Bittersweet Revenge

That night the darkness swallowed the landscape outside of the windows. Nothing was visible from the comfort of indoors. A cold wind blew as Gilbert herded his horses into the security of the sturdy barn. He held his arms close to his sides, shivering as he quickly paced back to the front door of his home. He slid the lock across, bolting it shut from the inside. His boots slipped off his tired feet with ease, collapsing in a leathery heap on the ground.
A cloud of dust emerged as the high boots hit the floor with a dull thud. Gilbert made his way to his old, wooden armchair and poured a generous glass of straight whiskey. As he gulped down the sweet, amber beverage his ears perked up at the sound of someone outside. It was much too late for Lynette to be ambling up to the ranch, that was for sure. So, who could it possibly be?