Zooey Pinkerton- a Daughter's Right

Zooey Pinkerton: A Daughter’s Right

by
Heather McAlendin

Copyright © 2014 Heather McAlendin

ISBN: 978-1-927479-74-2

Smashwords Edition

Pinkerton Ranch was a sprawling
mass of contradictions. The land ranged from lush grassy fields to
jagged, rocky outcroppings that would threaten the life of any man
or beast that didn't have respect for what the land could do. What
had started out as a small, family homestead by immigrant rancher
Andrew Pinkerton, was now a thriving cattle and horse ranch that
employed up to twenty-five ranch hands and wranglers.

Through conscientious breeding,
the Pinkerton Palomino’s were sought out for stud services all over
the settled Western United States.

A large man, with rugged
features; a constant five o'clock shadow and calloused hands,
Andrew Pinkerton could often be found riding among his wranglers
and helping the ranch hands with any job, big or small. Andrew
loved being in the middle of all the action. He was a hands on
owner who believed in working hard and working smart. He paid his
employees well and was known for being a bit of a tough taskmaster
- but in the end, money talked. As a result, staff turnover was
kept to a minimum.

Running the Pinkerton Ranch was
no picnic. While Andrew worked hard, he had a penitent for playing
harder and loved to drink and gamble. At times his excessive
gambling caused him to lose large amounts of money. Money that he
would borrow from the loan sharks in town…but he always managed to
pay back.

When his wife died in
childbirth, eighteen years earlier, a piece of Andrew's soul died
with her. From that moment onward, he had to raise their child on
his own. Although he did the best he could, it was not the same for
a man in the Wild West to raise a daughter without much female
influence. Begrudging the fact that he had no sons, Andrew raised
his daughter to be faster, stronger and smarter than any of his
male employees. He taught her to shoot a rifle and lasso a calf and
how to break and ride horses with the best of them. Andrew raised
his daughter, Zooey to be the son he knew he would never have.

He stood out and stared at the
newest lot of foals. He was mesmerized watching them at play,
nipping and running as carefree as the wind. He pulled his hat down
over his eyes and wiped imaginary dirt off his shirt with a large,
calloused hand. “If only we could all be so free. Life is never
free. We all have to pay our debts.” He sighed heavily and turned
toward the main house.

“Pops! Hey Pops, wait up!”

Andrew looked up to see Zooey
walking with her favourite Chocolate Palomino, Gypsy. Zooey’s blue
eyes were bright, and her pale, freckled cheeks were flushed from a
late afternoon ride. Her reddish blonde hair was dishevelled and
her jeans and boots were covered in mud.

“Hey there Sparky. How was the
ride?”

Andrew had given Zooey the
nickname Sparky when she was two years old. She had her mother's
fire for life…and Sparky had been her nickname from that moment
onward.

“Great! Gyspy and I crossed the
creek. Hope it rains soon. Not much but mud and dust out
there.”

“You may get your wish,” Andrew
said as he pointed to the sky. “Looks like some storm clouds are
brewing.”

Zooey shielded her eyes from the
sun and grinned as she searched the darkening, afternoon sky.
“Fantastic! I'll put Gypsy away. Is dinner ready?”

Andrew sniffed the air and
nodded. “Smells like it. Hurry back. It won’t be my fault if the
hands eat all the cheese biscuits Marta baked today!”

“Be right back Pops!”

Andrew smiled as he watched his
daughter walk away. He was proud of how she was turning out and
hoped her mother would have been as well. Although he knew that his
deceased wife would never have chosen the blue jeans and flannels
Zooey wore; she would have preferred a dress with a long skirt and
lace bodice. But Zooey was bright, tough, and always had a smile on
her face. She went out of her way to learn how the ranch was run
and lent a hand whenever she could. Andrew had high hopes that one
day she'd be tough enough to take it over.

“I reckon she will be too,” he
whispered. “I hope.”

Fat, cold drops of rain began
falling from the sky as Andrew reached the main house. He turned
back to see Zooey running toward him, hollering with joy. He smiled
broadly as he held the door open for her.

“Crazy nut! You are soaked
through. Go change for dinner.”

“Yes Pops! Yes sir!” Zooey
answered with a smirk. She always loved to joke and tease her
father. “Don't start without me.”

“Can't guarantee that. A hungry
man has to eat!” Andrew shouted as his daughter scurried down the
hall to her room. She waved a hand and disappeared into the bedroom
with a giggle.

Andrew walked into the kitchen
and let the tiny, dark haired cook Marta, know that he'd be in the
dining room waiting for Zooey.

“Yes sir, Mr. Pinkerton. I made
her favourite today; rabbit stew with turnips and potatoes.”

“Oh, she'll love that Marta. No
doubt I'll enjoy it too. It smells fantastic in here!”

The older woman blushed and
smiled. Marta had started out helping Andrew's wife while she was
pregnant. She had become invaluable to the care and raising of
Zooey after Sarah Pinkerton's passing. Marta had no children of her
own and stayed on with the Pinkerton's long after she should have
retired. At well over sixty, she loved the energy at the ranch. She
also loved taking care of the people she considered to be her
family.

A loud crack of thunder jolted
Marta from her happy thoughts. She crossed herself, hoping the
storm would only bring the rain. The last time a thunderstorm
passed through, a lightening bolt had set fire to one of the feed
buildings. It had taken months to rebuild. Marta wanted for the
best for her family. She was a Christian woman and prayed nightly
for the happiness of Andrew and Zooey.

“Hurry Zooey or your father will
have eaten all of the food I made!” Marta called out, teasing the
young woman. She smiled to herself and hummed a tune. Everything
was as it should be.

Zooey was towelling off her hair
when she heard Marta call out to her. “Be right there!” She called
back. Quickly peeling off her wet jeans and shirt she stared into
the tarnished, oval mirror her father had hung just above the
dresser. The mirror had belonged to her mother. It helped Zooey
feel connected to her. Now, that mirror and a copy of her parents
wedding photo were the only things left that kept Sarah Pinkerton's
memory alive. She studied the picture. Zooey could tell from the
smiles on their faces that they were madly in love on their wedding
day. There was a spray of freckles across her mother nose and the
same unruly, red curls that Zooey had. It made her smile.

“Wish you could see me now Ma.
Wish you could be here to help Pops. I worry about him.” A tear
trickled down her cheek as Zooey's hand lovingly touched the
wedding photo that stood framed on her dresser. She was well aware
of her father's peccadilloes and wanted to talk to him about his
gambling and drinking. At eighteen she felt she was old enough for
them to have an adult conversation. At her age, she was just
thankful he wasn't trying to marry her off to the first wealthy
rancher or bachelor friend he had.

After wiping away the tears,
Zooey pulled on a fresh pair of jeans, a white undershirt, and a
red flannel shirt. “So much for me looking like a girl huh, Ma?”
Zooey wiped the mud from her boots and pulled them back over her
slender feet and calves.

A loud crack of thunder startled
her - and a loud, blood-curdling scream shot a surge of ice through
her belly. Zooey stood very still and listened for any further
sound. Loud, male voices echoed through the hallway and into her
room. She grabbed the Colt revolver from under her pillow and
tucked in into the waistband of her jeans.

Zooey edged her way to the
bedroom door and opened it slowly.

“You've had more than enough
time, Pinkerton. You knew about the consequences! My boss has lost
all patience with you!”

“Come on now. I've been good for
it in the past, Tom.”

“It's more money this time
around. You signed the agreement and now I'm here to collect.
Collection is past due!”

Zooey carefully looked around
the bedroom door. She could see the back of a very large man,
dressed in a full-length oilskin and hat. He had a Remington in his
right hand. She couldn't see her father but could hear him pleading
for more time.

A shiver went through Zooey's
body as she listened to Tom threaten her father. She knew she
shouldn’t be rash but it was taking every ounce of self control not
to jump out and shoot the man from behind.

“I was drunk when I signed that
paperwork! It won't hold up in any court of law.”

A low rumbling laugh greeted
Andrew's remark. “And why do I care about the law, Pinkerton? The
boss has been fair up ‘til now but the stakes are too high. You put
up the ranch as collateral. Now you can't pay the debt. I'm here to
foreclose on this property…and I’ll kill you to close the deal if
I’ve gotta.”

Pops put up the ranch?
The thought of losing the ranch was more than Zooey could bear. She
took a deep breath, held the Colt in her hand, and stepped into the
hall.

“What the hell is going on
here?” Zooey's knees shook as she spoke. Everything seemed to move
in slow motion.

“Zooey, put down the gun and go
back in your room. This doesn't concern you!” A nervous sweat
gleamed on Andrew’s brow. He didn’t want her to see there or become
involved in his mistakes.

“If it's about the ranch Pops,
it certainly
does
concern me. Now what is going on?”

“Well, well. Look at this. Brave
little thing aren’t you? I don't think we’ve been formally
introduced. And before you think of using that weapon young lady,
take a look to the left.” Tom eyed Zooey up and down and licked his
lips.

Zooey looked past the tall
stranger and caught a glimpse of another large, dirty looking man
training a rifle on Marta and her father. A moan of fear escaped
her throat as she clutched her pistol tighter.

“That's right. You could shoot
me but then both your father and this lovely lady will be dead too.
Now what would that accomplish?”

Zooey looked Tom square in the
face and nodded. She knew he was right but her gut twisted in
defeat. She slowly put the gun down to her side.

“Now put the pistol on the floor
and kick it over to me. I can see you are a smart little thing.
Let's get rid of this nasty gun and you and I can talk.”

“You and I have nothing to talk
about. It's my father that I need to talk to.” Zooey hissed as she
kicked the weapon down the hall. Once the gun was headed in Tom's
direction she stood up and squared her shoulders. She refused to
let him think she was afraid – even though her insides were
shaking.

“Good girl. I’m sure your father
has a lot to explain but he and I have some business to finish. So
head back into your room. When he and I are done, you and
I
can spend some time chatting.”

From the way the man looked at
her, Zooey knew what he wanted and she had no intention of giving
it to him. Just the thought of his large grimy hands on her skin
made her flesh crawl. She gulped and took a deep breath before
pasting on a smile. “What's your name? If you want to “chat” later
I'd like to know who you are.”