Sophie's Daughters Trilogy

by Mary Connealy

  Silas rubbed her head and grinned.

  Which made Belle mad. “Mark Reeves, what kind of name is that?”

  “What kind of name is Belle Tanner-Svensen-O’Rourke-Santoni-Harden?” Silas caught her arm and turned her to face him. Then he slid one strong arm around her waist and pulled her close.

  “That’s not my name.” For a change she didn’t have a big belly to hold them apart. The baby was almost two months old, her second son. She didn’t bother trying to shake off Silas’s grip. She liked his hands on her. She hadn’t felt them on her in quite this way since before the baby was born. In fact she did the exact opposite of trying to shake Silas off. She surprised both of them by shivering and taking a quick peek at Silas’s lips.

  “It sure enough isn’t your name. It’s Mrs. Belle Harden and nuthin’ else.” Silas smiled and rubbed his hand up and down her spine. “So, feeling rested up from childbirth yet, Mrs. Harden?”

  She was suddenly feeling rested up to beat all. But she forced herself to frown. “I’m staying right here on the porch to watch that young man court my daughter, and you know it.”

  Without his smile slipping an inch, Silas said, “I’m not going anywhere either, ma’am. For now.” He glanced over at the young couple. “But there is always later.”

  Silas’s sideways glance reminded Belle she’d quit keeping her eye on Mark and Emma.

  The couple had vanished behind the barn.

  She gasped and turned.

  Silas turned her right back and kissed every thought right straight out of her head.

  Every thought but one. And that one had her wrapping her arms tight around Silas’s neck.

  He eased away from her, his brown eyes—more like her hazel ones than any husband she’d ever had—glittered in the setting sun. “And later, Mrs. Harden, I might be interested in going somewhere. With you.”

  “We … uh … we need to—”

  Silas’s arms went around her waist. He yanked her forward and shut her up. Then, much, much later, he pulled away. “Shame on you, Belle. You’re supposed to be checking on our daughter.

  He released her and helped her let go of him. He’d kissed enough starch out of her knees that they failed her. She sank down hard and sat on top of the porch railing. Good thing Silas had built it sturdy.

  “Stay put.” He jabbed a finger right toward her nose.

  Sighing, she obeyed him. She obeyed far too often lately, confound it. But still she stayed put and smiled up at her cantankerous husband.

  “I’m going to go see if young Mark needs any help checking out the backside of our barn.” Silas tugged his Stetson low over his eyes and turned to walk at a very fast pace toward where Emma and Mark had disappeared.

  If Belle hadn’t been so bemused from that kiss, she’d have been shocked at the complete confidence she had in Silas being fully capable of pinning back Mark’s ears. And it wasn’t that she didn’t trust Silas. It’s just that when it came to abusing suitors for her girls, Belle enjoyed seeing to that chore personally.

  “Thanks for agreeing to coming out for a walk with me, Emma.” Mark was having trouble pulling in a deep breath. Here he was standing next to the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, and she didn’t seem opposed to the idea of his being here.

  “You really asked Tom Linscott to talk to my pa to get permission to call?” Emma sounded flattered.

  Mark should have let that stand, but he was having trouble thinking of things to say—which wasn’t like him. So he could hardly ignore the only thought in his head, now could he?

  “I didn’t really do it to be proper and respectful, Emma.”

  “You didn’t?”

  Maybe Mark hadn’t put that right. “What I mean is I saw you in Divide, and you were so pretty. I asked the boss about it, and he told me to stay as far away from you as I could because your folks were the orneriest parents he’d ever known. He said your pa would beat me into the ground then run a herd of stampeding cattle over me, and your ma would shoot what was left of me and bury me under a tree on your ranch that even now was surrounded by the graves of worthless men who’d come calling.”

  “Linscott said that?” Emma surprised Mark by smiling.

  Shrugging, Mark smiled right back. “Actually I’m prettying it up quite a bit.”

  Emma laughed.

  Every minute he spent near her was pulling him down deeper. “But I did get the message loud and clear that I’d be unwise to just come riding out to your place and bang on your front door and expect you to come out and ride off with me.”

  “So you saw me walking down the street, and that was all it took.” Emma’s smile faded. “I happen to know there aren’t all that many women in Montana. I suppose you’d have come chasing after any female you clapped eyes on.”

  Shaking his head, Mark said, “Nope. It wasn’t seeing you that did it. Although once I saw such a pretty woman, I was definitely watching you close, or I probably wouldn’t have seen what it was that caused me to hunt up Linscott and ask questions.”

  “What was it?”

  Was Mark supposed to talk about another woman to Emma? Mark liked women. Liked talking to them, liked looking at them. But he was a restless man, and he had a lot of building to do before his thoughts turned much to women. But when he’d seen Emma— “You went up to your horse, a fidgety roan mare who was pulling at her reins against the hitching post and looking hard at Tom Linscott’s stallion.”

  Emma’s eyes widened. “She was a lot more interested in that stallion than she was in letting me load my saddlebags. But what of that? Why’d that make you ask about me?”

  “She was fighting the reins, and you waded right in there next to her stomping feet and jerking head and ran your hands down her neck.” Mark stopped and swallowed hard. The way she’d touched that horse, her hands so strong and gentle. It’d hit Mark hard, and he’d been transfixed. “And you talked to her.”

  So much like one of the McClellen girls. Beth, especially with her gentle touch, though Beth was older than Mark. Sally was Mark’s age, and she’d been a better cowhand than most men, certainly better than Mark, and Mark thought he was pretty good. He’d seen Emma Harden and almost felt her hands touching him, almost heard her voice talking to him, gentling him. He’d stared until his eyeballs had near to gone bone dry.

  Then he’d headed straight to one of Tom’s hired hands and been laughed at.

  Threatened with Belle Harden and, almost as an afterthought, Silas.

  It hadn’t deterred him. He’d gone to Tom and been warned. Belle Harden again.

  When Mark’d persisted, Tom had gone to Silas. And Tom had ridden off to do some chore with someone named Lady Gray. There hadn’t been much talk of what exactly. And Mark had been given a day of freedom and directions to the Harden Ranch.

  Seeing Emma handle that horse with such skill had made Mark homesick so bad it’d taken all his will to not just ask Tom for his pay so he could ride home to Texas. Instead, he’d filed on a homestead and come calling.

  “I talk to horses. Don’t you?” Emma gave him a narrow-eyed look as if she expected him to make fun of her.

  “I do. But I—I just—there was a family of girls back near my home. Blond girls who were good with horses and cattle.” Mark reached out and caught Emma’s hands just in case she didn’t like him talking about other girls and tried to make a break for it.

  “So I remind you of someone?” That didn’t sound like it suited her much.

  “You remind me of a kind of woman I respect.” He turned Emma to face him. “The kind who’s tough enough to work alongside a man and strong enough to tame a hard land without ever being anything less than beautiful and gentle.”

  Emma’s eyes widened, her lips softened.

  Mark shouldn’t be looking at her lips, but he’d accidentally taken a peek—or two.

  A very gentle tug brought her closer to him than he’d ever been to a woman. Which wasn’t saying he was so honorable, really, though he liked to think h
e was. He’d certainly done his best to charm a few women, but they just hadn’t been much interested.

  Another quick glance at her lips—which weren’t frowning at him one bit—made him hope that maybe, just maybe, Emma was interested. He pulled her toward him and, hallelujah, she came.

  “So, you finding what you’re hunting for back here?” Silas Harden’s voice made Mark drop Emma’s hands like he’d gripped the business end of a red-hot branding iron.

  He had his back to Silas, and Emma was blocked from her pa by Mark’s body. They exchanged one long, lingering look before Mark turned to face Silas, not touching his daughter in any way.

  Tom kicked dirt over the fire and rose. “We’ll be in Divide by mid-afternoon today.”

  Mandy had thought the journey would never end. But now it would. And she’d stop … and the Cooters would find her.

  She turned to the Shoshone people who had stayed by her side for the last year, women, men, old, young. “Thank you so much for your protection.”

  Swallowing, she said what was very likely the truth. “I’ll never come back to that house on the mountaintop.” Most likely she’d be dead, and she had no wish to be buried there.

  An older woman who looked much like Wise Sister, stout and silent and strong, bounced Jarrod on her ample hip and listened, as did all her people. Mandy held Catherine. Angela ran in circles, singing quietly, on the far side of the smoking campfire.

  “That house is yours if you want it.” Of course they wouldn’t want it. “And anything in it, though it’s full of such foolish things I doubt much of it will interest you. There’s some food and blankets. Take anything you want.”

  “Thank you.” Tom spoke to Mandy’s guardians. He acted as if they’d done something for him. Or as if they’d done something for his woman. “We’ll let you return to your home now.” He lifted Jarrod out of the Shoshone woman’s arms and settled him into the pack on his back.

  The Shoshone people immediately mounted up and rode off in their quiet way.

  Fighting the urge to cry out with fear at being alone here in this dangerous world, with only Tom and her children to pay the price for the Cooters’ vendetta, Mandy remained silent. There was no reason to believe the Cooters would be here. They’d come soon, but not right now today.

  Tom caught Angela when she ran too near the fire. He growled like a grizzly bear while he hoisted her high then nearly dropped her.

  Angela screamed then laughed and yelled, “Again.”

  “Say, ‘Again, Papa.’” Tom hoisted her up.

  “Again, Papa.”

  “That’s my good girl.” Tom hugged her tight and scratched his whiskery face on Angela’s neck.

  “Tickles, Papa.” She giggled and squirmed and hugged onto Tom’s head, right under his Stetson.

  Mandy wanted to pound her head against something hard.

  The drum of hoof beats drew Mandy’s head around, and she reached for her rifle.

  “Don’t shoot, Lady Gray.” Tom stepped in front of her as a group of cowboys rounded a bend in the trail. “These are my men.” Tom set Angela on his hip, raised his hand, and waved.

  The cowpoke in the lead waved back.

  So, they weren’t to be on their own. Tom had arranged protection for the whole journey.

  A dozen trail-hardened cowboys rode up with a thundering of shod hooves. And in with them Mandy saw a woman, her hair flying free, long and blond and snarled.

  Mandy knew with one glance that the woman rode like one of the Shoshone. She had no saddle on her horse. Her back was ramrod straight but leaned forward until her body was almost a perfect line with the horse’s regal neck. She moved with a stallion—that had to be another offspring of Tom’s black—as if she and the animal were one. It was a nearly perfect match for Tom’s horse.

  “We’ve been watching the trail. No sign of trouble.” The first cowboy spoke to Tom, but he smirked at his boss holding a toddler in his arms and carrying another on his back.

  “Let’s go.” Tom didn’t seem to notice he was being laughed at. Or if he did notice, he didn’t care. He hugged Angela tight, then, with her in his muscular arms, he mounted up with no extra effort due to the two extra people he carried.

  Mandy was on her horse a second later, with Catherine in her arms. She kicked her horse forward, riding into the midst of the Linscott hands.

  Her eyes focused on something that could not be. A young cowpoke wheeling his horse to head for Tom’s ranch was undeniably familiar. Mandy guided her horse toward the blond man. “Are you one of the Reeves boys?”

  He turned when he heard the name.

  “You are.” Mandy pulled up beside him.

  The man’s face widened into a huge smile.

  “Mandy McClellen.” He moved his horse until he rode side-by-side with Mandy.

  Ahead, Tom noticed and turned to glare, as if he was ready to give his cowhand an order.

  “Which one are you?” She could barely say the words through the lump in her throat. Someone from home. Someone left from the childhood that seemed so long ago it had never existed.

  “Mark.” He smiled and that rascally Reeves charm was clear to see. “I work for Tom Linscott, and so does my cousin Charlie.” Mark jerked a thumb at his saddle partner.

  “Mark, it’s so nice to see a familiar face.” Mandy remembered all the trouble this scamp and his brothers had gotten into back home.

  “He said he was going for Lady Gray and someone would ride in for us when it was time to meet him.” Mark shook his head as if he still expected it to clear and she’d vanish or maybe turn into a stranger. “He never said your first name, and I wouldn’t have known Mandy Gray anyhow.”

  Without really even knowing she planned to do it, Mandy reached across the small gap between her. She wanted to launch her whole self into Mark’s arms. He was a man now, strong enough to catch her. But she had Catherine on her lap, and all she could spare was one arm.

  “I’ve missed you,” she whispered into his neck. She didn’t miss Mark Reeves. Honestly, she’d never been able to stand Mark Reeves. But she missed home, her parents, her old life where she was safe and respected and loved. And suddenly she felt as if she had missed Mark Reeves desperately.

  It was all too much. Mandy broke down and cried.

  “Mama cwy?” Catherine slapped her cheek gently. Then Catherine was gone.

  Mandy grabbed for her, afraid the little girl was falling. She looked and saw the woman on the black stallion settling Catherine on her lap. The baby was safe, at least until the Cooters found them.

  Knowing it was shameful, Mandy wept harder, and both her arms went around Mark, who held her in arms so strong they couldn’t belong to the skinny, half-grown boy Mandy had seen years ago.

  Then, just like she’d lost her grip on Catherine, she lost her grip on Mark when she was lifted, gently but firmly, away from her old nemesis.

  Mark had made school a nightmare at every opportunity with his antics. He’d tortured teachers, tormented girls, gotten into trouble, a ringleader with the other boys—his brothers especially—but he had a knack for talking other boys into nonsense, too.

  Mandy had spent a good portion of her growing up years wanting to strangle Mark Reeves. She’d never been so happy to see anyone in her life.

  Clawing to hang on, Mark pried her arms loose. She looked at him, wondering why he was betraying her.

  He had his hand on his gun as if ready to fight for her. Then the fierce expression cleared, and he shook his head as if to joggle his senses back around to sanity.

  That’s when Mandy realized Tom had her. Tom had pried her arms loose, not Mark. Tom had Jarrod on his back, but Angela was sitting in front of a dark-haired man with green eyes who rode alongside the blond woman.

  “Lead her horse, Reeves,” Tom snapped and rode forward holding Mandy on his lap. “Make yourself useful.”

  “Yes sir, Boss.” Mark’s deep voice shocked Mandy. Even more, the obedience in it. No boy could change t
hat much. Mark had never obeyed an order respectfully in his life.

  Mandy needed someone to hold on to so she looked up at Tom, who was watching her with kind blue eyes that did not go with such a cranky man and his brusque orders.

  “I’m sorry I’m crying.” She thought of her pa and how much the man hated tears then threw her arms around the big jerk who’d just stolen her from Mark Reeves, the terror of Mosqueros, Texas.

  “Me, too.” Tom sounded resigned.

  At least he didn’t cringe and run like Pa would have. Of course she was hanging on really tight. And to be fair, her pa wouldn’t run. But Mandy would know he wanted to.

  The tears were nowhere near spent, so they broke free again and Mandy, barely aware they’d started riding again, soaked the front of Tom’s shirt while she cried out a year’s worth of tension and fear … knowing she couldn’t really cry it out. It’d still be right there waiting for her when the foolish tears were over. As surely as the Cooters would be waiting.

  And that made her cry all the harder.

  “Get off the trail, fast!” Cord had ridden ahead to scout. Now he raced toward the three men. There were only four Cooters left, until the next pack of ’em showed up.

  All three men scattered. Fergus to the uphill side of the trail, J.D. and Dugger, J.D.’s last living brother, to the downhill side.

  Cord went with Fergus.

  “What’s going on?” Fergus had dropped back a long way and now he waited for Cord to explain himself.

  “Shoshone coming. A war party. Let’s ride forward so we’re away from where you left the trail.” Cord looked out and saw it had been a rocky stretch. Add in that they’d been following a big group—probably including these Shoshone—so the trail was torn up enough to conceal new tracks.

  Cord hissed loud enough that J.D. let himself be seen across the trail. Cord waved his arm forward to let J.D. know to keep moving. They’d been riding for about five minutes when the Shoshone came through. The group, women and men and a few youngsters, were moving fast. Cord stopped and held his breath as the party rode straight past the stretch of trail where J.D. and Fergus had ducked out of sight.