No Man’s Land
April 1886
Trust me, Lou. Baby skunks don’t spray. They’re not strong enough.”
Lou Stafford eyed her brother Josh suspiciously, knowing full well that he wasn’t above stretching the truth in order to make her appear foolish. She looked once more at the litter of baby skunks huddled together in their den. The early spring breeze coming off the creek was awfully cool, and Lou’s heart went out to the shivering babies.
In a rush of spring fever, she and Josh had grabbed a couple of poles and hiked down to Cherokee Creek, hoping to catch a mess of catfish for dinner. As usual, Shane, their sheepdog, had accompanied them. He’d found the rock den, and Lou had barely grabbed him in time to keep him from harming the babies.
Now, Josh held the cur by its scruffy neck, fighting hard to keep the animal from going after the helpless kittens.
“Come on, Lou. Are you yella?” Josh asked, an obvious attempt to cinch the deal.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Lou recognized his baiting and even realized she should probably beware, but being called yella was almost more than her fragile ego could take.
“What are you waiting for?” Josh pressed. “You know as well as I do that those kittens were abandoned by their mama. If we don’t take them back to the house, they’ll die.”
Lou took another look at the four baby skunks. How could such adorable creatures possibly bring about the same smelly consequences as their larger counterpart? Perhaps in this instance she should believe her brother. She scrutinized the expression on his face. He appeared to be genuinely concerned. Innocent, in fact. Still …
“You take one first,” she bargained. “Then I will.”
“Are you daft? If I turn loose of Shane, he’s going to snatch one of those babies before either of us can grab him. Is that what you want?”
Of course she didn’t want the canine to make a meal of the little creatures, but neither did she want to smell like a skunk for a week or have her skin rubbed off with Grandma’s lye soap and firm hand. Things had smelled bad enough the time she’d accidentally run the wagon wheel over a skunk in the road. The brothers had barely stopped teasing her about that every time they had a chance. All she needed was another skunk incident to make her life unbearable.
A low growl rumbled in Shane’s throat as one of the kittens shifted.
“I’m having me a hard time keeping this animal still.” Josh’s voice sounded strained. “You best decide if we’re saving those skunks or if they’re a snack for Shane, here.”
As though he understood what Josh said, Shane wiggled with anticipation, looking from Lou to the kittens and back to Lou.
Lou scowled. “Forget it, you mangy critter. You’re not touching these babies.”
Did she detect a note of triumph in Josh’s eyes? She shot a glance back to him, but the expression of utter innocence remained fixed.
Lifting the hem of her skirt, she moved forward, her gaze focused on the animals she was about to rescue. As far as Lou was concerned, the only thing a skirt was good for was carting orphaned animals and apples. Otherwise, she preferred the trousers she’d worn to help around the ranch before Grandma had put her tiny foot down about the whole situation a few months ago.
What riled Lou more than anything was that her three older brothers had agreed with the family matriarch. Imagine! Those double-crossing varmints agreeing with Grandma that she, Lou, the best ranch hand on the Crossed S, needed to concentrate her efforts on learning to run a household, cook, clean, sew, and try to hogtie a husband before she got too old. Hrummmph! Eighteen years old wasn’t exactly ancient.
Anyway, that was neither here nor there, as Grandma would say. Right now, being forced to wear this ornery skirt was a blessing in disguise. She could carry all four kittens to the ranch while Josh kept Shane at bay.
“Uh, Lou.”
“What?” She reached for the first kitten.
“Don’t make any sudden moves. The mama skunk is behind you.”
“Stop fooling around, Josh. I’m not falling for that.” Lou sniffed and gently scooped up the remaining kittens one at a time. That Josh would love to have her panic and turn around. Everyone knew a mama skunk didn’t leave her babies in a den unless she was abandoning them. Unless … well, she might have gone to look for food and might not have gone far. In which case …
“I’m not fooling, Lou.”
The sound of Josh’s low tone filled her with a sense of dread. She started to rise. Slowly.
“Watch out!”
With great care, she turned and came face to face with the skunk. The full-grown, angry mama skunk.
A shriek escaped Lou’s throat, and the world slowed its spinning as the black and white animal turned. Startled by Lou’s sudden movement, the kittens wiggled and without exception did the unthinkable.
Josh stood a safe distance away, howling with laughter. As the full force of the grown skunk’s spray doused her, and the kittens sprayed her from their nest inside her skirt, Lou knew she’d been double-crossed in the worst way.
She moved slowly, depositing the babies on the ground, then ran toward the creek, dropping her holster from her hips and jumping in before the mama skunk decided to spray her again.
“Josh, stop that laughing. You sound just like a sick coyote! Go home and get me some different clothes.”
“Okay,” he choked out. “I’ll be back.”
She stripped underwater and tossed everything but her undergarments up on the shore where she could burn them later.
On the western horizon, the sun, now a ball of orange, sank low. Already its warmth had fled. Soon it would disappear altogether, leaving in its stead a cold moon. “Hurry, Josh,” she whispered.
A solid hour later, Lou realized Josh wasn’t coming back. Her lips quivered with the cold, and her eyes filled with angry tears. How could he do this to her? A prank was one thing. But to leave her in the cold water was another matter. She debated whether or not to put the skunk-sprayed clothes back on but dismissed the thought. She’d be sick before she made it home.
Gathering a deep breath, she opened her mouth wide and did the only thing that came to mind.
“HEELLP.”
Trent Chamberlain’s ears perked up at the mournful sound.
“What do you reckon that is?” Timmy asked, his freckled brow wrinkled with worry.
“Could be a wolf,” his brother, Davy, suggested.
There it was again. Trent wasn’t sure what the sound was, either, but he knew the dangers of this country. Not too many years ago, Indians had roamed freely, wreaking havoc on settlers. And rightfully so, some might say. In local feed stores ’round the pickle barrel, speculation often gave voice to the fear that bands of renegades still hid in caves, waiting for the right time to attack and reclaim their land. Trent was skeptical. Regardless of the source of the mournful sound, he had no intention of taking the boys along to investigate.
“Run up to the house over there. I’m going to check out that wailing.” At best it was nothing more than a calf bawling for its mother. At worst it might be a wild animal caught in a trap. That could be dangerous for the boys, and he didn’t want to take any chances.
As the protesting boys rode double toward the two-story house, Trent turned Melchizedek, his horse, toward the sound. He paused a moment and waited until he heard it again. Then he nudged the roan forward.
“Heelllp!”
His heart beat a rapid rhythm as he recognized the cry of a child.
“Hang on,” he called. “I’m coming.”
Spurring the horse to a gallop, he stopped short at the edge of a creek that was full from the spring rains. The child was splashing about in the water but seemed to be swimming away.
“Try not to panic,” Trent called, trying to ignore the noxious odor of a recent skunk spray. “I’ll get you.”
“Y–you stay away.”
The child sank so far into the water that Trent could barely see eyes, nose, and mouth.
He took another step toward the water.
“I–I mean it, mister. You best stay where you are or I’m going to—to—”
The thundering of horse’s hooves interrupted, cutting off the threat.
“Lou, what’s going on?” In a cloud of dust, the rider pulled his horse up short and dismounted in one fluid movement.
“Oh, Micah,” the child cried. “I’m so glad to see you. Tell this … this … man to leave me alone.”
Guilt or the fear of appearing guilty slithered through Trent. “The boy was crying for help,” he explained to the rider, “but he won’t let me come get him.”
“Who says I was crying?” came the belligerent voice from the water.
The man grabbed a bundle from his saddlebag and chuckled. “She happens to be a girl.”
“A girl named Lou?”
He grinned and jerked his head in a nod. “Short for Louisa.”
“Well, she’s freezing in there. You should probably try to talk her into coming out.”
“Lou, get out of the water.” His tone was impatient, exasperated, as though he’d traveled this road before and was in no mood to revisit the trail.
“Not with you two out there. I don’t … I’m not … decent.” The girl smacked hard at the water. “Josh was supposed to bring me something to wear, but that lousy varmint ran off and forgot about me.”
“Relax. Seth Piven brought his new quarter horse around. You know Josh. Mention a new horse and he forgets his own head.”
“He forgot about me because of a dumb ole horse?”
“You should see this animal, Lou. It’s a dandy. Anyway, he remembered when a couple of youngsters rode up to the house and told us they heard bawling from a sick or hurt animal. Guess that must have been you.” Chuckling, he tossed a ball of clothing onto the bank of the creek. “Grandma sent these old clothes for you to put on.”
“Well, get out of here so I can get dressed.”
“Fine. We’re going. Grandma said to go straight to the barn so she can scrub you down.”
The man turned his gaze upon Trent and offered his hand. “Name’s Micah Stafford. My family owns the Crossed S. Grandma says you best come on up to the house for supper, and we’ll find a place for you and your boys to bed down for the night. Your boys told us you’re the circuit rider. Grandma’s so excited she can barely contain herself.”
“Thank you.” Trent’s mouth watered at the thought of a home-cooked meal, and his muscles warmed to the image of a bed to sleep in.
“Will you two get out of here? I’m freezing half to death in this water.”
The girl’s testy, quivering voice rallied the men to action.
“We’re going!” Micah mounted his horse and headed back through the brush.
Trent followed. “Will the little girl be okay by herself? It’s getting dark.”
“Little girl?”
“Louisa. In the water.” Trent’s defenses rose a bit. Was this family neglectful of the child?
Micah Stafford chuckled. “Believe me: Lou can take care of herself.”
Trent only had the man’s word and seeming affection for the child to go by, but he’d be watching closely, and if the girl wasn’t being treated right, he’d do whatever it took to see her to safety.
When they reached the welcoming, white, two-story ranch house, Trent said a prayer of thanks for the opportunity to give Timmy and Davy at least one night of normalcy before they headed back on the trail.
Riding the circuit, preaching in a different town every week or two, was a hard life. And even more so since the boys had joined him. He’d found them huddled together, freezing and half-starved before Christmas last winter. Both parents had died within weeks of each other—their mother from childbirth, their father from sickness—leaving the boys to fend for themselves. Timmy, ten, and Davy, eight. Such a heavy load for children to bear. Life on the trail wasn’t easy. But it beat the alternative: an orphanage.
Trent was taken aback when he stepped inside the Stafford home. The cozy atmosphere drew him, and the sight of Timmy and Davy sitting at the table, which was laden with food, caused a needle of guilt to prick him. These boys needed a home. But he needed to be faithful to the call of God on his life. Ministering on the circuit fulfilled his sense of destiny as much as finding the boys had filled up the loneliness.
A white-haired, elderly woman set a platter of fluffy biscuits on the table and glanced up, a smile lifting her weathered, heat-flushed cheeks.
“Welcome, Parson!” Her soft, southern drawl charmed him, and he smiled, sweeping his black hat from his head.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
She grabbed his hand and shook with such vigor, he was afraid the tiny creature might come off the floor. “It’s an honor to have a man of God in our humble home. Please, take a seat at the head of the table.”
Trent felt his ears warm. By now he should be accustomed to the place of honor he occupied whenever God provided a home in which he could rest for a night. But Trent didn’t think he’d ever become accustomed to well-meaning women ousting their hard-working men from the place of honor at the table just to accommodate him.
He felt a hand clap him on the shoulder. Turning, he faced Micah’s grin. “It’s a privilege to have you sit in my spot, Parson. A real privilege.”
Another young man rose from across the table and stuck out his hand in welcome. “I’m Sam Stafford.”
“Nice to meet you, Sam,” Trent replied, accepting the proffered hand. He sat at the head of the table, feeling a little more at ease.
“Did you see to Lou?” the old woman asked Micah, lowering her voice at the last moment.
“Sure did. And Josh was right. Those skunks got her good. The smell is so strong it made my eyes water. I reckon Lou had better bed down in the barn for a few nights to air out.”
Trent tried not to eavesdrop, but forcing a child to sleep in the barn just because she was sprayed by a skunk? That seemed a little harsh. What if she had a nightmare?
“I sent Josh out to fill the tub. I have a plate set back for her. She can eat as soon as she’s had a good bath.”
Micah rolled up his sleeves and took a seat at the table. His amused gaze met Trent’s. “Lou gets herself into more scrapes by bringing in stray animals. She can’t resist an orphan.”
“Sounds like a lovely child.”
Micah laughed and exchanged glances with Samuel.
“Yeah, real lovely,” Sam said, a grin widening his lips.
“Josh, you double-crossing varmint. Get out here!”
The bellow coming from outside the door made Trent jump. He knocked his knee against the bottom side of the table, upsetting the glass of milk that Mrs. Stafford had poured. “I beg your pardon,” he said, humiliated by the white liquid stream headed toward the edge of the table at an alarming rate of speed.
“Josh, you get out here this minute, or I’m coming in after you!”
Mrs. Stafford grabbed a towel and began soaking up the spill. She gave Micah a pleading glance. “Take care of her, will you?”
“Be glad to.”
As Micah went to take care of the belligerent child, Mrs. Stafford finished sopping up the spill. She sat and smiled at Trent and the boys as though nothing were amiss. “How about we go ahead and say the blessing? These boys look hungry enough to eat a bear.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Timmy replied, nodding his agreement.
Trent folded his hands and bowed his head. As he did, he caught a whiff of something that smelled suspiciously skunklike. With his head still down, he cut his gaze around to the open window next to the table. Wide blue eyes stared back at him from a face surrounded by long, black, wet curls.
Trent caught his breath. The child was no child, but a lovely young woman. And for the life of him, he couldn’t pull his gaze from hers. Her lips parted ever so slightly, and she took in a gasp of air. Vaguely, Trent was aware that he was supposed to be doing something other than staring at this woman, but what that task was, he couldn’t remember.
A loud clearing of throat distracted him from the window. He cast a guilty glance about.
Oh, yes. He was to say the prayer. “Pardon me,” he mumbled and bowed his head once more. Shamefully, he was hard-pressed to concentrate on thanking the Lord for the bounty before them, as springy curls and blue eyes invaded his mind.