A Hopeful Heart by Kim Vogel Sawyer Page A

accidentally wander onto my property. Somebody’d either have to cut my fence to let ’em in or bring ’em through a gate.”
    Abel licked his dry lips. “Reckon that’s true . . .”
    “You let your other neighbors know about these missin’ calves?”
    Although Brewster’s face remained friendly, Abel sensed a shift in his tone. “No, sir.”
    “Just me, huh?” The older man rubbed his lips together for a moment, his dark eyes boring into Abel’s. “Four ranches surround yours. Could’ve gone to any of ’em, but you came here first. Must be a reason.” The napkin flicked faster. “Speak plain, boy.”
    Abel drew in a breath that expanded his chest and raised his shoulders. He plucked his hat from his head. “Well, to be honest, Brewster, I wondered if Gage might be—”
    “Stealin’?” There was no denying the defensive current in Brewster’s voice. “My boy’s got a mischievous streak, I’ll grant you that, but I’ve taught him right from wrong. An’ he’s got no reason to steal, considerin’ his allowance is sufficient to purchase pret’ near everything he wants. Not sure I take kindly to the insinuation.”
    “I wasn’t insinuatin’ Gage is a thief , Brewster, I was just—”
    “I know what you was doin’. Lookin’ for whoever might’ve stole away with your calves. An’ you come here. But you won’t find ’em here, Samms, so you can just take your searchin’ elsewhere.”
    Abel should’ve known Brewster would defend Gage. He always had. He scratched his cheek and sighed. “Well, if somethin’ should change, I’d—”
    “Tell you what.” Brewster curled his hand over Abel’s shoulder, turning him toward the wagon. “I’ll let my men know some of your calves have turned up missin’ an’ to watch for a Lazy S brand. If those calves’re spotted, we’ll shoo ’em straight back to your land.” He applied gentle pressure, urging Abel to climb into the wagon seat. His focus flicked to the rolls of barbed wire in the bed. “You fixin’ to run some wire, are you?”
    Abel nodded.
    “Good idea.” He perused the bed’s contents, his lips moving as he silently counted the rolls. “Appears you got plenty . . .” Meeting Abel’s gaze, he said, “I suggest runnin’ four lines per post instead of three. Makes it harder for somebody to cut through, an’ it reduces the possibility of critters creepin’ between the lines.”
    “That’s sound advice, Brewster. Thank you.”
    Brewster’s expression hardened. “And here’s one more piece of advice: Head on down the road an’ alert your other neighbors about these calves so they can be lookin’, too. I think that’s best.”
    Only an idiot would have missed the subtle warning. Abel slid onto the seat and took up the reins. “I’ll do that, Brewster. Thanks for your time.” He smacked the reins onto Ed’s back.
    As he rode toward home, he outlined the afternoon’s tasks: Put Vince in sole charge of seeing to the calving; set Ethan and Cole to chopping down saplings that grew along the creek for fence posts; and as for him, he’d nose around the grounds and look for evidence that might help him catch last night’s thief. He figured he also better put some lunch on the table for his men—this was his week to cook.
    When he turned in at his gate, he noticed a wagon parked in front of the house. Aunt Hattie’s mare stood within the traces, her head low, apparently dozing. Abel drew his wagon alongside hers, and Ed nosed the visiting mare. She stirred and nickered in reply. Leaving the horses to get acquainted, Abel hopped down and trotted onto the porch.
    Wonderful aromas greeted his nose as he stepped into the house. His mouth watering, he hurried directly to the table, where Aunt Hattie had served up steaming bowls of stew to his men. A platter of flaky biscuits sat in the middle of the table. Even while Abel’s stomach turned over in anticipation of the enticing meal, confusion clouded his mind.
    “Look here,