Another gunshot made her gasp and whirl around to see what was going on. The bad man lay on the ground. Blood stained the snow around his leg. Prince waddled over to the outlaw and nipped his nose. He howled and tried to hit the gander, then pulled back.
Good for you, Prince. Kayleigh felt a spurt of pride in her bird and his protectiveness.
The sheriff dismounted, and ordered her to bring Prince and come over to him.
Kayleigh obeyed, herding Prince in front of her until she reached the sheriff’s side.
“Good girl.” He squeezed her shoulder, then handed her his horse’s reins and told her to hold them.
Flattered to be trusted, she straightened her shoulders and took the reins, staying put like he ordered.
Her father, riding his horse, burst into the clearing. Fear tightened his face. He saw Kayleigh, and his expression relaxed to relief. He swung himself down, not even bothering to tie the reins to a branch, took two steps over her direction, and pulled her into a hug, ignoring how Prince tried to nip his arm.
Kayleigh couldn’t remember her father ever hugging her before, and, in relief, she leaned into him, feeling the roughness of his wool coat against her cheek. I’m safe. But no matter how good her pa embracing her felt, Kayleigh didn’t forget the sheriff had given her the important job of holding the reins. She kept her hand tight around them.
Pa released her, but only to take a step back and hold her by the shoulders. He studied her face like he’d never seen her before. The lines bracketing his mouth and running across his forehead looked deeper and his eyes were moist.
Couldn’t be. Pa never cried. Not even when his own Pa passed away.
“Prince saved me, Pa,” she said, hoping that fact would be enough to keep her gander out of the oven.
“I think the sheriff did that.” Pa looked over at the lawman to get his opinion.
“She’s right,” the sheriff said.
Kayleigh’s chest swelled. Just wait until I tell Agnes! She listened to the sheriff tell the story to her pa.
Pa pulled her to him for another squeeze. This time, the gesture didn’t feel so strange, like maybe the two of them just might get comfortable with hugging.
He released her, saying, “We’d best get back to your Mama before she goes out of her mind with worry.” He cupped her cheek with his hand. The wool of his gloves tickled her skin. “You and Prince will ride with me. Everything will be all right, daughter.”
~ ~ ~
The trip back was made far faster than when Kayleigh had set out, even with the sheriff on foot, leading his horse. They rode into the farmyard. Kayleigh and Prince rode with her father, followed by the sheriff. The outlaw was tied to the saddle, a feat that had taken the efforts of both her father and the sheriff’s combined strength and involved a lot of cursing and blood.
Good thing her ma hadn’t been around to hear. She would have advanced on the bad man with a thick bar of lye soap in her hand and shoved it into his mouth, grown-up or not. Her ma didn’t hold with swearing.
When they rode to the middle of the yard, Kayleigh leaned over and gently tossed Prince to the ground. He fluttered his wings and scurried out of the way, heading for the water trough.
The door to the house flew open. Ma shrieked and ran to them, followed by Agnes screaming her name. Her brother loped close behind them.
Pa dismounted. He reached up for her, catching her up in another hug, before passing her on to her ma, who pulled her tight against her and rocked her side to side, not letting her go. But unlike with Pa, Kayleigh held her body stiffly.
Finally, Ma released her, and then lowered herself so she could look Kayleigh in the face. She kissed Kayleigh’s forehead. “You took ten years off my life today, Kayleigh Grace.” She shook her head, causing tendrils of hair to fall into her face. She didn’t bother to brush them away. “When I think of what could have happened, all because I…” Ma’s voice thickened, and she turned her head away.
“Holmes’s here has killed several men,” the sheriff said cryptically, dismounting. He sent Kayleigh a secret wink.
Her mother inhaled sharply and paled.
Her father clenched his fists, as if he wanted to punch someone.
Kayleigh fisted her hands on her hips. “Well, Prince didn’t let him kill me. He attacked the bad man!”
Her words broke the tension.
The sheriff laughed. He patted her on the head. “Think I’ll get me a gander and make him a deputy. Better yet, a flock of geese to patrol the town.”
Kayleigh had a strange feeling the sheriff understood her love for Prince and was on her side. She gave him a big smile of gratitude.
Her brother gave Kayleigh an awkward buffet on the shoulder. “Glad you’re safe, little sis.”
Agnes surprised Kayleigh by giving her a hug and bursting into tears. “I’m so sorry I wanted Prince’s down for a pillow. I was selfish.”
Kayleigh gaped at her sister, not believing what she was hearing. But she saw genuine contriteness in Agnes’s eyes, and the hatred she’d carried around for three days melted away like fat on a griddle.
Prince half-heartedly snapped at Agnes, making everyone laugh. “I’ll be nicer to you from now on, Prince.” Agnes promised. “Maybe someday you’ll like me.”
Will Prince have a someday? She was too afraid to ask Ma.
But her mother must have understood for she gave Kayleigh a reassuring smile. “From this day forth, daughter, Prince will never be food. He’ll always be your gallant protector.”
Kayleigh didn’t dare believe Prince was safe. She still held herself rigid. “But what about Christmas dinner for all the family?”
Her mother exchanged a look with her father. “We’ll serve something else instead. Pork or turkey.”
Kayleigh knew they didn’t have a pig to spare, nor a turkey. That meant buying something in town, a sacrifice for her parents who took pride in raising all their own food, with some left over to barter at the store. Her doubt must have shown on her face, for her father dropped a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll ride into town with the sheriff and bring back something from the mercantile.”
She glanced at her mother for confirmation.
Ma tucked Kayleigh to her side. “Protecting you is far more important than Christmas dinner.”
This time, Kayleigh allowed herself to relax and lean against her mother. She looked at the circle of people surrounding her and felt their warmth and love. From what she could see under the low brim of his hat and above the scarf around his neck, the sheriff’s face had a stern expression. But she thought she saw a twinkle in the back of his grey eyes. She wished he could stay for Christmas, instead of taking the bad man away.
Everyone else watched Kayleigh with expressions of joy and pride, as if she was someone precious to them, instead of the unimportant baby of the family. As she allowed their love to envelop her, Kayleigh remembered all her prayers. Who would have thought God would send a bad man and a sheriff just to save Prince?
As she relaxed against her mother, feeling safe and comfortable for the first time in days, Kayleigh began to think of Christmas, and presents, and family, and a dinner that didn’t include Prince. And all of a sudden, she could hardly wait for the holiday to come.
A SHERIFF FOR CHRISTMAS
I’m gaining on him. From her perch on Big Red, K.C. McNamara leaned over to study the outlaw’s tracks in the snow, the edges new and crisp. Her heartbeat sped up, and she yanked her Colt out of the holster at her hip.
Up to this point, Holmes had been canny enough to avoid the snow, stepping on rocky areas that wouldn’t show his footprints. But after weeks of the chase, he’d started to falter, make mistakes. Yesterday, he’d run his horse to the ground and was now on foot. But only until he could steal another mount, even if he had to shoot the rider to capture the horse.
K.C. resisted the urge to kick Big Red into a faster gait to catch the outlaw. A cornered animal could be all the more dangerous, and she didn’t want to
ride into an ambush.
Holmes knew she was on his heels, although perhaps he thought he’d lost her when he waded barefoot downstream in icy water, stepping back through his footprints on the other side of the bank and jumping into the water. And he almost had. A lucky guess—upstream not down—and she had set after him, having not lost more than a few minutes of time.
Although the day was warm—for a Montana winter, Holmes would have to stop soon or his feet would freeze. She tucked her scarf tighter around her neck and chin.
Over to the right, she saw a curl of smoke, too thick to be Holmes’ fire. Probably a homestead. Although she didn’t want to take the time to detour that-away, she needed to warn the people to stay armed and alert, and most of all, to guard their horses. With a fresh horse, the outlaw could escape her, drawing out the already weeks-long chase.
I might be too late. Her stomach squeezed, remembering the time she’d arrived at a remote cabin to find … K.C. twisted her thoughts from that memory and forced herself to study the trail. She caught sight of another footprint heading straight ahead, and not, thank goodness, toward the smoke.
She rode into the clearing and saw a snug cabin with open land toward the back, a garden and small field, iced in white. Snow had drifted against the sides of a mid-size barn not far from the house. Only a few clumps of snow from last week’s storm clung to the ground around the house.
A man stepped out of the barn. Bundled as he was in a heavy coat, knit cap and scarf, his features were hard to make out. But from his stocky build, she could tell he wasn’t Holmes, who stood pole-tall. A youth followed, nearly matching the man’s stride.
The front door opened, and a woman stepped out, a rifle in her hands. A teenage girl peered around her mother’s shoulder. The woman didn’t raise the rifle, but her ready stance let K.C. know she would if she saw signs of hostile intent. Good for her.
K.C. paused at the edge of the dirt yard—close enough for them to see her, but far enough not to threaten them. She touched the metal star pinned to her coat. “I’m K.C. McNamara, sheriff of Grant Hills, Wyoming,” she said to the man in her normally gruff voice.
His wary gaze widened in amazement. “You’re a far piece from home, Sheriff. I’m Frank Gentry. What can I do for you?”
“I’m following a criminal. Wanted for…” She almost spoke quietly to spare the women, but coddling them might cause far worse things to happen. “Murder.”
Mrs. Gentry, who’d taken a few steps outside, cast a frantic glance around. “Where’s Kayleigh?” she said in a panicked voice. “Kayleigh,” she called, her voice shrill. “Kayleigh!”
Gentry added his shouts to hers, swinging around to give the area a wide visual sweep. “Check the barn,” he ordered his son. “Maybe she’s in the hayloft.” Frank waved his wife and daughter into the house. “Get inside and stay there. Lock the door. You know how to use the rifle, Matilda.”
The woman nodded, her brown eyes wide with fear. “Find my baby. Please find her, Sheriff.”
“How old is she?” K.C. asked.
“Ten.”
Ten. Too young. Too vulnerable.
The young man rushed back out. “She’s not there. The gander’s gone too.”
The mother gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, dear Lord!”
Goose?
“She loves that gander more than is good for her,” Mrs. Gentry told K.C. “But we’re going to need Christmas dinner for the relatives.”
K.C. nodded her understanding. “Think she’s run away?”
The son nodded. “She’d do that … to save the gander.”
God help the girl if she crosses Holmes’ path.
K.C. rode Big Red toward the barn and around to the north side. She saw a small fresh footprint in the snow, pointing in the direction Holmes had headed. She jerked her chin toward a gap in the trees. “That-away.”
Gentry’s face paled. “She’s gone to the caves.” He waved his arm. “Deep system. If she gets lost…”
Caves… just the thought of Holmes reaching a cave system, with or without the girl, made K.C.’s flesh freeze colder than the snow. She turned her gelding back to the trail.
“Wait,” the father yelled. “I’m coming too.”
She looked over her shoulder. “Then come. But I’m not waitin’.”
~ ~ ~
Following the girl’s footsteps, K.C. rode into a natural clearing made by several fallen trees. The girl trudged across the open area, a small figure in a brown coat and blue cap and scarf, carrying the goose with both arms, a blanket-wrapped bundle slung over her shoulder.
K.C. couldn’t see her face, didn’t know whether or not to call out, which might spook the girl into running and alert Holmes of her position. So she moved Big Red through the trees to circle around and head off the girl. With her Colt in hand, she dropped her arm to hide the gun from the child lest she frighten her.
Holmes lunged from the trees across from her and grabbed the girl.
Kayleigh shrieked, dropping the bundle.
The goose honked and flew out of her arms, settling a few yards away.
A squeeze of her legs, and K.C. urged her horse into the open.
Holmes swung the girl to face her, one arm wrapped around her neck. “Lookee what I got here, Sheriff.”
K.C. didn’t dare shoot for fear of hitting the child, but she trained her Colt on him, watching for a slip.
Holmes reached for his gun in the holster at his hip.
“Keep your hand up,” she barked.
The outlaw ignored her and wrapped his hand around the grip.
K.C. knew she’d have to shoot. Her throat went dry, and she prayed her aim stayed true. Before she could pull the trigger, the goose let out a cry and launched itself at the man’s leg, taking a mighty nip out of him.
He cursed, releasing Kayleigh to beat at the bird. “Get it off!” he yelled. But before he had time to do more than swing his arm, K.C.’s bullet hit the outlaw through his shoulder, spinning him backward. His shooting arm dropped to his side, and he clapped the other hand to the wound. He clambered back and lunged for the child.
Kayleigh scrambled away from him, stooping to catch her goose, which flapped its wings and leaped out of her reach.
K.C. almost pulled the trigger again, sending a bullet through the outlaw’s black heart. But at the last minute she paused, aimed for his thigh, and shot.
With a cry of pain, he slammed to the ground. His gun skittered out of his hand to disappear into a snow bank.
The goose ran to the fallen man, who was sprawled on his back, blood staining the snow. Extending its neck, the goose nipped Holmes’ nose.
Smart bird. K.C. dismounted.
The man howled and thrashed his hand toward the goose, only to curse again and pull back his arm to cradle it against his chest.
“Kayleigh, come here,” K.C. ordered, hoping the girl would obey her. “Bring your goose before it gets hurt.”
The girl scooped up the bird and trotted to K.C.
K.C. dropped her hand to Kayleigh’s shoulder. “Good girl. Hold these.” She handed over Big Red’s reins. “Stay here, child.”
Kayleigh clutched the goose with one arm. With the other, she reached out her hand for the reins, her brown eyes wide with fear, her skin pale.
Colt pointed at Holmes, K.C. walked forward, ran her free hand over him, searching for hidden weapons. Then she shoved her gun in the holster, rolled Holmes over, and locked handcuffs around his wrists, ignoring his curses of pain.
K.C. sidestepped over to the snow bank, stuck her hand in, and felt around for the gun. She scooped it up, opened the chamber, and, for safety’s sake, emptied the first bullet from the chamber, before tucking the bullet and the gun into her coat pocket.
Gentry on his horse burst into the clearing. He saw his daughter, dismounted, took two loping strides, and pulled her into his arms, squeezing hard. The goose let out a honk and nipped at his arm, although he probably didn’t feel anything
through the thick coat.
Kayleigh held fast to Big Red’s reins.
Her father released her but kept his hands on her shoulders, studying her face.
“Prince saved me, Pa!” the girl said, her eyes shining, although her skin still looked pale.
“I think the sheriff did that.” Frank looked over at the wounded outlaw and then glanced at K.C. for confirmation.
“She’s right,” K.C. told him. “Holmes grabbed her, and I couldn’t risk a shot. But the goose attacked and he let her go. Smart girl that she is, she dashed away and I shot him.”
Kayleigh’s father pulled his daughter close for another hug.
Something about the girl’s pleased expression made K.C. think hugs from her father hadn’t come her way much, if at all. Men were sometimes like that with their daughters. Sheriff “Big John” McNamara also hadn’t shown affection to his daughter. But he’d taught K.C. everything she knew and gave her a love so deep, even if unexpressed, that she could never doubt his feelings. In that moment, K.C.’s throat clogged up, and she ached from missing her father.
~ ~ ~
As the shadows of the winter afternoon lengthened, K.C. rode into the town of Sweetwater Springs, leading the reins of a horse lent by Kayleigh’s grateful father, who rode with her. Holmes was strapped to the saddle, and, as an extra precaution, his arms were still handcuffed behind him. They’d had a hard time hefting the wounded man onto the horse; he’d screamed and protested until K.C. had threatened to shoot his other leg.
Then on the ride, Holmes had moaned and complained about his wounds. Finally, he slumped in agony, riding in silence with a groan of pain whenever the horse jarred him.
K.C. had no sympathy for the man. She’d wrapped his shoulder and leg, but blood still seeped through the bandage. If the outlaw died from blood loss before they got to town, so be it. She’d considered letting him bleed out, but wanted a trial and hanging in Grant Hills more than she wanted the man dead now. Charles’ family deserved that much. Gentry had assured her that in town a doctor should patch him up enough so she could get him on the train and take him back to Grant Hills for his trial.
Montana Sky Christmas: A Sweetwater Springs Short Story Collection Page 7