His Dry Creek Inheritance

by Janet Tronstad

  Lord, be with my friend, she prayed quickly. The pastor was explaining that believers were meant to help each other. She knew Mark prided himself on being a loner. At least that had been his way as a child.

  Bailey glanced over to where Gabe sat and tried to think of words to bless him. God said to pray for our enemies and she tried to do so. She couldn’t think of words, but vowed to give it some thought in the afternoon. She knew Gabe was going to be lonesome without Eli. That alone made her sympathetic.

  The closing hymn came too soon to please Bailey. They had only sung one verse of it when the doors to the sanctuary slammed open and a dog started to howl.

  “What’s going on?” Bailey said along with the whole congregation as they turned in unison and stared at the back of the church. The temperature went down twenty degrees and the scent of wet dog slowly filled the air.

  Mr. Clemens stood at the edge of the doorway into the sanctuary. The outside doors were wide open behind him. Technically, she supposed he was not in the church proper since neither toe of his worn boots had crossed the strip that separated the tile of the foyer from the inside carpet. Not that it looked like the man cared about that or anything else. His long gray hair was damp and scraggly. He had a bruise on one side of his face. His wet khaki-green coat, likely purchased at the army surplus store in Miles City, was open and a dirty white T-shirt showed through. He wore old sweatpants that were tied with a fraying string.

  “It must be raining,” someone in the congregation muttered.

  “I know that dog,” Mark said, low enough so only Bailey heard.

  “What’s wrong, Mr. Clemens?” the pastor asked, his voice louder than the others because he still held the microphone in his hand.

  “It’s this blasted dog,” the old man practically yelled as he held up the rope that was clearly meant to restrain the dog. The animal whined pathetically as the noose tightened around its thin neck. “This confounded stray has been running around like an outlaw on his way to everlasting perdition.”

  Bailey looked down and saw Rosie reach up and cover her ears.

  “It’s a killer dog,” Mr. Clemens continued, his voice growing louder now that everyone was listening to him. “It almost killed my Lulu.”

  “He almost killed who?” someone whispered.

  Bailey didn’t know any Lulu.

  “Who’s Lulu?” Rosie looked up and asked. Bailey noted that her daughter must not have covered her ears very tightly.

  “Is she little like me?” Rosie questioned and Bailey reached over and gathered her daughter closer to her side. The girl was afraid.

  “No one will hurt you while I’m around,” Bailey said to her daughter.

  “Do we need to take Lulu to the clinic in Miles City?” the pastor asked, concern deep in his voice. “You came to the right place. We can ask for a couple of volunteers right now. Is Lulu unconscious?”

  “Of course not,” Mr. Clemens retorted. “She’s just lying there licking herself where this beast bit her.”

  Everyone was silent at that news.

  “Mr. Clemens,” the pastor finally asked. “Is Lulu your dog?”

  “Of course she’s my dog,” Mr. Clemens said. “What did you think?”

  “It’s just that you always call your dog my pit bull. I didn’t know it had a name,” the pastor commented.

  Mr. Clemens seemed a little quieter. “That’s true enough. She’s a purebred, you know. I paid good money for her when she was a pup. I’m proud she’s a pit bull and I like for folks to know it.”

  Everyone was wordless and then the pastor spoke again. “So she’s all right, except for the bite?”

  “It’s a crime that she was bitten,” Mr. Clemens persisted. “And if the goody-two-shoes in this church hadn’t been feeding this worthless stray, he’d have left this area weeks ago.”

  “But where would the dog have gone?” the pastor asked. “We can surely open our hearts to one homeless dog.”

  “It’s a killer beast and I want it strung up and hung,” the old man said defiantly as he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out an ancient pistol. “Either that or shot in the head until dead.”

  Bailey gathered Rosie even closer and noticed that Mark had stepped nearer to both of them, too.

  “Get down under the pew,” Bailey whispered to Rosie.

  “Is he going to say bad words?” Rosie asked as she started to kneel.

  “I don’t know,” Bailey said softly. Mr. Clemens didn’t look well and the pastor didn’t seem to know what to say.

  “Please, Lord,” Bailey whispered. She saw several others with their heads bowed.

  Not everyone was praying though. Mark was slipping past her and stepping out into the aisle.

  “Say, Mr. Clemens,” Mark said in a friendly voice. “Do you mind if I take a look at that gun of yours? Do you know the year it was made? I used to have an old Colt revolver. Looked something like yours. I’m guessing you got it at the army surplus store. Is that still going in Miles City? Off—what was the street again?”

  By the time the questions were over, Mark had taken the gun from Mr. Clemens and Bailey started to breathe again.

  “I don’t have any bullets in it,” the old man confessed as Mark passed the gun off to the pastor.

  “You still scared folks,” Mark said and then he stepped aside as Deputy Sheriff Carl Wall came rushing into the church. Mark remembered him from when the lawman used to visit the Rosen Ranch. Carl usually attended services, but today he must have been doing something else. Obviously, someone had called him on a cell phone.

  It took a few minutes, but the deputy finally escorted Mr. Clemens outside.

  “Think he’ll go to jail?” Mark asked Bailey when he came back to the pew.

  “I don’t know,” Bailey said. “Deputy Wall might let him stay in his house and take care of his dog until the judge calls him in. Mr. Clemens wouldn’t have any place to go and Carl works with people when he can.”

  Words of relief spilled out from the congregation once someone said Deputy Wall had Mr. Clemens in his patrol car and was talking to him.

  A few people started walking down the aisle when suddenly all of them stopped.

  The low sounds of a dog growling reverberated throughout the sanctuary. Bailey realized that the dog hadn’t moved from his place in the doorway even though the old man had.

  A few of the people scurried back to their pews and Bailey could see the stray animal standing there almost daring anyone to come near him. No one could get past it to the foyer.

  “That dog has gone bad,” someone whispered.

  “What are we going to do about it?” another woman asked aloud.

  “It really doesn’t belong here,” a man answered. “Not if it’s terrorizing good folks and biting their pets.”

  “I’d hardly call that pit bull a pet,” someone else opined. “And it was old man Clemens who scared everyone.”

  “Well, I’m going to stop feeding that stray, that’s for sure,” a final voice stated.

  “Nobody needs to feed it any longer,” Mark declared as he stepped back out into the aisle. “I’m taking it home with me.”

  Mark started walking toward the mutt.

  “Be careful,” a woman cautioned Mark. “That dog is wild.”

  “Catch hold of that rope first,” a man added. “Or use your cane to keep it back.”

  Mark went straight up to the dog and offered it a hand to be sniffed. The stray lay down on the floor and rolled over. Mark obliged by scratching its stomach.

  Bailey had never been prouder of her friend.

  The rest of the congregation looked sheepish.

  “I never meant I wouldn’t feed it at all,” the woman who’d spoken up earlier said. “Just not so much.”

  Usually, the ladies only served coffee between
Sunday school and church, but today someone had the coffee perking and people stayed in the foyer talking and drinking a cup. They were probably trying to steady their nerves.

  “Your young man is quite handy to have around,” one woman said as she gave Bailey and then Rosie each hugs.

  “He’s not my—” Bailey replied. “He’s just a friend.”

  Mark had taken the dog outside. Bailey looked over and saw the small smile on Mrs. Hargrove’s face.

  Then loud voices came from the steps in front of the church.

  “What in the world?” Bailey exclaimed and joined the line of women streaming through the open doors. The day was not warm, but it wasn’t as cold as she expected. The sun was shining a little. There was still more mud than dry ground outside though.

  Mark was standing at the bottom of the stairs with his cane, the growling dog at his side, and a half dozen men milling around. From the looks of it, Bailey figured the quarrel hadn’t been decided.

  “You can’t mean to take that dog out where we have our herds,” one man, a rancher who Bailey knew, challenged Mark. “He’ll be trouble. Just look at him.”

  Bailey had to admit the dog looked fierce.

  “If he’s trouble, then he’s my trouble,” Mark answered calmly.

  Bailey knew it would be her headache, too, but she didn’t want to interrupt. Who would take care of the dog when Mark left? She had to think of things like that.

  “You know that’s not the end of it,” another man said, entering the fray. He obviously took a long view of things, too, Bailey thought.

  The man continued. “Fences don’t hold a dog back. You can tell he doesn’t like having us around. How are you going to stop him from attacking someone else’s animals? I have horses. And goats. You’d have to run like the wind to catch that dog before he nipped at a mare’s legs. He could maim an animal permanently.”

  All of the men looked at Mark’s cane.

  “I’ll train him,” Mark replied, more steel in his voice than earlier.

  “Only a tenderfoot would take a chance like that,” another rancher said. “I say we take him to the vet and have him put under. Be done with it.”

  “He’s a healthy dog,” Mark protested. “Bothering no one.”

  Bailey agreed with that.

  “He’s a killer,” another man said. “Just like Mr. Clemens said. What kind of a mutt takes on a pit bull?”

  “One that is defending himself,” Mark countered. “Haven’t any of you ever been on the other side of things and needed somebody’s help?”

  No one spoke. Bailey squeezed her lips together so she wouldn’t say anything. She and Mark knew what it was like to be unwanted and in need of help. They had been just like that poor animal.

  “I say again that you’re a fool to take in that dog,” one of the men finally said.

  By that time the women were lined up and down the front steps of the church. A few of them still wore aprons under their coats. Bailey noted that Mrs. Hargrove was at the top of the stairs.

  “And I say he’s a hero,” Mrs. Hargrove pronounced loud and clear as she walked over to the handrail and started down the steps. “It’s not wrong to save a life.”

  Most of the critics at the bottom of the stairs were looking slightly ashamed. Bailey knew their children were taught by Mrs. Hargrove. Some of them might have been in the older woman’s Bible class themselves. She was the conscience of the town.

  “It’s only a dog,” one of them muttered.

  “And in God’s eyes, we’re nothing but lumps of clay,” the older woman countered as she kept climbing down. Moving slowly, but with purpose. “Think about that before you harm a creature of His.”

  Bailey watched until Mrs. Hargrove reached the ground and stood next to Mark. Then Bailey started down herself.

  “You always were a hero as a boy,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she put her hand on Mark’s arm. She continued in a softer voice. “You were brave, but I used to worry if it was for the best.”

  Bailey knew that when Mark first came to Dry Creek, this woman opened her arms to him and loved him. Mark never seemed to completely accept it, but he must have known he had her support.

  “What do you mean?” Mark asked cautiously.

  Mrs. Hargrove answered in what was almost a whisper, “You always mean well, but I wonder if being a hero is only your way of keeping other people at arm’s length.” She paused and added. “You offer protection, but not yourself.”

  Mark didn’t say anything.

  “Is there anyone you’re close to?” the older woman asked quietly.

  By now, Bailey was at the bottom of the steps and she saw the stricken look on Mark’s face. No one else was watching, but she was.

  “I’m close to people,” Mark protested, his voice almost a whisper. “Lots of people.”

  Bailey took another step toward them.

  “Are you sure?” Mrs. Hargrove asked that question so softly that Bailey knew no one but she and Mark could even hear it.

  “Of course, I—” Mark started and then stopped, looking trapped even though everyone but the three of them was already moving away from the church. Most people were almost at their vehicles on the street. No one else saw him.

  Bailey felt Mark’s eyes concentrate on her face. She was only a few feet from him now and Rosie was trailing behind her.

  Suddenly, Mark closed the distance between them and bent down.

  Bailey saw his face coming and, feeling startled, turned to see him more clearly. She didn’t know what he was doing.

  His cold lips met hers with determination. The shock of it kept her still for a moment. She knew he’d been aiming for her forehead and she’d unwittingly made him miss by tilting her head. But now they were kissing for real and she could not move. She felt rooted to the ground. Finally, the cold feeling turned warm and the pressure became a gentle coaxing. Bailey felt a rush of longing race through her and she couldn’t seem to stop it for the longest time. Her heart was filled with regret for what wasn’t and wouldn’t be.

  Bailey finally realized that people were fluttering and chattering around her. Most of them must have turned around minutes ago and walked back to protect her. She wondered how long she’d been lost in thought.

  “Well, I never,” one woman said, her voice carrying through the still morning.

  Bailey agreed with that sentiment. She’d never either. Finally, she stepped back and stared up at Mark. The man didn’t look like he was caught up in the moment. Instead, he seemed to be hiding behind a wall.

  “I was making a point,” he finally muttered. She thought he would say more, but he didn’t.

  Bailey took a moment to digest those words.

  “You were making a point!” Her voice was weak, but she drew herself up to her full height even though she still didn’t come up to the middle button on that shirt of his. “I don’t think anyone should be kissing anyone just to make a point.”

  A murmur of assent swept through the people around them.

  “You’re quite right, Bailey,” a woman called out.

  Mark’s face looked frozen again. She had no idea what he was thinking.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally said formally and turned. “Josh already said he’d give you and Rosie a ride back to the ranch. Or you can go out with Gabe. I don’t want that dog around Rosie until we know how he’ll handle himself.”

  With that, Mark led the animal over to the ranch pickup. From what little Bailey could see she assumed he settled the mutt on the floor of the passenger side. Then she saw him walk around the cab and climb in on the driver’s side.

  By that time, everyone else except her, Rosie and Mrs. Hargrove were gone. Even Josh was waiting in his pickup. She couldn’t see where Gabe was. Hopefully, he’d already left. Maybe a few others had, too.

  “Well, that was a—
” Bailey started to say a mess, and looked down at her daughter, stopping herself. “A disaster.”

  “Maybe not,” Mrs. Hargrove answered cheerfully.

  “What would you call it then?” Bailey asked, her voice not as polite as she would like. “I don’t know anyone who wants to be kissed so someone can make a point to the world.”

  Mrs. Hargrove grinned. “He wasn’t worried about proving something to the rest of us. He was proving it to himself.”

  “Really?” Bailey had her doubts.

  Her old Sunday school teacher nodded with that wise look she often had. “I’d call it progress.”

  Bailey didn’t have an answer for that. She knew hope and faith were rock-bottom certainties in Mrs. Hargrove’s life. Bailey had no desire to challenge Mark Dakota. He shouldn’t be kissing her for any reason at all. She was eight months pregnant and she had troubles enough with that and Eli’s will. No man should be kissing her now. She’d have to make that clear to Mark.

  Chapter Five

  Mark kept his eyes focused on the gravel road. The sun was shining steady and the air was warming. Wisps of clouds showed off a blue sky. Straight ahead, he saw field after field that had patches of dirt and dried weeds emerging from the melting snow. Barbed wire cut the land up into squares. Ranching had always struck Mark as pretty organized. Except, he thought, when animals were involved. They were the wild card.

  He looked down at the dog. It did something to a man to be responsible for an animal, he thought. He’d talk to Josh about moving the cattle back to the Rosen Ranch on Monday. The cows needed looking after. He wished he and Josh could move them this afternoon, but it was Sunday. That had always been a day of rest in Eli’s time. He supposed it was futile to hope things had changed.

  Mark wished he didn’t have to go back to the Rosen Ranch, but Sunday dinner would be mighty slim if he didn’t. The café was closed. The pumps at the gas station on the edge of town would be open, but the inner office would be locked. He thought there was a vending machine next to the building, but it might be empty. He’d be fortunate if he could buy a pack of stale crackers. “I played the fool,” he said softly as he glanced down at the dog. No, not the dog, he told himself, it was his dog. “I don’t know why I thought I could come back here and mingle with regular people and everything would be okay.”