“Are you sure?” Peter Lowery said, anger doing a slow rise.
“Of course I’m sure, Pete,” Colley, his ranch manager and mentor, said. “I toldja time and time again how we been losing sheep for weeks now. I don’t lie. You said you believed me every time I told you.”
Peter sighed. “I do believe you. I did from the start.”
“Reckon you didn’t want to accept it, didja?” When Peter shrugged, Colley tugged the brim of the straw hat lower, and then nodded. “Didn’t want to do it either, myself, but I couldn’t help but accept the truth, son. Bunch by bunch, there’ve been fewer sheep out there each time. Coupla dozen less by now.”
Dread pooled in his gut, a sick sensation by all accounts. What would he do if he lost any more?
Colley went on. “And, sure as I’m staring right atcha, it’s happened again. This time, there seems to be a bigger lot missing than any of the earlier times. I was fixing for Wade and me to do some shearing straight away, now spring’s come, and I went to choose me some of ‘em to start with, and I can count, you know. Been looking forward to this, seeing as how the flock’s put on some good, thick wool this winter.” A shake of the head followed a grimace. “We’re gonna miss that wool just as much as the sheep themselves, now they’re stole.”
Peter needed every penny he could get for his animals and their wool. Now, more of his flock was gone… taken.
Stolen.
Rustled.
Life on a ranch depended on a man’s animals. No wonder rustlers were seen as lower than snakes. They were hung in these parts. Livestock made the difference between survival and failure.
What was he going to do if he couldn’t pay back what he owed? He glanced toward the left side of the summer camp cabin. Robby, his seven-year-old son, still lay in his bunk, sleeping securely, tucked under his covers. There was no reason for a child to rise as early as a rancher and his hands did. Today was no different. Theft was no matter for a child.
His child.
Peter wanted—no, needed—to build a legacy for his son. That was why he’d moved West shortly after he and Adele had married. He’d wanted to strike out on his own, make his own way in the world, create something of value to leave his children.
Or rather child. There wouldn’t be any more children for Peter. He would never marry again.
The familiar sharp sting struck his heart at the thought of his Adele. Marriage hadn’t worked as he’d hoped and expected. Not for him—for the two of them. His wife hadn’t been strong enough to cope with the challenge-filled and lonely life on the sheep ranch. She’d become ill with pleurisy. It would have taken a long day’s travel to reach Bountiful’s Doc Chalmers from Peter’s ranch, and another day to return with the man in tow. But when the pain from her violent coughing reached the point where Adele couldn’t bear it any longer, she’d demanded Peter help her return home to her mother’s comfort and care rather than wait for him to fetch the doctor. He hadn’t had the heart to deny her the love her large family would offer during her recovery, even though he knew travel could put her under a great deal of risk.
He’d been tragically proven right. She died before she reached Independence, Missouri.
Peter still carried the grief that came with knowing he hadn’t been able to help Adele weather the pressures imposed upon her when she agreed to follow his dreams. The West had broken her, and she’d left him, and their son, to make do as best they could.
“Pete!” Colley shook his arm. “Are you hurtin’ somewhere or something? That dyspepsia hitting you again?”
Peter shook his head, but didn’t speak.
Colley went on. “Well, something’s up with you. I been jawing away here, with you just standing there like a big old lump of cold bread dough. Not really much like you, I reckon.”
Peter gave his ranch manager a wry twist of the mouth instead of a smile. Sometimes he did feel like cold bread dough. But Colley had a point. Something was up with him, all right. But no, he didn’t really feel cold, not this time. This time, he wasn’t about to feel sorry for himself. It was time to do something about the situation.
“Sure, I’m hurting. I’ve a ranch and a son, not to mention a loan to pay back. You know exactly how bad my bank account’s been for a while now, and it’s even worse these days. Now someone’s hit me with theft again. So far, I’ve turned the other cheek, but my face is mighty sore from all that, and I don’t think it’s wrong to go get my sheep back from whoever’s stealing them. Don’t figure the Lord will frown on a man who sets out to try and steward what he’s been blessed with.”
Colley’s pale blue eyes widened. “You crazy, Pete? Get your sheep back? Those animals are long gone already. Maybe halfway to Kansas by now.”
“Doubt it. No one’s going to try and sell sheep this time of year. They’ll want to do what I’m working for, to fatten them up in the summer then go to market in the fall. And, besides, no one with a lick of sense will take them back to Kansas. Maybe they’ll head for Portland or go south to California, but not this time of year. Not with a winter-thin flock.”
“Sure, and that makes sense. But I figure on Kansas as the likely place they’ll go just so’s they can get them far away from here. Too easy to track down where the sheep really come from if they just mosey ’em over to Portland.”
“You know better than that. Any rustler worth his salt has already changed the earmarks. I’ll tell you again, Colley. They’ll hold on to the animals and fatten them, seeing as how they’re hardly worth selling right now. I feel sure in my heart I can find my sheep. It rained early yesterday morning. Remember? There’s bound to be tracks in the soft ground. I’m going after what’s mine.”
“Who said thieves are so smart, and all? They make plenty of mistakes, son. That’s how they get caught. And you!” Colley jabbed squarely at Peter’s chest. “Now, you’ve gone and done gone mad! You can’t be going after some lousy sheep rustlers who’re likely armed and ready to shoot. Head on down to Bountiful. Go see the marshal—”
“By the time I fetch Adam Blair, they’ll have all the earmarks on my animals changed. There’ll be nothing to do. I’m not going to give them any more time. Not this time. I’m heading out right now. My mind’s made up. Don’t try and stop me.”
Peter marched to the front door, reached for his coat, and slammed his hat on his head. “Take care of Robby for me, please.”
“Whaddaya mean, take care of Robby for you?” Crisp clicks of well-worn boots followed Peter. “Don’t you go thinking you’re about to head out there all by your crazy self, son. You going? Well, then I’m going with you. Someone’s gotta take some common sense along on that ride, and you sure lost yours this time.”
Peter stopped, turned. “You’re not leaving Robby here by himself. I won’t stand for that.”
“Fine,” Colley countered, jaw jutting forward. “Don’t see nothing to that. We can both of us come to our senses and stay home. We’ll head on to Bountiful later in the day, once Robby’s up and we can take your boy with us.”
Peter shook his head. “Don’t you try and stop me. I’m going. You can stay with Robby.”
“Well, you sure can’t shake me off like that, either. Not gonna let you do some fool thing, what with you having that boy that needs you back here.” Colley rubbed a lean, leathery jaw. “Tell ya what. I’ll go get Wade. He can stay with your boy. I trust him, and I reckon you can, too.”
Right away, Peter started to object. Wade was young, not much more than twenty-one. But then, studying Colley, he realized he wasn’t going to change his ranch manager’s mind. Wade was a good solution, the only one available, and he’d proven himself generally trustworthy, too. Besides, Peter didn’t intend to be gone long. Just long enough to get his property back.
“If you’re coming, then let’s go. Get Wade in here. Can’t give the thieves any more of a head start than they already have.”
They headed to the other structure at the camp, the shanty lined with numerous bunks for ranch hands, where they found Wade just rousing. No sooner had Peter and Colley related the situation than the young man stood, yanked on denim trousers, shoved first one arm then the other in the sleeves of a thick flannel shirt, tucked in his shirttails, and then hopped outside on one booted foot, dragging the other boot on as he went.
“Go, Peter,” he urged as he hurried to the cabin at the edge of the pasture-rich meadow. “I won’t let anything happen to your boy.”
As Peter and Colley went for their horses, the younger man rushed inside and slammed the door. In his desire to make camp life easier for Adele, Peter had put up the modest but sturdy building so she and Robby at least would have the most basic of comforts during the foraging months. The lower plateau, where his ranch was located, became too dry in the summer months for sheep to find enough feed. On the other hand, the mountain meadows grew too cold in the wintertime, especially when the pregnant ewes were heavy with lambs. Like all other sheep ranchers in the region, Peter summered his flock up on the Blue Mountains’ greener, lush slopes, to make sure they fattened for the fall. That was his plan for this year, and he was more determined than ever to ensure the success of the season, not just for his sake and Robby’s, but also for Colley’s.
His ranch manager had once owned a spread, held on to it for as long as possible. But when the plague of grasshoppers devoured all the nearby pasturage and ultimately decimated every flock in the area, the older sheep rancher had turned to Peter, who owned the adjacent land, for help. Peter had bought that land, but always kept in mind his responsibility to Colley. If he didn’t make a profit, he could lose both his and Colley’s livelihoods. He bore responsibility to many, owed them his best. He couldn’t fail, he wouldn’t let it happen.
Determination reinforced, he focused on following the marks he’d found across the meadow from the cabin, just beyond the mouth of the trail. As he’d thought, the soft earth there had retained the prints of a handful of horses, despite the flurry of sheep prints that swarmed around them. It wasn’t hard to follow, at least not there. As he saddled his horse, he hoped the debris further along the mountain trail didn’t obscure those prints entirely as it had the previous times.
“What,” Emma asked, “is this?”
Ned dragged off his ratty hat as he followed the sweep of her hand. “It’s our home base, Miss Emma. This is where we been living lately.”
“ ’S enough, Ned!” Sawyer bellowed. “She don’t need to know nothing more ’bout us. You brung her along with us, so, fine. She’s here. But this ain’t none of her business, and you know it.”
The younger outlaw gave Emma an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, Miss Emma. You heard him. But it’s where we’re staying at these days—you, too, now.”
As far as she could see, “this” was nothing more than the rocky overhang of an outcropping on the mountainside. From the looks of it, a bit of a cave hid in the shadows toward the end of the ledge. But this was certainly no kind of proper base, much less a home.
How could she have thought a carriage such a dreadful thing? This was worse. Much worse.
“Impossible,” she argued. “I can’t stay here. Why… where will I sleep? Where’s the table for a meal? And… and…”—she blushed—“where is there a proper… ah… well, the necessary?”
Sawyer guffawed. “That there forest out to the side of us is full of them ‘necessary’ trees and bushes. Go behind any one of ’em, lady. And far as sleeping goes, I reckon you can use either Dwight or Tobias’s bedrolls.”
Emma gaped. A tree? A bedroll?
“No,” she said, her voice a mere whisper. “Impossible. I—I’ve never…”
“Miss…?” Ned said in a hesitant voice. “It ain’t so bad in the cave toward the back. I can make sure you’re safe there. I won’t be letting nobody bother you none while you sleep.”
She spared a glance in the direction of the darkness he indicated then shuddered and turned back to her champion. In spite of her horrid circumstances, a corner of her heart warmed. Ned was trying his best to help her, even when there was little he could do. His kindness touched her. “I deeply appreciate your offer, Mr. Ned—”
“It’s Ned, Miss Emma. Just Ned. Ned Davis.”
“Thank you, then, Ned. It’s just… well, I’ve never—oh, dear.” She bit her bottom lip to keep the trembling from growing any more obvious than she feared it already was. In her arms, Pippa wriggled, clearly tired of being held and in need of exercise. Then, to add injury to the indignity she’d already suffered, Emma’s stomach chose that moment to let out a vociferous, unladylike growl.
“I can even take your doggie for a while,” the young man added, still seeking to relieve Emma’s distress. “You can rest yerself a spell. I reckon a lady like you ain’t too used to walking so long in the woods.”
Tears burned the backs of her eyelids, as the throb from the raw spots on her blistered feet grew more intense by the minute. “You’re right. I never have gone for such a vile slog.” Along with the steady pain in her feet, the memory of the numerous times she’d tripped and slid over the damp ground was imprinted in dirt on the once-lovely velvet of her skirt, her now-ruined skirt.
“I’ll take good care of her,” Ned promised. “You can rest.”
“Nah, she cain’t,” Sawyer said. “She’s a woman, ain’t she? Way I see it, you was right, this one time. She’s gotta make supper for us—like you said, help us out some. She’s our prisoner, and we gotta get to working on them sheep. You wanna sell that wool and get outta here ’fore Dwight and Tobias come back, don’tcha?”
Ned’s eyes widened. “I reckon that might could be a good idea.” He turned back to her. “So sorry, Miss Emma. You sure wouldn’t want them two to findja here. It’s best for all of us if we’re gone by the time they decide to come back for what they left.”
In spite of everything that had happened, Emma’s curiosity was piqued. “Why? Who are they? Where are they? Why would they come back after holding up the carriage? And what did they leave behind?”
“Now, see whatcha done?” Sawyer roared at Ned. “She’s got more questions than one of them sheep’s got wool. You get to work shearing, and she can get to warming us up some bacon and making biscuits for an early supper. I haven’t eaten nothing since sunrise, there’s even less if we gotta share with her, so if she eats, she works.”
Cook? Her? Could they possibly be serious?
Emma hugged Pippa closer with one arm and rubbed the filthy palm of her other hand against her skirt. She hoped her safety and future didn’t depend on any kind of cookery skills—she had none. “B—but I’m your guest! A good host is supposed to serve and entertain his guests.”
Sawyer slapped his thigh and laughed. “Guests and hosts! What? You think yer at some fine la-di-da mansion of some kind?”
She glared. “I can clearly see we’re not, sir. But that doesn’t change the rules of propriety and manners. You insisted I come here, after all.”
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Don’t know nothin’ ’bout none a them rules a yours. None of that makes no never mind out here. And soonest ya larn it, soonest you’ll settle in.”
Emma shuddered. She had no intention of settling in anywhere near a cave in the wilderness. It was time to stop that conversational train.
“I’m afraid you’re plumb out of luck, Mr. Sawyer,” she said, back on the correct track. “I wouldn’t know what to do with bacon or how to come up with biscuits. I don’t cook, never once have.”
The outlaw sputtered. “I never did hear me such a fool thing! Yer a woman, right?”
Emma tipped up her chin. “Most definitely.”
“Well, then, go cook! All women’s born knowing how to cook, way I seen it. They’s always in the kitchen.”
“Perhaps where you come from that is true, but I’ve… I’ve been otherwise occupied over the years.”
Uneasiness swam in Emma’s middle. Maybe excelling in her lessons hadn’t been the achievements she’d always been told they were. Like the outlaws, she was quite hungry. Without a doubt, Pippa was, too. Food was the main issue at the moment.
“If you or Ned would show me how, perhaps I could give cookery a try. But I can’t make any promises for that first attempt, you understand.” She had the willingness, and she also had the hope she could count on the intelligence she so often had been told she possessed. Surely it couldn’t be too hard to learn to cook. Could it? “I imagine I might manage to prepare the bacon if you tell me what to do, but the biscuits? I have no idea where to even start. I fear, by the time you show me and I finish, either one of you would have done it quicker and likely with a far better outcome than mine.”
Sawyer gave her a measuring stare, then he shook his head, turned, and sent a dismissive wave.
“Bah!” he called over his shoulder, as he walked away. “Useless, is what I say. You go ahead and cook us a mess of bacon, then, Ned,” he added when he strode past his partner. “If I recollect right, there were some beans left in that there pan from this morning, too. Shouldn’t’ve gone sour since. Ain’t that hot yet. What flour’s left is in a sack back along the left wall of the cave, and the last bit from the pail of lard’s down to the crick in a small jar. Be careful, and don’t go wastin’ none. Don’t figger you’re wantin’ to go any hungrier’n what we are right now, are ya?”
Even though he’d just been given another task on top of the shearing duties he’d started with, Ned seemed pleased to relieve Emma from the cooking tasks. He must be as hungry as she. More than likely, he’d taken her words to heart. She had no idea if anything she tried to prepare would be suitable for human consumption.
“Wait!” she called as Sawyer picked up his pace. “I’m in dreadful need of, well, refreshing myself. Where are the facilities?”
“Facilities?” Sawyer asked, his eyes wide with surprise.
“You must wash somehow, right?” she prompted.
“ ’S’right.” He shrugged. “We got a bucket.”
Oh, dear. “And your clothes?” Her voice came out timid and tentative. She wasn’t certain she wanted to know the answer to that particular question, seeing the condition of his garments. “How do you clean those?”
“I dunk ’em in the creek from time to time, mostly when I take my baths afore I go into town.” He turned to leave. “Reckon you can ‘refresh’ yourself in the creek once the weather’s warm enough. But even then that water’s right cold enough to—”
He caught himself, and, from the look on his face, Emma feared he’d been about to say something dreadfully inappropriate. Just as well he’d stopped.
What was she going to do? She wanted nothing more than to go home. London, Denver, or Portland would do just fine, but it didn’t look as though she would get her wish any time soon. She looked at the filthy hole in the mountain face. A sob formed in her heart, but she bit down on her lips to keep it from escaping.
Since Ned had suggested she go deeper inside the cave, and since she really needed a moment to nurse her fear then compose herself again, she did as he’d suggested. Despite the darkness at the forbidding maw of the hole, she soon realized it didn’t go especially deep.
Pippa whimpered in her arms. Emma had let her down and the puppy had relieved herself just before they’d arrived at the outlaws’ hideout, so she didn’t think that was the reason for her cry.
The pup reached up and licked Emma’s jaw. Despite the darkness, she could clearly see the curly white dog hair, the bright eyes, and the velvety dark of Pippa’s button nose. A moment later, she smiled in delight as her pet licked her again.
“You sweet dear!” How grateful she was to Joshua for the unexpected gift. It just went to show what an excellent choice for husband he was. Emma would have to make certain she especially thanked him once they were together again, seeing how much comfort the puppy was giving her.
Exhausted, she dropped down on the hard stone floor. She could hear the bleating of animals nearby.
She knew right off that Ned and Sawyer—Dwight and Tobias, too—were crooks. They had held up the carriage, after all. No doubt the sheep were stolen and they’d hidden them nearby. She couldn’t remember either man coming out and saying so, but if the sheep had belonged to them, then they wouldn’t have needed to hide in the dreadful little cave.
Sooner or later, they’d have to move the sheep, or the fleeces at least… somewhere. To sell them. She ran a finger over the soft fabric of her green wool Worth cloak. Hard to believe the scratchy pelt of an animal could become such lovely material.
But it could and did, all to her benefit at the moment. All Emma had to do was bide her time until the outlaws finished the shearing and moved their loot to market. Maybe she could even help them finish whatever distasteful tasks they had to accomplish before they could leave. She grimaced at the thought of cooking bacon or doing… something with lard that might somehow lead to something edible. Her imagination didn’t go so far as to envision her doing anything with the sheep.
Still, she would simply have to cooperate and have them see her as an asset, somehow, always keeping clear the goal in her mind: survival for Pippa and her.
The memory of Sawyer’s gun remained vivid when she closed her eyes. Yes, indeed. That was it. She knew what to do, what she had to become.
From now on, she would not think of herself as Emma Crowell, future wife of Joshua Hamilton. From now on, she would be Emma Crowell, model prisoner of a pair of outlaws left behind in a stinky cave.
A random thought crossed her mind. These didn’t strike her as particularly good outlaws. After all, what outlaw went into hiding with the spoils of his crime but no food?
From outside, Emma heard Sawyer and Ned resume their near constant bickering again. She shook her head.
Who would have ever thought…?
As Peter and Colley traveled, keeping their horses as quiet as possible in the hope the thieves wouldn’t detect their approach, Colley kept up a string of muttered comments.
“Mad.” This was far from the first uttering of that word, but this time the objection to Peter’s plan was directed more audibly toward him. “You’ve gone plumb raving mad, you know. This is what we got lawmen for.”
Peter did his level best to ignore the complaints. After a bit, Colley decided to change the subject, though not for the better as far as Peter was concerned.
“It’s Bountiful where we should be heading,” the ranch manager groused.
Peter kept quiet.
“And it’s not sheep rustlers you need to be looking for—”
“Colley—”
“Colley, nothing! You know you need yourself a brand-new wife, and Robby needs himself a mama. Don’t even argue, son.”
Peter kept his mouth shut and his gaze on the trail, but after a few minutes of Colley going on about it undeterred, Peter finally had to speak.
“I’ve told you”—more times than Peter wanted to count—“I’ll not be wedding again.”
Colley snorted—again, a frequent response, to be sure. “I hear there’s plenty of single ladies down to Bountiful these days. Easy on the eyes, too. I reckon you can sweeten that sour disposition of yours some, clean up good, and rope one of ’em into marrying up with you. I’m sure a smart one will, seeing as you’re decent and hardworking and sober, too. I figure the right woman’ll even come on up here summers with you.”
One could always count on Colley’s stubbornness once a notion overtook common sense. There was no arguing, so Peter gave the only logical reply. “I have nothing more to say.”
“Nope, but I reckon Robby does.”
Peter winced. In the eight years since they first met, the crusty sheep rancher had come to know him much too well. Robby was Peter’s greatest weakness, and Colley had figured that out in no time at all. Peter knew in the hurting part of his heart how much his boy suffered from lack of a mother.
“A woman’s hand wouldn’t hurt the ranch none, neither,” Colley continued. “And I’d think a good one should cook some better’n I do. You might could consider that when you set out to hire more hands for the ranch. You really want for me to keep cooking for them? They might run off, thinking I’d put poison on their plates. And do you see them as the best sort of friends for a lil shaver like your Robert?”
Peter shrugged. “I suppose they can teach him about hard work and sheep ranching, instead of him wasting all that time reading Adele’s old books. Likely be more helpful to him in the long run.”
Colley arched a brow. “He ain’t much more’n a baby yet. Needs a mama, not learning from a bunch of scruffy ranch hands.”
Back when the drought hit, Peter had been forced to let go all the men who’d worked for him. With the ranch turning no profit, he’d had no means to pay them. In typical fashion, Colley had been too stubborn to listen to his urging, hadn’t paid one lick of attention to any reasonable argument. “I can eat beans, bacon, and biscuits just as well as you can, and you can’t run sheep all on your own,” the ranch manager had said. “I’m staying with you, son, and you can’t go changing my mind, so don’t try.”
Eventually, Peter stopped trying, grateful for the help, especially after Adele died. A few months after her death, Wade had shown up, saying he wanted to learn everything about ranching. He hadn’t asked for much more than a bunk and three squares a day. Peter hadn’t had more than that to offer—no more than to teach the young man the tough realities in raising sheep and whatever there was to eat at his table. He reckoned Wade had run from more than he’d run to, but in the time they’d known each other, Peter had found nothing objectionable about the fellow. Wade soon became a member of his odd little family.
“I’m not in the market for a wife, and that’s the end of that, Colley. Won’t do you any good to go on, but it might do us a world of good if we keep quiet and listen. We might hear something out of the ordinary. You can’t really hide a small flock of sheep too well. They make a whole lot of noise, walking around, what with lambs looking for their mamas.”
“Ha! True enough, and we’d’a heard them sheep if we were even close to—”
“Shh!” From a distance, Peter caught a hint of sound drifting against the blowing winds. A good amount of movement… more than the natural residents of the forest they’d ridden into would make. He also heard voices.
And, faint though it was, a lamb’s baa.