The Merry Widow of Tanner's Ford (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Reece Butler

  Saturday evening had gone well, considering he had three kids in his home with the woman he wanted to enjoy. Marci, after insisting Simon sleep in his bed alone, lay down before the fire with the children to tell stories. She kissed him good-night but since it was in front of the children, he got the same hug and peck that Florrie bestowed.

  He could not wait until tomorrow, when he’d get the damned cast off. Not only did it make his leg itch where he couldn’t scratch and limit his lovemaking ability, he couldn’t run after the boys. Luckily, Marci had that under control. She wasn’t even upset about the ravens.

  Eight or nine of them were perched on the barn ridge when he took a slow walk over to his truck before breakfast to get his sunglasses. He hadn’t seen so many since the fall, when Lance left for Texas. He thought to warn her, but how could he tell her that a flock of ravens considered themselves guardians of the MacDougal family? He wondered if they were telepathic as one would find something and before he knew it, three or four more would show up. He’d decided to let things unfold as they would and went in to breakfast. The ravens had been hanging around the valley, especially this ranch, since the early days. No one had ever been harmed, unless they’d threatened a MacDougal, or someone considered kin.

  Full of pancakes and syrup, made by Florrie and Marci, he hobbled out to the porch. After Marci placed his coffee and one of Beth Elliott’s journals nearby for him, she went back in to help the kids clean up. He took a minute to enjoy his coffee before checking the date of the journal. 1882. He flipped through it until something caught his eye.

  …We had strangers ride too close, looking for gold, but Trace said the nuggets under the waterfall are gone, that they buried them in casks on some of the ranches. One of these days I’ll ask where they are. Our children’s children may need the gold someday. Maybe we could each put a clue in our journals. Whoever ends up with all of our journals would be bound to be of our blood.

  Simon went cold, then hot. He reread the paragraph. It still said there was gold buried in the valley. He flipped through the pages before and after, but there was nothing else. He didn’t know of any waterfalls on the Rocking E, but some streams had dried up in the many years since Beth had taken a goose quill in hand and written the flowing words. He closed the book and set it aside.

  “The rumors are true?” He swallowed. “Casks of nuggets?”

  He could tell no one except Lance. That much gold, or rumors of it, could destroy the valley as people dug up the land. And what if outsiders found out? Would the government take it all, saying they had a right to buried treasure?

  The sound of laughing brought him back to the present. He’d lock the journals up. All of them. One day when he had the time, he’d sift through them for clues.

  Surely to God they would have left clues!

  He jumped when the door beside him slammed open. His crutches clattered to the porch floor. Marci dashed past, Travis in her arms, and ran into the yard.

  “You can’t catch us!”

  The ravens, also startled, ruffled and settled again. They watched keenly when Riley and Florrie bolted out of the house after Marci, screaming in delight. He watched the birds tense, hunched and ready to take flight if this new human did anything to harm the little ones. But Marci stopped, put Travis down, and opened her arms. She ran again but let all three catch her, laughing in obvious delight.

  He’d seen her eying the birds earlier, but since the children didn’t say anything, neither did she. He gave her full marks for that. Some men refused to come on their ranch because they said the ravens gave them the heebie-jeebies. Simon and Lance always thought the birds could judge character far better than mere humans.

  A while later things had quieted down. Marci and Florrie sat on the porch steps, chatting like old friends. Travis and Riley dug in the dirt with spoons they’d liberated from the kitchen. That was another thing. Marci didn’t have a screaming fit when the boys raided the drawers. When he silently asked the question with a raised eyebrow, she’d replied that spoons were easily washed and every kid needed to eat some dirt in his life. The dogs, of course, stayed with the boys.

  “Can you sew, Miss Marci?” asked Florrie eagerly. “I want to make an apron.”

  Simon knew where this was going. Aggie was a tomboy while Florrie was what he’d heard called a “girly girl.” He and Lance bought her frilly dresses for birthdays and Christmas as they knew she loved them. Aggie would shake her head but let her daughter be happy. Learning to make an apron was a first step to Florrie learning to make her own clothes. The kid wasn’t stupid, not by a long shot. She was strategic and chose her battles.

  “I love to sew,” replied Marci. “And I’ve made lots of aprons, both plain and pretty.”

  “Did you bring any?”

  Marci shook her head. “I donated them to craft shows to raise money for charity. Men mostly bought the really frilly ones that were totally useless in the kitchen. I always wondered if they knew anything about how messy cooking can be.”

  She laughed and turned her smile on him. It was so bright it made him ache. Her look said she knew exactly why those men bought the aprons. She hadn’t braided her hair this morning. It tumbled around her like a curtain and floated in the breeze. Another hour and they’d be alone. He had plans for her hair. He wanted it dangling over him like a dark curtain.

  “Mama says she never learned to sew. She wears jeans most of the time but I like dresses. Are aprons hard to make?”

  “If I had a sewing machine I could show you how to make your own. If you practice, you can learn to make anything you want.”

  “Uncle Simon has a sewing machine upstairs. Maybe he’d let us use it.”

  When Florrie turned those big brown eyes on him, her blonde pigtails sticking out the back of her head, he couldn’t resist a dang thing she asked. No man worth his salt could resist giving in when a female asked for something useful and reasonable. And since he knew Marci loved to sew, he could make himself look like a hero to both of them.

  “It’s an old treadle machine, Florrie. I don’t know if Miss Marci would—”

  “I would!” Marci smiled as if he’d just offered her something worth solid gold. “I’d have to figure out how to use it first,” she explained to the girl. “But if your parents give permission, I don’t see why I couldn’t show you how to sew.”

  “Hooray!”

  Florrie grabbed Marci’s hand and yanked her off the porch to dance. After a moment Marci grabbed the girl’s hands tight and spun her around, lifting her from the ground. Florrie shrieked in delight. That got the attention of the boys as well as the ravens. They boys rushed over to Marci, demanding to have a turn being spun, just like their big sister.

  The rumble of a pair of pickups coming up the road had Simon groaning in relief.

  Two of the birds flew over to escort the trucks into the yard. They rode on the tailgate to investigate what might be in the truck bed. Things got tossed in there and the birds were always curious in case there was something they could eat or steal for later use.

  When the trucks pulled up, Marci was rolling in the dirt halfway to the barn, wrestling and tickling Riley and Travis. The dogs ran to the trucks, barking a welcome. The boys followed, eager to see their parents. Marci lay in the dirt, arms and legs spread wide, panting and smiling. Her long hair fanned across the dirt behind her head.

  The biggest raven, perched on the edge of the barn with a clear view of everything in the yard, erupted in a loud quork. He dropped from the barn and swooped toward Marci, landing a few feet from her head. Keith and Donny each had a boy on their shoulders while Aggie stood on the porch with Florrie. Sophie was sleeping in her car seat with the truck windows open. The dogs had run for the safety of the porch, knowing the black birds were tricksters who liked to pull hair.

  The yard was silent and still. The adults knew not to move, and to keep their children close. Donny and Keith had grown up with the birds and had a healthy respect for them, but Aggie w
asn’t convinced they were safe. This was all new to Marci and Simon hadn’t warned her. He tensed as the raven stalked toward her.

  It was the king, or whatever term they used for their leader. The MacDougal ravens were large, but the leader was almost twice the size of the others. Marci just lay there and watched as the huge black bird with the wicked bill came toward her with deliberate steps. He eyed her tempting long hair, tilting his head this way and that as his intelligent eyes checked her out. Even the women who’d grown up in Tanner’s Ford were wary of these oversized birds, but Marci just calmly watched.

  “They like to pull hair!” warned Florrie. Aggie shushed her.

  The bird shook his head at Florrie, neck feathers ruffling as if chastising her for telling secrets. Then it leaned its head toward Marci and gave a low trill, almost a croon. Simon had never the bird use it for anyone but Lance before. Marci looked at the wicked beak and black eyes, and smiled.

  “You can have one,” she said. “But I’ll get it for you.”

  Simon caught his breath when the bird crow-hopped right next to her shoulder. Its deadly beak was so close to her eyes that it could blind her with one peck. The bird sifted its beak through Marci’s hair but didn’t try to pull any out. She reached up and plucked one strand from the root and handed it to the bird. It took the strand in its beak and bobbed a thank-you. After crow-hopping a few steps away it leaped in the air, flapped loudly and, with a few downward sweeps of wide wings, soared away.

  The others followed in a line, dipping and swooping, making more noise than Simon had heard in years. All but one left. The sentinel watched the others fly away and then settled in to guard.

  Simon would bet the ranch that the ravens had just accepted Marci as family. That strand of hair would be hidden somewhere only a raven could find, along with whatever trinkets they’d stolen over the years. Perhaps the hair would be placed next to those from Ross MacDougal, the first to have Raven as his Totem. Simon didn’t know as much as Lance about the spiritual side of their heritage, but he was damn sure there was more going on than a bird wanting a hair to line a nest.

  “Since none of you men have any manners,” said Aggie, “I’d like to introduce myself. I’m Aggie Adams, married to Keith and Donny, who you met. You have no idea what a wonderful gift you gave us last night.” She glanced at Keith, blushing like a fourteen-year-old after her first kiss.

  “I expect Miss Marci has a very good idea,” said Donny. It was Marci who flushed this time. Donny tossed Travis in the air, making him squeal, and settled him on his shoulders.

  Keith sauntered over to Marci, who’d sat up. “Ma’am?”

  He held out his hand. She took it and used his leverage to roll gracefully to her feet. She flipped her hair behind her shoulders and swatted at the dust and dirt.

  “Sorry, I’m a mess,” she said.

  “Nothing to apologize for. You were having a great time with my boys,” he said solemnly.

  “Mom, Miss Marci said she could teach me to sew an apron on Uncle Simon’s treadle machine!”

  Aggie gave Simon That Look. But since she wasn’t his wife, he just laughed. He should have realized Florrie would have seen the machine years back and had been biding her time.

  “Don’t know how long I’m going to need Marci’s help,” said Simon to Aggie, “but the lady has free run of the house.”

  “Please, Mom?”

  Aggie hugged her daughter, so unlike her in looks or temperament. “Of course, as long as we can work it out with Miss Marci. I guess the domestic gene skipped a generation, sweetie. Your grandmother will be pleased to get a letter about you learning to sew.” She looked over at Marci. “We’ll talk once you get settled.”

  “I’ll need your help,” said Marci to the girl. “Between us we’ll figure out how to get it to work.” That wide smile of hers appeared again. “I have some experience making old things work.”

  “So I see,” mused Keith, giving Simon a sardonic look.

  Simon bent over and reached for his crutches to hide the signs of heat that crept over his cheeks. He knew exactly what Keith meant and would get him back later for the comment.

  “Time to go home,” said Donny. “Uncle Simon needs to, ah, put his foot up.”

  The three Adams adults shared a snicker, rounded up the children, and drove away.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Simon automatically checked out the dirt on Marci’s butt as she waved at the truck. He hoped she’d let him brush it off, but she took care of it before turning around. Her gaze lingered on the sentinel bird watching them from the barn.

  “You weren’t afraid,” he said. “Most people are.”

  Marci was quiet as she walked to the porch. She pointed at the swing. He heard the unspoken order and sat. She settled beside him and pushed off with her foot. The old swing creaked as they rocked. He waited with a lot of patience for a horny man finally alone with his woman. But this was more important than hot sex. If Marci could accept what just happened, there was a far better chance she would accept Lance.

  “I grew up reading fantasy books where people could be telepathic with animals,” she said finally. “I always wanted to be special instead of…what I was.”

  He took a chance and pulled her snug. She sighed and relaxed against his chest.

  “That bird is too smart, and too big, even for a raven,” she said. “But I knew it wouldn’t hurt me. It didn’t talk to me like the people in those books. It was more that I just knew what it wanted. It knew I wasn’t going to harm its people, and it accepted me.”

  She tilted those black eyes up at him. He suddenly realized how like a raven she was with her intelligent eyes and black hair.

  “I think the best way to explain things is to tell you what happened with Keith when we were kids,” he said. He waited for her nod to continue.

  “Keith’s father had bought a big horse for breeding. It was high strung and no one was allowed near it. Keith was about twelve at the time. He had his eye on some girls and wanted to show how good he was with horses. One Saturday just before the end of school he had his chance. His fathers were away for some reason. He managed to saddle the horse and was so full of himself he figured he’d have no problems showing off.”

  “He rode it even though he knew it was dangerous?”

  “Us kids weren’t told the horse had thrown the previous owner. He broke his neck when he landed. His widow sold the horse at a loss, which was how the Double Diamond could afford it.”

  Marci shook her head. “Cars, bikes, or horses, it’s the same thing. Boys showing off to look like men.”

  Simon cleared his throat rather than get into that line of conversation.

  “Keith was far from home, high in the hills, when it threw him and took off. He was lucky in that he landed in a pile of brush, but he slid into a deep gulch. One of his feet got caught in a crevice. He couldn’t get out. He told us later that he was starting to panic when he saw a raven. All the boys knew the birds kept an eye on Lance because if anyone tried to bully him, they’d swoop down with their feet wide and beak open.”

  “I got the impression they were protective,” she said.

  “Since Keith had nothing to lose and he was well and truly stuck, he called out. The bird came close, circled over him once, and took off. Lance and I had done something our mother didn’t like, so we were pulling weeds in the yard. We heard the bird fly in, squawking like anything. He flew right to Lance, circled him, then flew to the barn. Lance said someone must be hurt, so we grabbed horses and took off after the bird.”

  “Bareback?”

  He cleared his throat. “If I say yes, will you say I’m just as bad as Keith?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Just say the truth.”

  “Yes, we were bareback.” He took her fingers and interlaced them with his own. “I hope this impresses you, but we both leaped on the horses from the back, grabbed hold of their manes, and took off.”

  “Like Indians in a cowboy movie.”


  He nodded. “We practiced a lot to do that.” He tapped his cast. “I won’t be doing that again.”

  “I guess you got Keith loose, since he’s still here.”

  “Yes, though he got well scraped. It was almost dark by the time we got him home. His father had found the horse, covered in lather, by the barn. He figured it was Keith who’d taken it because of the length of the stirrups. He was about to organize a search party when they spotted us riding in.”

  “I bet he got in big trouble.”

  Simon remembered him roaring and swearing at his son doing such a damn fool thing. But instead of beating him, as would have happened to one of the MacDougals, he’d grabbed Keith in a bear hug. Then he gruffly sent him in so his worried mother could fix his foot.

  He didn’t see Lance and Simon watch as, tears streaming, he fell to his knees and thanked God for saving his boy. He swore he’d put the horse down so it couldn’t harm anyone else.

  After he’d gone in, Lance went to the horse, nervously circling the pen. He’d calmly approached the animal and a few minutes later, got him haltered. He rode the animal home with Simon riding behind, holding the reins of the one Lance rode to save Keith. It was Lance’s first horse of his own. Keith’s father signed it over once he was sure Lance had managed to fix whatever made the horse bolt.

  “For the rest of the summer Keith didn’t ride or leave the ranch except for church and family outings. And when there were barn dances, everyone went except him. His mother found all sorts of things for him to do. But he had some great scars on his ankle to show the guys.”

  Marci chuckled. “Typical guy. Were the girls impressed?” She laughed when he shook his head. “Did you get in trouble for taking the horses instead of pulling weeds?”

  Simon paused. How to explain Lance and their mother?

  “So you did get in trouble.”

  “Not for that. Lance was punished for following his instincts and going after the raven. I was punished for following Lance.”