Sophie's Daughters Trilogy

by Mary Connealy

  “I can’t do it to Tom.”

  “You think he’ll come riding back in and say, ‘Forget the whole thing. You’re more trouble than you’re worth?’”

  Mandy had no such hope. “I’d decided to say yes, just because—selfish as it is—I want him.” Mandy’s eyes rose again to Abby’s. “I want him so badly. We met years ago, when I was married. Even then, sinful as it was, I wanted him, wished for him. I fought dreaming of him but failed too often. We never spoke of it, but I knew it was the same for him. That’s true weakness.”

  “Stay with your decision to say yes to my brother, Lady Gray. And let the Cooters come. We’ll all protect you. Besides, you’re already married to him.”

  “I am not!” Mandy thought of Tom out there chasing those back-shooting Cooters. She thought of the preacher, then of the preacher’s pretty wife cowering below the house with all the children. “So many people called upon to risk their lives, to fight and maybe die, all for me.”

  And all for gold, which was at the root of this. If Sidney hadn’t found gold, none of this would have happened. Mandy needed to get her hands on that gold. She’d use it to put such a high price on the head of every Cooter they’d have to leave her alone.

  Mandy turned back to her gun sight. She saw nothing, but she didn’t expect to. These were Cooters. They wouldn’t come straight at her. They’d play coyote. They’d shoot her from cover. And Tom and Abby. Anyone who got in their way.

  And if Tom won today, it would mean he’d killed a few Cooters. And the blood feud would expand to include him, married to her or not. He’d put a target on his own back.

  Mandy couldn’t let this happen. In one blinding instant, as if she’d broken from all her worries and guilt, she knew what she had to do. She’d declare her own feud. Her blood chilled as she thought of it.

  Dare she risk hunting for brutal men? To protect her children and the man she loved, could she choose a path that would separate her forever from God?

  Tears cut at her eyes. These she didn’t even worry about. If a woman deliberately chose a path of murder—deliberately turned from the most fundamental of all commandments—surely that was a decision that warranted a few tears.

  She’d always prayed, God, protect me. She wasn’t even sure when she’d picked up that habit. About the same time she’d realized just how deadly she could be with her rifle. And Mandy knew that the deepest desire of her heart, God’s protection, was for this moment. Protection from the decision that would set her on a path that led straight away from God. But it was the only way she could think of to protect her children and all these people she loved.

  God, protect those I love.

  But she didn’t say that prayer for herself. If she set out on this course she would no longer deserve such protection. Truth be told, she would no longer need it. With her rifle in hand, it was the rest of the world that needed protection from her.

  She raised the Winchester in front of her eyes, and it felt as if it were welded to her hand, burned into her soul. Her course would leave her forever marked as a killer.

  She already was one, but that killing had been forced on her. Now she would choose to kill.

  God would not protect such a woman, but it didn’t matter.

  “I’ll protect myself.”

  Nine

  Tom leaned low over his horse as he saw his purebred Angus bull disappear over a far rise, leading the rest of his herd.

  The animals flowed like black water. Two men pushed them.

  Tom knew even as his horse thundered up the trail after the beeves that this was a diversion. There were more Cooters, and even now they were closing in on his ranch house, coming for Mandy.

  He knew how strong the walls of his cabin were, how well laid out the Double L. No one could breach the walls. There was no good place for an outlaw to lie in wait.

  He’d only built it a couple of years ago. By then he’d lived out here long enough to have learned how to make his home safe. And he’d already pictured Mandy in his house, though he’d held out little hope that she’d ever really be there, what with her being a married woman and all.

  So, she was safe back there, and he’d picked right to leave her with Red, Wade, and Abby. But still, it ate at him. He wanted to be at her side. But the real way to make her safe was to round up these stinking, yellow-bellied Cooters and lock every one of them away. No matter if there were two of them or fifty.

  He urged every ounce of speed out of his stallion. The horse had put in days of hard work with precious little rest, and now Tom was asking more of the magnificent animal. The horse didn’t disappoint him, but the Black had to be worn down.

  The stampeding herd raced up a crest and were visible again. Tom saw the outlaws drive the cattle up a trail Tom knew all too well.

  Mark Reeves came alongside Tom on one of the Black’s offspring.

  Tom snapped at him, “The trail they took is the long way around. We can cut them off if we take that trail between the aspens.”

  Mark leaned low over his galloping horse’s neck, intent on keeping up with Tom. He yelled to be heard over the hoof beats. “I know the one.”

  The outlaws had just made a mistake that gave Tom the advantage. Except—

  “But a lot of my cattle will go off the cliff overhanging the river if they’re moving too fast. We’ve got to cut the herd off before they reach the narrows at the peak of that trail. Plenty of the cattle won’t survive that fall.”

  Rage went all the way to the bone as Tom pictured his beautiful Angus cattle plunging to their deaths. Tom would be starting his own feud if that happened. “We’ve got to stop them.” Tom turned and yelled at his twenty or so cowhands, all riding close behind him, fighting for his brand. “Half of you follow me.”

  He felt pride in the men who’d thrown in with the Linscott ranch. He liked a lot of them almost as much as he liked his black stallion. “We can cut through that low valley and come around. Mark, take half the men and go up after them. If we stop them in time, those yellowbellied Cooters will turn and try to run. That’ll bring them right at you. They’re cowards so they might surrender without a fight, but be ready in case they try and shoot their way through your line.”

  Tom hadn’t meant to put Mark in charge, but the kid was closest. It made sense to give him the order to pass on. Tom veered his stallion toward the lower but less visible trail tucked between the trees. He urged every drop of speed out of his powerful thoroughbred in a race against time to save his cattle, put a stop to the Cooters, and get back to his wedding.

  The aspens slapped Tom in the face as he dashed through the woods. The trail went straight toward the end of that high, climbing trail. The Cooters were going to be taken out of this fight before it ever started.

  Tom reached the point where the curving high trail met up with the low trail and turned to race upward. He finally heard the thundering hooves of his cattle. “We’ve got to stop them,” he yelled over his shoulder. “Turn them back.”

  Tom’s stallion blew from the fast ride and the steep climb. They had to get to the cattle and turn them back before the narrowest part of the trail, and it would be close. It made Tom sick to think of it, but he might have to kill a few of them in the lead to stop the rest.

  The men came up beside him on the trail, still wide enough to ride four abreast, and two more rows of nearly that many men rode behind Tom. The hill reached its peak ahead. On the right, a mountain soared overhead. On the left, it dropped off for a hundred yards to a fast-moving river. A man might survive such a fall, but it would be a chancy thing. If Tom’s herd plunged over that drop, many would die.

  They closed in on that crest. The sound of those pounding, runaway cattle, laced with an occasional wild bawl of fear, drew nearer.

  Tom glanced to the left and right and saw some of his best men. They might well die today, thanks to Tom’s determination to have Mandy Gray. He was well and truly married to her now, so there was no going back. This was the bronco he’
d saddled, and his drovers rode for the brand. Any one of them was free to turn around and ride away right now. It did his heart good to see their loyalty.

  They reached the crest. The cliff was only yards away. Dust kicked up by a hundred head of runaway cattle was visible ahead.

  Tom charged forward, and at last his herd came into view. He drew his gun, mindful that he’d sent men up behind the herd, and fired into the air, shouting, his cowhands firing and waving, creating as much racket as they could to halt the terrified Angus.

  Tom and his men raced ahead. The Angus came on. A few at the front twisted and skidded along, pushed by those behind. Reining back on his stallion, Tom watched the herd shove toward him, to trample him and his cowpokes. Tom reared his stallion up, hoping to make himself and his horse as big a barrier as possible. His men did the same, shouting, firing into the air. His big bull stumbled and went down. Cattle from behind him shoved on ahead, bawling.

  Looking at the crowd of slowing cattle, Tom saw his own men down the trail. Mark Reeves had gotten into the middle of the herd somehow and was turning the farthest cattle back around. A few were already trotting downhill. The pressing mill of animals slowed. The gap between Tom and the beeves narrowed.

  His bull reared up, still alive, but Tom knew he had to be injured. Then the old guy was lost in the dust.

  No sign of the rustlers who had started this. Tom holstered his revolver and pulled his hat off, waving it, hollering.

  Reeves got between more of the tightly packed animals and turned them aside. The bunch that would hit Tom and his men was smaller now, a few dozen head. But they were propelled forward, the front cattle unable to stop. Tom braced himself for the impact.

  In an instant he was swallowed up by the herd. The roiling dust blinded him. He felt a steer collide with his stallion, and the horse staggered but stayed on his feet.

  He could lose his most valuable animals today—his stallion and his bull. What a wedding present.

  Tom slapped his hat in the faces of the black, bawling critters who surrounded him and pushed him and his horse toward that cliff. Battling for each foot, Tom resisted being pushed back, wondering what was happening to the men behind him.

  Then, as suddenly as he’d been surrounded, all was still. Tom could barely make out where they were, and that death drop might be one wrong step only inches to the side. He held his horse in place.

  The cattle shoved, and he saw the big heads turning, mooing, packed too tightly against each other to move.

  Mark Reeves emerged from the haze. With a coiled lasso, he slapped at a single steer, turning him and heading the big brute down the hill. Tom’s Angus bull came into view in the middle of the herd, and Mark went for the big guy next. With soft, soothing noises meant to move the animals without startling them into another run, Mark hazed the bull until he turned and headed back the way he’d come.

  Tom breathed a sigh of relief knowing his bull had survived this mess. The bull moving broke the logjam of cattle, and they followed the bull. Tom saw the cattle walking placidly away. The big lugs looked exhausted from the stampede.

  The dust cleared enough that Tom could dare to move. His horse was so close to the edge, a chill of fear raced up Tom’s back. He quickly put space between himself and that ledge. A few cattle had gotten past Tom, but his drovers had turned them and sent them ambling after the rest of the herd.

  “What about the shooters?” Tom turned to Reeves. “Did you get ’em?”

  Mark shook his head. “We saw the trail they took. Once they got the herd running fast, they turned off and left them to stampede on their own. I watched close, we all did, but there was no likely spot for them to dry-gulch us.”

  “I reckon that’s the only reason they didn’t. This had to be set up to draw us away from the cabin. But once they all got inside, they’ll be safe. No one can breach my cabin.”

  “As long as they managed to get inside.” Mark’s eyes were sharp for such a young man.

  Tom nodded and said, “Let’s make tracks for home.”

  “They’re gone.” Red emerged from the back room, and Wade came downstairs. “I caught a glimpse of them riding away. Two men are all I saw.”

  “Two shooters.” Mandy checked the load on her rifle then felt in her pocket for bullets. “Where were they headed?”

  She strode toward Tom’s rifles, mounted on the wall beside the fireplace, and helped herself to a bandolier, dropping it over her head to cross her chest. She added a second and tucked two boxes of shells in the pockets of her gray dress.

  “I saw them running over the rise to the southwest. There’s some mighty wild country up there.”

  “Show me the trail they took.”

  “Let me get the young’uns out of the cellar first, Mrs. Linscott.” Red walked for the bearskin rug.

  Mandy caught his arm so hard he flinched. “The trail first, while it’s fresh in your mind.” Mandy directed her attention away from Red for a second. “Abby, you take care of the children.”

  Abby arched a brow as if no one gave her orders and lived.

  Mandy ignored her. “And I’m not Mrs. Linscott. My almost-husband ran off before you made the pronouncement. It doesn’t count.”

  “It counts,” Red said easily.

  “You’re sure we’re married?” Mandy thought of that for a long second and realized that now, if she died, someone else would be responsible for her children. If she could stop the Cooters—even if she died trying or even if she didn’t die but ended up in prison. She felt the heat of shame and wished for the comfort of her usual icy nerves. “Shouldn’t we have a marriage certificate of some kind?”

  Red produced a sheet of paper from his pocket. “I made it up before you and Tom rode into the yard. I’m signing it now in front of both of you.” He looked around the room and spotted an ink pot on a desk, with a pen beside it. He strode to the desk, dipped the pen, signed it, and then gave the certificate to Abby. “You sign just below.”

  Abby swiftly signed it, giving Mandy a defiant glance. “There. You’re my sister.”

  “You’re sure this is legal?” The man was a parson. Why would he lie about such a thing?

  “It’s legal.” Red showed not one speck of doubt. “He said, ‘I do.’ You said, ‘I do.’”

  Mandy had actually said, “I do need my rifle,” but this wasn’t the time to quibble.

  “That’s what matters.” Red thrust the paper and pen toward Mandy. “Sign.”

  “I’ll swear to that.” Abby reached down for the bearskin.

  Making her decision, Mandy grabbed the pen, dipped it again, and signed boldly. Then she dragged Red into the kitchen. “Which trail?”

  Red pointed.

  “Okay.” She stared hard, memorizing the way, checking landmarks so she could find whatever trail must be up there.

  “I’m going to go make sure my wife is all right. You might want to come and comfort your children.” The preacher-man sounded like he was chastising her.

  Mandy controlled the urge to give him a butt stroke across the back of his head. That said more about her current state of mind than whether he was an annoying man. Instead of slugging him, she handed him back her marriage license.

  Red seemed to sense her violent attitude. He gave a little shake of his head, rolled his eyes heavenward, and then left the room.

  Which suited Mandy just fine. She sure hoped Abby got her meaning when she told the woman to take care of the children. She was now legally their aunt.

  Mandy jerked the door open and within minutes was on horseback, riding one of the beautiful offspring of Tom’s stallion, rushing after those mangy varmint Cooters. She’d end this by killing every mother’s son of them or dying in the attempt.

  Either way it would be over.

  If Red said she was married, and Abby said she was married, and Mandy had signed the paper swearing she’d made her vows, then that was that. Tom was her children’s father. Tom was free to raise her children, should she not su
rvive this madness.

  Her Winchester hung heavily on her back. The weight of the bullets threatened to drag her to the ground. In the end she was afraid today’s choices and this load of deadly ammunition would drag her right down into Hades. But it was the price she’d decided to pay to protect the people she loved.

  God, protect me.

  That old prayer came to her, but Mandy shook her head and spoke aloud to the sky. “I don’t mean it, God. I don’t deserve Your protection on this path of killing I’m on. But protect my children, Lord. And my husband. Reckon I took my vows before You and meant every word. But when he finds out what I’ve done, he may just tell Red to rip up that paper and forget the whole thing.”

  At a ground-eating gallop, she aimed her horse for that trail Red had pointed out. While she rode, she wondered if a woman could be hanged for stealing a horse from her own husband.

  Ten

  She stole my horse?” Tom’s voice rose to such a high pitch it hurt his ears.

  “I don’t think a woman can rightly steal a horse from her own husband.” Red shrugged.

  “And now you can’t find her?” Tom clenched his fists and stormed straight toward Red and the worthless man Abby had married.

  “I think she took out after the men who were shooting at us.” Wade stepped in front of Red. It was his brother-in-law’s way to draw a fist to his own face to protect someone else. He might even have thoughts of Tom’s soul, not wanting Tom to slug a parson.

  “She can’t have gone far.” Red came up to Wade’s side. Calm, strong, wise, a hard man to thrash for a lot of reasons, confound it. “We just realized she was gone a few minutes ago.”

  “She took enough bullets with her to start a war,” Abby added.

  The whole lot of them had realized Mandy was gone and gathered outside by the time Tom came riding into the ranch yard.

  “She left her children behind?” Tom couldn’t believe a woman would do such a thing.

  “I reckon they’re your children now, too, Tom.” Red lifted his shoulders as he stated the obvious. “Just like your horse is hers.”