The Cattle Rancher's Widow: A Scarlett Sierra Story

By R Scott

When cattle ranch owner John Thompson is murdered, his wife Emily knows that the wicked land baron, Reginald Mason, is behind it. Strong, sexy Scarlett Sierra comes to town to protect Emily from Mason's attempts to take her land. Hot and steamy lesbian romance in the Old West!

• Language: English
• Publisher: R Scott
• Release date: Mar 3, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310572531

Book preview

THE

CATTLE

RANCHER’S

WIDOW

A SCARLETT SIERRA STORY

by

R SCOTT

©2015

All Rights Reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced for distribution by any means physical, mechanical or electronic without the explicit written permission of the copyright holder. 

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: All historical inaccuracies are intentional. Except for the ones that are accidental.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as the preacher finished the funeral service with a grim, Amen. I closed my eyes tightly as the wiry gravedigger with the sunburned skin picked up the shovel he had been leaning on and dug into the pile of dirt. I heard the dirt hit the pine of the coffin that rested in the hole in the ground. Beside me, my two little ones sobbed.

I miss my daddy! Little Shannon whimpered.

I opened my eyes, looked down to her and pulled her closer to me, trying to reassure her. On my other side, William tried to fight the tears that ran down his young face. He wanted to be strong, to make his father proud. But his grief and anguish were too strong, and the tears rolled down his cheeks.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Father Simmons approaching us. His old, time-worn face looked pale with sorrow and grief. He had known our family for years, had married John and I nearly ten years ago, when he was nineteen and I was eighteen.

I am so sorry for your loss, he said to me, his voice kind and compassionate.

Thank you, Father, I quietly replied. It was a lovely service. John would have been proud and thankful.

The preacher gave a polite nod. He was a good man and he didn't deserve what happened to him.

Hearing his kind words almost made me break down in tears. I wanted to crumple up on the ground and just let my emotions pour out of me. But I had to be strong for our children.

Nearby, the gravedigger continued to fill John's grave with dirt. Father Simmons respectfully took my shoulder and led my children and myself away from the grave. We had only walked a few feet when I felt Father Simmons stiffen. Beneath his thin spectacles, his gray eyes darkened and his bushy white eyebrows furrowed in anger that he dare not express. I followed his gaze. It was Sheriff Brady, and he was slowly ambling in our direction. He held his hat in his hands, trying to look sympathetic. Sweat dripped from his meaty face, pools of water gathered in the pits of his large shirt that did nothing to hide his disgustingly obese body. His thinning black hair looked oily and gross.

My condolences on your loss, Mrs. Thompson, his husky voice, thick