Montana Creeds: Logan
Stillwater Springs Ranch
The weathered wooden sign above the gate dangled from its posts by three links of rusty chain. The words, hand-carved by Josiah Creed himself more than 150 years earlier, and then burned in deeper still with the edge of an old branding iron, were faded now, hardly legible.
Logan Creed, half inside his secondhand Dodge pickup—"previously owned," the dealer had called it—and half outside, with one booted foot on the running board, swore under his breath.
Startled, the bedraggled dog he'd picked up at a rest stop outside of Kalispell that morning gave a soft, fretful whine, low in his throat. Little wonder the poor critter was skittish; he'd clearly been from one end of lost-animal hell to the other.
"Sorry, ol' fella," Logan muttered, his throat constricted with a tangle of emotions, sharp as barbed wire. He'd known the family ranch—a legacy shared equally with his two younger brothers, Dylan and Tyler—would be in sad shape. The whole spread had been neglected for years, after all…ever since they'd had that falling out after their dad's funeral. He and Dylan and Tyler had gone their stubborn, separ ... read full excerpt from: Montana Creeds: Logan ebook
