“My grandpa told me about it!” Harry shouted. “There was some court case. We lost, and you guys won. All that land you have used to be ours.”
Josh looked over at Rick. “Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”
Rick rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. “If I remember correctly, there was a border dispute back in ‘55 or ‘56. The two families went to court over it, and it was pretty contentious. Eventually, a surveyor researched everything, and the judge ruled in our favor. I only heard about this years later, but it didn’t seem like that big a deal.”
“Yeah,” Mills agreed. “I do remember hearing something about that.”
Josh scoffed in disbelief. “A border dispute over what, a few feet of land?”
“More like a few thousand,” Rick replied.
“That’s still not the same thing as our parents and grandparents stealing the whole ranch from the Armstrongs.”
Harry fought against the deputy restraining him, the two of them scuffling around until Mills and the deputy got him back under control. “That’s not what happened! That’s not what he told me!”
Mills heaved a deep breath. “It’s not widely known, but Joe Armstrong was showing some signs of dementia before he passed away. I wonder if maybe he got confused, and a simple boundary dispute turned into something bigger in his mind.”
“And then he told that story to Harry, who knows how many times,” Josh said, finally starting to understand Harry’s thinking. “And when Joe died, Harry decided to try and get the land back.”
“Is that what happened, son?” Mills asked Harry. “You tried to make things right by driving the Farris family off their land?”
“I tried to do it without hurting anyone.”
“You broke the fences, set the fires,” Rick prodded.
Harry nodded. “But it wasn’t working. So I thought if I took one of you, you’d sign over the farm to get them back.”
Rick glanced over at Josh, and Josh knew exactly what that look meant. He’d seen variations of it when he’d done something particularly stupid. Harry wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. But it di
dn’t matter whether or not he was a criminal mastermind. He’d put Hope in danger.
“Look,” he said to Sheriff Mills. “It’s late, and Hope’s been through a lot. Can I take her home now?”
“I think we’re done for the night,” Mills agreed. “I’m sure we’ll have some more questions in the morning.”
Rick stepped closer, preventing Josh from telling the sheriff where he could stick his questions. “After Hope gets some rest, of course.”
“Of course,” said Mills.
“Come on,” Josh said to Hope, helping her walk around Mills, Harry, and the debris on the ground. She clung to him at first, then lessened her grip on his arm until she wasn’t touching him at all.
He’d thought things were going well with Hope, that they were growing closer. His family already loved her, and she’d seemed happy. But would she really want to live next to the Armstrong family, with every day a reminder of what she’d been through? Or would she be more comfortable back in Chicago, in the life she knew? The safe, quiet life she’d lived before meeting him.
He could only pray that this ordeal wouldn’t drive her away from him for good.
Chapter Nine
The rest of the night was a long blur of noise and activity that Hope only remembered in flashes. The sound of sirens outside. Harry Armstrong being guided into the backseat of a police car. Finally feeling warm when someone wrapped a blanket around her. When they returned to the Golden Horse, and Allison walked Hope to her room, she collapsed into bed and immediately fell into an exhausted sleep.
By the time she woke up, it was well into the morning. Aside from being a little stiff, she felt none the worse for wear from her adventure. In a few years, she’d probably be able to recount it at parties as a funny story. Oh, you want to hear a fun fact about me? Once, I was mistaken for a member of a horse shifter family and taken hostage! Crazy, right? But at the moment, she could only remember the glint of light on the gun in Harry Armstrong’s hand and the look on Josh’s face as he’d tackled Armstrong.
She dressed slowly, hissing as the cuffs of her long-sleeved shirt brushed against the rope burns on her wrists. A knock on the door came as she was brushing her hair.
“Come in,” she called.
Josh opened the door, took a half step forward, and leaned against the doorframe. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay, all things considered. You?”