Outlaw's Bride

by Lori Copeland

  The judge shook his head. “How do those numskulls think our own wagons and horses are going to get through Main Street if they pack it with cattle? Not to mention the stage and the neighbors’ wagons.”

  Johnny reached for the butter. “Wonder which one of them is considered the brains behind this operation?”

  The judge’s mind was still on the cows. “Who’s going to keep all those animals from wandering off?” He drew on his pipe. “And the mess. Wonder if those numskulls have thought about the mess a herd of cattle that size can make?”

  Johnny passed the bowl of gravy. “Do they think?”

  “When they were handing out brains, those boys must have heard ‘trains’ and said they didn’t have anywhere to keep one.” The judge grunted, laying his pipe aside. “This is turning out to be a big headache.”

  Judge McMann was up early the next morning. When Ragan came to work, he was already sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of oatmeal.

  After stoking the fire, Ragan slid the stove lid back into place. “I thought you didn’t like oatmeal.”

  “I don’t, but I’m in a hurry this morning. Didn’t sleep a wink last night. I want to get a look at this riduculous plan those Brown Branch boys have thought up.”

  Ragan didn’t have to get a look; it already sounded like a cattle drive out there. Cattle bawling, flies swarming. The stench was awful.

  “Why don’t you come with me?”

  Ragan glanced toward the parlor. “I need to fix Johnny’s breakfast.”

  Judge McMann pushed his empty bowl aside. “Who do you think made this oatmeal? You know I can’t cook. John ate with me, and then he went out to the shed for a minute. We’re ready to go when you are.”

  “But the housework—”

  “Just leave the housework. It’ll be here when you get back.”

  Johnny returned, and the three had walked less than a block when they met Julia Curbow standing at her gate. Her bright red hair was done up in curls this morning. “Morning, Judge, Ragan. Isn’t it exciting?” She smiled at Johnny, and Ragan could swear that even this woman had set her cap for him.

  Johnny graciously returned her smile. “You look mighty fetching this morning, Mrs. Curbow. That right foot bothering you today?”

  “Why, thank you, darlin’ . No, my foot’s much better.” She beamed. “Once these raids are taken care of, I’m going to make myself a new dress.” She eyed Johnny coyly. “A lady can never have too many pretty dresses, don’t you agree, Mr. McAllister?”

  Johnny shrugged pleasantly and called back as they continued toward town, “That’s what the pretty ladies say.”

  Cattle milled back and forth in front of the saloon. Lowell Homer was trying to move them on down the street. Removing his hat, he scratched his head and said, “Can’t quite figure how having all these cattle in the street is gonna help solve our problem.”

  The judge shook his head and gestured toward the north. “Is that Plummer coming?”

  Lowell shaded his eyes with his hat. “Looks like Austin’s brought what’s left of his herd.”

  The livestock bore down on the town. Occasionally several would break into a gallop, stirring up whorls of dust.

  Ragan flattened against a hitching post as one ornery longhorn pushed down the walk, brushing her with its fat sides. The animal bounded up the title office steps. Lowell struck the beast on the rump with a prod, but the steer kept going.

  When the dust cleared, Ragan ducked into the general store as a shouting match erupted behind her.

  “It’s a real mess out there, Mazilea,” she said. “Tempers are flaring.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Problems?”

  “Those cattle! They’re stirring up terrible dirt. We’ll be the laughingstock of the county when word of this spreads.” She swiped the counter with a rag, and then she moved to the front window where she rubbed a clear spot on the glass. “Just look at this.” She shook the blackened rag at Ragan. “And cows don’t buy groceries.”

  Ragan peered out. Cattle clogged the boardwalks, where red-faced shop owners tried to beat them back with brooms. “Wonder how long the Hostetlers plan to keep this up?” Dust boiled as more and more livestock crowded onto Main Street.

  “Oh, brother!” Mazilea took a step toward the door.

  Ragan whirled in time to see a water barrel in front of the store tip over. The barrel spun off the porch, careening off the steps and into the crush of cattle. The lid rolled one way and the barrel the other.

  “I’m not risking my life for a barrel,” Mazilea declared, watching a big Hereford trample it. “I’m closing the store and going home. No one’s going to brave a stampede to buy groceries. I’ll have to close permanently if this keeps up.”

  “Now, Mazilea, people still need flour, tea, and sugar, no matter what they have to do to get it.” Ragan handed over her list. “I need a tin of baking soda too.”

  The storekeeper bustled around the room getting Ragan’s order together, complaining all the while. Ragan didn’t blame her; the cow stench was enough to put anyone in a bad mood.

  “I saw Julia on our way over.” Ragan prowled the narrow aisles, glancing over the merchandise.

  “Oh? How is Julia? She was in last week, complaining about feeling poorly.” Mazilea stuck her head around the corner of one aisle. “You know, she’s smitten with your prisoner. Thinks he’s the best-looking man she’s ever seen. Most excitin’ too. He’s all she talks about. Jonathan this, Jonathan that.”

  Ragan frowned. “Yes, she’s very taken with him. Why does she think his name’s Jonathan?” He did talk to the elderly neighbor from time to time. She felt a prick of envy. Did Julia know something Ragan and Procky didn’t?

  “She thinks it is. Don’t ask me why, but you know how Julia is. Once she gets something in her head, wild horses can’t change her mind.” Mazilea measured out sugar into a bag. “But then, she doesn’t have to contend with him like you do. She claims the boy’s been framed, that he didn’t rob that bank, and you know Julia. She might be meddlesome, but she’s a fine judge of character.”

  “I agree with her.” Heat colored Ragan’s cheeks when she realized how easily she leapt to Johnny’s defense.

  “Julia says he likes cats.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t exactly say that. How would Julia know, anyway?”

  “Says he stops and scratches her tabby under the chin when he passes by.”

  Well, maybe he did love animals. In spite of all their sessions with the judge, he’ d revealed nothing about his life except for the brief information at the cemetery that day. And Kitty was awfully fond of him lately. The women turned as Shorty burst through the door and dumped five loaves of bread on the counter. “Get busy and make up a couple dozen ham sandwiches. I’m going back for the pies.”

  Mazilea stared at the bread. “Hold it right there, Shorty. I just baked those pies last night; they’re for us to enjoy for the whole week. So is this bread. Take it right back where you got it.”

  Her husband stopped to catch his breath. “You can bake more bread tonight. The Brown Branch boys can’t handle all the cattle. They’ve had to ask the town to help. Think about it, Mazie. These folks are gonna be hungry. I’ve been telling everyone to come by here for food.” He jerked open the door and disappeared before there could be any argument. “We’re going to have more business than we can handle.”

  The door opened again, and half a dozen hungry men came in. Mazilea flew into action, and Ragan quickly excused herself, gathered her groceries, and left.

  Outside, the din of the animals was deafening. Ragan tried to read Judge McMann’s lips when he spotted her. She was able to make out “…are going to camp in town…haul water and feed…” and “lucky to sleep tonight.”

  Hopefully she’ d filled in the blanks correctly, and she was not the one expected to camp in town, haul the water, and feed the cattle. Lifting the hem of her skirt, she waded across the street.

  Evere
tt appeared out of nowhere. “Allow me.” He laid out an expanse of heavy butcher paper for her to step on.

  “Thank you, Everett. I’m afraid my skirt is already beyond saving. This is some mess, isn’t it?” She picked her way to Judge McMann’s side, and Johnny took her elbow as she stepped to the wooden walk in front of the title office.

  Everett waited until they were on their way home before he made his way back across the street.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  That night, Ragan lay in bed and listened to her father’s restless movements. She could hear the cattle in town even from this distance, and the incessant bawling frazzled her nerves.

  Every time she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the racket, an image of the vile red-bearded man and his gang arose in her mind.

  Who were those horrible men who had seemed to know Johnny? She didn’t want to admit that it mattered. He would serve his sentence, and be gone before she could wave goodbye, but it did matter. Drat it all. It mattered a great deal.

  There was a quiet movement somewhere in the house, and her eyes flew open. She sat up, trying to distinguish that sound from those made by the noisy cattle. A door creaked, and she was instantly on her feet. “Papa. Papa!” She flew through the rooms, outside, and down the porch steps to catch up with Fulton Ramsey, who was already at the gate. He fumbled with the catch. “Papa, it’s nighttime. Where are you going?”

  “They’re coming.”

  “Who’s coming?”

  “Listen. Can’t you hear them? They’re going to hurt my family. I have to protect my girls. Hurry, help me find your sisters.”

  She turned his frail form back toward the house. “Your daughters are asleep, Papa. You come back to bed too.”

  His bare feet were wet and muddy by the time she got him inside. “Let’s get you washed and then back into bed.”

  Holly stood in the doorway in a sleepy stupor. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. It’s all right.”

  Becca and Jo appeared. Ragan sent them all back to bed, and then she led Fulton to the kitchen table and sat him down.

  “You know this is never going to end, don’t you?” There was no hesitation in his voice now. His eyes were clear and keen, his tone lucid. “No one is going to take care of this town. You might as well accept that.”

  “We’re doing all we know to do, Papa.” She rinsed the mud off his feet and gently toweled them dry.

  “Others can’t make decisions for you.” He stood up, his chin firm. Ragan followed him to his room, and when he sat on his bed, he looked at her with eyes so sad her heart wrenched. Then he was gone again. “You must listen to me. Noah listened when God told him what to do, and he—”

  “I know, Papa, I know.” She helped him lie back on the pillow and then pulled the quilt over his gaunt frame.

  “And he took two of each…”

  How she longed for the old papa, the one she’d briefly glimpsed moments earlier. She needed his advice, not about the town but about her heart. The feelings Johnny McAllister stirred alive in her. A man deemed criminal. There could be no future between McAllister and her. She felt hot tears roll down her cheek.

  Later she softly closed the door, the sound of bellowing cattle drowning out her father’s repetitive words about the animals Noah had taken into the ark. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she whispered softly, “I know, Papa. I know.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Cattle packed the streets of Barren Flats for five endless days. It seemed the animals were everywhere. There was talk of little else, and the subject was close to being exhausted in the McMann home.

  “If I never hear another steer bawl, it will be too soon,” the judge declared after dinner Saturday. “Ragan, I don’t even want you to cook a roast anytime soon.”

  She put a thick slice of apple pie on Johnny’s plate. Their eyes met and she looked away. This fascination with him had to stop. There could be no future together; he cared nothing about her or her town. “We have to be encouraged that the raids have stopped.”

  “Humph. Gunshots are preferable to this constant racket and the flies.”

  “I don’t want gunshots or cattle.” Ragan dropped the knife into the sink and then took the end of her apron and wiped her forehead. “I’d prefer a good, old-fashioned thunderstorm.”

  A streak of lightning flashed, followed by a deafening clap of thunder that shook the kitchen floor.

  Laugh crinkles formed around Johnny’s eyes. “Be careful what you wish for.”

  The judge chuckled. “Sounds like you have a connection with a powerful force.”

  She did have such a connection. God could do all things. Apparently he chose not to answer her pleas for the time being. If her every prayer were to be answered, she would ask that Johnny McAllister was an upstanding, solid citizen. That he wasn’t a prisoner. And that she could act on these perfectly irrational feelings she was having about him…

  Another loud crack followed, and Ragan went to look out the window at the building storm. The air was as still as glassy water.

  A low rumble began and quickly grew into a roar.

  Turning away, she whispered, “Tornado.”

  Johnny took hold of the judge’s chair. Lightning illuminated the kitchen as they headed for the doorway. Closer and closer, the roar increased. The house shook with pounding vibration.

  Ragan grasped the door frame as the porch quivered beneath her feet.

  Johnny paused, grabbing the porch rail and listening as rain drummed down on the roof. He shouted. “It isn’t a tornado!” His eyes swept the sky, and then he looked in the direction of town. “It’s cattle!”

  “Cattle?” Ragan frowned, trying to shield the judge from the rain with her apron.

  “Stampede!” He pointed toward a dark mass moving from Main Street.

  Ragan’s eyes widened at the sight. “The cattle. They’re coming straight toward the house!”

  Riders rode the perimeter of the giant herd, trying to gain on the lead animals. Rain pelted the outbuildings and ran in rivulets on the parched ground. Blurred images thundered past, trampling shrubs and flower beds. The din of pounding hoofs competed with the sound of the driving rain; it was impossible to distinguish one from the other. When the chaos moved past and on down the road, Ragan turned to stare in shock at Johnny.

  His words barely penetrated. “On to the next plan.”

  The skies cleared from the brief shower, and the sun came out. Lifting the kitchen window, Ragan wrinkled her nose at the strong odor.

  “The air smells of sulfur,” the judge remarked, sitting at the open front door.

  “Sulfur? Smells like—” Johnny glanced at Ragan. “Like the Hostetlers have a manure problem.”

  Hot, damp air enveloped the house. The stench spread throughout the rooms, saturating furniture and drapes.

  Ragan pressed a hanky to her nose. She could just throttle those Hostetlers! How would she ever get rid of the odor?

  “We might just as well go look at the stampede damage.” Judge McMann fanned the air in front of him as he rolled out the door and down the walk. “Phew-ee.”

  Phew-ee, indeed. This was ten times worse than the raids! Ragan hurried to catch up with the two men.

  The three held handkerchiefs to their noses. Ragan felt something bite her left ankle. She lifted her leg and kicked at a fly at the same time Johnny slapped his neck. The judge shook his foot to ward off two large, green, buzzing insects.

  The stench was more pronounced now. The downpour had turned the rutted street into liquefied manure. It was impossible to walk anywhere except the wooden walkway without shoes slipping and hems and cuffs sucking up the muck. Huge flies buzzed, landed, and then bit. Mosquitoes attacked in angry swarms. Ragan’s nose wrinkled, and she pinched her nostrils tight.

  “I’ve seen all I need to see.” The judge wheeled his chair around.

  Everett hurried toward Ragan with a clean roll of butcher paper.

  “
Oh, Everett, thank you, but it’s no use. There’s no way to salvage this dress now.” If that boy would just find someone to care for besides her!

  The judge patted the clerk’s arm. “You’d better get back inside before these bugs eat you alive, son…or you’re overcome by the fumes.”

  Everett obeyed, for once seeming anxious to leave.

  People stood in doorways. A few balanced on hitching posts, and some high-stepped their way across the street.

  On the other side, an angry mob surrounded Rantz and the Hostetlers.

  “How do you expect us to conduct business in this stinkin’ mess?” Shorty Lynch demanded.

  Trish Hubbard buried her nose in her mother’s skirt. “I’m going to spit up, Mama. Honest.”

  Lillian guided her youngest to the side of the general store and held the little girl as she doubled over.

  “Now, folks.” Buck Hostetler waved his arms above his head. “Folks, let me have your attention, now. There’s no harm done here. Don’t get excited.”

  “No harm? Our town stinks like a privy, the road runs with cow manure, and the flies are eating us alive! What do you mean no harm?” Rudolph Miller’s massive form towered above Buck. He crossed his beefy arms over his chest and stared. “What are you gonna do about this mess?”

  “Well.” Buck glanced at Billy. “Give us a minute to think about it.” He took off running when Rudolph came after him.

  Florence Banks slapped a fly off Hubie’s back, and then she pinned Billy with a withering look. “You’d better do something, and do it quick, young man.”

  Billy swatted a fly. “Now, folks—”

  “Clean up this mess!” the crowd roared.

  Billy lifted a manure-stained hand for quiet and started to pace importantly in front of the crowd. “The way I see it, this is your town, and we gotta have more cooperation outta you.” He motioned for Buck to come back and stand by his side.

  “Taking care of our town is what we paid you fer.”