Bittersweet (48 page)

Ivy was delighted when Laney brought her a piglet.

About half an hour later, Ishmael started their way. Laney quickly hid the piglet under her skirts, winking at Mrs. O’Sullivan as she did it.

Ishmael knelt by Ivy. “You farin’ alright?”

“Do I gotta choice?”

“I reckon not. I brung sommat to holp keep yore mind offa the pain.” He went behind the tree and returned with a burlap bag. “I heard of this, but I ain’t actually ever seed one.”

Ivy opened it up. A pain cut short her laughter, but when it was over she said delightedly, “A pig in a poke!”

“I’ll be back later and collect him.”

The one Laney had hidden wiggled his way to freedom. Once he was out, he squealed happily as Laney tickled him between his ears. “Ivy, I think you and I got the best brothers in the world.”

“Shore did.”

“You lasses have lots of blessings to count.” Mrs. O’Sullivan took a ball of yarn and a crochet hook from her apron and started to work.

Ivy looked at the first tiny stitches. “What’re you makin’ this time?”

“A cap. My own mother kept me company whilst I was laboring with Galen, and she made him a wee cap to wear. I thought ’twould be a grand tradition to continue—making a grandbaby’s cap.”

“I been thankin’ on sommat.” Ivy toyed with the piglet’s little ear. “On account of me havin’ Ishy and Galen havin’ his brothers, my babe ain’t a-gonna lack no uncles.”

“Aye.” Mrs. O’Sullivan smiled.

“Ishy’s sweet on ’Manda.”

Laney laughed. “Amanda’s been dancing on clouds ever since we roped him into helping finish the library.”

“One of these days, mayhap she’ll wind up bein’ my sister. Then this here babe’ll have hisself a aunt.”

“She’ll make a wonderful aunt,” Laney said.

“Anyhow, I been thankin’ ’tain’t right for my babe to hafta wait till his uncles up and marry to get his aunts. Ma here’s takin’ on my baby as his memaw, and Galen’s takin’ on as his pa. Laney, it’d make me dreadful happy if ’n you’d take a mind to ’dopt my babe and be his aunt.”

Laney wrapped her arms around Ivy. “I’m honored.”

“’Tis fitting,” Mrs. O’Sullivan said as she continued to crochet. “After all, you’re sisters in Christ.”

Ivy moaned softly. “The pangs—they’re a mite stronger from what I ’spected.”

“You’re doing fine, dear.” Mrs. O’Sullivan nearly dropped her crocheting. “Galen’s coming. Hide those piglets!”

“Ain’t nuthin’ a-gonna hide ’neath this here nightgown.”

Laney scooped one beneath her skirts and Mrs. O’Sullivan saw to the other. As soon as she straightened up, she started crocheting. “Hello, son.”

Galen drew closer, carrying a small crate. “How are you doing, Ivy?”

“I’m sittin’ in the shade, a-soakin’ my feet like I ain’t got a care in the world.”

“I thought you might enjoy this.” As he set down the crate, a snout popped up over the top. The piglet squealed, and the other two promptly answered back. Galen sat back on his heels. “Laney Lou, did you just squeal?”

“You can’t blame me, Galen. Ivy just asked me to be the baby’s aunt.”

“’Tis such a delightful thing, son, I’m thinking I might have made a wee sound myself.”

The piglet peeked beneath Laney’s hem. “Well, look what we have here!” She scooped it up.

Mrs. O’Sullivan set aside her crocheting and caught her own piglet before it ran off. “Indeed!”

Galen drummed his fingers on the edge of the crate. “Ivy?”

“Huh?”

“You don’t have to pretend there’s a water bucket under your hem.”

“I ain’t pretendin’.” When Galen gave her a dubious look, Ivy hiked up her nightdress. “See? I ain’t got no piglet under thar.”

Clearly astonished, Galen asked, “Then where’s the other one?”

Ivy let out another low moan.

Galen rasped, “Want me to go get Doc?”

When the pain ended, Ivy shook her head. “I ain’t a-gonna need him for a long while yet. I want you to go find that piglet. We cain’t let our Dale’s pets go a-missin’.”

Late that afternoon, her shoulder covered with the shawl Laney had given her, Ivy held her baby to her bosom and let out a weak laugh. “You gotta holp me, Laney.”

“What do you need?”

“Go tell Galen I lied. Turns out I had a piglet under my skirts after all.”

“Boss …”

Galen let the baby curl her tiny fingers around his thumb. 374 “Yeah?”

Ishmael jerked his head toward the door. When Galen scowled, Ishmael rasped, “This cain’t wait.”

“I’ll be back,” he said as he settled the baby in Ivy’s arms.

“No he won’t.” Ishmael strode off toward the stable.

Galen followed him and was surprised to have Ishmael shove the shotgun into his hands. “What is this all about?”

“Don’t care that this here horse b’longs to the Pony. I need him.” Ishmael swung into the saddle. “I found the thief. You and me are a-gonna bring him low.”

Galen saddled up. “Where?”

“You ain’t a-gonna believe it.”

“Where?”

“I went to go stomp on Pa’s grave. I knowed wouldn’t make no diff ’rence, but it made me feel better. Sis was a-hurtin’ to get her baby borned, and ’twas all I could thank to do.”

“The thief—”

“That’s what I’m a-tellin’ you. Jist like in them dime novels Ruth gots—the thief returned to the scene of the crime. He’s Pa’s ol’ partner. He’s set up a still again in the ’zact same place. I woulda jumped him on my lonesome, but I ’membered he gots a partner hisself.”

“Good thinking. We’ll go in quiet so we have the advantage of surprise.”

They halted about seventy yards away from the old site and hitched the horses. Upon coming to the edge of the tree line, Galen motioned to Ishmael.

Ishmael nodded, moving to the left as Galen looped around to the right.

The wind shifted and the sickly sweet smell of corn mash hovered in the air. Galen didn’t see any horses. Ishmael had told him only one man was there, and the absence of a mount made Galen think that would still be the case—or that no one would be there. But moonshiners were cagey. They wouldn’t be likely to leave the still untended.

The shotgun felt heavy. Galen had used it to hunt, but he’d never once had a need to aim a weapon at a man. The responsibility felt grave, but there was no other way. This man had proven himself to be dangerous. Running a still was bad. Thievery, worse.

Breaking into the Bensons’ place when the baby was napping there unpardonable; folks got real jumpy over that, but then nothing more had been stolen. They’d mistaken that lull as a sign that the robbers had moved on, and everyone had become complacent—until Laney’s attempted kidnapping. This man had to be stopped.

Galen tightened his grip on the weapon.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of blue.

He glanced over. Ishmael. A long, slow breath exited his lungs. Ishmael ducked behind a pile of rocks to cover him, and Galen moved forward. He chose his steps carefully. The crackle of dried leaves or the snap of a twig would give him away. As it was, just the sound of the gritty earth beneath his boots sounded loud.

As he drew closer to a shrub, Galen spied a rifle on the ground.
Lord help me
.

He rounded the shrub and stepped on the hand reaching for the rifle. Aiming his shotgun at the black-haired man, he grated, “Don’t give me an excuse to kill you.”

Ishmael jogged around toward them. He pushed the rifle aside and tied up the man while Galen kept his weapon trained on him.

Ishmael yanked the man to his feet. “Whew. This here feller’s been nippin’ at the brew.”

“Where’s your partner?” Galen demanded.

“Who says I’ve gotta partner?” The man sneered. A moment later, he muttered, “Find him yourself.”

He wouldn’t answer questions, and Galen didn’t want him to shout a warning, so he used the man’s own bandanna and gagged him.

“Boss, I’m gonna bust all this up. If ’n his partner comes back and finds him missin’, he might set ever’thang afire so’s he cain get away.”

“Good thinking. But we have to save at least one jug. The sheriff needs evidence that they were brewing liquor.”

It didn’t take long for Ishmael to destroy the equipment and pour out most of the liquor. Ishmael cast a look at their prisoner. “I got me a bad feelin’. What say we do some trackin’?”

“I have no skill at that.”

Ishmael grinned. “I do. I don’t usually hunt for two-legged varmints, but I reckon huntin’ them ain’t a-gonna be much different. We’re a-gonna lose our light in ’bout an hour, so I hafta get goin’.”

Galen jerked their prisoner toward the tree line. “If the other one comes back, we’re not losing this one.”

“Whar d’ya wanna take him?”

“Broken P. One of the cowboys can drag him to town.” Galen hefted the man and flopped him over his horse.

“I’m used to trackin’ on foot. You might as well ride on o’er. From what I see, the footprints are goin’ west. Every now an’ again, I’ll drag a stick a-hind me so’s you cain catch up.”

“Be careful. Don’t do anything till I’m there to back you up.”

Ishmael nodded his agreement.

“God go with you.”

It didn’t take long for Galen to haul his prisoner to the Broken P. He didn’t want to frighten the women, so he went the back way and stopped at the bunkhouse. One of the hands was there, so Galen sent him to town with the prisoner and instructed him to bring back the sheriff.

Galen had no more than saddled up again when he heard Josh shout his name. He rode over and rasped, “I sent Felipe to town with one of the thieves. They’ve been running a still at the exact same place the other was. Ishmael says there are two men, so he’s tracking the other.”

“Which way did he go?”

“North by northeast. After you make sure the women are safe, you can join up. Ishmael’s on foot and is leaving a trail in the dirt.” Galen headed out. He’d not gone far when he saw a groove in the earth. His head whipped around, and he saw Ishmael jogging toward the little cottage not far from the main homestead. A heartbeat later, a woman screamed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

I
shmael charged ahead. Galen spurred his horse to go toward the back of the cottage. He vaulted out of the saddle and burst into the cottage. Amanda stood with her back to the wall. Ishmael and a stranger were fighting for possession of a pistol. They whirled and banged into a window, shattering the glass.

Knowing he couldn’t fire the shotgun without endangering Ishmael, Galen shoved the gun into Amanda’s hands. “Get out of here!”

Without waiting to see if she obeyed, Galen joined the fray as the men fell to the floor. The assailant fought with a strength borne of desperation. Galen and Ishmael fought to protect the ones they loved. The scuffle probably lasted less than a minute, but it felt like an hour. Galen wrested the pistol away at the same time Ishmael smashed his fist into the man’s jaw and knocked him out.

“Boss, it ain’t right to kick a man whilst he’s down, but I’m sorely tempted.”

Galen cast a meaningful look to the side.

“Awww, sugar pie.” Ishmael strode over and pulled Amanda into his arms. “Yore safe. Safe as cain be. Here. Gimme that ol’ shotgun.” He set it aside.

Galen didn’t have any rope handy, but the cords that tied back the curtains would do. He hog-tied the man while Ishmael comforted Amanda.

Suddenly Ruth and Hilda burst in. Ruth was holding a tiny muff pistol, and Hilda was clutching a rolling pin. Galen snapped to his feet and swiped the pistol from Ruth. “Does Josh know you have this?”

“I don’t carry it up my sleeve anymore,” Ruth said, as if that explained everything.

Hilda passed the rolling pin to Ruth. “If that rascal so much as looks like he’s trying to get up, you brain him. Galen, where’s Laney?”

“With Ivy and Ma.”

All of a sudden Ruth focused on him. “Galen, what are you doing here? Your wife is in labor!”

“Not anymore, she’s not. We have the prettiest little girl you’ve ever seen.”