Sooner or Later

by Vickie McDonough

  Mason jumped to his feet and stepped away. He pushed his hat up his forehead and stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the back of his wagon as he fought to get his ragged breathing under control. How was he going to deal with this? He almost wondered if God were laughing at him. Just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, God dropped something like this in his lap.

  Mason heard a scuffling noise behind him and spun around. The boy—no, the girl—had managed to sit up. Her well-worn Western hat was back on, and her long braid had disappeared.

  Why would a girl be out in the middle of nowhere by herself and dressed in boys’ clothing? It didn’t make any sense. She must be a runaway.

  “Please, c–can I have a drink?”

  Her soft, timid voice touched something deep within him, and his anger fell away as if someone had doused him with a bucket of cool creek water. In three steps, he was beside her again. Mason knelt next to the girl. Picking up the canteen, he chastened himself for dropping it earlier and allowing some of the precious liquid to seep out.

  The girl’s small, trembling hands reached for the canteen. She barely had enough energy to hold it, but she managed to get it to her lips. She guzzled the water and choked from the effort. Liquid droplets trickled over her full lips and down her sun-kissed chin.

  Mason wanted to tell her to stop wasting the water, but instead he looked toward the horizon, his jaw clenched. He lifted his hat and swiped at the line of sweat on his forehead, then sucked in a deep breath and let it out through his nose.

  How could I have mistaken her for a boy?

  Rebekah was amazed she’d made it so far. Right now she was so exhausted and famished, she could barely hold her head up. Thank the Lord, the tall cowboy had materialized just when she thought she could go no farther. She closed her eyes and licked the water from her dry, leathery lips, savoring the life-sustaining moisture. Almost two days without water and food had nearly done her in.

  Has water ever tasted so good?

  Licking her lips, Rebekah looked around the unfamiliar countryside. Where was she now? Still in Arkansas? Missouri, maybe? The dirt had a strange orange tint to it, and the gently rolling hills reminded her of a pan of yeast rolls rising on the stove. Clusters of trees stood here and there, as if afraid to face the ever-changing weather of the plains alone. Knee-high prairie grass danced and swished on the soft spring breeze. This place was so different from the forested woods of her home.

  Home

  She longed for it, dreamed about it, but knew she no longer had a home. Her pa had seen to that. But then, he wasn’t really her pa either. Rebekah shook her head and blinked back the burning sensation in her eyes. How could I have been so naive all those years?

  She tilted her head to look up at the tall cowboy, ignoring the pain it caused. He kicked a tuft of grass and sent it sailing through the air. The man glanced at her and then looked at a covered wagon stopped on the road. His hands rested in his back pockets, and he heaved a loud sigh. He didn’t seem happy to be helping her.

  Well, she only needed his help a little. It had been foolish of her to leave home with so few provisions, but then, she’d left in a hurry. If only this man could spare some food and water, she’d be on her way.

  Suddenly he turned back toward her. His face disappeared in the glare of the noonday sun. “Where you headed, kid?”

  “Um … Denver.” Her scratchy voice sounded foreign to her.

  “Denver! On that old thing?” He raised his arm and pointed at Prince. “You’d never make it. And where’s your supplies? You don’t even have any saddlebags.”

  Rebekah leaned back, cringing at the disapproval in his voice. What did it matter to him if she rode a horse older than herself and she was ill-prepared for a long journey? Okay, so it mattered if she had to beg food and water from him, but he had no idea how desperate she’d been to get away.

  Biting back a retort, Rebekah took another drink from the canteen, then set it down on the dusty road. Her vision had cleared, though her head still throbbed. Probably from too much sun and not enough food, she told herself. She didn’t know if her legs would hold her, but she couldn’t sit in the middle of the trail all day. Forget the food. If she could just get back on her horse, she could get away from the man’s glaring gaze. Easing onto her knees, with her hands firmly anchored in the dirt, she pushed her hind end in the air and straightened her legs. Very unladylike. But then, he didn’t know she was a woman.

  Her whole body wobbled. Her arms trembled as she tried to push to a stand. She was stuck—not enough strength to get up and too much stubbornness to sit back down. Rebekah imagined she must look like a newborn foal trying out its legs for the first time.

  “Here, let me help.” A deep voice rumbled in her ear the same moment she felt two warm hands on her waist.

  Rebekah stiffened. She turned her head back to see the man’s face. She blinked. A pair of the blackest eyes she’d ever seen glared at her.

  Why was he so upset with her? Could simply helping a stranger in need cause him to lose his temper? Or maybe he always scowled. Well, she hadn’t ridden all this way and left her home just to fall prey to another man like Pa—or Giles Wilbur. She tried to shrug away from the man’s hands; instead she felt her body being pulled upright.

  The cowboy lifted her up like she was nothing but a five-pound sack of flour and set her on her feet. Immediately her legs buckled. How dare they betray her in her moment of need! Against her wishes, Rebekah clung to the man’s waist, her face pressed against his solid chest. She summoned every ounce of energy within her exhausted frame and forced her body upward.

  A group of crows floating lazily in the sky cawed as if mocking her. She thought she heard the man gasp—or was he laughing at her? The sky darkened suddenly when a thick cloud floated in front of the sun. Was it raining? She groaned. The last thing she needed was rain. It took her a moment to comprehend that the moisture on her cheeks wasn’t from an afternoon shower; it was tears.

  No! she chided herself. She couldn’t be crying. She just couldn’t. She wouldn’t cry now—not after all she’d been through.

  Rebekah’s head sagged heavily, and her tears seemed to have a mind of their own. Blinking, she struggled to dam the tears and focus on her surroundings. She was determined not to show weakness, but her body had other ideas. Her legs shook, her arms trembled, and her head throbbed as if a whole flock of crows were nesting there. Unwillingly, she sagged against the man.

  Why is the sky so dark? She tried to ask him that very question, but the words wouldn’t form on her thick tongue. Any second now, her head was sure to explode like a stick of dynamite with a short, burning fuse. Rebekah forced herself to lean back so she could look at the man’s face, but it swirled into a dark mass and merged into the growing blackness.

  “Hey! Hold on now,” she thought she heard him say. Then the deep voice faded away into the shadowy abyss.

  two

  Mason hoisted the young woman into his arms and started toward the wagon. “All right. I can take a hint!” he shouted to the sky.

  Jimmy peered, wide-eyed, out the wagon opening. “Wha’cha gonna do, Uncle Mason?”

  That was a good question. What was he going to do? Taking on a sick girl certainly wasn’t in his plans. Mason shook his head. “Never mind. Just climb down and get that horse. Tie him to the back of the wagon—and fetch the canteen and my rifle.”

  Jimmy scampered over the wagon’s tailgate and dropped to the ground. “Are we gonna keep that boy? What’s wrong with him?”

  “Shhh! You’re going to wake Katie with all your chatter,” Mason hissed. “And I don’t know what’s wrong yet.” He looked into the pale, dirt-smudged, feminine face and studied the woman’s soft features. She wasn’t beautiful, but she wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes either.

  He’d nearly come undone when those vulnerable blue eyes, filled with tears, stared up at him. What was it about a female’s tears that moved him so? Maybe it was a result of ha
ving so many strong women in his life. He’d known the few times he’d seen them crying that things were bad—real bad. He hadn’t missed the sudden flash of stubbornness in the girl’s countenance when she tried to stand without his help. But despite her determination, she was obviously too weak.

  What had happened to her? Why was she out here alone? Against his will, Mason felt a sudden surge of protectiveness. No harm would come to her while she was in his care.

  Carefully, he lifted the limp girl over his shoulder, then climbed into the back of the wagon. Thankfully, Katie’s little body was curled against the side of the wagon instead of being all sprawled out as usual.

  Mason eased down his bundle onto the quilt next to Katie, then knelt beside her. The girl’s old felt hat flopped over her face. He picked it up, tossing it aside. Her long braid coiled around her shoulder and rested against her arm. Wisps of soft, brown hair escaped her braid, feathering her cheeks. Now that he knew she was a female, Mason decided she must be older than he’d first thought—late teens, maybe. Still, she had no business traveling alone, unprepared and unprotected.

  Katie would enjoy having another female around. Mason shook his head. Having a young woman around wasn’t part of his plan. Hopefully, when the girl came to, he could help her get back to her family without deviating from his journey for too long.

  Mason pulled his bandanna from his neck and gently wiped at the smudged dirt trails on the woman’s pale cheek. He’d need water to get the dirt off, but since he was so low on drinking water, he’d been rationing it, not using any of the precious liquid for cleaning. All he had right now was spit, and he doubted the woman would take kindly to his cleaning her face with that.

  “Hey, Uncle Mason,” Jimmy said through the back of the wagon in a loud whisper. “Can I ride on this horse instead of in the wagon?”

  Mason glanced over the wagon’s tailgate and eyed the pitiful beast, wondering how far it had carried its cargo. The bony animal’s ribs stuck out, causing Mason to speculate how its saddle had stayed on. The poor creature should have been put out to pasture years ago. He shook his head, and Jimmy’s bright smile faded. “Better wait till it’s had some water. We don’t know how long they’ve been traveling.”

  “Oh, okay.” With disappointment marring his face, Jimmy slid off the horse and tied it to the back of the wagon. “Here’s the canteen and rifle.”

  Stretching tall, Jimmy barely reached over the top of the tailgate. Mason grabbed both items, noticing how Jimmy’s shoulders slumped as he turned and patted the old horse’s withers. Mason sighed. He’d planned on getting Jimmy a small horse on his last birthday, but then the accident had happened—and in that instant, everything changed.

  Stop it! Move on

  Yeah, move on, he urged himself again. But he couldn’t bring himself to do so. He just couldn’t. He missed Annie. He wanted her back. He wanted their child. But Annie wouldn’t have wanted him to grieve so long, and to this extent. She’d made him promise if anything happened to her that he’d marry again. What a dumb promise As if any woman could ever have a place in his heart after Annie.

  “No, Pa—don’t.” The woman’s cry jolted Mason back to the present.

  A dull thud echoed through the wagon as she kicked a crate with the heel of her worn boot. He glanced at Katie, afraid the young woman’s thrashing and crying out would wake her. Katie exhaled a loud breath and turned onto her side but thankfully didn’t awaken. With a quick tug, Mason removed the girl’s boots and set them near the tailgate.

  “Shhh! It’s okay.” Mason reached out and patted the girl’s arm.

  She pulled away at his touch. Her forehead gleamed with sweat. Tears running from the corner of her eye formed a tiny river as they cut a trail through the dirt on her sunburned cheeks.

  “No, Pa. I—I promise.” Anguish contorted her countenance. “I’ll be good.”

  Moved by her tears, Mason went against his own rule and grabbed the canteen. He moistened his bandanna, then ran the damp cloth over the woman’s forehead. What had her pa done to her? He shivered at the thought of what the young woman might have endured.

  “Please don’t,” she mumbled.

  “Shhh. Hush now, you’re all right,” he whispered, smoothing her damp hair out of her face. At the sound of his voice, she relaxed and stopped her thrashing. The tears slowed to a single drop, clinging stubbornly to her dark lashes. Mason dabbed at it, then gently wiped her face. Her warm, sun-kissed cheeks were soft in spite of the layer of dust. Almost against his will, he felt his heart going out to her. He turned and looked out the back of the wagon to the bright summer sky.

  Well, if I can take care of two kids who aren’t mine, I can take care of a third

  Rebekah lay still, trying to make sense of her surroundings. She could hear the soft cadence of nearby voices. A deep baritone, a youthful alto, and a soft soprano wafted on the night like a melody, as a chorus of crickets and cicadas strummed the background music. Lulled by the sounds of peace and contentment, she thought of home and happier times. Of nights on the front porch swing with her mother, listening to a similar string of players. She wanted to drift back to sleep and stay on the porch with her mom forever; then a child’s innocent giggle momentarily drowned out the night orchestra and called her back to the present.

  Where am I?

  In the orange glow of the fading sunlight, she could make out the rounded canopy of a covered wagon. She fingered the quilt beneath her. It felt so good to lie on something soft instead of the cold, hard ground. How long had it been since she left home? Five days?

  Her nose twitched. Rebekah caught a whiff of something that smelled like fried chicken, and her stomach grumbled in response. Her last decent meal had been the day she left home. She’d served crispy fried chicken that night—and mashed potatoes with blobs of melted butter, flaky biscuits, and fresh corn on the cob. Saliva moistened her tongue. That was almost a week ago. The chicken and biscuits she’d taken with her when she fled her childhood home were gone days ago. A few overripe peaches had been her only source of nourishment since then. No wonder she was so weak.

  The murmur of voices floated in again on the warm evening breeze. She listened carefully. The deep, rumbling voice, thick with a smooth Southern drawl, sounded vaguely familiar. The memory of the black-eyed man glaring at her stole the breath right out of her lungs. Could this be his wagon? She jerked upright. Pain resonated through her head from the swift movement.

  A rustling at the end of the wagon drew her attention. Two small hands grabbed the back edge of the wagon, and a dark head appeared. A pair of black eyes, a smaller version than the one in her memory, stared wide-eyed at her.

  “He’s awake! Uncle Mason, he’s awake.” And just that fast, the boy was gone.

  Rebekah glanced around for her hat. Quickly she coiled her braid and stuffed it inside, then smashed the hat onto her head. Near the back end of the wagon, she spied her boots. She crawled over to them, staring out the wagon opening as she moved. No one was within her line of sight.

  Rebekah glanced down and grabbed a boot. Hearing a scuffling noise, she glanced up. Less than two feet away were the ebony eyes that haunted her memory. She gasped and leaned back. The man’s black eyes twinkled momentarily and then dulled.

  “Well now, ‘bout time you woke up. Thought maybe you’d sleep clean through the night. You hungry, kid?”

  Rebekah listened to his voice—a voice smoother than melted butter on warm biscuits. From his accent, she surmised he was from the Deep South—Alabama, maybe. She didn’t care; she just liked the sound of it. His eyes didn’t seem so threatening now, but he still managed to make her gut contract.

  Thank You, Lord, for the boy At least I’m not alone with this intimidating stranger

  Was the boy his son? It seemed reasonable. They had the same eyes. The same head of dark hair. No, he called him Uncle—Mike or something. Again her stomach complained about its empty state. She pressed her hand to her belly as quickly as she could to
muffle the sound.

  The man cleared his throat, his lips tilted in an amused smirk. “Sounds like you’re hungry to me.”

  Rebekah realized she’d been staring. Intimidating or not, he was quite handsome, especially with several days’ growth of black whiskers that gave him a rugged look. She felt her cheeks warming and looked away.

  “Um … well, yes. I’m hungry.”

  “Then get yourself on down here fore Jimmy finishes off the roasted rabbit.”

  Rebekah’s heart sank. Rabbit. Not chicken. Oh, well, any food would taste good. She shouldn’t complain. Her stomach growled deep and low as if to agree.

  She pulled on her boots, stood slowly, then hiked her leg over the back of the wagon. Straddling the tailgate, she set her foot down on a section of wood jutting out the back end. The wagon swirled, fading to darkness then back to light. She paused to catch her balance. The man’s hands captured her waist, and warmth radiated up her side. Rebekah froze. Does he know I’m a woman? Why else would he help me down?

  Straddling the tailgate, she turned, glaring at the man. “I can get down by myself.”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, but you already collapsed in my arms once today. I’m just trying to prevent that from happenin’ again. You are still weak, you know.”

  Rebekah felt sure he spat out each individual word on purpose just to emphasize his point. Heat marched up her cheeks. Collapsed in his arms? What could he be talking about? Turning away from his penetrating stare, she started to hike her other leg over the side, but the ground below her whirled as if someone had set it in motion. If she didn’t know better, she might have believed the solid ground beneath her had turned to water. She clutched the top of the tailgate with a white-knuckled grip. With great resolve she fought the dizziness and weakness. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being right.

  Regaining her equilibrium, she hoisted her leg over the tailgate and was maneuvering quite well when her pants snagged on the head of a protruding nail. She tugged slightly but couldn’t free herself. With a sigh of frustration, she gave her britches a quick yank. The sound of ripping fabric hit her ears the same second her pant leg tore free. The momentum forced her other foot off the wooden ledge, and Rebekah dove over the tailgate—straight into the stranger’s arms.