Sherri Shackelford - The Cattleman Meets His Match

The horses whinnied and kicked at their stalls. Tony opened the enclosure nearest the fire, then covered the horse’s eyes with a scrap of cloth.

A panicked shout announced the arrival of yet another man. He was old and grizzled, his back bent into a c and his arms no more than long, thin twigs jutting from his spare body. Judging by his muttered grumblings, Moira figured he was the Norwegian she’d heard earlier—the livery owner. He joined their efforts, stomping on the dying embers in a frantic jig.

Between the seven of them, they had the flames under control in short order. As the smoke dissipated, Moira kicked at the dusty floor, scraping away the top layer of ashes. The room went silent for a tense few minutes as they searched for hidden embers.

Once they determined the fire was well and truly extinguished, their forced camaraderie ceased.

The irate old man flailed his puny arms. “What in the world? You nearly burned down my barn. I ought to call the sheriff.” He stilled and scratched the prickly gray patchwork of whiskers covering his chin. “Except Sunday is poker night. Maybe the new deputy is around. Haven’t met that feller yet.”

John dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. “This is feed and board for my horses.” He added several more bills to the fat pile. “This is for the damage.”

The wizened man accepted the money with one gnarled hand and rubbed the shiny bald spot on the back of his head with the other. “Suit yourself.”

Moira wasn’t certain the exact amount the cowboy had paid, but it was enough to send the livery owner away whistling a merry tune.

Gathering her scattered nerves, she folded her burlap sack into a neat square. Her eyes watered and her lungs burned from the grit she’d inhaled.

John paced back and forth before her, his face red. After three passes, he halted and opened his mouth. No words came. Moira tilted her head.

“Are you crying?” he demanded at last.

“No. It’s from the smoke.”

“Good.” The cowboy worked his hands in the air before her as though he was strangling some invisible apparition. “I gave you very specific instructions. What did you think you were doing?”

“Assisting you, of course. And you might have thanked me.”

“I had everything under control. You, on the other hand, nearly burned down the barn. And us in the process.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”

“If you had followed my very simple instructions, none of this would have happened. Give me some credit. I happen to know what I’m doing.” The cowboy thrust his hands into his flap pockets and his expression turned incredulous. He lifted his jacket hem, revealing where his fingers poked through a charred hole. “You’ve ruined my best coat.”

Moira stifled a grin at this outrage. He didn’t appear in the mood to appreciate the absurdity of the situation. “You were the one who used it to beat out an open flame.”

“I didn’t want to die.”

Moira’s eyes widened. She’d never heard anyone enunciate that clearly with their teeth still clenched together.

And why on earth was he angry? She planted her hands on her hips. Judging by the mottled red creeping up his neck, he wasn’t merely angry, he was furious. His searing glare would have melted a less hearty soul.

Moira straightened her spine. “You were hardly at risk of death.”

“You don’t know that. Your crazy stunt set this place ablaze.”

“I beg to differ. My crazy stunt saved our hides. Not to mention I used this perfectly useful burlap sack and not my best jacket. You might have done the same.”

“You could have trusted me. I haven’t proven myself unworthy yet. You might have at least waited.”

She cast him an annoyed glance. “What are you blathering on about now?”

“You are the most—”

“I haven’t time to debate with you.” Moira rubbed her eyes in tight circles with the heels of her hands. She instinctively knew their plight no longer suited John Elder’s interest. He’d be gone in a flash for certain.

Moira smoothed her hair and adjusted her collar. For a moment she’d thought the kidnapper was sporting a silver star. The glimpse she’d seen must have been a trick of the light. Besides, St. Louis was a lifetime ago. If the Giffords hadn’t looked for her after she’d left four years ago, they certainly weren’t looking for her now.

Dismissing the cowboy, her reluctant rescuer, she faced the girls.

Her stomach roiled. What now?

She hadn’t thought much past their immediate escape. Judging by their dazed expressions, neither had the others. Darcy had abandoned her indifferent sneer and Hazel’s lower lip trembled. Tears brimmed in Hazel’s wide brown eyes. Even Tony had lost her swagger.

“It’s safe now,” Moira announced and flapped her hands dismissively. “I believe our kidnapper will be indisposed for an extended period of time. You may all go home.”

“I’m sorry I sneezed and gave away our hiding place.” Sarah wrapped her arms around her slight body. “I can’t go home.”

“Of course you can,” Moira urged. “Mr. Elder will walk you safely home, won’t he?”

She lifted a meaningful eyebrow in his direction. Let him wiggle out of that one.

Sarah shook her head. “We haven’t any place to go.”

Moira caught sight of the safety pin, the number long-since faded, attached to the girl’s pinafore. Nausea rose in the back of her throat. “You were on the orphan train?”

“I have an uncle.” Tony cut in, her expression defiant. “He gave me a letter and everything. He said he’d come for me.”

Darcy braced her legs apart and planted her hands on her hips. “Then where is he now? You can claim whatever you want, but you’re no better off than the rest of us.”

“The woman on the train took my letter.” Tony lifted her chin. “She stole it while I was asleep. So I ran away. Folks don’t want children. They want workers. We’re free labor, plain and simple.” Tony jabbed her thumb at her chest. “I’m worth more. I was doing fine on my own until I was caught.” Her face blanched. “Until that man. Until tonight when we were...you know. I got sloppy, but it won’t happen again.”

“Don’t worry.” Moira patted her hand. “It’s all over now.”

The hollow platitudes stuck in the back of her throat. They were children. Alone. They’d never be safe. Her head spun with the implications of the impossible situation. Life for discarded children was ruthless and devoid of fairy-tale endings. At best they’d be neglected, at worst they’d be exploited. Driven into impossible choices.

The air sizzled with emotion and the girls crowded around her, speaking over each other, demanding her attention. She backed away from the onslaught and they crowded her against the stall door.

“I have a sister,” Sarah announced with a nod. “She’s older than me. She said she’d take care of me, but her husband didn’t want me. They put me on the train anyway.”

Moira swayed on her feet. The past came rushing back. She pictured her mother standing on the platform, her ever-present handkerchief pressed against her mouth as she coughed. Moira had held her brother’s hand clasped in her own.

“I’ll take care of you, Tommy.”

She knew better than anyone did the perils of survival. She’d been tested herself. Tested, and failed.

“Miss O’Mara,” John Elder’s voice interrupted her memories. “What’s going on here? Aren’t you together?” He circled his arms and touched his fingertips together. “Aren’t you a gang of little pickpockets?”

Her body stiffened in shock. “You’d believe a drunken kidnapper over a bunch of innocent children?”