Sophie's Daughters Trilogy

by Mary Connealy

  He turned his head and met that kiss with his own and almost let her distract him from their little problem about trust. Almost.

  He eased back and lifted one of her hands to his lips. He noticed the callus on her index finger and kissed it with special attention. It was part of what made her the most interesting woman he’d ever known.

  Pulling her to a sitting position, he moved them around so the bit of glowing light made her more visible. With the starlight and his excellent night vision, he could see her well enough. “Braid your hair for me. Let me watch.”

  Her brow furrowed. “What?”

  “You heard me.” He picked up her hair, hanging nearly to her waist down along her left arm. “I want to watch, learn how to do it.”

  Their eyes held. More passed between them than seemed possible without words. Finally she nodded and picked up her hair. “Separate it into three parts. Like this.” She demonstrated.

  He helped, making it much harder but getting a feel for it before long. He’d done some braiding, he realized. Turning strips of bark into sturdy whips. Turning hemp into rope. He hadn’t done it for a while, but it came back.

  They worked, their hands tangled up together. Mandy watching as her braid shaped up.

  “It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you, Tom. I just wasn’t alone enough with you. I didn’t want to take a chance on anyone else hearing what I had planned. I’ve gotten in the habit of”—she took a quick peek at him—“feeling watched, pursued. In that castle I felt like the walls had eyes and ears. It was spooky. And the Shoshone people who lived near, well, they never eavesdropped, but they were so quiet. They came and left a haunch of elk or a buffalo hide or something like that quite often. I loved them, but it added to the eerie feeling.”

  “So you really felt like someone was hanging around while we were alone in the house?” Tom didn’t quite believe that. His house was really open. There was nowhere to hide.

  “Maybe, just because it’s an old habit to always feel that way. And besides, I didn’t really know I was going to get my gold until yesterday. Until then I was trying only to figure out how to make it safe for the children. That day I went after the Cooter clan I could only think that I was tired of being hunted. I was ready to be the hunter. When you stopped me from that, I didn’t know how else to hunt. Then I thought of the gold. I’m going to use that money for something worthwhile. Finally. I’m going to use every cent of it to buy peace.”

  “The real reason you didn’t tell me was because you didn’t think I’d go. You had your hands real full convincing me to ride to Denver. You were afraid I’d never agree to follow Sidney’s map with you.”

  Mandy shrugged. “My hands have been real full with you.”

  Tom almost laughed, which would have let his stubborn little wife off the hook. “We should have given the law more time. Let the marshal work.”

  “I need to get to my children, Tom. They won’t understand any of this. I know Belle Harden well enough that I trust her to take care of them and comfort them. But letting them stay in her care is cruel. I hate it. I—”

  “You’re not cruel.” Tom twisted the heavy rope of her hair around his fist twice and drew her face close using the silken length. “You’re smart and tough and too kindhearted for your own good. We’re leaving them there because that’s what’s best for my children.”

  “But I need to be there. They won’t understand where I’ve gone. They’ll think I—”

  He shut her up the only way that had proved to work a bit well.

  And later, because they’d made such a mess of it, she had to teach him how to braid her hair all over again.

  “Wise Sister!” Sally shouted as she strode toward the tent Buff and Wise Sister lived in when they were following Sally and Logan around.

  Wise Sister pushed back the flap almost immediately. Her serene eyes took in everything. The loaded horses. Sally’s cowboy clothes. Logan’s harassed expression.

  “We’ll come.”

  “I’ve got to see to Mandy.” Sally looked past Wise Sister to see Buff reach for his saddlebags and begin shoving provisions in.

  “Ten minutes.” Wise Sister dropped the flap. It hadn’t been a request.

  Sally turned to Logan, fuming. “They can catch us. Let’s go.”

  Buff came out before Sally had finished speaking, carrying two saddles. He headed for the makeshift corral behind their tent. He looked over his shoulder. “Help me.” Another order.

  But it kept Sally busy for the few minutes it took Wise Sister and Buff to get ready to go on a trail ride that could take weeks. It was possible they wouldn’t get back to Yellowstone this season, and if that happened they’d lose everything they’d left behind. It was even possible they might die in a feud that had nothing to do with them.

  Neither of them hesitated a second.

  As they swung up on horseback, Buff said, “Luther know you’re going?”

  “Nope, no way to tell him. I heard he was trapping up closer to Mandy. No way to even send him a wire.”

  “He’ll know.” Wise Sister set a brisk pace as if she and Buff had been fighting the need to make this trip for a while. She only knew Mandy a bit, but it was Wise Sister’s village that had protected Mandy all this time. The Shoshone woman never went anywhere and never seemed to have company, but somehow, if anyone had news about Mandy, it was her. If Wise Sister said Luther would know, Sally believed her.

  Sally fell in behind Wise Sister, determined to push hard all the way to Mandy’s fortress. She’d lead this group if they didn’t move fast enough to suit her. But she could never quite catch up, which made Sally wonder if Wise Sister had reason to hurry beyond Sally’s sudden fear.

  Sally’s hand crept to her belly.

  God, have mercy on us all. God, have mercy on my baby. God, have mercy.

  Seventeen

  It got chilly in the Rocky Mountains at night, even in August. Mandy was only mildly surprised to wake up and find a dusting of snow covering the bedroll she shared with Tom.

  It was warm as toast under the wool blankets, but an itch between Mandy’s shoulder blades told her she needed to be moving. They should have ridden longer last night. Gritting her teeth against the cold, she shoved back the covers in the gray light of pre-dawn.

  “Hey!” Tom woke up with a jerk as a layer of snow drifted down onto his bare chest. Mandy grinned at him as she dressed with quick, efficient movements. By the time she had a coffeepot in place, Tom had the bedroll bundled and was saddling the first horse.

  “Why did I ever think marrying a city boy was a good idea?” Mandy watched Tom do all the things a man needed to do to get on the trail.

  He turned to her and quirked a smile. “I reckon you needed to get up here to these mountains somehow.”

  “Tough way to travel, with Sidney in tow.”

  “Warm up some of that jerky, too. Something hot will taste good this morning, and you can do that right quick.”

  “Okay, but I want to be on the trail within a half hour. The sun will be up past the horizon by then.”

  The dusk was already light enough that they could be traveling. Mandy knew they were lingering, which made no sense. Urgency had been riding her hard ever since they’d set out from Divide.

  Turning back, she crouched beside the fire, grateful for her leather riding skirt and long sleeves. Even her ugly gray cloak. She needed to buy something in a different color, and if she lived through these next few days, she’d do it.

  She’d be hot later in the day and wish for lighter clothes. She could shed the cloak, but the leather skirt and long sleeves were all she had. A woman couldn’t have everything.

  The goad to hurry reared up as she pulled a cast-iron skillet out of Tom’s pack and tossed a few pieces of the tough jerky on to heat. It would only take a minute or two to warm it up. Then they’d chew on it while they moved down the trail.

  “I smell smoke, Cord.” Dugger pulled his horse so abruptly to a halt Cord almost col
lided with him.

  Cord smelled it, too, now that Dugger mentioned it. Dugger might be childlike in his head, but he had better sense in the woods than any of them.

  The four of them left the trail, Fergus and Cord uphill, J.D. and Dugger downhill.

  Cord and Fergus eased along. The smell of smoke became stronger. Then Cord heard the crackling of flames.

  Cord came to a rock wall so rugged it was tempting to just forget getting over it. But if Cord’s nose told him right, that fire was set up right in front of these rocks. If Cord could get above whoever had that campfire, he could pick them off like ducks frozen on a pond. He gestured to Fergus that he was leaving his horse to climb up.

  “Got it.” Fergus’s whisper was softer than a breath of wind. He pointed at a path that took him around the rocks, then caught Cord’s horse’s reins and faded back into the woods.

  Cord inched his way up a pile of rounded stones that looked like a giant had been stacking massive marbles. Trees grew here and there, seemingly out of solid rock. He raised himself, silent as a ghost, to the top of the rocks, swept his Stetson off, and eased forward, an inch at a time, to see who was below him. Even if it wasn’t their quarry, if the travelers had good horses and guns, it would be worth the taking.

  “Let’s saddle up.”

  The female voice froze Cord in his tracks. Whoever it was stood directly below him. But what other woman could it be than Lady Gray? A trickle of cold sweat ran down Cord’s backbone as he thought of that witch woman loosing her Winchester on him.

  Tightening his hands on his own gun, he knew his first shot had to take her down and the second had to finish Linscott. Even as he crouched behind the cover of rocks in the dim morning light, Cord felt like things weren’t quite stacked enough in his favor.

  He saw a space where two rocks were heaped together so there was an eyehole about three inches across at most, big enough for a rifle and for him to draw a bead. The opening was at the bottom of a rock. That was as safe as a man could be.

  He slid his gun onto the lip of that little hole and rose up from his crouch to get a dead shot at his target. The gun was still angled upward, but as he rose the muzzle lowered and lowered, and there she was.

  He remembered that witch woman all right. He’d had his hands on her once, just once. And she’d backed him off, insulted him. Now she crouched by a pack, shoving two tin cups into it. He wanted to own her. But that wasn’t going to be possible, so he’d do what he had to do. His gun came lower, and he slid it forward just enough to clear the rock.

  Cord smiled.

  Mrs. Gray rose from her crouch to make the middle of her back an even more perfect target.

  Cord smiled and leveled his weapon just slightly.

  A pebble rolled from where the gun was braced.

  He pulled the trigger.

  Mandy dove sideways at the sound of that rolling stone. A gun exploded into the last of their dying campfire and sprayed cinder and ash into the air. It would have slammed into the back of her head if she hadn’t moved.

  Her gun was in action before she’d hit the ground, and she twisted to land on her back. Her blood turned cold and flowed like molasses in January.

  Mandy spotted the exact direction where the shooting came from. She fired. A cry from that circle told her she’d hit her mark.

  Firing again, she levered bullets into the chamber with a hard, whipping turn of her hand, twirling the rifle, firing, twirling, firing. Moving, she put trees and stone between her and the attacker, shooting, always shooting.

  The rifle protruding fired again, but wildly. Overhead leaves shredded, hit by the erratic bullets. Then the gun muzzle was gone and silent.

  In a fraction of a second that seemed like hours, she saw Tom bring his gun up and aim away from where the bullets had originated. Her eyes followed the direction he looked, and she saw two gunmen, running and dodging forward. Mandy fired at the nearest one. She had plenty of time to pick, to see which one had the best aim at Tom, the best chance of making a hit. Her bullet slammed into his gut. The gunman cried out and went down under her withering fire. His hat toppled off, and Mandy saw the white slash of hair at his temple.

  Cooters.

  But she’d known that already. She turned to the other man, leveled, and fired.

  Tom was shooting and weaving to put trees between him and the second shooter.

  A bullet from another direction spit up rock and dirt near Mandy’s feet. She wheeled and fired. That gunman staggered back, and his shot went wide.

  Mandy saw it all, as if the bullet inched along. This fourth man’s wild shot lodged into his own kin. A Cooter killing another Cooter. She hoped they declared a feud against each other.

  She fired again, and the fourth man was gone, running. She’d winged him, but it wasn’t a fatal hit. Unless the bullet got septic and killed him later.

  With a quick glance she saw the two gunmen down. Dead most likely. One killed by her. All she felt was icy calm.

  Two had run off. She raced after them. Something hit her hard in the back. Bringing her gun around, suddenly it was swept out of her hands.

  “Mandy, it’s me.”

  Mandy made a grab for her rifle.

  Tom flipped her onto her back and held her to the ground with his full weight stretched out on top of her. “Stop. They’re gone.”

  “I can get them.” Her voice sounded unnatural, guttural and savage and distant, like it came from miles away. The woods were vivid. She was aware of each leaf that fluttered in the wind. She heard the receding footsteps of two men. Both wounded, she was sure. Her blood moved like sleet in her veins as she took in every sight, sound, scent, touch, and taste. She felt all of that, but no remorse, no regret, no weight of the sin of killing.

  Mandy knew she had it in her to be a monster. “We need to end this, Tom.”

  His weight made struggling a waste of time.

  She finally gave up and let herself go limp beneath him, but inside she was still coiled like a rattler. Her heart pounded until she felt like her whole body vibrated with it. She smelled the sulfur from the gunfire, the ashes from the camp. The blood. Tom’s shirt pressed on her, and in her heightened state of awareness the coarse fabric was like sandpaper under her fingers.

  “You’re not going after them.” He sounded wrong—strange mix of fury and tenderness—when what he ought to sound like was loathing. He knew what he’d married now. “You’re not running blind into those woods.”

  “Blind?” Mandy laughed a ragged, vicious sound she didn’t understand. “I can see everything. I swear I could see through stone. What I can’t see I can hear and smell.”

  As he held her, her eyes finally focused, not on the whole world and every detail in it, but on Tom. He was staring at her, willing her to calm down and come back to him from wherever she went when the cold-blooded murderer took over.

  “Are you all right now?”

  Mandy managed to nod her head. She noticed that Tom didn’t let her up. The man was starting to know her.

  Suddenly, Tom’s head came up. “One of them’s riding away but not both.” He leapt to his feet, shoved her rifle at her, and raced into the woods.

  Amazed he’d given back the Winchester, Mandy was on her feet running, studying the woods. Tom was fast enough that he was kneeling by a fallen man when she caught up.

  The man struggled, but one arm wasn’t working, and blood poured, sapping his strength. Galloping hooves faded in the distance.

  Tom tossed a rifle one way and a six-gun the other.

  Mandy was on her knees across from Tom just as her husband relieved the man of a skinning knife. Another Cooter, the white thatch of hair, the same glowering face, though pale. The man’s arm was bleeding fast.

  Tom jerked the Cooter’s kerchief off his neck and tied it tight around his arm, with no regard to gentleness. “I know a U.S. Marshal who’d like to ask you some questions.”

  “This isn’t over.” The man gasped with pain as Tom knotted
the kerchief. His face went gray; sweat flowed off his brow. His eyes flickered shut, but he kept talking. “Cooters will keep coming until you’re all dead. We stick together.”

  “Real family loyalty.” Tom gave the kerchief one last tug, and the bleeding slowed to a trickle. “Your kin didn’t even stay to boost you on your horse. He just rode off and left you. Whoever that was is a coward, just like the rest of you.”

  Tom stood and jerked the man to his feet. Mandy saw the horse tied nearby and went to lead it over. Her fingers itched to do something evil to the man, but she didn’t. Her sanity had returned, and she was close to normal again. As close as she got.

  But she had to goad the man somehow. “Did you notice that you killed one of your own? Maybe the Cooter clan will leave me alone and start hunting you.” She positioned the horse to stand beside the Cooter.

  Mandy thought of the other men dead. One of them was her doing. No one could deny that. The cold in her blood receded, and guilt washed through her heart straight to her soul.

  God, what is wrong with me? Protect me from what lives inside me, Lord. Protect me. Protect me. Please.

  Tom was strong enough he tossed the outlaw onto his saddle. Then he bound the man’s hands to the pommel and began leading the horse back to the clearing.

  “Hunt to the downhill side of our camp for the other horses, Mandy.”

  Mandy wasn’t sure if she was honored by the respectful way Tom gave her a job and expected her to do it or annoyed because he was giving her the job that kept her away from their prisoner, as if he wasn’t sure whether she’d go berserk and kill this man, too.

  She was pretty sure she wouldn’t, but just in case, she headed for the horses.

  “I’ll get the other two ready to move and finish packing our gear. We’ll head back to Divide, leave these men for the sheriff and marshal, and get on with our trip to …” Tom glanced at the sullen man clinging to his horseback and spoke carefully. “To wherever you say we need to go.”