“So. Rustlers?” Gramma Prisca asked as the family congregated around the table. Aevrin took a bowl of roasted jennut out of Cassia’s hands, freeing her up to go back to the kitchen for another table setting.
“Nothing certain yet, but we’re still looking,” Cassia heard Boone say. “There’s one ranch in particular we’re eying. They got their cattle’s ears cut mighty short, and the brand’s not too far off the Matherson’s. Might be a cover-up.”
“They cut the earmark off?” Sorven asked, sounding a little sad, as Mavek solemnly nodded to him and mimed a snipping motion with his fingers.
“Which ranch?” Prisca asked sharply.
“Now, Mrs. Riveker, I already told Sath I can’t tell you about that. It’s confidential information, see.” The sheriff laid his palms on the table as Cassia set a plate, fork, and knife in front of him. “Well, don’t this smell good.”
“Cassia’s a great cook,” Aevrin said proudly, emerging from the kitchen with a plate of sliced, steaming bread.
“Can you at least tell us if it’s one of our neighbors?” Prisca asked slyly.
“Nope. But no one you know well, anyhow. A new ranch.”
Cassia didn’t miss the look that Sath and Prisca shared. Boone apparently didn’t, either, and cleared his throat as Cassia dug a spoon into the bowl of dumplings.
“How’s that boy Dariek doing?” The sheriff asked, changing the subject. “Heard he’s been making a real name for himself this year.”
“Last we heard he and his drake were wrangling a fortune,” Sorven said with a grin, reaching out to accept a plate from Cassia.
“Someone has to make the rest of us look bad,” Mavek said. “My head was starting to get kind of big.”
“Starting?” Prisca drawled. “If your head was any bigger, you couldn’t fit your hat on it.” When Mavek made puppy-dog eyes at his Gramma she grinned and reached forward to smack him with her rolled-up napkin.
“He hasn’t just been exhibiting the cattle,” Sath Riveker explained to Cassia, his voice swelling with pride. “They’ve got entertainment at those shows. You know, trick riding. He’s been winning a good bit.”
“What events?” Boone wanted to know.
“All of it,” Sath told him. “Racing, sharpshootin’, bareback flying.”
“Bareback?” Boone whistled. “Don’t that make you nervous?”
“That boy’s talented,” Sath said firmly.
“Sure is a tough one,” Boone grumbled, accepting the plate of bread from Mavek. “I never could get it down.”
“You were a trick-rider?” Sorven asked wide-eyed.
“Ah, well…” Boone grumbled, and took a big bite, clearly not intending to continue.
“Bareback runs in the family. Remember that canton fair, what, three years back?” Mavek asked with a grin. “When Aevrin decided to enter his name in…”
Everyone had been served; Cassia took her seat next to Aevrin, plate in hand. He was shaking his head. Under the table his hand snuck to her and quickly squeezed her thigh. Her heart tumbled, melting fast, and she tried to keep any expression from showing on her face.
“We were all sure he was gonna fall right away. Dariek even bet fifty on it,” Mavek told her. “But that duck didn’t shake him for half a minute. Even the spotters who caught ‘im were impressed.”
“Never understood why you gave it up,” Sath told his son, planting his elbows on the table. “You wererealgood at riding bareback.”
Taking a sip of water, Cassia choked and coughed.
“You alright?” Sorven asked, eyes wide in concern; Aevrin was staring at her too. She nodded, wiping her mouth and trying not to blush.
“Just wanted to see what it felt like,” Aevrin answered, looking back at his father, as Cassia stared at him in disbelief at how he could possibly have missed the innuendo after the afternoon they’d shared. “Not really one for all the crowds. Rather just put in a good day’s work.”
“Says the man who keeps taking half the day off,” Mavek said around a full mouth.
“Had stuff to do,” Aevrin muttered in response.
