Petticoat Ranch

by Mary Connealy

  “What if we get hurt?” Sally said. “If I stub my toe or get a bee sting. What if—”

  “If you’re hurt, you can cry of course. . . .” Clay waved his hand at the interrupting question. “Now, let me get on with setting the rules. Rule number—”

  “Why is getting a stubbed toe okay to cry over but not getting my feelings hurt?” Beth interrupted.

  Clay plunked his fists on his hips. “Feelings aren’t like getting hurt. Feelings—”

  “Yes, they are,” Mandy insisted. “Sometimes my heart hurts worse’n a hundred bee stings. Sometimes—”

  “No crying over hurt feelings,” Clay snapped. “Look, if it’s a problem, then how about if you don’t cry when you get hurt either. If you get hurt you just. . .I don’t know. . .say ‘ouch’ or something.”

  Sophie said dryly, “ ‘Ouch’—or something?”

  Clay pressed on. “You need to learn to control yourselves. If you’re ever in a gunfight or get cornered by a grizzly or some such, you need to be thinking. Having feelings at a time like that can—”

  “Now, Clay. . .” Sophie rested her hand on his arm, and that distracted him some from setting his house in order. In the mountains he had never been touched by women. He never quite got his fill of it now.

  Sophie shook her head doubtfully. “The chances of the girls ever getting in a gunfight are—”

  “That’s not the point.” Clay completely forgot about rule number four, which was easy because he hadn’t made it up yet, although he was pretty sure there ought to be a rule against all the high-pitched giggling, and naked babies, and Sophie saying he’d been bucked off his horse while the men could hear her, and. . .

  “Well, of course it’s the point.” Sophie smiled, distracting him some more. “Why teach the girls how to react in a gunfight if they’re never going to be in a gunfight?”

  “It’s not about being in a gunfight.” Clay patted her poor, little female hand and explained as he would to a rather slow-witted child, “It’s about keeping your head in a crisis. There are lots of times they might be in a tight spot, when they need to be thinking. . . .”

  “I don’t want to shoot anybody,” Beth said firmly. “You can’t make me shoot someone, if ’n I don’t want to. Can he, Ma?”

  Elizabeth sounded so afraid toward the end of her question that Clay was afraid she was going to break rule number one.

  “I’m not going to try and make you shoot someone, Beth,” Clay said in exasperation. “Don’t be stupid.”

  “Clay!” Sophie jerked on his arm.

  Clay turned to her. “What did I do now?”

  “I don’t want you to ever call one of the girls stupid again,” Sophie commanded.

  “Well, what if they are stupid? Am I just supposed to pretend to not notice?” Clay asked.

  “Clay, I mean it.”

  “But I’ve called you stupid a whole bunch of times, when you’ve done some lame-brained thing, and you never minded.”

  “Clay McClellen!” She made just saying his name sound like a threat.

  “Well, you didn’t.”

  “Yes, I did!”

  Silence descended on the room

  “You did?”

  “Of course I did. No one wants to be called stupid—or lame-brained for that matter. It’s a cruel thing to say.”

  “No, it’s not. Not if it’s the truth. It’s just how to teach people to use their heads before they get themselves in trouble.” Clay tried to remember how this had all started. Then he thought of his rules. He couldn’t even remember them anymore, except for the crying.

  “It’s hurtful.” Sophie lifted her skirts indignantly and walked over to stand beside the girls. “And we don’t like it.”

  And Clay didn’t like the fact that she wasn’t touching him anymore. Clay looked from one of them to the next. They all had the same stormy look in their blue eyes. It panged something in his heart to see them all standing together, against him. Then Clay remembered he was in the right in this matter, and he was the head of this house. He jammed his fists against his hips. “Well, I don’t like it when you all get to screaming and crying and fighting!”

  They squared off against each other. Five against one. Clay figured he could take them, but it might be a close thing. And his ears would never survive.

  Sophie crossed her arms. “We might agree to try and stop the crying and screaming, if you’d agree to quit calling us insulting names.”

  “When you do something stupid, it’s not an insult to point it out. It’s just the truth. And I’m not making a deal!” He jabbed his finger at the lot of them. “I’m making the rules, and you’re obeying them.”

  “That not how it’s going to be,” Sophie said through clenched teeth. “You can’t run a home that way. A family has to work together, everyone taking charge of what they do best. Everyone pitching in wherever they can. Your brother let me make a lot of decisions around this—”

  “I’m not my brother!” Clay roared. He was tired of hearing about what a fine, brave, wise man Cliff was. He knew he’d never measure up, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t pulling his weight. That didn’t mean Sophie had to take up the slack for him.

  The girls got weepy-eyed again. In that instant, Clay was fed up. He didn’t know anything about raising girls, but people were people, and the West was the West, and everybody needed to know the same things to get along.

  “That’s it.” Clay strode to the front door, snatched his hat off its peg, and turned back to them. “Mandy, come with me. I’m going to teach you girls to behave proper.”

  “Behave proper? What does that mean?” Mandy asked fearfully. “Are you going to give me a whipping? I didn’t do anything. It was Beth and Sally who were fighting. Give them a whipping.”

  “I’m not going to give you a whipping,” Clay said in disgust. “Have I ever raised a hand to one of you girls?”

  He almost heaved a sigh of relief when they all shook their heads. At least they agreed with him on that.

  Beth wrung her hands. “But we haven’t known you all that long.”

  Clay almost started in hollering again, but instead he said, with a strict fatherly tone that he decided he liked, “I’m going to teach you how to rope a steer. I’m going to teach you to drive a nail and hitch up the team to the wagon and work a running iron.”

  “Clay, there’s something you should know,” Sophie said. “Cliff hasn’t just been gone two years. He was in the war before that. The girls and I have really been doing for ourselves—”

  “Out, Mandy.” Clay’d finally figured out what the whole problem was. They’d been coddled. They’d been in an all-female household for too long. All the screaming, all the fighting, all the crying—it would all end if he did what he should have been doing from the very beginning.

  He’d make boys out of ’em!

  “Mandy will spend the afternoon with me, Beth will have tomorrow afternoon, then Sally the next. We’ll do that for as long as it takes to teach you girls the proper behavior for life in the West.” Clay pointed to the door.

  Mandy looked uncertainly at Sophie. Sophie shrugged at her and, after a few seconds, gestured toward Clay and the outdoors.

  “Okay. Life in the West. I can do that.” Mandy’s expression changed, and Clay wasn’t sure what she was thinking. If he hadn’t known better, he’d say she almost looked sly there for a second. He must have imagined it. She gave Clay a sad, rather wide-eyed look and batted her lashes a couple of times. “I mean, remember I’m only ten, now, Pa. Go easy on me.”

  Clay, thrilled he was winning a fight for a change, rested a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t you worry now, lil’ darlin’. I’ll make sure you’re safe while you get the hang of things.”

  He paused at the door and looked back at Sophie. “If you don’t like me calling you stupid, you gotta tell me. How am I supposed to know otherwise?”

  He left the cabin.

  “How could anyone not know it is hurtful to call someo
ne else stupid?” Sophie asked in amazement. “Is it possible the man is really that. . .”

  Sally supplied uncertainly, “Stupid?” Then Sally asked, “Why didn’t you tell Pa that Mandy’s been roping cattle since she was six? Why didn’t you tell him we all know how to do most of those things?”

  Sophie said smugly, “I did try and tell him.”

  Beth chided, “You didn’t try very hard.”

  “And why didn’t Mandy tell him?” Sally wanted to know. “Why did she act all sad and scared?”

  Sophie grinned a little. “She probably wants to let him think he’s teaching her things. It might hurt his feelings if he found out you girls can all handle yourselves as well as he can.”

  “So we’re all supposed to act like he’s teaching us stuff we already know?” Beth asked.

  Sophie shrugged, “I suppose we’ll have to.” With some venom she added, “It’s either that or tell the poor man he’s stupid!”

  Royce Badje set his coffee cup down with a bang. “I’ve been looking for you all week, Josiah. You can’t go off and leave this town unprotected when there’re men like that around.” Royce thought about that thug who’d come to his office and shuddered.

  “Nothing happened while I was away, Royce. Even the vigilantes don’t come into town.”

  “Don’t tell me nothing happened. I don’t have to put up with that kind of business.”

  Sheriff Everett went over it one more time. “It’s not a crime to kick up a fuss, Royce. The man didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “He threatened me,” Royce said indignantly.

  “None of what he said—and I only know what you told me— sounded like a threat.” He waved at Esther, and she came over with the coffeepot.

  “It wasn’t what he said.” Royce fidgeted with his collar and felt the sweat break out on his forehead again. “It was the way he said it. Surely there is something you can do before he hurts someone. I’m telling you, Josiah, he is a dangerous man!”

  “I told you I’d keep an eye out and I’d have a talk with him if he showed himself again. You didn’t even get his name. You didn’t see his brand. I’ve only got a description. Chances are, when he heard the place was sold, he moved on, hunting rangeland somewhere’s else.”

  “Whozat, Royce?” Esther asked.

  Esther stood beside them, her dress and apron none too clean, her body whipcord thin. As far as Royce was concerned, griminess and thinness were powerful bad things in a woman who made her living cooking. She was also the town’s biggest busybody, and Royce was impatient with himself for talking in front of her. He probably sounded like a coward.

  “Just some roughneck, come into the bank trying to buy the Edwards’s place,” Royce said. “After McClellen’d already bought it. The man threatened me, and I want the sheriff to pick him up!”

  “Royce.” Sheriff Everett sounded tired. “I told you. . .”

  “Great big man?” Esther cut in. “Near six and a half feet tall, and weighs three hundred pounds if he weighs an ounce? Dark hair, beat-up black Stetson? A man who needs a bath and a shave even more than most of the stinkin’ men in this town?”

  Royce nodded with enthusiasm.

  “Carrying two tied-down Colts?” Esther went on. “One of ’em with fancy carving in the wooden handle? Kinda man that makes people clear the sidewalk when he’s comin’ at ’em?”

  “That’s him,” Royce said. “I particularly remember that gun. The stock was handcrafted. A beautiful piece.”

  Sheriff Everett glared at Esther. “I been askin’ around town for two days about such a man. How come you didn’t know I was huntin’ him?”

  Esther finished filling their cups. “I’ve been gone. I left on the Saturday stage to ride over to Brogado to visit my sister. I know the man you’re talking about. In fact I saw him the day he came storming out of the bank.”

  “It was the middle of the afternoon, Monday,” Royce prompted her.

  “That musta been him.” Esther went across the room, filled a tin cup with coffee for herself, and brought it back.

  Royce thought she looked like she was settling in for a good gossip. He barely held on to his patience. “Did he come in?”

  “To the diner? Nope.” Esther sniffed as if any man not eating her cooking was immediately suspicious.

  Sheriff Everett asked, “Do you know anything about him?”

  “Heard he caused a ruckus in the Paradise a coupla weeks ago. Upset ’cuz the whiskey ’tweren’t no good. Knocked Leo out cold. One of his men broke Rufus’s nose.”

  “Why didn’t someone send for me?” Sheriff Everett asked with a scowl.

  “It was over before it started. Leo came around. Rufus quit bleedin’. The man who caused it all was gone.” Esther shrugged. “Everybody knows the Paradise can get rough. What were you gonna do?”

  Josiah didn’t answer.

  Royce knew Esther was right. Josiah would have done nothing. “And you’re sure it was the same man who came out of the bank?”

  “I’m sure.” Esther slurped her coffee. “Ain’t much goes on in Mosqueros I don’t know about.”

  “Well, if someone would have called me,” Sheriff Everett said, “we might know enough about him to track him down and find out what’s got him all worked up about the Edwards’s place. As it is, I’m stuck just keeping an eye out in case he comes back to town.”

  “Well,” Esther drawled, “you know a bit more about him than that.”

  “No, I don’t,” the sheriff barked.

  “You know his name.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You will after I tell it to you,” Esther said with a smirk.

  “You know this hombre’s name?” The sheriff rose partway out of his chair.

  “I reckon I do. He made a big enough fuss about it to Leo.”

  Royce waited. Seconds ticked by while Esther sipped her coffee. The woman dearly loved to be the center of attention. He nearly squirmed with impatience. Finally, he snapped, “If you know his name maybe you’d like to share the information!”

  Esther stiffened, but Sheriff Everett reached across the table and pressed her weathered hand. “It’ll really help me out, Esther. If he hit Rufus and Leo and threatened Royce, you’d be doing a service to this whole town by telling us. Why, I reckon you’d be a true hero.”

  Esther turned away from Royce. “Well, of course I’m a-gonna tell ya, Sheriff. There just ’tweren’t no call for Royce to speak to me thatta way.”

  Royce could almost see the old hen’s ruffled feathers lay down, and he bit his tongue to keep from saying something that would make her ruffle up again.

  At last, apparently satisfied she’d tortured him sufficiently, Esther said, “His name is Judd Mason.”

  “Judd Mason,” the sheriff said thoughtfully. “Not a name I’ve ever heard before.”

  “Maybe he’s wanted.” Royce rubbed his hands together gleefully. They could lock this thug up and he’d be safe. “You oughta check the name against the WANTED posters.”

  “I know my job, Royce.” The sheriff drained his coffee cup and chewed the dregs. “I’ll do that, and I’ll send a telegraph, with his name and description, to the Texas Rangers.”

  “We’d best warn the McClellens about him,” Royce added.

  “Don’t forget to mention the brand on his horse.” Esther picked up Josiah’s cup and stood from the table.

  “You saw the brand?” Josiah leaned toward Esther.

  “What was it?” Royce could hear the cell door slamming already. “A brand’s a lot harder to change than a man’s name.”

  Esther gave him another snooty look, and Royce thought he’d pushed her too hard—again.

  Finally, she deigned to answer, “J BAR M.”

  T H I R T E E N

  Adam had learned the hard way to never expect anything but trouble. As he came within a day’s walk of the ranch, he faded back into the high-up country, scouting around to see why Sophie would need help bad enough that
God would come, personally, to so lowly a creature as Adam Grant.

  As Adam ghosted around in the woods surrounding the ranch, he began to take stock of the situation. He saw Sophie and she seemed fine. He also counted four little girls and couldn’t stop himself from smiling at all the little tykes.

  But he saw no sign of Cliff. Instead, another man came and went from the house as if he lived in it. Had Edwards abandoned her? Adam had always expected the man to cut and run back to the safety of the East. But he’d always expected Edwards would take Sophie with him when he went. No man was such a fool that he would have a woman like Sophie for his own and give her up. More likely Edwards was dead. The West could kill a man in a hundred ways, and—if a person was stupid— it could kill in a thousand. Despite his sharp clothes, classy education, and polished manners, Adam had pegged Edwards as stupid from the minute he’d come riding up to the Avery farm in Pennsylvania.

  Adam’s fear of what would become of Sophie was why he’d come West with them. Nothing in the two-plus years he’d been with the family, before Edwards drove him off, had changed his mind.

  Adam wasn’t close enough to see the new man’s face, but he knew from the way he moved, the competent way he sat a horse, and the way he held the attention of his cowhands, that it couldn’t be that worthless Cliff Edwards.

  While he wondered about Edwards and worried about the voice saying, “Help me,” what really had Adam upset were the tracks. Men were coming and going in the rough country above the ranch. The men were good in the woods—quiet, leaving few signs. Adam hadn’t managed to spot one in person yet, but he started to recognize four different men, usually out in pairs, usually leaving during the nighttime and only scouting during the day.

  Sometimes they’d follow the hands, but mainly they seemed to be keeping an eye on Sophie’s man and the ranch house. Sophie’s new man was savvy in the woods himself, and Adam had his hands full keeping from being discovered. He wasn’t ready to come out in the open yet.

  Before he could go down to say hello, he had to know why Sophie was being watched.

  Sophie knew exactly why she was being watched.