Mary Connealy (80 page)

He reached for Abby’s arm but she evaded his touch. “I have no place with you. Ride away and return to your life.”

Wade froze. “No. If you won’t go with me, then I’ll stay. I won’t leave you here alone.”

“I am alone, no matter where I go now. I cannot return to my village and I will not fit into the white world.”

Wade squared off in front of her, as solid and unmoving as the mountains that surrounded them. “I won’t leave you.”

Abby stared at him. Their gazes held a long time. Too long. She knew he meant it. And she knew he needed to go home. Well, she’d ride along with him, then, and leave when he was busy saying good-bye to his father. With a snort of pure disgust, she said, “Fine.”

They packed up in minutes.

“Don’t you want us to stay and bury them?” Red asked.

“Glowing…uh…Abby…said her people would have a special rite for the dead. They’ll be back to see to them.”

Red looked doubtful, but after a long hesitation, he settled his Stetson firmly on his head and swung up onto his buckskin gelding.

“You’ve left Cassie alone at the ranch for a week?” Wade asked as he mounted his chestnut.

“I left her to visit Belle.”

Wade blew a long, low whistle through his lips. “Do you know Belle Tanner?”

“Harden,” Silas said through clenched teeth as he mounted his roan.

“Sure, I know Belle.” Red sounded kind of sad. Wade shook his head. “Cassie’s never gonna be the same.” The men looked at each other for a long moment then started laughing.

Abby had no idea why.

They fell into line as the trail narrowed over the edge of the valley. She took one look back. This was the second life taken from her. It must be something about her. God must have created her to be alone.

Well, fine. She’d be alone. That suited her.

As they crested the valley walls, Red took the lead, glancing at Wade as he passed him. “You look like a wild man, Wade. You’d better shave and cut your hair before your pa sees you.”

Without comment, Wade fell into place behind Red. He ran one hand into his beard, nodding. “I haven’t given it a thought all winter.”

Abby noticed that Silas brought up the rear. She wondered if that was because they thought she’d run. She ran her hand across the knife she’d hidden in the pouch at the small of her back. Well, they had the right of it. She would run. But not now. Not until she’d seen Wade home. He’d saved her from that awful murderous brute. In fact, he’d saved her last fall, too. So she was indebted to him, and that didn’t sit right.

She’d see him home because she knew he wouldn’t go otherwise.

And then they’d be even. She’d owe no white man.

A
bull charged straight for Cassie Dawson. She screamed, dropped her lasso, and threw herself sideways. The bull missed her by inches.

Landing on her backside, Cassie whirled around to see the bull skidding and wheeling around. She scrambled to her feet. Her hair came loose from its braid and the dark, waist-length strands blinded her.

Screaming again, she thought,
The fence. I have to get to the fence.

The bull charged. Its hooves thundered.

There wasn’t time. Cassie staggered back.

A rope flashed past Cassie’s face so close she felt more than heard the whip of it. The noose snagged the bull around the neck. The animal jerked to a halt instantly, only inches from Cassie.

Cassie staggered backward then turned to see the fence not that far away. On shaky legs, she ran for it. She would have climbed over, but Belle Harden’s voice stopped her as surely as if Belle had roped her, too.

“What did I tell you about getting in that pen?”

Cassie turned, pulling her hair back and out of her eyes, an apology already forming on her lips. But Cassie couldn’t speak for the fire in Belle’s eyes.

Belle finished hog-tying the bull then stood and strode toward Cassie. “Why’d you come in this pen alone?”

“I…I wanted to practice.”

“After I told you how William died, gored by a bull?”

“Yes, but that isn’t really a bull.” She pointed to the calf struggling against the pigging strings.

Emma Harden, Belle’s thirteen-year-old daughter, untied the little bull and it jumped to its feet and pawed the ground.

“Git!” Emma waved her arms. “Hiyah!”

The calf bawled like a little spanked baby, turned tail, and ran.

Cassie looked at Belle.

Belle narrowed her eyes. “Just because he’s only a couple months old doesn’t mean he can’t knock you down and stomp you into the dirt. He proved it.”

Cassie dusted the back of her skirt.

“Red would skin me alive if he found out you were in here alone. He’s gonna be mad just findin’ out I taught you to rope.”

“Dinner’s ready.” Sarah’s voice mercifully pulled attention away from Cassie. Belle’s nine-year-old daughter stood just outside the door of the gracious log cabin with the long porch. The house was less than a year old, and Silas had built it big enough to leave room for company…or a growing family.

Belle’s little girl Betsy clung to Sarah’s skirt on one side. Cassie’s firstborn, Susannah, had a hold on Sarah’s other side. The two girls looked almost like twins. Both had curly black hair. Betsy’s from her Italian daddy, Anthony Santoni, Belle’s third husband, now mercifully dead. Susannah’s hair came straight from Cassie, passed down from her grandmother, a Spanish countess. Susannah was just a few months older than Betsy.

With toddlers clinging to her knees, Sarah held the two babies in her arms. Little Michael, with bright red hair just like Red’s, was perched on Sarah’s hip. The other, Belle’s newborn son, Tanner, was cradled in Sarah’s arm. Even at two weeks old, the child was the image of his pa, Silas Harden.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come in this pen without you.” Cassie had to choke out the apology. Honestly, Belle was bossier than Red.

“What’d I tell you, Cassie Dawson?” Belle jammed her fists on her hips.

Cassie suddenly wanted to laugh, but she wasn’t going to. Belle had taught her better than that. She lifted her chin and forced herself to glare right into Belle’s eyes. “I made a decision that I could handle that calf. Yes, I fell over, but I would have been fine. You”—she jabbed her index finger straight at Belle’s chest—“are
not
going to speak to me like I’m a child.”

Belle grinned.

“Nice work.” Emma patted Cassie on the shoulder. “Real scary.”

“Thanks, Em.” Cassie’s cheeks warmed up she was so pleased with the compliment on her dangerousness. Belle rolled her eyes.

Sarah, with an entire nursery of children, approached enough to hear Cassie practice using her backbone. “That’s real fierce. I’m not funnin’ neither. I’d mind you right quick. Wouldn’t you, Susannah?”

Susannah, nearly two, poked the fingers of both hands in her mouth as she nodded. Through her drooly fingers, she giggled and said, “Mama scary.”

“Good.” Belle smiled down at Cassie’s little girl. “It’s settled. Your mama is as fierce as can be.” She turned back to Cassie. “We’re getting you toughened up. You may never get onto roping a calf, but you’re learning to push back when someone pushes you. That’s a good lesson. You won’t have Red riding roughshod over you anymore.”

“Red’s pretty sweet, Belle.” Cassie knew it was wrong to think of Belle as her mother. Belle was only about ten years older. But the woman was fifty years smarter and a hundred years stronger. Still, they should be friends. But Belle treated thirteen-year-old Emma like more of an equal than Cassie. “He really doesn’t ride roughshod over me.”

“Best to be prepared just in case he starts. Now, promise me you’ll practice with the calf I built you”—Belle pointed to a sawhorse with a longhorn skull hanging from one end—“instead of going in the pen.”

“I promise.” Long gone were the days when Cassie sat demurely in her mansion embroidering pillowcases and keeping her skirts tidy while she waited for her tyrant first husband, Lester Griffin, to come home. Since Griff had died and she’d married Red, she worked alongside him whenever possible. Of course, they had two children now and that slowed her down some. And Red had never let her so much as swing a rope, let alone try to hog-tie a steer.

Belle cleared her throat.

Cassie pulled her thoughts back to the lessons Belle was trying to teach her. “I mean, I promise because I
want
to, not because I’m taking orders from anyone.” Cassie felt her cheeks heat up. It was just plain embarrassing to speak so rudely, but Belle insisted.

“Good girl.” Belle patted her shoulder. “Try it without blushing next time. And you’re getting better at roping, too.”

“I can drop the rope over the fake calf every time now. From a moving horse, too. That’s why I decided it was time to try a real critter.”

“Red may be gone for weeks hunting that worthless Wade Sawyer.”

“Wade’s not worthless. I told you he’s changed.”

The noise Belle made in response definitely qualified as rude, and there wasn’t a single speck of pink on Belle’s cheeks. Cassie intended to learn that exact grunting noise.

“We’ll work on roping and busting steers and the other chores any decent woman oughta know. It’s unbelievable you’ve never learned bronc riding. What is Red thinking? If we don’t get finished, maybe I’ll start coming for a visit from time to time. Have you ever cracked a bullwhip?”

Cassie shook her head. She’d never even seen one. “I’d love to have you visit.”

Reaching Sarah’s side, Cassie took her precious son, Michael, into her arms and smiled down at Susannah. Her skin was as white as a porcelain doll with perfect pink blush painted on. Cassie had that same skin and the cheeks that wanted to blush at the least little provocation. “Hi, sweetie.” Every time Cassie saw Michael’s riot of red curls, she wanted to laugh and dance a jig. This little boy who looked like Red and her little girl who looked like her—her family was a gift straight from God.

“Hi, Scary Mama.” Susannah hugged Cassie’s knees.

Cassie laughed.

Emma swung Betsy up into her arms and tickled the dark-eyed toddler who giggled and squirmed.

Belle took her new little son, Tanner, in her arms and ran one gentle finger down his cheek.

Cassie patted Sarah, who had long red curls escaping her braid, thanks to Belle’s second husband, Gerald O’Rourke, long dead and not mourned. Sarah and Michael looked like brother and sister though they shared no blood. The Irish bred true. “You’re cooking for a crowd with me and my children here. I appreciate it.”

“The three of you together don’t eat as much as Pa. It’s fun having company.” Sarah, her arms empty, picked up Susannah.

The bunch of them went inside.

“What are we going to practice on next?” Cassie pulled out a chair for Susannah.

Sarah set the little girl down and tied a towel around her tummy to keep her from falling. Cassie took the chair next to her daughter, holding Michael on her lap.

“Have you ever branded and cut a calf? It’s the time of year for it.”

“Ma”—Emma washed her hands at the tidy sink—“Pa said you’re not to start branding while he’s gone. He said it’s too soon after the baby.”

“We could just do a few for practice. He’d understand.”

Emma wiped her hands, her head shaking. “I’m telling.”

“Like he wouldn’t notice anyway.” Belle smiled. “How about I let you teach Cassie how to handle a branding iron and castrate a calf?”

“That’ll work.” Emma hung up the towel and went to the stove.

Sarah set a steaming hot bowl on the table. Emma added a teetering mountain of lightly browned biscuits.

“What’s
castrated
mean?” Cassie began ladling the chicken stew Sarah had prepared, careful of Michael’s grabbing fingers.

“I’ll tell you after dinner.” Belle sat down at the head of the table with her son tucked into the crook of her elbow.

“Why not now?”

“You need to finish your meal first.”

“No, I don’t. Tell me what it means?”

Belle stopped reaching for her fork and raised her eyes at Cassie, giving her a level look so daunting Cassie couldn’t imagine ever standing up to Belle unless Belle gave permission…which wasn’t really standing up to her at all. “Trust me, Cassie.”

Cassie wondered if this was one of those times she should be rude and pushy. Something sparked in Belle’s eyes that helped her decide to be patient. And anyway, the stew smelled good and she was starving.

Dinner got over.

Belle explained.

Cassie decided she’d never question Belle again.

“The bleeding started up the minute I moved this morning.” Boog unstrapped his arm, held in a sling by his belt. “We might as well use the branding iron. Get the fire red hot.”

Sid didn’t think Boog’s arm was broken, but Sid was no doctor. He watched Boog grit his teeth as he pulled off his bloody shirt. The blood had soaked through the heavy padding they’d bandaged him with. The man didn’t so much as moan. He was tough, no denying it.

Harv had complained all night like a little girl. His cuts were bad, especially where that wild woman had slit his chin, nearly cutting Harv a new smile in his chin hair. But Boog had a bullet pass through his shoulder and he’d never made a sound.