Sophie's Daughters Trilogy

by Mary Connealy

  Mandy had her rifle aimed and pointed, her finger on the hair-trigger, before she’d seen who it was. A dozen grim, black-eyed Flathead warriors, half armed with steadily aimed guns, the rest with tomahawks and knives. All primed for trouble.

  Ice cold all the way to her soul, she eased her hand slowly, carefully away from the Winchester.

  God, protect me. Protect Tom.

  Mandy risked a glance at Tom. He was raising his hands in a slow, steady way so as to not startle anyone.

  The warrior in the center spoke something Mandy couldn’t begin to understand.

  Tom said some guttural words that were similar in tone to the words she’d learned trying to communicate with the Shoshone who lived around her home. None of those tones shaped themselves to being a word Mandy could recognize.

  The warrior pointed his rifle at the saddlebags that had fallen at Mandy’s feet.

  Tom moved so slow he’d’ve lost a race with molasses in a blizzard, crouching, an inch at a time, to fetch the saddlebags.

  “No!” Mandy couldn’t lose that gold.

  Every brave raised a weapon. They aimed evenly between her and Tom as if they’d planned well beforehand, given out the responsibility of who to take aim at.

  Had they been watching them ever since they’d ridden into the valley? Or ever since they’d entered their hunting grounds outside this mountain canyon? After a year living surrounded by those sharp-eyed Shoshone, Mandy was ashamed of herself for underestimating any native folks.

  “No help for it, Mandy girl. I’ve got to let them have it.”

  A thousand words crowded to get out of Mandy’s mouth; any one of them could get Tom killed. And that was just why she’d resisted marrying him.

  “If we make them real happy, they might let us out of here with our hair.”

  Her throat had gone bone dry, which helped her keep quiet.

  Tom eased forward, the saddlebags dangling from his fingertips.

  Giving it all away. All her hopes. In that second of crushing despair, Mandy knew she was a fool to put her hopes on gold, just as Sidney had been.

  When had that started? She’d gotten Sidney’s map and recognized the markings as from the sky. But the sky didn’t make sense.

  She’d watched the sky and dreamed of finding her way to that gold. But she’d also learned a lot about how beautiful the sky was, how powerful God was to create it all. She’d learned humility as she thought of the One who’d set it in motion and made such a beautiful world work.

  She’d learned from her watching and from what she’d read in Sidney’s books that the stars changed through the night and through the year. She’d hoped that the day would come when her map made sense and she might find her way to the gold and safety. But that hope had been vague as long as the sky didn’t fit the map and there was no way out of her prison.

  The Flathead brave nearest to Tom moved forward just as slowly as Tom until he reached the saddlebag and lifted it away. The brave fell back quickly, focusing on the bag. The rest of the tribe kept their attention strictly on Tom and Mandy.

  Mandy was frigid inside, her senses registering every sound and smell and movement. She rubbed the little callus on her finger and knew, with cold, hard logic, that she couldn’t win with all these guns. She was glad she had no possible chance of going for her rifle. She and Tom were the intruders here. To open fire on these men, who were just guarding their home, would be an awful thing to live with. Even knowing that, Mandy felt that cold, that sleet where her blood should be flowing in her veins.

  She wondered, in the detached way of her chilled heart, if she saw an opening, a chance, would she grab her rifle and open fire? She hated knowing it might be beyond her control.

  The warrior holding the saddlebag backed until he was at the brink of the stream cut by the gushing spring. He took his knife, so sharp it gleamed in the early morning light, and slashed through the leather thong that held it closed. He flipped open the saddlebag and pulled the mouth of it wide. Leaning down the man grunted, a sound of confusion.

  Mandy had expected a gasp of pleasure at the sight of all that gold. But maybe Indians were too sensible to care about a golden rock.

  A few harsh-sounding words drew two more warriors away from Mandy and Tom. Mandy glanced at Tom to see if he was considering that now, at about nine to two, this was a fight he’d buy into. A hard single shake of his head told her not to go for her rifle. Her fingers itched. Her blood ran cold, but she knew he was right, and she held off.

  Suddenly the three men studying the contents of the saddlebag laughed, and the one who was the leader lifted the bag high in the air.

  The gold, they’d realized what it was. They’d realized how their lives could be changed with this wealth. Mandy felt sick to think of how close she’d come to possessing it. And what a fool she’d been to think money could solve her problems.

  A quick, guttural statement by the Flathead leader brought a smile to the face of nearly every man there. Then the man stretched his lifted hand to the side and stretched his arm wide until he held the bag over the fast-moving stream. And he poured.

  “No!” Mandy jumped.

  Tom grabbed her around the waist as she saw … dirt.

  Dirt and stone and nothing else poured out and splashed and was swept away.

  “Where’s the gold?” She couldn’t tear her eyes away, willing it to turn gold.

  The drab gray and brown poured, dropping into the water.

  Mandy held her breath, waiting, waiting, waiting for that moment when the stones and dirt would sparkle, when whatever was on top of the gold finished falling out and the gold coins followed, lost forever in that deep, rushing water.

  The gold never came. The dirt and rocks quit pouring. The bag was empty.

  “Nothing.” Tom was behind her, his arm clamped around her waist. It wasn’t lost on Mandy that the way he held her pinned her rifle to her back. She couldn’t get it into action. She knew Tom well. His grip was no accident.

  The leader finally tossed the now flat leather bag aside and turned to Mandy and Tom. Somehow Tom moved so he tucked Mandy behind him. She noticed he’d left her the rifle.

  Harsh, cutting words came from Tom. They were returned at about double the speed by the warrior. Back and forth the two men talked. Tension built. The other Flathead men kept their black, angry eyes on Tom. Their tomahawks and knives and guns at the ready.

  The cold grew and spread in Mandy’s body, swallowing up her limbs, her heart, the breath in her lungs. She wondered if the cold was of the devil and would soon swallow up her soul.

  Suddenly the warriors lowered their weapons. A few more harsh words were traded between Tom and their leader. Then Tom reached his hand back, as if to corral Mandy, and began easing up the hill, the way they’d come.

  “Tom, what—”

  “Quiet,” he cut her off. “Move.”

  Mandy shut her mouth and moved.

  One step at a time. The Flatheads no longer had their weapons aimed, but neither did they take their eyes off their white visitors.

  “Go ahead of me.” Tom’s voice was low, barely audible to Mandy. “Climb. Hurry.”

  Mandy had to quit staring at the men to watch where she was going. She began climbing in earnest. Faster, running away from danger. Leaving behind her dream of safety bought with gold.

  She crested the steep edge of the mountain valley, and as she topped it and began descending she took one long second look back and saw what remained.

  Nothing. The warriors had vanished as if they’d never been. All that was left was the spent, flattened saddlebag with the odd, ancient crest. “Sidney’s gold. Where is it?”

  “It’s gone, Mandy girl.”

  “Gone where? We have to find it!”

  “No, not gone, like it’s been moved. Gone, like spent.”

  “Spent by who?”

  “By your husband. I did my best to talk with those men, and they say no one’s been in here since they took over t
his valley. They’re sure of it. They know their land well. That means Sidney hasn’t been in here for the gold in years. He may have come the first few years to get a bit more when he needed it, but building that house must have taken it all.”

  Mandy thought of her mansion. She could imagine that it had drained a Spanish treasure chest to construct it.

  They hurried, dropping lower and lower in the full morning light now that they were on the east side of the canyon. Their feet skidded on the stony ground, kicking up dust that permeated the cool morning air.

  “Then why leave the map?” Mandy glanced behind her, able to stand mostly upright as they reached slightly more level ground.

  “Maybe he never intended you to find it. Maybe he made that map strictly for himself.” They had only a few dozen yards to go to reach the tree line and their horses, and then ride like the wind to put space between themselves and those Flatheads.

  “But we decided he deliberately marked the map to confuse me.” Mandy wanted to get her hands on Sidney and shake him until he wasn’t worthless.

  “It made sense if he left that map for you.” The land became smoother. They rushed for the trees. Tom’s hand rested on the small of her back. “But I think he must’ve drawn it earlier. He’d have wanted to be very careful not to lose track of it.”

  “But why draw it so it led out of the valley to the east when he came in from the west?” Mandy could almost feel those Flatheads back there, changing their minds, getting worked up and deciding they should never have let people intrude on their land without paying a price.

  “Just being sneaky I reckon.” They reached the tree line, the first scrubby pines that barely reached waist high.

  “He drew the map so he could understand it and no one else.” Mandy brushed hard against one stumpy tree as she rushed past. It scratched her hand and filled the air with the scent of pine.

  “Makes sense. Anyone might find a streak of weasel in his soul if he’d found a treasure trove. You wouldn’t want anyone finding it.”

  “Including me?” Mandy asked bitterly. The trees grew taller, head high. Mandy could almost breathe again.

  “I doubt he created that map intending to cause trouble for you. I doubt he intended to die.” Tom steered Mandy with his pressuring hand and guided them straight to where they’d tied their horses, hours ago in the pitch dark.

  Mandy thought with cold satisfaction that if Sidney had tied those horses there, he’d have never found them again, the big dope. The big gold-wasting dope.

  Mandy unlashed her horse from the scrub pine where it had been quietly grazing. She looked over the back of the magnificent black, into the eyes of her magnificent husband. He caught the pommel to swing himself up, but his eyes met hers, and he stopped. Between them something stretched, as if he’d lassoed her and now stood, a tough cowpony that had her completely bound to him.

  A smile crept across her face as she thought of it.

  “What? Something funny happen in that valley? You lost your gold. You lost your chance of buying your way out of Cooter trouble. You almost lost your scalp.”

  “It’s not funny, but it does occur to me that I found something in there, too.” Mandy wanted to be away from here, but she didn’t know where to go. Back to Tom’s? To Belle Harden’s to get her children and bring them into the path of danger? Where in the world could she find safety?

  “Nope, all you did was lose.”

  Shaking her head, Mandy quietly said, “I found you, Tom.”

  “I wasn’t lost.”

  “I found a man who stood between me and danger.”

  “I’ve done that before a couple of times.”

  “A man who’s going to stick even though there’s no gold.”

  “Gettin’ that gold was always a hare-brained idea.”

  Mandy’s smile stretched. “I found a man I can respect. A man to ride the river with.”

  Tom’s disgruntled eyes softened, warmed, heated.

  “A man to love.”

  “You’re just figuring out now that you love me?” Tom shook his head in disgust. “I knew that five years ago.”

  “So did I, but it wasn’t something I could admit, or even let myself think.”

  “Nothin’ stopping you now.”

  “Not a single thing.”

  If Tom would have moved, Mandy would have gone to him and let him wrap her in his arms. But a big part of why she loved him was that he had too much sense to take time for kissing and hugging when they were within spitting distance of a tribe of irritated Flatheads.

  Tom swung up on his horse instead of rounding it to drag her into his arms. That made her love him even more. “Let’s go home, wife.”

  “Home or to get the children?”

  Tom picked up his reins, then frowned and turned to her as Mandy mounted up. The gaze between them held. Mandy knew he was thinking, just as she was, weighing the danger.

  Finally, reluctantly, he said, “I think we need to get them and bring them home.”

  “The Cooters will keep coming. “But Mandy was in agreement. They needed to start as they meant to go on. She was sick of hiding.

  “And you need to trust me to protect you.”

  “You’ve seen me shoot, Tom. You know I’m not used to relying on anyone to protect me.”

  “My delicate lady wife don’t need much help, and that’s a fact.” A smile bloomed on Tom’s face. “But I’ll see if I can make myself of some use.”

  “I ‘spect you’ll be right handy to have around.” Mandy smiled back.

  “For now, I reckon we’ve thinned ’em out and backed ’em up a few steps. Maybe we can have a few good days before they show up.”

  Nodding, Mandy said, “Then let’s get the children and go home.”

  Twenty

  I’ll take a watch, Miz Harden.” Mark was sorely tempted to call her ma just to see if he could do it and walk away with his head still on his shoulders. He always had liked taking a risk.

  She had to know he was sweet on Emma, and yet he was still allowed to live. It was probably because of the babies.

  Belle turned, scowling, to face him. Her arms crossed, her jaw a hard line.

  He sat on the ground, behind her cabin, with the boy on his lap, eyelids heavy in the afternoon sun.

  Angela was busy strangling Mark from behind. Catherine talked his ear off and tugged on his hair.

  Mark was kicking himself for not getting it cut recently.

  Even Tanner had taken to hanging on him and was trying to yank off one of Mark’s boots. Betsy, with her black eyes and riotous black curls, sat in the dirt beside him making faces at Angela as if she were encouraging the girl to torment Mark.

  Why wouldn’t Tanner and Betsy hang around? Mark had possession of all the Harden children’s best playmates.

  It didn’t really make sense that Mandy’s young’uns had taken such a liking to Mark, except that he’d felt such a powerful need to protect Mandy and that stretched to include her children. They must be able to tell his concern for them was real and deep.

  Emma had just gone inside carrying her baby brother. They had a good chance of getting Jarrod to sleep, too. Then Emma said the rest of them would have cookies. Before that she’d been out here with him while they cared for the six best chaperones God had ever put on this earth.

  “You plannin’ to take all the children with you to the lookout?” Belle asked with cold contempt.

  Seven best chaperones.

  Now was the time to point out that he really was indispensible because of how attached the children had gotten to him. Except he feared that indispensible wasn’t a word Belle Harden used when it came to menfolk … at least not when they were sparking her daughter.

  “I reckon they’d be fine here with you and Sarah and … Emma.” He had a hard time saying Emma’s name right into the cranky face of his future mother-in-law. As if five children weren’t enough, Belle had been a better chaperone than an army of Catholic nuns. He hadn’t gotten
a chance to steal a single kiss. A shame because he had a strong sense that Emma would go along nicely with the plan. She hadn’t forked a horse to check the herd since Mark had arrived. He understood that to be out of the usual way of things.

  “Just stay put. We’re handling the lookout just fine without you.”

  “Miz Harden.” Mark swallowed hard, hopeful Belle would hesitate to kill him in the presence of small children.

  “What?” Her voice was so hard it landed on Mark like a rock.

  “I want you to know I—I—” Mark fell silent. There really was nothing he could say that would ever make Belle like him. “As you know, I have asked to call on Emma.”

  “I believe I have some vague memory of that.” That hard voice was turning into an avalanche rather than one lone rock.

  “I have only the most honorable intentions for your daughter, ma’am. She’s as fine a woman as—”

  “She’s too young.”

  “How old would you say is old enough?” Mark heard that tone he sometimes got that riled up schoolteachers and made men narrow their eyes at him. It was left over from the antics of his childhood. He was a sober, thoughtful man now.

  “You want to stay on this ranch, you watch your mouth.” Belle didn’t like one bit of sass unless it came from herself. Mark made a note of that for the future.

  “I’ll wait until whatever age you say is old enough, ma’am.” Mark had no intention of waiting. In fact, he fully planned to be living in a house with Emma as his wife before the snow fell. And it was getting on toward the end of August already. It didn’t make him a genius to refrain from being fully honest about that part of his honorable intentions.

  He hoped he and Emma didn’t have to run off and get married. Would Emma protect him against her own ma?

  Emma came out of the house without the baby. Mark had yet to see the day all of these tykes decided it was nap time at the same minute.

  And Belle never slept.

  Emma came over and crouched beside him and reached for Jarrod, dozing despite the rambunctious children surrounding him. “Let me get him settled.”

  Mark looked up into those blue eyes and was lost in the notion of Emma coming to lift a child out of his arms. Soon it would be their child.