© 2016 by Regina Jennings
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-2895-6
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the authors’ imaginations and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Regina Jennings is represented by Books & Such Literary Agency.
Cover design by Dan Thornberg, Design Source Creative Services
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Excerpt from For the Record
About the Author
Books by Regina Jennings
Back Ads
Chapter One
This cow would cross the river even if it killed her. Which it wouldn’t. Katie Ellen knew a thing or two about . . . well, about everything . . . and if she couldn’t lure Buttercup and her calf across the river, she’d have to reevaluate her claims to intelligence.
Going down the bank, she dug her heels into the slick grass to keep the wheelbarrow from pulling her forward. She parked it against the oak that would serve as her anchor and lifted the rope out. It was soaked. Nothing outside of her raincoat was dry today. Even a section of the split-rail fence that normally kept the livestock in the pasture had washed down the mountain. Just another mess to fix before her parents returned home.
Buttercup lifted her soggy head and bawled from the other side of the swollen river as her calf stamped nervously at her side.
“I hear you, you cussed nuisance!” Katie Ellen hollered. “If you would’ve stayed on this side in the first place . . .” But insulting the cow would have to wait. Planting her feet wide, Katie Ellen hefted the ratcheting winch out of the wheelbarrow and dropped it at the base of the tree. Finding the end of the rope, she wrapped it around the tree, then forced it through the gear. Turning it this way and that, she got it situated to its best leverage, which a couple of yanks on the crank proved beyond doubt. Now it was time to cross the bridge.
She tugged the edge of her leather gloves up beneath the protection of her sleeves. Besides a cold trickle down her neck that had invaded her armor while she bent over, she was completely dry. Quite an accomplishment considering the rain that’d pounded the land ever since her parents left five days ago. Gathering the rope, she headed toward the bridge. No use in waiting. The river surely wasn’t going down anytime soon.
This bridge was the only crossing from the Watsons’ farm. Built on the mountain, the rocky Ozark homestead was tucked into the curve of the river. The other side was a steep bluff, not good for anything besides growing cedars and collecting pinecones. Seeing how the bridge was used only by the family and their occasional visitors, Pa hadn’t put too much timber across the rock pillars that supported it. Now, looking at the black, slick planks and the river foaming against it, Katie Ellen wished he had. Her boots had a good grip and she could swim, but another look at the churning river and she knew she’d better not count on that ability to keep her alive. Better rely on her wits. They’d always been her strong suit anyhow. She twisted the rope around her slender wrist a few times and gripped it hard. She’d told Pa and Ma she could take care of everything. This was just part of the job.
From the time her boots hit the slick planks until she was safely on the other side, Katie Ellen didn’t breathe. She looped the rope over Buttercup’s head to form a halter and yanked on it to make sure it wouldn’t slip. One second to scratch the worried cow’s head before hurrying back across the bridge. She tried not to notice the water bubbling up between the planks. How long would it hold?
Back at the tree, Katie Ellen grabbed the handle of the winch and pumped at it vigorously. Getting the slack out of the rope was merely the prelude for what was to come. Already Buttercup had her legs braced against the tension and her head ducked, trying to pull out of the halter. Each pull grew more difficult as the rope stretched. Katie Ellen renewed her grip. Buttercup lowed. The gears clicked with every inch of rope that she tugged through the opening. Click. Click . . . click. Buttercup had stopped at the edge, but she hadn’t yet put a hoof on the bridge.
“Come on, you ornery thing!” Katie Ellen hollered. “You crossed that bridge to run away this morning, didn’t you?” Next to its obstinate mother, the calf added its opinion, as if Katie Ellen needed reminding that it was two against one. Throwing her weight against the lever, she moved it a few more inches, and then nothing. Straightening, she narrowed her eyes to look through the rain to where the cow stood, not budging. She was missing something. Time to call for help.
“Lord, please . . .” and then inspiration hit. The calf. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? Katie Ellen released the gear mechanism to get some slack in the rope, then ran down the bank again. Now water coursed over the bridge. Gingerly, she eased one small foot at a time on the structure. The angry river splashed against her ankles, threatening to sweep her feet out from under her. Her heart sped. No time for fear, just get it done. Holding the rope with a death grip in one hand and her skirt in the other, Katie Ellen swallowed her anxiety, willed her heart to slow its wild cadence, and picked her way across the groaning bridge.
“Hurry,” she commanded herself. With deft movements she freed the cow and looped a halter over the calf’s head. The calf she could pull, and Mama Cow would surely follow. It was her only hope.
She spun. The river she’d seen every day of her life had never looked like this before. Jumping its bank, the river now covered the bridge completely, hiding the planks beneath angry brown water. It was rising fast, but how high would it get? She had to get across or they’d be separated from home until the waters subsided—and another bridge could be built. Pa would’ve never let that happen if he were here, and Katie Ellen couldn’t fail him.
The river splashed over her feet, which were still on the muddy bank. Where was the bridge? Stepping off into the deep would be fatal. Ma and Pa would never know what happened to her. She swallowed. The bridge was where it always was, she just couldn’t see it. Had to have faith like those priests at the Jordan who stepped into the river yet still ended up on dry ground.
Taking the rope, she molded her leather glove against it until it slipped no more. If she fell, the rope was her only chance. With her other hand she lifted her skirt and stepped into the coursing stream, praying for her foot to find the solid wood under the water. There. Fighting for her balance, Katie Ellen dashed across as quickly as she could. Once back on the home bank, she scrambled to the winch and set to ratcheting it up. The calf balked and she didn’t blame it. Only her determination to succeed at this task could have forced her across. But this was a battle she could win, and hopefully where calf went, mama would foll
ow.
The slack out, the weight of the calf hit, but it was nothing compared to the cow. Despite the calf’s intentions, it was being dragged closer and closer to the bridge, bawling all the way. The water was halfway up the calf’s legs, but at least it’d found the bridge. Time to hurry it across.
“Let’s go. Let’s go.” Working to her own chant, Katie Ellen didn’t watch, but faced the winch and pumped for all she was worth. Judging by the resistance, the calf had reconciled itself to its fate and was hurrying along like it should. But what about Buttercup?
Still pumping, Katie Ellen threw a look over her shoulder, and what she saw nearly made steam beneath her raincoat. It was that Josiah Huckabee interfering with her business once again.
“Get away from them!” she hollered, her breath coming in hops as she ratcheted the lever.
He stood in the downpour in nothing but a homespun shirt and trousers, wetter than a crawdad in May. “I’m helping them across!” he hollered back. His normally blond hair lay plastered dark and wet against his head.
But Buttercup had already read the writing on the wall. Her calf was going and she had to follow. She’d edged closer to the bridge, lowing in protest but making the trip of her own accord.
Josiah slapped her on the rump to hurry her along. “Yaw!” he yelled. “Get on, Buttercup. Go on across with you.”
Sure enough Buttercup did a half trot until her feet hit the slick boards beneath the water. She wobbled, and in a flash Josiah was at the cow’s side.
What was he doing? If the bridge didn’t wash out with the cow, then it sure as Sunday wouldn’t hold the cow and Josiah. That boy never had any sense, but he did have strength, and from the looks of his rain-soaked shirt, he had it in abundance.
The strap around the tree spun and twisted the handle out of her grasp. What had happened? Katie turned around to see the calf sprawling, fighting for footing on the slippery boards. And then it was gone. The calf disappeared beneath the water, the rope ending at a foaming bulge.
No . . . Katie Ellen’s lips formed the word, but no sound came out.
Forgetting her terror of the bridge, Buttercup started for the side, unable to see beneath the water to where the boards ended. And just like that Josiah lunged to Buttercup’s side and threw his shoulder against her. “No you don’t.”
Katie Ellen’s heart leapt to her throat. He had to be teetering on the very edge of the swollen footpath, matching his strength against a crazed bovine’s. Had she mentioned he had no sense?
As he struggled to keep the cow at bay, she heard his deep voice carry through the rain, “Get the calf!”
Her neck heated at her mistake. Bracing again, she doubled her efforts at the winch, fueled by frustration that Josiah had caught her in a blunder. Although the rope had been swept away from the bridge, she could still reel the calf in. She pulled the calf closer and closer to the edge, even though the current battled her for every foot.
Only once did she brave a glance at Josiah, surprised to see that he, too, was making progress, but she wouldn’t be distracted again. After what seemed an eternity, a cinnamon-colored muzzle broke above the water. Katie Ellen’s arms burned, but with a few more tugs a head appeared. This was the biggest catch of her life. Too bad the retelling would have to include Josiah.
Suddenly the calf touched ground and broke through. Still in the flooded riverbank, Katie Ellen didn’t stop with the ratcheting until the calf had reached dry land . . . or at least solid footing.
She turned just in time to see Buttercup finish her journey, too. Now that the calf had crossed, Buttercup raced ahead of Josiah, trotting to sniff and lick her exhausted baby.
Heart pounding, Katie Ellen flexed her fingers, working the pain out of them. She’d be sore, no doubt about it, but sore muscles wouldn’t be what kept her awake tonight. Safely across, Josiah moseyed to the calf and removed the halter from its head. Then for good measure, he stacked the rails of the broken fence atop each other and shook it to make sure it’d hold. His smile was never so devilishly handsome as when he’d just accomplished the impossible. Soaked to the bone, his sopping wet clothes stuck to him like a coat of wet paint. With a sigh, Katie Ellen pulled aside her raincoat to peek at the hem of her skirt. Still dry.
“You need help getting your gear to the barn?” Josiah asked, dropping the rope at her feet.
Taking ahold of the winch, Katie Ellen pulled the rope through and loosened it from the tree. “No, thank you. I can do it.” She dropped her equipment into the wheelbarrow and took to the handles.
He stood in her way, arms crossed, mischievous grin on his face. “I’d heard your folks were gone. Thought I’d come check on you. Good thing I did.”
She lowered the wheelbarrow with a splash. “Both cattle were coming across before you ever got here.”
“I risked my life crossing that bridge—”
“I didn’t ask you to, did I? And you’d better hurry back across the river while you still can. If it gets any higher, you’ll have to swim home.” She swiped at an errant chestnut-colored lock of hair that had dared venture across her cheek, and again lifted the handles of the wheelbarrow.
“And leave you here alone?” Beneath his straight, thick brows, his brown eyes twinkled. “Ma would wear me out for not bringing you home, at least until the storm blows over.”
Katie Ellen shook her head. Why would she give up her tidy, dry home to bunk down at the Huckabees’ log cabin with his multitudinous younger siblings? Not when she’d been left in charge here. “This is my place and I’m staying here.”
He raised his hand to tip his hat, but forgetting he had no hat—in a rainstorm, the fool—he settled for a tap of his forehead. “Have it your way, Katie Ellen. I know better than to try to persuade you otherwise.”
But for some reason his easy surrender riled her up even more.
Josiah stepped sideways and barely kept her from running over his toe. Katie Ellen had to be the only girl in Missouri who could stand in a gully washer and look as fresh and crisp as a new dollar bill. She stopped once on the way to the barn, lowered the wheelbarrow, and squeezed her shoulders up to her ears before continuing. She’d expended some force for such a slip of a girl. She’d feel it tomorrow. Buttercup and the calf were already waiting next to the barn door, so she probably didn’t need him after all.
He pushed his hair back from his forehead and blinked the rainwater away. Suppose he’d better head back to the farm, although there wasn’t much to do there on a day like today. His livestock had already been put up, which was exactly why he’d set out to see if he could help anyone else. Josiah shoved a hand into his pocket and tried to whistle but only succeeded in sputtering rainwater. He’d been on the lookout for a little adventure, to tell the truth. Big rain like this, there had to be something dangerous going on, and sure enough, he’d found it exactly where he was hoping to—at the Watsons’ farm.
But the cow wasn’t nearly as dangerous as tangling with Katie Ellen. Being with her was more exciting than tracking a catamount, and he was just as likely to get clawed to ribbons. Still, he couldn’t stay away, and someday soon he was going make it clear why. Until then he hung around pestering her, making sure that no matter how angry she got, she couldn’t forget about him.
He walked the bank of the swollen river, trying to discern exactly where the bridge would be. Marking the angle of the oak tree, he drew a line in the air with how the rope had stretched across and gone just there. Where? When he’d looked before, he could see the bump in the river that marked where it was jumping the planks, but now there was no sign. Turning his head to look downriver, Josiah saw something that made his mouth stretch wide in a grin. A plank off that selfsame bridge had got caught in a washout. Twenty to one there was no bridge anymore. He shook his drenched head, throwing water like a dog coming out of the creek, and wagged his tail while he was at it. He wasn’t going anywhere. Wouldn’t Katie Ellen be pleased?
Chapter Two
Katie Ellen w
iped her boots in the grass, knocking the mud loose before she reached the porch. At eighteen years of age, she was more than capable of watching the farm for a few days, but her parents still had their misgivings. These mountains had been ripe for trouble ever since Katie Ellen could remember, but with the rain, outlaws weren’t her only concern. So far she’d managed the flooding, the stock was safe and tidy in the barn, and she’d spread straw over the garden in hopes of keeping the seedlings from washing down the hill. Her outside chores were done until milking time. She could go inside and curl up in front of the fire for the rest of the afternoon and promise herself that she wouldn’t gloom over the fact that she’d nearly let the calf drown.
Neither would she spend her day mooning over Josiah Huckabee. No, sir. He’d dallied with her once before, but this time she knew better. At the porch she removed her gloves and laid them carefully atop the stack of firewood. She’d need to rub some lard into them to keep the leather from cracking. Hanging her raincoat on the peg next to the door, she swiftly unbuttoned her boots and arranged them against the wall. She pulled up her toes to keep her socks from contact with the porch, but it didn’t matter. She swept the porch clean daily and it was only three steps before she would be inside and could put on her house slippers.
Once her slippers had been donned, she paused to take in her surroundings. The new sofa looked out of place in the log home, but Katie Ellen had convinced her parents that they needed a parlor suite, or at least the first piece of the six-piece set. Her grandmother’s quilt hung over the back of the birch frame and the crush plush upholstery. Even though the plank floor didn’t need the protection, the casters were in place beneath each leg. The cuckoo clock was wound for the day. The log from that morning burned slowly and evenly. The sliced lemon she’d left in a saucer continued to adorn the home with a zesty scent. Perfect. Just like she’d left it.
While she did miss Ma and Pa, there was a huge comfort in knowing that nothing could change without her express permission.
Her Dearly Unintended Page 1
