The Courageous Brides Collection

by Johnnie Alexander, Michelle Griep, Eileen Key, Debby Lee, Rose Allen McCauley, Donita Kathleen Paul, Jennifer Uhlarik, Jenness Walker, Renee Yancy

  A horse approached the house.

  “Mae! Mae! Mae!” Both girls hollered.

  “Hello, pretty girls.” A much older voice. Did his angels call their mother Mae? “Take Gramps inside, before he gets wet.”

  The scuffling sounds from the front door indicated Gramps was being dragged chair and all through the too-small entrance.

  “Line him up.” Minnie Sue ordered. “Just right! Or he’ll get stuck.”

  “I know.” Good Ole Bess huffed. “You didn’t take the shotgun. You gotta take the shotgun.”

  A heavier set of boots thudded up three steps and across the porch.

  “I got him, girls. How’s my patient?”

  “He’s alive!” Minnie Sue’s enthusiasm warmed Grant’s heart.

  His other little angel shouted, “He oped his eyes, and he grunts.”

  Unexpectedly, Good Ole Bess burst into tears. A wail carried her next words. “Charlie hurts him when he rolls him.” Big sniffs. “I don’ like that, Deacon. You should let us girls wash his back. He gets hurt real bad by the boys.”

  “Had to be done, Pumpkin. His skin would rot.”

  The three approached his room. This would be an adult. Deacon’s voice was deep, his tread steady, and he moved with ease. Instead of three sets of footsteps, now only the heaviest and one of the lightest approached. Grant guessed he’d swept the baby of the family into his arms.

  She was set down with a thump at the door. “Oh blast! I never should have left. Look at his bandages. Didn’t anyone change them?”

  Good Ole Bess renewed her howls with vigor. She’d subsided while carried by her big brother.

  “I’m sorry, mister.” A strong male voice. “I’ll have you more comfortable as fast as I can manage it.”

  Grant slit his eyes and turned his head the little bit that he could.

  Not an adult.

  Not even peach fuzz on his chin.

  Standard-issue blue eyes and brown hair so light it was streaked with yellow. A Seady, but not a grown-up Seady.

  Grant closed his eyes. Deacon was a boy. A boy on the cusp of becoming a man but still hollow-chested with none of the muscle of maturity.

  Grant sighed. The deep movement scorched his ribs.

  Deacon had the stranger sitting in the front room. Mae looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Lucy had thrown down her wooden spoon and marched out of the kitchen and up the stairs. The door to her room closed with unnecessary emphasis.

  Mae understood. Lucy had a weak stomach, and the sight of the bruises still in their purple glory all over the cowboy’s face was mighty ugly. Deacon had changed bandages but left some of the more shallow scrapes open to the air. That wasn’t exactly appealing, either.

  Dressed in Tim’s shirt and half of his pants, the man was decent. Lucy had complained he’d been near naked the entire time she’d been left in charge, and that was not right.

  Maybe not, but corralling those mustangs had been top priority. The small herd had never been so close, and right up against the mountains where they could box them in. Now her family would have money for paying men to help harvest their hay. That would keep Stilling away from their door. She shuddered.

  Stilling was bad news, and they tried to keep bad news off ranch property.

  She’d needed both Robert and Deacon to handle the wild horses. Tim could do anything with an animal in the barn or in his smithy, but out on the range, Tim was clumsy. Clumsy in the saddle. A Seady! Well, he had other redeeming qualities. Maybe she should have left him to guard the house.

  She shook her head and looked out the window to the barn. Rain had drenched every inch of the ground, every board of every fence, and all of their magnificent barn. The torrent had subsided to a heavy drizzle, and everything looked good. Smelled good, too.

  Dear Father in heaven, thank You for that barn.

  The structure was sturdy, massive, and uncomplicated. Unlike siblings.

  Siblings were complicated. The frailty of Robert and Tim’s relationship constantly wore at her skills of diplomacy. Tim would have felt like the unneeded twin if she’d left him behind. Small-boned but wiry, Robert thought Tim to have beat him to manhood. Tim, with no assurance generated by his muscular frame, envied Robert’s skills as a cowboy and his affinity with animals. Tim had his own way with the horses, but the gift displayed dramatically in Robert.

  They were both nineteen. Mae sucked in a breath and caught her lower lip between her teeth. She should be way past crying. Ma, Pa, and Uncle Boss had been dead four years. Aunt Sue birthed her baby and hung on just long enough to get Good Ole Bess a start before giving up.

  With Aunt Sue’s passing, Mae had raged. The only adult left didn’t have to die. The others got washed away in a flash flood. Aunt Sue just chickened out on the challenge of running this spread and keeping Stilling from taking over. It had all fallen on Mae.

  She studied the cowboy. Was he in pain? He sat stiffly in the best padded chair with his legs on the ottoman. Pale where he wasn’t flesh-raw or bruised, sweat beaded on his forehead. His entire face puffed out like an overripe plum.

  Pain? Yes, he had to be in pain. Not much of him wasn’t battered. What wasn’t purple was scraped raw, and some of him was both. No wonder Lucy, with her squeamish stomach, deserted her kitchen and ran.

  Well, Mae could do the cooking. She picked up the wooden spoon off the floor and tossed it in the wash bucket.

  Stew was already on the back burner. With the long-handled dipper left on the spoon rest, Mae gave the savory concoction a stir, poked a potato, and snitched a lick. A little salty, but the cooking potatoes should take care of that.

  The tiny hairs on the back of Mae’s neck tickled as they stiffened. She spun and caught the stranger’s eyes on her. Or were they? His swollen lids barely provided a slit to look through. She dipped her head and focused on the large table between them.

  “Bess! Minnie Sue!”

  A door opened along the balcony above the common room. Their curly mops of hair topped the banister as their bright eyes peeked over.

  Mae grinned up at them. The girls were really her cousins, not sisters, and sometimes she forgot she was not their mother. She’d propped the newborn in Aunt Sue’s arms to nurse. But Mae was the only mom Bess had ever known. Mae had done all the changing, rocking, walking, and lullaby singing. In those days, she’d raged at God for taking away all the adults, then praised Him for giving her charge over the tiny ones. Her heart had broken and healed over the two little angels.

  “Come set the table for lunch.”

  They raced to the stairs.

  Minnie Sue’s voice rang out over the sound of their feet tromping on each step. “Can we help with the cooking? Lucy doesn’t ever, ever need help.”

  “You can help cut biscuits.”

  “I love biscuits.” Good Ole Bess jumped from the second step to the floor. “I love gravy. I love stew.” She twirled in circles to the kitchen side of the great room. Giggling, she collapsed on the floor. “I love biscuits, and I love you.”

  Mae scooped her up, holding the limp scrap of a girl under her arms. Spinning, Mae danced around the table into the open area of the common room, away from the massive black stove and the work counters. Good Ole Bess squealed with delight as her legs flew out. Minnie Sue bounced in place, clapping her hands and stomping her feet.

  Mae’s laughter bubbled up in an unusual display of joy. This form of exercise had been too long in coming. She was out of shape when it came to being frivolous. Her side ached, and she panted as if she’d run a mile.

  If she never rode out on another roundup, she could tolerate the lack of adventure just fine. Household chores suited her so much more than barn duties. But she’d worked hard to convince her younger siblings that everything was just as she wanted. Nothing was going to ruin the illusion she’d woven around their happy home.

  She finished her spin just before she bumped into her father’s favorite chair. The chair needed a man in it. She flicked
a glance at the one sitting there now. Absolutely not! The ranch needed a tough old coot to stand against the tirades of weather and the conspiracies of greedy men. Instead, the Seady family had a stubborn, scared girl pretending to be in charge.

  Mae hugged Good Ole Bess and allowed the girl to slip from her embrace. Over the child’s curls, Mae’s eyes locked with those of the man propped up in her father’s chair.

  His stare between swollen lids caught her off guard. Surely, the broken cowboy didn’t see through her facade.

  Swollen lips didn’t lend themselves to much expression, but surely the stranger smiled. Not much. A twitch at one corner of his mouth. A light twinkle in his bloodshot eyes.

  Mae took in a sharp breath and turned away. Just because she wanted someone to come take her heavy burdens, relieve her of the onerous duty of keeping everyone safe and cared for, didn’t mean God would send someone. And hadn’t it always been in the past, that God provided strength within? Not a man from outside their small, close-knit family?

  She mustn’t imagine help where there was just another complication. She wiped her hands on the thighs of her denim trousers and turned to the kitchen. She’d promised the girls they could make biscuits.

  Set the table and cook, Mae Seady. Do what you can do and don’t dream. Whatever you do, don’t dream.

  Chapter Four

  Grant glanced over at Gramps sitting in the rocker, one leg out straight, the other bent. A shotgun rested with the butt in his lap. Unfortunately, the muzzle propped in the crook of his arm pointed in Grant’s direction. He eyed the black hole at the end of the barrel then grinned at the lifeless guardian of the household of children.

  For three days now, he and Gramps had kept company. A little bit longer each day. Today, he’d sat outside this morning and now, in the late afternoon.

  Conversation was nil. Fire blasted across his jaw at the twitch of a muscle. Eating qualified as torture. Opening his mouth more than a slot brought tears to his eyes. His big, strong cowboy image had crumbled over the past week.

  And the old man? Well, the old man just wasn’t much of a conversationalist. He kept his face toward the far distance, ostensibly bent on spotting any two-legged varmints approaching.

  But Grant enjoyed the time on the porch. Minnie Sue and Good Ole Bess spent most of their time playing nearby. Both he and Gramps had turned down the girls’ mud pies and cups of dirty “tea.” Mae had taken over feeding them real food.

  Lucy abandoned them for sewing and other duties that kept her out of the kitchen. Dressed as a man, Mae still made frequent trips to the barn. With her hair tucked under a beat-up old hat and feet shod in boots too big for her feet, she even walked with a masculine gait. In the house, she wore dresses and gravitated toward baking and stewing, and the brewing of all sorts of delightful concoctions for him to sip.

  Her femininity kept Grant on edge, eager to make strides toward eating and talking, walking and maybe wooing. To Grant’s way of thinking, her frequent presence was just fine. He loved the look of the oldest member of the Seady clan. Well, the oldest of an active crew. Gramps could hardly be counted.

  Mae was easy to look at, saturated the home with the aroma of apple pies and fried chicken and any number of other culinary wonders. She sang while she worked. Strong songs of faith, sweet melodies of love, and rollicking tunes of fine and funny folk. The music pleased his ears. His ears were the best working members of his body. The rest of him improved daily.

  He had all the younger Seadys identified by sight now. And he easily determined their dispositions.

  Tim looked like a walking mountain, muscle and bulk bundled tightly on a tall frame. He ruled the smithy, where he tackled tedious aspects of caring for the animals. But he also created artful work. The hinges on the cabinets showed both skill and an artistic design.

  Robert was lean, lanky, and loose-limbed. If he’d been built out of metal, he’d have clanked as he walked. The young man was made to be on the back of a horse. All the ranch animals seemed to claim him. The chickens followed him as if he’d hatched them. Toomany and her piglets squealed for attention when he walked past. The horses rubbed their chins against Robert’s face like cats when he leaned over the corral. Grant noted how often Robert had to shoo the goats, dogs, and other loose critters away from his heels. The livestock’s display of affection was comical.

  Yet everyone turned to Mae for final say. Even Charlie, who had a tendency toward impudence and sloth, watched himself in her vicinity. And if Joe-Joe and Buckeroo landed in hot water, it was Charlie who had put the pot on to boil. He was a likeable kid all the same. Grant enjoyed his chatter as the boy helped scrub his back and change dressings with Deacon.

  Deacon held a serious soul at the center of his mellow nature. This gentle, smiling fellow talked of Jesus as he worked on Grant’s wounds. His spontaneous prayers often caught Grant off guard. Deacon gently preached as he guided his siblings’ efforts to help. While he was different from anyone Grant knew, nothing about the young man irritated him. The phrase Grant had heard in church, “pleasing God the Father,” came to life in the style of Deacon’s life.

  The hours on the porch presented an odd opportunity. Grant’s mind conjured up all sorts of speculation about the Seady family. Physically, he couldn’t follow anyone around to see firsthand the workings of the ranch. The setup kept him mentally alert. Solving puzzles had often been a source of entertainment with his close-knit family. One sister wrote stories that she read in the evening, challenging her siblings to unravel the mysteries she’d plotted. This ranch would have delighted that sister and the rest of his household.

  Without his familiar confidantes, Grant mumbled his observations to his shotgun-wielding companion, but Gramps never commented on his children, his grandchildren, or the mechanics of running the horse-breeding ranch.

  Of course, that was to be expected, but nevertheless, Grant stewed in his unsatisfied curiosity.

  A fast-approaching horse from beyond the ranch buildings caught Grant’s attention. Charlie galloped in from the hills to the front of the barn.

  “Hey!” He pulled his horse to a sudden stop.

  Robert, Tim, and Mae dashed out to greet him.

  A short conference spurred immediate action. Mae and Robert hastened to the ranch house. Mae mounted the steps without a word. Her hands busily unknotted the hat tied under her chin. Her splendid head of hair tumbled around her shoulders as she passed him.

  Grant wanted to grab her skirt, stopping her long enough to get answers. But his body wouldn’t tolerate such an abrupt action. And Mae might not appreciate the interference.

  Robert, scooping up Gramps, shotgun and all, charged after her. Grant held his breath, wanting to call out, demanding to know what was so urgent.

  Could he help?

  Help? He couldn’t even get out of the way.

  From the corner of his eye, Grant saw the little girls frozen in their playing house near the end rail of the porch. Both girls wore apprehension like a cloak. Their eyes turned toward the road.

  Grant searched the yard for a clue as to what was going on. He’d seen Tim lead Charlie’s horse into the barn. Now Charlie sat on the top rung of the pigpen as if he’d been sitting there for hours. He watched the animals below, but somehow Grant thought the boy’s full attention was on the road that led to the Seady place.

  Robert plunged out of the house behind him and surprised Grant by sitting in Gramps’s chair. The breath caught in Grant’s throat as he managed a sidelong glance. Robert was dressed in Gramps’s uniform, faded overalls with suspenders over a green-and-blue plaid shirt, scruffy boots, hat pulled low on his brow, and the shotgun crooked in one arm.

  “We’re expecting company, Cowboy.” Robert had hardly spoken two words to him since they’d returned from the roundup.

  Surprised by the tenor of the boy’s voice, Grant wondered if he always spoke on a stretched string. Or did tension squeeze a squeak into his throat?

  Robert cleared his
throat before continuing with a slightly lower pitch. “I know I don’t have to warn you not to give us away. Just play along if things don’t add up. I reckon we’ll be telling you our secrets before too long.”

  A pale horse crested the hill on the road coming their way. A man in a city suit sat confidently in the saddle. Sunlight glinted off a shiny hatband circling his light hat.

  Robert stiffened and stood. He hobbled to the top step of the porch, gazed a moment at the newcomer then turned, and with the steps of an old man, made his way inside. As he went in, Mae came out.

  She wiped her hands on a cloth as if she’d been washing dishes. Gone were the britches and man’s shirt she’d worn to the barn. A blue flowered dress hugged her trim figure, showing how young she was and how attractive she could be. Her golden hair was caught in some fancy braid and hung down her back. Tendrils escaped and framed her face. Soft brown slippers peeked from under the hem of a wide skirt. A white apron completed the look of a young lady interrupted in her normal chores.

  Joe-Joe and Buckeroo raced from the side of the house.

  “What do you want us to do?” asked Joe-Joe.

  Mae turned from watching the man’s approach and smiled at her little brothers. “Just do what you would ordinarily do. Don’t let him see his presence bothers us.”

  Grant saw through the calm and pleasant expression on Mae’s face. Tension vibrated in her breathing.

  Good Ole Bess opened her mouth, her face composed to let wail in distress.

  “Bess!” Mae spoke sharply. “He’s a mean old man who’d take pleasure in your tears. Don’t you give him the joy of seeing you cry.”

  Minnie Sue jumped up and dragged her little sister back to their dolls. “Your baby’s fixing to cry, Good Ole Bess. You better rock her.”

  Mae snagged the glass from a table close to Grant’s hand. “Buckeroo, be so good as to refill our guest’s water from the well.” She put a hand on Joe-Joe’s shoulder. “Would you get a biscuit from the bread box, please?”