Petticoat Ranch (15 page)

S
ophie was so excited about all the food they had in the house, she almost forgot men were trying to kill her husband.

It had been so long since she’d had choices. She didn’t have to try and contrive bread; she had the ingredients to allow her to choose between making rising bread, biscuits, or corn bread. She didn’t have to hunt for whatever greens were growing; she had canned vegetables and fruits of every kind. Clay bought a ham and a side of bacon. He had also purchased flour, sugar, baking powder, yeast, potatoes, carrots, and onions. They’d hitched up their horses to the wagon the Roscoes had driven home and filled it with wonderful, delicious, precious food!

It took some doing for Sophie to remember how to cook with it all, but it came back to her, and they had a feast for their Sunday dinner.

Sophie told Clay she’d like to go for a short ride with him after lunch. They went alone, despite the wailing of the three older girls. It was good luck that Laura was taking a nap, or no doubt she’d have joined in with the other banshees. Sophie had to bite back a smile when she thought of the terrified look on Clay’s face every time one of the girls started crying.

Before they’d ridden a hundred feet, Clay said, “We don’t dare go out of sight of the ranch. We’re far enough they can’t hear us. Now tell me about those men who were hunting me.”

Sophie told him everything. The parson’s words rang in her ears, and she wondered if it wasn’t a sin to pile her own list of enemies onto Clay’s shoulders. She was inviting him to hate along with her.

“Judd was his name?” Clay asked. “That’s all you heard? No last name?”

“Just Judd and Eli.”

Clay’s eyes flashed with anger.

Sophie tried not to join with him.

“And J B
AR
M,” he said with grim satisfaction. “That should be registered. It should be a simple matter to track down the owner of that brand.”

“Unless the horse was stolen, Clay,” Sophie reminded him, afraid he’d act rashly.

Clay nodded. “It might have been stolen by Judd from someone from the J B
AR
M. Or maybe someone else stole it and the vigilantes caught up with the thieves.”

“So even if we find who owns that brand, we still might not know anything,” Sophie said forlornly.

Clay sighed. “It might lead to a dozen dead ends.”

They rode around a small stand of trees, thin enough they didn’t block the view of the house. Sophie pulled her mount to a halt and leaned forward, resting her crossed arms on the saddle horn. “Clay, what did you think about Parson Roscoe’s sermon this morning?”

Clay looked at the skyline, and Sophie realized that he had been sharply alert the entire time they’d been riding, much as he had been on the ride to town this morning. It made her feel safe. Sophie tried to remember the last time she’d felt safe. They were sandwiched between the thin clump of oak trees that had sprung up by a little spring, and a vast woodland that stretched up into the rugged hills which surrounded the ranch house on two sides.

“I thought he was aiming it right at me.” He gave her a sheepish grin.

Sophie smiled back. “Me, too.”

“So do you think he wrote the whole sermon with the two of us in mind?” Clay teased her.

Sophie shrugged. “He could have.”

Clay moved his horse. Sophie knew he was checking all around them, watching for danger.

Without ever letting his eyes rest, he said, “I guess everyone in the place might have felt like we did. It’s not just the vigilantes either. I reckon every man and woman alive carries anger around and wishes for revenge for something or other.”

“I have hated that man who lynched Cliff for so long my hatred is almost like an old friend.” Sophie realized she was looking around, too. And it wasn’t just Clay’s heightened awareness that was making her do it. She had learned all the hard lessons the West had to teach.

“I don’t want to give it up.”

Clay nodded. “I heard that my brother was dead and all I could think of was revenge. I rode down here hunting his killers with no thought except to even the score. To pay them back for what they did to Cliff.”

“I’ve prayed every day to stop the anger in my heart,” Sophie confessed. “I’ve always known hatred was a sin. But to give it up seemed like a betrayal of Cliff. And those men are dangerous. How do we love them when there’s a very good chance that, one of these days, they’re going to come riding onto this ranch and kill you, just like they did Cliff?”

“I don’t want to wait for that day either. I have been fully intending to hunt them down.”

“And kill them?” Sophie asked.

Clay lapsed into silence for such a long time that Sophie had her answer. Finally he focused on her and said quietly, “I’ll turn them over to the sheriff instead. That would be justice, not revenge.”

Sophie raised her eyebrows, and a quirk lifted the corners of her mouth. “That might be okay. But what do we do about the hate?”

“I’ve been using the hate to keep me inspired,” Clay said grimly. “It pushes me to never give up.”

“But it’s wrong,” Sophie reminded him.

“It’s not that I don’t agree that vengeance belongs to God. I just don’t see why we can’t both have a turn.”

“Both?” Sophie asked.

“Yeah, God and me—both.” With a little grin, Clay said, “First I can have a crack at ’em, then God can punish ’em eternally in the fire.”

“Clay!” Sophie interrupted. “I don’t think that’s quite what Parson Roscoe had in mind.”

“I reckon not.” Clay shook his head and looked away from Sophie to scan the woodlands and flatlands. “What the parson has in mind is to give it up to God, I s’pose. So far I’m not having any luck. I don’t even want to let it go. I’ve never prayed, like you have, to quit hating. I’ve never prayed to catch up to ’em either. I figured when I got my hands on ’em, I’d kill ’em. And I guess, even without the parson’s words, I knew God wouldn’t want to hear a prayer like that. I think, sweetheart, that you’re one step farther along the way to doing it right than I am.”

He’d called her
sweetheart
. It actually made her heart feel kind of sweet. “Well, then maybe we can pray for both. We’ll pray for me to quit hating and for you to want to quit hating.”

“Okay. I won’t go after ’em.” Then Clay added playfully, “Anyway, I don’t have time. I got me a wife and four daughters and a ranch to watch out for. I only got time to hate ’em part-time these days.”

Sophie smiled at him, then her smile faded and she said hesitantly, “Clay.”

“Huh?”

“I want us to do what God wants, but I don’t want you to be hurt. Those men might not have seen you enough to know who they were chasing that night, but we can’t know that for sure. They might still be looking for you.”

Clay leveled his blue eyes at her. “I’ve lived a long time in a hard land, Sophie. I’d take a lot of killing.”

He had eyes exactly like Cliff ’s and yet so different. They were identical, and yet she knew them apart. His eyes were the reason she’d
never really believed he was Cliff, even when he was just regaining consciousness, even when he couldn’t remember his name. She could take one look at the confidence in Clay’s eyes and never get the two of them mixed up.

“We’d better get back to the house,” Sophie said with some regret. She’d enjoyed this time with Clay. He’d actually done a little talking. In fact, this might be the first time he’d strung two sentences together. She’d like to stay and ask him questions about his life growing up in the mountains and his pa—her girls’ grandfather.

Clay turned his Appaloosa toward the ranch. Just as Sophie wheeled, a wild boar burst out of the dense undergrowth in the small grove of trees about a hundred yards away from them. Sophie jerked her Winchester off her saddle and shot the boar before it could run ten feet. She dropped her rifle back into its sling, clucked to her horse, and turned back for the boar. Clay reached out and grabbed her arm.

She held up on the reins before he pulled her out of the saddle. She tugged on her arm. “I’ve got to bleed him.”

He didn’t let up his hold. If anything, it tightened. “Where did you learn to shoot like that?” he asked faintly.

Sophie took her eyes off the hog she’d brought down. “I taught myself, mostly. Adam showed me the basics.” She looked at Clay, pleased with her shooting, although the boar was certainly a large target. She was surprised to see the incredulous look on Clay’s face.

He kept looking from Sophie, to the boar, to her rifle.

Finally she said defensively, “What? It’s a good shot. I caught him just ahead of his front leg. A clean shot through the heart. I didn’t damage the hams, and there won’t be powder or bone fragments in the headcheese.”

Clay’s grip slipped a little. “You mean you even took the time to pick a spot to hit him?”

Sophie was flustered by the question. “Well, sure.”

“No woman knows how to handle a gun like that,” he said flatly.

Then Sophie saw what was bothering him. She couldn’t believe
it. “You mean you’re all ruffled because I’m good? That doesn’t make sense.”

“I’m not ruffled!” Clay growled. “Men don’t get ruffled!”

Sophie bit back a grin. Then she remembered the deer from last night. “If it ruffles your manhood to see a woman whose aim is fast and true, then why don’t you prove how tough you are by butchering that boar? You do know how to do it, don’t you?”

“Of course I know how to do it.” Clay narrowed those eyes at her, like he’d done time to time, and her heart sped up just a bit. He ignored the jab at his masculinity and got right to the heart of her insult.

“If you wanted me to clean that deer for you last night, you shoulda said yes when I offered to do it.”

Sophie met his gaze with the coolest one she could muster. She had the feeling that many a man would back down under that look in Clay’s eyes, but she had no fear of him. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

A flicker of surprise passed over Clay’s face. Sophie wondered when the last time was that he’d been sassed.

Then he did something that took her completely by surprise. He closed the few inches between them and kissed her. He pulled back. “See that you don’t.”

The kiss had been over almost before it began, but it had still left Sophie’s lips tingling. She had to hold herself from leaning toward him again. Then he let her arm go and turned his horse toward Sophie’s catch.

Clay stopped his horse to turn and look at her. After a few seconds he said gruffly, “Get back to the house and take care of the children, woman.”

Sophie laughed again. “Yes, sir!” She gave him a sharp two-fingered salute. She was afraid she’d irritated him, but not very afraid. And when she heard his deep-throated chuckle, she wasn’t afraid at all.

Sophie tasted him on her lips and wondered how foolish it was to be falling in love with a man she’d only known two days. Somehow it
seemed more foolish than marrying him.

Still, he was her husband. Who better to fall in love with? Then she caught herself. She thought of how much she’d loved Cliff and how much his rejection had hurt.

Of course she’d respect Clay and work hard at his side and honor him whenever possible. But love? No. She rode away, determined not to ever be such a fool again.

“What ya mean it’s been sold?” Judd smashed both fists on the banker’s desk so hard he shoved it back against Royce Badje’s paunchy belly.

Badje stood and pulled his handkerchief out of his breast pocket to dab at his forehead.

Judd smelled the fear in the man and enjoyed it. “Who bought it?”

“R–Really, sir,” Mr. Badje stammered, “b–bank transactions are c–confidential. It isn’t my place to say who—”

“I want to know
who
now!” Judd reached for the massive oak desk to wrench it aside so he could get his hands on this pasty-faced city slicker. He wanted to make this man afraid of him. He wanted to crush him under his heel like the bug he was.

But Judd prided himself on his wiles. He had held back after Cliff died, so as not to draw attention to himself. He had kept his cool, played the game out his own way. Now, he had to do that again. He fought for control of his rage. Finally, he felt capable of straightening away from the desk and lowering himself into the chair, where he’d been sitting so comfortably a moment ago.

He’d been savoring the moment when he’d impress this overbearing banker with the show of cash he could produce. Instead, the banker had said dismissively that the land Judd had been working two years for belonged to someone else.

“Just give me a name,” Judd said through clenched jaws. “I heard the owners had abandoned it. So I scouted it. It looked like a right nice
piece of property. I might go out and see if the new owner would dicker with me.”

The stout, little man puffed up, dabbed his forehead again, and with a huff of indignation, returned to his seat. “I can’t give you any details. A banker has a certain position to maintain in a community. . . .”

Judd leaned forward in his seat and reached for the desk, outwardly just to balance himself while he stood, but he knew the effect he had on milquetoasts like this. He let the full weight of his fury blaze in his eyes.

Without Judd saying a word, the banker caved. “There is really no reason I shouldn’t say. After all, it is common knowledge who the new owner is.”