“Is that how you see it?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been to a couple of meetings. Some of the ladies are counting on it. Risking everything, it seems to me. I mean, what if I agreed to it and the man I got was just in it for the property?”
Sam nodded.
“That wouldn’t help pay the mortgage or the taxes. And it wouldn’t help the boys learn to be men.” Maggie cracked the eggs into her bowl and stirred.
He cleared his throat, which seemed a little tight. He heard a small rustling sound from the loft overhead, but he didn’t look up. It was easy to see how Fred knew about things, though. If Maggie spilled her heart to a friend in this kitchen, her boys probably heard every word. And if she cried in the nighttime, Fred would know.
“Hard to judge a person’s character on first meeting,” he said.
“That’s what I think.” Maggie nodded and added a few more things to her mixing bowl.
“So …” She looked up, and Sam continued. “You and Mr. Piner had a mortgage when he left?”
She stopped stirring. “He left me enough, we thought, to keep up the payments. We didn’t know he’d be gone so long.” She blinked hard. “When he died, I couldn’t keep paying. I sold off the livestock, and I picked up a few jobs, sewing and cleaning, but it’s not enough. It’s gotten to where I’ll probably have to let this place go and move into town where I can work steady.”
“That’s too bad,” Sam said. “Your husband wanted to build up a cattle ranch here?”
She nodded. “A hundred and sixty acres. It’s not bad land. But Mr. Grant says—”
“Mr. Grant?”
“The banker.” Maggie winced as she said it. “The debt is bigger than I knew, or so he tells me.”
“And he’ll foreclose on you?”
She nodded. “He’s making threats.” As though suddenly conscious of her son’s proximity, she glanced upward. “But we’re going to be all right,” she said firmly.
“Sure you are.” Sam picked up his mug. It was empty, and he put it down again. It sounded like Maggie needed a man with some cash in the bank—not some drifting cowpuncher like him. Fred might have a notion to help his ma, but he’d picked the wrong man.
Movement overhead made them both look toward the ladder. Fred was slowly coming down. When he reached the bottom, he turned to face them.
“Mama, if you’d marry this fella, there wouldn’t be a problem.”
Maggie’s mouth tightened. “I told you to stay up there, Fred.”
“But Pa told me to take care of you. And the best way I can see to do that is to find you another husband. I know I can’t do the ranching work by myself. You told me that before we sold the herd. We had to do it. I understand that. But if Sam stayed on …”
“Freddie.” Maggie’s eyes had that watery look again. She walked over to her son and put her hand on his thin shoulder. “I know you want the best for our family, and I’m praying every day that God will show us what to do. If things don’t work out for us to keep the ranch, then we’ll just have to go elsewhere.”
“But with Sam …”
“No, Son. You don’t understand. It’s going to take more than hard work. We can’t pay the bank, and I doubt Sam could, either.” She threw him a rueful glance.
“She’s right,” Sam said, hating to admit it. “I’m flat broke. That’s why I was riding through here. Heading for Dodge, looking for a job.”
Sam’s eyes brightened. “We could hire you.”
Maggie shook her head. “Fred, we couldn’t pay him.”
Fred opened his mouth and closed it. In the silence that followed, they all heard it—hoofbeats on the lane.
“Sounds like Reverend Smith’s here.” Maggie sounded more cheerful, but Sam could tell it was an act. She crossed the room and flung the door open then closed it just as quickly. She turned toward Sam, her face white.
“It’s not the pastor. It’s Rutherford Grant.”
Chapter 3
Maggie started to untie her apron, but stilled her hands. Why should she make herself look nice for Rutherford Grant? The man was doing his best to ruin her life. Not that it wasn’t already ruined, with Rodney dead, but he wanted to take their home away from her and the boys. She was already poor, but he wanted to take away the land, the garden, the chickens, the little bit of sustaining property they claimed.
It should have been hers by now. Rod had left her with enough money to pay six months on the mortgage. She had paid another eight months by selling off their cattle a few at a time. Somewhere in there, she’d gotten word of Rod’s death. She’d managed to eke out two more payments, and after that she knew it was hopeless.
Sam stood. “Do you want me to leave?”
That was a silly question, she thought. He didn’t have his horse back yet. But he could go outside while she talked to the banker.
“No,” Maggie said quickly. The last thing she wanted was to be in the house alone with Mr. Grant. “Please stay.”
He nodded.
Fred ran over to stand beside his mother. “Don’t let him send us to the orphanage, Mama!”
Maggie caught her breath. So he had heard that, too. She had hoped the boys had missed out on Grant’s latest suggestion—that she send the boys to the orphanage in Kansas City and find employment for herself in the city.
“Hush now, Fred.”
He ran to the corner and snatched up his father’s shotgun.
“Don’t let him in!” He hefted the gun and pointed it unsteadily at the door.
“Here now, son.” Sam took a step toward him. “You can’t go pointing loaded weapons at folks like that.”
Fred backed up a couple of steps and ducked his head as he faded into the shadows under the ladder. The barrel of the shotgun poked out a second later, through the rungs. “I’ve got you covered, Mama.”
“Now, Fred, that’s dangerous!”
Before she could say more, a firm knock sounded on the door. She looked at Sam.
“Best open it,” he said quietly.
She glanced at the ladder. If she hadn’t known Fred was there, she wouldn’t have seen him. She hauled in a deep breath and pulled the door open, keeping her body between the opening and Fred.
“Mr. Grant. Is there something I can do for you?” She tried to keep her voice pleasant.
“Not unless you can make a substantial payment on your loan,” the banker replied gruffly.
He didn’t look any friendlier than he had the last time. He’d taken to coming out here once a week lately, unless she stopped in at the bank in town. His gray hair and fancy clothes were supposed to make him look distinguished, she supposed—and trustworthy. But she wouldn’t trust this man farther than she could throw him.
“I … I can’t,” she said. “My situation hasn’t changed.”
“Well then, you can prepare to move out.” Grant reached into his coat and drew out a folded sheet of paper. “This is your eviction notice. The bank will take possession one week from today.”
“What? A week? That’s not enough time for the boys and me to—” She looked numbly at the folded paper he thrust toward her.
“That’s right. And if your things aren’t out of here, I’ll hire some men to come and throw them out. You’d best make arrangements before then, Mrs. Piner.”
“But I—please! Give us more time.” A tear betrayed Maggie and rolled down her cheek, and she swiped at it.
Grant shook his head. “More time? I’ve dealt with trash like you before. You think if you just don’t leave and cry a little, you don’t have to live up to your contract. Well, save the tears. You’d best be out in seven days, or I’ll have you arrested.” He returned to his horse and swung into the saddle.
Sam had heard about enough of this. He stepped over to the ladder and grabbed the shotgun’s barrel. Before Fred could do more than let out a squawk, Sam wrenched the gun away from him. He strode to the door and stepped out into the sunlight beside Maggie. She looked mighty fine in the light
of day, and her scent wafted to him—sun-warmed meadows and baking bread. But he couldn’t think about that now. He leveled the shotgun at the banker’s fancy waistcoat.
“That’s not a very nice way to speak to a lady, mister.”
Grant stiffened in the saddle. His gaze flickered over Sam and went back to Maggie’s face.
“Who’s this?”
“He—” Maggie glanced at Sam. Her eyes were wide, and her face was tightened. She looked plain terrified, and she wrung her hands. “I—he’s my—we’re going to be married.”
Grant’s shoulders relaxed a little bit. “Why didn’t you say so?” He looked at Sam. “I’m Rutherford Grant, of the Turtle Springs Bank. Do you intend to pay off this woman’s mortgage?”
Sam kept the shotgun pointed at him. “I don’t do business like this, mister. Go on back to the bank. And don’t you ever speak to Mrs. Piner like that again.”
Grant scowled at him. “Does this mean you’ll come into the bank and discuss it?”
“Get moving.” Sam raised the gun barrel just a hair.
Grant got the message. “I’ll expect to see you at the bank within forty-eight hours.” He wheeled his horse and urged it into a canter. Sam kept his position until the rider was out of sight. Then he slowly lowered the shotgun.
“Thank you.” Maggie’s voice cracked. “I’m sorry.”
“You weren’t serious, then.” Sam tried to see her eyes, but she wasn’t looking at him. She stared down at the flat stone that made the doorstep. Her shoulders quivered beneath the thick green material of her dress.
“I didn’t mean to lie,” she choked out. “I only thought I could maybe buy us more time. And now I’ve dragged you into it. I shouldn’t have told a falsehood to get out of a bad situation. I’m truly sorry.”
Fred charged through the front door. “You did it, Sam! You made him go away.”
“Well yeah,” Sam conceded. He set the butt of the shotgun down on the doorstep.
“Mama, I told you he was the right one!” Fred seized Maggie’s hands. “You said you’d marry Sam.”
Maggie sighed. “Freddie, this doesn’t change a thing. Now, come on, we have to start packing.”
“No! Sam—”
“We still owe the bank,” Maggie said tightly. “We’re still going to lose the property.”
“But you told Mr. Grant that Sam would marry you. Maybe he can pay our bill.”
“Now, Fred,” Maggie began.
Sam laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Fred had to quit thinking he could save their home. Maybe Maggie would find someone with deeper pockets than him through this mail-order husband thing. He almost regretted the thought of her marrying someone else—a stranger—just to keep the ranch. But then, he was a stranger, too, and he had no right to wish anything for her.
“I’m sorry, Fred. If I could help you, I would.” He knew as he spoke that it was true. “But I don’t hardly have a cent. That’s why I was riding through here, looking for a job. I told you—I’m broke, and I can’t pay off that mortgage.”
Fred’s face fell then he looked up again, still hopeful. “Maybe you can get a job in town. Maybe—”
“Stop it, Fred,” Maggie said sharply. “Mr. Cayford needs to get on his way, and he’ll do that as soon as your brother brings his horse back.” She looked anxiously down the lane.
She’d said the reverend’s house was a mile away. Sam caught her tension. The boy should have been back by now.
“Maybe the preacher had gone somewhere, and Benjy had to track him down.” Maggie glanced sidelong at him, and Sam shrugged, feeling useless again. Nothing was going to relieve her anxiety until she was settled with her boys and a steady, hardworking man, preferably one that could pay the bank enough to stop Grant from bothering them about the mortgage.
Maggie drew in a deep breath and turned to face Fred. “I made a mistake, Fred. I lied to Mr. Grant. I’ve asked God to forgive me, and I know He will. Mr. Cayford says he’ll forgive me, too, because I lied about him. It wasn’t true, and Sam isn’t going to marry me.”
“But you said—”
Maggie held up one hand. “Uh-uh. We have to do what’s right. What do you think God wants us to do right now?”
Fred’s chin sank to his chest, and he wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“We have to let Mr. Cayford go,” she said, so quietly Sam could barely hear her.
Fred looked over at Sam. “Won’t you help us, Sam? Even if you don’t have any money, you could—”
Drumming hoofbeats drowned out his words. They all looked toward the lane. Sam recognized his horse, Rocker, first, and then the small boy clinging to the saddle.
“It’s Benjy,” Fred said.
Maggie gasped. “He’ll break his neck.”
Sam handed Fred the shotgun and stepped forward to intercept the horse.
“Whoa, Rocker. Whoa, boy.”
The bay gelding stopped so fast he nearly sat down, and Benjy tumbled off, landing in the dust at Sam’s feet. Rocker snorted, jumped up, and skittered off a couple of yards toward the side. Sam reached down and picked Benjy up as Maggie ran toward them.
“You all right, kid?” Sam asked.
Panting, Benjy nodded.
“What ails you?” Maggie cried.
“It’s Preacher Smith. He’s hurt bad.”
Chapter 4
Maggie knelt before Benjy and drew him toward her. “What happened?”
Still panting, his face red, Benjy gasped out, “I got there and I couldn’t find him. I was going to ride over to the church and see if he was there, and I heard something funny. Like a ghost moaning.” Benjy paused, a worried frown creasing his brow.
“That must have scared you,” Sam said.
Maggie glanced up at him. She didn’t know Sam well—hardly at all—but he had a way with boys.
“Yes,” she said. “What did you do?”
Benjy swallowed hard. “I sneaked up to the porch and looked in the window.”
Fred had come to stand beside them, holding the shotgun with the muzzle pointed skyward, as Sam had. “What’d you see?” he asked his little brother.
“Nothin’ at first. But the noise was louder.”
“Did you go inside?” Maggie asked.
“I was afeared to. You ain’t supposed to go in someone’s house unless they ask you.” Benjy looked to his mother for approval on this statement.
“That’s right, but if someone’s hurt …”
“He didn’t know he was hurt then,” Fred said.
“Nope. Didn’t.” Benjy shook his head. “It was making me shiver all over, and I thought maybe I ought to hightail it back here.”
“Why didn’t you?” Maggie asked.
“I dunno. Sounded like words, I guess.”
“So you could tell it was human?” Sam asked.
Benjy peered up at him, puzzled, as though wondering why the drifter wasn’t sitting in the kitchen with Fred keeping him at the end of the shotgun barrel.
“Not sure, ’xactly, but …”
“But what?” his mother prompted.
“Went around back.”
“And?”
“Louder. It was real loud then.” He looked uneasily at Maggie. “I opened the back door.”
“That was brave of you,” Sam said quickly.
Benjy’s eyes pleaded for mercy. “Didn’t mean no harm.”
“It’s all right, Son,” Maggie said, patting his arm. “What did you find?”
“The preacher. He was lying on the floor yellin’. He-e-e-elp! He-e-e-elp!” Benjy gave the words a spectral wail.
“He must have been hurtin’,” Sam said.
Benjy ducked his head. “I went over to him, and he said, ‘Benjamin Piner, I don’t know what you’re doing here, but thank God you’ve come.’ And he said to get somebody to help him.”
“Was he bleeding?” Sam asked.
Benjy shook his head. “Not that I saw. Said he thought he’d broke his leg. Something about
his cat.”
“He’s got a big ol’ black cat,” Fred said. “To keep the mice down.”
Maggie nodded. “Festus. That cat is always underfoot. I’ve heard the reverend say one day he’d trip over it and break his neck. I guess that day has come. We’d best get over there.”
“I’ll go,” Sam said. “Benjy, will you ride with me and show me where the preacher lives?”
Benjy turned wide eyes on his mother. She stood and gave his shoulder a reassuring pat.
“You go,” Maggie said. “Show Mr. Cayford. Fred and I can walk over.”
“No need for that,” Sam said.
“He might need a doctor.”
“We can ride for one, can’t we, Benjy?”
The boy nodded uncertainly. Sam picked him up and plopped him on the saddle then mounted and adjusted Benjy in his perch. Sam tipped his hat to Maggie.
“Don’t fret now. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
“Mama?” Benjy sounded frightened, so Maggie stepped up to the horse’s side.
“What is it?”
“We don’t …” Benjy jerked his chin slightly and whispered, “We don’t know this guy.”
Maggie smiled. “It’s all right. Sam and I are friends now.”
Sam rode on the warmth of her words, holding Benjy around the waist. The boy guided him back toward the little town of Turtle Springs and down a side road. When they came to a small clapboard house, he pointed, and Sam turned Rocker into the yard.
“This it?”
Benjy nodded.
Sam swung down and reached up to pull the boy off, but Benjy was already feeling for the stirrup with his foot, so Sam let him dismount on his own.
“Can you watch Rocker? That’s my horse’s name.”
“Uh-huh.”
Sam hurried to the front door. The sun had fallen behind the trees, and the shadows were long, but no light shone from within the house. He gave a peremptory knock.
Seven Brides for Seven Mail-Order Husbands Romance Collection Page 10
