Linda Ford (8 page)

He was drawn to Maggie in a way that took his breath away. He hadn’t expected this sort of reaction. A “godly woman” to help build a new home, he’d decided, never clearly seeing in his mind where it could lead.

He stared at the star-studded sky. In his schemes the woman had been a silent, shadowy figure—he grinned up at the sky—not this fireball. He ached to tame her. No, he amended, he didn’t want to tame her; he loved the spit and fire of her. He only wanted some of that passion turned toward him. His hungry hollowness tore at his gut.

Purposely he turned his thoughts toward the things she’d said about God’s love and trusting Him to receive the gift of salvation. She made it all sound so easy, but it didn’t feel easy to him. Was his pride getting in the way? But he’d never considered himself a prideful man.

Fear, Maggie had said. But what was there to be afraid of? He wasn’t afraid of God.

He was desperate for coffee and pushed to his feet.

“Something the matter?” Maggie called.

“Think I’ll build a small fire. I want coffee.”

She rolled off her blanket. “Too hot to sleep, isn’t it?” She waited as he put the coffee to brew.

He could feel a tension in her, and he knew she would soon express it.

She leaned forward. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you expected. It’s not the way we should be.”

The coffee boiled, and he pulled it from the fire and poured her a cup. “Tell me—how should we be?”

He handed her the cup, taking in the way her hair caught the fire’s light, the way her skin glowed. He didn’t need to see the darkening of her cheeks to sense her discomfort at the way he stared.

She angled toward the fire. “You know—man and wife.”

He grimaced at the way she gulped the hot liquid. He turned his own cup round and round, letting the silence force her to explain herself.

“You said the very first day you didn’t expect romance but wanted a real marriage.”

“Yup.” It wasn’t exactly how he had put it but close enough.

“I know what that means,” she whispered.

“Good.” He downed several swallows

“It’s just that with the children and all—” Her voice trailed off.

He studied the flames without answering.

“You”—she gulped—“you aren’t wishing they weren’t with us, are you?”

“Me?” He jerked to his feet. “Ain’t I been good to them? Can’t you tell I care about them?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then?” What more could he do? What did she want?

She shrugged, a helpless little gesture that made him want to kick himself for his outburst.

“Sometimes I think—I wonder—” She took a gusty breath. “It’s so different from what I imagine you expected.”

He chuckled. “Are you gonna tell me it’s what you
expected?”

She shot him a startled look, then slowly grinned. “Not in my wildest dreams,” she admitted.

Her mischievous look did wild things to his pulse rate, but he corralled his thoughts and held her gaze. “So what do we do except take each day as it comes?”

He heard her swallow. She blinked and opened her mouth
twice before she got the words past her lips. “Nothing, I sup
pose.”

But he heard the doubtful tone in her voice and searched his mind for some way of letting her know he was willing to wait for the right time—and some indication from her as to when she was ready. But before he could find the words, he heard a rumble.

“Someone’s comin’.” He stood and reached for his rifle.

She edged over to stand close to him.

“Hello, the camp!” a man’s voice called as a wagon drew near. A man and woman sat on the seat. “Any objections to us joining you’s all?”

“It’s as much your right as mine,” Crane replied, studying the pair—a middle-aged couple with a weathered leanness that made him uneasy.

“We was looking for a nice place to stop and saw your fire,” the lady drawled.

The man took in the sleeping children and nodded to the other side of the clearing. “We’ll park over there.” He swung the wagon around.

Three youngsters sat on the end gate, two good-sized boys and a half-grown girl.

Crane glanced toward Ted and Betsy. Although Ted lay motionless, his eyes were open. Crane sank to the ground next to the children, and Ted whispered, “I don’t like them.”

“No reason not to,” Crane whispered. “They’re heading west same as us. And they’re minding their own business.” In fact, since they’d entered the camp, they’d turned their backs and kept their distance.

He waited until the other family settled down, then slipped into the darkness to check on the horses, leading them closer for the night. He moved the packs next to the bedroll.

“Crane?” Maggie whispered.

“Just being cautious,” he muttered.

He slept with one eye open and his rifle at his side and woke at dawn. A quick glance assured him their neighbors were still asleep, and nothing had been disturbed.
Gettin’ jumpy,
he scolded himself, rising to build a small fire and put the coffee to boil.

Maggie uncurled from her bed and joined him. “Should we call out to them?” she asked.

He shook his head. “ ’Spect they’ll get up when they got a mind.”

“I don’t mind telling you I’m anxious to get moving.” She rubbed the back of her neck.

Crane straightened and studied her. “You sleep all right?”

She grimaced. “I must have slept crooked. My neck is hurting.”

“Let me rub it.” He placed his hands on her taut shoulders, his thumbs on her neck. He knew the moment he touched her he’d made a mistake. Fire flared up his limbs and grabbed his throat so he couldn’t breathe. His arms felt like wooden posts. He rubbed firm circles along her shoulder muscles and up her neck.

“Good morning, y’all.”

At the sound of the other man’s voice, Crane dropped his hands, pressing his palms to his hips. “ ’Morning.” He stepped toward the man, extending his hand. “Name’s Crane. This here’s my wife.” He nodded his head toward Maggie, then indicated the children. “These are our young’uns, Ted and Betsy.”

Ted kept his stare on the strangers, while Betsy, bleary eyed and half awake, struggled to a sitting position.

“Hiram Johns.” The man shook his hand. “Wife, Jean, and my youngsters. That there is Billy.” He indicated the bigger boy who was rolling up his blanket. “That’s Joe.” The other boy was almost as tall and a bit on the pudgy side. “The gal is Annie.” The girl was still curled up on her blanket. “She ain’t been feeling too well.”

“Coffee?” Crane held out the pot.

“Don’t mind if I do. Say, but ain’t it been a hot one?” The man settled down to visit, while his boys ran into the bush for more wood and the missus gathered up food for their breakfast.

Crane scowled at the man, wondering why he wasn’t helping with the camp chores, but the man talked on about weather and horses and trains and too many things for Crane to keep track of. He helped Maggie prepare oatmeal porridge, and while they ate, Hiram Johns talked nonstop.

Finally Crane interrupted. “Guess we best get packed up.” He tromped toward the horses. “Talks more’n an old woman,” he muttered under his breath as he fixed the pack on the horse.

Usually Ted helped with getting the horses ready, but this morning he had run off with the other youngsters to explore the grove of trees. Crane had no mind to rob him of a few minutes of play.

A noise skittered through the air. Crane stopped and listened. It sounded like Betsy. Then he heard it again, small and thin, like Betsy in a panic.

He dropped the saddle and headed toward the sound, sliding soundlessly between the trees. The children were ahead of him. Billy, the older boy, had Betsy by one arm. She grunted, trying to free herself. Crane’s jaw tightened at the way Billy’s hand squeezed her thin arm.

Billy threw something.

“Stop that.” Betsy squealed and tried again to pull away.

Then Crane saw why Betsy was so upset. Cat was up the tree, hissing as Billy threw stones at her.

“You leave my cat alone,” Betsy demanded again, tears running down her face as Billy squeezed harder. “Let go of me. You’re hurting.”

Billy laughed, a sound that made Crane grit his teeth. “What’s the matter? Does the little baby think I’m gonna hurt her poor little kitty?”

The other boy chanted. “Poor kitty. Poor kitty. Hit him again, Billy.”

And the half-grown girl muttered, “Aw, who cares about a cat? Let’s go get somethin’ to eat.”

“In a minute,” Billy growled, raising his arm again.

Crane was about to break into the clearing when Ted ambled over to the bigger boy. Calm and quiet, he stepped to Billy’s side and clenched the boy’s wrist. “Think you better go now. And you can let Betsy go now too.”

Billy pushed his face close to Ted. “You gonna make me?”

Ted glared into his face. “If I have to.”

The other two gathered close. “Fight. Fight,” Joe chanted.

Ted did not back down. “Let her go.”

Crane took two steps and dropped his hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Best do as he says.”

Billy jerked away as if Betsy’s arm had scalded him, and all three children spun around to face him, their eyes wide with fright.

“Best go on back to your folks.”

His eyes wide, Billy dashed after his brother and sister.

“Betsy, get Cat and go stay with Maggie.” His gaze lingered on Ted as Betsy ran to the tree to call Cat. “I’m proud of you, Son.”

A shudder crossed Ted’s shoulders. “Now let’s get those horses ready and get outta here.”

Crane and Ted quickly got the horses ready and led them to camp. “Let’s get moving.” He waited for Maggie to mount, then lifted Betsy up.

“I want to ride with Ted.”

“Not today.”

“Aww.” She prepared to protest, but Maggie interrupted.

“Not today, Betsy.” There was a hard note in her voice.

Crane quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Betsy told me what happened,” she muttered. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I’m with you.” He was about to kick Rebel’s sides when the sound of metal on metal made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Eight

Crane lifted his hands several inches into the air and slowly turned to face the Johnses. A pistol glared from the man’s grubby fist. Crane sensed a meanness that accompanied cowardice. “What’s this I hear ’bout you giving my boys a hard time?” If Crane had been alone, he would bluff his way out, but with Maggie and the children—he swallowed hard. “What is it you’re wanting, Johns?”

The man’s look darted to Maggie, a few feet away.

Crane’s hands squeezed into fists as rage flooded through him. He wanted to trample the man under Rebel’s hooves.

Maggie shot Crane a hard look. He knew she knew. She held his gaze, tipping her head so slightly he knew no one would have noticed but him. Instantly he understood her intent, and he twitched in his saddle.
No, don’t do it!
But he couldn’t scream the words at her.

He widened his eyes, signaling he understood, and almost choked when her lips twitched.

Her hands tightened on the reins. She yelled and kicked Liberty’s sides. The horse lunged forward, right into Johns, who threw his arms up to shield himself. Crane jerked the gun from the man’s hand.

Maggie reined in, glowering down at Johns. “You’re lucky I don’t let my horse tromp all over you.”

Crane hid a grin. Maggie would have taken great delight in doing so. He tucked the gun into his waistband and turned to face the man.

“Next time you feel like gettin’ all hot and bothered about them sons of yers, you best make sure to get the story right.” He nodded for Maggie and Ted to ride. “I’ll be leaving yer gun out there.” He nodded toward the road. “You can go and get it when it suits ya.”

He reined around and paused. “Y’all have a nice day now,” he said and trotted after the others.

As they rode away, the humor of the situation hit him, and he roared with laughter.

Maggie crunched her brows together. “What’s so funny?”

“You. You’re somethin’ else.” He couldn’t stop grinning at her, enjoying the way her eyes widened at his words.

“What do you mean?” Her tone held a note of belligerence.

“Ain’t you scared of nothin’?”

Her forehead furrowed. “I vowed I’d never turn away from nothing.”

He chuckled. “Well, so far, I’d say you got a pretty good record.”

Her eyes rounded. “You laughing at me?”

His grin widened. “Could be.” He scratched his neck. “Or could be I’m just tickled.”

Her gaze held a challenge. He knew his grin was as wide as the open prairie, but he couldn’t seem to help it. And for the life of him he couldn’t say whether it was amusement or admiration that had him staring at her like a moonstruck cowpoke.

“Crane,” Betsy sobbed. “I’m scared.” Her eyes pooled with tears, then overflowed in a glistening trail down each cheek. Her distress was like the sting of a whip.

“They ain’t going to hurt you. Isn’t that right, Ted?”

“You bet,” the boy grunted.

Crane saw a reflection of his own concern in Maggie’s eyes. Betsy had more than her fair share of scares in the past day or so. She’d do with some careful watching. On the other hand—he slanted a look at Ted—the boy was proving he had plenty of guts.

“They’ll never catch us,” he assured Betsy. “Not in that old wagon of theirs and with that old moth-eaten bag of bones pulling it.”

Betsy giggled at his description of the horse.

“Why, I’ve seen better horses put out to pasture.” Crane increased their pace a fraction. It was true—the Johnses didn’t have a hope in the world of catching them, but he wasn’t a man to test his luck.

“She puts me in mind of an old horse we got in a trade one time when we picked up a bunch for Mr. Burrows. I don’t know how they slipped her in.” He chuckled. “Turns out it was the same old crock Burrows had included in a trade three years earlier. I think she made the trip around a number of traders before someone finally took pity on her.”

He amused them with more stories of his cowboy days until the sun hung high overhead. “There’s another water tower.”

They filled their canteens and watered the horses; then, remembering the roaring train of yesterday, they rode a distance from the tracks before taking a noon break.

After another cold lunch, Ted stood. “Think I’ll take a walk.”

“Where’s Ted going?” Betsy asked, jumping to her feet as Ted and Cat sauntered away.

“He’s stretching his legs for a bit.”

Crane studied the child more closely. She rocked back and forth on her feet, twisting a corner of her skirt, her face screwed up with worry.

“We can see him real well.” He waved his arms. “You could walk for a week without getting lost.”

But she didn’t relax.

Maggie eased to his side and leaned close, grabbing his arm to pull herself up to whisper in his ear. “She’s been tense and restless all morning.”

He broke into a cold sweat at her touch, and for a split second, he forgot his concern for the child. Then with iron self-control, he pushed aside his reaction to Maggie to focus on Betsy. “I don’t know what we should do about her.”

He held to his self-control by a thread as he breathed in Maggie’s scent—rich with the smell of sage and fresh grass. A strand of hair wafted across his cheek. He closed his eyes and sucked in heated air.

“I don’t see what we can do except let her know we’ll take
care of her.”

He knew the minute she stepped away. It made it possible for him to breathe again.

Betsy remained fretful all afternoon, crying when they rode too fast, moaning that she was tired, and screaming in alarm when a rabbit bounced across the trail.

More than once Maggie gave Crane a worried look. He shrugged. He was worried about Betsy too, but he didn’t have a notion what to do about it.

Several times Crane caught a glimpse of a dark fringe off to the right. “You keep to the trail,” he told Maggie. “I’m going to see if there’s a creek over there.” After ten minutes’ riding, he suddenly overlooked a narrow, green valley with a band of dark water winding through it and trees crowding down the banks.

He pushed his hat back. “I’ll be a skinned snake. If that ain’t the nicest thing I’ve seen in many a day.” He pushed his hat down firm on his head and raced back to the others.

“There’s a good spot for camp over here,” he called. It was early to stop, but maybe Betsy was plumb tired. She fussed as they set up camp and prepared a meal.

“You want to help cook some biscuits?” Crane asked her.

“No. Where’s Maggie?”

“She’s gone to get water.”

It was the first time Betsy hadn’t hung over his shoulder drooling as she waited for the food to cook.

When Maggie returned, Betsy grabbed her hand, pulling her close to Crane so she could hold his hand too. “Ted, where are you?” she called. And when he answered, she insisted he sit in front of her.

“I have to get up to get the food.” Maggie laughed, and Betsy reluctantly let her go. But as soon as they each had a plate, the child again insisted Maggie sit close. She only let go of Crane’s hand to allow him to eat. His concern deepened considerably when she picked at her food.

Maggie noticed too. “Betsy, aren’t you hungry?”

“Not much.” The child pushed her plate away. “I keep thinking I hear those people coming after us.”

“Oh, Sweetie.” Maggie set her plate down and pulled Betsy to her lap. “You remember what I told you about God?”

Betsy pressed into her embrace. “What?”

“He’ll always take care of us. Remember?”

The child tipped her head so she could see Maggie’s face. “Was He taking care of us back there?”

Maggie stroked the tangled blond locks. “Well, we was scared, but nothing bad really happened. So I guess He was.”

Crane considered her answer. Maybe he’d been thinking the same thing as Betsy, doubting as much as she, but what Maggie said made sense.

Betsy thought hard for a moment. “I was so scared. Especially when that bad man had a gun.”

Crane laughed. “I don’t think you need to worry, Betsy. Maggie will always come to our rescue.” He sobered. “I’ll never let anything happen to you either if I can help it.”

“Me neither,” Ted murmured.

A pleased look on her face, Betsy cuddled against Maggie. “I’m not so scared now.”

Crane mussed her hair. “Good, ’cause it’s hard to do anything with you holding on to us all.”

She giggled a little and let Maggie set her aside to clean up.

That night, the four of them lay side by side. Maggie had read until Betsy fell asleep.

Ted’s voice came out of the darkness. “Where was God when Pa sold me to that man?”

Crane tensed. How would Maggie explain this?

At first she didn’t answer. Then she sighed deeply. “I don’t know why bad things happen. I just know they do. Ma used to say it was because everybody can choose whether to do right or wrong, and when someone chooses wrong, then it starts a whole chain of events. And sometimes innocent people get hurt.”

“You mean ’cause Pa did something wrong, I had to pay for it?” Ted’s voice rose.

Crane felt the same incredulous disbelief. Why should Ted or, for that matter, Betsy, pay for something they had no part in?

“Guess maybe whatever we do affects somebody else.” Maggie’s voice grew stronger. “But we needn’t use it as an excuse.” She wasn’t making any sense.

“What do you mean?” Crane asked.

“Sometimes people say they’re mean because someone was unfair to them. Or they say, ‘if you had to live like I did, you wouldn’t be so nice either.’ I don’t think one has to lead to the other. Do you know what I mean?”

He grunted. “I guess.”

“And don’t you think God played a part when we ‘happened’ to ride down the road that ‘happened’ to go past the farm where Ted was and that we ‘happened’ to stop there to buy some food? Ted, what are the chances, do you suppose?”

“Not very good,” the boy mumbled.

“Not a chance in the world we would have found you except for one thing.” She paused for effect. “God. God led us there.”

Crane let the thought settle into his mind. She had a point. Fact was she had made several of them that somehow managed to upset the way he figured things. He looked at the sky. The stars were so close he felt he could reach out and grab a handful. Somehow God seemed just as close and real. The idea of God being close enough to touch made him feel warm and good inside.

Before it was light, he wakened to a strange sound. Immediately he recognized it was Betsy moaning in her sleep. She flung her arms out and moaned again. She must be dreaming.

He reached over and shook her. “Betsy, wake up.” He jerked his hand back and sat bolt upright.

“Maggie.” He reached over both children to shake her shoulder. “Maggie, wake up.” But she shrugged. “Maggie,” he insisted, shaking harder. “Come on—wake up.”

She opened one eye slowly. “It’s still nighttime.” She pulled the covers to her chin.

“Maggie,” he growled, trying to keep his voice down so he wouldn’t disturb Ted. He shook her hard, like a dog shaking an old boot.

“What’s the matter with you?” she groaned. “Can’t you let a body sleep?”

“Not now. I think Betsy’s sick.”

Covering her eyes with her arm, she groaned. He watched her fight her way to consciousness. Slowly she sat up, leaning over her knees, her head lolling almost on her chest. “What did you say?” she finally managed.

“It’s Betsy. I think she’s sick.”

“Oh.”

He shook his head. It was a long ways from her ears to her brain. “Come on, Maggie. Wake up.”

“I’m awake,” she mumbled. “See—my eyes are open.”

He waved a hand in front of her face. “Hello? Anybody home?”

“Very funny,” she muttered. “Don’t suppose coffee’s ready.”

“Not yet. I just woke up. Betsy was moaning. I thought she was dreaming, but she’s hot.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” She shot him a cross look as she pushed the blanket back and struggled to her feet, mumbling, “Life would be a lot simpler if people would just say what they wanted.”

“What’s the matter?” Ted sat up.

“I think Betsy’s sick,” Crane said. “Could you get up and get the fire going for coffee? I think your sister could use some.”

Maggie bent over Betsy and felt her forehead. “She’s fevered all right. Here, Sweetie—let me check you over.”

In the flare of Ted’s fire, Maggie checked Betsy’s back and tummy, then looked over her legs. “I don’t see any rash.” She straightened. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but we won’t be traveling today.”

Of course they couldn’t travel with a sick child. “How long do you suppose she’ll be sick?”

She shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. That coffee ready yet, Ted?”

Crane took the cup of coffee Ted offered and sat deep in thought. Laying over gave the Johnses a chance to catch up. Then there was the problem of food. He had hoped to purchase some more supplies soon. He eyed the creek. A good place for game. He’d go hunting instead.

“I’m going to check on things,” he announced and climbed the steep bank, lying on his stomach to watch the trail. He had a good clear view of the trail for miles. He turned toward the camp. It was down far enough that he was certain it would be invisible from the trail. “I’ll just have to keep a careful watch,” he muttered.

Returning to the camp, he found Maggie giving Betsy some water. “Food’s ready,” she murmured, nodding toward the fire.

He helped himself and, when he finished, said, “I’m going hunting.” He turned to Ted. “I want you to climb that draw.” He pointed toward the narrow vee leading to the crest of the bank. “Keep down but look sharp to the trail. Let Maggie know if anybody heads this way.” He dug the pistol from his saddlebag and handed it to Maggie. “I need the rifle, but I’ll leave this with you.”

“We’ll be fine.”

Betsy slept, her cheeks flushed, her arms flung out.

“You sure?” He didn’t mean only the risk of strangers.

Maggie gave him a direct look. “Sleep is probably the best thing for her.” She waved a hand. “You go on now.”

He hesitated, torn between the desire to guard them and the need for food; then nodding, he headed into the slight breeze. He saw evidence of abundant game but knew there would be none within sound of camp, so he kept a brisk pace along the bare banks of the creek for a spell, then eased into the trees, moving more slowly and quietly. He saw several does with fawns at their sides, but it was some time before he spotted a young buck and brought it down with one shot. He dressed it out, taking as much meat as he thought they could use before it spoiled. Heaving the gunnysack of meat over his shoulder, he headed back.