Sometimes Charlie’s immaturity bested him, and his humor crossed a line that the whole family seemed to understand. Odd, but Grant saw his own brothers’ mocking in the little guy’s jokes. Somehow, as the Seady family forgave and directed young Charlie’s banter, Grant pardoned his own brothers’ misdirected wit. Old resentment lost its edge.
As the days went by, Grant wanted not only to capture the lady Mae’s heart but also to join this fun-loving family.
His parents had a mountaintop-high work ethic. This parentless family wore calluses into their palms, but they raised plenty of ruckus with tomfoolery as well. Every step of the horse business involved more patience, hard work, and determination than he’d ever seen. His family might have more material security in cattle, land, and houses, but this family had a solidity built on mutual respect. Even Good Ole Bess commanded respect.
The little girl raced across the open space between the house and the barn. She grinned her wide-open smile at Grant then hurled herself up the rails to sit on the split log second from the top.
She wasn’t allowed to sit on the top yet.
“It’s time to do my job.” She handed the sack she carried to Grant. “Carrots and apples.”
Grant had watched her do this before and knew what to expect. Robert brought what he called a second-stage horse across the paddock.
First-stage horses were ready to sell. Third-stage horses were fresh off the prairie, new catches. This one was a mare in the process of gentling. Minnie Sue and Good Ole Bess interacted with these horses on a daily basis but under supervision, rigid supervision.
The wild horses were not trustworthy yet. But they would be. The Seady method of breaking and training horses led to stock that sold for a cost far above the other horse traders’ animals.
Grant chuckled under his breath. The Seady horses were like the people in this family. They became an integral part of one another. Horses became trusted, intelligent partners in making a life.
Robert cut the apple he drew from the sack into quarters. Bess held it out on a perfectly straight palm. The horse warily nibbled the offering. When the mare finished the first morsel, Good Ole Bess giggled, pulled back her hand, and rubbed it on the front of her dress. She shook her curls and beamed at Grant. “She’s got whiskers but not man whiskers. Her whiskers tickle.”
Robert placed a second quarter of apple in her hand. The mare relaxed and enjoyed the treat without nervous twitches. The third piece was held back, giving Good Ole Bess the opportunity to stroke the mare’s cheeks, utter soothing words of friendship, and even give kisses to the velvety nose. Then the horse received another two pieces of the treat, again from the very flat, small palm of a child.
Grant had seen Minnie Sue and Good Ole Bess walk beneath the great horses who were members of the family’s private stock. He’d seen the children brush the horses as high as they could reach. For Bess, that was the tops of their long legs and the underside of their bellies. The horses could have been pets like overgrown kittens or dogs. Except the horses behaved better than most farm dogs Grant knew.
His father had sent Grant to investigate these animals, rumored to be the best outside of Kentucky. As the youngest in the family, he’d turned into the adventurous buyer for the Winchester ranch. The more prestigious jobs had long been claimed by his older brothers.
Traveling suited Grant. He’d never yearned to stay at home. But now he’d found a home, a place where he’d like to kick off his boots each evening. This home promised to tie strings around his heart that didn’t restrain him but, rather, anchored him.
He lifted his head to the sound of another horse approaching on the road from Hopster. He noted that Gramps had disappeared from the front porch. The rider coming to visit must be known to the Seady family. Grant squinted at the figure backed by the setting sun. As the man and horse descended the near side of the hill, he finally made out the figure. The sheriff.
Grant frowned. “Why do you suppose he’s here?”
Robert patted the mare’s neck and moved her away from the fence. He watched the approaching man for a moment. “Maybe he has a letter from your folks.”
“The sheriff delivers mail?”
“Not usually. But that would be a legitimate reason to come check up on us.”
“He checks up on you?”
“He knows.”
Grant didn’t say anything. “He knows” could refer to something other than the obvious.
He thought he’d ask the most obvious. “About Gramps?”
Robert laughed. “Yeah, Gramps. And Mom and Pa, and Uncle Boss and Aunt Sue. Everything.”
“Why is it all such a big secret?”
Robert ducked through the rails, plucked Good Ole Bess off the fence, and gave her a little shove toward the house. “Training’s cut short, Little One. Go help put cookies on the table for the sheriff.”
Bess whooped, abandoned her sack of treats, and ran to the house.
“Because when Aunt Sue died, she was the last adult. Mae was only fifteen. There was no one in charge, and Stilling wants our land in a bad way, always has. If he knew there was no adult, he’d swoop in here with all sorts of lawyers and whatever excuse it took to buy us out.”
“He doesn’t know?” Grant grabbed his crutches as Robert walked away from the corral.
“Apparently, he has doubts. But no proof. He’s been more persistent in the last few months. Something might have tipped him off, or he’s just decided to cause trouble.”
The idea of the slick and rich rancher taking advantage of this family gripped at Grant’s stomach. “Trouble? What kind of trouble?”
“Horses run off by a cougar, only the cougar tracks weren’t convincing.”
Robert stuck his head in the open barn door as they walked past. “Tim, sheriff’s on the way down the hill.” He continued on toward the house, Grant following.
“Another time a hog took sick, real sick. Deacon almost didn’t pull him through. Now, Deacon’s no fool about medical stuff. You’ve probably gathered that.”
Grant nodded. The pace Robert had set taxed his strength. He couldn’t speak and keep up.
“Well, Deacon said he thought the porker was poisoned. And he found something in the slop that he couldn’t identify as having come from the house. We buried that, but it was nearly the hog we had to bury.”
Mae smiled at the men and children sitting silently around the table. Silent, that is, except for the clink of forks and murmurs of “Mmm” and “Another slice, please.”
Grandma Dolly’s old recipe box yielded winners every time. When the family had lived in Indiana, their crops of tomatoes overwhelmed the kitchen garden. Consequently, the lady of the farm had concocted many ways to use the fresh produce aside from canning. Ever since, it was the tomato pie that received accolades of generations.
The sheriff, claiming one pie as his own, devoured the savory meat, cheese, and tomato mixture. “Arriving at dinnertime is no coincidence, young Grant Winchester.” He looped a string of melted cheese around his fork to get the morsel neatly into his mouth. “Mae learned cooking from masters. And she’s passing the skill down to these darling girls.”
His gaze swept around the table. Lucy ducked her head when a blush pinked her complexion like the roses skirting the porch. Minnie Sue and Good Ole Bess laughed their loud enthusiastic bray.
“All we do is stir and pour.” The smallest girl picked up her wedge of tomato pie and pointed it at her sister in the chair across the table. “Minnie Sue sometimes gets to cut.”
Good Ole Bess’s expression melted from triumph to umbrage. “I’m ’most four. I can cut, but nobody ’lieves me.” Tears welled up and spilled in abundance down her cheeks.
Charlie snitched her gooey pie from her hand. Bess wailed louder.
“And that’s why Good Ole Bess is called ‘Good Ole.’” He held his prize out of her reach. “She can be counted on to be sympathetic to anyone’s distress and especially to her own. Crocodile tears for an
yone, anytime, and for any reason.”
Deacon snagged the disputed piece of tomato pie and handed it back to little Bess. “You’re wrong, Charlie. Crocodile tears refer to insincere crying done for show. Good Ole Bess can be counted on for real sympathy. Her tears reflect a genuine heart of concern.”
Bess sniffed and tipped her chin up in Charlie’s direction. Deacon received a damp smile and a smackery kiss on the cheek.
“I have yet to tell my tale of menace and mayhem,” said the sheriff.
Robert threw himself back in his chair with a hearty guffaw, but Lucy and Tim grinned at each other.
“Sometimes”—Lucy’s soft voice could just be heard alongside her noisy brother’s laughter—“all the books you read show up in your speech.”
The sheriff winked at her. “I’ve got a new bundle to share with you and Tim. Don’t let me forget ’em. Wouldn’t do to ride all the way back to town without dropping them off.” He and Tim exchanged a look of mutual enthusiasm.
But the sheriff had business on his mind. “All of us will be needing solace as we unravel the quirks of the Biden boys. I’ve not got it all figured out yet.” He winked at Mae. “I was distracted by a good meal, but I want to share my worries before I go back to town.”
Tim put down his fourth piece of tomato pie and rested his elbows on the table. “You have our attention, Sheriff.”
“Someone broke the brothers out of jail.”
Mae sucked in her breath. “They’re loose? Could they be coming after Mr. Winchester? Surely they know his money is safely in the bank.”
The lawman’s chin hardened as he wagged his head back and forth. “I was stumped. This was a slick job, not a bungled affair you’d expect from any of their cohorts.”
His eyes pinned Mae. “I don’t think they’d come after your guest.” He paused to nod at Grant.
Mae took in how much progress Grant Winchester had made in visible healing, but he was still too weak to win even arm wrestling with one of the twins.
“Certain twists to the tale have come to light that have me puzzling over an entirely different possibility in their crime. In fact, I’m thinking they didn’t come up with the original idea of robbing this man of his money.” He laid a gentle hand on Grant’s arm. “I’ve been doing some investigating, and the Biden boys were temporarily employed by Jackson Heeps the day of the last horse auction.”
“I don’t follow,” said Mae. “What difference does that make?”
“My assumption had been that the boys overheard the conversation between Max and Grant, followed Grant, and robbed him.”
Robert nodded as a notion hit him. “Someone put them up to the robbery.”
Tim tapped a finger on the table. “And our first suspicions turn to Stilling.”
“But he wasn’t around, either,” objected Mae. “Remember he said he missed seeing us the last time we were in town.”
All the brothers chortled and nudged one another. Robert spoke up. “He said he missed seeing you. Didn’t bother him much that he hadn’t seen the rest of us.”
The sheriff grunted. “It’s not fitting that an old man like Stilling should come calling on a young lady like your sister.”
Grant growled deep in his throat. “He didn’t miss seeing me.”
The slur in Grant’s words caught Mae’s attention. His speech had improved, although it still tired him to force his mouth to form sentences. Now he seemed in a haste to get them out.
Every day Grant’s strength increased, and Mae’s admiration for the wounded man grew as well. As he regained the use of his arms and legs, he helped her out in small ways, showing he had a big heart for being a partner, not just a guest. They’d shared a lot of conversations as he began to talk.
“I disliked Stilling on sight when he came to the ranch. But now I remember it was because of a run-in with him in Hopster, before I ever saw him here.”
The sheriff leaned forward. “I’m interested.”
“I was having dinner at the hotel. I planned to stay the night and leave the next day to come to the Seady place. He took a seat at my table without an invitation and proceeded to disparage the reputation of Seady horses. Said he was an old family friend, and since the elders of the family had stepped out of the running of the ranch, the quality of your stock had diminished.”
Mae stiffened. “He said that? He actually said that! How dare he.”
Tim’s big hand covered her shoulder. “Calm down, sis.”
Robert looked ready to lasso the city slicker. Every muscle tensed. “Doesn’t surprise me at all.”
Good Ole Bess burst into tears then stopped with a big sniff. “What’s ’paraged mean? What’s ’minished mean?”
Deacon scooped her up and placed her quivering frame in his lap. “It means he’s talking ugly about our horses, sweetie.”
Grant, who had waited patiently while the family sifted through the information, gave them all a half smile. “Anyway, everything he said was slick, no straightforward claims, just hearsay and insinuation.”
He grimaced, much as he had when he’d overtaxed himself trying to demonstrate his strength was returning. Mae wanted to take his hand and encourage him to proceed slowly. With her brothers as witnesses, she clasped her fingers together and laid them in her lap.
Grant cast her a quick glance, their eyes caught, and she felt the zing of support she always received from him.
He continued. “All he said contradicted what I had heard from other sources. His manner turned my stomach in a way that made me think the Lord was helping me listen to his comments with a spirit of discernment.”
Mae turned to the sheriff. “Why would Stilling interfere?”
The sheriff hitched a shoulder. “I’ve been watching him acquire land with ease, but I’ve never been able to catch him in direct thievery. He’s power hungry. And land greedy. He’s smart, but he’s too fortunate in how he just happens to be at the right place at the right time to take advantage of someone else’s hardship. It adds up to some kind of skulduggery I just haven’t been able to pin on him. He’s dangerous.”
The sheriff looked around the table, and Mae saw him calculating the salt of each member of her family. He stopped to study Grant for a moment longer than the others.
His gaze went on to rest somewhere between Robert and Tim. “If Stilling has set his sights on your property, and I think he has, just because it’s one of the last bits of prime land he doesn’t already own, then I’d wager he’s got schemes in place to knock your feet out from under you. Driving away your paying customers would make it hard for you. No cash flow is bad when you have to hire to bring crops in.”
“I remember back in Indiana,” Tim spoke up. “The farmers all helped one another with harvest. I was too little then to do much, but I remember the excitement of the crews showing up at our farm.” He grinned. “I remember getting to tag along to the neighbor’s harvests.” He paused and his grin spread. “Mostly, I remember moms cooking all morning and all afternoon to feed all those men.”
The sheriff’s index finger stirred the crumbs remaining on his plate. He folded his hands across his slightly rounded belly and sighed, as if he regretted leaving the subject of food and returning to serious matters. “Your folks were here a full ten years before the flood, weren’t they?”
The Seady children nodded in unison. Mae’s eyes darted to their injured guest. “The flood” had a significance that they hadn’t shared with Grant.
She saw the intelligent spark in his eyes. He’d made the connection. Her parents and uncle had died in that flood. That was the beginning of their saga as the family without a head. When Bess turned four in a few weeks, their success in beating the odds would have reached six months beyond her existence.
Did God hold their nemesis at bay for just this time? Perhaps they had a champion besides the covert support of the sheriff in keeping their situation a secret. Were the Seady children now the Seady family—a force to be reckoned with supported by the she
riff and a stranger?
Chapter Seven
Robert gave Grant a job dealing with the stage-two horses and their training. Grant chortled. He’d been given responsibility at one level of risk above the duties given to Minnie Sue and Good Ole Bess.
The girls sat on the rails of the corral fencing and offered treats, head rubs, words of endearment, kisses, and snuggles. Grant hobbled among the animals within the pen, offering treats, head rubs, body brushes, and yes, kind words, kisses, and snuggles.
At first, the horses regarded his crutches as a sign of evil intent. Gradually, they accepted this human with wooden appendages. Following the family’s example, Grant moved slowly, spoke softly, and gave lots of affection in the physical form of food, grooming, spoken words, and soft, unnecessary touches.
Mae sashayed across the yard.
Grant lost interest in what he was doing.
The wind blew her flowered green skirt against her long legs, and the late-afternoon sun kissed red sparks into her blond tresses. No prettier woman had ever crossed his path. No angel had ever smiled at him the way she did. No soft rosy lips had ever begged for his attention.
And he still looked like assorted pieces of butchered venison, tied up in rags and hand-me-downs. He moved like a four-legged creature made up of old parts. Why she even took time to talk with him, he’d never know.
He’d been at the Seady horse farm for thirty-three days and still wouldn’t be able to muster up enough strength to defend her against danger. He couldn’t take her for a drive in the only buggy the Seadys stored in the barn. He couldn’t ask her to dance at the Founders’ Day Hoopla in Hopster. Charlie said not to worry about that. Last year was the first time any of them had gone, and just Deacon, Robert, and Tim attended.
Mae reached the corral and stepped up one rung. “Have any of you seen Charlie?”
Robert and Grant exchanged a look. A slight shake of the head answered their unspoken question.
“Nope,” Robert answered. “Deacon and Tim are working with that stallion that kicked through his stall and injured a leg.”
The Courageous Brides Collection Page 36