Petticoat Ranch (8 page)

Sophie’s blue eyes were kind and warm. Even though Cliff was long dead, Clay envied his brother. Sophie said, “No, I don’t think that’s true. Cliff used to talk about having a son. He wanted one so much. He said often enough that he was the last of his family line, and he wanted someone to carry on the name.”

“The child would have been carrying on my mother’s family name if Cliff called himself Edwards,” Clay said bitterly.

“Yes, but his name wouldn’t be his doing if he didn’t know you and your pa existed. Three’s awfully young. Maybe. . . Did you ever see your mother and brother again? Is it possible he forgot he had a brother?”

“Forgot? How could he? I never forgot him. Never!”

“But did your pa talk about him? Did he keep the memories alive for you?”

Clay nodded as he thought of the stories his pa had always told about the mischief he and Cliff had gotten into as toddlers. He thought of the sympathetic way his pa had talked about how unhappy Clay’s mother had been during the brutal Montana winters. Clay had seen the sadness in Pa and he knew, even then, that Thomas McClellen had missed his wife and had loved her until the day he died. His pa had kept the memories alive, and he’d made those memories good ones. So
he was never angry at his mother and brother. Only lonely for them— terribly, endlessly lonely—especially for the twin brother that he knew was out there somewhere. And then he’d heard that Cliff had died.

“Maybe your ma didn’t do that for Cliff,” Sophie said gently. “I know he would have wanted to have a brother. There was a loneliness in Cliff. I think in some way he knew you existed and he missed you.”

Clay suspected Sophie said it mainly to offer comfort to an unhappy man, but even as she said it, he knew it was true. Cliff had been his best friend. Cliff would have wanted to know his twin brother.

Sophie added, “
Loneliness
isn’t the right word exactly. It was more like he had a way of being alone even when he was surrounded by people. He kept everyone at arm’s length.”

From the sad way she said it, Clay wondered if “everyone” included her.

“So you’re not our pa?” Sally asked with a downward droop to her mouth.

Clay looked away from Sophie to the little girl who’d offered him unconditional love from the first moment he’d opened his eyes. He squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry, no, I’m not.”

A sudden burst of clarity in his befuddled brain made him think of something else. “I’ll tell you what I am, though. I’m your uncle.” He felt a wide smile spread across his face, and even as a single tear ran down the little girl’s face, a shy smile bloomed on her lips.

“My uncle?” she said with wonder in her voice.

“Yeah! I’m your uncle Clay. I didn’t even know I had a niece, and here I have four of them. I like the idea!”

“I do, too.” Sally nodded and swiped an arm across her cheeks to dry her tears. “Are you going to stay around then?”

Clay sat up and looked from one girl to the other. His eyes paused on Laura, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the cheerful little girl. Then with a shake of his head that made his stomach lurch from the pain, he remembered why he’d come here to begin with. A hundred more details washed aside the joy of finding a family, when he
thought he was the last. He’d known Cliff was dead. He’d heard about the lynching. He reached for his breast pocket, searching for the star the Texas Rangers had pinned on his chest when he’d accepted this one and only assignment he’d ever do for them. Not only was there no star, there was no shirt.

Vigilantes were terrorizing this corner of Texas. When Clay had heard about Cliff, he’d gone looking for justice, and he’d gotten a star. But where was it? He remembered taking it off and tucking it in his saddlebag before he’d ridden up to that campfire last night. Then he remembered how the campfire had been attacked and they’d all scattered. And he’d been pursued.

He said firmly to Sally, “You bet I’m gonna stay around. I heard about Cliff, and I came to see what happened.” For now Clay didn’t mention the Rangers. “I didn’t even know he’d gotten married and had a family.”

Clay’s eyes traveled to Sophie. She was a pretty little thing. And she was even sweet-smelling now. “Is there a mule around here somewhere?”

Before anyone could answer him, Sally announced, “We’re your family now, Uncle Clay. Our pa used to do all kinds of things with us girls and with Ma. Now you can do all those things.”

All the things Cliff had done with Sophie. Clay looked at her. Their eyes caught and lingered for a second too long. Sophie looked away first. Clay forced himself to forget about the charged moment and turned back to Sally. “You are, for sure, my family now.”

It sounded like he was staking a claim. Or making a vow. And that suited him right down to the ground.

“Let’s see if we can get you up and into the house,” Sophie said, rising to her feet. “We have breakfast ready.”

The girls all grabbed hold, but he was steady on his feet this time. They’d delivered all the shocks while he was still sitting. He walked slowly to the house with Sally on one side, Sophie on the other, Mandy following, and with Laura and Beth running ahead.

Clay marveled again at being surrounded by so much femininity.
The gentle touches and worried looks. The soft cooing sounds of concern. He’d grown up with only his pa around. Luther and Buff most times, and a dozen others who had come and gone. He’d rarely seen a woman, and until the war, he’d never seen a child, except for a few Indian children who lived in Fort Benton when he and Pa made the long trek every spring to trade their furs for supplies. Those children had fascinated him, but the Indian women wouldn’t let a curious, half-grown mountain man near their babies.

The Edwards women escorted him to the house and seated him at their table as formally as if he were visiting royalty. He was appalled. “This is where you live?” The minute the words burst out of him, he wished them back.

Sophie bristled, and all the girls frowned at him—even Laura.

“What’s wrong with where we live?” Sophie asked defensively.

Clay decided to forge ahead. “It’s the most pathetic house I’ve ever seen. It’s so small.” Clay rose from the table and stepped to the door to stare out. “Are we in the middle of some kind of. . .weed patch?”

Sophie appeared at his side, her hands on her hips. “This is our home. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“But you can’t live in this—this shack in the middle of a thicket.”

Sophie crossed her arms and glared at him. “Define
can’t
, Mr. McClellen. Because my girls and I have proven you can.”

“And it’s just one room? How do the five of you fit in here? What are you thinking, to be raising my nieces like this?” Clay looked into the fire in Sophie’s eyes and wondered what was the matter with her. He’d been bending over backward to say it as nicely as he could. Of course, he’d grown up with men. They talked straight, and the closest they came to watching their mouths was when they’d refrain from saying something that might get them shot. Sophie didn’t seem to appreciate his efforts at all.

“Raising
your
nieces? I’ve been making do pretty well raising
my
daughters for two years with no help from you or any man! What do you suggest I should have done? The banker threatened to foreclose on
the ranch unless I married him. The town marshal offered to marry me, in between accusing Cliff of horse thieving. I had fifty proposals, not all of them decent, I assure you. Life in a thicket was a better idea than any of them.”

“You should have taken one of them up on his offer!” The thought of Sophie with another man made his gut twist. But common sense should have made her pick the best of the lot and accept his proposal. “A woman can’t live alone in the West, and you’re the proof of it with this leaky house and that rickety shed!” Clay was shouting by the time he finished talking.

“If you need better accommodations, there’s a path leading straight out of the thicket and into Mosqueros, about ten miles down the road. If you think you can make it in your condition, feel free to go.”

He looked at the path that disappeared into the thicket. It looked like she’d settled herself into the middle of a wasteland. Then he turned and stared down into Sophie’s defiant eyes. He told her the simple truth. “No, I don’t want to go.”

Their eyes locked again.

After a long, tense moment, Sally came and tugged on his arm. He tore his gaze away from Sophie’s beautiful blue eyes.

“Well, that’s settled then,” Sally said. “Come and eat.”

Clay looked past the sweet little girl and saw the table set with a single plate, with only biscuits and jelly for breakfast. His heart clenched as he realized this might well be all they had. Clay looked back at Sally’s adoring little face, and then he turned and looked at his brother’s wife. Wasn’t there a Bible verse about marrying your brother’s wife if your brother died? Clay looked into Sophie’s pretty face and thought he had God on his side. It was his God-given duty to take care of them all.

Then he thought of a second verse about a brother dying without leaving sons. It was the job of the second brother to give sons to the wife, to carry on his brother’s name. His eyes lost focus when he thought about it. He was barely aware that Sophie grabbed his arm and, with all the girls helping, eased him into a chair. His head cleared, and he was
fairly certain that he’d almost passed out because of his injuries—not because he’d thought about how it was really his Christian duty to see that Sophie had another baby. Cliff still needed that son.

Clay didn’t look at Sophie again. He wasn’t sure he’d survive it. But he decided in that moment that, if they wanted to carry on Cliff ’s name, it was going to be the name Cliff was born with. McClellen. Everyone in this house was changing her name to McClellen and like it!

He pulled the plate of biscuits toward him and started spreading on jelly as he continued making plans in his head. And while he was making changes, he’d get them out of this thicket and make sure they had meat on the table. And her next child was definitely going to be a son.

With grim satisfaction, Clay decided they’d name the boy Cliff.

F 
I V E
                  

S
ophie paced around the outside of the cabin and fumed. She stopped and glared at the closed-up house and thought dark thoughts about the occupant. He didn’t emerge. She started pacing again. After a long time she started to think he might have died in there. That softened her anger somewhat. True, he’d insulted her years of backbreaking effort to keep a roof over her girls’ heads. True, he’d told her she should have married one of the rabble who proposed to her—and she included the banker and sheriff in that lot. True, he’d looked at her with Cliff’s eyes, and she’d seen straight into his soul.

She stopped pacing and admitted that the way he made her feel when he looked at her was the real reason she was so mad at him.

Once Sophie stopped being angry, she started to worry in earnest. She was a mother, after all. Worrying was her job! He’d been in there too long. How long could it take a man to bathe? She’d left some of Cliff ’s clothing—rescued from the rag bag—for him to wear. How long could it take a man to dress? He was still unsteady on his feet. What if he’d fallen? He might have hit his head again. What if he’d passed out in the tub and sunk under the water? Sophie gave up her pacing and charged toward the door. She might already be too late to save him.

She was on the step when he opened the door.

“Coming to scrub my back, Sophie?” he drawled.

Sophie felt her cheeks heat up. “I was afraid you’d fallen. . .or something. You’ve been in there a long time.”

“Trying to soak out some aches and pains.” He tilted his chin slightly and gave a little one-shoulder shrug. It was a gesture so like Cliff ’s Sophie almost gasped out loud. He was watching her intently, but he didn’t outwardly react to what must have been blatant fascination on her part.

“First things first. Where’s my horse?” he asked.

Sophie and the girls, who had been waiting impatiently with her, all looked at each other.

Mandy said bluntly, “I reckon he’s dead, Uncle Clay.”

“Dead!” Considering all the shocks the man had endured so far today, Sophie was surprised how upset he seemed about the horse.

“You went over the creek bank,” Beth reminded him. “And your horse went with you.”

“We never saw any sign of a horse, Clay,” Sophie said sympathetically. “It was pitch black. You were half buried in mud. I suppose your horse was down there, too. But there was no time to look. A flash flood came through the creek, and we were lucky to get out alive.”

“I ’spect the fall kilt him, but iffen it didn’t, I reckon the flood got him,” Sally said, patting Clay on the arm.

“You girls went down into that creek, in front of a flash flood, to pull me out?” Clay asked incredulously.

Sophie hadn’t been called a girl in a long time. She hadn’t felt like a girl for even longer. She kind of liked it. She said in exasperation, “Well, we didn’t know there was a flash flood coming when we went down!”

“You could have been killed!” Clay growled.