Sophie's Daughters Trilogy

by Mary Connealy

“I almost died saving you.” He dragged her forward until her forearm was pressed against his chest.

  She tried to sound reasonable. “So you couldn’t know that you are within about ten words—”

  “We all almost died saving you.” His nose almost touched hers.

  The man seriously, profoundly reeked. “Of losing your ability to—”

  “Life is precious.” His eyes shot out blue flames until she thought they singed her lashes.

  “Stand upright if you don’t—” Beth wasn’t counting, but she figured he had about one word to go.

  “You risked your life for nothing!” His burning eyes connected and Beth felt that tug again, like they saw inside her, in her mind, in her heart, drawing from her. Compassion, understanding, hope, strength.

  Terror—it made her feel terror. Because she didn’t want to feel any of that for a crazy man. Which made her react in the way any good McClellen girl would. “Get your hand off of me. Last chance.”

  He didn’t.

  She quit relying on words.

  He dropped over backward with a cry of pain.

  She hated to hurt him. Not because she hated his being hurt—shameful to admit, but she kind of liked that. But it was going to make more work for her, and she was worn clean out.

  The man stank. He was heavy. Now someone had to toss him into the stage—which picked that moment to roll up beside her.

  Everyone loaded.

  It had to be her to load him. No one else but the driver was up to it. And he’d be slow climbing down from his perch.

  She reached down and, hurt though he was, Alex seemed to learn it was best to work with her and not against her. She hoisted him in.

  There was really no room for him. Three people on one side—the Armitages and the young man. On the other side, the man with the broken leg took up the whole seat. His leg was neatly bound.

  Beth was relieved. She’d have had to tend him once they got to town if he’d needed more help. Beth shoved Alex inside onto the floor, still curled up with pain. She stuffed his legs in and slammed the door and swung up beside Whip on the high seat.

  There was barely room. Whip had stowed everything saved from the wrecked stage up here, including on the seat beside him.

  She lifted a box onto her lap and smiled at the crusty old driver. “Let’s head for Mosqueros.”

  He slapped the reins so quickly and obediently, she suspected he’d witnessed her encounter with Alex.

  The stage pulled to a stop about the same time Alex’s blood started circulating again.

  He had recovered enough that he’d grown sick of the floor and decided he’d use this opportunity to sit on the roof for the rest of the ride.

  Even if it did mean being within striking distance of the spitfire. Beth, she’d said her name was Beth. It was a peaceful, gentle name.

  Inaccurate as all get-out.

  He swung the door open, still on the floor, and scooted out. A tall stranger riding a gray mare and pulling two black mustangs behind him rode to a stop, smiling up at the driver. “Beth, honey, we’ve been wondering what kept you.”

  He wasn’t looking at the driver at all. He was obviously riding out to meet the spitfire. The cowboy looked to be around forty. He rode with a steady hand. His eyes wrinkled in the corners as if he’d seen a lot of Texas summers. He had a cool, competent gaze, a revolver on his hip and a rifle in a boot on his saddle. A man who’d seen his share of trouble in his life and expected more.

  “Is Mandy gone, Pa?” The spitfire could handle herself, but now, just in case she needed more firepower, she had a well-armed, cool-eyed Pa on the scene.

  Alex did his best not to groan out load. The cowboy didn’t look as Alex stood and swung the stage door shut, but Alex had a good suspicion that the man didn’t miss much.

  “She had to go, honey.” The cowboy swung down from his horse just as the spitfire hopped off the driver’s seat. “It’s so good to see you again,” the man murmured as he drew her into a bear hug. There was more warmth and love in that one hug than Alex had seen since his own pa died.

  “I wanted to see her so bad, Pa.” The spitfire started crying.

  “Now, Beth, don’t start that.” The cowboy set her away from him, his eyes wide as if she scared him.

  Alex sensed that the man could handle most anything. But apparently not tears.

  Alex could relate.

  The spitfire shook her head and dashed the back of her hand across her eyes. “Sorry, Pa. I just wanted to see her so bad. I wanted to meet her husband.”

  The cowboy grunted as if the spitfire hadn’t missed much.

  “We’ve gotta get on to Mosqueros, folks.”

  “I’ll ride in with you, Pa.”

  The driver nodded and lifted the reins.

  “Hey, wait a minute!”

  The spitfire, her pa, and the driver all looked at Alex. He regretted earning their attention, but the driver was going to drive off without him. “I’ll ride up top with you. It’s too crowded in there.”

  “Pa, this is Alex Buchanan. Alex, my pa, Clay McClellen.” She said it as if she wanted her pa to know exactly who he was going to shoot.

  Alex felt a little shiver of fear. He then thought of her strong, slender arm in his grip and how he’d dragged her against him. And he remembered how intelligent and compassionate and strong she was, and what had passed between them when their eyes had locked.

  He might deserve to be shot. Although the spitfire had punished him pretty well on her own, Alex would just as soon that didn’t come up.

  “Can you give him a lift, McClellen?” the stage driver asked. “There wasn’t really room for your girl up here, and the stage is full. We picked up passengers and stowed some luggage from a wreck we found back up the trail.”

  Clay McClellen’s eyes were assessing, cool. Alex wondered what the man saw. Filth, tattered cloths, a bad attitude. Whatever he saw must not have worried him much. “Sure, grab a horse.” Most likely because McClellen figured it’d be no problem to shoot him down like a mangy coyote, should the necessity arise.

  “Make sure the injured are helped to a good room in town. Tell them I’ll check on them tomorrow after Sunday services.”

  The spitfire gave orders in a polite tone, but Alex never doubted she was in charge.

  “Sure enough, Miss McClellen. I’ll see to ’em.”

  Riding along with these two was way down on the list of things Alex wanted to do right now. But even lower was crouching on the floor of that stage for the rest of the trip or sitting squashed up against the driver. “Obliged for the use of the horse, McClellen,” Alex said.

  The spitfire took a few minutes to check on everyone in the stage while McClellen got the particulars on the accident from the stage driver.

  Alex moved toward his horse, not wanting to get pulled into the doctor exams but listening to the spitfire’s quiet questions and her patients’ answers. He heard her promise to check on them all again.

  Then she swung up onto horseback. “We left three dead behind, Pa.”

  Alex noticed the way she moved, as if she was part of the horse, completely at home.

  Reins slapped into Alex’s hands and caught him lightly across the face. Alex looked up and saw McClellen watching him, scowling. Alex wondered just exactly what expression had been on his face as he watched the heavily armed man’s daughter.

  From now on, keep your eyes strictly on the horse, idiot.

  “Pa, I’ll just ride on for home. I don’t want to go all the way into Mosqueros now.”

  “No, I’m not letting you ride the range alone. You know better’n that.”

  “Mosqueros is an hour out of our way. If you want to ride in with Alex—”

  “I’ll stay with the stage.” Alex cut her off and handed the reins back to McClellen.

  “You got a destination in mind, Buchanan? A job or family in town waiting, or are you just passing through?”

  “I thought to stay in Mosqueros a while. Ma
ybe for the winter.” Alex had no idea how he’d live through the winter, but he couldn’t stand the thought of going back East to his father’s home, even if it was well heated and there was plenty of money for food and comfort. That inheritance was never going to be his. If his father would’ve lived, he’d’ve disinherited Alex for the things he’d done—so Alex disinherited himself.

  “You huntin’ work?”

  Alex shrugged.

  “Ride with us to the ranch. You can sleep in the bunkhouse, eat with the men, clean up.”

  Alex looked closer at McClellen when he said “clean up” to see if the man was sneering, but the man’s expression was contained, unreadable.

  “We always go to town for Sunday services. You can ride along then to Mosqueros, and we’ll be handy to lead the horse home.”

  From the cool look in McClellen’s eyes, Alex suspected this was a test. He just wasn’t sure what to say to pass or fail. Was it about attending church? Coming to McClellen’s ranch? Accepting a handout? Probably not knowing was the real test and just hesitating proved he was flunking. Well, that was something McClellen had probably figured out just by looking, so what difference did it make?

  Since Alex couldn’t figure right and wrong out, he decided to just do as he wished, and the meal and a bed were too tempting to pass up. “Thanks. I’ll accept.” Maybe he ought to ask for a job while he was at the ranch. He’d done a bit of cattle wrangling in the last four years as he’d drifted. He’d done just enough to know he was pathetic at it. He’d be found out as incompetent and fired within days. But in the meantime, he’d eat. Eating was good.

  Not wanting to ask for work in front of the spitfire, he decided to wait until later.

  “Pa, we’ve got to send someone back to bring in the dead from that stage wreck.”

  “I’ll handle it.” McClellen kicked his horse to pick up the pace.

  The three of them set off at about five times the speed of the stage, which creaked along in their wake and was soon left far behind.

  “Pa, Alex is a doctor.” She smiled as if she’d done him a favor with her announcement.

  “He is?” The look the rancher gave him was as close to shocked as someone so contained could muster.

  “No, I’m not!”

  “You’re not?” McClellen asked as he and the spitfire turned off the trail and struck out to the south while the well-traveled trail headed on west. Alex had to hustle to keep up. It was all he could do to ignore the lingering ache left behind by Beth’s … annoyance.

  “Yes, he is.”

  McClellen looked between them. “Well, which is it?”

  “I’m not.”

  “He’s a doctor, but he’s not doctoring these days.”

  “Mosqueros could use a doctor.”

  “Pa”—she gave him a disgruntled look—“Alex can’t be the Mosqueros doctor. I’m going to—”

  “You can’t be a doctor!” Alex cut her off.

  “Do it.” She glared at him.

  “No, you’re not.” McClellen talked over her this time. “Doctoring’s not a proper job for a female.”

  Alex looked at the spitfire’s father and found a kindred spirit.

  The spitfire, however, wasn’t having it. “I spent the last four year training to be a doctor.”

  “A nurse, you mean,” her pa said.

  “No, a doctor. It’s true I went to nursing school.”

  “Then you’re a nurse.” Alex flinched a bit when she turned her fiery eyes on him.

  “But I apprenticed with a doctor. He knew I’d be the only person in the area with doctoring skills. He taught me everything. He let me do surgery.”

  “With a knife?” Alex gasped.

  “No, I cut my patients open with a carrot, idiot,” Beth snapped. “Of course with a knife.”

  “That’s awful. That guy oughta be reported.” McClellen’s jaw stiffened with anger.

  He ought to be arrested and shot and maybe hanged, too, Alex thought. “What all’d he let you do? A woman can’t be examining a man.”

  “None of your business, Alex.”

  “You’re not gonna be a doctor and that’s that.” Her pa rode right up close so he could tower over her whilst he laid down the law. “You can do some midwifin’ if your ma says it’s okay and she goes along, and maybe a few other little things with women and young children, but you’ll be living at the ranch, and you aren’t going off alone in the night to care for sick people. That’s just asking for trouble.”

  “Amen!” Alex slapped his pommel and McClellen looked at him. They jerked their chins in agreement.

  “He can be the doctor.” McClellen jabbed his thumb at Alex.

  Beth glared at Alex. “He’s not a doctor.”

  “I’m not a doctor.” Alex and the spitfire had spoken at the same time.

  “You just said he was a doctor.” McClellen looked between the two of them.

  “I’m not.” Alex knew that even if the spitfire didn’t.

  “He’s not.” Now she was just being stubborn because she wanted the job herself.

  McClellen shook his head in disgust and kicked his horse into a faster gait, which took him out from between them.

  They glared at each other for too long.

  Then Alex got his own horse moving faster. He liked it better when he couldn’t see her pretty blue eyes anyway.

  Seven

  A loud whistle jerked Mandy awake. Her hand slapped down and found her rifle and she felt better. Sleep had been a wish, but she’d never expected to really get any.

  It was pitch-dark.

  Truly, it made sense that even in the rattling stagecoach she’d nodded off. It had been a stressful week. She hadn’t slept much since Sidney had announced they were moving to Colorado and Mandy realized she would have to leave her family.

  The stage pulled to a stop. Mandy heard the nervous snorting of the horses, most likely unhappy with the roaring train.

  “What’s that?” Sidney asked.

  “A train.” One of their fellow passengers said in a voice that seemed to call Sidney stupid.

  Her door swung open and the stage driver stuck his head in. “We don’t have much time to move your bags from the stage to the train. Let’s get moving.”

  “We aren’t going yet?” Sidney sounded outraged. “Our train leaves in the morning.”

  Mandy knew he was overly anxious for the wedding night. He’d made it abundantly clear. Mandy admitted to relief on several occasions that her pa and ma had been fierce about chaperoning them because Mandy had been nearly alarmed with Sidney’s forward behavior when the two of them were alone. He’d acted like delaying the wedding in hopes Beth would arrive was done strictly to thwart him.

  The driver shook his head. “Someone was waiting with the news when I pulled up. This is tomorrow’s train. It’s early. This is the one you folks have to take if you’re goin’ north. Let’s get you loaded.”

  The stage driver vanished from the door, and Mandy felt the coach sway as he climbed to the top. A valise flew off the top, followed by a trunk.

  The two men in the stage hesitated. Mandy assumed it was to let her and Sidney go first. She moved toward the door away from the flying luggage.

  Sidney caught Mandy’s arm and looked at the men. “Go ahead.”

  They exchanged glances then left.

  Sidney turned her around to face him. “Now we’re getting on a train? Our tickets go straight through to Colorado. We won’t be alone together for days.” He whispered, but it sounded like anger rather than discretion. “Let’s wait and take a later train.”

  “We’ve got our whole lives, Sidney. You’re the one who said we don’t dare miss the train.”

  “Yeah, but that was mainly to get away from your family. Colorado will still be there in a week.”

  With a pang of sorrow, Mandy asked, “You mean we could have waited longer for Beth?”

  “I wanted to get you alone.”

  “But I might never see my
sister again, Sidney. It breaks my heart to think of it. If we can wait a week, let’s go back to Mosqueros and—”

  “You need to grow up, little girl.”

  Devastated to think Sidney would make such a choice for so frivolous a reason, Mandy ignored his insulting tone, turned, and moved to leave the stage.

  Sidney caught her upper arm and jerked her back. “You’re my wife now.” He leaned over her. Sidney wasn’t very tall—an inch or so taller than Mandy’s own five foot five. And he was going soft like so many city men, so his strength surprised her. “You’re not Clay McClellen’s daughter anymore.”

  Even in the dim starlight, Mandy saw Sidney’s face redden with anger, and she felt that cold, that strange cold that came over her when there was trouble. Her thumb slid over that callus on her index finger once before she could stop herself.

  Protect me, Lord.

  What she felt wasn’t new bride nerves. It was real, solid fear that she might be in danger. Fear was something Mandy had experienced many times in her life. And she knew to face it head-on, usually with a rifle. Her hand slid to her trusty Winchester as she glared at Sidney. “I’m both. I’ll always be both. And more importantly, I’m Sophie McClellen’s daughter.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” The grip on her forearm began to hurt until she knew she’d have a bruise tomorrow.

  Her parents could fight like a house afire. Mandy had seen them squabble many times, though not so much after the first year or so. But her pa had never put his hands on her ma, and Ma had never, ever backed down. Well, maybe she did just for peace and quiet, but never out of fear.

  Fearing a man she loved was ridiculous, and Mandy refused to do it. “It means that if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get your hand off of me right this minute.”

  “I’ll let you go when—”

  A grunt drew Mandy’s head around. The stage coach driver stood there, his eyes narrow. They went from Mandy to her arm to Sidney’s florid face.

  Sidney released her arm so quickly there was no doubt he’d gotten the driver’s message.

  She had a message or two of her own. But now wasn’t the time. “Let’s get loaded onto the train.” She grabbed her rifle, swung out of the stage, and dropped to the ground, not caring if Sidney came along or not. As she settled the gun into place and gathered up her things, she wondered just how much trouble marriage was going to be.