All this gives me a reason to go on. Thank You for Your love and those mercies that are new every morning, just like Your book says.
The door squeaked open behind her, and the sound of boots tapping against the wooden porch revealed her visitor.
“Mornin’, honey,” Anne said without turning to greet her daughter.
“Another pretty one, isn’t it?” Fourteen-year-old Sammie Jo leaned in close to her mother.
“I believe you’re right.” Anne wrapped her arm around the girl’s shoulder. This winter Sammie Jo had shot up like a weed after spring rain, and her body had begun to look more like a young woman. Anne wasn’t ready for that. In a few years, she’d be shooing away the young cowboys like flies on…on what comes natural.
“We’re leaving right after breakfast?” Sammie Jo lifted a mug of coffee to her lips. She drank it black like her mother. The steam rolled off the top in a mystic dance before disappearing into the air.
“And not a minute later. Your sister doing all right?”
Sammie Jo nodded. “She hates not going. Says she feels better.”
Anne chuckled. “Nancy should have thought about what those green dewberries would do to her stomach before she ate so many.”
“Mama, those had to taste terrible, and she got so sick.”
Anne shook her head. “Curiosity gets the best of Nancy. Reminds me of your daddy.”
“Ever wish we were boys?”
“Never. But I do think some of the ladies at church believe I’ve turned you into them.”
Sammie Jo laughed. “I feel more comfortable in my boots and jeans than dresses.”
Anne kissed the tip of her daughter’s nose. “Me, too, but we best keep that tidbit to ourselves. Let’s see what Rosita has for breakfast. The sooner we help the others round up strays, the sooner you and I can do a little hunting.”
“Is Clancy going with us?” Sammie Jo turned her head slightly, peering up with sky blue eyes that mirrored her daddy’s. The look always caused Anne’s heart to remember the man she’d loved.
“I don’t think so. He’s taking a few of the men to the upper ridge. Fence needs mending.”
Sammie Jo frowned. “He’s getting too old for all this hard work. Needs to settle down and spend out his days in a rocking chair. And his aim’s getting bad. I beat him with my rifle in target practice last Saturday.”
“Do you want to be the one telling him that?”
“No, ma’am. Clancy would chase me with a branding iron.”
Anne hugged her daughter’s shoulder again. They had a good life. For five years they’d worked hard and made the Double L Ranch the largest in this part of the state. And she intended to keep building it into an empire. Vast herds of longhorns and a line of fine quarter horses made her proud. A few eligible men had eyed her ranch and come courting. Didn’t need a single one of them except Clancy, who was like a daddy to her and a granddaddy to the girls. Hadn’t been a man since Will who interested her or could tame her stubborn nature.
Will used to call her Mustang. She smiled. Most women would have slapped a man silly for calling them a horse, but Anne took it as a compliment. Those traits helped make her strong when Will took sick and died. Her girls would have a good life ahead of them with money for education back East, and they’d not be dependent on a man to survive.
God had smiled on the three Langley women, and she prayed He’d continue for a long time. Two tragedies in a lifetime were enough.
Colt Wilson could taste the freedom. It lingered on his tongue like thick honey, and when he swallowed, his whole body felt the excitement. His fingers trembled like a kid with a fish on a hook. For six years he’d worn chains and worked like a fool to pay his debt to the state of Texas in Huntsville Prison. Now, as he placed one foot in front of the other, he could see the steel door that led to sweet liberty’s sunshine. No more bug-infested food and bedding down with rats, and best of all, no more jumping every time the man jammed a rifle barrel in his ribs.
“Good luck to ya,” the guard said. “You’re a smart man, Wilson. Don’t get yourself in here again.”
Colt nodded and offered a grim smile. Prison life did that to a man: made him slap on a fake smile when he wanted to fight, laugh when he wanted to cry, and respect those who held his life in their hands. Years like what he’d endured made a man take stock in what he stood for—and what he’d do and not do when he got out.
The heavy door swung open, creaking like the gates of Hades releasing one of its own. Colt inhaled the freshness of life. Air so pure he gasped to make sure he hadn’t died and gone to heaven by mistake. He’d shaken off the shackles that had physically bound him, but he couldn’t shake the memory of the man who had allowed him to be turned in to the law. Those shackles tightened around his heart, and the key lay embedded in bitterness. The hate threatened to overtake his good sense, but Colt had long since promised himself never to set foot in a jail again. He had no future unless he got rid of the past.
He knew the right way to live, and he’d abide by the law. But first he had a matter to settle.
Inside of a week, he found a job with a rancher. He enjoyed the hard work, especially when he got paid for it. The solitary life with a few ranch hands for company settled well with him. The sound of bawling cows was like music, certainly better than gunfire or fighting men.
Summer heat sent sweat dripping down his back, but he’d take these sweltering temperatures above the stench of heat fused with filthy men any day. His mind drifted to the days ahead, and the more he pondered on ranching, the more he realized he could do a whole lot worse than punching cows for the rest of his life.
Two months later, Colt had a few dollars in his pocket, a good horse, and a worn saddle. With a Winchester strapped to his saddle and a saddlebag full of provisions, he headed toward a little town outside Austin called Willow Creek. Before he could get on with his life, Colt needed to see a man face-to-face.
Heading back home to Wyoming needled at him. Seeing his brothers again might be good, but he didn’t know where to begin. They were a sorry lot. All of ’em bent on breaking the law. That most likely had been part of what killed Ma. Maybe his brothers would turn around their way of thinking before their pasts caught up with them. At least Reuben had learned from his mistakes, even if he did get religion. Colt remembered his eldest brother visiting him in prison. Colt had no desire to listen to Reuben’s God-business, but it did grieve him to learn of Ma’s passing.
Colt rode into Willow Creek and headed straight for the general store. Storekeepers always knew the goings-on and could give him directions. He lifted his hat and banged the trail dust from it on his jeans before stepping inside.
“Howdy.” He grinned big at the balding man behind the counter.
The man greeted him, and they talked a bit about the dry weather and the sore need of rain.
“Say, I’m looking for an old friend of mine. Haven’t seen him in years, but I know he was from these parts,” Colt said.
“What’s his name?”
“Will Langley.”
The storekeeper rubbed his whiskered chin. “I hate to give you the bad news, but Will’s been dead nigh on to five years.”
Colt pasted a sorrowful look on his face. “Sorry to hear that. What happened?”
“Accident at his ranch. An ax went through his leg. Got gangrene and died.”
“What about family? Anyone I can pay my respects to?”
“His widow owns a ranch not far from town. I can tell you how to get there.”
“I’d be obliged,” Colt said. “It’s the least I can do.”
Colt took note of the road to the Langley ranch and headed back to his horse. Disappointment snaked through him. Will’s widow probably didn’t have anything but a rundown piece of no-good property. He’d ridden all this way, though. Might as well take in a few more miles. Hard to make a man pay when he was dead. Bad luck had dealt Will Langley a rotten hand, but he felt sorry for the widow. A woman always
seemed to suffer for loving the wrong man.
Revenge is bad for the soul. He could hear his daddy lecturing him, although he’d been dead for years. Unfortunately, whatever folks told him, Colt had a habit of doing the opposite and usually with a heavy dose of temper. Even Reuben had been afraid of him. Colt’s ugly disposition was what got him behind bars in the first place.
No matter what he ended up doing, he had to stay to himself, keep his temper in check, and be careful not to rile anybody. Colt clenched his jaw. Will Langley being dead was probably good. Colt would most likely have lost his temper and ended up back in Huntsville prison for life or in a hangman’s noose.
Colt followed the storekeeper’s directions and rode straight onto a ranch so wide and green he wondered if he’d made a wrong turn. Herds of cattle grazed over rolling pastures, and when he strained to look again, he saw some of the finest horseflesh this side of the Mississippi. Will Langley’s widow owns this ranch? This may be my lucky day.
Colt rode right up to a ranch house that was about the fanciest he’d ever seen. This part of the country was known for its abundance of stone, and the Widow Langley’s ranch used lots of it. He dismounted about the time a young girl stepped onto the front porch with a rifle in hand. She wore a tattered hat pulled down over her eyes. Couldn’t tell what she looked like.
“What’s your business, mister?” the skinny, half-sized woman said.
“I’m here to see a Mrs. Will Langley.”
“What for?”
“Business. What’s your name, little girl?”
“I’m no little girl, and you haven’t any right riding on my land and asking me who I am.” She raised her rifle and aimed straight at him.
“Be careful. Do you know how to use that thing?”
“No matter, since I’m about to blow a hole right between your eyes if you don’t ride on out of here.”
“Sammie Jo, put down that rifle before I take a switch to you.” A woman’s voice rose above the quiet. “That’s no way to treat a man just riding in off the trail.”
Colt expelled a ragged breath. For a moment, he thought he’d meet his Maker by way of a girl. He swung his attention around to a woman dressed like a man. A very pretty woman, tall and with hair the color of deerskin. She must work for the widow.
He yanked off his hat. “Thank you, ma’am. I’m looking for Mrs. Will Langley. Her husband is an old friend of mine.”
The woman lifted her chin and eyed him curiously.
“I’m Mrs. Will Langley. What can I do for you?”
Chapter 2
The color drained from Colt’s face, and sweat dampened his back. He’d had a better reception at Huntsville Prison on his first day. This was Will’s widow and his daughter? In Colt’s opinion, Will was the one who needed sympathy. Whatever happened to defenseless women? If Will died of gangrene in his leg, these two probably offered to cut it off.
The girl called Sammie Jo lowered her rifle and propped it against the side of the porch. A younger girl dressed in jeans and boots slipped through the door and stiffened to about four feet tall. She placed her hands on her hips and scowled.
“I smell him clear over here,” the smallest girl said. “Doesn’t he know what a Saturday night bath is?”
“Hush, Nancy. You mind your manners,” Mrs. Langley said.
What is this? Have I died and gotten what I deserve?
“State your business, sir. I have a ranch to run.” Mrs. Langley crossed her arms over a green plaid shirt. She nodded toward the girls. “Meet me in the horse barn. We’ll talk about your punishment for treating this man shamefully. Right now, you two apologize.”
When the girls hesitated, she repeated her request—a little louder.
“I’m sorry,” the two girls echoed and hurried toward the barns.
Colt dragged his tongue over dry, cracked lips. He’d never done well talking to women. “Your husband, ma’am, was a friend of mine.”
“He’s been gone for five years.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been drifting.”
“In prison, no doubt. What’s your name?”
He started. “Colt Wilson.”
“A friend of Will’s, you say?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Alarm—the strength of a tornado—twisted through him. He best be riding out of there before she questioned his business with her departed husband. If Will had told his wife what he and Colt had done, she most likely would have killed him on the spot.
“Are you wanted?”
“No.”
“What were you in prison for?”
Didn’t your husband tell you? He shifted from one foot to the other. “Bank robbery.”
“Kill anyone?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Ever kill anyone?”
“Only to defend myself.”
“Likely story.” She glared at him. “Need a job? From the horse you’re riding, you must not have stashed away the money.”
The question caught him by surprise. “Why would you give me a job since—?”
“Since you just got out of prison? Because you knew Will and because I just lost two hands.”
Did he want to work for this woman? For that matter, did he want to spend five more minutes with her? Unpredictably, he heard himself saying, “I’d be grateful.”
She pointed to the bunkhouse. “Take your stuff over there and ask for Clancy. He’ll show you where you’ll sleep and what he needs you to do.” She whirled around to follow the girls. “Don’t waste any time. I’m short-handed and have too much work for you to dillydally.”
“I’ll do a fine job for you, Mrs. Langley.”
She stopped in her tracks and turned around. A little cloud of dust spun up from her heels like a miniature dust devil. “Don’t make me regret hiring you, or I’ll be the one squeezing the trigger.”
A lady boss? Why had he taken this job? He came looking for Will’s widow, thinking she might be in a bad way and know a little about her husband’s past dealings. Instead, he’d been waylaid. Sure, she had a pretty face and owned a large ranch, but this was downright degrading. Colt swung a look after her. Mrs. Langley might dress like a man and give orders like a man, but she didn’t walk like a man.
Anne studied her two daughters inside the shadows of the horse barn. Some days she wondered if she’d done the right thing by making them strong and feisty. After seeing their behavior toward Colt Wilson, she realized she’d stepped over the boundaries between strength and inhospitality.
Sammie Jo crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot. Nancy had her familiar stance of planting her chubby hands on her hips.
“I’m ashamed of both of you,” she said. “What have I taught you about manners?”
“I didn’t like the way he looked,” Sammie Jo said.
“And I didn’t like the way he smelled,” Nancy said.
“Hmm. Is that what the Bible teaches?”
“No, ma’am,” they chorused.
“Look around you.” Anne pointed toward the horse stalls. “Do you like what you see and smell?”
“Not really.” Sammie Jo wrinkled her nose. “Needs a good cleaning.”
“And you two are going to do that very thing.” Anne almost laughed at the horrified looks on their faces.
“Mama, that’s too hard a punishment.” Nancy’s eyes widened, mirroring the same shade of blue as her sister’s.
“I’d rather take a whippin’,” added Sammie Jo.
Anne shook her head. “That’s too easy. You can think about good manners and what the good Lord requires of us while you’re cleaning stalls.” She nodded at her precious daughters and headed toward the sunlight filling the doorway. “You can watch the horse-breakin’ before you start your work.”
Giggles broke from behind her, but she dared not turn around or she’d relinquish the stall cleaning. Anne had shoveled them a man-sized job, but she hoped it taught her sassy girls a lesson.
Colt Wilson. She searched the cobwebs of
her mind for the name. Nothing tore through the many memories of Will and their countless hours together. Near the end he’d told her many things, but a wayward man by the name of Colt Wilson wasn’t one of them. Maybe he followed the law back then. Given time, she’d find out the truth. If she’d learned anything over the past five years, it was how life dealt every man and woman a bushel basket of mountains and valleys. How people handled those happenings made them who they were today. She’d hardened through it…maybe too hard.
Anne shuddered. Where were her brains in subjecting Sammie Jo and Nancy to an outlaw—or rather a past outlaw? And what about the good hands who worked for her? Some men never shook off the habits that had thrown them behind bars. Still, a nudging at her heart had told her to offer him a job. And she sure hoped it was the Lord and not stupidity.
“Mrs. Langley, are you riding?” Thatcher Lee asked.
She surfaced from her reverie and waved at the young man standing with the other three hands. She laughed at the seriousness on his face—barely eighteen years old and her self-proclaimed protector. Or maybe he had his eye on Sammie Jo in a few years. That thought curdled her stomach.
“Ah, yes, I am. In fact, I want that bronc you’re afraid of.”
“The sorrel stallion?” Thatcher Lee asked.
“You bet. I see you have him ready. About time I showed you men how to ride.”
Clancy strode up to the corral with Colt beside him. “Anne, that horse is mean. You could hurt yourself real bad. Why not let me sell him?”
“Are you kidding? How many times in the past few years have you seen me back down from a good fight?” She laughed again.
“When he tosses you on the ground I’m not helping you up.” Standing with his back against the sun, Clancy’s shoulder-length silver hair glistened, his Apache heritage evident from every inch of him.
She opened the gate and headed toward the stallion, which snorted and pranced. Clancy might be right. Thatcher Lee held the reins and tried to settle the horse. Oh, this one would cause her to taste dirt more than once.
Texas Brides Collection Page 38
