Love Inspired Historical October 2015 Box Set

by Lacy Williams

  He took a deep breath and came out of his mind and looked at the devastation around them, then at her. “The Rebs ruined our crops.”

  “The storm ruined them, Pop. Do you remember the nasty thunder and lightning that passed through in the night?”

  His cloudy eyes cleared slightly, but he shook his head.

  “We’re on the family homestead in Wyoming,” she reminded him, something she had to do at least once a day.

  “We can replant the tomatoes,” she said. “If the summer hangs on long enough, we’ll still get a decent crop.”

  She didn’t mention the wheat. Hail had decimated their crop of partly grown plants. It would take days to see whether the crop could be salvaged.

  He didn’t respond. Before his eyes could get that far-off look again, she squeezed his arm.

  “I have something to tell you.”

  His rheumy blue eyes flicked to hers.

  “There was a man riding out on our property today.”

  “You shoot him?”

  “No, Pop. He fell off his horse and got hurt—broke his collarbone. He’s laid up at the dugout.”

  Pop tensed, bristling immediately, as she’d known he would.

  “He’s hurt. He’s not your enemy,” she said quietly. “In fact, he’s a sheriff’s deputy for Bear Creek.”

  He spit in the dirt at their feet. “That don’t mean nothin’. I’ve seen plenty a man wear a badge and use it for their own purposes. Even kill folks just ’cause they could.”

  The irony was not lost on her that she was being forced to defend a man she didn’t like in the least.

  “He’s not wearing a gun.” Because she’d taken and hidden it. She’d put away the rifle and shotgun when Pop had gotten bad, only taking them out when she needed to hunt to supplement their food supply.

  “Don’t mean nothin’.”

  This side of Pop scared her. When he became silent and violent and angry and nothing she said to him could get through.

  “I won’t let you hurt him.” She said the words firmly, showing him with a steady gaze that she was serious. “We’re going to nurse him until he’s better and then send him home. That’s all.”

  Pop grumbled but didn’t argue as he followed her back to the soddy. She didn’t trust his acquiescence. He could be wily at times. Which meant she would have to watch over the cowboy.

  The one thing she didn’t want to do.

  Chapter Three

  The next time Matty woke up, his head was clearer and didn’t ache quite so badly. He rolled his head in both directions and didn’t experience the same intense pain he had before.

  His first thought was escaping—he couldn’t stay trapped here—but when he tried to push up, the same breath-stealing pain streaked across his chest. What had Catherine said before? Broken collarbone? He’d never broken a bone before, but this intense pain didn’t feel like a simple bruise.

  His mind flew to his parents. They would be worried about him. Sheriff Dunlop might even send a search party out. And what would Luella think? She was another reason to get home as fast as he could.

  There was no one around, and he took advantage of the fact to discover more about wherever it was he’d been kept.

  It was a soddy, he realized. Dug into the earth, with exposed wooden beams. He could see earth and some roots hanging down from the ceiling through woven wooden slats. Also peeking out was straw that they’d probably used to insulate holes when it grew cold outside. A small black stove and another narrow bed took up two other corners of the small room, and small triangular shelves had been built into the corner behind the door.

  A small glass-paned window revealed bright, yellow morning sunlight streaming inside. His stomach grumbled at the latent smells of ham and fried eggs, as if someone had already eaten breakfast and he’d missed it.

  The one-room home was simply furnished. The two beds—cots, really—were covered with faded, well-worn quilts. A simply constructed table and lone chair took up the rest of the floor space. Atop it was a folded blanket and thin pillow.

  Baskets of foodstuffs, a frying pan and a deeper pot dangled from hooks set into the rafters. It was neat and tidy.

  But most folks he knew chose to build a wooden home or use the rocks pulled from nearby creeks to build their homes. He knew folks who’d come west on wagon trains or begun homesteads in the distant past had used soddies, but who would choose to live in a home like this now? It was the early days of the twentieth century! He’d even read newspaper accounts of a horseless carriage that folks could ride around in.

  And if they were close to the place where he’d seen that wisp of smoke, they were on the far edge of the rural areas surrounding Bear Creek. Far enough outside of town to keep a low profile and escape most folks’ notice. Sheriff Dunlop hadn’t told him of any folks who lived out here. Did the sheriff even know about Catherine and the young man and… Had she mentioned a grandfather?

  The door opened, and the young man backed in, dark hair curling over his collar, the blue of his shirt long faded to near white, a pair of moccasins beneath his brown trousers.

  His hands were full, and as he turned, Matty saw he carried a large woven basket.

  And that he wasn’t a he at all. It was Catherine. Without his head pounding quite so painfully, Matty saw what he’d missed last night in his delirium.

  It had been Catherine all along. She wore her hair short, as a man would. It curled around her face and at the back of her collar, and her pixie features were in sharp relief in the morning sunshine. Dark lashes surrounded her bright blue eyes.

  And there was no denying that it was a woman’s body beneath her shirt and trousers. He didn’t know how he’d mistaken her for a young man last night, other than the pain.

  She was the boy he’d been chasing. The reason he’d taken that spill and was now laid up.

  “Good morning,” she said quietly, with only a glance in his direction.

  “Why’d you run away from me yesterday?” It had been yesterday, hadn’t it? With the bump on his head, he couldn’t be sure.

  She was close in the small space, but he only had a view of the side of her face. It was enough to see the twist of her lips.

  “Why’d you chase me?” she countered.

  “Usually when someone runs from a lawman, it’s because they’re a criminal. Or they’ve got something to hide.”

  She still didn’t look at him, but her chin jutted out. “I’m no criminal,” she muttered.

  He noticed she didn’t deny having something to hide.

  “You took my weapon. That’s suspicious.”

  She muttered something else that he couldn’t make out. And then remained stubbornly silent. He started to grind his back teeth together, but the pain shooting through his skull made him think twice about it.

  Right this moment, he didn’t care if she was a bank robber or cattle rustler. He wanted to get home, where Ma would cater to him and his brothers would drive him crazy and he wouldn’t be as good as alone out in the middle of nowhere.

  “I’m…sorry.” He gritted the words out, even knowing his ma would have his hide for the rudeness. “Sorry I scared you into running off and sorry for thinking you were a boy.”

  Her expression remained shuttered.

  She juggled the basket against her waist and used her other hand to move the blanket and pillow from the chair to the foot of the second bed, then deposited the basket in the chair.

  Maybe this wasn’t the way to get home.

  He sighed. “Look, I know you want me outta here, and there’s folks at home worrying about me.”

  She shrugged. “I’ll help you up if you want to go outside and…have a few private moments.”

  He did need to find an outhouse. And maybe once he was upright, he could find a way to get back to town. His thoughts flitted to the sheriff. The town that would be busy rebuilding by now. He needed to get back.

  She must’ve seen his thoughts on his face, because she shook her h
ead. “We’re nearly fifteen miles from town. If you’re thinking about walking, you should consider something else.”

  “You got a horse I could borrow?”

  She shook her head, those dark curls bouncing around her face. “No horse, just the mule and she don’t take to riders. Doubt you could ride anyway.”

  He frowned. Was she right?

  She moved toward him, reaching for his shoulders. “I’m going to give you a pull, and we’ll have you sitting up.”

  Her hands were small—she couldn’t be any taller than his ma, who was fairly petite—but she had strength enough to assist him. By the time his feet were on the floor and he was sitting upright, sweat poured down his face.

  It hurt like nothing he’d ever felt before. The ache was centered across his chest, but as he moved it spread like a creek overrunning its banks, making his limbs tremble with residual pain.

  He got his feet under him and he managed to push up to standing. She steadied him when he would’ve fallen back to the bed.

  He stiffly moved outside, squinting in the bright sunlight.

  A creek meandered several yards away, the ground behind him sloping down to meet it, except where the soddy had been built into the bank. The creek was lined with woods on the opposite side, creating a sort of clearing. A hundred feet downstream was another structure, this one open across the front, shadowed inside. Probably where Catherine kept her livestock.

  Other than the creek, there were no identifying landmarks. His last memories from yesterday before he’d been swept into the creek were how far out he’d come from town.

  After a few moments taking care of his private business, he was sweating even worse, nauseous with the pain. He leaned his shoulder in the doorjamb to keep himself upright.

  He was forced to admit the truth. He wasn’t getting home under his own power.

  He knew his brothers would come looking for him when he didn’t arrive home. They might already be looking for him. But since he’d been traveling alone, the sheriff would only have the direction that he’d traveled to give them.

  Would anyone even think to look for him this far out?

  He needed to convince Catherine to send for help. If she didn’t want to go to Bear Creek, she could at least fetch a neighbor to go on his behalf.

  He perched on the edge of the bed, not wanting to lie back down just yet.

  “You all right?” she asked, looking up from where she sat on the end of the second bed. She had small papers—on second look, perhaps they were small envelopes—laid out on the table’s surface as she sorted them.

  She handed him a plate with slices of ham and a fresh scrambled egg—she must’ve cooked it while he’d been outside—and two slices of toast topped with jam. The room was small enough that she could hand him the plate without getting up off the chair.

  “Thanks.”

  She nodded and then went back to sorting, stacking several packets to one side and taking several more out of her basket.

  “What’s that?” he asked when she didn’t offer any conversation. He was used to noise, being surrounded by his brothers and sisters and now their kids. The silence unnerved him.

  “Seeds,” she said, her head still down so he couldn’t see her eyes, only her profile. “The hail destroyed part of our garden and we need to replant. The wheat crop, too, but that’s a job for next week.”

  He licked his thumb, where a drop of grease from the ham had slid down. He was ravenous, and her food was good.

  “Was it bad?” he asked when he’d gulped down another bite of eggs on toast and she hadn’t said another word. Was she shy or upset about having him here in her place?

  “Bad enough.”

  “How’d you get so many of those?” From up close he could see they were sheets of paper, folded into small envelopes with handwritten names on them. Carrots. Peas.

  “Years of growing and saving some back.”

  Why was she so prickly?

  *

  Catherine kept her eyes on her task as she returned several seed packets back into the storage basket, their bumpy contents rattling as they settled.

  She was surprised by the cowboy’s friendly manner. Was he simply bored of being alone in the house? Obviously he didn’t remember her, or he wouldn’t be talking to her like this, would he?

  He’d almost inhaled the entire plate of food she’d kept warm for him on the stove, and the eggs she’d quickly scrambled.

  “You always so talkative?” he asked.

  “Are you?” she returned.

  “I’ve got a big family. Get lots of practice.”

  Before he could try to engage her in more conversation, Pop came shuffling into the doorway.

  Matty looked up, his expression turning curious.

  She saw Pop the way the cowboy would. White hair thinning on top and tousled from being outdoors bareheaded. Bushy eyebrows and silver stubble. His dear face. Suspenders holding up trousers that had seen better days and missing one button from his shirt.

  She prayed the cowboy would be polite, or this could end badly.

  “Howdy, sir,” Matty greeted.

  Pop skewered him with a glare.

  She got up off the bed, hurrying to get the basket out of the way. “Here, Pop, come and sit.” Her pants brushed the cowboy’s knees in the close space.

  “I’m Matty White, sir.” Matty reached out his arm toward Pop, wincing as he did so. Pop stood woodenly, not reaching out to meet his handshake, and finally, the cowboy’s arm dropped back to his side. Also with a wince.

  “My grandfather Geoffrey Poole,” she said, trying to ease the near-tangible tension in the room.

  “Poole,” the cowboy repeated, his eyes coming back to settle on Catherine. “Catherine Poole.”

  She saw the moment when recognition lit his eyes. His head tipped up and his eyes took her in from the top of her head to the tips of her moccasins. She could see his mind working quickly.

  Nerves had her turning toward Pop. “Matty is a deputy from town,” she reminded him, though she’d already told him the same outside.

  “Don’t like no town folks.” It was the first thing Pop had said and the ire in his voice was easily heard.

  Unaffected, Matty said, “Thanks for taking me in. I know my family will want to show their appreciation in a tangible way, once I get home.”

  Was that his attempt to escape their homestead? To try to inspire Pop to help him get home? To bribe him?

  She should tell the cowboy it wouldn’t work.

  “What ’sactly were you doin’ trespassing on our land?” Pop asked, his voice and stance unfriendly.

  She eyed the kitchen knife, tucked in its spot behind the stove.

  Would Pop really attack the cowboy, simply for being on their land?

  “I wasn’t trespassing,” Matty said, still calm, still implacable. “The tornado damaged several buildings in town and some folks were hurt. Not to mention the flooding.” He sent her a wry smile that made her stomach swoop low. What was that?

  “The sheriff and town council sent me—and several other men—out to the surrounding areas to see if families or individuals needed some help.”

  Pop harrumphed. “We don’t need no help.”

  Matty’s eyes slid to Catherine again. She’d just told him the garden had suffered.

  “We ain’t got no use for strangers around here,” said Pop.

  Matty opened his mouth. She didn’t know whether he would attempt to argue with Pop or what he would say, but she rushed to fill the short silence. “Matty will get out of our hair as soon as he is healed up, Pop. Right now he can’t get there on his own steam.”

  The cowboy’s upper lip was covered in a fine sheen of moisture. It was obvious he needed to lie back down. He’d braced himself on both fists pressed into the straw tick mattress.

  “Can you help me check on the barn?” she asked Pop.

  “What if he steals all our stuff?”

  “He can barely sit up, Pop.
I don’t think he’s going to carry off our things.”

  Pop harrumphed again but thankfully went out the front door.

  The cowboy had gone white in the face.

  “Why don’t you lie back down?” She moved to assist him, and he groaned as he did so.

  “Do you need anything?” she asked, the words popping out before she’d really thought about them. “More water?”

  “I need you to ride to a neighbor’s place and send someone home to come get me,” he mumbled.

  “I can’t,” she said.

  He sighed heavily and closed his eyes. She guessed that meant their conversation was over. She ducked out the door to join her grandfather.

  Approaching the barn, she and Pop found that part of the corner nearest the creek had washed away, revealing the bare bones of the framing that supported the front of the structure. The creek encroached, closer to the door than it had been for a good long time, flooding its banks.

  A few feet closer and it would begin to wash away the structure itself.

  “Does it seem the creek’s edging closer this year?” She’d noticed the land eroding over the past decade, resulting in the flow of water widening its banks in places.

  It could make things difficult for them if it continued flowing close to the barn.

  He shrugged, mind elsewhere as he stood at her side. He’d always been difficult. She hadn’t realized how much until her mama had passed when she’d been thirteen. But in these recent years he’d aged more—and his mind had taken him to the past more and more.

  “Pop?”

  “Hmm? What?”

  Was he fading away? What would she do if she lost him, too? It didn’t bear thinking about.

  “Nothing. Let’s go into the barn and see if there’s damage inside.”

  *

  Matty woke to a mumble. He was disoriented and overheated. Why was his bedroom so close? Why was it so smoky?

  Where was he?

  The storm. His injury. Catherine Poole and her grandpop.

  Starlight shone through the single window, illuminating the foot of his cot. He tried to kick off the quilt, but twisting his hips caused intense pain to flare across his collarbone and he gasped, the sound loud in the dark room.