Sophie's Daughters Trilogy

by Mary Connealy

  “But it’s not the way it really looks,” Sally protested. “A painting oughta show the way things really look, seems to me.”

  Logan nodded. “Many would agree with you. But it’s an interesting way to look at the world. I enjoyed doing it.” Logan turned from his painting and smiled at Sally. “I appreciate that you took the time to really look.” Then, with only the smallest hesitation, he reached up and rested one finger on Sally’s chest. “Art is in here.”

  Sally frowned. “What’s that mean?”

  “It means if you like it, then it’s good—for you. If you don’t like it, then it’s not good—for you.” Logan tapped on her chest gently. “You get to decide. No one tells you if you’re right or wrong.”

  “Well, it’s a strange painting, but I won’t say flat out I don’t like it. I suppose it’s just too different for me to know what to think, leastways right now. But it does give me a feeling of what it must have been like to see all those colors splashed across the sky.”

  Logan lowered his hand, satisfied. His eyes slid from the painting, which he loved, to the view through the open shutter, which he loved more. His breath caught.

  At his gasp, Sally turned and looked. “Elk.”

  “Elk.” Logan saw that their antlers were sprouting fast. He wanted to draw them in all stages of growth.

  “Beautiful.” Logan reached for his pencil.

  “Supper.” Sally reached for her rifle.

  Logan almost lost the gun slung across his back because he hadn’t been ready, but he managed to keep her from disarming him. “Hey, we can’t shoot them.”

  Sally tore her eyes away from the elk, almost as if it were painful. “Sure we can.” She tugged on the rifle and groaned in pain.

  Wise Sister moved fast, for a slow-moving woman, and put herself in front of the window. “Can’t shoot from cabin.”

  “Why not?” Sally looked at her rifle again and glared at Logan.

  “His rule.” Wise Sister jabbed a finger at Logan.

  Sally shifted her glare from Wise Sister to Logan. “Why would you let food wander right up to your back door and then not shoot it?”

  “Because they won’t come back.”

  “What?”

  Wise Sister sighed. “True. Gun scare elk away.”

  “We can eat for maybe a month on one. Who cares if they run off after we shoot one?”

  “He cares.” Wise Sister jerked her thumb at Logan.

  “I want them to feel safe here.” Logan smiled. “They won’t if we shoot one. That is so obvious.”

  “That is so stupid.”

  “But, if they find out this is a dangerous area, then I can’t draw them from the cabin.” Logan looked out and saw that they’d come within one hundred yards of the cabin. He wished they’d feel safe enough to let him touch them. He also wished Sally’s mouth wasn’t gaped open with no words coming out.

  “Give up,” Wise Sister muttered and exchanged a look with Sally.

  Sally closed her eyes and sagged back in her chair.

  “Supper soon.” Wise Sister looked at Logan. “Plates. You put plates on table. And get my chair. In my cabin.”

  That perked Logan up considerably. Wise Sister was going to let him help. He adjusted Sally’s gun across his back.

  “Hey, leave that here.” Sally sat up straighter but it hurt.

  Logan saw that clearly in her face, though of course she made not the slightest noise at the pain.

  “I think I’ll take it with me. Just in case.”

  “In case what?” The fire flashing out of the pretty little woman’s eyes nearly burned a hole in his shirt.

  “In case you get hungry in the one minute I’ll be gone.” Logan left the cabin. It hurt for her not to understand him. Of course he expected it, but he’d hoped. Still, seeing her frustration, her annoyance, laced humor in with his disappointment. She really did think her way was best. Strange place this West. Too many guns, not enough respect for nature.

  Of course, he’d scoot his chair up to an elk steak as quick as anyone. Wise Sister had brought down at least one elk since he’d arrived in the spring with her trusty bow.

  She didn’t like guns, he’d learned. She could do whatever needed doing with her swift, silent arrows. How far had Wise Sister hiked to get that elk? How far had she hauled it? How had she lifted the carcass to cut it, bleed it, and butcher it? He’d never asked. He’d just picked up his fork and enjoyed.

  He went into Wise Sister’s cabin and picked up a chair. Wise Sister had one, Logan had three, all four built by Babineau.

  Everything was built by Babineau or Wise Sister. Everything in this cabin, keepsakes and bits of beauty, had been collected or created over a lifetime in these mountains. Logan saw his picture amidst Wise Sister’s things. As always, he was deeply honored he’d rated a few square feet of her precious space.

  She did like him and she even respected him. But he wasn’t taking on his fair share of the weight of living in the West. He’d definitely change that and start doing what he could to ease Wise Sister’s workload.

  As he exited the cabin, he paused to study that small herd of elk. It might be conceit but he thought he recognized them. Of course the bull—there was only one of them—but even the two dozen or so cows and their spring babies each had a personality. The yearlings were sprouting modest racks of antlers. One adult bull, still a youngster, snorted at that old king on occasion, but he always backed down.

  Logan loved trying to sketch that tension and the power in their little skirmishes. Logan was sure it was the same herd as last year.

  Reasonably sure.

  He’d already sketched the bull elk that stood so proudly on an overlook—on guard, remote, proud. The big animal was well gone on this year’s magnificent rack of antlers. By autumn they’d be spectacular. He’d stand up there with his chest thrust out, his head held high, protecting his family.

  Logan thought of wounded Sally and could understand just how the bull felt. But he couldn’t imagine shooting at them. In Sally’s mind that probably made him a no-account weakling.

  He thought of that kiss they’d shared and wanted another. But it wasn’t a wise thing to do, kissing a woman who called him stupid with nearly every breath. Even if she didn’t say it out loud.

  Logan wasn’t incompetent. And he could shoot an elk if he had to. He wouldn’t starve for his art. He’d gotten used to the wild country. And he wasn’t as good slipping around as Wise Sister, but he’d learned to move quietly, without drawing attention to himself, so he could ease up on some shy critter. He didn’t mind hiking, and he was comfortable sleeping on the ground in a bedroll. He’d taken to the Western land well, learned his way with a gun and a campfire and a rugged trail. He wasn’t afraid to sleep outside.

  He and Babineau had spent most of the first summer camping in Yellowstone. When he’d returned in the spring, he’d met Babineau and gone into Yellowstone again, but only for a few weeks. Then they’d come here for the rest of the season. And Logan had found he had his own elk herd and persuaded Wise Sister not to use it as a food supply.

  Logan grinned when he thought of that confrontation, translated by Babineau. Wise Sister had chalked him up as a complete fool. Logan tried to explain that a man couldn’t always find an elk to draw when he wanted one. It made no sense to scare off a handy herd.

  Even then, when she’d thought he had no common sense, she’d liked his paintings. He’d painted the portrait of her and Pierre, and she’d given it a place of honor. And best of all, she’d agreed, grudgingly, to hike away from the cabin to hunt for food.

  Logan needed to keep Sally disarmed until she saw the light. Logan looked at the elk and the elk seemed to look back and even, maybe, be thankful that Logan was willing to annoy the woman he found so fascinating.

  “You’re welcome.” Logan gave his four-legged friend a nod of understanding and thought the elk got it, however fanciful that notion. “You should be flattered, old boy.”

  T
he elk lowered his head as if to threaten Logan and ask why.

  “Because she’s really cute.”

  Ten

  Luther jerked back on his reins so hard his mount reared and snorted. “That’s Sally’s horse.”

  Kicking his chestnut gelding forward, he galloped toward the carcass of a dead horse. He swung down, crouched low to see the McClellen brand. Even with the rain, Luther could see what else had happened here.

  Death.

  Luther looked at the steep rock wall that lined the trail and saw, in a few spots sheltered from the rain. “Blood. Lots of it.”

  His eyes met Buff’s and they both knew without speaking. Too much of it.

  Luther’s jaw got so tight he couldn’t force words through. He and Buff went over the trail carefully until it had given up all its secrets. They found spent shells where someone had shot from cover and left one of their own behind, not even bothering to bury him. Then they looked over the cliff.

  “If she went over this she’s dead,” Luther said, not because it helped to talk but because saying it out loud was almost necessary, to force the possibility into his brain that he could have lost one of his precious girls.

  “Let’s go.” Buff swung up on his horse and headed down with no further words.

  It was a long, long way down the trail. Then they had to wind through a land so rugged it was almost impossible to get to the bottom of that cliff.

  It was a day’s work studying the carnage at the bottom of the trail. They didn’t know how many people had traveled with Sally, but they found enough death down there to account for a good-sized group. The one thing they didn’t find was any trace of Sally.

  Luther knew it wasn’t reasonable to hope Sally had lived through that turkey shoot up on the trail, or lived through falling over a cliff. But she wasn’t here and that meant she was somewhere else. He couldn’t stop himself from hoping.

  About nightfall, they found where a horse had been tethered; and in a spot sheltered from the rain, they studied the sign.

  “Two riders. Same tracks of the coyotes who mowed down the colonel and his party. Leading extra horses. Horses they stole from Colonel McGarritt.” Luther’s gut burned hot. “Dry-gulchers.” Sally’s party had been hit hard. Luther had seen what had happened on that trail above. Sally, his little cowgirl, had to’ve been right in the middle of it.

  They hadn’t found her body. Nothing could tie these tracks to Sally, not well enough for a judge to find them guilty. But Luther knew what he knew. He could find the men who’d done her harm. Right now there were no tracks to follow, but Luther could make out which direction they headed, and the lay of the land made only one direction possible. Luther would find them. And when he did, he and Buff would get answers. “The colonel had friends. Won’t be just us who comes a-runnin’.”

  “Clay might head up, too. Not one to leave his little girl’s safety to someone else.” Buff grunted and chewed on a chunk of beef jerky as they mounted up.

  That sounded like hope to Luther. A little girl’s safety meant a little girl who was in danger, which meant a little girl who was still alive.

  “We’re heading into a mighty wild land.” Luther kicked his horse and went forward on the wet ground. The men they were tailing were heading for high ground.

  “Best get after Sally.” Buff was obviously impatient with Luther for his chitchatting.

  They rode on, through woodlands and shale slides, down ravines and along treacherous slopes. Spreading out, checking side trails, as the day wore down they finally picked up the hoof prints of the men who’d done the shooting. They followed as they lost the light and could see the men they were after meandering, like maybe they were searching for something.

  Searching for Sally.

  The tracks they followed turned and headed for a gap in the mountains. “Leave a marker for anyone coming after us.” Luther jerked a thumb at a small sheltered spot in the treacherous trail, just a few yards from a meandering creek.

  “Good spot to camp.” Buff swung down and Luther did the same.

  “I itch to keep going, but this land will break a horse’s leg easy as not.” Luther began gathering firewood as he wondered at the land around them.

  “Mind that itch. Could be more than frettin’ over our Sally.” Buff laid out the pile of stones for Clay. “Had a hankerin’ to see her again. Been too long.”

  “Didn’t like leavin’ Mandy with that no good husband of hers neither.” Luther built a fire small enough to fit in the crown of his Stetson. No sense tellin’ the outlaws where they were camping.

  “Money didn’t do that polecat no good.” Buff stripped the leather off his horse.

  Luther shook his head. “Had a chance I think, till he found that gold. Might’ve come around to being a decent man. Now he just needs someone lookin’ out for him all the time.” Luther stopped and turned to Buff. “I don’t feel right about huntin’ Sally and lettin’ Mandy stay home alone.”

  “Woman oughta be safe in her own home. And Mandy is a pure pleasure to watch with that rifle. Never knew no one who could best her—man, woman, nor child.” Buff smiled like a proud papa.

  Luther knew how he felt. They’d had a hand in raisin’ the McClellen girls and were happy with the way they’d shaped up. Women fit to tame a wild land.

  “Mandy needs us, no use denying it. But she can watch her back for a few days, especially with Sidney back home. He’s not gonna be able to beat anyone who braces him, face-to-face, but he’s hired hisself a pack of coyotes. None of ’em’ll come at Mandy directly, not while Sid’s around. We just gotta get back before he takes off for another one of his weeklong trips to town.”

  Luther took the coffeepot off his pack horse and turned to dip it in the stream they’d chosen to camp beside. “Look at that, Buff.”

  A huge grizzly lumbered out of the woods on the far side of the fast-moving water. Luther heard Buff’s gun cock a second after his own. The bear looked them over, woofed at them a few times, then kept coming over the broken land that sloped downward to the rushing creek. Two cubs frisked out of the forest behind her.

  “She’s never seen a man before, nor a gun.” Luther glanced at Buff, who’d come up beside him. “Doesn’t know to be afraid.”

  “How deep is that water?” Buff asked.

  “Hard to say. I hope she stays on her side.”

  They watched the massive bear and her rollicking babies drink long and deep. The animal acted like exactly what she was—the biggest, meanest animal for a thousand miles. She wasn’t afraid of anything. She’d never seen a man, never seen the damage a Winchester could do.

  Luther had just a few minutes to feel bad about encroaching on her kingdom, knowing flying lead would knock her off her throne in a heartbeat.

  She drank as the sun lowered, and finally, her thirst quenched, she turned and waddled back toward the thick growth of pine and aspen, her cubs wrestling and gamboling along behind her.

  “We’ll stay here and eat, but I think we’d better move away from the water to camp. If one mama grizzly drinks here, others, not quite so friendly, might.” Buff turned back to his fire while Luther filled his coffeepot.

  While they ate, a herd of elk came down to drink. A golden yellow cougar with four cubs came, too. And a couple of deer, a pair of wolves, and a lone moose, with a short growth of antlers. Other, smaller animals passed by, too, before Luther and Buff finished their quick meal and moved on to a better, less popular spot.

  “If our girls had only those animals to face they’d be just fine.” Luther spread out his bedroll and contemplated two-legged critters and how much more trouble they could be than the four-legged variety.

  He was worried sick, but he ended the day a lot better than he’d begun it, with the discovery of Sally’s dead horse.

  This morning he’d known she was dead. Tonight he had hope.

  If she’d somehow survived that fall, then she had a fighting chance of surviving until they could get to her. He’d help
ed raise those McClellen girls. He knew what they were made of. He figured they’d be fine if they were ready for trouble.

  Except maybe Sally wasn’t fine.

  That made him sick, and as he lay down, he wished a grizzly would charge him to give him something more pleasant to think about.

  Mandy didn’t normally speak to her husband if she could help it. That had been her policy for the last couple of years. But last night she’d finally figured out that it wasn’t a good strategy for a marriage.

  “There was someone outside last night.” Mandy put her fork on the dinner plate with a sharp click of metal on glass.

  With Sidney’s suspicious nature, who knew? He might actually decide they shouldn’t live all the way up on this stupid mountaintop. They were a long way from the law up here. A long, long, long way.

  “So you say. I didn’t hear anything.” Sidney shoveled a massive amount of food into his mouth three meals a day. Mandy noticed the blotches of grease at the corners of his mouth and had to force herself not to grimace. Sidney set his fragile coffee cup down on its fussy little plate. Sidney had insisted on buying the glass dishes.

  Mandy admitted they were pretty, but she missed the duller click of tin on wood. “Well, I did, and I trust my judgment a lot better than yours.” Those were fighting words, Mandy knew it, but it was fine with her. She and her husband were about two years overdue for a good fight.

  Sidney’s eyes narrowed. Mandy pushed her plate back, crossed her arms on the table, and leaned forward. They were on opposite ends, much like where’d they’d stood last night. Armed, working together on something for once.

  She did her best not to start yelling. That wasn’t going to help. Although she held the idea in reserve in the event she needed it later.