Bought by the Lone Cowboy

by E. Walsh

  Mrs. Clancy tried to silence Mrs. Murphy but no, she continued.

  “The county will take you all now. I’ll laugh when I’ll see you Mrs. High and Mighty on the streets.”

  Mrs. Clancy interrupted her. “Mary Murphy, you stop that. You claim to be Christian and yet you’ll wish bad on these poor children, no mother, no father. Shame on you!”

  With that, Mary Murphy left. The older children were soothing the younger ones, as Mrs. Clancy took Casey by the arm out into the hallway.

  “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Mary Murphy, but she’s right. Everyone knows now that your parents are dead. They’re going to come for the young ones. Prepare yourself. You’ll have no rights because you can’t work and care for them. I’d run if I were you, take them and run.”

  As the women stood there, Father Barry arrived. He was their local priest and Casey had already been in trouble with them when the older boys ditched school.

  “God bless you both, this morning. Casey. I need a word with you.”

  “Yes, Father, come in. I’m afraid I can’t offer you anything.” Casey was embarrassed. It was expected that you give whatever you had to the priest when he called, but she needed that last little of food for the children.

  “That’s why I’ve come. It was what I suspected. Casey, let us take the children and put them in the orphanage. At least that way, they’ll be fed and schooled. And some may find new homes. You have your life to live. I’m afraid of what’ll come of you, if you have to look after them.”

  “No, Father, that is not an option. I know you’ve tried to take them before. I have to honor my father. No, the children stay with me. We’ll figure something out. God is good and will take of us.”

  “Don’t be foolish, child. The children will be taken.” He left as quickly as he arrived. He didn’t like women talking back to him especially young things like Casey. She should know her place. But what Casey hadn’t realized was that Mrs. Murphy had heard Betty Clancy telling her to run. Mary Murphy followed Father Barry out into the street and told him of the plans being made. It was the end for Casey and her siblings. By nightfall, she was all alone.

  The cries of the little ones still rang through her ears. Casey sat there, surrounded by the sound of silence.

  The tears of the children as they were brutally forced from the only home they have ever known.

  The policemen carried a child each, and another policeman led away the older boys.

  They were gone.

  Mrs. Clancy had stood by her as they watched their home being broken up. She held back her hair when she was physically sick from the tension and the pressure in her chest got worse.

  She sat with Casey now as she wept like a child, cradling into Mrs. Clancy for comfort.

  “There, there, child,” the older woman said, patting her back and rocking her back and forth. “I was afraid of what you might resort to if you needed to feed the children. That’s how many women end up being prostitutes, but that’s not who you are.”

  “Oh dear, Mrs. Clancy, what else can I do except offer myself for money?” she cried. “My body is all I have left.”

  Mrs. Clancy stopped rocking and let out a long breath. “There is another option.”

  Casey pulled back and looked at her through tearful eyes. “Whatever could that be?”

  “Do you remember my niece, Gretchen?” Mrs. Clancy asked. Casey nodded. “She had very few options, as well. She moved out West to marry a farmer. She replied to an advert in the paper. Why don’t we look at the paper tomorrow and see if you can get out of the city?”

  “Oh, Mrs. Clancy, I don’t know if I could…”

  “My dear, don’t dismiss the idea so quickly. In time you may be able to get the children back, at least the younger ones, especially if you’re a married woman with income.”

  “Do you really think that I could?” Casey asked, ready to grasp at any ray of hope.

  Mrs. Clancy smiled and patted her shoulder. “Come on. Tomorrow is a new day. Let’s get you into bed so you’re rested for it.”

  * * *

  Chapter Four

  Rance McDonald

  Medicine Hat, Wyoming

  June 3, 1898

  “Rance, you need to get yourself a woman,” Albert Morgan said as he watched his son-in-law set the water bucket under the well spout and pump the handle. A surge of dirty water splashed into the bucket. “We love little Rose and Lily, but Martha and I are getting on and the children need to be with their father. It ain’t right that they’re not with you.”

  Rance picked up the bucket without looking at Albert, the father of his departed wife. He knew Albert was right, but he couldn’t imagine taking another wife, not yet… perhaps not ever.

  “I could never replace Annie,” Rance said quietly. “But I can’t bring them home. Not yet. I can’t get this farm working and raise two little girls all by myself.”

  “But Rance, that’s all the more reason to marry again. A wife can help you on the farm too. It takes two to make a homestead like this work. I know the last few winters and summers haven’t been good to you. You can’t do it alone. You need a woman. Annie wouldn’t want you to live like this. Martha and I care about you like you were our own son. Annie was special, our beautiful child. But the Lord saw fit to take her and it’s not our place to complain. You got two little ones in her place.”

  Rance closed his eyes and tried to imagine the face of his beloved Annie. The two little girls looked so much like their mother that sometimes it hurt Rance just to look at them. And so he had kept them at arm’s length.

  Annie’s parents had taken the girls to live with them as Rance struggled with trying to balance caring for newborns and the farm.

  He felt guilty for wishing they had died and their mother lived. But he knew Annie, her heart was open and full of love, if someone had to die, she would have wished it to be her.

  Rance was fortunate and grateful to Annie’s parents. They had accepted him from the beginning, a rough, wild man, used to his own ways and yet this gentle, mild, petite Annie had captured his heart from the moment he first laid eyes on her.

  For her, he had settled down and stayed in one place. He hadn’t planned it, it just happened. But he knew nothing about farming.

  His life before Annie was very different from the life he had now. He had been a sometimes lawman, a bounty hunter, a hired gun… and more than once, a killer of men he deemed deserved to die.

  He put down his guns the day he married her. They were starting a new life together, but just a short year later, she was dead and he was left with the girls.

  He wasn’t sure he wanted to be a father without Annie there. He didn’t think he could do it.

  He prayed for guidance but still being relatively new in his relationship with the Lord, he found it difficult to reconcile that someone like his sweet Annie would pass away while so many evil men continued to live in the world. It just didn’t seem right.

  “Rance, are you hearing me at all? Come by the house for your dinner. Come see your little girls. It’s their birthday tomorrow, you know.”

  Rance didn’t need reminding. What should be a happy day for the girls was his day of dread, a reminder of the day his Annie died. It was more than he thought he could bear.

  “I’ll try, Albert,” he said, knowing that he was lying. He let his eyes go around the farm. So much dirt, so little hope. “There’s so much work still to do. I need to get to it.” He hefted up the bucket and started for the house. “Kiss the girls for me.”

  The downcast look that came over his face told Albert all he needed to know. He understood his feelings, but two little girls were alive and needed their father. But Rance McDonald was a stubborn son of a gun. Only Annie could get through to him. And now she was gone.

  Albert put his foot in the stirrup and pulled himself up onto his horse. He held the reins in one hand and tipped his hat with the other.

  “You think on what I’ve said. You need
help and you need the children. We’ll set a place for you tomorrow in case you change your mind.”

  * * *

  Chapter Five

  Rance didn’t want to think about Albert had said. He just wanted Annie back. He didn’t like talking about what he should and shouldn’t do.

  He was tired of struggling. Sure his life before Annie wasn’t easy but he felt he was accomplishing something but here, the land broke him physically, mentally and financially.

  His savings had dried up. Even the little vegetable garden Annie had made was gone. She had magic hands when it came to growing vegetables. But it reminded him too much of her to maintain it.

  As he finished his chores, he felt something come over him, a gentle wave of calm and a song Annie used to sing came into his mind. He could hear her sweet voice on the wind. It was as if she was calling him to her.

  Between his place and Albert’s there was a cross that marked the ground where Annie lay. Fresh flowers were left there every week by Annie’s mother and the girls.

  Without further thought, Rance saddled his horse and rode out. When he got to her grave, he tied the horse to a tree and stood over her, looking down with tears in his eyes.

  “I don’t know what to do, Annie,” he said, closing his eyes, picturing her standing before him. He reached out his hand. “You made me a better man. I don’t know why you were taken and not me. God knows I’ve many more sins to account for than you ever had. Taking you, it wasn’t right. I’m angry with God for taking you away. You were the only good thing I had in my life. I can’t do this without you, I just ain’t cut out for farming, it’s not who I am. But I don’t think I want to go back to my old life, I’m so confused. I have nothing.”

  Rance dropped to his knees and began to cry. He had cried the night Annie died, but had kept his emotions bottled up since then.

  He prayed for some sign, some direction to help him in his struggle. Was the farm worth all that effort only for the locusts and weather to go against him?

  Bounty hunting was what he was cut out to do. He could track a man across the entire state of Texas to get a bounty, and he’d kill them if he had to. Sometimes he’d get shot or cut in the bargain, but that’s just the way the world worked.

  Then came the day when his horse rode into the Jackson’s farm, with him on its back, barely alive, injured from a shootout. The Jacksons took him in and their daughter Annie nursed him back to health.

  She prayed at his side, told him Bible stories, and shared her sense of the world. She brought to him a contentment he had never known.

  He had stayed on after he healed and they married a month later. When the little farm next door to Albert’s came up for sale, Rance bought it, full of hope about what they could achieve together, all the children they would have and the happy ever after. But God had other plans.

  All cried out, he said a prayer for Annie. She had thought him the power of prayer and even when he was in and out consciousness; he had heard her voice calling him to her, bringing him back to health. It was strange, but he felt better after talking her, even though she never answered back.

  “I guess it’s better said aloud than kept inside,” he told himself as he got back up on his horse and rode back toward his place. He let his eyes go around the place as he rode on. An ill wind kicked dust into his face.

  The land was too dry and there wasn’t enough water to sustain growth. His wheat crop had failed. He didn’t know what to do. All he could do was plow; maybe if he went a little deeper, there might be some moisture.

  Too many scorching summers followed by too many bad winters would test the land and its owner. He would keep trying until all hope was gone. He owed that to Annie.

  * * *

  Chapter Six

  Lost in thought as he rode toward home, Rance was caught off guard by a horseman riding in from the west. When he saw the rider heading his way, he stopped his mount and put a hand over his eyes to shield his vision from the sun. He couldn’t make out the face of the rider. His right hand instinctively went to his side, but found no gun holstered there.

  “Howdy there, Rance McDonald!” the rider called. He waved a hand in the air. He was silhouetted by the sun behind him, but Rance recognized the voice. His gun hand came around to rest on the saddle horn.

  “Well, I’ll be, Dillon Daniels,” Rance said, forcing a smile for his old riding partner. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes!”

  Daniels guided his horse to the side of Rance’s and stuck out his right hand for a shake. “I was hoping I’d find you,” Daniels said. He noticed Rance’s lack of a firearm and gave him a nod. “Good thing I’m no Comanche, otherwise you’d be dead!”

  “We don’t see too many Comanche anymore,” Rance said. He felt his face flush. He took off his hat and wiped his face on his sleeve. “So, what brings you out this far?”

  “I was just at Fort Meade turning over a prison,” Daniels said. “I ran into our old buddy Vernon Graves. He told me you had turned in your guns to become a gentleman farmer. Reckon I had to ride out to see that for myself.”

  “Not sure I’m a gentleman or a farmer,” Rance said. He tugged the reins to point his horse toward home. “Come on, my place is just over the rise. You must be thirsty.”

  The old friends rode side by side down the narrow trail, Daniels reminiscing about times gone by and Rance listening with a forced smile.

  It was only a few years since they seen each other and yet it seemed like a lifetime ago. For Rance, it was as if Daniels was talking about adventures he’d had with some other man.

  Had he really changed that much, he wondered? Some of the things he’d done shocked him now; the fights he’d been in, the horrible men he’d chased, the many lives he’d taken. By the time they reached the farm Rance was regretting that his old friend had come along.

  As they dismounted, Daniels stretched his back and looked around the place. “So, where’s the little lady? I need to meet the woman who tamed Rance McDonald.”

  Rance tied the horses to the porch rail and tried to put on a brave face. “Annie passed away two years ago in childbirth. It’s just me.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Daniels said. He took off his hat out of respect and stood bending the brim between his rough hands. “Given the reason I’m here, well, that may be for the best.”

  Rance frowned at him. “What does that mean? Why are you here?”

  Daniels took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He put the hat back on his head and glanced toward the horizon, as if expecting to see someone there.

  “Jonah McAllister broke out of the state prison last week,” Daniels said. Rance winced at the name. Jonah McAllister was an outlaw who Rance had put away five years before. Rance saw him convicted for robbery and attempted murder and sent away for ten years. McAllister vowed he’d get revenge on Rance, no matter how long it took or how much territory was between them.

  “What’s that got to do with me?” Rance asked, already knowing the answer.

  “He’ll come for you,” Daniels said. “He vowed his revenge and he ain’t one to forget his word. I need you to help me catch him and put him back in prison. The bounty’s two thousand dollars.” He let his eyes go around the dusty homestead. “You could do a lot with that money.”

  “I’ve left that life behind,” Rance said, shaking his head. “I promised Annie I’d never pick up a gun again and I aim to stick to that promise.”

  “I expect Jonah McAllister will stick to his promise to kill you. I’d hate to see that happen because of a promise you made to your late wife.”

  “You’re my friend, Dillon, and I appreciate the warning, but don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  Daniels narrowed his eyes at Rance. “You said she died in childbirth. You have a child here?”

  Rance hesitated for a second, then shook his head. “No. It’s just me.”

  “Well then, at least there is that.”

  * * *

  Chapter Seven />
  Rance heated up a rabbit stew and invited Daniels to stay the night. They talked and smoked and laughed about old times, but not another word was said about Jonah McAllister or the danger he might bring. The next morning, Daniels rode off alone.

  Rance tossed and turned most of the night. All that floated through his mind was the bounty for Jonah McAllister. Daniels was right about one thing: $2,000 would sure go a long way in getting the farm up to snuff.

  When Rance finally fell asleep, Annie came to him in his dreams. He stretched out his arms and she reached out to him, but somehow their fingertips couldn’t meet. She looked like she was floating in the air. Her lips moved, but he couldn’t hear her words. She looked like she was pleading with him, her face sad, her eyes filled with tears. Then he heard her voice as clear as day. She looked into his eyes and said, “Take care of our babies.”

  *

  Rance dressed quickly and did the chores, then saddled up his horse and headed east toward Albert and Martha’s place.

  Today was the day his little girls were born. And the day their mama died. All the way he thought about Annie and what she’d want for him and the girls.

  Maybe Albert was right.

  Maybe Annie wouldn’t expect him to do it alone.

  Maybe she would have been okay with him asking for help.

  Maybe he needed to find another wife for himself and a mama for his babies.

  As Albert’s farm came into view, he saw the two tiny girls playing in the yard with their grandma. When they spotted him in the distance, they held up their little hands and waved.

  He wiped the tears from his eyes and nudged his heels into the horse’s sides to make him go faster.

  It was time to get on with his life.

  * * *

  Chapter Eight

  It had been almost a week since her father died and the county had taken the children away. They had been placed in foster homes and Casey was told she could have no contact with them.