted Duke? Not the sheriff?

“Me and Zeke got escort duty while Sheriff Jeter and the others headed in the direction of the shots to lend a hand.”

“Shots?” Samantha reached for a nearby stall to steady her wobbly knees. If Asher had been alone with Duke, there were only two possible options for where those shots had been aimed.

“Now you done it,” Zeke muttered under his breath as he shoved Red into the sawhorse that held his horse’s saddle. “I’m sure your fella’s fine, miss. He seems the scrappy sort.”

Oh, Lord, please let him be all right.

“You hear that?” Red turned toward the barn door. “Riders comin’ in.”