Silver Creek (The Parker Family Saga) Read online

  Silver Creek

  By

  G.L. Snodgrass

  Copyright 2020 G.L. Snodgrass

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means. This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  Dedicated to

  Kim Strong

  I am so proud of the person my sister has become

  Other Books by G. L. Snodgrass

  Regency Romance

  The Reluctant Duke (Love’s Pride 1)

  The Viscount's Bride (Love’s Pride 2)

  The Earl's Regret (Love’s Pride 3)

  Marrying the Marquess (Love’s Pride 4)

  Confronting A Rake (A Rake’s Redemption 1)

  Charming A Rake (A Rake’s Redemption 2)

  Catching A Rake (A Rake’s Redemption 3)_

  Challenging A Rake (A Rake’s Redemption 4)

  Duke In Disguise (The Stafford Sisters 1)

  The American Duke (The Stafford Sisters 2)

  A Very British Lord (The Stafford Sisters 3)

  A Duke's Desire (The Duke’s Club 1)

  A Duke's Duty (The Duke's Club 2)

  A Duke’s Dilemma (The Duke’s Club 3)

  A Duke's Decision (The Duke's Club 4)

  Western Romance

  Lonely Valley Bride (High Sierra 1)

  High Desert Cowboy (High Sierra 2)

  Sweetwater Ridge (High Sierra 3)

  The Western Trail (The Parker Family Saga 1)

  Silver Creek (The Parker Family Saga 2)

  Young Adult Romance

  Certain Rules

  Unwritten Rules

  Unbreakable Rules

  My Favorite Love (Lakeland Boys 1)

  One Night (Lakeland Boys 2)

  My Brother’s Best Friend (Lakeland Boys 3)

  Worlds Apart (Lakeland Boys 4)

  My Brother's Bodyguard (Hometown Heroes 1)

  My Hidden Hero (Hometown Heroes 2)

  My Best Friend’s Brother (Hometown Heroes 3)

  Our Secret (The Benson Brothers 1)

  Hidden Truth (The Benson Brothers 2)

  Deception (The Benson Brothers 3)

  Silver Creek

  Chapter One

  Northeast Nevada

  1865

  “Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust,” Rebecca Johnson whispered under her breath as she sprinkled dirt across the grave. My God, how had this happened? Who had killed him? And why? A thousand questions that she feared would never be answered.

  Dropping to her knees, she cried into her hands as her body shook with ragged wails. No, this was impossible. She cried as she had never cried before. Not when her parents died of cholera - The Parkers had been there to hold onto. Not when Aunt Abigail succumbed to the fever. Even in his own grief, Uncle Tom had been there, a rock in a storm of rage.

  But now, here. There was no one. She was alone.

  Her shoulders shook as the tears flowed, refusing to stop. Her mind went to all the things she couldn’t do for him. The man who had raised her. The only person in this world who had ever stayed a part of her life.

  He should be buried under a tree, she thought. Her uncle would have preferred that but the nearest tree was a good ten miles away. Instead, she had buried him on a hill overlooking the creek running through the ranch he carved out of the high desert. Maybe she should move one of her rose bushes up here. He’d always liked her roses.

  Sniffling, she wiped away her tears and forced herself up. Crying wasn’t going to help. She grabbed the shovel and started down the slope to the ranch house. Not much more than a dugout but her home for these last eleven years. A log cabin with a sod roof. The timbers being brought in from the Ruby Mountains on the other side of the horizon.

  Rebecca stood in the yard and slowly turned to inspect her surroundings. The northeast corner of Nevada was greener than the rest of the state but that wasn’t saying much. Silver Creek flowing down to the Humboldt made it livable but could she do it on her own? The cattle out on the range needed constant tending. The horses needed breaking, The corn and wheat required a man behind the plow. These and a thousand other things required a man’s strength.

  How could a woman of nineteen even think of making a go of it?

  But, deep inside was this fear of leaving. This was her home. She knew every nook and cranny along the creek. The bird’s songs had greeted her at every dawn. The pink and purple sunsets that sent her off to bed each night. Peaceful, even in this land, a bastion of calm. How could she leave it?

  Once again, she went over the events of the last week in her mind. Could she have done something differently? Maybe, if she had stopped him from going into town. But why should she? He went in every month or so. But if she had gone with him? Maybe things would be different.

  But the stock needed care, two days away was too long.

  Her heart ached as she fought to stop from crying again. Two days had dragged into five. She had become so worried. This was not an easy land. So many things could kill a person.

  On the sixth day, she could wait no longer. She’d saddled Homer, their mule, and started for town. She knew Uncle Tom. He wouldn’t have stayed away. It wasn’t in him.

  It was three miles from the ranch when she found him. Dead, face down in the dirt next to the trail. A bullet through the back.

  She bit the inside of her cheek to stop from crying as the memory flooded into her mind. Instead, she forced herself to take long slow breaths. She had been so shocked. So … filled with despair. He was her only family. The last person in her world.

  Somehow, she had put aside the pain and fear and focused on doing what needed to be done. It had taken every iota of her strength to get him up and over Homer’s back. She had walked them back to the ranch in a daze. Confused, frightened, and unable to understand how her world had been turned upside down so quickly.

  Now, here she was, alone, desperate to know what to do next.

  Sighing to herself, she leaned the shovel against the cabin’s wall then started inside. She would need to pack some food. Make sure the chickens and their pig had enough water for a week. She needed to go to town and report what had happened. Sheriff Reed would want to know.

  As she stepped back out of the cabin an hour later with a burlap bag filled with what she would need, a distant movement caught her attention. Lifting her hand to shade her eyes, she watched as two men rode towards the ranch.

  A dozen memories and lessons flashed through her as she turned back inside to grab her uncle’s scattergun off the wall. She was holding it with both hands. Not threatening, but ready if it was needed.

  Her heart relaxed when she saw the gold star on Sheriff Reed’s chest flash in the afternoon light. Heavyset, with a short gray beard trying to hide large jowls and a double chin. She had always liked the man. What is more, her uncle had respected him.

  “Miss Rebecca,” he said with a tip of his hat. “Is your uncle about?”

  Rebecca studied the man next to the sheriff. A typical cowboy, in his thirties. Scuffed boots, denim p
ants, a sweat-stained cotton shirt, a battered hat. Three days of beard. Nothing remarkable. Just like any two dozen on the main street in town.

  The man looked at her with a strange expression. Not a lustful male gaze. Not even a hint of interest. It was as if he were inspecting a rock he found in the middle of the desert. Just one more thing to be ignored.

  “I just buried him,” she said to the sheriff as she nodded up the hill. “I was coming to town to tell you. Someone shot him in the back. Left him on the trail. I don’t know what happened to his horse.”

  The sheriff's eyebrows rose halfway up his forehead before he glanced over to the man next to him. Swallowing hard the sheriff looked down for a moment then back up.

  The look of shame and regret in his eyes made her stomach turn over. This was bad. Maybe even worse than finding her dead uncle laying in his own blood.

  “I take it he didn’t come home before you found him?”

  Rebecca took a deep breath and shook her head. No, the last time she had seen him he had ridden away without her telling him she loved him. Without reminding him of how thankful she was that he was her uncle. A wave of guilt washed over her as once against she felt the tears welling up in her eyes.

  “No,” she managed to say in answer to the sheriff’s question.

  The man next to the sheriff shook his head, “It don’t change things. I got the papers.”

  Sheriff Reed sighed heavily, “Rebecca Johnson, this here is Henry Travers.”

  She nodded an acknowledgment then turned back to the sheriff and silently asked why he was here.

  The sheriff took a deep breath as he looked up the hill to the grave at the top. He then turned back to her and said, “He’s got a bill of sale that says your uncle sold him the ranch. Stock and supplies. Everything.”

  “WHAT!” Rebecca gasped. “No, that is impossible.”

  The sheriff frowned as he looked down, unable to meet her gaze. “It was witnessed by three men. Two of whom I trust. Talked to them myself.”

  Rebecca fought to understand. Sold the ranch? Why? A brief memory flashed to the front of her mind of her uncle lamenting the thought of her being out here in the middle of nowhere. “A young woman should live in a town,” he had said. “Not caring for a broken-down farmer in the middle of nowhere.”

  Was that why?

  “He got a good price,” Mr. Travers said. “A thousand in silver.”

  Again, her mind rebelled. A thousand dollars? It seemed preposterous.

  The sheriff shifted in his saddle. “I come out here today just to make sure things went peaceful. I was worried your uncle might have changed his mind. But, if he wanted to give the money back. I wasn’t going to force him off.”

  “It’s gone,” she said. “He didn’t have it on him. Not when I found him.”

  The sheriff nodded sadly. “I was afraid of that. Someone must have followed him from town. This area seems to be attracting some of the worse.”

  Rebecca’s world spun about her. The ranch, her home, gone. No, this was impossible. Things were so not right and she could see it in the sheriff's eyes. He knew it too. Her uncle had unexpectedly sold the ranch then been killed and the money stolen. How did this man have a thousand dollars in silver? He looked like he hadn’t had more than thirty dollars in his pocket his entire life. None of it made sense.

  A fierce anger began to build inside of her. Her world was destroyed. Turning on Mr. Travers, she stared up into his cold eyes. “You killed him, didn’t you? You paid him a large price because you knew you would steal it back off his corpse.”

  “Rebecca!” the sheriff gasped.

  Mr. Travers ignored her, instead saying to the sheriff, “A dozen people know I haven’t left town. Not until we rode out here today. And you know it.”

  Sheriff Reed’s shoulders slumped as he nodded to Rebecca. “He’s right. You know me. I keep an eye on the comings and goings. He’s been holed up in the Red House saloon all week.”

  Rebecca’s jaw clenched tight. She knew deep in her soul that her uncle had been murdered so that her home could be stolen. And there wasn’t anyone in this world to help her prove it.

  Chapter Two

  Appomattox Virginia

  1865

  Four years of war had left a hard hole in First Lieutenant Lucas Parker’s soul. The kind of emptiness that he knew would never be filled.

  Sighing to himself, he ran a finger down the list of names. Too many dead men. But a letter had been written for each one. A family would know that their loved one had died honorably fighting to preserve the Union. Fighting for something more than himself.

  It wasn’t enough, he thought as he leaned back in his chair and stared up at the canvas tent top. Slowly, his mind wandered to four years earlier. A buck private all the way from Oregon. He’d been so sure of himself. So sure he was doing the right thing. And so desperate to prove himself.

  Was it worth it? he wondered as he glanced back down at the list.

  Hanna, his sister had cried when he left. Jacob had looked up at his big brother as if he was a hero out of some book. But it had been Zion who had pulled him aside and tried to tell him the truth.

  “War changes a man more than he changes the world,” his brother-in-law had told him. “You try and hold onto that part of you that is good. You hear?”

  Luke had been tempted to dismiss him, but Zion had been right, just like always. The war had changed him. Burned the hope and happiness out of him. The evil men could do if they let themselves was shocking. The carnage, the pain they could cause was truly unbelievable.

  Something had shifted inside of him. As if a callus had formed over his heart. The kind that couldn’t be cut away.

  Taking a deep breath, he pulled out the supply list. Colonel Forest wanted every rifle, shovel, and spittoon accounted for. The Army couldn’t rest until they knew what happened to Private Jackson’s saber. And the fact the boy had broken it off in the chest of some Johnny Reb wasn’t enough. They would want to know the day and time and why Private Jackson had been so careless.

  Of course, it wasn’t as if he could ask the young man. He’d been lost at Sailor’s Creek a month earlier. So close to the war’s end, but not close enough to get over the line.

  Sighing to himself, Lieutenant Parker turned up the kerosene lamp and focused on the paper in front of him. He was writing up a report on the loss of a wagon at Richmond when someone coughed loudly outside his tent.

  “Enter,” he said as he wrote out the last sentence.

  “Mail call, Sir,” Sergeant Kennedy said as he pulled back the tent flap with a serious frown. “Any word on the Capt’n?”

  “No,” Luke said as he felt his gut tightened. The company had fallen to him a month earlier when Captain Taylor had been wounded.

  “Both blind and losing an arm,” the sergeant said as he shook his head. “It might be better off being dead.”

  The young Lieutenant grimaced as he pulled out another piece of paper to start on a report about a burnt tent and asked, “How’er the men doing?”

  Sergeant Kennedy grumbled under his breath. “More rumors than a Baltimore brothel. Either, they’re going to keep us here for half of forever. Or, we’re getting discharged tomorrow with none of our back pay. But what do you expect? The war is over, we won, and they want to go home.”

  Then, remembering why he had interrupted his commanding officer, the sergeant held up a dozen letters. “What should I do with these?”

  Luke let his head drop to his chest as he held out his hand. “Give them here, I’ll return them with the letter of condolences I just finished.”

  The tall Sergeant nodded as he handed over the letters then smiled, “Got one for a Sergeant Luke Parker with Company B. They sent it over. It’s been six months. You didn’t tell your family about your commission, Sir?”

  Luke smiled as he thought about receiving another letter from Hanna. “They’re in Oregon territory. It takes a bit. The news probably crossed somewhere around
Chimney Rock.”

  The Sergeant nodded as he passed the thick envelope then saluted before doing an about-face and leaving the tent.

  Luke stared down at the letter from Hanna. It was thicker than normal. Was everything all right? He had received one only the month before. Two letters this close together, it couldn’t be good. Jacob? The boy couldn’t keep out of trouble if his life depended on it. Or, Hanna and her husband Zion? What about their six children? A sick sinking feeling filled him. He was so far away and unable to help.

  Glancing over at the report he had been working on he sighed heavily and pushed it aside as he carefully opened the letter from his sister. He was surprised to find another envelope inside.

  Frowning, he quickly read the short note from Hanna.

  “Luke, Everyone is fine. I wanted to get this off to you immediately. I will write more later.

  Love Hanna.

  He could well imagine her receiving the letter at the general store and dashing off a note to get it back into the mail system to catch the next stage. It was either then or it would be months before anyone from the ranch came to town.

  Taking out the second letter his frown grew even deeper. All it said in a fine feminine hand was,

  Luke Parker

  Tyge Oregon

  His brow narrowed as he used his knife to slit the second letter across the top. A hint of roses tickled the back of his nose. Pulling the letter from the envelope, something fell out onto the desktop, with a sharp tink sound. His heart jumped as he looked down at a small stone arrowhead. Ancient, perfectly formed, the point sharper than honed steel.

  It had been eleven years since the last time he had seen that very arrowhead. It was the same one. There was no doubt in his mind.

  Swallowing hard, he turned the letter over to confirm it by the signature at the end. Rebecca Johnson.

  His stomach fluttered with surprise. Rebecca, not Becky, he realized immediately as his mind fought to focus. It was her, after all these years. A thousand memories flashed into his mind. The day they had both lost their parents. The hurt eight-year-old girl, lost, alone fighting to be brave.