“Aw, she’s good for another year,” the foreman said.
“She’s not particular who she aims those horns at,” Buck said.
“Can’t blame her, can you?” The foreman chuckled. “Oh, Cayford, I’m supposed to tell you we’ll still be working out here tomorrow.”
Sam was pretty sure he knew what that meant. “You mean …?”
The foreman nodded. “The boss says to postpone all days off until we’re done branding. You’ll get your day off the first full day after we’re done here. Could be a few more days, though.”
Sam frowned. “Can I send a letter?”
“Sure. The cook’s going into town for supplies this afternoon. Send it with him.”
Better than nothing, Sam guessed. He cut a two-month-old calf from the bunch and nudged him toward the fire. The calf bounded away from his horse, bawling, and Sam took off after him. He dropped his rope over the calf’s head.
“Sorry, little fella, but it’s gotta be done.”
Maggie had the boys out in the garden a few days later. She hadn’t had enough money to buy seeds, but she had planted all she’d saved from last year’s garden, along with some for wax beans and turnips that Reverend Smith had given her, and a few tomato plants donated by Mrs. Sills. Maggie had worked with the deacon’s wife yesterday afternoon to put in a small plot for Reverend Smith as well. He was recovering from his accident, but still couldn’t put weight on his broken leg.
“Benjy, go refill the water bucket,” she said, pushing back her hair from her sweaty forehead. The sun wasn’t halfway to noon yet, and she hoped they could finish before it got hot.
Benjy picked up the wooden pail. Maggie continued hoeing down the row of tiny bean plants. Fred worked in the next row, pulling out grass and other weeds threatening to strangle the tender vegetable sprouts. He looked like his daddy, bent over and frowning with great concentration, his blond hair spilling down over his forehead.
As she worked, Maggie wondered what the other women were doing today. How many of those who took part in the auditions had started courtships? Some had seemed to enjoy themselves at the meeting. She hoped not all of them had been as disillusioned as she had. Maybe she would get some news at church tomorrow.
“Ma,” Benjy called.
Maggie turned toward the house. Benjy stood at the edge of the garden plot, holding the bucket. He pointed toward the lane. A black-clad man rode toward the house. His derby hat and snappy horse gave him away before she could see his face. Rutherford Grant.
She straightened her back and glanced down at her dress. He would catch her out here in her threadbare calico, the one she saved for outdoor chores.
But what did it matter? Maggie stepped over the row of beans and handed her hoe to Fred.
“Here you go. Just keep working. If we’re not here to eat these beans, someone else will be.” She raised her skirts a couple of inches and made her way carefully to the edge of the garden.
Rutherford had reached her hitching rail and dismounted. He flipped the reins around the peeled log and walked toward her, sweeping off his hat.
“Good morning, Mrs. Piner.”
Maggie couldn’t see anything good about it. “Mr. Grant.”
He looked around expectantly. “Sheriff Ingram hasn’t arrived?”
Maggie made herself draw in a breath slowly. “Nobody’s come around today but you.”
“Ah. Well, I’ve asked him to meet me here.” The banker pulled out his gold pocket watch and sprang open the cover.
“Maybe Mr. Ingram doesn’t have a watch,” Fred said at her elbow.
Maggie whirled toward him. Fred stood there, nearly as tall as she was, with the hoe at his side, pointed toward the fluffy clouds above them. It reminded Maggie of Sam Cayford’s stance with the shotgun the last time Grant had come calling. She bit back her rebuke. Fred saw it as his job to stand by his mother, instead of hoeing beans. She wouldn’t deny him that.
“I confess, I expected to find the house empty.” Grant surveyed the little building with displeasure.
“I didn’t see a point in packing,” Maggie said. “This is our home, and we have nowhere else to go.”
“We’re not goin’ anywhere,” Fred said. Maggie reached around and laid her hand lightly on his back.
Grant eyed her pensively for a moment. “Frankly, Mrs. Piner, I was torn between that and another alternative. I thought perhaps I would hear news of your nuptials. The, uh—” He coughed gently. “The gentleman who was on the premises the last time I rode out here. I believe you said you expected to be married.”
Maggie’s heart sank. Why had she lied that day? Now she had to own up to it, and the result would be even worse. True, she and the boys had gained two weeks of relative peace, but she hadn’t used it to make any preparations. She had worked every moment she could. To be honest, she had also pegged a slender thread of hope on the husband auditions. But that had come to naught, where she was concerned. She didn’t wish to marry a shiftless man or a slick easterner trying to open up a saloon in their town. Maybe some of the men who had come to the meeting were good, honest, and hardworking, but if so, they’d attached themselves to others among the hopeful women.
She opened her mouth to respond to Grant’s dig, when Fred spoke again.
“Sam had to go away for a while. He’s got a job, and he needed to go and work. But he’s comin’ back.”
“Indeed?” Grant’s gaze shifted to Fred then back to Maggie. “Is this true?”
“Well—”
“We’ve had word from him,” Fred said.
“But do you have the money for your overdue mortgage payment?” Grant tucked his gold watch pack into his waistcoat pocket. “That’s the question, Mrs. Piner.”
Staccato hoofbeats drew their attention to the lane, where a horse loped into sight.
“Well, the sheriff has decided to meet his obligations after all,” Grant said. He walked across the dooryard to meet Sheriff Ingram.
Maggie looked at Fred. “Best not say any more about Sam.”
“Why not?”
“He’s not coming back, that’s why not.”
Fred’s face fell. On her other side, Benjy crowded against her, still holding the empty bucket.
“Are we going to have to leave, Mama? Where will we go?”
She brushed Benjy’s tumbled blond curls back from his brow. “I don’t know yet. You boys stay here and pray. The sheriff’s usually a reasonable man. Just let me talk to him.” She looked inquiringly at Fred, and after a moment he nodded, his mouth twisted in a scowl.
Maggie walked over to where Josiah Ingram was dismounting. Grant threw her a glance and then focused on the sheriff.
“Are you prepared to act on your duty, Sheriff?” he asked.
“That depends, sir.”
“Mrs. Piner has not made any effort to meet her financial obligation to the bank, so it’s time for the eviction. You know that.”
“Well, first I need to give you a message from the bank, sir. Apparently the auditor arrived just minutes after you’d set out to come here.”
Grant’s face froze. “Auditor?”
“Yes, sir. One of your tellers, Mrs. Johnson, ran out just as I was heading this way and asked me if I’d see you this morning. I said that was my plan, and she asked me to please tell you the state auditor had come, and to please return to the bank as soon as possible.”
“Heavens, he was just here last—Yes, I suppose it is that time again.” Grant strode to the hitching rail and untied his horse’s reins. “Ingram, I’ll leave you to it. See that Mrs. Piner and her children are out of here by sunset. Anything she leaves behind will be sold to help reconcile the debt.”
The sheriff frowned but said nothing. He watched as Grant climbed into the saddle and urged his horse into a trot.
Maggie hauled in a deep breath. “Sheriff, is this really necessary? I don’t want to put you in a bad situation, but as you can imagine, if we have to pick up and leave today, it will
put the boys and me in a very bad one.”
Josiah pushed his hat back and scratched his head. “How much would it take to keep him off your back for another month, ma’am?”
“The payment is ten dollars a month, but it might as well be a thousand. I couldn’t come up with it last month, you see, no matter how hard I tried, and now it’s overdue for a second month.” Maggie shook her head. “I’m afraid there’s no way I can raise ten dollars today. I’ve only managed to set aside three from my work these last few weeks. He would probably insist on twenty, anyway, since I didn’t pay him last month.” Tears stung her eyes. She hated that. She wouldn’t use her femininity or her weakness to gain favors.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” He reached into his vest pocket, and for a moment, Maggie thought he was going to bring out the eviction notice. Instead, he held out a small envelope with her name scrawled across the front in pencil, followed by Turtle Springs, Kans.
Her heart leaped. Surely that was the same hand that had addressed the postcard she’d received earlier. She reached for it with trembling fingers. “How …?”
“Chardy Stevens gave me that when I stopped by the mercantile this mornin’. Asked if I was by any chance coming this way. When I said I was, she asked if I could tell you a letter had been sittin’ at the post office for you for a day or two. I think she figured you’d want to know.”
“Yes, thank you.” Maggie could hardly breathe.
“Oh, and another thing.”
Maggie’s lungs squeezed. “Y–yes?”
“Miss Stevens told me you sew shirts for some of her customers.”
“Yes, I do. I charge a dollar apiece, unless you want fancy material.”
“So, you have to buy the cloth out of that?”
“Well, most times.”
Sheriff Ingram’s eyebrows drew down. “How long does it take you to make one?”
“I can make one a day, easy,” Maggie said. “Three in two days, if that’s all I do.”
He nodded soberly and reached in his pocket, coming out with a handful of coins. He picked through them and held out his selection.
“Here’s two dollars and four bits. Can you make me two shirts by the end of next week?”
“Certainly. It’s too much, though.”
As she peered down at the two silver dollars and two quarters in her hand, Maggie realized her boys had come from the garden and now crowded in on each side of her.
“The extra’s for the makings,” Ingram said. “Oh, and I’m partial to plain cloth and buttons.”
“I understand.”
“Now, as to Mr. Grant …”
Maggie waited, expecting the worst.
“That auditor answered my telegram real quick. He’ll keep Mr. Grant busy for the rest of the day. Maybe more than that. Would you like help packing anything up?”
“I—I might be able to make a small payment now. Very small.”
He nodded. “All right then. Best stay away from the bank today.”
“I’ll go to town first thing in the morning to buy your cloth and buttons, and I’ll stop at the bank then.”
“That sounds fine to me. If Grant’s still bound to evict you, I’ll get the blacksmith to bring his wagon out and help tote your stuff.”
Maggie drew in a shaky breath and met his gaze. “Thank you, Sheriff.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I look forward to wearing my new shirts.” He winked at her and mounted his horse.
“Mama, does he like you?” Benjy asked, his voice laced with suspicion.
“I believe he likes all of us,” Maggie said as she watched the man ride off, slouched in the saddle. “But if you mean is he sweet on me, then no. I happen to know he’s got his eyes set on Mayor Melton.” She pulled her handkerchief from her pocket and wrapped the coins in it. “I shall have to go into town tomorrow, but for now, come. We’ve got a garden to tend.”
“What about that letter?” Fred asked.
“Oh yes, the letter.” Maggie patted her pocket. She hadn’t forgotten, but she certainly hadn’t wanted to open it with Sheriff Ingram looking on. She had about decided to open it tonight, after the boys were in bed.
“It’s from Sam, ain’t it?” Fred said, his blue eyes staring into hers, demanding honesty.
“I believe so.”
“Open it, open it.” Benjy pulled at her arm.
“All right.” Maggie walked over to the doorstep, drawing out the letter as she did. She sat down on the stoop and tore open the envelope. She pulled out a small piece of paper, and green banknotes peeped at her from between the folds. She gasped.
“It’s got money in it,” Fred said.
Maggie swallowed hard. She opened the paper carefully and handed Fred five one-dollar bills.
“‘Dear Maggie and boys,’” she read aloud. “‘I had my first payday, and I hope you’ll accept this small token of my friendship and esteem. If you have left the home place by now, or if your circumstances have otherwise changed, then I’m sorry. I don’t mean to interfere. Please use this as you see best, with no obligations attached. Yours sincerely, Sam Cayford.’”
Maggie’s voice choked over his name.
“‘P.S. We are having spring roundup on the ranch. Tell the boys I helped brand over a hundred Pine Tree Ranch calves today.’”
“A hundred calves.” Benjy stared off toward their empty pasture, as though trying to imagine a hundred beef critters frisking about on the Piner land.
“Where’s the Pine Tree Ranch?” Fred asked.
“I don’t know, but he said on his postcard it was west of here. Twenty miles west.”
“Mama,” Fred said, fingering the money. “Can you give this to the bank? That’s what Sam wants, isn’t it?”
Maggie couldn’t explain the feelings fomenting inside her. It was daybreak and a rainbow in the middle of a tornado. She stood and took the bills gently from Fred’s fingers.
“You boys will go with me, first thing in the morning. If you’re late to school, I’ll explain to the teacher.”
Fred squared his shoulders. “Come on, Benjy. We got to weed that garden real good.”
Chapter 9
Roundup was over at last. Sam bathed in the stream that ran through the ranch and washed out his clothes. The shirt—his best of two—was so sadly frayed he nearly cried. He almost wished he had kept another dollar from his pay so he could buy another in town, but no. He had done the right thing. At least he was clean. Of course, a day’s ride on the dusty roads would dirty him up again, but Maggie would understand.
He got up at dawn on his day off and dressed quickly. As he fastened his cuff buttons, he frowned. That husband audition thing had come and gone. Had she found a man to take on the ranch and the boys with her? He didn’t like to think it, and yet he wanted the best for her. As he saddled Rocker for the long ride, he placed the matter in God’s hands. Maggie Piner either needed him or she didn’t. She would either be glad to see him riding up the lane or not. When he got down to basics, she would either still be Maggie Piner or not. If she’d found another man and wore his name now, Sam would turn around and ride back to the ranch and try to be happy for her.
He had plenty of time to mull things over on the twenty-mile ride. Rocker moved along, but even so, it was midmorning when he rode up to the Piner house. The yard was deserted except for a couple of hens pecking about near the sagging pasture gate. No smoke came from the chimney. A dread seized him as he walked up to the front door.
His knock echoed through the little house. Empty. He knew it. Cautiously, he pushed the door open. To his surprise, the large room inside looked almost exactly the same as it had when he left it. That was Maggie’s furniture, and her dishes, her cookstove. Her yellow mixing bowl on the table. Surely she’d have taken that if she was forced to move out.
Sam stepped out and shut the door. He walked to the corner of the house. Maggie had a small garden, and it had been tended recently. The rows of fledgling beans, corn, and potatoes were weed free.
He looked toward the back of the house. The clothesline. A linen sheet, two pairs of boys’ pants, and a small plaid shirt that had to be Benjy’s hung there, flapping in the light breeze.
He smiled. Of course they hadn’t gone. The boys were likely at school, and Maggie was probably in town, seeing to one of those odd jobs she had mentioned. Cleaning someone’s house or sewing a dress for a woman with more money than she had. None of the things in the laundry looked like men’s clothes, he noted with gratitude. Fred must not have found her a husband yet.
Rocker raised his head and snuffled.
“Yeah, it’s time we made tracks, boy.” Sam strode to the bay horse, scooped up the reins, and vaulted into the saddle.
Maggie approached the bank in trepidation, even though her boys flanked her solidly. Well perhaps not so solidly.
“Mama?” Benjy’s voice quavered as he tugged at her hand and dragged his steps.
She stopped and looked down at him.
“Yes?”
“Is Mr. Grant going to be in there?”
“I expect so, dear.”
Benjy’s lips twitched. “I don’t like him.”
“I should have brought the shotgun,” Fred said.
Maggie stared at him. “Frederick Daniel! Behave yourself. This will be a quick business transaction.” She eyed her sons carefully. “I shan’t regret having let you come, shall I?”
After a moment’s pause, Fred shook his head. “No ma’am.”
She looked down at Benjy.
“No,” he squeaked out.
Maggie nodded, trying to seem confident. “Right. Let’s go and pay our bill.”
She smoothed the skirts of her black-and-gray dress and raised her chin. The boys marched beside her up the steps and into the cool, dim lobby of the bank.
She walked to the teller’s desk and said to the woman behind it, “I would like to make a payment on my mortgage.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Piner,” the woman said. “Let me find your account.”
Maggie bit her bottom lip and opened her purse. She took out the ten dollars—five from Sam, two from Sheriff Ingram, and three she had managed to save from her work—and laid it on the desk. She wanted there to be no question she could make a full payment this time.
Seven Brides for Seven Mail-Order Husbands Romance Collection Page 14