Langston’s Daughters

Texas rancher Langston Lockwood took his Colt .45 Peacemaker to the barn. He didn't come back. But the most troubling question for his daughters? Why was he wearing his hat when he pulled the trigger?

In this opening book of The Lockwood Legacy series, which chronicles the homecoming of Langston's three daughters, the girls reunite not just to bury their tyrannical father, but to unearth his secrets. They are shocked to discover that they inherit not only his land, the family ranch called the Rocking L, but also millions of dollars he kept hidden for years. The Lockwood legacy of family conflict and loss is also steeped in mystery and intrigue.

Kate, the eldest daughter, is the heart of the family.A well-regarded rancher in her own right, Kate never won the respect and love from her father she wanted and deserved.

Jenny, the middle child, who left for New York City is the rebel. A successful graphic artist, Jenny has never been able to get Texas out of her soul. She both longs for and fears coming home, knowing that to do so means confronting the demons of her troubled raising.

Mandy, the sweet and adored baby of the family has a new life in Houston. There, in her capacity as a professional shopper, Mandy's killer sense of fashion and loving nature have vaulted her to success, but in her heart, she yearns to be close to her sisters again.

Meet the women of the Rocking L - Langston Lockwood's daughters - and the men who come into their lives. Together again in this opening novel of the family saga, they begin the journey to discover the truth about what it means to be a Lockwood. From the pain of the past, can they find the strength to build a dynasty?

“Three daughters reunited in West Texas for the funeral of their overbearing, obnoxious father. Suicide? According to the ME but they don’t believe the old boy would shoot his $1000 Stetson. The will left Daddy dearest in control and put the girl’s into solving his death. Suicide? Murder? Who was with him that day? That solved but before they can get answers the problem gets bigger. Who killed the family lawyer? And the ending leaves this reader going to the sequel. This one is so well written, so well developed it is a MUST read. So is the sequel.” – Amazon Reviewer

“I guessed correctly that there are actually two authors here, not because they write differently but that they obviously come at the same situation from different angles. This actually allows for a cohesiveness that is often missing in other authors. I enjoyed the fact that these girls faced the pitfalls of their father’s will in varied ways and yet were unified enough to make the family connection viable. I even liked the fact that they remembered their parents differently. Such is my own experience of family life and I found this novel very well written and grounded.” – Carol Conrad, Amazon Reviewer

“If you love an engaging story with all sorts of intrigue, twists and turns, featuring strong, extremely likable women – you will appreciate this entire series. I have now read the first four books in the Lockwood Legacy and have enjoyed each immensely. Others may nitpick about piddly minor details that are inaccurate but on the whole everything works for me. Not being from Texas or a rancher, the setting where this all plays out is part of my fascination with The Lockwood Legacy series.” – Carla, Amaon Reviewer

More from this series

Read an Excerpt

Kate teased apart the broadsheets of the local paper and carefully covered the top of her kitchen table. She took out her supplies—cleaning rod, brass brushes, patches, soft rags, and gun oil. Her rifles didn’t need to be cleaned. She never put one back in the rack dirty. She needed something to do with her hands.

Under her breath she muttered, “You shoot it, you clean it.” Just one of dozens of her Daddy’s rules that had, over time, become engrained habits of mind for her. Kate ran a few hundred acres down the same road from the place where she grew up. Her spread was tiny in comparison, but the land belonged to her, bought and paid for with money she made herself and nothing beholding to Langston Lockwood.

The day she put up the sign on the front gate, “K-Bar Three, Katherine Lockwood, Owner,” her father drove up in a cloud of yellow caliche dust.

“You could have worked for me,” he growled without preamble. “The Rocking L not good enough for you?”

“The old home place is plenty good,” she said, climbing down off the ladder. “I just didn’t like your offer. I might have worked with you Daddy, but I sure as hell wasn’t gonna work for you.”

“Don’t you get on your high horse with me, girl,” he said, spitting tobacco juice in the soft dirt between them. “You don’t know a damn thing about running a ranch.”

“The hell I don’t,” she said, her temper flaring. “You taught me everything you know, and I learned it all. I’m just not good enough to help you run the place now because I’m not your son.”

“Keep talking like that and you won’t be my daughter much longer neither.”

The two stood glaring at each other under the hot afternoon sun, mirror images of pure stubbornness. Finally Langston Lockwood blinked. With begrudging appreciation he said, “You never would back down from me, Sister, not even when you was little. Don’t you know you’re supposed to be scared of me?”

“Day late and a dollar short for that, Daddy.”

“Fine,” he said, tugging his hat brim lower over his eyes. “Go ahead and run this little pissant place, but don’t come hollering to me when you go belly up.”

But she didn’t go belly up. When her sheep and goats began to command higher prices than her father’s livestock in the auction ring, men Langston’s age started saying she was just a chip off the old block—words she never heard from the old block himself no matter how much she secretly longed for his approval.

They passed each other on the country road, occasionally spoke over a fence line, and in general maintained a tenuous relationship. They cussed each other too much for anyone to ever call them “civil.”

Still, it counted for more than what her sisters had with the irascible old coot. So, when the sheriff stood on her front porch twisting his hat in his hands and said, “Kate, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Langston killed himself last night,” real tears came to her eyes.

She didn’t let them fall. She asked for details with a steady voice even though she continued to stare at the rough planks under her feet. Then Sheriff Harper said, almost as an afterthought, “Sure was a beautiful Stetson he had on. Damn shame.”

Kate’s head snapped up and her voice was sharp. “What are you talking about, Lester?”

“We found his hat there in the . . . well, it was . . . the hole was in . . .”

“He didn’t kill himself,” she said with complete conviction.

“The gun was in his hand, Kate,” the Sheriff said, his face mournful and sympathetic. “The only prints in the barn were from his boots. Doc Granger says the angle of the shot is consistent with suicide. I know it’s hard to accept . . .”

“If he had his hat on,” she said through clenched teeth, “he did not pull that trigger himself.”

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