Sophie's Daughters Trilogy

by Mary Connealy

  Sidney was very crafty about his money. Mandy had often thought that her husband had wiles unbecoming an honest man. There was no stockpile of gold here at their home. He kept the bulk of his money in a bank in Denver—a bank chosen specifically for its tight security. When Sidney needed more, he traveled to Denver, made his purchases, and returned, with a bit of cash but no gold, ever. Mandy had never seen it and she’d never been to Sidney’s mine.

  The noise didn’t repeat itself. When minutes ticked by and there was nothing else, Mandy finally felt her instincts relax, and as before, she trusted them. She straightened away from the window.

  “Whoever was out there is gone.”

  “You’re sure you heard a man, not a deer or the wind rattling branches?” Sidney had that look on his face. Sneering. As if the sight of her with the rifle was a disgrace.

  The insult was too much with the tension of the moment. Another time she’d ignore it, but right now she wasn’t able to let her husband get away with. “I know the difference.” The venom in her voice surprised even her. Maybe she wasn’t as calm as she’d thought. Her tight grip on her rifle scared her a little. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. Go back to bed.” She spoke like a general ordering a private around. She never, ever took that tone with Sidney.

  He looked from the rifle to her eyes and back. Mandy wasn’t sure what he saw, but for once he didn’t make a snide remark. Instead, he swallowed hard, then went to his room and quietly closed the door.

  She settled into her rocking chair with her Winchester on her lap. After a few minutes, she calmed enough to let go of the icy chill that had helped her be the fastest shot most anyone had ever seen. She began rocking.

  Mandy could have gone back to bed, she knew, but instead she stayed in her chair and had a fierce little talk with Sidney inside her head. She decided that this was the last time she was going to keep the words to herself. Restraint wasn’t getting her anything.

  Tomorrow morning, she’d see if Sidney could handle the unrestrained version of the woman he’d married.

  “We’re not gonna find those tracks now, Tulsa.” Fergus settled into the hideout they’d skedaddled to when the clouds started to build up. The trail had been simple to follow for a long time, but now they had no direction.

  “I’ve been thinkin’.” Tulsa tore a chaw of tobacco off with his teeth.

  Fergus resisted the urge to ram his fist into Tulsa’s face. They were cold and wet and a long way from easy food and the comfort the money bulging their pockets could provide. “‘Bout what?” Fergus didn’t let any of his mad sound in his voice.

  “We both know that rider was hauling too big a load.”

  Fergus couldn’t help but listen. Tulsa had a lot of bad qualities, but he was a crack shot and he was a hand at reading sign. Fergus knew better than to talk when Tulsa was thinking about a trail.

  “I think whoever you shot off that trail lived.”

  Fergus shook his head. “He was gut shot. I saw the bullet hit.”

  “I know you hit what you aim at, but it’s not the first time a bullet ricocheted off a belt buckle. That rider is carryin’ a double load. We saw those horse’s tracks coming into that clearing, and where he’d been picketed was clear. Then on the way out, the hooves dug deeper.”

  The rain peppered outside this overhang they’d found along the base of a cliff. The two of them knew a few bolt holes in this country. This was a good ‘un, the kind of place a posse would ride right by, but it wasn’t so good for getting out of the rain. The rain wasn’t falling smack on their heads, but every gust of wind blew a face full of water in. They sat and listened to the pouring rain and the occasional crack of thunder and considered what it all meant.

  “Even if he lived, he never saw us,” Fergus said. “He’s no danger to us.”

  “Sure he is. We’ve had a nice quiet little business riding some of the back trails in here. There’s no law, and as long as we kept moving around, no one even seemed to notice. A few greenhorns turn up missing, no one thinks much of it. They was ridin’ into a rugged country to see the sights, hoping for a closer look at some mountains. Bad things happen in rough country so who’s going to care? But we’ve never had no one live.”

  “Nope.” Fergus stared into the black night. A blaze of lightning lit up the sky and Fergus thought it was the most desolate sight he’d ever seen. This was a strange land and it had more than its share of things to draw the eye. He understood why people might want to hunt around out here just for a look-see. Even if he thought ’em fools for doing it. But right now, to Fergus, it was the most godforsaken place on earth.

  “No sheriff out here in the wilderness so we’ve been left to ourselves. But if someone went in and told that he’d been attacked and his party went missing, a U.S. marshal might get sent in here. We haven’t been that careful in the towns around here. It wouldn’t take much of a marshal to figure out we’ve been spending money with no sign how we earned it. We’ve even sold a few stolen horses too close to town. If that man you shot lived, we either need to shut him up or quit the country.” Tulsa turned to stare at Fergus, and a slash of lightning lit up their damp little corner of the cliff.

  Fergus stared at Tulsa then turned back to the storm. “It’s the best I’ve ever had it. Easy money. Plenty of it. No lawmen to be seen anywhere. I’m not ready to quit.”

  They sat quietly as the storm raged on. Fergus knew without asking that they’d made a decision. He figured Tulsa read things exactly right. Hard as it was to believe, that skinny wrangler had lived and found someone to care for him.

  Pure blind bad luck for Fergus. “You’ve read it right, I reckon. We got nothin’ else to do. We might as well see if we can pick up his trail. The way he went don’t lead to any town. He’s going up into the highlands. That cuts down on the land we have to cover. A mountain man must have come down out of the high-up hills and been passing through. If he found the wrangler I shot and took him in, then we’ll have to kill the mountain man, too.”

  “A man who survives that fall after he’s been shot is a tough man.” Tulsa spoke quietly, but Fergus heard the hunger in his voice. Tulsa was a man who liked to kill. “And a mountain man ain’t one who’s easy to sneak up on, neither.”

  “So we ride careful.” Fergus rested his head against hard, damp rock and longed for a dry bed and a hot meal, but he didn’t say the words that might persuade Tulsa to quit the search. Right now, wet, cold, miserable wasn’t so good, but this was the easy life, and he wasn’t giving it up. “A little rain won’t stop us from finding them.”

  Nine

  It took Sally three days to snap.

  “I’ve got to get out there.” Sally threw her blanket off. “Luther and Buff will be hunting. They’re in danger. All I’ve got to do is get down to the lower valley and they’ll find me.”

  She was swathed in a thick nightgown from neck to ankle. She had one of her thick socks on her healthy foot and a huge bandage on her broken one. But still, she should have remained demurely covered.

  Wise Sister gave her a quiet look that almost made Sally settle down.

  Of course Logan didn’t use looks. He’d rather talk a thing to death. “You stay in that bed.” Logan hurried to cover her again.

  “I can’t lie here like this. I can’t stand it. I’m losing my mind.” Her behavior was outrageous. Even with Wise Sister here it was improper to push back her blankets in front of Logan. She knew it but she couldn’t control the burn that she had to do something. And her clothes had vanished so it was the nightgown or nothing. Honestly, she felt like a fox with its foot caught in a trap, and she was ready to start gnawing. Her foot even hurt enough to make that seem real.

  She wrestled with Logan over possession of the coverlet and managed to get her feet swung over the edge of the bed. She only did it because Logan was afraid to stop her. He worried about her pain all the time so she knew he was fully aware that she hurt in every inch of her body, and he was too careful with her to grab he
r anywhere.

  She sat up. Her broken leg bent at the knee and her foot dropped to the floor. Pain shot like burning arrows up her body and met up with her battered ribs, and the two joined forces and attacked her fragile skull.

  “You can’t go anywhere.” Logan glowered.

  “Too soon.” Wise Sister came up beside Logan.

  “You’ve been saying that for three days.”

  “And we’ve been right for three days. And we’re still right.” Logan spread his arms wide as if he was going to herd her back into bed.

  How often had she used the same approach with a stubborn cow? And she didn’t appreciate that the comparison had occurred to her.

  “I have got to get out of here.” She scooted forward, hoping to stand on her good leg and—what? Hop down the mountain? Even scooting was too much. She couldn’t bite back a gasp of pain when she put the least bit of pressure on her foot.

  The fact that it was all impossible didn’t deter her. “Now what have you done with my clothes?”

  “It’s still raining, Sally.” Logan stepped back, tidy in his black pants and vest. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to just below his elbows. The man never worked harder than lifting a pencil. Or leastways, she’d never seen him.

  Wise Sister had some traps and they’d had muskrat stew for the noon meal. Logan, well, she’d never seen him do a thing but draw pictures.

  Wise Sister turned and picked up what looked like folded, tanned leather. “You go soon. Not today. Not in the rain.”

  Jerking her head around to glare at the window, Sally saw the dreary rain that had fallen off and on for days. There’d even been snow one night. Sally had awakened in the dim light of morning to see the window coated with it.

  “Luther is out there by now. He’ll be so worried.” Desperation reared up until she felt like she was trying to stay on the back of a wild stallion. She couldn’t let her old friend wander those hills searching. She felt the guns of those outlaws drawing beads on Luther’s back. She could close her eyes and imagine Buff shot, bleeding, dying … like Paula McGarritt.

  Every time Sally closed her eyes, Sally saw Mrs. McGarritt being slammed out of her saddle. She’d been awakened by nightmares every night. Wise Sister would be awake and soothe her and help her relax back into sleep.

  And now, today, she was done letting Luther and Buff risk everything to find her. But there was no way to walk out of here and she didn’t have a horse. Logan did, though, and she wasn’t above stealing one. Sure that was a hanging offense as well as a sin, but it wasn’t like she planned to keep it.

  Wise Sister knelt on the floor in front of Sally and unfolded the leather.

  “What’s that?”

  “Moccasin. Much tough buckskin. Protect leg on long ride.”

  Sally flinched, knowing it was going to hurt to put that on no matter how gentle Wise Sister was.

  Wise Sister looked up from where she knelt, and Sally saw the sly expression. Sally got the message. There was no need to say it out loud.

  “If it’s too painful for you to let her pull on that moccasin,” Logan went ahead and said it out loud, “then how do you expect to ride down the mountain, then travel for a long, rugged ride in a rain storm?”

  Sally fought back the urge to slug him. It helped that just forming a fist hurt like the dickens. “Just fasten the moccasin. A body’s gotta do what hurts sometime. Give me my rifle. I feel edgy if I can’t grab it.”

  Sally looked from Logan to Wise Sister and back. She didn’t like what she saw in either face. Not that they were going to stop her, but that they didn’t believe they’d have to when it came right down to it. She was sorely afraid they were right. “I’ve got to try.”

  Wise Sister nodded.

  Logan shook his head.

  “I’ll do it without you if I have to.” Sally would dearly love some help. “Ouch!” Sally’s leg caught fire, and though she’d like to blame that on Wise Sister, the elderly woman had been terribly careful while she adjusted the soft boot.

  Wise Sister finished lacing on the knee-high moccasin, then got the rifle and leaned it against the bed.

  Sally felt some muscles unknot, knowing she could fight if she had to.

  “If you’re going to be stubborn, we can try.” Logan came close on her left, slung the rifle over his shoulders. He did it smoothly, which didn’t match with what she knew of him, that he was a citified sort of man, not given to the outdoors or manly ways.

  Sally would have preferred the gun in her own grasp, but it would have hurt her chest too much.

  Wise Sister stood on her left. They gently took her arms. Lifted. Wise Sister looked grim. Logan grimaced as if he felt Sally’s pain himself. In fact, the way he watched her face, she suspected he was just mimicking the expression on her own face, though she fought hard to keep her pain from showing.

  Sally rose. Every inch she gained burned like fire, on her leg, through her chest, in her head. She had bumps and bruises all over her body, including an ugly, blackened bruise low on her belly where that bullet had struck her belt. It hadn’t penetrated her skin, but it had slammed into her hard. Her arms were bruised but her shirt had spared her cuts and scrapes. Her hands were awful to look at, her nails broken, her palms raw from where she’d tried to catch hold of tree limbs and the rock wall she’d fallen past. She’d been spared a mirror, but she could feel the scratches and bruises on her face.

  And Logan still wanted to paint her. Ridiculous.

  A lot of her wounds hurt bad enough to put her in bed, but it was hard to even notice them with her leg screaming at her to lie back down and her chest punishing her for every breath. She didn’t let a single squeak of pain loose. “Let’s go.” Sally spoke through clenched teeth. “I’ve got to find Luther. I can’t just lay here in bed while he’s out there searching, putting himself in danger.”

  A look passed between Wise Sister and Logan that clearly said they thought she was an idiot. Well, she wasn’t. She was desperate.

  They made it to the door before Sally’s vision started to tunnel and go black.

  When she woke up she was back in bed. She didn’t know how much time had passed.

  Wise Sister said, “I’ll go.”

  “No, I’ll go,” Logan cut in. “You’ve got to stay here and see to Sally.”

  “I leave sign for a knowing man. Buff. I know this man. I know how to tell him of you.”

  “You know Buff?” Sally asked.

  Rather than answer, Wise Sister said, “I know wild places.” Wise Sister looked with some compassion at Logan. “Better than you.”

  “Yes, you are better than me, but the ride down this mountain is too dangerous.” Logan crossed his arms. “I won’t let you ride out of here, and I can’t stay alone with this young woman. She would be ruined. We’d have to marry.”

  That gave Sally a jolt that had nothing to do with a broken leg.

  “I’ll be gone only one day. Back by nightfall. No harm to Sally. No need to marry.”

  That sounded like Wise Sister thought Sally needed saving from such a fate. Well, it was a fact that marrying the strange painting man wasn’t the way she saw her life going.

  “I go afoot.”

  “In the cold and mud?” Logan’s jaw got hard.

  “So, I get cold. I get muddy. What is that to me?” Wise Sister looked at the window, sheeted with rain.

  Sally’s guilt was flooding worse than the weather.

  “No.” Logan slashed his hand to make it final. “I’m going.”

  “You can’t move quiet.” Wise Sister snorted at him. “Bad men find you. Hurt you. Force you to lead them to Sally then kill you, then come for her.”

  “I ride out of here all the time.”

  “Not in this weather.” Wise Sister sounded wise, stubborn but wise. “Not with bad men around.”

  “Those killers have been around a long time. We saw evidence of that at the base of that cliff.” Logan looked at Sally, and she saw how sickened h
e was by the proof of her attackers’ ruthlessness. She wanted to think of him as weak for it, but truth be told, it was sickening to her, too.

  “Better then that I go.” Wise Sister’s round face lined in downward curves as she frowned.

  Sally looked back and forth between them until her neck protested and her head started to ache. She was still the best one for the job.

  True, she had broken ribs. And an aching head. And a leg that wouldn’t hold her up. And she’d fainted the first time she’d stood upright.

  But except for that, she was the best one for the job.

  “I won’t let you risk it.” Logan crossed his arms.

  “And I won’t let you be hurt.” Wise Sister jammed her fists on her rounded waist. “You paint good. Important for you to be safe. I go.”

  The last drew Sally up short as she tried to keep up with the argument. Wise Sister worried about Logan’s painting? Wise Sister seemed so sensible. Although, as Sally looked at the cabin, a lifetime of pretty things filled every inch of the wall, every corner. Everywhere Sally looked the cabin was touched by beauty. She thought of the pretty ribbon she’d had on her chemise and knew beauty could live alongside common sense.

  “And I won’t stay here”—Logan jabbed a finger toward the floor—“warm and dry and safe while you risk—”

  “Stop!” Sally yelled—which hurt her face.

  The two nursemaids turned from bickering with each other to face her.

  “Neither one of you is going. I am.”

  Matching stubborn scowls appeared on their faces. Sally was annoyed to realize that, whatever their squabbling, they did agree on something. Keeping her corralled. Great.

  “But not today.”

  Logan’s shoulders relaxed.

  “Best to wait.” Compassion appeared on Wise Sister’s face. “Your friends will ride careful.”

  They both seemed to get over their earlier upset instantly. Sally got the sneaking suspicion that making her feel guilty was the whole point.