Chapter Twenty-Three
Cash had eaten way too much for breakfast that morning.
It was weighing him down like a brick. He couldn’t help it, though.
The more Josie offered, the more he felt inclined to take it.
The other men had already finished breakfast and gone out to get a head start, and now the morning sun was up, and he was still loitering at the kitchen table.
Time to get busy.
Just as he pushed his chair out, heavy footsteps stomping into the house drowned out all other thoughts. He knew it was trouble before he even stood up. Trouble had a distinct sound, and that was definitely it.
“Cash!” Luke’s voice rang through the hallway, sharp and urgent.
Cash was already pushing open the door to the kitchen when Luke appeared, his face flushed and breath coming out fast. “More cattle gone,” he snapped, bitterly, shoving a hand through his messy hair. “Fences cut again. Same thing as last week.”
Cash’s jaw clenched. “That son of a—” he growled as Luke turned and hightailed it outside.
By the time Cash came out after him, Beau was already at the fence. He was standing stiff, arms crossed in front of him, just staring out into the field. As Cash approached, he saw that his brother’s face was red-hot—furious.
“How bad?” Cash asked. But by the look on Beau’s face, he already knew the answer wouldn’t be good.
“Bad enough,” Beau hissed. He turned to face Cash, his eyes black with hatred. “Ten more cows gone. Remington’s men again. I’d bet my life on it. They’re pushin’ us, tryin’ to force our hand.”
Cash exhaled sharply, angry, and shook his head.
We knew this was coming. It was easy enough to guess. He knew what kind of man Remington was. Still, that didn’t make this any easier. And it wasn’t just that the man had been circling like a vulture for months.
Josie being here was making it even more difficult for Cash to come up with a real plan. She was a distraction. A big distraction.
And now, with the bills and all the chaos of cut fencing, it was getting more and more difficult to ignore the truth.
Grayson Remington was winning.
“They want the ranch,” Luke spat bitterly. “They’ll bleed us dry until we got no choice but to sell.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Beau yelled, causing Luke to jump. “We’re already strugglin’ to stay afloat. Losing cattle ain’t gonna help!”
Furious, Cash closed his fists so tight that his fingernails dug into his palms. His stomach was twisting. The idea of bowing down to a man like Remington made his blood boil. He would have rather died.
The Montgomery Ranch wasn’t just land. It was their home, their legacy. His parents’ legacy. It was everything they had all worked for, everything they had fought to keep.
“They want Josie,” Beau said suddenly, his voice quieter but no less sharp.
Cash’s head snapped up. “And?” His tone came out more protective than he thought it would be. Especially toward his brother.
Beau gave him a knowing look. “And? You know good and well what I’m gettin’ at.”
Cash’s entire body went rigid with anger.
The thought of Josie—his Josie—wanted by a man like Grayson Remington was enough to make his vision go red. He turned away, taking a deep breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside him.
“That ain’t an option,” he managed at last, voice low and firm. “We ain’t tradin’ her off like livestock.”
Beau sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.
Cash’s eyes drifted back to the house, and he caught sight of Josie through the kitchen window.
She was holding Samuel, rocking him gently as she walked back and forth, perhaps cleaning, or baking.
She was smiling, her face soft and beautiful in the early morning light.
He shook his head bitterly with a snarl. Something inside him was twisting. This wasn’t just about the ranch anymore. This was about her, too. About Samuel. About the life they had started building here, whether they’d planned to or not.
He couldn’t lose them. He wouldn’t. Especially not to some heap of manure like Grayson Remington.
“I’ll figure something out,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.
Beau gave him a long look before nodding. “you’d better figure somethin’ out soon. Before we lose this game to Remington.”
***
Inside the sitting room, Cash was rifling through the ledger books in the rolltop desk against the far wall.
The numbers stared back at him, unforgiving.
Beau had been keeping it from him—how bad things really were.
It looked like the Montgomery ranch had been struggling even before the cattle rustling began.
Cash ran a hand through his hair, staring at the rows of numbers in Beau’s neat handwriting until they blurred in front of his eyes. They’d already borrowed against next season’s profits. The bank wouldn’t extend them any more credit—especially not now that Remington practically owned the banker.
And now with another ten head missing...
Cash slammed the book shut. They needed those cattle back, and they needed the fences to stay intact long enough to keep the rest of the livestock where they belonged. At this rate, they'd be bankrupt before the first autumn chill.
“Problems with the books?” Josie piped from the doorway behind him.
Cash looked up to find her there, Samuel on her hip. The little boy was chewing contentedly on a wooden spoon, the front of his little shirt damp with drool.
“Nothin’ I can’t handle,” he lied, not wanting to burden her.
She stepped into the room, and her eyes fell to the ledgers.
“My father kept books like that. I used to help him sometimes. I know you lost cattle today—I heard the guys talking about it. I’d like to help if I can.
Maybe… see where you can save money? Or find extra?
I’m not saying Beau can’t take care of it on his own—”
She was speaking so fast that Cash had to stop her with a hand. He nodded toward the chair next to him. “You know anything about ranchin’ finances?”
“Not much, she admitted, settling Samuel on the floor with his spoon before taking a seat. “But I know when numbers don't add up the way they should.”
Wordlessly, Cash handed her the ledger. He found himself watching as her eyes scanned the pages, her brows furrowing.
“You're spending a lot on the extra hands,” she noted.
“Need ‘em for security. Fat lot of good it’s done us so far,” he added in a mutter.
Josie nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe cut them? Or cut their pay for every time something happens? What about selling off some of the east pasture? Just temporarily, until—”
“No.” The word came out harsher than Cash had intended. “Sorry,” he added quickly. “It’s just—we don’t sell Montgomery land. Not ever. That’s what Pa always said.”
“Even if it means losing all of it?”
Josie’s voice was soft, without judgment. But Cash could tell she was confused. Honestly, he didn’t blame her. He didn’t have an answer, either. He’d never thought about it. Just the thought of selling an acre of it made his stomach churn.
But the alternative was far worse.
***
Cash had left the ledger with Josie and went outside Ito saddle up Ruby.
He had to find some of the cattle. He rode out to the south pasture, following the trails of hoofprints that cut across the ridge and into the dried creek bed just beyond.
He scanned as far as his eyes could see, twitching every time he saw movement.
He found two stragglers—a longhorn steer limping from a busted leg, and a skittish brown calf stuck in the brambles near the edge of the woods. The calf bawled pitifully as soon as it spotted Cash, eyes wide with fear.
“Easy, now,” Cash called out to it, dismounting slowly from Ruby. He tied her to a nearby scrub oak and slowly edged over to the frightened animal with short, measured steps. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.”
The calf trembled, trapped in the thorny bushes as he advanced on it.
It didn’t matter that he had a lot more cattle to catch. Take it slow. One wrong move and he knew the calf would spook deeper into the thicket, which would surely injure it even more.
Crouching low, he removed his hat to appear as non-threatening as possible and continued to move. He done this a hundred times before—Pa had taught him how to get to skittish animals, when he was barely tall enough to reach a stirrup.
Slow movements. Soft voice. Patience. It was part of the reason he was so good at gentling horses.
“Come on now,” he coaxed, inching forward. “Your mama’s probably wonderin’ where you got to.”
The calf took a hesitant step toward him, then another. Cash kept his breathing even, extending his hand palm-down for the animal to sniff. “That’s it,” he encouraged as the calf’s wet nose touched his fingers. With his other hand, he reached for the rope at his belt, unfurling it.
A twig snapped somewhere in the trees behind him. He froze, and the calf startled, immediately darting sideways. “Woah, easy there!” he called, looping his rope quickly around its neck.
“Gotcha,” he muttered, pulling the rope taut enough to secure the calf without choking it
Then he scanned the tree line, searching for the source of the noise. A bird? A rabbit? Or something—someone—else?
But another sound didn’t come.
Just the steer, some yards away.
And that was its own problem entirely.
Its leg was bent at an unnatural angle, bone showing white through torn hide. The animal’s labored breathing and glazed eyes told Cash everything he needed to know.
“Darn it.” He pulled out his pistol. A clean shot was the only kindness he could offer now. One more loss they couldn’t afford, courtesy of Remington and his men.
***
When he finally returned to the barnyard, sweat soaking through his shirt, Cash heard the unmistakable squeal of a pig coming out behind the house. What now?
He put the calf back in the barn and tied Ruby to the corral fence, not bothering to unsaddle her just yet. He needed to figure out what was going on, and he might have to ride her out again.
Quickly, he jogged around the side of the house toward the noise. Sure enough, a big, muddy hog was out of its pen, rooting around in the corn pile out back like it owned the place.
“Blast it all!” Cursing under his breath, Cash grabbed a feed sack and a long rake from the back porch and started herding the pig back. It took several tries and a good shove, but he finally got the pig back into its pen, slamming the gate shut with a loud, rusty clang.
He turned to find Hank watching from the side of the barn, arms crossed, laughing. “You know, your pa always said that if a pig figures out how to get out once, you’d better kill it. Else it’ll teach the others how to do the same,” he said with a grunt and a spit.
“Yeah,” Cash sighed, brushing dirt off his hands, “but that one didn’t figure it out. Fence was cut.”
Hank spat on the ground. “Yeah. Reckon your new ranch hands are working out real well.”
Cash exhaled, every muscle in his body taut. “I’m gonna send them packing if they can’t start keeping the damage at bay.”
Hank shook his head. “Them boys are out there every night. I’m not sure how they’re not seeing him.”
Cash didn’t know. He didn’t even begin to pretend like he knew how Remington was getting away with all of it. But he knew one thing for certain. “Remington is tryin’ to break us. Pick us apart ‘til we got nothin’ left.”
“He won’t,” Hank said.
“Not if I make him regret it…” Cash said. Enough was enough.
“You do what you gotta do, boy. But I’d start with makin’ darn sure your boots are laced tight. ‘Cause the way I see it, war’s on our doorstep.”
“You workin’ on this one?” Cash asked, pointing to the fencing around the pigsty that Hank had clearly been mending.
Hank grunted. “What else you think I’m doin’?” he shot back sarcastically, brow cocked.
Cash stuffed his hands in his pocket and watched the older man saunter back to the fence and begin pulling new wire taut between two fresh posts. He was grumbling angrily now, as if Cash had reminded him that he had work to do.
Cash watched the man work, almost sad that someone getting along so far in years was still working this hard. He had been one of Pa’s best friends. He’d been a father figure to Cash and his brothers for as long as he could remember. If anyone had any wisdom worth listening to, it was him.
Cash leaned against the fence, watching as Hank worked. “We’re really in a mess here,” he sighed as Hank forced another new fence post into the ground.
Hank didn’t look up. “Yep,” he grumbled.
Cash let out a bitter laugh. “Cattle stolen, fences cut, Remington breathin’ down our necks. You think we can survive this? Really survive this?”
Hank finally straightened back up and looked at him, wiping sweat from his brow with a slow, calloused hand.
His face was lined with sun and years, but his eyes held firm.
When he spoke, his voice was rough with age, anchored with a sort of quiet conviction.
“Son, I’ve been a ranch hand longer than you’ve been alive.
I’ve seen worse times than this, and I’ve seen good men get through ‘em. Your daddy wouldn’t have folded, and neither should you. ”
Cash exhaled, shaking his head in resignation. “It’s different now. Feels like we’re fightin’ a battle we can’t win—not havin’ enough money, losin’ more and more cattle. I’m payin’ more ranch hands to keep us secure, and they didn’t even see Remington coming.”
Hank studied him for a moment before nodding toward the house. “This ain’t just about the ranch anymore, is it?”
Cash followed the older man’s gaze over to the kitchen window. Josie was still there, setting the table, Samuel in the crook of her arm.
His chest tightened. How does everybody know that? It was like they all knew it before he did.
“No,” he admitted. “It ain’t.”
Hank smiled knowingly. “Then you already know what you gotta do. You fight for what’s yours. You protect what’s yours. Ain’t no man worth his salt who’d do anything less. Your pa used to say that all the time.”
Of course. Pa would have fought tooth and nail for what was his. And he was right to do it.
Cash took a deep breath, taking a moment to let it sink in. He couldn’t give up. Not on the ranch. Not on Josie and Samuel. Not on any of it.
He stood there, the sun getting so high and hot that it scorched the back of his neck. Grayson Remington couldn’t win this fight. He wasn’t going to.
Not unless it’s over my dead body.