“Calves didn’t hold off being born over weekends, stock still had to be tended to; fence needed fixing and folks had to be fed. Some farmers and ranchers went to town for supplies and social life on Saturdays, and merchants in the scattered small towns like Riley and Leonardville focused on Saturday trade for profit, probably more so than the county seat of Manhattan. Kirsten, attired in her boots and denim britches, sat on a bench on the wide and spacious front porch of Cameron Locke’s home, ga...zing off into the horizon, hypnotized by the waving stalks of the tallgrass prairie and the puffy white clouds breaking up the azure sky. Such scenes had enraptured her when she first came to the Flint Hills and hooked her like a catfish on a line. They just wouldn’t let her go. It had been a week since what she had taken to calling the ‘incident’ had occurred. Her wounds were healing nicely, and Doc had promised to stop by today or tomorrow to remove stitches. He had been a regular visitor at the ranch, ostensibly to check up on her physical condition, but they had spent some time firming up their business arrangements for the land purchase he had finalized with Clem Rickers.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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