A Ranger For The Holidays

“Come inside,” Amelia coaxed. “If you still want to leave in the morning, we’ll talk about it. It’s almost supper and you need food and rest.”

The scents of a home kitchen wafted through the garage as he hauled himself out of the car and Finn’s stomach growled. He winced as he grabbed the tiny “luggage” the hospital had given him—sad to note all his current possessions fit into the small plastic bag.

“Finn, is it?” called the old man, leaning on a cane. He had Amelia’s eyes and a head full of bushy gray hair.

“Yes, sir.”

The man waved the formality off. “Oh, don’t ‘sir’ me. Luther’ll be just fine.” He held out a hand with thick, wrinkled fingers and shook Finn’s with a strong grip. “Tough go you’ve had there, son. I could barely believe it when Amelia told me.” He hobbled into the kitchen, motioning for Finn to follow.

A holiday home decor tidal wave assaulted Finn’s eyes, bringing a surge of nauseated panic to clutch at Finn’s throat.

“It gets worse every year,” Luther remarked, his expression telling Finn that he hadn’t hid his reaction well. “I feel like I’m living in a department store window some days.”

Pine boughs, candy canes and red ribbon seemed to erupt from every available surface. A miniature tree with tiny ornaments stood in the center of the kitchen table while lights twinkled from every window.

Amelia bustled in behind him, her face a mix of pride and embarrassment given the admission he’d just made in the car. “I admit,” she said with a raised eyebrow, “I enjoy the holidays.”

“I think we went past ‘enjoy’ four years ago.” Luther gave Amelia an indulgent kiss on the cheek. “Now it’s closer to ‘obsess.’ Gets it from her mother, God rest her soul.”

Amelia set another bakery box down on the counter—more experimental pie slices?—and shucked off her coat. “Gramps says all the Klondike men married women with the gift for ornamentation.”

The gift for ornamentation. That was one way to put it. Finn fished for some kind of well-mannered compliment to pay the display, but came up short. When the kitchen clock struck the hour by playing “Joy to the World,” he wanted to shut his eyes and run from the room. But what good would that do? The rest of the house would likely offer the same festive assault.

A series of snuffles and small barks came from another part of the house, and a fat dog with bulging eyes waddled into the room.

“Bug, say hello to our new friend Finn.”

Bug, who looked as if his face was permanently pushed up against some invisible glass window, sniffed noisily around Finn’s boots, a pig-curly tail twitching in curiosity. Finn reached down and let the dog sniff his hand. “Hi there, Bug.” Bug, of course, sported a red collar dotted with green Christmas trees and a shiny silver bell.

Bug’s interest in Finn lasted only until Amelia lifted the lid off a Crock-Pot on the counter, sending a spicy, beefy aroma into the air. That sent Bug to jumping at Amelia’s feet, hoping for a taste. Finn couldn’t blame the dog for his enthusiasm. Real food. Maybe he could put up with the Yuletide high tide if it came with good home cooking. He owed it to himself—and to Amelia—to at least try.

“Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Gramps, why don’t you show Finn to his room and he can settle in.”

“Less decorations up there, I think,” Luther said as he headed for a banister wrapped in red and gold ribbon. “You’re upstairs at the end of the hall. I don’t do stairs anymore, so I’ll just point you in the right direction, if that’s okay.” He pointed to a door Finn could just see off the left of the staircase. “Take a moment to wash up and get your bearings, and we’ll see you back down here in just a bit.”

“Thanks, Luther.” Finn mounted the first stair, then found himself reaching for the banister. His side was throbbing, and he didn’t like the fact that he needed the support to climb the flight.

“Think nothing of it, son. Least we can do.”

Nobody has to do anything for me, Finn thought darkly. I’ve no friends here.

That’s not true, a small voice argued with his darker nature. And that’s not bad.

* * *

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Amelia didn’t like the scowl Lucy Benson gave her as they took Bug for his evening walk when Lucy stopped over after supper. “I know you can’t help helping,” Lucy continued, “but we don’t know anything about him. For all we know he could be connected to the thefts.”

Amelia buttoned up her coat against the evening chill. “He’s not a criminal, Lucy.”

“Amelia, you don’t know that. Seeing the good in everybody doesn’t mean you have to put them up in your home. He could rob you blind while you sleep tonight and it’s not as if you and Gramps and Bug could defend yourselves.”

Amelia stopped walking to stare at Lucy. “He’s not our rustler, Lucy. I’m sure of it.”

“Well, forgive me if I don’t put that much stock in those hunches of yours. Being sheriff means I have to depend more on solid evidence than your famous intuition.”

Amelia chose a new topic. “Well, Madam Sheriff, what new have you learned about our cattle thieves? Any closer to catching whoever is doing all this?” Little Horn had been experiencing a strange brand of crime spree, with cattle disappearing from wealthy ranchers’ estates while gifts of supplies and equipment had appeared to families in need. A cowboy version of Robin Hood.

“Some folks are downright scared, having their security violated and goods stolen. And they’ve a right to be worried. I don’t mind telling you I’m getting a lot of pressure to solve this case. The finger-pointing is going to get ugly if we don’t get a break soon.” Lucy pushed out a sigh, her breath a white whisp in the clear night air. “Then there are the folks who’ve received gifts. They’re grateful, but I know they can’t help thinking their gain might be at someone else’s expense. As to who’s doing it? I wish I knew.” She gave Amelia a sideways glance. “And I can’t say your fellow isn’t involved, Amelia. Have you thought about that he may be involved and not remember it? With this amnesia thing, he could genuinely believe he was innocent and still be guilty.”

Amelia hadn’t thought of that. “I can see that all of his memories aren’t happy ones. There’s something dark just beyond his reach—he’s even said as much—but it can’t be criminal. He uses phrases you do, which makes me think he’s in law enforcement.”

Lucy stopped walking and halted Amelia with a hand on her shoulder. “All the more reason for you to steer clear. I get that he’s handsome and in distress and all, but haven’t you sworn off us badge types since Rafe?”

“I’m helping him, not dating him, Lucy.”

“And what if one turns into the other?”

“Believe me, I won’t let it.” Bug pulled on the leash, in no mood to stand still on such a chilly night. “I trust the nudges I get to help somebody.” Amelia started walking again. “God’s never sent me astray yet, and I don’t think He’s gonna start now. Finn needs a whopping load of grace and a safe place to work everything through. I don’t think it’s any surprise to God that I’m the one who found him—I’m the one who was supposed to find him. I can help, so I’m going to help.”

“I’m not saying don’t help him. I’m saying don’t take him in.”

“He needs taking in most of all. You said it yourself—there’s no one looking for him. Can you imagine how that feels? He’s the worst kind of lonely. I can’t let him go through that in some hotel two towns over, not when Gramps and I are here and we’ve got the room and I’m the one who found him.”

“Well, I’ve been your friend long enough to know you’re gonna do this no matter what I say.” This wasn’t the first time Amelia had listened to a lecture from Lucy on overextending her helpful nature. She reminded herself that a friend who spoke the truth in love was a good friend to have, even when it felt exasperating. “Just promise me you’ll be careful, and you’ll listen if I have to come to you with information you don’t like.”

“Fair enough. And if Finn remembers anything I think you should hear, I promise I’ll tell you. Even if it proves my hunch is wrong.” She narrowed an eye at Lucy. “But it never is.”

“Yet,” Lucy corrected, wagging a finger at Amelia.

“Yet,” Amelia conceded. She was glad to feel the tension leave the conversation. “But really, have you got any leads at all?”

Lucy squared her shoulders. “The League Rustling Investigation Team and I have a theory or two.”

“Any you can share?” Amelia tried to be sensitive to Lucy’s official capacity and the sensitive information that often went with it.

“There’s a ranch hand, someone with a sketchy past who worked at three of the big ranches that got hit. He’d know the layout enough to get in and pull off the burglaries.”

“That seems like a strong lead.” Amelia loved to watch Lucy work on a case. She was an amazing strategist, a talented puzzle-solver who could see connections others missed. Little Horn was blessed to have her.

“There’s more,” Lucy went on. “This same guy just won a handful in the state lottery. That would puff him up enough to dare taking revenge on any ranch that let him go.”

“And it would mean he’d have the funds to give gifts to the struggling ranchers,” Amelia added. “I know you were wondering how our thief was turning all that livestock and equipment into cash for those other purchases so quickly.” It wasn’t as if a saddle went missing from one ranch only to appear on another—the taken items seemed to disappear, while different gifted items showed up out of nowhere.

“Only, I can’t connect him to the folks who’ve gotten gifts yet, only the folks who were robbed.”

“You’ll find the connection. You always do. And you’ve got the ‘Posse’ helping you.”

Lucy rolled her eyes at the nickname some of the townspeople had given the Rustling Investigation Team. “‘Helping’ isn’t always helpful. I had to make Tom Horton give me his gun on our stakeout the other night—he’s a little too eager to play ‘cops and robbers’ if you ask me. I’m glad to have Doc Grainger and Carson join the team, but we’re still not getting anywhere solid. Byron’s demanding answers, and he’s not alone.”