by Linda Broday
The statement brought a fluster on which she had no time to dwell. She touched his forehead. Cold and clammy.
“What’s wrong?” Hope’s hurrying stride whipped the skirts about her ankles.
Glory met her middle sister’s worried gray eyes. “Please help me get him into the house. I think he’s in shock.”
With McClain between them, each draped an arm around their neck. He roused again and helped relieve their burden somewhat by hobbling on his good leg. Patience held the door and they maneuvered him inside.
“Where’s Mama?” Glory peered into the tidy parlor.
“Lying down. She had one of her headaches.”
“In that case, let’s put him in my bed.” She shifted the weight, ignoring sharp needles that shot through her neck. “I’ll sleep in the barn.”
“You can share my bed.” Hope panted under the load.
“We’ll worry about that later.”
Half dragging him, they dropped McClain onto the bed in a little alcove off the kitchen. Glory exhaled sharply.
“Who shot him?” Her mother’s voice came from the doorway. Ruth Day leaned against the wall, holding one hand to her forehead. The ruckus had evidently awakened her.
Not sure what or how much to tell, Glory stared silently at the circle of faces.
“Sorry for the noise, Mama,” she said gently. “Go lie back down. We’ll take care of him.”
“Who is he and what is he doing in my house?”
Her mother seemed determined to have answers despite her frailty and ill health.
A wince and a deep breath later, Glory wished she could soften the blow. “Name’s McClain, and I shot him.”
Shocked gasps flew around the small, windowless cubbyhole.
“You what? Why on earth?”
“An accident, Mama.” She rubbed her eyes wearily. “Mad Dog Perkins grabbed my Winchester and it went off.”
“Mad Dog Perkins, the outlaw?” Her mother struggled to comprehend. Worry creased Ruth’s forehead. “Glory Marie, I think you’d best explain yourself.”
The man called McClain groaned and opened pain-clouded eyes. “Mystery Lady?” he asked, his voice soft as a whisper.
“I will later, Mama. But first I need to tend to our guest before he bleeds all over my feather mattress.”
“It’s not proper to have a strange man in our house.” Ruth twisted her hands nervously. “Whatever will folks say now?”
“Sorry, ma’am. Don’t mean to cause no harm.” McClain tried to sit up. “I’ll just be on my way.”
“No, you won’t.” Glory held him down firmly. “I shot you and I’ll patch you up.” She gave her mother a clipped answer. “Besides, since when did it matter to us what others say?”
Hope quietly added her opinion. “I don’t think they can spread worse rumors than they already have.”
“Elevate the man’s legs. I once saw a doctor do that,” her mother cautioned, swaying and holding her head in both hands.
“Patience, take Mama back to her room, then put some water on to boil.” Glory lifted a pair of scissors from a sewing basket beside the bed before turning to Hope. “We need bandages.”
“What’re you planning to do with those, little missy?” McClain’s eyes held more than a hint of nervousness as his gaze centered on the scissors.
“I can’t pick out these pellets through your clothing. Now lie still.”
“But…but, you can’t just strip a man of his pride without a never-you-mind. Don’t I have a say-so in the matter?”
“No.” She snipped the material while he continued to object.
“Ain’t there any other choices here? Can’t I—”
“No.”
She kept her mind on her task, ever mindful of the closeness of the wound to his important…stuff. Bothersome thoughts tripped over each other inside her head. Things like how firm his flesh was and how the muscles twitched just beneath the surface. The downy hair on his leg brushed against the back of her hand and she jerked back.
Dear Mother Mary! Her palms grew sweaty and her pulse raced as if she were running for her life. Or in this case—away from trouble in the form of a stranger on a paint horse.
“I did what you said, Glory.” Patience skipped into the room, her reddish-gold pigtails bobbing.
“Asked. You did what I asked,” she corrected, quickly jerking the sheet over the man’s naked leg. “You don’t need to be in here right now. Run along. Go see what’s keeping Hope.”
“Oh, phooey. I’m not a baby, you know. When I grow up—”
“Scoot!” This time Glory added a firmer tone and reached for the tweezers, ignoring the familiar pout.
“Anyone ever tell you what pretty eyes you have, miss?” It seemed as if McClain willed her to meet his gaze, for he stole her power to do otherwise. “Your ma’s right, me being here is gonna cause…”
Inky-brown depths pulled her into a place of mystery and odd contentment. Breath left her in a sudden rush.
Three
“Let me worry about that. You focus on breathing.”
Buckshot had peppered his thigh. Engrossed in her task, Glory lost count of the small pieces of lead she coaxed from the soft tissue. An eternity later, she wiped her brow and dropped the tweezers into the metal bowl, satisfied she’d gotten them all.
McClain’s closed eyes gave her hope he’d drifted into oblivion again. A blessing for sure.
Not that she knew firsthand, but having metal fragments dug from your flesh must severely test a body’s courage and will. From what she’d seen, McClain wasn’t short in either department. He’d handled the ordeal with considerable fortitude.
Lord knew her own had been severely stretched.
A rustle in her pocket reminded her of the letter she hadn’t had time to read. She finished binding the wound and adjusted the sheet over the man’s long form.
With as much quiet as she could manage in light of her clumsy boots, she tiptoed out of the alcove and into the kitchen. Patience sat cross-legged on the floor, trying to tie a frilly piece of cloth on Miss Minnie’s head for a bonnet.
“Hi, Glory,” the girl said, looking up. “I’m making Miss Minnie real pretty. Hold still, you darn cat.”
“No swearing in this house. You know Mama would have a conniption fit if she heard you.”
“I only said darn. An’ it ain’t cursing. Uncle Pete says it all the time.”
“Isn’t. It isn’t cursing,” she corrected automatically. “And ‘darn’ is not ladylike language. You can’t repeat things that Uncle Pete says. I’ve heard him cuss a blue streak.”
She watched her little sister play with the cat and four new kittens. It wouldn’t be long before the girl would have each newborn wearing tiny doll clothes. Much to Miss Minnie’s irritation, Patience had dressed her in all kinds of garb from the moment she showed up on their doorstep. Not that the scraps of fabric stayed on long. Somehow, the calico always found ways to get the ruffles and bows off.
It wasn’t right that Patience had to resort to playing with animals instead of children her own age or even dolls. And it didn’t sit well in Glory’s mind that her sister should suffer the sting of the town’s rejection.
A precious thing, a child’s innocence. Too bad the loss of it had to come at any point in life, but far better when one was older and equipped to deal with hate and prejudice. The townspeople’s taunting and ignorance had been harsh taskmasters for Glory and her younger siblings.
Hope struggled through the kitchen door with a bucket of water from the creek. “We used all the water, so I went to refill it before dark. Sorry to leave you to finish by yourself.”
“That’s all right. It’s over and he’s dozing.”
“Glory, have you thought about supper?” her mother asked, joining them.
“No, Mama. I
’ve been pretty busy.” She tried to keep the annoyance from her voice. There was only so much she could do by herself. And there was still the matter of the letter.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll think of something, dear.” Ruth Day plopped down in a chair at the kitchen table. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten the explaining you owe me either. Bringing a strange man into our house. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Hope set the bucket of water on the sideboard and took a chair beside Glory, an expectant look on her pretty features.
“Not much to tell, actually. It began with a handbill I saw at Aunt Dorothy’s this morning.” Glory related the details of her confrontation with Mad Dog Perkins, and the wounding of McClain.
Patience came to her feet, her eyes wide. “You really tried to bring in a wanted outlaw? He could’ve killed you!”
“I don’t ever want to hear of you trying anything that dangerous again.” Ruth’s anger ended any thoughts of resuming the chase. “Do you hear me, young lady?”
“I think we should commend Glory for what she did.” Hope cast her older sister a look of admiration. “Had it worked, it would’ve answered all our prayers. Just think, we could’ve brought Papa home to be with us before…”
The miserable catch in Hope’s voice rekindled Glory’s frustration. McClain had ruined everything. He’d stolen her father’s last chance to die in his own bed on the land where he had come into the world. She pulled the soiled envelope from her pocket and handed it to her mother.
“Aunt Dorothy gave me this letter today. Never had time to read it.”
“Oh my.” The woman’s slender fingers trembled as she held the news from her husband. “I know your father will be home soon. I just know it.”
Though Glory ached to tell her mother that it was hopeless, that Jack Day would die far away from them in a hateful, forbidding place, she held her tongue. She couldn’t bear to snip the one thread of hope that kept the woman from slipping forever into her own world. Ruth had always hated Texas. Said the hot sun drained a person’s soul.
Not that Mama hadn’t hit upon a vein of truth. The unrelenting heat had surely withered her hopes, dreams, and lost innocence, turning them to parched, dry dust.
Patience and Hope sensed their mother’s fragile state, for they both put a protective arm around her shoulders.
“Read it to us, Mama. Tell us the news from Papa.” Hope laid her cheek softly against her mother’s.
“Dear Mrs. Day, I regret to inform you that your husband has taken a turn for the worst. He asks for you every waking moment. Is there any way you can see your way clear to coming? Time is short and swiftly fading. Your humble servant, John Fletcher, MD.” The letter dropped from lifeless hands while a quiet sob broke from Ruth’s lips.
“It’ll be all right, Mama. That doctor’s wrong. Papa’s gonna be well soon. You’ll see.” Tears filled Patience’s blue eyes. “Glory can fix it. Can’t you, Glory?”
* * *
Glory kicked a rock and sent it skittering. “Glory can do this, Glory can do that,” she mimicked. “When are they going to see I can’t solve all our problems?”
Cursing the sickening whirl in her stomach, she shook her head impatiently. “I have needs too.”
The underbrush rustled to her right, bringing her attention back to the task at hand—supper. Could be an animal. Or it could be Mad Dog Perkins. She gripped the rifle tighter. Thank goodness she’d pumped a cartridge into the chamber right from the start, because she dared not risk making noise. The importance of stealth lent quietness to her feet.
Before she crept a couple of yards, a wild turkey took flight, landing on the low branch of a post oak tree. The succulent meat would sit mighty nice on their table. She held her breath and took aim, the bird clearly in her sights.
Then a second away from squeezing the trigger, her vision blurred. Now two turkeys sat on the branch and she couldn’t distinguish the real from the illusion. She took her best guess and shot. The frightened bird skimmed just above the ground and over a small rise out of view.
Her heart sank. Two months earlier, she’d had no trouble with accuracy. Today, she couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.
The thought niggled her brain as she hurried after their escaping supper. Two months back seemed about the time a cougar had scared Caesar, causing the mule to kick Glory’s head. Gave her a powerful headache, though she recovered after a day in bed.
“I wonder if that had something to do with…no, it couldn’t. Not possible,” she muttered to herself. Whatever the reason, she wished to high heaven it’d go away. Her shoulders weren’t broad enough to deal with any more complications.
About an hour later, approaching darkness forced her to trudge home empty-handed. The turkey that had teased her taste buds had vanished. Two hawks, a porcupine, and a puny prairie dog were all she’d seen.
The fact that they had another mouth to feed further weighed on her heart as she pushed through the kitchen door.
Patience chattered like a magpie from the alcove where they’d taken McClain. Hope glanced up from her task of making biscuits. It brought an uncomfortable lurch to her chest. They could blame her for a bare table.
“Did you…?” The light from Hope’s face left as she quickly read Glory’s dejected posture.
“Nope. Nothing. Guess it’ll be whatever we can scrounge from the garden or root cellar.” She hung her serviceable hat on a peg beside the door. “Lord knows there’s pitiful left. This heat’s burned up everything. Including our will. Mama’s right. Maybe there’s no use.”
“Don’t say that, Glory.” Hope wiped the flour on her apron and gave her sister a hug. “We’ll manage. We’ve had hard times before and lived through them.”
Glory envied her sister’s eternal optimism. Their parents couldn’t have bestowed a more appropriate name on her. Unlike her own. Glorious? Far from it. The Greek name Hydra would fit better. The name of a dragon killed by Hercules.
“Besides, what choice do we have?” Hope added softly.
“None, I suppose.” She took a ragged breath. It’d been a long, disappointing day all around.
“Rest for a bit. Sit down and I’ll see what I can find.”
Too tired to resist, she let Hope push her into a chair. “Mama still lying down?”
“No, in fact, Aunt Dorothy stopped by. The two of them are in the bedroom talking.”
“Wonder what about.”
Hope disappeared out the door without answering. Whatever it was, Glory prayed it brought Mama out of her doldrums. Busy sorting through the list of possibilities, she overheard Patience from the next room.
“My sister didn’t mean to shoot you, Mr. McClain. She’s truly a nice person. Even when she yells at me sometimes, I still love ’er.”
“I’m sure you do,” Luke said.
“Doesn’t it hurt something awful to get shot?”
“All in a day’s work when you’re a lawman, little ’un.”
A lawman, huh? He’d not so much as breathed a word of this to Glory and he’d had ample opportunity. She smelled a rat.
“My name’s Patience. How many times have you been shot?”
“Reckon if you count arrows and bullets both, might near ten or twenty times.”
Glory shamelessly listened. You could learn a lot about a man not so much by what he said, but how he said it. Not that she cared a piddly poo about unearthing personal details. Other than making sure he wasn’t the sort to kill them all in their beds, that is.
The braggart truly didn’t suffer from shyness. His exaggeration—and she had no doubt that described McClain—was a feeble attempt to glorify himself in a little girl’s eyes.
Well, that sure fit what she knew of him so far. Plus, his drawling slang spoke of rustic living. Most likely, he didn’t even know his letters or how to cipher.
“Where’d your sister go?” he asked.
“Which one?”
“The crack shot. Miss Glory.”
Her heart seemed to stop when he spoke her name. Evidently, neither had heard her come in. She should put a stop to his meddling. Still, she wanted to eavesdrop a little while longer.
“She went to find us some supper. Glory takes care of us since our papa got put in prison. She can shoot real good.”
“I’ve gotten a taste of her shootin’ skills.” McClain’s tone rivaled the dry Texas wind.
The nerve of him! She hadn’t shot him on purpose.
“My sister can kill anything if she wants. That’s why you’re not dead, mister.”
Hurrah for Patience. Glory almost wished she had put the braggart out of his misery. Or else have shot a different part of his anatomy. Now there was a tempting thought. An inch or two higher would’ve changed his deep baritone to a soprano.
“Appears I owe you an apology, Miss Patience. Didn’t mean to hit a tender spot.” Did her ears deceive her? McClain almost sounded sincere. “Why’s your pa in prison? That is, if you don’t mind my asking.”
“Wasn’t his fault. Glory calls it a case of ignorance on account a ol’ lady Penelope being blind as a bat. She says that old sow cain’t find her backside with both hands.”
Glory leaped to her feet, shocked at her baby sister’s language. It never entered her mind that Patience would repeat her rantings. Didn’t matter that hurt and disappointment had driven those words from her mouth. The damage had been done. She had to stop this conversation and silence Patience.
The house filled with McClain’s laughter. A step from the alcove, she paused when her mother appeared with Aunt Dorothy. Ruth’s chalky face set off alarms.
“Dorothy’s brought some news from town.”
“What is it now, Mama?”
Ruth Day pursed her mouth, trying to form the words. Finally, she said, “Mr. Fieldings at the bank might call in some of the notes he holds.”
“Aunt Dorothy?” Glory swung, fixing her aunt with a stare.
