3Sunset Valley
Sunset Valley is the best story I've written so far and I must say I'm quite proud of it. :) It was originally intended just to be a short story for our County Fair but has turned into much more then that and is even in the process of being expanded into book length for publishing with even a possible series in its promising future. It has never been given a negative response.
This is a western cavalry story. It has some laughs, some heartbreak, some heartwarming, some action, some suspense, and lots of Irish! It's got a bit of everything to please everyone!
This is basically the original version that I wrote for the Fair. There have only been a few very slight modification as in sentence grammar, a tiny dialogue change here and there, a word taken out for smoother reading, and just a few spots where a bit was added because it sounded good. The biggest change is really only in chapter 10 which was originally all description but I later changed it all to dialogue.
**Also a BIG thanks to Dulce for creating the cover image sketch for this story! She did such a fantastic job and is so kind and easy to work with! Please check out her profile ( Dulcie Ruiz ) on here where you can find all her links to see her wonderful artwork and get art commissions!**
I hope you enjoy! And don't be shy about leaving any thoughts, comments, or questions you may have! Everything helps me become a better writer!
Chapter 1 "Fate of Life"
"Alan! Alan me boy! Where are ya'?" the Irish lilted voice boomed across the yard.
Alan Branegan laid the nearly cleaned bridle and rag on the bench beside him and quickly strode from the barn. He pushed his hat down to shade his eyes from the midafternoon sun and wiped the sweat from his upper lip with the back of a hand. As he approached the ranch house, he could see the owner of the voice, Donovan Branegan on the front porch, obviously searching for something.
"Alan! Where are ya' lad?!"
"I be right here, Dad!" Alan answered.
As the older man turned at the voice, a beam of sunlight caught the bits of gray in the dark blond hair around his temples. He waited till his tall brawny son came nearer. "Well, there ya' are. Where were ya'?"
"In the barn takin' care of them harnesses. They be mighty dirty after cleanin' out that low section of north pasture yesterday," Alan answered, his Irish accent almost as thick as his father's.
Although having spent most of his life here on the Branegan Ranch in Northern Texas, Alan's parents had originally emigrated from Ireland when he was 11. They'd never lost their accents and because of that Alan naturally had kept his.
Donovan nodded in approval. "Good. They be needin' it, but I'll finish that up for ya'. Right now I want ya' ta' ride inta' town and get some supplies. We be runnin' low." He held out a folded piece of paper. "Here's the list ah' things ta' get."
Alan took it and stuffed it in his vest pocket. "Should I be takin' the wagon?"
"Just take an extra horse. That'll do fine." Donovan dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Now, go find yer friend and git ah' movin'. I'll be wantin' ya' back home 'fore dark."
"Right, Dad. We be off right now." Alan spun on his heels and strode off toward the corral.
Watching him go, a slight smile came to Donovan's face. He was proud of the young man his son was growing into; bold, honest, brave, and maybe even a bit foolhardy – a true Irishman at heart. He only wished his mother could see as well, he knew she would also have been proud too. Though only 20, Alan was the one who had helped him build this ranch into what it was. In fact, the brawny lad had probably put just as much time and sweat into it as he had. It wasn't much right now, but it was growing. Someday, this ranch would be Alan's, and Donovan knew that his son would make it into something to be proud of. With that thought in mind, the older man turned back to the house.
As he approached the corral near the barn, Alan slowed his marching pace, searching for something. Then he spotted it, the tall slender man grooming a bay tied at the far end. An orphan, Daniel Wade had come to live with the Branegans when he was only 12 and the pair had instantly hit it off. Though being close friends to the point of almost being brothers, there wasn't much resemblance in appearance between the two. Alan was more muscular and broad through the shoulders, Daniel was strong but slighter in build and thin as a rail; Alan had blond hair and light blue/green eyes, Daniel had dark brown, almost black, hair and eyes. The only thing that was similar between the two was their height; Alan being 6" 4' and Daniel just two inches shorter. But differences didn't stop the bond that had made them the closest of friends over the years. Wherever one went; that's where the other went. Or to put it more correctly – wherever Alan went; that's where Daniel went. The Irish boy had always been the leader, though only being a year older than his friend; but Daniel didn't care one bit and enjoyed tagging along.
Daniel turned at Alan's approach and grinned when he saw who it was. He glanced at the bay then back, silently asking for an opinion of his work.
Alan's eyes ran over the glossy brownish red coat. "Well now, that's ah' fine job. Couldn't've done better meself."
"Thanks," Daniel grinned. He liked hearing praise from his friend.
"Me father says that we're ta' go ta' town and pick up some supplies. Now, if ye'll git the horses, we can saddle up and be on our way."
"In two shakes of a mare's tail!" Daniel said over his shoulder, already on his way while Alan fetched the saddles from the barn.
The two boys were soon underway along the dusty trail leading a pack horse and were in town within the next hour. All supplies from the list were soon bought and loaded in record time. Alan finished tying the last knot on the packhorse's back and came around to Daniel, who'd just finished his side. He slapped his smaller friend on the back with a sharp smack, almost making him fall into the packs.
"C'mon, Danny me boy! We'll have ourselves ah' drink 'fore we head home! We don't have ta' be back 'fore dark nohow!"
Still wincing slightly from the sting on his back, Daniel smiled. "Right with you, Alan!"
With a robust laugh that Daniel knew would become quite the hearty boom someday, Alan put an arm around his friend's shoulders and together they tramped happily to the nearest saloon.
A few hours later, after a couple of drinks (but not too many) and a few chats with some of the pretty ladies, the two friends rode out of town in good spirits. Life felt grand at the moment while Alan led them in a duet of a lively Irish tune as they rode lazily back along the trail toward home. It seemed they had all the time in the world – or maybe the clock was winding down. As they turned a bend in the road and the scattering of trees ceased with more open land before them, Alan's singing cut short so fast that Daniel went on half a line before he realized it. He sharply reined in his horse as he nearly passed Alan, who had abruptly stopped.
"What's the matter?" he asked a bit annoyed.
Alan didn't hear. At the moment he wasn't even aware of anything; nothing but what his wide eyes saw ahead: the thick column of black curling smoke rising into the sky from behind the rise. Had it been anywhere else, Alan might have only been concerned, but it was the direction that caught him off-guard. Ashen white rose to his face, beating away all color. His insides seemed to turn to hot liquid; draining down to his stomach and churning like acid.
Daniel spotted the smoke too. "That's coming from the ranch!"
Before his sentence had even finished, Alan was already pounding down the trail in a cloud of dust. Leaving Daniel and the packhorse far behind, Alan urged his mount to utmost speed. The bewildered animal stretched out his legs in ground swallowing strides. They didn't slow from the neck-breaking pace even when they came over the rise. Below was the dreaded sight Alan had hoped and prayed with all his heart that he wouldn't see. The boiling black smoke came from the ranch. He urged the panting horse on even faster and didn't slow until he rode into the ranch yard.
The house was in roaring flames, already nothing but a skeleton of charred swaying boards. The corral had been torn down and all the horses and livestock run off; the barn also nothing but a pile of flaming kindling. Nothing was left standing.
Alan leapt from the saddle before his horse had come to a full stop and rushed toward a figure sprawled face-up before the flaming ranch house. He fell to his knees beside the man, grasping the limp shoulders as desperation flooded his heart.
"Dad! DAD!"
But the cries were in vein. It didn't take much to know that the old man was gone; there was no life left in the pallid old face. Shot over a dozen times along with the bloody marks of where tomahawks had cut deep before the end; the unmistakable mark of Indians.
Alan sat back limply; sick at the gruesome sight. He didn't hear Daniel come riding up behind him. He couldn't see through blurred eyes; couldn't hear through the screaming in his ears from his own soul. He just sat there – in the middle of the world that had suddenly crumbled around him. Slowly, his head lowered to open hands and his face buried into them, fingers clawing into his blond hair as the hot tears spilled forth from the gash that had suddenly been ripped into his heart.