by Linda Ford
Birdie settled her with a touch to the arm and chuckled softly. “I don’t think he means this very minute.”
Clay struggled with amusement at the child’s eagerness and sorrow at the stabbing reminder of what he’d lost. He focused every thought on the meal. The roast beef was tender and savory. The potatoes were mashed to pure creaminess with a hint of dill. The gravy was so rich a man could eat it alone and feel satisfied. Then there were carrots and green beans…all from the storeroom, as it was too early in the season for them to come from the garden. Item by item, detail by detail, he assessed the meal, and yet he could not completely block out the words and activity around him. Too many years of being keenly aware of every sound, every movement, made it impossible.
Megan pushed her plate away. “Can I go look for Miss Molly?”
Clay heard Harrison’s swift intake of breath. “It doesn’t seem you’re safe down by the river if some man tried to snatch you.”
Megan’s voice grew whiney. “I have to find my dolly.”
Ah. Miss Molly was the ruined doll.
Birdie pushed her chair back. “We have chores to take care of.”
“I know.” Megan’s shoulders slumped, and she gave a weary sigh as she gathered up the plates and cutlery and took them to the cupboard. Birdie filled a basin with hot water for washing dishes.
Harrison got to his feet. “You might like a look around.”
Clay followed him outside and filled his lungs with the sweet, free air.
Mutt kept his chin on his paws and watched Clay as they stepped from the house. The dog didn’t move until Clay touched his leg. Then he sprang to Clay’s side.
“Best I take care of my horse.”
Harrison accompanied him to the barn and pointed out everything Clay would need. Clay put the saddle on the nearest saddle tree, hung the saddle blanket to air, and took his time about brushing Buck. He studied every detail of the barn. The stalls were empty. The horses that remained at the ranch grazed outside. A calf lay on the floor down the alley, clean straw for his bedding.
“There’s room for your things in the bunkhouse.” Harrison jabbed his thumb that direction.
“Prefer to sleep under the stars.” Most of the cowboys were out riding the range but he’d seen one as he rode up and knew there might be more hanging around the place.
“Might rain.”
“I’ll sleep in the loft then, if you’ve no objections.” He didn’t care to be around the other men any more than necessary. Sooner or later, someone would figure out who he was.
“Suit yourself.”
Clay leaned his bedroll and belongings in a corner. “I’d like to have a look around.”
“Ya might want to have a gun handy.” Harrison spoke softly. He knew the story, knew what it cost Clay to be here, to carry a gun at all. “Just in case.”
Clay pulled out his gun belt, strapped it around his hips, and tied the thongs about his leg. He retrieved his Colt .45 and slipped it into place, adjusting the belt until it felt right. Trouble was, it felt too right. Like it belonged there.
He took in a steadying breath and prayed he wouldn’t be forced to use it. Even more, if God be listening, he prayed that no one would remember who he was and no one would feel called upon to challenge him to a gunfight. He only wanted to see Harrison through this business and disappear from people’s memory.
Harrison led the way from the barn. “I don’t know how the man made it to the door without anyone seeing him.”
With Mutt at his side, Clay studied the surroundings as they circled the house. No bushes or trees were directly next to the house, which meant the person would have had to cross in the open. “Maybe he’s a familiar face, so no one took note.”
“That means he’s one of my hands or a neighbor. Sure don’t like to think that.”
“Any new men working for you?”
“A couple of young fellas, but they’re away to the north.” Harrison stared that direction then brought his attention back to Clay as if satisfied that the men were where they belonged.
“Got a man who takes care of chores?” The horses, the milk cow, the chickens, and the pigs all needed to be tended, though perhaps Birdie or Cosette did that.
“Cosette’s husband, Angus. He’s as trustworthy as anyone I know.”
They had circled the house and came to the garden. There were more cut flowers scattered about such as the ones he’d seen as he rode toward the house. He guessed either Birdie or Cosette had rushed from the garden in such a hurry they dropped the flowers. Their presence would mean the intruder wouldn’t have come from that direction. That left only the road and Clay squinted down the dusty trail. Trees provided shelter and protection until a hundred yards from the house. “New neighbors, maybe some travelers?”
“There’s always people passing by, new settlers headed west, settlers who had had enough of the frontier and are going back east.”
As he studied the distance from the trees to the door, Clay concluded that in order for someone to cross without detection, they would have had to be familiar with the people who lived here and their routines. That meant the would-be kidnapper had to be someone Harrison knew. “Whoever it is will have to get by me first. And that won’t happen.” He realized he gripped his pistol and released his hold slowly.
Harrison nodded. “I know. That’s why I sent for you. Come, I’ll show you where Megan was playing when she said a man snatched her.”
As they headed for the trees, Miss Birdie and Megan left the house. Megan carried a bottle of milk.
Harrison watched the two head toward the barn. “Megan’s nursing the orphan calf. I warned her it might not make it but she’s determined to save it.”
Miss Birdie and Megan laughed at something, then broke into a run. He blinked. He’d had her pegged as sedate. Weren’t older, single women supposed to be so?
Clay shifted direction. “Seems I should be escorting them.”
Harrison grunted. “Guess I was thinking they were safe here, but the doll proves otherwise. Go ahead. I’ll wait on the verandah. Maybe I’ll see something or someone.”
Clay strode toward the barn, his gaze scanning the area and his mind noting every detail. He paused outside the door and eased around the frame.
“Hands up.” At Birdie’s voice close to his ear, he spun around and whipped out his gun.
“Don’t shoot.” Birdie’s voice squeaked as she put out her hands to assure him she didn’t hold her derringer.
He straightened, slipped his gun back to the holster, and willed his breathing back to steady. It would take a moment for his heart to return to normal. “Don’t you know better than to jump out at a man? You might have been shot.” He knew his scowl was likely fierce and threatening. He didn’t care. This woman had the sense of an empty tin can.
She pulled herself together, crossed her arms over her chest, and returned his scowl with one of her own. “Seems to me you should have been a little more cautious. If I can surprise you so easily, I can’t imagine how much protection you’ll provide.”
Her words grated along his spine. She was half right. He should have been ready for a surprise attack. Thing was, he hadn’t thought it would come from her.
“Won’t happen again,” he informed her.
“I think this proves I can look after things without your help.”
He ignored her suggestion. Little did she know of the sort of dangers she and the little girl might face. At least Harrison was aware of them. “Where’s Megan?”
“Feeding her calf. Didn’t you notice?” Her voice mocked.
He would not let her get under his skin, though he had the annoying sensation one got when a burr rubbed under a shirt. And of course he’d seen the girl. He only wanted to get Miss Birdie’s mind on something besides challenging him.
Ignoring her, Clay sauntered down the alley way to where Megan stood holding a nursing bottle while the calf sucked eagerly.
“I once raised an orphan calf.�
�� He leaned against the nearest post to watch.
“Yeah?” Megan said. “Did he live? Papa says I should be prepared to have Little Bit die. He says orphan calves are runty and weak. Was your calf runty and weak?”
“She was at first. My pa said the same thing. But my calf didn’t die. She grew up and raised a half dozen babies.”
“Where is she now?”
Miss Birdie stood nearby watching. Clay wished she’d go away. It was hard to talk in a gentle voice with her disapproving presence. He tried to focus on Megan. Tried even harder not to remember what had become of his cow, his pa, his ma, and his sister.
“I guess she got sold.”
“How come? How come you didn’t keep her? Didn’t you like her? I’ll never sell Little Bit. I couldn’t.” Megan ran her words together in a great rush.
“I liked her fine but I couldn’t take care of her any longer.”
Megan pulled the empty bottle from the calf’s mouth and got head butted for it. She laughed and petted the calf. Her arms about the animal’s neck, she looked up at Clay.
“Why couldn’t you look after her? Was she bad?”
“I had to go away.” Memories tore at his brain.
“You want to help me give Little Bit fresh bedding?” Megan wrinkled her nose. “I have to do it every day.”
“Sure.” He grabbed the fork. Megan pulled the wheelbarrow close while he cleaned up the soiled bedding. He shifted his gaze to Miss Birdie, saw the look of amusement on her face. Let her think what she wanted. He didn’t mind helping.
He finished, and Megan struggled to push the wheelbarrow down the alley. In fact, she might be putting on a show about how hard it was. He reached around her and assisted her as far as the door, where he stopped.
“Wait here.” He eased through the opening, took a good look around. Harrison sat on the steps, deep in thought. The horses snuffled. A crow cawed. A robin called. Chickadees sang, Mutt lay before the barn, his muzzle on his paws. Nothing to trigger any alarms.
Miss Birdie hovered at his elbow. “Decided to do your job?”
“Yup.” He purposely drawled the word.
She stepped around him. “Come on, Megan. Finish your chores. It’s almost bedtime.”
“Crazy lady,” he murmured, just loud enough to make sure she heard. When she turned to scowl at him, he grinned.
She opened her mouth to retaliate and then lifted her chin. “I’m not going to respond to that.”
He laughed, the sound as unexpected as it was unfamiliar. How long since he’d had a good laugh about anything? Too long. But this gal’s feisty attitude amused him.
Her eyes narrowed. She shrugged one shoulder and turned away.
His grin lingered as he helped Megan empty the wheelbarrow and return it to the barn. Amusement remained in his heart as he followed them to the house.
After the door closed behind them, Harrison rose. “Let’s go.”
They followed the path through the trees to a clearing surrounded by bushes. Clay looked about with growing concern. The trampled grass and bent branches told Clay it was a well-used area. “This is not a good spot for your daughter to play. Too many places a man can lay in wait.”
“I know.”
To one side, twigs of various sizes had been stacked and woven.
Harrison pointed. “Megan’s little fort. Or sometimes it’s a cabin or even a wagon headed west. She’s not going to take kindly to being told she can’t play here.”
“It’s in her best interests.” Clay examined the ground, found hoof tracks, and followed them toward the river, where they got lost in the rocky ground. He looked around. A man could disappear into the bush or the many hollows and draws of the area. “I’ll be on watch.”
“I’m sorry to make you carry your gun again.”
Clay avoided Harrison’s gaze.
Harrison patted Clay’s arm. “Perhaps you won’t need to use it.”
“Could be.” But the act of carrying it, having it ready for use, wanting to practice his draw made his stomach queasy. “Living that life cost me a lot.”
Harrison didn’t have an answer as they made their way back to the house.
Miss Birdie’s laughter came from inside. She didn’t much like him, but that was okay with Clay. He didn’t intend to be around long. He would be a gentleman, he would be a bodyguard, but he would not be a friend.
* * *
Birdie made sure Megan was asleep then took her supplies out to the verandah. She glanced about, saw no sign of the man her brother had brought in to guard Megan, let out a relieved sigh, and settled in a chair. She took out the picture she’d worked on the past few days and began to draw the bald eagle sitting above the nest, guarding it. Birdie’s mother had taught her to draw. By accident, Birdie discovered she was good at finding quotes and sayings to match her drawings. She had accidently discovered a postcard manufacturer who was willing to pay for her work. The sales provided a nice little income, but she had fallen behind in her quota. It would be necessary to work every evening and find time during the day to catch up if she were to meet the agreed upon number of pictures. She planned to make this picture all black and white except for a hint of green in the trees. In black letters, she would add the verse, They that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles. It was a good reminder for her as well. God would help her through the challenges of her life, the greatest of which at the moment was the arrival of one Clay Fisher.
She had meant to scare him at the barn, to make him see that neither she nor Megan needed a bodyguard. But he’d turned so fast, his gun out and aimed. Her mouth had gone so dry she couldn’t swallow. Obviously, she couldn’t compete with him in a draw, but she didn’t see any reason she should be expected to. This wasn’t about a gunfight on Main Street at high noon. To protect herself and Megan, she needed to be aware of her surroundings, and she’d learned to do so after Larry. A time or two, a man sneaked up on her and thought he could take advantage of her. The sad thing was the men were convinced she welcomed that sort of attention. She didn’t. Once she even pulled out her derringer and pressed it to the side of a man’s head. He’d left her alone in a hurry.
She shook off the events of the day and concentrated on the eagle’s white head, wanting to get the feathers just right to show the jagged collar. She bent over her lap and applied a touch of black to the tip of one feather.
“Must be hard work.”
Her pencil skidded across the paper. Anger flared inside. She jerked about to scowl at Clay.
He leaned casually against the corner of the house.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“Just doing my job, keeping an eye on things.”
With her eraser, she removed the unwanted line, blew away the eraser leavings, and studied the picture. It had to be perfect to be used for reproduction. This wouldn’t do. She pushed it aside and stared down the road. “It’s no good now.”
“What is it?” He edged toward her.
“Nothing.” She shoved everything into her case and closed the flaps.
“If it’s nothing, how can it be no good?”
She couldn’t say if he was curious or teasing, and she didn’t care. All she wanted was for him to go away and leave her alone so she could work. “Don’t think anyone will be sneaking into the house with me sitting here in plain view.” Her glance traveled around the yard. “Where’s Harrison?”
“Gone to look around and make sure no one is lurking about. Then said he was going to talk to Angus. Everyone needs to be on the lookout until we learn who is threatening your family.”
“Of course.” She prepared to rise.
“Don’t leave on my account. I’m going to have a look around.” He ambled away.
She settled back again, pushing aside her annoyance. She took out a clean sheet of paper and sketched the outline of the bald eagle and the tree with the nest in it. The work soothed her, and she soon forgot everything else un
til booted feet thudded toward her. She looked up and smiled at Harrison.
He sat in a chair next to her. “Everything is calm tonight.” He didn’t sound as if he were calm.
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“If only I could believe it would last. I feel better now that Clay is here though.” Harrison stretched his legs out and leaned back in the chair.
“How do you know him?”
“He’s been working for me a couple of years.”
As if that told her anything. “I don’t believe I’ve seen him before.” And she thought she’d seen all the men at one time or another. They came to the house to bid Harrison goodbye at the end of the season or stopped by for their pay. At times, they filled the bunkhouse and wandered about the yards doing one task or another. But she’d never seen Clay.
“He stays in the cabin for the winter.”
“Sounds cold and lonely.”
Harrison shrugged. “If he doesn’t mind, then I have no reason to object.”
Birdie wasn’t complaining. She wasn’t even all that curious. “He’s fast with a gun.” She told him what happened.
Harrison sat up, planted his feet squarely in front of him. “You’re lucky you didn’t get shot. You know better than to do that sort of thing.” He shook his head at her foolishness.
“He moved faster than a snake.” An appropriate comparison, but she repented of the thought immediately. Had she begun to turn into the sour-faced, sharp-tongued, narrow-minded spinster Larry had forecast she’d be?
“I suppose he’s had plenty of time to practice with not much else to do up there.”
Birdie chuckled. “You aren’t going to tell me a thing about him, are you?”
Harrison pushed to his feet and patted her shoulder. “You’ve already discovered all you need to know. He’s good with a gun, and I trust him to take care of Megan.” He squeezed her shoulder. “And you.”
He stepped inside the house before she could tell him she didn’t want Clay Fisher taking care of her. She didn’t need him. Didn’t need any man, but especially this man. Something about him left her on edge.
The light had faded. If she wanted to continue working, she would have to go indoors and light a lamp. Instead, she packed up her supplies, pulled up her knees, and leaned on them, watching the sunset color the sky. She remained there while the horses hung their heads and got comfortable for the night, while the milk cow settled to the ground, while the chickens fussed about as they found places to roost. The sky was gunmetal gray, and still she sat, drinking in the peace of the countryside. Out here, no man bothered her. She could go about as she liked without fear of being accosted.
