“So do I.” Alex turned back to his patient. When Beth’s other cut was closed, Alex hoped that scar would fall just beneath the curve of her chin. Maybe that wouldn’t harm her pretty face much either. But Alex knew without a doubt he wanted his wife alive and well, however scarred. And he knew Beth and her clear, level head well enough to know she’d agree. It occurred to Alex that Beth’s scars would be visible while Alex’s were invisible, but they were both scarred nonetheless.
“Look at this.” Sophie ran her hand, smeared red with mostly dried blood, over Beth’s head. “There’s a big bump on this side, as well as the cut. Hopefully she just took a bad whack and got knocked cold. If we give her time, she’ll come out of it.”
A low groan turned Alex and Sophie toward the outlaw. Though he didn’t move, Sophie dived at the man and had him hog-tied and gagged so fast Alex could barely see Sophie’s hands move. There was violence in Sophie’s expression, but it didn’t pass to the man overly much, though he was securely and tightly bound.
Turning her back on the bounty hunter, Sophie went back to caressing Beth’s head. Part gentle mother, part grizzly—Sophie McClellen.
“I’m glad you’re my wife’s mother. I’m glad I got to know your whole brood.”
Sophie looked away from Beth, her eyes narrow, her gaze sharp. “You say that like it’s in the past. Like we’re not going to be part of your life anymore.”
Swallowing hard, Alex couldn’t do other than tell the truth. “That man chasing us is after me to arrest me and turn me in to the cavalry at Fort Union. I’m a deserter. I told Beth we needed to get to the fort so I could turn myself in. That way she’d be safe. I’m wanted dead or alive, like all deserters, and this man is a bounty hunter. He didn’t seem overly concerned about the ‘alive’ part of ‘dead or alive,’ and he didn’t seem too worried about Beth getting caught in his crossfire.”
Sophie held his gaze.
Alex waited, giving her plenty of time to realize that it was that act of cowardice, deserting from the cavalry, that had led to Beth’s injuries. Clay’s, too. This was all on Alex’s head.
“You look at my daughter with eyes shining with love, Alex. Do you love her?”
Alex turned to stare at Beth, ashen white, completely unmoving. He felt as if his love had nearly killed her. “Yes.” His words were barely audible. He said them to Beth rather than to Sophie. “Yes, I love her. And I almost got her killed.” Alex felt tears burn at his eyes and felt them spill over.
Sophie gasped and Alex looked away from his silent, fragile wife. Sophie looked at what must be obvious signs of crying on Alex’s face as if he’d suddenly sprouted a second nose.
Dashing the tears away, Alex said, “Stay with Beth. I need to go check on Clay again.”
One hard hand snaked out and grabbed Alex by the wrist. “No, don’t let him see you”—Sophie’s voice fell to a breath of a whisper—“crying. It’ll kill him faster’n a bullet.”
That made no sense. “Okay, you go. Tell him she’s going to be fine.”
“Is she going to be fine?”
“Yes, everyone’s going to be fine.” Alex felt confident of that. Everyone but him. He was facing a noose.
“I’ll stay here with you until they’re well enough to travel, then I’ll go on to the fort alone. No sense taking Beth with me any farther.”
“I’ve heard some of what they do to deserters. Lots of room for a decision to go hard against a man or go easy. I think it’d be best if your family rode along with you to that fort.”
His family. Alex’s eyes fell shut from the sweetness of those words. Sophie was counting him as family. It had been a long, long time since anyone had.
Sophie released Alex’s arm and went to check on her husband.
Seconds after Alex heard Sophie speaking quietly to Clay, he saw Beth’s eyes flutter open.
He bent down and angled himself so he was right in her line of vision, so she wouldn’t move an inch. “Hey, you’re awake.”
There was a glazed look in Beth’s eyes, but he saw her fighting it, trying to make sense of the world around her. At last her head cleared enough that she saw him. “What happened?”
“A tree fell on your head.” Alex smiled, ignoring the terror he’d felt.
“That would explain the pain.”
“I can get you some laudanum.”
“Not right now. I’ve had it before. It makes me feel so stupid and groggy. Let’s give the headache a chance to ease without it.”
“Okay.” He didn’t mention the stitches. It was a lot more than just a headache.
A loud grunt from a few paces beyond Beth’s wounded head drew Alex’s attention and he saw Beth react. “Lie still. We’re fine, honey. That’s the polecat who was after us.” Alex suddenly straightened. “You know, I think your ma shot him. I oughta go have a look, huh?”
Beth managed a smile. “It’d be the right thing to do.”
“Even if I’m more inclined to shoot him again?”
“Even then.”
“I’ll do it then.” Alex studied the man.
His piggish eyes blinked open and the man glared at Alex, but thanks to Sophie’s skillful hands, the man would neither move nor speak a word.
“Okay, it looks like your ma’s bullet creased his skull. Knocked him cold and cut him good, but nothing that won’t heal, unless he gets infected.” Alex turned back to Beth. “I’m done checking him.”
Beth nodded. “Sounds good to me. Maybe a little later you could dose him with the carbolic acid.”
“Why waste that on a man I want to see get a fever and die?”
Beth shrugged, then winced, but managed to pat Alex on his arm. “Well, it burns like the very dickens. So pouring it on his open wound would be worth something.”
“True.” Alex nodded as he imagined tossing a little salt in on top of the carbolic acid. He liked the image. “Okay, I’ll do it. Later. When I’m done doctoring you.”
Alarm flared in Beth’s eyes. “You’re not done yet?”
“I’m done, but I want to closely observe my patient for a while yet.” Alex said, “Lie still now. I’m going to wash some of the blood away.”
“Blood?” Beth started to sit up.
Alex restrained her. “Just be still. You’ve got a cut on your head and a few stitches where you bled. But you’re fine. No sense joggling your head around and causing yourself pain just because you’re so vain you want a mirror to pretty up in.”
She narrowed her eyes and he’d have kissed her if she hadn’t been such a gory, bloody mess.
He found a canteen among Sophie and Clay’s supplies and had Beth looking much less horrifying very soon. Then he kissed her as a reward for her taking his ministrations so well, just as Sophie returned from fussing over Clay. “How’s Clay?” he asked her.
“As growly as a grizzly bear because I told him he had to lie still. If it was up to him, he’d get up and ride right now. How’s Beth?”
“She’s awake.”
Sophie’s eyes went to Beth and a smile bloomed on her face. Alex noted the resemblance between his wife and Sophie and decided Beth would only get more beautiful.
“I think”—Alex looked up at Sophie and smiled—“both our patients are going to make it.”
Then Alex thought of Fort Union and what he had coming there. Beth would get more beautiful, no doubt about it, but her beauty would be for her second husband … after the United States Cavalry disposed of her first one.
A hard knock at the door had Mandy scampering out of the bedroom to answer it. She didn’t even want to meet Tom’s eyes, but she had to thank him.
He was covered with wood chips and he’d taken off his coat and hung it over the hitching post. Mandy saw that his stallion was now in the corral with the mare and foal.
She frowned at Tom. “Is it safe to put your stallion in with the little colt? Sometimes a stallion can attack.”
“The black’s not like that. He’s next thing to a killer in t
he normal course of things. No one rides him but me and he barely tolerates me. But he’s gentle with his brood mares and the babies.”
Mandy saw the regal horse sniff the baby, then lift his head and look around, as if scouting for danger.
“I put him in there a while ago. I hated to leave him hitched for hours. Hope that’s okay. I had a bait of corn with me so he’s not eating your feed.”
“It’s fine. I should have thought of it myself.” She would have if she hadn’t been strictly avoiding this man ever since she’d come inside.
“I’m just back with a load of clay.” Tom nodded at a bucket full of red mud sitting on the ground beside him. “I didn’t finish splitting the wood because I decided it’d be a better idea to work on the cabin a while. There’s a patch of red ground about a hundred yards that way.” Tom nodded toward the west. “I’m just letting you know that I’ll be working close around the house for a while now. Thought you might hear me working and think I was prowling around.” Tom reached down for the bucket.
Simple human decency for Mandy to speak. “I’ll help. I want to see how the clay works patching the cabin. And I want to know where you found it.”
Tom nodded and headed around the corner of the house.
“Wait!”
Pausing, Tom turned back, a brow arched.
“I’ll make you something to eat. I’ve got biscuits and some roast venison. I could bring you out a sandwich.”
Tom nodded. “I’m hungry enough to eat the deer with the fur still on, ma’am. I’d be obliged for a sandwich.” He looked down at his hands, coated in red clay. “I’ll wash a layer or two of this off first.” He set the bucket down and went to the watering trough.
By the time he was done washing, Mandy was back with the food. She’d made two thick sandwiches with the salty meat and brought along a cup of steaming hot coffee for him and one for herself. “I’m sorry I didn’t think of it earlier. All your hard work and I didn’t even offer to feed you.” She didn’t feel quite right inviting him inside, so instead she came down the two little steps from her cabin and gestured to them. “Have a seat.”
When Tom was settled, Mandy handed him the tin plate.
With a generous smile, Tom said, “I had jerky in my saddlebags if I’d have gotten too hungry. Never was one to eat by the clock. Not much use for a clock out here.” He turned to the house. “I see Silas and his men mudded the north side, but it needs a second coat. The worst of the bitter wind comes howling down from the north.”
Mandy followed his gaze.
He turned back to her and smiled. “But cold winds come from all directions out here, and sometimes all at once it seems, so we need to do the whole cabin.”
Using the word we jolted Mandy into thoughts of Sidney. He should be here. He should put the cold winter winds ahead of his gold mining.
“So tell me about my colt and the wolves you saved him from?”
“Your colt?” Mandy laughed and Tom smiled and shrugged.
Then, sipping the savory coffee, talking about taking care of the foal, Mandy stood facing him. The steps were wide enough for two, but she’d have been shoulder-to-shoulder with him and she decided against that. She found it easy to talk while he chewed on the venison she’d roasted slowly to make it tender.
“Thanks, ma’am.” When the food was gone, Tom stood and Mandy backed up too many steps but couldn’t stop herself. “Mighty tasty. A sight better than jerky, and that’s the honest truth.” He went back to his bucket of clay. Hoisting it, he rounded the cabin, set it down, reached in, and picked up the thick, sticky mud.
“Tell me how the clay works. Did you add water to get it like this?” Mandy reached in and got a handful for herself, forgetting awkwardness as she played with the pliable soil.
“Nope, dug it out of the ground that way. It’s not far from the spring and it’s already well soaked. I didn’t bring more because it’ll dry out fast. You’ll be hauling heavy buckets for days if you use this stuff. You’ll wear yourself out toting it home. So I’ll do as much of that for you as I can today.”
“Mr. Linscott, I—”
“Call me Tom, ma’am. Seems strange to be called mister out here. Makes me feel like I’m the new schoolteacher or somethin’.”
Mandy laughed. She couldn’t imagine Tom Linscott standing in front of a classroom with a ruler. “All right, it’s Mandy then, not ma’am.”
They worked over the heavy clay for hours in near silence, only talking when Tom said he was running for more clay. He did the highest parts of the walls, where Mandy couldn’t have reached without a ladder, and he was fast enough he did most of the lower walls, too. That required being on his knees. Mandy did the middle and would have done more, but she could barely keep up with him as it was. She sighed with gratitude to think of all the work she’d been spared by not having to carry those heavy buckets.
As they neared the end of the task, Mandy looked down at Tom, working on his knees about five paces to her right. “This is way faster than mixing the mud, and it’s not as runny.”
“Yes, it packs in tighter, too, and lasts longer.” Tom had rolled up his sleeves and had clay nearly to his elbows. He scratched at his nose and left three stripes of red clay on his cheek.
“You look like you’re wearing war paint,” Mandy laughed.
Tom finished filling the last crack between two logs on the foundation of the cabin. He turned his head sideways and smiled up at her.
“Thank you for thinking of the clay and helping me mud these walls.” As she said it she realized the day had worn down. “Will you need a place to stay tonight?” Her light heart gained some weight.
“Um … I suppose I didn’t figure on it. I could stay and finish splitting the wood, and I could put another coat of mud on a few spots tomorrow. Is—that is, I’d like to”—Tom’s brow furrowed and a look of distaste turned his lips downward—“meet your husband. I’m surprised he left you here alone. And with all this work needing doing. Where is he?”
He quickly glanced at the pile of kindling he’d split. Mandy realized she’d forgotten all about her husband for the last few hours, and Tom knew full well that the work he was doing was work she’d have had to do, not Sidney. Which meant he was doing this out of pity.
Mandy carefully added the last patch on the cabin. It might need a few places filled in tomorrow, after the clay had thoroughly dried, but for now it was done. She couldn’t decide how to respond to Tom’s question. The simple truth was, “Sidney knows I can take care of myself. He had errands in Helena.”
“My wranglers told me the Hardens left you pretty well supplied.”
Tom knew far too much about her business and Mandy burned with the shame of it. She couldn’t bring herself to admit Sidney was on his second trip to town, and both times for supplies for his gold mining. “I don’t know when he’ll be home. Soon, I’m sure. The Hardens were very helpful to us. There were just a few things we needed before winter set in.”
Tom rose, to tower over her, and she looked up into blue eyes, kind but worried, too, and maybe just a bit too interested.
She turned and strode toward the water trough where she could rid her hands of the sticky red clay.
He came up beside her and washed vigorously in the wooden water trough.
The Hardens had found this rotted log and brought it in and set it up to hold water. Someone had done nearly everything for her, all the things that should have fallen to her husband. It stung.
“I’m sorry, Mandy. I didn’t mean to speak out of turn.”
Nodding, Mandy paid far too much attention to the red under her fingernails. “That’s quite all right, but I think you need to go now, Mr. Linscott.”
“I think you’re right.” Tom turned and headed for the corral. Mandy watched him catch his rogue stallion with quiet competence that she couldn’t help but admire. As he rode out of the yard, he came close to where she’d mindlessly stood watching him. “Thanks for your help with the foal. He’s in
good hands; that’s a comfort to me. I thank you for letting me repay you in this little way.” He touched the brim of his Stetson and rode away without waiting for her to respond.
Which was good, because she was speechless. He was just the latest in a line of people who had helped so much and somehow made it seem like they were indebted.
God, when I asked for protection, You responded beyond my dreams. Thank You, Lord. Thank You.
Sidney got home at a decent hour with his gold pan. No whiskey on his breath, though Mandy felt as if it was outside the bounds of honor to check closely, and to ask would be to accuse him of lying.
Sidney made no mention of the split wood, even though Tom had stacked a neat pile of it by the front door and the rest was lying in a jumble by the chopping block. And he didn’t comment on the fact that their house had turned a dull shade of brick red from all the clay.
Mandy couldn’t decide if he thought she’d done all that work today and accepted it as her doing her rightful chores, or did the man really not even notice. How did he think a house got heated and a meal got cooked anyway? Maybe he had no idea how much work was involved in mudding a cabin.
Though she wasn’t sure why, Mandy didn’t tell Sidney that they’d had company.
They sat at the rustic table Silas Harden had built out of split saplings. They ate deer meat shot by Emma Harden and butchered by Mandy. And they sat in a house much warmer because of Linscott’s hard work, and cooked that deer over a fire fueled by kindling Tom had split.
There was a dry sink made from a hollowed-out, split log. That and the bedstead, which she’d finished, was all the furniture they had. But it was a good start.
They enjoyed the stew, cooked in a pot that was among the things stowed in the crate from her parents. The Hardens had left some of their camping gear in the form of tin plates, knives, and forks. They claimed it made a lighter trip home, but Mandy wondered what they’d be short of next year for their drive.
Mandy was so relieved to have a solid roof over her head she didn’t think of wanting more. Anything else, she’d build through the winter. Sadly, she now knew she’d have to do all of this herself. Sidney didn’t have the skill to do it—there was no shame in that. But that he didn’t have any interest in learning was shameful indeed.
Sophie's Daughters Trilogy Page 23
