Dust and Deliverance
- 4 days ago
- 5 min read
Cinder Ridge
Colorado Territory
Spring 1883
The wind stirred dust along the boardwalk outside the sheriff’s office. Mercy Clay tipped her hat against the morning sun, scanning the empty street with the hawk-eyed precision that had once made her the best tracker west of the Pecos. Now she was the sheriff of Cinder Ridge—an unlikely job for a woman, but one she wore like a tailored glove.
Her badge caught the sun just as a rider thundered down Main Street, raising a cloud of red clay behind him. Mercy recognized the horse before the man: the gray Appaloosa with a split ear. Wild Rye, Everett Tate's mare.
Mercy stepped into the street. “You better have a good reason to ride like the devil’s on your heels, Everett Tate.”
The rider pulled hard on the reins, dismounted with fluid grace, and lifted his hat in greeting. “Well, Sheriff Clay. I do believe the devil might be a safer welcome than what I’m here for.”
Mercy crossed her arms. She’d not laid eyes on Everett Tate in five years—not since he’d broken off their engagement with nothing but a note and a trail of boot prints heading west. Now he was broader, wearier, but those whiskey-colored eyes still sparked with the same recklessness that had once won her heart.
“You’re a long way from Red Hollow,” she said coolly.
He nodded. “Someone stole two of my best horses. And the law up that way is about as useful as a screen door in a dust storm. Then I heard tell down in Fort Morgan that my name's been tied to a horse-thieving ring.”
Mercy blinked. “You’re saying someone’s accusing you?”
“They’re not just accusing, Mercy. There’s a warrant out. I’m not just here asking for help. I’m here asking you to believe I didn’t do it.”
Silence stretched between them. Once, she would’ve believed Everett over her own eyes. Now, the past hung heavy between them, thick with hurt and unanswered questions.
She exhaled. “Come inside.”
***
The smell of coffee permeated the sheriff’s office as Mercy shut the door and gestured for Everett to sit. He remained standing.
“I came straight here because I knew you’d be the only one who might not string me up just for my name being in the ledger.”
Mercy arched a brow. “That’s a mighty fine compliment after five years of silence.”
He looked down, scuffing the toe of his boot against the floor. “I made mistakes. But I didn’t steal those horses, Mercy.”
She studied him. That same calloused strength. The same voice that had once whispered vows under moonlight. But now it was wrapped in weariness—and something else. Desperation.
“You still have that scar on your wrist?” she asked softly.
He raised his left hand, tugged back his cuff. “Of course. You gave it to me when you threw your inkwell at me for breaking the pot-bellied stove.”
They both chuckled—short and reluctant.
Mercy pulled open a drawer and retrieved a file. “There’s been four ranches hit across the county line. Two horses gone from each, no prints left behind but a distinct trail of broken pine branches—same signature every time. We thought it was Deke Maddox’s gang, but the latest witness swore the man they saw looked a lot like Everett Tate.”
“And?”
“And you’ve got alibis?” she asked.
He hesitated. “I was out on the high mesa, camping alone. Hunting mustangs. No witnesses.”
Mercy narrowed her eyes. “You always did prefer the kind of truth that can’t be proven.”
He leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk. “Mercy, someone’s trying to frame me. And if you won’t help, I’m as good as hanging from a cottonwood by week’s end.”
She stared at him for a long moment. Then stood.
“You’re lucky, Everett. I believe you. But you’re going to have to help me prove it.”
***
Two days later, Mercy and Everett crouched in the underbrush outside the Broken Yoke Ranch. Mercy had followed a hunch, piecing together odd reports and one stable boy’s memory of a chipped spur.
“What exactly are we looking for?” Everett whispered.
“Trouble,” she said, “and the man wearing your face to cause it.”
They didn’t wait long. Under the cover of twilight, three riders appeared at the edge of the pasture. One dismounted, moving with quiet precision to the corral.
“Everett,” Mercy murmured. “That’s you.”
He leaned forward, jaw tightening. “It’s Nathan Kress.”
Mercy swore softly. “Your cousin? I thought he went to Arizona.”
“Looks like he came back with a plan to ruin me.”
Mercy watched Nathan expertly loop a rope over the gelding’s neck. Just then, a low branch cracked under Everett’s boot. Nathan snapped his head around and shouted, “It’s a setup!”
The three men bolted. Mercy raised her rifle, sighted the lead horse, and fired into the air. The mare reared, tossing its rider. Everett raced forward while Mercy covered him.
Minutes later, Everett returned, dragging Nathan by the collar.
“Well, cousin,” Everett said grimly. “Guess you didn’t think I’d come back with the sheriff.”
Nathan spat. “You always got what you didn’t deserve. Figured I’d borrow your reputation since you weren’t using it.”
Mercy cuffed him and read him his rights. Her hand brushed Everett’s briefly as she holstered her weapon.
“Guess I owe you a thank-you,” he said.
“I’m not finished yet.”
***
That evening, as the stars burned over Cinder Ridge, Mercy and Everett sat on the back steps of her office, sipping lukewarm coffee.
“Why did you leave?” she asked quietly.
He looked at the horizon. “Because I loved you too much to drag you into the mess I’d made. My family was tangled in things I couldn’t untie. I thought if I disappeared, you’d be free.”
Her voice cracked. “You could have just asked me what I wanted.”
He turned to her. “Do you still want me?”
She didn’t answer at first. Then she set her cup aside and laced her fingers through his.
“I reckon I never stopped.”
And for the first time in five years, the silence between them felt like home.
Teacake Tidbits
1. Railroad Expansion Was Reshaping the West
By 1883, Colorado was crisscrossed by major railroad lines, most notably the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad. These railroads transformed small frontier towns into trade hubs, brought eastern settlers westward, and played a vital role in cattle drives and mining operations. Cinder Ridge could easily be imagined as one of these newly bustling towns near a key spur line.
2. Silver Mining Was Booming
After the initial gold rushes of the 1850s and 1860s, silver became king. The Silver Boom, particularly after discoveries near Leadville and Aspen, made Colorado a magnet for fortune seekers, outlaws, and entrepreneurs. This boom also brought in saloons, gambling halls, and law enforcement challenges—perfect fuel for your story's backdrop of crime and justice.
3. Women Were Gaining Legal Ground
Colorado had a progressive edge when it came to women’s rights for the time. Though women couldn't yet vote statewide, there was a growing movement for women's suffrage, and many women owned businesses, worked as teachers, or even took roles in law enforcement-adjacent fields (like court clerks or postmistresses). Mercy Clay as sheriff would still be exceptional—but plausible, especially in a frontier town making its own rules.
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