Sophie's Daughters Trilogy

by Mary Connealy

  Sally nodded. “Awful. Those men have killed before. That’s not a heavily traveled trail, but it gets a few people passing through. Pretty clear those back shooters watch the trail for riders.”

  “I know the dangers of the wild, steep trails and grizzlies and landslides, but for some reason I thought I was safe out here from man.” Logan gave a brief, humorless laugh. “I found out today that’s not true.”

  His eyes widened. “You know, I ride in on that trail when I come in the spring. I’m lucky they haven’t shot me.”

  “Come? In the spring? Why?”

  Logan leaned closer and Sally saw a light in his eyes that was almost frightening. She hadn’t considered him anything but sweet. Until now. Maybe a mite stupid to have hauled her so far from where Luther’d come huntin’. A knowing man might reason out that if someone came trailing her, he oughta make it easy for them to find her. But besides that, he’d been sweet. Now he looked, well, just a bit shy of loco.

  “I’m painting the Rockies.”

  All Sally could think of was the whitewash Pa had brought home to use on the cabin back home. “Painting the Rockies?”

  “Yes. I’m an artist. Oil paints, pencil sketches. I’m going to start sculpting, too. I’ve been studying up. I think I’ve got it figured out.”

  “An artist?” Sally wondered why he didn’t just say, “I’m a no-account bum.” How could drawing a picture put meat on the table?

  “I’ve discovered this miraculous land, and I’m going to spend every summer here until I’ve explored it all.”

  Exploring made some sense. After all, pioneers were explorers in a way, and Sally’s ma had been a pioneer in west Texas. So, if he was looking for new trails for cattle drives to the west, or rich hunting and trapping grounds, or crop land, or a grassy valley to run a herd on, or even a place to dig for gold, she could understand it.

  “Yes, I’m finding every beautiful site in the area. I go out to places like that canyon where you were, and I do a study of it.”

  “You study?” Like a school boy?

  “A study.” Logan nodded cheerfully as if he hadn’t just admitted he was a bum. “I do a fast draw—”

  “I’m a pretty fast draw myself.” He’d finally said something that made sense.

  “You can draw?” Logan perked up.

  Truth be told, so did Sally. If the man was good with a gun, he couldn’t be completely worthless.

  “Yep, I can get my rifle into action faster than almost anyone, except my sister Mandy. She’s the fastest draw in our family. Maybe in the whole West.”

  “Oh no. I mean I do a fast drawing of an area. A drawing, like with a charcoal pencil on paper? That kind of drawing.”

  Sally’s headache was getting worse every second he talked.

  “I’ve found my calling. Some of my work is—” He shrugged as if regretting he’d started that last sentence.

  “Is what?” Sally tried to remember the last time she’d drawn a picture. There’d been a few stick figures sketched into the dirt … when she was five.

  Of course, the colonel had drawn a map to send on to Luther.

  “Well.” He shrugged again, almost as if he were embarrassed. Which Sally could well understand. “I’ve been hung in museums.”

  “Hung? Like you stole a horse and a posse caught up with you and—”

  “No.” Logan smiled and it had the odd effect of easing some of the headache his nonsense had caused. Didn’t do a thing for her broken leg, though.

  “Hung like they bought a painting from me and hung it on their wall.” He actually blushed just a bit.

  “Oh.” Now Sally could understand the blush. It was embarrassing to admit to spending his life painting. Such enthusiasm to waste over something so useless. Although the barn had looked mighty nice after it’d been whitewashed.

  “How do you have time?” Sally shook her head and instantly regretted moving. “On my family’s ranch, it takes all of us working hard to keep the ranch going and hunt game, tend the garden and haul water. You don’t have a herd, I s’pose.” She felt some pity for him but tried to conceal that.

  “Wise Sister does all that. Well, not ride herd, since I don’t have one.” Logan smiled.

  Sally frowned. “She can’t do it alone.”

  “Sure she can. She always has.”

  “Always?”

  “This is my third summer out here.” Suddenly Logan looked over his shoulder, as if he could see through the door to Wise Sister. “Her husband was alive until this spring, though.” Logan looked back at Sally. “Is it a lot of work to keep a cabin going? She’s never complained.”

  Sally remembered a few words of complaint just in the time Wise Sister had been tending her. Of course, Logan might be too busy drawing his pretty pictures to hear the fussing. And Sally had to admit, Wise Sister was quiet in her complaints.

  In fact, she’d said little or nothing, but Sally, knowing the way of the West, had apologized for making so much work for Wise Sister and putting her behind. Sally knew Wise Sister was now going to have to work twice as hard and three times as fast to get a meal on for supper. Especially since Logan had left yesterday with no plans to return for a while.

  “Yes, it’s a lot of work.” Sally narrowed her eyes. “You really don’t know what all needs to be done every day to run your property? You really don’t help at all? You don’t do the huntin’ at least?”

  “I don’t hunt much. It would scare the animals away from the cabin. I don’t want that.”

  Sally’s mouth gaped open but no words emerged.

  “Maybe you’d better tell me what all there is to do.” Logan planted his elbows on his knees.

  He sounded like he cared. Just because he was ignorant didn’t mean he was stupid. Sally knew the difference. He’d asked; she’d tell him.

  “She has to hunt for your food. Hunting takes a long time. Maybe she sets snares. Do you have chickens?”

  “No.”

  Sally sighed. “Do you eat a lot of rabbit and—” Hesitating, Sally said, “I don’t rightly know what wild chickens you’ve got around here. Back home we’ve got pheasants and grouse and some wild turkeys. But mostly we eat chickens, raise ’em right in the yard. Saves a lot of time.”

  “Well, there are beautiful birds and animals in the mountains. Geese and ducks in many different species. Ptarmigans, pheasants, grouse, and wild turkeys. The bald eagles and golden eagles are the best.”

  “Best tasting?”

  Logan jerked and sat up straight, glaring. “No, not best tasting. The best to draw. They’re beautiful, and the way they soar on the wind and play—”

  Sally snorted. “You don’t have a lick of sense, do you?”

  “I’ve heard that before, believe it or not.” Logan tilted his head at her.

  Sally would have rolled her eyes heavenward, but she was pretty sure it’d hurt. “No surprise there.”

  “I want to paint you.” Logan leaned closer, and he quit looking her in the eye. Instead he focused intently on her.

  She felt as if he’d forgotten about her and only saw the pieces. It was an unpleasant feeling, and she resisted—only due to the pain she was sure would follow—shoving him back. “Paint me.” She knew he wasn’t talking about whitewash now. He’d better not be.

  “Yes, I’ve already started. I made sketches, but I’ll want you to pose, too, and—”

  “I’m leaving as soon as I’m seeing only one of you, so don’t bother getting out your paintbrush.”

  The door swung open and a gust of wind came in with Wise Sister, her hands full. “Storm.” She wrestled the door closed without Logan offering to give her a hand.

  Sally scowled, and that hurt, too.

  A rumble of thunder accompanied Wise Sister’s word. Distant, but Sally realized it had gotten dark, fully dark. She’d thought it was sunset. She’d lost all track of time, but now it appeared clouds were the culprit, or part of it. “There goes any trail we left.” Sally looked at Wise Siste
r.

  “Someone will come?” Wise Sister carried a pot with her, steaming and savory.

  Sally wasn’t sure she could keep anything down. Her headache made her stomach swoop around. But she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and she knew bones and bruises knit best on good food. “Yes, I have friends who’ll be searching. How far is this from that trail?” Sally looked at Wise Sister, figuring her for the person in possession of good sense in this room.

  Logan answered. “We rode nearly all day. Not fast, though. It’s a long, treacherous climb down to that canyon.”

  Sally did her best not to groan. She reckoned her best wasn’t that good.

  “Bad trail.” Wise Sister set a plate on the table as the sky opened up. “And now the rain washes it clean.”

  Sally accepted that. She also knew Luther and Buff. They’d read what happened on that trail. They’d look for her body. When they didn’t find it, they’d search. Her heart warmed to think of the strong men who loved her. Which made her think of Logan—the fastest draw in the … museum.

  “I have to go back.” She glanced at him but mostly just focused on Wise Sister.

  Logan jumped as if she’d poked him with a branding iron. “Not until I’ve painted you.”

  “Not until your head clears and your leg is fit to ride.” Wise Sister looked at the leg, which lay propped up on a rolled-up blanket. “Two weeks. Much hurt. Much harm to you if you go sooner. Four weeks better.”

  A month? “No, I can’t do that.” Sally looked at Wise Sister. She just couldn’t add another job to the older woman’s day, so she turned to Logan. “You’re going to have to go get them.”

  “Get who?”

  “Luther, a friend. Luther and Buff will come hunting.”

  “Buff?” Wise Sister seemed distracted for a moment but didn’t speak.

  “Yes, they’re friends of mine who were meeting me in Helena. I sent a note that we’d left the train and I’d most likely beat ’em to Mandy’s house. They’ll ride to the spot we were supposed to cross the trail, and when we aren’t there, they’ll start heading out to meet me. They’ll find the spot where the ambush happened and start hunting me. You’re going to have to go out and find them and bring them back here. I can’t leave them riding all over this wilderness for a month.”

  “The trail isn’t passable in this weather.” Logan looked at the window, peppered with hard, driving rain.

  “Smoke signals,” Wise Sister said.

  Sally nodded. “Yes, good. How deep in the woods are we here?”

  “The trees get deep behind the cabin,” Logan said. “But in front it’s clear. It’s a spectacular view.”

  Sally couldn’t imagine what that had to do with anything. “Okay. Luther might be here already. If not, he’ll be on my trail within days. We can start a signal fire and—”

  “What if those men see the signals?” Logan asked, shaking his head. “Smoke will signal anyone, good and bad.”

  Sally felt a flare of irritation that Logan didn’t deserve. He was right. And she didn’t want to hear about it.

  Wise Sister scooped some stew onto a tin plate and tapped her metal spoon with a harsh click. “Time now for food and rest. Tomorrow we plan.”

  Sally fell silent. Wise Sister brought her the plate, pulled a fork out of the pocket of her beaded buckskin dress, and handed it to Sally.

  “I’m—I’m not sure—” Sally gulped. “I might not be able to—to keep it down. I’m feeling sorta sick.” She looked up at Wise Sister.

  “One bite.” Wise Sister urged the plate on Sally, and the rich smell of stew teased her and settled her twisting stomach a bit. “Then rest. Then one more bite.” The woman’s face was lined with deep wrinkles. Her dark skin fell in somber lines, but there was understanding and kindness in her black eyes.

  “Thank you.” Sally’s eyes filled with tears again. What was wrong with her?

  “Good girl. One bite. Then you rest.” Wise Sister brushed Sally’s hair back. Wise Sister was a short, round woman, her long, dark braids shot with gray. Though there was no physical resemblance, her strong, competent hands reminded Sally of her ma. Which made her think of Beth and what a skilled doctor she was. Which made her think of Mandy and how much she longed to see her big sister, meet her babies, help her when the new one came.

  Logan leaned in and drew Sally’s attention. “I’ll ride out to meet your friends, Sally. I’ll give them another day to get to the area, if you think your friend Luther is that close. The rain will let up and the trail will dry and I’ll go.”

  “Helpless as a pup.” Wise Sister frowned at Logan.

  A flare of lightning flashed in the window, followed by a clap of thunder. Sally’s stomach clenched from the thunder and worry about Logan out there with those back-shooting yellow coyotes. And her headache pounded like a drumbeat. “You can’t go out there with those men.” Something turned over deep in Sally’s heart to think of Logan riding that dangerous trail. She remembered little of it, but she’d gotten an impression of it, and Wise Sister’s furrowed brow told her everything else.

  “I ride that trail out of here all the time. I may not go all the way to town, but I’ve never had trouble wandering this land.” Logan’s expression went grim. “Your friends are in danger if they’re coming for you.”

  Sally wanted to deny it. “Buff and Luther are tough, knowing men. They’ll ride careful.” But the colonel was a tough man, too. Luther would ride wary. Still, the thought of him and Buff dying on that trail, cut down like the colonel and his wife, made her eyes burn again with those shameful tears.

  “Eat now.” Logan didn’t run from her tears, again. Sally was amazed and, though it shamed her to admit it, a bit pleased. Never once crying—well, almost never—for her whole life had proved to be a burden.

  “I can’t go in the rain so we have time to think of something.” He gently gripped her hand, and their eyes met and held for long seconds.

  Sally had already decided he was a useless, no-account kind of a man. But something in those warm brown eyes seemed to give her strength. And how was it that a no-account man had strength to share?

  But he did. And right now, Sally needed every bit of it.

  With hands she couldn’t quite control, she took the plate and fork from Wise Sister and ate a shaky bite of the stew. For a second she didn’t think she’d be able to swallow it. The meat—she recognized venison—was tender, and there were carrots, potatoes, and onions in the thick gravy. But even with everything cooked to melting tenderness, it worsened her headache when she chewed.

  Logan rested a hand on her shoulder as if he knew, and Sally remembered the many times her parents had seemed to almost read each other’s minds. She looked up at the concern in his eyes. That hand and the worry steadied her and she found she could swallow.

  Wise Sister came on her other side and took the plate, as if she knew the weight of that small, tin dish with its bit of food was more than Sally could handle.

  Coddled and surrounded by their concern, Sally, who took great pride in her toughness, let the bite of food settle, and she found it did awaken her appetite and make her feel stronger. Her vision even cleared until she was only seeing one of each of her new friends. She ate steadily. “This is delicious, Wise Sister.” She managed a smile and shared one with Logan, too. “Thank you both for all you’ve done for me.”

  They both smiled and murmured kind words.

  Sally had nearly finished the plate when a wave of exhaustion swept over her. “I think I need to sleep now.” Sally’s eyes drooped.

  They flickered open when Wise Sister took her fork out of her hand. She saw Logan pull the blanket up to her chin.

  “Thank you.” Her eyes fell closed again.

  Tearing through treetops. Certain death, pain, terror, falling, falling, falling.

  A tight scream from her own throat jerked her awake just as she’d have hit the rocks at the base of the cliff.

  Logan was there on one side, Wise Sister on
the other. Neither had moved. Both were staring at her, worry cutting lines into their faces.

  She hadn’t even gotten fully to sleep and now she was afraid to close her eyes again. Would she face this same nightmare every time she slept? Maybe for the rest of her life?

  Fergus heard the first wolf and whirled around, expecting to see the brute charging him out of the scrub. That’s how near it sounded.

  The howl was answered by a pack … close at hand. All around them.

  Fergus clawed at his Colt and brought the gun up, but with nothing to aim at. The howling went on, echoing, eerie, so wild it sent chills up Fergus’s backbone. The howling bounced off the mountains, surrounding them until it sounded like a hundred wolves.

  His gun still drawn, Fergus noticed his hand shaking, and he would have ridden away if it hadn’t been pitch dark. And if he hadn’t needed to pretend like he wasn’t a skeered rabbit.

  It had taken the rest of the day to find their way across broken ground to the bottom of the cliff the cowpoke had fallen over. First they’d chased down the horses and stripped them of cash. That had taken awhile. Then they’d found it hard going to recognize the bottom of that cliff. Things had looked different down here.

  What had finally told them they’d found the right place was the smell of death. Dead men, dead horses. And not just those who died today. Older. Rotting. And those demonic howling wolves had eaten the flesh of men before. That’s why they hunted in this area most likely. And they might want more. They might have learned boldness.

  Even that smell hadn’t driven him and Tulsa away, because they’d found a lot of money in the saddlebags. And two horses had gone over the cliff. And that cowpoke had killed his brother. Fergus ran one unsteady hand deep into his hair, over the white streak that he’d always had in his black hair. Right at his temple. He’d heard that gunshot from down here. That cowpoke must have lived. If he had, where was he? Somewhere out there, armed and more dangerous than the wolves?