Montana Courage (McCutcheon Family Series Book 9)

by Caroline Fyffe

  “I told you to bring some food back to the room,” he slurred.

  His angry gaze pinned July to his seat. Faster than Poppy thought possible, Mr. Sanger grasped the back of July’s threadbare coat and dragged the boy to his feet.

  “You think I was kiddin’, lad? I’ll show you what kiddin’ is. Then you won’t never doubt me again.” Mr. Sanger pulled back his hand.

  “Stop,” Poppy screamed, rushing toward their table. Where was everyone else?

  At the sound of her voice, Mr. Sanger released July’s collar. He scuttled away, grasping May’s arm, and he stumbled back with her out of the fool’s range. April sat like a frightened rabbit on her chair, too terrified to move.

  Mr. Sanger began to chuckle, a low sound that grew into a loud, uncouth belly laugh.

  The man was disgusting. Poppy braced herself for what was to come.

  “You’re butting in where you’re not wanted, girl. You best get back to your room and mind your own business.”

  The menacing tone of the last part of his sentence sent curls of fear down Poppy’s spine. She’d never dealt with a drunkard before. She’d argued with her father, who could get very angry indeed, but she was never in any danger of being struck. Would this man actually hit her? She didn’t know.

  Where on earth was Cook? She’d prefer Shad, but Hildy had said he’d gone off early and wasn’t likely to be back anytime soon. She wished one of the men would hear the disturbance and come to their rescue. This man had violence on his mind. If he couldn’t hurt the little boy, surely he’d take out his temper on her.

  “July, April, and May are my business,” she said, her voice not nearly as strong and powerful as she’d imagined it would be. She clenched her hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

  “Stop your meddling. I’m sick of it. I’ll be happy to teach you a few manners on minding your own business. Right after I’m finished with my son.”

  Shock zipped through Poppy when she saw Mrs. Sanger nod her head. What kind of a woman was she? Didn’t she love her children at all?

  At Poppy’s silence, Mr. Sanger swayed and his attention shifted to April, who’d begun to cry. Still in her chair, the child was frantically searching for her siblings, who were huddled under a table a few feet away. Poppy shook her head, trying to signal the boy to stay put, but he came out for his sister anyway.

  Once July was in his range, Mr. Sanger immediately caught July’s arm. He screeched in pain as Mr. Sanger pulled him up close.

  “Let him go,” Poppy shouted, rushing forward. She pushed the man with all her might. “He’s only a boy. How can you treat him like that?” She implored Mrs. Sanger with her gaze. “Do something. Stop him.”

  “He’s drunk. I can’t stop him, and you can’t neither. Not unless ya want to get beat near to death.”

  “Cook,” Poppy screamed, seeing Mr. Sanger unbuckle his belt and pull it off as he smiled at how scared July looked. “Oscar. Help! We need help in the dining room!”

  No one is coming. I’ll have to take care of this myself. But how?

  July tugged to get away but the drunk was strong, and by his joyful, crooked grin she could tell he enjoyed the fear he saw on the boy’s face. He reared back to strike July with the belt.

  Grasping an empty platter from a tray stand nearby, Poppy hoisted it up and swung, smacking the tall man on the back of his head. Losing his grasp on July, he pitched forward and fell to his knees.

  Relief washed through her when July scampered away. At least he was safe. During the commotion, April had snuck over to May and was now out of sight too.

  “I’m gonna kill you,” Mr. Sanger bellowed as he climbed to his feet. With his left hand, he reached back to feel for damage. “No woman hits me and lives to tell.”

  He swung around, his eyes blazing with anger. He lunged at Poppy, but she darted behind the nearby table, keeping its round width between them. When he went right, she did too. Ugly, filthy words spewed from his mouth.

  If there truly was a devil, Mr. Sanger was him. From the corner of her eye, she saw Mrs. Sanger slink from the room, carrying two plates of food.

  “You’ll be sorry when I catch you, Miss High and Mighty. I see how you look at everyone. We’re mud on your shoes.”

  What was he blabbering about? Poppy didn’t feel that way about anyone in the hotel, except him and his wife. She liked Hildy, and even Lenore. Shad is who I don’t want to leave behind.

  Poppy was now Sanger’s only prey. He lunged left, a new tactic, but she was fast too and circled left, keeping out of his range. She’d seen how fast he could move, even drunk. She chanced a quick look behind. Could she dart under the next table and crawl to the door? He looked so vile. Whatever he was thinking was evil.

  Mr. Sanger shot forward and she parried, but caught her heel in the hem of her borrowed dress. Crying out in fear, she fell to her hands and knees.

  With a laugh of triumph, he leaped forward and pinned her to the floor, leering nastily in her face.

  Dear Lord in heaven, I’m in big trouble now.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Shad came down the alley wearing a pair of snowshoes he’d found in the storeroom of the hotel, a couple of turkeys he’d been fortunate to kill slung over his shoulder, and his rifle cradled in his arms. Walking wasn’t easy but he labored onward, looking forward to being inside and warming himself by the fire.

  Thoughts of Poppy lightened his step, as well. He couldn’t wait to show her the feast they’d have tonight. And he wanted to see a smile on the Sanger children’s faces.

  July rounded the corner and ran smack into him. “H-help,” he sputtered, his eyes frantic with fear.

  “What?” Shad gasped, steadying the boy on his feet without dropping his gun. “What’s happened?”

  Not Poppy. Not the children. The boy had come outside without any extra clothing. Something was deadly wrong.

  Shad swung the two turkeys to the ground and hunkered down to see into July’s face as the boy struggled to breathe. “Tell me.”

  “Help,” he said again, finally able to speak. “Miss Ford needs ya. Now!”

  Shad jerked his gaze up to the hotel. Everything looked quiet, blanketed in the freezing white. He didn’t hear anything.

  “Now. She needs ya now. Ain’t time to talk!” July ripped himself out of Shad’s grasp, turned, and ran back the way he’d come, his feet postholing in the snow as he went.

  Panicked, Shad followed, leaving the turkeys where he’d dropped them. The boy was faster because he didn’t have the snowshoes to slow him down. He looked like a rabbit bounding ahead. When Shad reached the front, the boy was waiting, holding the door open wide and pointing the way. Shad proceeded in, snowshoes and all.

  Hating to waste one single second, he stopped, ripped them off, then ran through the lobby and into the dining room. The room was dim, except for the lunch lantern near the kitchen door and another on the far side of the area.

  Cook was kneeling with an arm holding up Poppy’s head as she lay on her back. Fear flashed through Shad as he rushed forward, then fell to his knees.

  “What happened?”

  He heard Poppy’s groan like a gunshot around the room, even though the sound was barely audible. She’d been severely roughed up. Her hair was a shambles, and the collar of her dress was torn.

  Shad laid the rifle on the floor and gathered her into his arms. Seeing her wince in pain, he loosened his grip. With a cold finger, he gently pushed a lock of hair out of her face.

  “Poppy,” he said softly. “Poppy, say something.”

  “I’m all right,” she finally said. Her color was coming back, much to Shad’s relief.

  July came in close and laid a small hand on her arm.

  “That bum Sanger,” Cook spat.

  At the man’s name, Shad felt Poppy tense.

  Cook nodded toward July. “When I come in, I saw his pa was struggling with Miss Ford on the floor. They were the only ones here.” He shrugged. “So I hit
him with this pot to get his attention. He’s drunk. And mad as a bull.”

  Fury shot through Shad’s whole being. He scanned the empty room. “Where is he? I’ll kill him.”

  “Not sure. I was helping Miss Ford. Guess he figured he’d have to go through me before he’d have his way with her.”

  Shad stood with Poppy in his arms and then set her on her feet, still supporting her. He needed to get after that scoundrel but didn’t want to leave her. His wrath was a living thing that needed to be fed. Lifting her into his arms, he started for the kitchen.

  “I’m leaving her in here with you while I hunt him down,” he said to Cook. “He’s here somewhere.”

  “I’m fine now, Shad. Put me down. I just needed a moment to get my bearings.”

  “Nothing doing. Not until we’re in the kitchen.” Crossing the room with July and Cook beside him, he set her in the chair by the stove.

  Cook cast his gaze to the floor. “Sorry it took me so long ta hear ya, Miss Ford,” he said. “I was in the outhouse. Don’t know where everyone else is, though. Locked away in their rooms, I’d guess.”

  “It-it’s all right, Cook,” Poppy said softly, still shaking. “I’m just glad you finally showed up.” She stood and defiantly looked Shad in the eye.

  “You’ll be okay then?” Shad asked. That’s all I care about.

  At her nod, he turned to go, but she caught his arm.

  “What’re you going to do?”

  Shad pressed a hand to the Colt on his thigh under his coat. Kill him. “No one roughs up a woman, child, or his horse, and gets away with it.”

  “Shad. Be careful. Please.”

  “I’m going to his room first. You stay here.”

  She straightened. “I can’t. The children scattered. They’re scared and hiding.” She glanced around. “That woman didn’t try to help when Mr. Sanger threatened July with his belt. I don’t care if the Sangers are their parents. There must be something we can do.”

  “That’s a conversation for later. But I agree with you wholeheartedly.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  With nerves strung tight, Poppy waited only a few seconds after Shad entered the Sangers’ room before she inched forward in the hallway.

  “Come in, why don’t ya?” Mrs. Sanger said when Shad barged in, gun drawn.

  “Where’s your husband?” he demanded.

  Behind her, Poppy heard a noise and turned, fearful for an instant it might be Mr. Sanger.

  Oscar stood a few feet away in the hallway. Had he heard her calls for help, but ignored them? Cook had been outside, but where was Oscar? Both the Grants were hard of hearing, so them not coming to her defense was understandable—but Oscar?

  Disgusted, she turned away and inched into the room.

  “What’s he gone and done now?” Mrs. Sanger asked, her gaze darting to Poppy when she slipped into the room. “That gun must mean something.”

  The woman set the plate she held next to an already cleaned dish. She’d eaten all the food, leaving none for July or the girls.

  Poppy’s resolve hardened all the more. She would do something to help these children. They didn’t deserve the life they had.

  “Where is he?” Shad asked in a no-nonsense voice.

  “How would I know? I left him in the dining room—with her.” She sneered at Poppy.

  “Attacking me, you mean,” Poppy threw out, her outrage growing. “What kind of a woman are you? You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  Poppy could hardly stand to remain in the same room. Since the Sangers began coming out for meals, Hildy had said the man never allowed her inside the room for any reason. The bedsheets and blankets were heaped in the middle of the bed, and the air was rank. Most likely, the chamber pots under the beds hadn’t been emptied for days.

  Oh, my poor girls. My poor, poor July. I should have followed my instincts and demanded to come inside.

  “Where’d he get the whiskey?” Shad asked.

  “Found it in the basement.”

  Shad turned to Cook, who had arrived with a shotgun. “Make sure she doesn’t leave this room. Sanger can’t be far. In his drunken state, I doubt he went outside. He’s hiding around here somewhere. I’ll find him.”

  Poppy felt empowered. She’d make her stand today. “Why do you keep the children?” she said straight to the woman. “Clearly you don’t love or want them. I’ll care for them from here on out.”

  For the first time since they’d entered the room, the woman’s face blanched. “W-what? You can’t have my babies. That’s against the law.”

  “We’ll see about that, won’t we? When I find where they’re hiding, I’m taking them to my room and keeping them.”

  Mrs. Sanger’s face flamed red. She took a menacing step in Poppy’s direction, but Shad cut her off.

  “Sh-she ain’t our ma.”

  At the frightened voice, all the adults in the room swung around to see July standing in the doorway. May and April were beside him, and Oscar watched from behind.

  “Shut yer mouth, boy,” Mrs. Sanger whispered low. “You know what happens when you go telling lies.” Her malevolent gaze slid over to May and April, causing July to look at the floor at Poppy’s feet.

  Poppy dropped to one knee and took one of July’s hands into her own. His eyes held fear and trepidation. He was so young, too young to be in such pain. The situation would be difficult for an adult, let alone a child.

  “You can tell me, July. You don’t have to be frightened. They can’t hurt you anymore. Or your sisters. I’m here to help, and so is Mr. Petty.” She turned and glanced over her shoulder to find Shad watching. Her heart fluttered at the concerned look in his eyes. “Go on, tell us the truth. Is this woman your mother?”

  July’s small chest rose and fell several times before he shook his head. “No, she ain’t. And the man ain’t our pa. He said he’d hurt my sisters if I told anyone. Kill ’em, maybe.” He pulled May a little closer by a soft tug on her hand.

  I knew it. I should have done something sooner.

  “The boy’s out of his mind,” Mrs. Sanger spat. “Never could believe a word he says. But you can’t have our children. It’s my word against his—and my husband’s.”

  “The same man who attacked Miss Ford?” Shad scowled, pointing a finger. “Go get the sheriff,” he said to Cook. “This woman and her husband have kidnapped these children.”

  “No,” she screeched and darted to the other side of the messy bed, her eyes wild. She looked at the girls and held out her arms. “Come to Mama,” she crooned.

  Her voice was disgusting. A shiver of revulsion ran down Poppy’s spine as she thought of the little ones being tended by this couple.

  The girls didn’t move, and a glare replaced the woman’s smile. “Did ya hear me, May? I was talking to you. You too, April. Get over here.”

  Feeling confident, Poppy stepped forward. “If these are your children, tell me which one is May? You don’t even know, do you?”

  Mrs. Sanger’s eyes bulged, then her gaze flicked between the girls.

  “I didn’t think so. Well, I know, and you should as well, if you really gave birth to them. But you didn’t.”

  The woman’s chin jerked. “Too close to tell. What difference does it make, anyway?”

  “And while we’re sorting this out,” Poppy added, remembering the time she’d watched her father’s solicitor question a suspect in the courtroom, “tell us their birthdays? And how you came up with their names?”

  A gush of happiness filled Poppy. The revelation that these horrible people really weren’t related to the children at all was wonderful. She would take them and raise them, even if she was only eighteen years old. Almost nineteen, she reminded herself. Some women were mothers much younger than that.

  Shad put a steadying hand on July’s small shoulder, and the child took a deep breath. “Tell us what happened.”

  “Our ma died last Christmas,” the boy whispered. “Got sick. Pa tried to save h
er, but she passed on before the doctor could come.” His voice trailed off.

  Shad nodded his encouragement. “Go on, July. We need to hear this before we can help you.”

  “Since then, I did the best I could when Pa worked. Watched the girls. Fed ’em and made sure they were safe.” He glanced over at his sisters, who’d sat on the floor. “Then one day, Pa didn’t come home. I was scared. Didn’t know why. The next day, her and the man arrived in Pa’s buckboard. They said he was dead. Had an accident at the mill—but I didn’t believe ’em. I think they killed our pa.”

  The boy took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “We had a big wagon in the barn, the one we came here in.” He looked at Mrs. Sanger and frowned. “They loaded up everything from our house they could fit. I tried to fight ’em, but the man’s too strong. Then I heard ’em whispering about our uncle, and how they could get money out of ’im if they held us for ransom.”

  In a rush of love, Poppy pulled July into her arms, tears brimming in her eyes. What a nightmare. Poor July had been shouldering such pain.

  Shad circled the bed and grasped Mrs. Sanger’s arm as she tried to shrink away.

  “The man is very dangerous,” Poppy said quietly. “I could see in his eyes he’d have liked to kill me. You need to find him before he hurts someone else.”

  Sheriff Crawford and his deputy arrived with guns drawn. Cook stood behind them, red-faced and shivering.

  The broad-shouldered sheriff came into the room, his hawk-like gaze missing nothing. Deputy Wesley came forward and slapped a pair of handcuffs around the woman’s wrists.

  Shad’s face was a stony mask of anger. “July says the children were kidnapped for ransom by these two. Mr. Sanger accosted Miss Ford only moments ago in the dining room.”

  Justin Wesley led Mrs. Sanger out the door. “I’ll lock her up and be back.”

  “You better stand guard until we have Sanger locked up behind bars.” Brandon Crawford holstered his gun. “We have a search to conduct. I’ll verify the boy’s story after they can’t hurt anyone else. Let’s get moving.”