Grant sipped the soothing brew to ease the pain, and chopped in a frenzy to mitigate his frustration.
“Small pieces,” instructed the woman he loved. “We need this stew to cook quickly.”
“Doesn’t the name stew imply a long time simmering?”
“Not this time.”
She whisked away the board and its small mound of carrots to slide them into her biggest pot. She returned an empty board and stacked potatoes at Grant’s elbow. Within thirty minutes, pounds of finely chopped vegetables roiled in a beefy broth.
He downed two-and-a-half mugs of tea, and the greatest pain he felt at the moment was the distance Mae had put between them. Not physically—they were in the same room.
But her pleasure at his attentions had vanished. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she hadn’t liked the kiss.
She stood at the sink with her back to him, washing dishes.
Grant managed to stand with only a few scrapes of the wooden legs against the floor to announce his movement. Surveying the room, he saw the two little girls asleep, piled together on the fine cushions of a large sofa. The boys remained upstairs but hadn’t reported on the amount of rain that blinded their view. Lucy had a book and sat in a chair near the front window.
With careful steps and only one crutch, he crept up behind Mae. He captured her waist with one arm and pulled her back against his chest.
She stiffened.
Heartened by the fact that she didn’t yelp or pull away, Grant laid his cheek against the crown of her head.
She sighed.
He allowed his lips to nuzzle her ear, then trailed kisses down her neck.
She leaned back.
“Mae,” he whispered. “You and I don’t need to stew. We’ll have years to simmer. If—” He leaned the crutch against the counter and used both hands to gently turn her around. “If you marry me, I promise we’ll do some mighty fine cooking.”
She tilted her head up. He took advantage of that tempting angle and kissed her.
He could have held her in his arms and continued the delight of touching, smelling, sensing her joy in being his love for as long as the family stayed occupied elsewhere.
She pulled back.
“No, Grant. I can’t. My family.”
He recaptured her lips. She slipped away with a slight move of her head. His mouth was next to her ear. Hers lingered near his.
“No man wants a woman encumbered by a family. Not just a sister or a brother, but nine people who depend on me. They need me.”
Joe-Joe bellowed down the stairs. “Mae! They’re coming!”
Mae busied herself with bowls, mugs, spoons, and glasses. Hot stew, cold well water, hot coffee, warm biscuits, cold butter and milk from the root cellar. The room smelled of steaming clothing. The men had swaggered in, buckets of water dripping from their soaked shirts and pants. Two dozen pairs of boots lined up on the porch.
The storm had eased into a dwindling drizzle, but the tumult in Mae’s heart kept her from focusing on anything. Moving through the motions of hospitality, she served the men. Their tales of a long ride and an acre of hay and a smattering of trees blackened by the quick flames and doused by rain only touched the fringe of her thoughts.
Like fiber in a loom, the warp and woof wove back and forth, in and out, and all the cross threads were Grant Winchester. She couldn’t detach herself from his presence. She doubted she ever would be able to. Each interchange entwined their lives, weaving them into a single cloth. That’s what she wanted.
Lord, there is no way. No way I can see. But I trust You. You can see the end of this trail.
Her prayers scattered and resurfaced as she took care of the mealtime routines, until an unnatural quiet settled over the room and grabbed her attention. Charlie stood beside the sheriff. Every eye was fastened on him. For once, his cocky air sunk under the weight of what he had to tell.
“I snuck up on them. I didn’t let them see me ’cause I know from before—” His eyes drifted over to Grant. He swallowed hard but responded when the cowboy nodded his encouragement. “I know how mean they can be. They were angry. They kept saying he didn’t take any of the chances, and he didn’t want to get dirty, and he this and he that, just lots and lots of complaints about this man.”
The sheriff’s big hand rested on the boy’s shoulder. “Get to the part about the fire, Charlie.”
“They were supposed to set a fire so people would think a lightning strike started it.”
Charlie imitated the Biden brothers’ voices.
“How we gonna do that?”
“Climb a tree and set the fire at the top where the lightning would hit.”
“Lightning don’t hit at the top.”
“It does!”
“Not just at the top, you stupid—” Charlie stopped and looked around the room. “I gotta leave some of it out, ’cause Mae doesn’t let us say some of the words they said.”
Mae smiled at him. He was caught up in being the center of attention, but he’d remembered their code of clean talk. And his gift of mimicry…she could almost hear the rough men and pick out the different personalities.
“Anyway, they argued some about a tall tree or a short tree, a tree close to the edge, or farther in. And they wanted the hay to burn, so one of them wanted to skip the trees and just go set fire to the field.”
Charlie turned to look at the sheriff. “Then one of them said, ‘Mr. Stilling ought to be doing this himself. If he wants a fire done just the way he wants it, then he ought to set it himself instead of sending us to do it.’”
Again Charlie’s imitation was humorous in its accuracy, but the meaning of the words sent chills up her spine. Her legs lost their starch, and she collapsed onto the nearest empty chair with an ungraceful, audible thump. The chair was next to Grant’s. Charlie had been sitting there before being called on to give his account. Grant took her hand. She gladly accepted his comforting touch and squeezed his fingers closer to her palm.
“We can’t track them.” One of the men gestured toward the window and the heavy gray skies.
“No need,” said the sheriff. “I know where they’ve been camping. When we quit the firefighting business.”
A chuckle went around the room.
The sheriff continued, “I sent Rodgers out to check. He should be turning up here before too long.”
Rodgers did show up after the men had devoured every cookie, pie, cake, and enough coffee to float them all out to their horses.
He removed his muddy boots before entering. “The Bidens have ridden to Stilling’s ranch. I didn’t follow them all the way, but there’s no other destination out that way I could think of.”
The sheriff grabbed his hat. “Then it’s time to visit Mr. Stilling.”
“It’s late. Going to be dark in an hour.”
“You can go home if you want, Dan.”
Dan grinned with only half his teeth decorating the smile. “No way I’m missing this. Stilling practically stole my brother’s land. I’d love to see him get trussed up like a turkey and locked in the hoosegow for eternity.”
Chapter Eleven
Mae and Charlie flanked Grant as they rode out. When the sheriff said he wanted her young brother to come along, she’d insisted she was going, too.
None of the men had opted to go home. They didn’t seem to be seriously considering what might greet them at the rich man’s ranch. They rode easy in their saddles and made nonchalant comments about hunting and the weather. One man even mentioned the pie his wife was making for the church picnic.
Mae’s thoughts were deadly serious, and as they came closer to their destination, her prayers became more fervent.
She’d been shocked to find that most, or maybe all, of the men who showed up to help knew the young family had no living parents. Apparently they’d conspired to keep the news from Stilling. The arrogant landowner had few friends in the area.
The wind had died down completely, the wet air hung about them but no long
er wept, and high in the sky the clouds broke up. The moon periodically peeked through wispy stretched-out lengths of leftover veils.
The sheriff stopped his posse at the base of a long, rocky hill. “The ranch house is just over this ridge. Rodgers, scout the house and the stable. The rest of us will wait for your report.”
Rodgers rode out, following the hill to the east.
While he was gone, the sheriff explained what he wanted done, should Rodgers come back to say the brothers were there.
Mae realized how much the men respected the sheriff as they listened and agreed to his tactics.
The scout returned with a grin and barely suppressed excitement. “They’re there. And hopping mad. He left them to dry off in his kitchen. And here they are, in where all this great food is being made. No one offers them anything. They get dried off a bit and some servant moves them to a room with old furniture. Mr. Stilling has his dinner, taking his time. And now he’s having a drink in his office. One of the servants, an old guy, asks if he wants the ruffians shown in, and he says no. He’s in no hurry.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Well, first I did some crawling around under the windows. With the rain finished, the windows are open. And second”—Rodgers winked at the sheriff—“the upstairs maid is being courted by none other than me. She works in the kitchen in the evening. I gave her our signal, and she snuck out to give me the details.”
The group of men laughed. The sheriff held out both hands, palms down. “Settle and focus. Remember, this is no tea party we’re going to, and the Bidens are dangerous.”
The sheriff looked around his group of volunteers. “Split up as I told you. Block the getaway routes. Keep your eyes open. We don’t want a gunfight, so keep your weapons out of sight.”
Rodgers led three men to the back of the house. The deputy took three men with him to the bunkhouse to explain that the sheriff was going to have a talk with their boss and no interruptions would be tolerated. Two men went to the stable to guard the horses, keeping them unavailable should someone decide to take a quick ride that night. Others took points farther from the house.
Mae, Charlie, the sheriff, Grant, and three men took the front of the house. The Stilling household had made no attempt to obscure the people within from anyone outside. Of course, no one should have been outside.
Standing on the porch, Mae could hear the Biden brothers’ complaints. Charlie’s imitation of their voices was uncanny.
“Look at us, Mr. Stilling,” the man shrilled. “We got holes in our clothes. Junior’s got burned spots on his arms. The wind whooshed. The fire exploded in one of the trees. It hopped over our heads to more trees. We could have been killed.”
“You ain’t paying us enough to set fires.”
“Fires is dangerous.”
Stilling’s soothing reply did not reach Mae’s ears.
“Robbing that Winchester guy didn’t work out real good. We got arrested.”
“And I got you out!”
The sheriff chuckled. “Mae, you, Grant, Tim, and Smith stay out here. Robert and Charlie and I will go inside.”
Mae leaped closer to grab his arm. “But—”
“No, Mae. There are three stupid men and one spoiled despot in a small room. You’re too emotional. Grant’s banged up. And besides, I just don’t need more people to keep track of. Charlie is going to identify the Bidens as being in the woods, then I’ll send him out. Boxer and Smith will come in. We’ll make the arrests.”
Mae hugged Charlie tight. “You do exactly what the sheriff says.”
“I will, Mae. I’m not stupid like them.”
The sheriff didn’t bother to knock. He walked in with Robert behind him and Charlie next to Robert. Mae and Grant moved for a better view into the room. Neither bothered to hide. No one looked out the window. Those in the room now watched the hall door, spilling three new visitors into Mr. Stilling’s office.
“Evening,” said the sheriff. “Charlie, which of these men were in the woods by your house this afternoon?”
Her brother came to stand in front of the lawman and pointed to each of the Biden brothers.
Stilling took three quick steps forward and stood facing the sheriff. “What is the meaning of this? I’ll not have you storming into my house. Take these buffoons if you must. If you have business with me, come to my office in town tomorrow.”
“My business is with you, tonight. Charlie, go on now.”
The movement was so swift, Mae didn’t see how their positions reversed. Stilling was out of the lawman’s reach and backed against a table. He held Charlie with an arm nearly strangling her brother. In his other hand, a small pistol pointed first at one person and then another.
The sheriff rested his hand on his gun but did not draw.
Stilling nodded. “Wise move, Sheriff.” Waving the pistol in emphasis, he snarled at the Bidens. “Junior, take their firearms. You can have them. Leave. Go out the back door to the barn.”
Junior stepped forward warily and took the sheriff’s gun and Robert’s rifle.
“Our money,” the shortest Biden protested.
“On the table, and there’s an extra three hundred. Take it and leave the territory. Go to California. Buy a gold mine.”
With delight, the three men took the guns and the money and headed toward the back of the house.
Stilling pointed toward a door. “Open that.”
Robert was closer and opened it without a question. Mae saw hanging coats.
“Get in.”
The two men complied. Stilling shut the door, turned the key in the lock, and strained to prop a chair under the doorknob while dragging Charlie.
All the time he dragged Charlie around. The boy’s feet barely touched the floor.
Mae shook Grant’s arm. When had she grabbed him for security?
“Grant.”
“I know. Stay calm. We’ll rescue him.” Strong and confident, he was close enough for her to lean against. “Mae, we’ll always take care of our family.”
Stilling charged out of the room and appeared at the front door. He held the gun to Charlie’s head. Armed men materialized out of the darkness, standing in a semicircle, each about ten feet from the porch.
Stilling shook. Perspiration beaded on his face. He blinked several times then used his gun arm to wipe sweat from his eyes. One of the men took a step forward while the pistol was away from Charlie. Stilling saw him. His gun arm jerked. With a wild movement, he pointed at the bold intruder.
Mae’s throat closed over a lump. The man was scared and senseless. He could pull the trigger at any moment. He aimed first at one man and then at another. Mae scarcely felt the movement at her side. The sound of a gun exploding dropped her to her knees. With her eyes riveted on Charlie, she saw Stilling jerk. He screeched. His gun fell to the porch. He released Charlie and grabbed his bloody hand.
Charlie flew across the space between them and tackled Mae in a hug. He jumped back and spun to face Grant. “You can shoot. You sure can shoot. Will you teach me?”
“You already know how to shoot.”
“Just rabbits. With a rifle. I want to shoot a pistol.”
“No!” said Mae. “Tim, let your brother and the sheriff out of the closet. I want to go home.”
Grant awoke to the sound of familiar voices coming from the great room. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and froze. Sharp pain reminded him of the last twenty-four hours. Every muscle in his body testified to each assault upon his being since he’d ridden out in a goat cart in search of Charlie. Every bounce in the cart, every bump in the ravine he’d encountered, every mile in the saddle going to and coming from Stilling’s ranch, and the too-few stolen kisses from Mae on the front porch of her home.
That particular assault had not been painful except for having to stand when he was tired enough to collapse. He’d have to do a better job of wooing her today.
The voices in the next room lured him to his feet. The door mu
ffled the conversation, but he knew it wasn’t just the Seady family around the breakfast table. He took the effort to make himself presentable, minus a shave that would just have to wait.
When he opened the door, his mother popped in front of him and swooped him into a hug.
“We’re here. We’re all here. Mostly. We came to rescue you. But you don’t need rescuing.”
Grant looked around the room. No, they weren’t all there. But interspersed among the ten Seadys, way too many of his brothers and his dad and a couple of brothers-in-law cluttered the room. He expected some baby-of-the-family barbs since they’d come all this way to pull him out of some sort of trouble. He hadn’t needed a rescue in more than six years, not counting his encounter with the Biden brothers. Would he always be the tagalong youngest brother in need of older siblings?
His mother patted his cheek. “But you don’t need rescuing. Charlie tells us you are the hero, rescuing him from the clutches of a madman. And Tim tells us you are marrying his sister.”
Grant’s eyes flew to Mae, and a sigh eased from his lungs when she nodded yes. Her face glowed. Every day she got prettier.
“We’re going to stay for the wedding, dear.” His mom glowed, too.
“Stay for the wedding?”
“Yes, dear. When is it?”
“Tomorrow,” said Mae, just as he said, “This afternoon.”
Mae weaved through all the people scattered around the room and came to his side. “Tomorrow, Grant.” She squeezed his arm and rescued him from his mother’s clutch. “It’s only Saturday. Tomorrow, after church.”
He looked into her eyes and saw the joy she was willing to share with him. There didn’t seem much to say. So he kissed her.
That seemed to be exactly what she wanted to hear.
Donita Kathleen Paul has given up on retiring. Each time she retires, she finds a new career. This time she married an author from New Mexico and is resurrecting skills as a wife and homemaker. She’s delved into romance, fantasy, history, and is toying with time travel. Writing will always be a part of her life. “The more I take time off to allow my body to relax, the more active my brain gets. I’m have way too much fun to stop.”
The Courageous Brides Collection Page 39
