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

  Mae looked toward the barn. “Charlie took Tuppy and the twins out with the cart to gather kindling in the woods. Buckeroo and Joe-Joe came back for lunch. They said Charlie decided to fish.”

  Her gaze drifted off to the small stand of woods a mile distant, toward the mountains. “He should have been home long since.”

  Robert had been soothing a nervous mare by gently stroking her back with a saddle blanket. He folded the heavy cloth and hung it over the top rail. “Fish don’t bite much in the afternoon. He knows that. He probably had some mischief in mind.” He chortled. “Or some laziness. I’ll saddle one of the more amiable stage-two horses and give him a ride. Perchance I’ll find our errant brother sleeping in the shade or building a dam where we don’t want the stream stopped.”

  The wind swirled the dust. “I wouldn’t worry, but—” Mae captured a long wisp of her hair the wind had freed. She tucked it behind an ear and nodded toward the range. “A storm’s brewing over Higgin’s Peak.”

  “No need to fuss, sis. He knows better than to hang around a draw when there might be heavy rain upstream.”

  “He’s a careless boy.” Mae sighed. Grant wanted to take all her burdens away. She squinted against the wind. “Charlie’s not given to much thinking when he should be paying attention.”

  Minnie Sue climbed down the outside of the paddock. “Come on, Good Ole Bess. We know all of Charlie’s hiding places.”

  “You girls aren’t going by yourselves.” Mae chased Minnie Sue and apprehended her with a hand on her arm. The quick little rascal had made it halfway across the open yard between the horse-training rings and the picket fence in front of the house.

  She stomped one small, booted foot. “We’ll take Joe-Joe and Buckeroo.”

  “I’ve got them weeding bean rows. They’ve neglected their garden chore for two weeks and almost got away with a third. And to make up for shirking, they’re carrying water buckets to the late squash.”

  Good Ole Bess had pumped her legs hard to scramble down from her perch and catch up with her sisters. “I want to peek under the big leaves and see the baby pumpkins.”

  Minnie Sue shook her finger at Bess. “It’s more important to haul Charlie outta trouble.”

  “I’ll go with the girls.” Grant let himself out of the gate and carefully latched it behind him. “I think I can keep up with them.” He smiled first at Mae then at the two girls bouncing beside her.

  “Pleeeease!” They spoke in unison, dragging the word out as long as they could hold. Minnie Sue ran out of breath first, leaving Bess with a triumphant smirk.

  “Sure, he can go.” Robert turned and walked backward as he headed to the barn door. “Take Tuppy and the cart. The girls know the way to the fishing pond. It’s a bumpy trail.”

  In only a few minutes, Grant sat on the makeshift seat of the old goat cart, reins in hand, the two girls standing behind him. With their feet in the bed of the cart, they leaned against him on either side, each holding one of his arms. His healing leg ached only a bit. The grin on his face hurt a whole lot more, but he was so glad to be out and doing something useful, he couldn’t stifle the smile.

  Evidently, Buckeroo and Joe-Joe were making up for a whole lot of slipshod chores. They’d had to unload the kindling and stack it in the kitchen, before they even began in the garden. Neither one expressed any joy at being left out of the adventure of saving Charlie, wherever he was. But they didn’t grumble, either. One look from Mae, and their expressions slid into masks of compliance. Not quite cheerful compliance, but pretty close.

  Her last words to the boys were, “I want to hear some whistling while you work.”

  To those heading out to search for Charlie, she said, “Watch the sky.”

  Goat cart and horse rode out together, but Robert ran his frisky mare around to the other side of the stand of woods. Grant guided Tuppy through the high grass on a trail somewhat beaten down by earlier traffic.

  “This is the way they went,” announced Good Ole Bess.

  “This is the way we always go.” Minnie Sue pointed to a break in the tree line. “There’s a swimming hole we go to when it’s really, really hot. The water’s chilly.”

  “It’s really snow from the mountaintops.”

  Minnie Sue sniffed her scorn. “Not when it gets to us it’s not. It’s melted.”

  “But it once was snow. The same snow we can see on the peaks taller than Higgins.”

  “That’s true,” admitted Minnie Sue. “We aren’t allowed to swim there alone, ’cause cold water can give you a cramp, and a cramp can make you drown.”

  “We gots lots of water.”

  “That’s what makes our land so rich.”

  “Land can be rich?” asked Bess. “I thought only mean peoples like Mr. Stilling was rich.”

  “Rich means good for cattle and crops and stuff. Rich land means rich people want it.”

  “Oh.”

  Grant stifled both a grin and a chortle. The little girls’ conversation had delighted him even before he could get out of bed.

  The wind picked up and a sheet of lightning brightened the dark clouds miles away, hovering over the peaks.

  “Mae doesn’t like storms.” Good Ole Bess hugged Grant’s arm harder.

  He suspected the girls didn’t, either, but perhaps they weren’t as clear on just why storms held a special fear for their big sister.

  “We’ll stay out of the gullies.” Grant clicked his tongue and jiggled the reins against the goat’s back. “And we’ll bring Charlie home as soon as we can.”

  The goat quickened his pace as if he caught the urgency of their mission. Ruts and reaching tree roots jolted the goat cart once they passed under the canopy of thick aspen. The coin-shaped leaves clattered as the wind whipped through the forest. The air thickened with the weight of moisture in the coming storm.

  “Call for Charlie,” Grant instructed his two companions. “Then stop and listen for his answer.”

  “Charlie! Charlie!” His name bounced among the straight, white-barked trees.

  Grant slowed at a fork in the sketchy path. Minnie Sue pointed to the right. “That’s the way to the caves.” The left branch looked to be used more often. “The stream, waterhole, and felled timber’s that way.”

  “Charlie’s supposed to be fishing?” Grant gazed down the beaten path to the waterhole.

  “Yep.” The girls spoke in unison.

  “So let’s try the caves first.” He guided Tuppy into the higher grass. “Keep calling his name.”

  The tumble of distant thunder changed its tune as they moved closer to the caves and the foothills. A flash of light and snap of air masses colliding brought the girls clambering over the low bench to squeeze in next to Grant.

  “I hope he’s not in a gully.” Minnie Sue’s fingers dug into Grant’s flesh. All Bess could do was nod, but since her face was buried in his upper arm, he felt her response.

  “We’re going uphill, bit by bit.” Grant wanted to reassure them, but he hoped the reckless boy was on high ground. “The real danger is lower, where the water rushes off and joins together in cuts across the plains.”

  Bess jerked to her feet. Grant’s arms snagged her. “What are you doing?”

  “I heard him.”

  Grant reined Tuppy to a halt. They all three quieted, straining to hear above the wind playing havoc with the branches above them.

  Bess sucked in a huge breath. “Charlie!” Her holler should have been heard all the way back at the ranch house.

  “I’m here. Over here. I’m stuck.”

  Minnie Sue hit the ground first, on her feet and ready to rush off.

  “Wait for me.” Grant went over the side and pulled his crutches from the back. Good Ole Bess was beside him and holding Minnie Sue’s hand by the time he was ready to go.

  “Keep yelling. We’ll follow your voice.” Grant ignored the twinges as his muscles objected to hard use. Occasionally, the pain caught his breath, but he managed to keep up with the det
ermined sisters.

  They halted at the top of a ditch. The ground dropped away, and the debris showed evidence of a recent slide. Charlie sat at the bottom.

  “Charlie.” Minnie Sue’s bossiest voice blustered against the wind. “What are you doing down there?”

  “The side gave way, and my foot’s caught in all this rock and dirt and branches.”

  “I’m coming.” Grant did a quick survey of the area. “Stay here a minute, girls.”

  He moved over a couple of feet, sat on the edge, put his crutches above his head, and with a push, sent himself sliding down the loose siding of the natural trench.

  After hitting the bottom, he gasped a couple of deep breaths before he could prop himself up and hobble to Charlie’s side. Several rocks the size of bread loaves clustered around his leg and buried his foot.

  Grant put aside his crutches and grabbed one to roll aside. Before he pulled, he stopped. The possible desperation of their situation blindsided him. “Are you hurt?”

  “Not much. I don’t think anything’s broken.” Charlie’s nonchalance wasn’t damaged. “I’ve got on my good boots.”

  “That’s a blessing.”

  Charlie struggled to sit up straighter. “Not altogether. They’re really Deacon’s old boots he hasn’t really given to me yet.”

  Good Ole Bess’s cry could be heard from above.

  Minnie Sue hushed her and then called down, “Is he broken?”

  “Not too bad.” But how was he going to get him up the crumbling ravine? He’d jumped before thinking. Caring about the kid had impaired his normal clear thinking. Not good. Charlie was the least likable of the Seadys, and even this kid had him entangled. The oddest part of the whole setup was that he liked being interwoven in this family.

  He grinned up at the angels. “Can you go get the rope from the cart? We’ll need it.”

  The girls scampered off.

  “Let’s get you free before they return. You can holler if it hurts.”

  Charlie clamped his lips together as if pure torture would not pry them open for even a squeak.

  After the first two rocks, Charlie helped dig his foot out. Fire scorched Grant’s ribs, and his leg screamed like he’d rebroken the healing bone. He knew a few moments of rest would put him right. At least, right enough to get back to the ranch.

  Minnie Sue’s head appeared over the lip of the ravine. “Here’s the rope.”

  “Wait!”

  “I thought you wanted the rope.”

  “Don’t throw it down. Pass one end around a tree trunk then lower that end. Keep the other end up there with you.”

  “I can do that!”

  While they waited, Grant leaned back against the crumbly side, stretched out and almost comfortable since he wasn’t moving.

  He glanced over at Charlie, who was dirty and tired but definitely not repentant for causing trouble. “What brings you to this part of the woods?”

  “I was sneaking away from those two men so I could get back to warn the others.”

  “About what?”

  “The fire.”

  “What fire?”

  “The one that isn’t going to be started by a lightning strike.”

  “Charlie?”

  “Yep, it was those two troublemakers.” He scrunched his face. “I think.”

  “Just think?”

  “I heard them plotting, but I didn’t actually see them.”

  “Charlie? Grant?”

  Grant looked up where Good Ole Bess’s face peered over the edge.

  “Yes, little angel?’

  “Minnie Sue and me, we smell smoke.”

  Chapter Eight

  A little fear gives a big push.” Many of his father’s sayings rang true. And they snapped him to attention at the most apropos times.

  They tied one end of the rope around Charlie’s small waist. The rope looped around a tree, and Grant pulled as if it were strung through a pulley, hoisting the boy out. Charlie helped. The girls cheered.

  Now Grant rested in the ditch with both ends of the rope at his command. Smoke swirled at the top. The need to get them all to safety gave Grant the push he needed.

  “Charlie!”

  The boy’s tousled head of muddy-blond hair appeared over the edge, followed by his dirt-encrusted face. Even in these circumstances, he sported a cocky grin. “What next?”

  “I’m sending up one of my crutches for you to use. Tie the rope to the tree. It’s up to you to get the girls to Tuppy and then back to the ranch. Warn the others about the fire.”

  On cue, Good Ole Bess’s keening howl rose above that of the wind. “You come, too. You come now.”

  Grant had already made a loose knot around one crutch and hauled on the opposite rope. “Now, Bess, it’s going to take me awhile to wiggle out of this ditch. It’s important that your big brothers come. The sooner you three get help, the better.”

  “Hurry!” Minnie Sue’s command could have been to any of them, her sister, her brother, or her cowboy.

  Grant could see her in his mind’s eye as she went on. “Charlie, you wait and get the crutch. Give me your hand, Good Ole Bess. We can run fast. We’ll turn Tuppy and the cart around before Charlie even gets there.” Her last line was delivered as she left, probably over her shoulder as she dragged poor Bess behind. “Mr. Cowboy, we’ll save you.”

  Grant strained his ears to listen to their departure. When he no longer heard their voices or Charlie’s grunts, he collapsed, sliding down to sit against a fallen log. He held the second crutch in one hand and the rope in the other.

  At least Charlie and the girls were on higher ground.

  Pain from each of his healing injuries brought all his senses to a sharp awareness of reality. He’d already used what energy he could pull from his weakened body. He gritted his teeth against expressing his anguish with something that would surely come out as a scream.

  Those buffoons had managed to start a fire. Perhaps the rain would fall in torrents and snuff the flames before they spread. Perhaps the torrent of rain upstream would gather and crash through this gully in a few minutes’ time. Staying in the gully was not an option. Moving promised to be agonizing.

  He closed his eyes. “Dear Lord, guide the children quickly and safely home. Give Charlie the determination to take his sisters straight to Mae without succumbing to any distractions. Don’t allow him any ‘bright ideas.’ Have Minnie Sue use her gift of bossiness to good end. No squabbles to slow them down. Bless the goat. Make him cooperative. Protect them, Lord, from fire, floods, and those brutes loose in the area.”

  He opened his eyes and glanced around. “Help me get out of this hole in the ground. Amen.”

  “And the crutch? How am I supposed to carry the crutch?”

  Grant undid the top buttons of his shirt and pulled the tail out. With difficulty, he managed to force the crutch under the shirt collar at the nape of his neck. He eased it down between his shoulder blades until only the padding rested against the back of his head.

  He stood, holding the rope securely in both hands. “One more thing, Lord. The knot Charlie tied to anchor this rope? Please hold it secure. Amen, again.”

  The slick soles of his boots refused to grip the decomposing forest rubble. He had to slide his right foot back and forth seeking a root or rock that would hold his weight with each step up. Only his left leg would hoist his body upward.

  Every effort hurt one or more parts of his body. Some headway up the slope hurt all of his body, every single muscle. A slip thudded his side against a nubby root and reminded him his broken ribs were still tender. Very tender. He thought that particular clumsy bump took them from bruised back to broken.

  Vocalizing took his mind off the aches. Since he was panting, the tune he chose didn’t much resemble the actual song. But the melody was one Mae sang as she swept, and somehow the strong beat helped him concentrate on making each effort in a timely manner.

  Mae would be relieved when the goat approached the hou
se. Without a doubt, Tim and Deacon would soon be on their way to retrieve the straggler. He hadn’t made hero status on this endeavor. Grant shook his head as his pride raised its ugly voice in his brain.

  As long as the children were safe, his self-image really didn’t matter. But he had plans, and failing to get out of this gully would end them all. He renewed the vigor of his song and pictured Mae sitting at the top of the ravine, waiting for him.

  He crested the ledge and found no alluring woman. Victory over the elements smelled heavy of smoke and sounded like wind swept before a crackling fire. Lying with his face in a cool, soft deposit of old leaves, Grant felt the hot breath of a giant on his back.

  He twisted to a position where he could undo his buttons. If he’d had the strength to tear his shirt to bits, he wouldn’t have bothered to wiggle out of the sleeves. Measuring time was a lost cause. Pulling one arm out nearly wasted him. The second was easier in terms of pain, but must have taken twice as long. Every effort required recovery, panting, and waiting for spasms to subside.

  As the crutch fell away, he stretched out on his back. After a pause, he wrapped his shirt around his head, covering this nose and mouth from the smoke. He allowed his body another few moments of respite.

  “Dear Lord, help me.”

  Grant managed to get to his knees. Then, leaning on this crutch, he unbent his mangled form and stood on one leg.

  Wind kept the smoke moving. A real fire. He couldn’t ignore that threat. Just where was this fire?

  The sounds worried him. Thrashing branches cracked. Fire consuming wood crackled. Grant heard both. He turned his back on the loudest and moved toward the last place he’d seen Tuppy and the cart.

  Mae swung up and into the saddle. Deacon and Tim had already followed Robert, but she had taken the twins inside, changed clothes, and given Lucy as many instructions as could possibly come pouring out of her mouth in that short time.

  She looked at the house. She’d left Lucy terrified. Her fault. Hiding the fear of a storm had always been impossible for her. Buckeroo and Joe-Joe were confused and rebellious. Again her fault. She hadn’t handled ordering them around diplomatically. They already chafed under the discipline imposed when she’d discovered how much work they’d let slide.