by Reece Butler
Cole followed Marshall down the lane. “Bruises heal but you can’t take curses back. He got too much of both before his parents dumped him on Grandpa and Grandma.”
* * * *
Curling in front of the stove had given Casey a wonderful sleep. Though the men were strangers, she trusted them enough that their snores had lulled her all night. While they sounded like Pappy and her four brothers, she didn’t have to fear being woken with a boot to the ribs.
She cleaned up after breakfast first thing, doing the best job she could. When she was sure they weren’t going to come back and check on her, she went exploring. Already she knew some wonderful things about her temporary home. The cabin had a real, honest-to-goodness floor. The boards were chilly under her feet, but it was far softer than gravel, which had to be raked whenever big feet made holes. But gravel was better than dirt. Water passed through gravel. She grew up with mud squishing between her toes every time it rained. And then there were the things that liked to live in mud…She curled her lip and shoved away the memories.
In spite of three men living together the cabin was fairly clean. Whoever had raised them had taught them well. She hesitantly peeked into the front room. There wasn’t any furniture, but having a separate room just for a parlor was a luxury she’d never known.
Her throat tightened and she swallowed hard. Cassandra Wright did not cry. Ever. Tears did no good when things were bad. But this time things were good. She had no defense against hope. Her chest shuddered. She tried to inhale, but could only pant. She almost wished they’d find out she was a woman. Then she could take off that dang cloth binding and take a deep breath for once!
She sank to her knees.
“I ain’t prayed to ye in a long time, Mama.” She coughed, shaking her head. “No. I can talk better, Mama. Just like you showed me.”
She set her shoulders back and closed her eyes. Six years since Mama died. Six years since she tried to talk proper. Pappy belted her when he heard her, saying she was putting on airs. She’d gotten better since coming to Tanner’s Ford, but Cole made her nervous. That made it almost impossible to remember how to say things right.
“I have not prayed to you in a long time, Mama,” she said slowly, sounding out all her letters and vowels. “But I knows…know you listen when I talk with Willy. He’s doing very well for his—” She shook her head in frustration. “For himself. He’s a fine man, Mama. He’s got a grand job, working for the richest men in this here valley. He’s sweet on a couple of sisters, but he don’t—doesn’t—think he’s good enough for them.”
According to Cole, she wasn’t good enough, either. All he wanted in a wife was that she talked and dressed fancy. He didn’t care about who she was, her hopes, or dreams. Casey dreamed of a husband who wanted her, Casey Wright, and no other. Beth Elliott, Jessie Langford, and the other ranch wives had married men like that. But if a good enough man came alone, she might say yes. More than anything she wanted to live long enough to raise babies and see them give her grandchildren.
First, she had to survive this winter, living with three men who made her feel things she’d only heard about from Mama. Her chin trembled. She took a couple of calming breaths. Her fingers were so tightly knotted they’d turned white.
“That’s all I have to say, Mama. Willy’s happy, and I will work so hard they’ll want to keep me on for the winter even if they find out I ain’t a boy. Long as they don’t get themselves a wife, I’ll be safe.”
Tears dripped down her cheeks when she closed her eyes. Her head pounded, tight like a drum. But she wiped everything away and stood up. Head high, she swept the smooth wood floor with the broom. Her bare feet drifted slowly and gracefully over the boards as tears rolled past her wide smile.
No more dirt and mud tracked everywhere. No holes in the walls for critters to crawl or slither in. The windows even had glass in them, and shutters to keep out the wind and rain.
She was safe, warm, and fed. How could life get any better?
Chapter 4
Marshall caught up with Byron and Cole before dinner. They rode the last bit home together.
“We’ll see how well Casey works out for the next while,” said Cole. “If he can do the chores right, we’ll leave him here while we bring our cattle to Virginia City. That’ll give us more time to find a wife.”
“About time,” grumbled Marshall.
“Breakfast was good,” said Byron, ignoring him. “Redeye gravy was almost like Grandma’s.”
“Takes a Southerner to make good gravy,” agreed Cole.
Marshall nodded absently. What had happened to Casey to make the boy as jumpy as a trout in a pond full of fishing hooks? No matter, he’d figure it out eventually.
“If he keeps on like this, he’ll work out fine,” said Cole. “The boy wants to stay near his brother, so he won’t get into trouble. There won’t be a need to show him the error of his ways.”
Marshall recognized the phrase from their Grandpa. He snorted, but quietly so Cole wouldn’t hear. The man thought he was head of their family, just like their grandfather. He was the ramrod of the ranch, but only because Marshall and Byron preferred it that way. Things could change if Cole didn’t do a good job. But for now, if the boy needed disciplining, Cole would be the one doing it.
Marshall knew a couple things about that. When he arrived at his grandparent’s farm he was scared, angry, and confused. He didn’t know his two cousins, Grandpa’s rules, or what would happen if he broke them. Long after he realized he’d done the worst thing he could just to see if Grandpa would hate him like his father did. He’d insulted Grandma, first thing.
He thought Grandpa was like Father, cold and uncaring, until he looked in his eyes. Expecting anger, he saw disappointment. That made him feel ashamed. Grandpa had calmly told Marshall to meet him by the woodshed. He remembered his heart beating so fast he was dizzy by the time he saw Grandpa walking toward him. Only when he stopped had Marshall seen the willow switch at Grandpa’s side.
That was when he’d realized what was coming, and why his cousins had smirked. Grandpa had calmly explained that his grandsons could laugh and wrestle and make all the noise they wanted to, because they were boys. But one thing they could never do was upset Grandma. He said a man never insulted a good woman, and he would show his grandson the error of his ways. Marshall got five stripes across his bare arse that day. It hurt, but it was bearable. He’d take an honest whipping any day over living in the icy terror of his father’s home.
After he’d pulled up his pants, Grandpa had rested his hand, the same one that had held the switch, on his shoulder. He’d squeezed, what he called a man’s version of a hug, and explained that things were different now. When Marshall did wrong, he’d get a quick whipping, just like this. But once he apologized to Grandma, it would be done and forgotten.
After Marshall apologized, Cole and Byron had hauled him to the creek. Since he didn’t know how to swim, they half drowned him, yelling and arguing as loud as they liked. He’d never had so much fun.
Grandpa had collared all three boys for a rough hug that night. He’d squeezed them against his far more powerful body as they laughed and complained. Until they got too big, he’d wrestled with them, three boys against one strong man.
Of course there were times when all three of them were punished for getting into scrapes. The day after he arrived, he got in a scrap with Byron and Cole, one on one, in the yard. Grandpa lined all three grandsons up at the woodpile and gave them five each. Then he said boys had to get into trouble, and if they didn’t, they wouldn’t be his grandsons. He expected them to work things out like men, which sometimes meant fisticuffs, but they’d better do it behind the barn. They were switched because they upset Grandma, not for fighting fair.
That was how Marshall wanted to raise his children. They’d get open and honest love and affection, complete with discipline. Only he wanted his wife to hug their children. He had vague memories of his mother holding him. Grandma might give
a tight smile of approval, but she didn’t hug. He wanted a wife who would wrap her arms around him to hold him tight. In bed or out, no matter who was watching. Unfortunately, Cole wanted a wife just like Grandma.
The cabin was quiet when the three of them rode into the yard. The kitchen door was open. They shrugged at each other but kept on as usual, taking the tack off their horses and sending them into the pen. Byron was the first to sniff dinner.
“Onions and salt pork and something else.”
Cole took a whiff. “Whatever it is, I’m ready to eat.”
They were too eager for decent food to scrape their boots at the door. It took Marshall’s eyes a few minutes to adjust to the dim. “Would you look at that!” He pointed to the jelly jar with a few meadow flowers in it.
“Looks like the boy learned more from his mama than just cooking,” said Cole. Casey rushed through the back door before Cole could pick up a spoon and taste what was in the pan.
“Git them boots off, dagnabit!” yelled Casey. “I ain’t warshing a floor jest to have y’all stomp yer dirty boots over it!”
Marshall took one look at Cole’s startled expression and burst into a laugh. He grabbed an arm of each cousin and hauled them back to the door, still chuckling.
“I won’t tolerate that lang—” began Cole.
“Let’s eat before you take the lad down a few pegs,” murmured Byron while they were all bent over hauling their boots off. Cole gritted his teeth, but nodded agreement.
“We didn’t put much dirt on the floor,” said Marshall to Casey, trying to keep a straight face at the boy’s indignation.
“Ain’t no need to make work when there’s plenty already.” He gave a dismissive nod. “After you dabble yer hands, have a sit, and I’ll get the biscuits.” He washed his hands as he spoke, then shook them to get the water off.
Marshall, still fighting a grin at Cole’s dark grumbling, let the others go first. As he waited, Casey bent over to take the biscuits out of the oven. The boy’s shirt rode up, and his thin pants went tight against his backside. Marshall quickly looked away. His damn cock couldn’t tell the difference between a boy’s ass and a woman’s! Why did the boy have enough padding to comfortably sit, yet no flesh in his shoulders. He washed up while Casey dropped the biscuits into a basket and set it on the table. He shook off his thoughts, too hungry to do anything but eat. They filled up their plates. Byron was about to dig in before Cole gave him an elbow.
“Boy, there should be four sitting at this table, not three,” said Cole gruffly.
“I’ll eat when y’all are finished.”
“There won’t be nothin’ left when we’re finished,” said Marshall. “I told you to get some meat on your bones.”
“But menfolks always eat first.”
Casey jumped at the screech of wood on wood when Byron shoved his bench back. He stood and walked over to the shelf, got another plate and spoon, and held them out to Casey.
“We all eat together.”
“Yessir.”
Casey put a couple of spoonfuls on his plate and began turning toward the table. Byron yanked the plate away. He used the big scoop and poured enough to fill Casey’s plate. He walked over to the table and dug out a big handful of biscuits. He set them, and the plate, at the stove end of the table. He pulled out the short bench and pointed to it.
“Sit.”
Casey sat. It wasn’t long before all their plates were empty. Marshall wiped up the last bit of sauce with his last biscuit.
“Now that was worth coming home for,” said Cole. He leaned back and patted his stomach. “I can hardly wait to see what’s for supper.”
“Same thing, sir, ‘less some rabbits hop into my snares,” said Casey, his voice low. “Back home I knew where to ketch ’em, but I’m just learnin’ up here.”
Byron collected the plates, stacking them on the table before carrying them to the washing up bowl. Marshall cleared the rest, though he had to fight Casey for the basket. The boy’s face turned red and he gasped like a fish out of water.
“You cooked a damn good meal, boy. The least we can do is clear the table,” said Marshall. “That’s what our Grandma taught us.”
“And if it’s good enough for Grandma, it’s good enough for us,” said Cole. “You working on a list of supplies? We’ve got work planned for a few days, but then we’ll head to town.”
Casey cleared his throat. “I saw at the hotel that y’all like pickles. I could bottle up a few bushels of cucumbers for the winter.”
Cole laughed, something Marshall hadn’t seen for a long time. He gently clasped Casey’s shoulder. The boy’s face got redder, but he didn’t flinch as much as earlier.
“You noticed what we ate, did you? We’ll buy five hundred Mason jars if it’ll keep us fed like this all winter.” Cole released Casey and turned to Marshall. Casey quickly moved away. “You coming with me to the Bitterroot Ranch to look at that longhorn bull?”
“Yep.”
Byron turned to Casey. “You up to riding?”
“Me?”
“You’re skinny enough to ride in front of me, or you could take your own horse.”
Casey worried his lip for a bit. “I’d like to learn how to ride, sir.”
“Then that’s what you’ll do,” said Cole. He nodded approval. “We’ll soon get you roping and everything else. You’ll be catching up with your brother in no time.”
* * * *
Byron cursed himself for touching the boy when Casey’s horse headed down into the gully. The boy had screamed and damn near jumped out of the saddle. He’d quickly calmed down, but it scared the hell out of Byron. He’d given them all a chance to calm down, but he had to speak before they arrived at the Circle C ranch.
“I grabbed your leg because I didn’t want you falling,” he explained. “That’s the only reason.” Casey twitched, almost a shrug, but said nothing. His jaw was tight, though it looked like he’d learned to keep the tension out of his legs so his horse wouldn’t bolt. “You scared of me, boy? I want the truth, not what you’d say so you don’t get hit.”
“I ain’t scared of you.”
They rode on for a bit. Byron waited, figuring something else would follow. Finally, the boy heaved a great sigh. He didn’t look over, but he uncurled a bit.
“I know in my head you won’t hurt me, but I forget. Bart was always tryin’ to touch me. It ain’t you I was jumpin’ from.”
Byron let the words drift for a while before answering. Casey had been honest, speaking of something that came from deep inside. Whoever Bart was, Byron wished he could thrash him for scaring the child.
“I’ll try to be patient with you, and warn the others to be the same. But we’re not used to having someone live with us. We’re like brothers. We yell, and sometimes we punch each other.” He remembered what Marshall had said about Casey’s shock that morning. “Unless it’s really cold, we sleep naked. When we get up in the morning, our cocks are hard. That’s the way men are in the morning. You should be old enough to have it happen to you.”
He took a quick glance back. The boy’s face was as red as an apple and his hands shook. No, his whole body shook. The horse danced a bit, picking up on the fear. Damn. Byron hated to ask, but it was necessary.
“Did someone use you, Casey? There’s no shame in it. You’re just a boy, and you couldn’t have stopped them.”
Casey pressed his lips together so hard they turned white. His jaw quivered. Byron cursed silently as he waited for an answer.
“No, sir,” he said in a croak. “Some tried, but…”
“Thank God.” Byron blew out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Casey’s shoulders slowly relaxed, dropping from up by his ears.
“Wasn’t God that stopped ’em,” he mumbled. “Pappy said I were his, and he’d say who touched me, and how much it’d cost ’em to do it.”
Byron went still. Casey looked away, biting his lip. Byron jammed his jaw together, fighting the fury that made him
want to rip the man to pieces. In addition to beating him whenever he felt like it, Casey’s father had threatened to sell his son? Thank God he and Willy had run.
“Long as I done all the huntin’ and feedin’ and all, I was pretty much safe,” added Casey.
He spoke as if the whole weight of the world was on his back. Byron cursed silently for another few minutes as they rode. What his own parents had done to him at Casey’s age was bad, but bruises healed. Other things they did twisted him inside, but that was nothing compared to living all your days never knowing when your father would sell your body to whoever he wanted. And since they lived so far up in the hills, no one would step in to help. If he ran away, their clan would track him down and haul him back. Thank God Casey wasn’t a girl, or who knew what his father would have done.
“You and Willy left because you weren’t safe anymore,” said Byron. He cleared his throat. “What with the feud and all.”
“Weren’t the feud. Willy heard Pappy tell Bart he wanted a new rifle and a whole lotta ’shine. When he said he had no cash money, Bart said he wanted me instead. Pappy look at all them jars of ’shine, licked his lips, and said Bart could take me.”
“Bart sold moonshine, whiskey, and guns?”
“And whores.”
Byron jammed his teeth together, clenching his jaw so tight it ached. He had to hold back the curses and rage that would scare the hell out of the boy. His whole body felt like it was in flames. Suddenly he got as cold as if he’d jumped in a river full of spring meltwater.
Casey was pretty enough to be attractive to men who had no women available or those who preferred boys. Byron had nothing against men doing what they wanted with each other—a small cabin and a long, cold winter led to all sorts of things. Many mountain men kept the same partner all their lives with no one calling them wrong. But it was different with children.
“I wish that Bart was standing right in front of me.”
Byron forced the cold words out, speaking quietly. The calm scene around them was so far from the horror Casey spoke about. Here, mountains rose high to the north and south. A golden eagle floated by looking for food. There was death, by snakes, fire, flood, and more, but no child in this valley would be harmed that way. Not again. Molly’s capture and rescue had brought the knowledge of such evil to the valley. Rivers was dead, but who knew who else preyed upon the innocent? Byron vowed to find out and burn out the whole nest of vipers, once and for all.
