Sophie's Daughters Trilogy

by Mary Connealy

  “So we’re married for sure?” Later, Tom intended to beat the tar out of both Red and Wade for losing Mandy. But right now he had a missing wife to track down.

  “You oughtta sign it, too.” Red handed Tom a piece of paper with a neatly written record of the marriage, signed by Red, Abby, and Mandy, all three. “But even if you don’t, you’re still married.”

  Red said that as if he expected Tom to argue, but being married to Mandy, the little horse thief, suited him right down to the ground. Tom grabbed the paper. Red produced a pen and a bottle of ink. Tom scrawled his name and thrust pen and paper toward Red.

  “It’s yours.” Red refused to take it.

  Tom folded it roughly and jammed it into one pocket.

  “Abby, tell me what went on around here. Sawyer, pack me some grub.”

  Abby talked while Tom led his stallion to the barn.

  When his sister paused to take a breath, Tom jerked his chin at the stallion. “Will you take care of him? Everyone else on this ranch is scared to get near him.”

  Abby agreed and kept talking, letting him know all that had unfolded. She made a point of talking about the way Mandy handled her rifle. Tom had heard a similar story years ago from Belle Harden, who had met Mandy when she was a new bride.

  He’d asked too much of the black. He strode toward the corral where Tom’s second favorite horse was held. The most perfect colt to ever come out of his stallion, and that was saying something because his stallion bred true.

  Tom stumbled to a halt when he reached the corral. A dozen horses grazed in the pen, none of them the one he wanted. “She stole my best horse?” Though it was no time for such a thing, Tom laughed. He had married himself one beauty of a woman.

  “Borrowed, Tom. Not stole.” Red had tagged along to the corral.

  Tom remembered well his plan to beat Red within an inch of his life. Right now time was too tight. “Which way did she go?”

  Red pointed to a trail in the distance Tom could only see because he knew his land so well. “She asked me where I saw the men riding, the ones who shot up your house.”

  “And you told her?” Tom wheeled to face Red head on. Maybe he’d take the time for that beating after all. “Why would you do a stupid thing like that?”

  Red shoved his face right up into Tom’s, which reminded Tom that Red wasn’t just a sky pilot—he was also a rancher who’d come out here and tamed a mighty mean stretch of land. “I told her because it never occurred to me that a woman would abandon three children and a man she’d just married to go hunting a pack of killers. What kind of woman did you marry anyway? She’s acting crazy.”

  Tom shrugged. He couldn’t really argue Red’s point, though arguing came real easy. “I married me the sharpest shooting woman in the West, I reckon.”

  “That you did, Tom. I saw her in action.” Abby bridled Tom’s second choice for a horse while he saddled.

  “I saw her, too.” Red shook his head in wonder. “I’ve never seen anyone shoot like that. Why do you want a woman who appears to have a taste for killing? What are you thinking to pick a woman like that?”

  Tom looked past Red and saw Red’s wife, sweet little Cassie Dawson, quietly tending all six children, both the Dawsons’ and Mandy’s—

  Tom caught that thought. They were his children now, too. He liked the sound of that.

  Tom’s temper would have crushed Cassie like a bug the first week of their marriage. Shrugging, Tom felt a little sheepish, but this was a man of God. It’d be wrong to lie. “Honest, Red, that’s what I like most about her.”

  Tom got a notion that would make things safer for his children and threw a few orders at Abby.

  “Good idea. I’ll do it.” Abby would obey him because it was a good idea, and for no other reason. The woman didn’t submit to a man worth spit.

  He grabbed the bag of grub from that jelly-spined Wade Sawyer—the perfect man for Tom’s sister—then he set his horse to galloping before he left the ranch yard. He was in a hurry to drag his gun-slinging wife back home and get started on his honeymoon.

  Mandy caught up to them at sunset. She could read sign like the written word. She’d seen where the two men shooting at Tom’s ranch house had met up with two others. Now she was almost within shooting range of four Cooters, and she intended to leave them all dead in the dirt before she slept tonight.

  The sin of what she planned rattled at her like a longhorn bull dodging a branding iron.

  She ignored her conscience. Ignored a lifetime of teaching. Ignored the hurt she’d cause her parents and sisters and children. She couldn’t tackle four armed men head-on. So she’d unload her gun into their mangy hides as they sat around their campfire. She’d dry-gulch them and keep firing until they were all dead or she was.

  Then she’d sit back and wait for the next Cooters to come, and the next. She’d left honor and her children and any claim to decency behind when she’d set out on this path. And she knew it.

  She edged her way up the dirt, on the ground above where they were settling in for the night. An inch at a time. She wanted no motion to draw the Cooters’ attentions, no sound to stir their suspicions.

  She heard the crackle of a campfire and knew the lazy coyotes were settling in for the night. They hadn’t run as far as she’d expected when she’d seen the far trail they were on. Of course they hadn’t. Because, though today’s attack had failed, they’d now begin their planning for the next one, and the next.

  It was why they had to die.

  She had only another inch to go and they’d be visible. Then with equal slowness, she’d aim her trusty rifle. Four shots. A hot hunger in her gut had her hoping she could kill them in four shots. It was evil, the greed to kill.

  It was the path she’d chosen, but still, the pleasure that came with her willingness to kill surprised her. Good and evil weren’t far apart in a woman’s soul.

  She smelled their fire, clean and crisp from dry wood and leaves. Not like the sulfuric fires where she’d spend eternity.

  Her mouth watered as her hand tightened on the trigger. The one thing she hadn’t been able to summon was the cold. For some reason it eluded her. And killing the Cooters flooded her with heat straight from the heart of the devil.

  “I’m done waiting, Sophie.” Clay felt his spine crawling for some reason he couldn’t imagine. But he’d felt it a few times before and he trusted it.

  His wife looked at him, and their gazes locked. She knew exactly what he meant. “Why now?”

  Shaking his head, Clay couldn’t explain it, but then Sophie was pretty good at figuring his thoughts, so he usually didn’t need to. “It’s riding me, and I’m not going to sit quiet anymore.”

  “She’s a grown-up woman, Clay. She made her wishes known, and we should respect them.”

  Clay didn’t think even his stubborn wife sounded quite as sure as usual. They’d had this fight a dozen times. He wanted to get to Montana and fetch his daughter home, and he was going to do it. If he had to fight off some mob of men to get to her, so be it. If he had to fight Mandy, so be it.

  The boys were sitting quietly at their studies. Smart sons, good ones. Clay took a hard minute to realize he was riding into danger and might well not come back. But to sit here safe while his daughter was in trouble went against every bit of his grain.

  “I’ll go along, Pa.” The most talkative of the twins, Cliff, spoke up. He’d be of some help. His boys were tough and savvy, no denying it. But he wasn’t going to put them in danger.

  Although from Mandy’s letters, the very few there had been, Clay knew getting involved in this stupid feud could draw those Cooters down on his whole family.

  “Nope, your ma needs you here.” His eyes went to Laura. She was grown up enough that she’d be the next daughter he had that would come dragging some idiot husband home. A half crazy doctor for Beth, a painter of all things for his rough and tough Sally, and for Mandy, that worthless Sidney Gray.

  Alex Buchanan had gathered his
wits and ended up being a solid husband for Beth. Sally’s husband, Logan McKenzie, was not what Clay would have picked. Clay’s eyes went to a huge painting on the living room wall of a spectacular mountain scene that reminded Clay of his childhood in the Rockies. Truth was Logan adored Sally, and the nomadic life they lived seemed to suit them. They came through the area and stayed for a month about twice a year. There was a baby on the way now, and Logan had promised to settle somewhere once there was a family to think of. Clay believed him.

  Sidney Gray. There was no explaining that. Although to be fair, he’d seemed like the most solid and sensible of the three men when Mandy had picked him. Of course Clay had loathed him, but that was the normal state when a man came bothering one of his girls. A lawyer, solid, educated, prosperous. It had all been lies. At least the lunatic doctor and rootless painter had been honest.

  Clay vowed there and then to just shoot any man who got near Laura and be done with it.

  “You need someone to ride with you, Clay.” Sophie had that look in her eyes, the one that said she was about to take the bit in her teeth.

  “I’ll send a wire to Luther and tell him to meet me. I’ll need someone to guide me to that mountaintop where Mandy lives anyway. Maybe Buff will come, too. I’ll ride careful, check with the law when I’m in the area.” Clay held Sophie’s gaze.

  After far too long, she jerked her chin. “Fine. I have the feeling it’s time for us to go, too.”

  “No, not us. Me. First light. I need to go talk to the men.”

  “I’m going, Clay.” He heard her muttering, “Help me, Lord. Help me, help me, help me,” as she turned to begin packing a sack of food.

  When his Sophie started praying that prayer, there was no stopping her. So Clay didn’t try.

  “Boys, come on along so you’ll know what’s going on.” Clay plucked his Stetson off a peg by the door and went out, his sons, sturdy boots clomping on the porch, falling in behind him.

  He wondered how he’d go about running off the women when they came hunting his sons. How did that even work?

  Sally threw off the covers of her bedroll with a quiet growl of frustration and reached for her broadcloth pants.

  In the dim light of morning, she saw Logan’s eyes flicker open as she dressed.

  When he focused on her, his brows rose nearly to his hairline. “You haven’t worn those in a while.” He sounded scared.

  She would have grinned if worry wasn’t eating at her. “I’ve got to go see Mandy.” One moment of indecision had her running her hand over her slightly rounded stomach. She had a baby to think of now. Her hand drifted upward to the bit of ribbon on her chemise, then she turned to drag her favorite cowpoke shirt over her head.

  God, have mercy. On my sister, on my child, on me.

  “It’s dangerous.” Logan got up and began dressing. He knew her very well. Protest all day long, but he knew how this had been riding her, and he knew she’d just snapped. “You know I want Mandy to be safe, but we can’t just go diving into the middle of a feud with—” Logan gestured at her belly.

  “I want this baby to be safe more than I care about my own life.” Sally slung her rifle across her back even before she put her boots on and felt a fraction safer. She still wore it all the time, but honestly, life was pretty safe with Logan. Painters just didn’t draw trouble, thank the good Lord.

  “I’ve hung back and stayed away as long as I can.” She continued to dress. “But I can’t do that anymore.”

  She’d enjoyed the summers in Yellowstone after splitting the winters between New York City and Mosqueros, Texas. Logan had produced some of his most beautiful work. As summer drifted past and Sally’s belly got round, Logan kept finding new wonders. Sally could be content with this life forever. Their children would have to learn to live a rugged life and travel back and forth across the country, but with Logan, Sally had found that to be fun.

  “Your ma said we should respect Mandy’s wishes.” Logan was dressing as quickly as Sally. “She’s an adult woman, and she asked us to let her be. Told us she was handling her own problems and had no wish to bring them raining down on the rest of us.”

  Sally cooked and hunted and saw to a shelter, and lately she’d done it all wearing a dress, or a split skirt if she was riding. She’d found she preferred it to pants. Discovering just how much being feminine appealed to her was embarrassing, but with Logan she felt safe admitting she liked pretty things. In fact, she felt wonderful admitting it.

  She’d found Logan had a talent for hunting and was better at Western life than she’d first thought, so he helped with the running of the house, especially since they’d found there was a baby on the way. But mostly, he painted. Sally looked at his work stacked against the flimsy walls of their tent. She respected it as much as she respected her pa riding herd.

  As she finished dressing, she knew a riding skirt had no place in what lay ahead of her. “I’m going to talk to Wise Sister and Buff. See if they’ll ride along.” Sally jammed her foot into her boot and stomped it on the ground to get her heel inside.

  The boots thudded as she took two long strides before Logan caught her arm.

  She turned to him, glaring. It was hard because she loved him with all her heart.

  “We’re going.”

  “No, you stay here. You’ve only got a few more weeks before the snows close up Yellowstone. This is your only chance to catch the leaves turning color and the elks with full racks of antlers. And I heard you talking about that big geyser almost due to blow. If you ride with me, you’ll miss it.”

  “And if I don’t come along, I’ll miss you.”

  “Logan, no.”

  He rested his beautiful, graceful, brilliant hands on her slightly rounded stomach.

  Sally had fully planned to stay in Yellowstone as long as possible. Then they’d ride the train to Texas, Beth would deliver her baby around Christmas time, and then they’d head toward New York to see Logan’s parents and brothers and introduce the McKenzies to their newest grandchild before heading back west for another summer of painting.

  Sally adored her in-laws, especially when she saw that, though they were just as baffled by Logan’s strange inclination to paint as she was, they accepted it and respected his talent. Though they were city people, at heart they were more like her than they were like Logan. A fact that bonded her tight to them.

  “Sally, yes. I’m going.” He raised one of those talented hands to rest it on her chest and caress her concealed pink ribbon, the feminine bit of fussiness that he understood better than anyone. “I’m not letting my increasing wife ride into a gunfight while I stay safely behind painting pictures. Either I go or you stay.”

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “Then it’s settled.”

  Scowling, Sally said, “I’ll go saddle the horses.”

  “I’ll ask the man running the park to ship my paintings home. We’ll ride out of here, but then we’re taking the train. It’s a long, rugged ride to your sister’s home. We’re going to be careful. I won’t let you exhaust yourself or harm our baby.”

  “My ma rode horseback right up to the day her babies were born. A long hard horse ride won’t hurt me.”

  “Please …” Logan’s arm snaked around her waist.

  The usual weak-willed agreeableness that flared up whenever she found herself in conflict with her husband took over. “I think there’s a shorter way if we ride horseback. Remember how we had to go way north of Mandy’s on the train the last time we went there, then ride a long way south to see her? I think if we skip the train we can cut a couple of days off the trip. But I promise I won’t ride recklessly.”

  Logan kissed her soundly. “You are such a good, obedient little wife.”

  The confounded man knew she hated it when he talked to her like that. He grinned as if daring her to blow up.

  Since she was getting her way about the trip, she didn’t get too mad at him. But the mad was there, simmering.

  He kissed h
er again as if to dare her to let her temper go, as if he liked it.

  Her annoyance turned into something else, something warm and passionate. Throwing her arms around his neck, she kissed him until she almost forgot what she was about. When she let go, she was satisfied to see the friendly look in his eyes. “Finish getting dressed while I saddle our horses.”

  “Yes sir, ma’am.” He sounded like an obedient soldier. Then she heard him laugh as she shoved back the tent flap and stormed away.

  Mandy was good in the woods. Not as good as Beth, her little sister, but almighty good. She could sneak up on anyone, and no one would ever take her by surprise.

  The next inch would give her the first view of the Cooters. Her hands tightened on her rifle. She could do this. She had to.

  Something stopped her, something inside. She fought it. To let these men go was stupid. This was her chance.

  Don’t do it.

  Was that her conscience speaking to her? Or her cowardice?

  She had to do this, or they’d be right back. Her children could have died today. She felt those bullets so close to her, so close to everyone, all running because of her. Some of Tom’s cowhands already had died.

  Do it.

  Her heart was beating, her blood running hot through her veins. The cold she felt when she was going into action needed to come. She paused, rubbed that callus on her trigger finger as if it were a genie in a magic lamp and she could get the icy calm to come out if she just rubbed enough.

  She wondered if she could shoot without it. Even hunting for game, she’d always felt that chill. But she’d never had time to think before, just react. Leastways not think about shooting a man. She’d never consciously tried to bring that cold.

  Don’t do it.

  I have to. I have no choice.

  Do it.

  Was that wisdom and courage emerging? Or was the devil on her shoulder luring her into sin? It didn’t matter. She knew this was sin. And she had to do it anyway and live with the consequences. She gathered her muscles to rise up, come out of hiding, and fire. She’d do it.