Cooter went to the door of the bunkhouse. Then, as he grasped the handle, he turned and looked square at Mandy. Their eyes met and held. The chill in her spine turned to ice. A mean smile curved Cooter’s lips. He caught the brim of his Stetson and tugged it, a greeting. But it felt more like a threat.
God protect me.
God protect me.
God protect me.
Cooter went inside.
Mandy turned back to her butchering and felt the ice flowing through her veins. So cold. And the cold went deep. It threatened to take over and rule her. Could a woman that cold love her children properly?
God protect me.
A squeal at her feet turned her attention. Mandy looked down at little Angela, clinging to her skirt, only a foot or so away from the lethal cleaver.
“Mama!” The little sweetie seemed to think she could help.
“You’re a little young for meat cleavers, Angie.” Mandy smiled and her heart warmed again. She had so much in her life. Yes, Sidney was a nuisance and a disappointment, but her children were wonderful. She noticed at that moment the wet spot on her neck. Catherine had dozed off. When that happened, she rested her baby-soft cheek on the back of Mandy’s neck and often drooled in her sleep.
Carrying Catherine on her back, which she did a lot, had taught Mandy to sling her rifle differently, lower, so the hard length wasn’t in Catherine’s way. The gun was slower to get into action with it that way, but Mandy hadn’t needed to be fast in a while. She still needed to be accurate though.
Angela stood on tiptoes, reached, stretching her little body as much as possible, and screamed. “Mama. Mama hep. Andie hep Mama.” Angie’s voice rose as she tried to grab the knife, only missing by about two feet.
“Help …”
Smiling, Mandy knew she might not get much help from her husband, but before long her girls would be help. With a sigh at the high-pitched screaming, Mandy knew no one’s life was perfect.
“Andie help, Mamamama!”
Mandy called her Angie and Angie called herself a slurred version of that. Today it sounded like “Andie.”
With some ragged exceptions, her life was wonderful. She thought of how hard it had been hunting this deer, then carrying it home and the work of butchering. Luther usually did this. Mandy wondered where he’d gotten to and where Sally was.
God protect me.
God protect them.
“Mamamamamamama!” Angie bounced and screamed just as a hand landed hard on Mandy’s shoulder.
She spun around with an indrawn breath so hard it became an inverted scream. One hand went to her rifle and jerked it forward. She clutched the cleaver in the other, which was a mistake if she needed to aim and fire. Her nerves iced over.
“Don’t shoot, Mrs. Gray.” Cooter put up both hands with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He took a quick step back, but it was too small a step and well he knew it. He still stood too close.
Mandy didn’t level the gun, but she had it in hand, the muzzle pointed toward the ground, her finger on the trigger. The cleaver she held high enough to keep it from Angie. If it seemed to Cooter like she was threatening him with it, well, that suited her just fine.
“Did you …” Mandy’s voice shook with the cold, not fear. She cut off the words and drew in a long, slow, steadying breath as she got control of herself. “Did you need something?”
She had only to look in his eyes to know he’d deliberately put his hands on her. Angie had fallen silent as if she’d been frightened by this man. That was something Mandy took very seriously.
He’d touched her knowing she’d hate it. He’d scared her child. She felt a sudden, clawing desire to lift her rifle and pull the trigger. It shocked her so much that her nerves went even colder and she no longer felt anything but calm determination that this man would never come near her again.
“I was going to offer to butcher that deer for you, Mrs. Gray.” The offer was a decent thing. But his eyes crawled over her like insects.
“I’m fine, Mr. Cooter. A person who lives in a wild land gets in the habit of pointing a gun fast. I will tell you clearly that I don’t want your hands on me. I won’t warn you again.”
“Is that a threat, Mrs. Gray?” He licked his flaccid lips as if he liked the taste of something. His blue eyes had no lashes and seemed rimmed with pink. His brows were dark and heavy. Showing below his hat, she saw that streak of white in his hair that seemed to emphasize a coldness in the man so deep and wide it left frost on the outside. “You’ll complain to your husband that I offered to help with some heavy work?”
That is exactly how it would sound to Sidney. Cooter offered to help, and Mandy caused trouble with her unladylike ways.
“I make no threats, Mr. Cooter. I tell you clearly to stay well away from me. How my husband feels about that doesn’t come into it because I handle my troubles myself.”
Their eyes held. Hers determined and clear and cold. His hungry and cruel.
After too many seconds of silence, Angie caught hold of Mandy’s skirt. “Mama, Andie hep.” Her daughter made a grab for the cleaver.
“If you’ll head on now, Mr. Cooter, I need to get back to work and I’m sure you have work elsewhere, too.”
Cooter stared a few seconds longer. Then a scornful smile quirked his lips. He tugged on his hat brim, pulling it low enough to cover the white, then turned to walk back up the hill.
Mandy never took her eyes off of him.
“I’d be glad to help you anytime you want, Mrs. Gray,” he called over his shoulder. Then just as he stepped onto a trail that would twist upward and take him out of her sight, he turned back. “Day … or night …” He paused for too long. “You come to me if you ever need a real man.” He stressed those words ever so slightly as his eyes crawled over her again, his insulting intent clear. “I’ll be … watching … waiting for you.”
The contempt was clear. Contempt for Sidney, as if he wasn’t a real man. Contempt for her, as if she’d turn to another man for what his eyes insinuated.
The worst of it was Cooter had never acted like this before. She’d always known he was a dangerous man, but he’d acted loyal to Sidney from the first. He was showing this side of himself because Luther was gone. Was he the one who’d been prowling around the cabin at night, thinking he could find something in their cabin that would give him access to Sidney’s gold, stashed in a vault in Denver?
A dishonest man might have many reasons for threatening a woman whose husband was defenseless. Sidney hiring bodyguards announced to the world he couldn’t take care of himself and his family.
But what Cooter didn’t know was that Mandy wasn’t defenseless. She wasn’t a woman to cower. Her hand reached down and clutched the muzzle of her trusty rifle.
She’d never shot a man. Never come close. Never drawn a bead on a human being and known she might have to make that choice. A bitter cold place in her heart knew she could do it. She took no pride in knowing it, but she did. She’d never be a helpless maiden in need of rescue by some big, strong man.
And then Mandy thought of Tom Linscott again. This time she didn’t even pretend that she wasn’t thinking of that strong, kindhearted man. Tom would use his fists on any man who treated a woman like Cooter had just treated her. He’d do worse if needed.
So would Pa.
So would Luther.
And Mandy stood here uncertain if Sidney would even fire Cooter. Unless Sidney thought Cooter was a threat to Sidney’s gold.
The way to get rid of Cooter was to tell Sidney his money was in danger. That he’d take seriously. Something died inside her to know that—to get Cooter off this property—tonight she’d tell Sidney exactly that. And that might well force Cooter’s hand and turn him from sly and threatening to a blatant danger.
Another interesting question: was he in league with Platte or not? If it came to shooting trouble, would Platte side with the Grays or with Cooter?
Mandy pictured Cord Cooter’s dangerous, piggi
sh eyes. Her skin crawled as she thought of his hard hand on her shoulder. She remembered his full lips moving as if they wanted to eat her up.
Not telling Sidney meant keeping a deadly dangerous man in their midst.
Telling Sidney might well tear this mountainside wide open.
Fifteen
We need to cut strips of cloth.” Sally tried to remember all Beth had done. “Then dip the cloths into the plaster until they’re coated. Then wrap the strips around my leg.”
The harsh rip of cloth pulled Sally’s eyes around to see Wise Sister at work turning a pile of what looked to be old shirts into strips. Babineau’s maybe?
Logan brought a bowl over. “I know how to mix it so it will set up solid. It should be the same as I’d use to mold my clay sculptures, right?”
“Makes sense, I reckon.” Sally tried to be calm as she thought about unbinding her leg. It still hurt something fierce, although she could recall the first day she’d been hurt and knew it was much improved.
Logan kept his eyes respectfully on his work, carefully preparing the plaster and not looking at her leg. By the time he was done, Wise Sister had a small mountain of cloth. She gently removed the leather brace and unwound the cloth holding the splint in place.
“Much better.” Wise Sister slipped off Sally’s sock and ran a hand over a small swollen spot close to her ankle. “The break is right here.”
Sally looked up to see Logan studying her leg, bare to the knee.
Wise Sister elbowed him in the stomach.
He jumped and quickly turned back to his plaster.
“I—I—uh—remember Beth wrapped the ankle in something before she put on the plaster, to protect the skin.” Sally hadn’t done much doctoring for her family. Beth had always stepped forward to do it, and Sally had been glad to avoid the chore. Being gentle wasn’t really her way of handling things. She preferred a bullwhip.
Wise Sister got a clean sock and, with tender care, covered Sally’s leg. It helped Sally feel less disturbed by Logan’s touch. “You, soak the cloth.” Wise Sister thrust the stack of fabric at Logan.
Sally was relieved that Logan wouldn’t be allowed to touch her. Logan’s touch had proved to be extremely unsettling.
When the first strip was soaked with the sticky white goo, Wise Sister took it and pressed it against Sally’s stocking-covered leg. The damp cloth soaked through the sock and tickled. Then it downright itched. Reaching for her ankle, Sally’s fingernails touched the cloth.
“Don’t touch.” Wise Sister slapped her hand with a scolding look that made Sally feel like a misbehaving five-year-old. “Don’t move.”
It was then that Sally remembered thinking disparaging thoughts of Logan when he’d sheepishly admitted he was scared of Wise Sister. Looking up, she caught his eye and he gave her a look that clearly said, “You see what I mean?”
It was all Sally could do not to laugh. But that would almost certainly qualify as moving, and she didn’t want to be chastised again so she resisted the temptation. “Tell me more about Yellowstone, Logan. Or painting, or something before this soggy stuff makes me crazy.” Sally looked at him, prepared to beg. But she instantly saw that she’d asked the perfect question.
His hands were busy pulling strips of cloth out of the plaster so he was trapped there just as surely as Sally and Wise Sister. “I first decided to come out here when I saw a painting by Thomas Moran. He came out with a group called the Hayden Expedition in 1871 and he made sketches and watercolors of all the beautiful, mysterious sights in what is now Yellowstone. I saw a lot of them as a boy, and it was just crystal clear instantly that I had to come.”
Smiling, Sally said, “Like I wanted to be a cowboy right from the first.”
“I suppose it’s just like that.” Logan handed over a strip without Wise Sister having to ask.
They were working like a team now. Wise Sister winding, Logan holding the strips, Sally being still. She suspected her job was the hardest of the three.
“I could hardly believe the stories I heard about the place, geysers and boiling mud. Ponds that changed colors and were hot right out of the ground.”
“I have a little trouble believing in it now,” Sally said quietly.
“My paintings of Yellowstone all got shipped back East already. I’d love for you to see them. I have some sketches I’ll show you later.”
“I’d like that.”
“Moran’s painting made the place so alive for me, and it made me almost crazy to see it and paint it myself.”
“Almost crazy?” Sally made sure to smile when she said it.
Logan took her teasing with good grace. “It was more than just Yellowstone. It was the way Moran gave the whole world a look at something they could probably never hope to see. Until he came back from this expedition, there were reports of the wonders of the place, but a lot of people didn’t even believe it, it was so outlandish.”
“And you realized you could teach people with your painting. Open the world up for them.”
Logan jerked his chin up and looked at her. His eyes blazed. “Yes, exactly. I could go, just me, and bring it back for everyone. It’s more than just loving to paint. There are beautiful places back East. It’s about sharing something rare and wonderful.”
Logan handed over another strip then looked at her, and their eyes locked. The gaze shared something rare and wonderful. It changed Sally inside. Hardened and bound them together as surely as the plaster hardened around her leg. She knew this was wrong, wanting to learn more about Logan, wanting to feel more about Logan. But it couldn’t be stopped. It could only be ignored. She had to get to Mandy, help her big sister. She had to and she would. But it wasn’t going to be easy.
A grunt from Wise Sister broke the connection, and Logan quickly fumbled for a strip of plaster-soaked cloth and handed it over.
“Tell me more.” Sally didn’t want it to end, this tie that bound her to this man.
He talked but he didn’t look, as if he knew that there was still time, that they weren’t firmly encased in whatever wrapped around them. And he would do nothing to further that and maybe trap himself with her.
But Sally knew, at least for her, it was too late. She didn’t know if she was in love with Logan, but she knew she loved him. Maybe at this point she could tell herself that she loved him as God called each to love others as themselves. It was more than a dutiful, Christian love though. It was laden with admiration and respect. And longing.
That wasn’t romance and marriage and a home. But it was very, very close, and she pulled back from the brink before she tumbled headlong into love with a man who’d already told her he’d make a terrible husband.
The next morning she awakened alone.
Wise Sister planned on scouting the lowlands again today.
The plaster was dried rock solid and Sally felt an almost desperate need to escape. While she could still call her heart her own. She could get out of here now, but Wise Sister scolded and said the leg needed more time.
Sally hadn’t been able to force her wishes on anyone while she lay there flat on her back with her leg encased in stone and propped up high on a stack of folded blankets.
She began her second crutch that day and had it done by nightfall, including two handy straps of leather so the crutches would hang from her saddle horn.
The next day she practiced moving around on her crutches, with the heavy cast dangling, and knew she had to get better at this before she struck out on her hunt for Luther. But she found herself able to do the cooking chores, and she even found some vegetables ripe in the garden.
“I said I’d do that.” Logan fumed from where he crouched beside her in the potato patch.
“You admitted you didn’t know a potato leaf from a weed. I can do this faster if you just leave me alone.” Sally knew she was being unfair. She’d chastised Logan for not helping, and now that he wanted to, she was shooing him away because he didn’t know how. Sally knew better than that. She’d taught L
aurie and her little brothers to tend the garden. She was a hand at teaching. “Fine,” she forced herself to say, when she wanted him to go away. “Get down here.”
Logan dropped easily to his knees and Sally envied him his two functioning legs.
They worked companionably together for about an hour before Logan looked up at a cloud that cast a shadow over them. “Look at that.” He stood, staring upward.
Sally couldn’t control following his gaze. Dark clouds boiled overhead off to the west, moving fast. Billowy layers and layers of clouds pushing lighter, thinner clouds ahead of them.
“We’d better hurry.”
“You’re right.” Sally reached for a weed just as Logan caught her around her waist and lifted her to her feet. “Stop. I need to—”
“I’m getting them.” Logan handed her the crutches and grabbed the cloth sack of vegetables they’d gathered.
“No, I mean I need to hurry and finish.” Sally was talking to Logan’s fast retreating back.
“You can get back to the cabin, right?” Logan didn’t even look behind her. He was watching those approaching clouds. “You got out here alone. I’ll miss it.”
Get back? Sally opened her mouth to call after him, “Miss what?”
Logan dashed off and vanished into his cabin.
Sally shook her head to clear it of his strange behavior. Was he afraid of storms? Maybe he’d been scared by a thunderbolt as a child. The storm was coming but not that fast. Still, she might as well head in. She was halfway to the cabin when Logan reappeared with—of course—
Sally did her best not to groan out loud.
His paint.
“God, have mercy,” Sally spoke to the building clouds. She’d never spent much time thinking clouds were beautiful, though they were of course, but clouds were God’s way of warning people of an approaching storm. They weren’t a call to start drawing. They were a call to close the windows and use common sense to come in before it rained.
Sophie's Daughters Trilogy Page 46