Moira stifled a shocked peal of laughter.
The cowboy gaped. “You are a menace.”
Her sudden burst of hysterics dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. Flames licked across the floor, belching black smoke in their wake.
Moira waved her hand before her face. “Stop bickering and help me put out the fire. I’ll get, I’ll...”
She stumbled over her words and her feet as she dashed back into the stall.
She lifted the sacks, revealing four flushed faces. “Fire! Everybody up. Help me beat out the flames.”
The girls scrambled from their hiding place and dutifully rushed past, each of them snatching a sack in turn.
Using his coat, the cowboy had already doused two of the smaller fires. “Wet those sacks first!” he shouted.
Without needing instruction, Moira and Tony doused their sacks and joined him. Hazel tugged a heavy bucket of water from a nearby stall. Sarah met her halfway and together they hoisted it into the air and dumped the contents onto a pile of glowing embers. The water hissed and steamed over the scorched ground. Darcy flitted around the edges, snapping her damp sack and adding more fuel than help.
The horses whinnied and kicked at their stalls. Tony opened the enclosure nearest the fire, then covered the horse’s eyes with a scrap of cloth.
A panicked shout announced the arrival of yet another man. He was old and grizzled, his back bent into a c and his arms no more than long, thin twigs jutting from his spare body. Judging by his muttered grumblings, Moira figured he was the Norwegian she’d heard earlier—the livery owner. He joined their efforts, stomping on the dying embers in a frantic jig.
Between the seven of them, they had the flames under control in short order. As the smoke dissipated, Moira kicked at the dusty floor, scraping away the top layer of ashes. The room went silent for a tense few minutes as they searched for hidden embers.
Once they determined the fire was well and truly extinguished, their forced camaraderie ceased.
The irate old man flailed his puny arms. “What in the world? You nearly burned down my barn. I ought to call the sheriff.” He stilled and scratched the prickly gray patchwork of whiskers covering his chin. “Except Sunday is poker night. Maybe the new deputy is around. Haven’t met that feller yet.”
John dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. “This is feed and board for my horses.” He added several more bills to the fat pile. “This is for the damage.”
The wizened man accepted the money with one gnarled hand and rubbed the shiny bald spot on the back of his head with the other. “Suit yourself.”
Moira wasn’t certain the exact amount the cowboy had paid, but it was enough to send the livery owner away whistling a merry tune.
Gathering her scattered nerves, she folded her burlap sack into a neat square. Her eyes watered and her lungs burned from the grit she’d inhaled.
John paced back and forth before her, his face red. After three passes, he halted and opened his mouth. No words came. Moira tilted her head.
“Are you crying?” he demanded at last.
“No. It’s from the smoke.”
“Good.” The cowboy worked his hands in the air before her as though he was strangling some invisible apparition. “I gave you very specific instructions. What did you think you were doing?”
“Assisting you, of course. And you might have thanked me.”
“I had everything under control. You, on the other hand, nearly burned down the barn. And us in the process.”
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”
“If you had followed my very simple instructions, none of this would have happened. Give me some credit. I happen to know what I’m doing.” The cowboy thrust his hands into his flap pockets and his expression turned incredulous. He lifted his jacket hem, revealing where his fingers poked through a charred hole. “You’ve ruined my best coat.”
Moira stifled a grin at this outrage. He didn’t appear in the mood to appreciate the absurdity of the situation. “You were the one who used it to beat out an open flame.”
“I didn’t want to die.”
Moira’s eyes widened. She’d never heard anyone enunciate that clearly with their teeth still clenched together.
And why on earth was he angry? She planted her hands on her hips. Judging by the mottled red creeping up his neck, he wasn’t merely angry, he was furious. His searing glare would have melted a less hearty soul.
Moira straightened her spine. “You were hardly at risk of death.”
“You don’t know that. Your crazy stunt set this place ablaze.”
“I beg to differ. My crazy stunt saved our hides. Not to mention I used this perfectly useful burlap sack and not my best jacket. You might have done the same.”
“You could have trusted me. I haven’t proven myself unworthy yet. You might have at least waited.”
She cast him an annoyed glance. “What are you blathering on about now?”
“You are the most—”
“I haven’t time to debate with you.” Moira rubbed her eyes in tight circles with the heels of her hands. She instinctively knew their plight no longer suited John Elder’s interest. He’d be gone in a flash for certain.
Moira smoothed her hair and adjusted her collar. For a moment she’d thought the kidnapper was sporting a silver star. The glimpse she’d seen must have been a trick of the light. Besides, St. Louis was a lifetime ago. If the Giffords hadn’t looked for her after she’d left four years ago, they certainly weren’t looking for her now.
Dismissing the cowboy, her reluctant rescuer, she faced the girls.
Her stomach roiled. What now?
She hadn’t thought much past their immediate escape. Judging by their dazed expressions, neither had the others. Darcy had abandoned her indifferent sneer and Hazel’s lower lip trembled. Tears brimmed in Hazel’s wide brown eyes. Even Tony had lost her swagger.
“It’s safe now,” Moira announced and flapped her hands dismissively. “I believe our kidnapper will be indisposed for an extended period of time. You may all go home.”
“I’m sorry I sneezed and gave away our hiding place.” Sarah wrapped her arms around her slight body. “I can’t go home.”
“Of course you can,” Moira urged. “Mr. Elder will walk you safely home, won’t he?”
She lifted a meaningful eyebrow in his direction. Let him wiggle out of that one.
Sarah shook her head. “We haven’t any place to go.”
Moira caught sight of the safety pin, the number long-since faded, attached to the girl’s pinafore. Nausea rose in the back of her throat. “You were on the orphan train?”
“I have an uncle.” Tony cut in, her expression defiant. “He gave me a letter and everything. He said he’d come for me.”
Darcy braced her legs apart and planted her hands on her hips. “Then where is he now? You can claim whatever you want, but you’re no better off than the rest of us.”
“The woman on the train took my letter.” Tony lifted her chin. “She stole it while I was asleep. So I ran away. Folks don’t want children. They want workers. We’re free labor, plain and simple.” Tony jabbed her thumb at her chest. “I’m worth more. I was doing fine on my own until I was caught.” Her face blanched. “Until that man. Until tonight when we were...you know. I got sloppy, but it won’t happen again.”
“Don’t worry.” Moira patted her hand. “It’s all over now.”
The hollow platitudes stuck in the back of her throat. They were children. Alone. They’d never be safe. Her head spun with the implications of the impossible situation. Life for discarded children was ruthless and devoid of fairy-tale endings. At best they’d be neglected, at worst they’d be exploited. Driven into impossible choices.
The air s
izzled with emotion and the girls crowded around her, speaking over each other, demanding her attention. She backed away from the onslaught and they crowded her against the stall door.
“I have a sister,” Sarah announced with a nod. “She’s older than me. She said she’d take care of me, but her husband didn’t want me. They put me on the train anyway.”
Moira swayed on her feet. The past came rushing back. She pictured her mother standing on the platform, her ever-present handkerchief pressed against her mouth as she coughed. Moira had held her brother’s hand clasped in her own.
“I’ll take care of you, Tommy.”
She knew better than anyone did the perils of survival. She’d been tested herself. Tested, and failed.
“Miss O’Mara,” John Elder’s voice interrupted her memories. “What’s going on here? Aren’t you together?” He circled his arms and touched his fingertips together. “Aren’t you a gang of little pickpockets?”
Her body stiffened in shock. “You’d believe a drunken kidnapper over a bunch of innocent children?”
She hadn’t stolen anything in the four years since she’d left the Giffords’. Not even when she’d been near starving. He didn’t know anything about her. He was making a blind guess, that’s all.
A horse stuck its head from the stall door and nuzzled her ear. Moira absently scratched its muzzle.
Hazel tugged on her skirts. “What’s a pickpocket?”
Guilt skittered across the cowboy’s face. “I’m sorry,” he spoke. “I’m not certain what’s going on here. It’s not that I don’t have sympathy for your predicament, but I’ve got a herd of cattle.” He motioned over his shoulder. “I can’t leave them for much longer.”
Moira ran her hand through her sweat-dampened hair. What was she going to do? She couldn’t hide them all. “I’m renting a room at the hotel. It’s the size of a water closet.”
She was tired and hungry and bruised. The entire trip had been a waste of time and she was penniless. Stuck in this corrupt town unless she could find a respectable job. As much as she wanted to help, there wasn’t much she could do. She could barely take care of herself.
The four girls cowered before her like penned animals who’d escaped their enclosure. They were wide-eyed and curious, frightened and hesitant. And lost. That was the thing about growing up in a caged environment, a person could always feel around the edges and find where the ground dropped off. Even being homeless was as much of a cage as anything else. When the basic needs of food and shelter consumed every waking moment, survival was a jail all its own. No time for dreams or hopes or plans of the future. The moment they’d found one another, the rules had altered. They were a team.
Moira vividly recalled her first year alone after leaving the Giffords—the fear, the uncertainty, the uneasy exhilaration of holding her own fate in her hands, unencumbered by the push and pull of others. A similar feeling was blossoming in the girls.
Having stretched beyond their solitary struggles, they showed the first trembling signs of hope. They’d discovered kindred spirits, and they were holding on tight, lashing together their brittle fellowship like a flimsy raft against troubled waters. Moira hadn’t the heart to tell them they were better off alone. Sooner or later, everyone wound up alone.
Sarah hung her head. “No one picked me at the last stop,” she spoke quietly. “I couldn’t stand it anymore. It’s like at recess when nobody picks you for a team. When the chaperones came for us at the hotel, I hid. I did what I had to do. I know I’ve done things wrong and I’ve prayed for forgiveness. After you helped us, I felt like my prayers were answered.”
The room swayed and Moira’s vision clouded. She knew the feeling of being passed around like a secondhand coat nobody wanted anymore. Though she feared the answer, she asked anyway, “Where have you been staying since then?”
“We all just sort of found each other and stuck together. There’s an abandoned building near the edge of town.” Sarah ducked her head. “That’s where that man found us.”
Darcy’s expression remained defiant. “You all knew it couldn’t last. You knew they’d catch us sooner or later. I was on my own for four years without getting caught.” She noticed Moira’s curious glance and her countenance faltered. “I was on my own for four years,” she repeated.
Though Moira didn’t want to hear any more, didn’t want to know any more, she’d set her questions into motion and there was no going back.
She knelt before Hazel, the youngest. The little girl wore a faded blue calico dress, the grayed rickrack trim ripped and drooping below her hem. “Do you have a home?” Moira asked gently.
The littlest girl shook her head. “A family picked me, but I was bad and they took me back.” Hazel sniffled. “I left the chicken coop open by accident and the dog got in. All the chickens died. Mrs. Vicky didn’t want me any more after that. Then tonight I only wanted an apple... I would have worked for it. I would have.”
Sarah rested a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to say any more.”
Moira gritted her teeth. They were just children and they’d been discarded like so much rubbish. She was sick of it. Sick of people thinking children didn’t have thoughts or feelings. “How did you wind up in Indian Territory?”
“Because this is the end of the line,” Darcy said.
There wasn’t much between the Indian Territories and California. Moira supposed No Man’s Land was as good a place as any to dump the unwanted children.
Ten years ago she’d been a rider on the orphan train. She and her brother, Tommy. She hadn’t kept the promise she’d made to her mother. She hadn’t taken care of Tommy.
Sometimes she felt as though she was being punished for her failure. She hadn’t felt peace since that fateful day when she’d slipped Mr. Gifford’s watch into her pocket. She’d known it was wrong. She’d known it was stealing. She couldn’t help herself. She often wondered what kind of person she’d become. She wondered if there was any going back. If she’d slipped once, how much temptation did she need before she slipped again?
Mr. Gifford had blamed Tommy for the missing watch and she’d been too terrified to admit the truth. Mr. Gifford had promised retribution, but Tommy hadn’t waited around for the punishment. By the following morning, he was gone. And he hadn’t even said goodbye.
Once she found him, once she confessed what she’d done, this pain would end. She’d waited another year at the Giffords’ even though staying had been near torture. She’d waited hoping Tommy would return so she could explain the truth and finally take the blame. Except he’d never come back.
After she’d left the Giffords’, she’d remained in St. Louis, hoping against hope she’d glimpse him. It was crazy, but it was all she had. She’d kept in touch with anyone she thought she could trust, but most of the servants were too scared for their jobs to return the favor. Then she’d received the charred bits of the telegram from the maid with Tommy’s name. Her prayers had finally been answered.
The girls stared at her, their faces expectant. Moira knew better than anyone what fate awaited the orphan girls, but there was nothing she could do. The system was too far broken for one lone person to fix. She glanced at the cowboy. He looked away. Mr. Elder wanted a crew, not a bunch of waifs.
Moira shook her head in denial. They didn’t know her. They didn’t know how she’d failed Tommy. How she’d fail them if they put their faith in her. They’d turn on her for certain if they knew how she’d betrayed her own brother.
Shame robbed the breath from her lungs. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. Any of you.”
* * *
The defeat in Moira’s voice knocked John down a peg. For the past twenty minutes he’d been patting himself on the back, lauding his clever handling of the situation. While the rescue hadn’t been particularly elegant, he’d accomplished his goal. He’d s
aved the girls from the dubious justice of a drunken vigilante and disabled the man in the process. What had his false pride netted him? He hadn’t solved anything. He’d mined a heap of new problems instead.
One night, John told himself. He’d lost a whole day already, what was one more?
His brothers’ words rang in his ears. You’ll never make it without our help.
All his life they’d treated him as though he wasn’t capable. Every bit of clothing he’d had growing up had been a hand-me-down. If he had an idea, they had a thousand reasons why it wouldn’t work. If he wanted to try something new at the ranch, he had to ask permission like a child. At thirty-three years old, they still treated him as though he was a kid. Truth be told, he was the odd man out in his family. He’d always been more relaxed, more easygoing than the rest of his siblings.
His brothers attacked their responsibilities, no matter how minor, with all-consuming zeal and they expected him to do the same. John figured there were times when letting go was just as difficult as fighting. Yet he’d never once seen a monument erected in honor of a calculated retreat.
He and his brother Robert had fought the worst. Their last argument had divided the family, and John had realized it was time to set out on his own. If he stayed, one of them was bound to say something they couldn’t take back. The only way they were going to get along was if one of them backed down. He’d demanded his share of the herd and declared his intention to take over the homestead his older brother Jack had abandoned when he’d married.
You’ll never make it without our help.
Robert’s words rang in his ears. John pulled out his watch and checked the time. Eleven o’clock. Too late for anything but sleeping. He’d quit tomorrow, when things were less complicated.
Hazel tugged on his pant leg. “I’m tired. Can we come home with you?”
“I don’t have a home. Not here anyway.” Weary resignation softened his voice. When had his simple goal become this complicated? “I’m driving a herd of cattle to Cimarron Springs, Kansas.”
The Cattleman Meets His Match Page 3