Dillon, p.1
Dillon, page 1
Dillon
Linda Ford
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Sneak peek of Mike
Exclusive invitation
Dear Reader
Also by Linda Ford
1
Circle A Ranch, 1887
Eighteen-year-old Abigail Thompson clung to the seat as the wagon careened down the steep path. The older woman beside her, who had introduced herself as Maude Arbuckle, sawed on the reins trying to regain control of the runaway team, spooked by a rabbit jumping in front of them.
“Whoa,” Maude yelled.
The horses raced onward. The wagon bounced and swayed.
Abigail gritted her teeth together. This was not how she had envisioned her new life. But then, very few things had gone according to any plan she might have had. At the moment, it looked like her new life might be very short.
The wagon jerked to the side, threatening to throw Abigail out.
“Hang on there, missy,” Maude called. “I’ll get them stopped soon enough.”
Abigail wondered if the woman was more confident than she had a right to be.
The wagon swayed the other direction as Abigail hung on for her life. The front right wheel hit a rock. The wagon rose into the air and flipped end over end leaving Abigail with nothing to hang on to as the wagon went one way, and she went another.
Dear God, I don’t want to die. I want to start over. A new life.
Her arms flailed. Her skirts billowed and then she hit the ground, landing on her back. Hard. For several seconds she struggled to suck in air. And then her shocked lungs released, and she gasped. She felt her rounded tummy. Was the baby safe? Could she move, or was every bone in her body broken?
A moan sounded to her right. She turned her head. At least that much of her worked. “Maude, are you all right?” The woman lay among rocks. She was bound to hurt.
The only answer was another moan.
Abigail rolled to her side. Ow. Everything hurt. But she must check on Maude. She rolled to her hands and knees. Her back protested at the movement. Her stomach felt unusually heavy.
Moving as if she crawled through thick air, she made her way to Maude’s side.
“Are you hurt?” Dumb question. Of course, she was hurt.
“I’m too old for this,” the woman moaned. She tried to sit and fell back, her face gray. “My leg.” She touched it, explored it with her fingertips. “Might have broken it.” Sweat beaded on her upper lip.
Abigail settled back on her heels and looked around. Nothing but rolling hills in one direction, mountains saw-toothing the horizon in the other. The horses and wagon were gone.
She had no idea where they were nor how far from help. They’d left the town of Logan Crossing some time ago. A wave of nausea raced through her. Two women alone in a vast landscape.
She shivered.
“Storm a’coming,” Maude ground out. “Let me get my bearings.” She looked around. “If I’m not mistaken there is a small cabin past that boulder. Perhaps you could take a look.”
“I’ll go see.” Abigail struggled to her feet. Her body reminded her in every muscle that it had taken a beating, but she must ignore the bruises and pray they were nothing more than that. She swayed as she stood upright then took a step. Her hip hurt. The muscles around her stomach tightened. She cradled the unborn baby. Please, be alive. This whole journey was for the sake of that unborn little one.
She staggered the direction Maude had indicated. Past the boulder were some bushes and two tall spruce trees. She continued onward as the wind increased. Then she saw it. A log cabin, the roof grown over with grass, the door drooping on its hinges. But it might serve to keep the rain off them.
What if wild animals inhabited it? She picked a branch off the ground and beat it against the tree trunks as she yelled. Surely that would frighten away any creatures. Feeling a little more confident, she reached the door and pushed it further open to peer inside. Dusty. Dry leaves scattered across the floor, but it would provide shelter. She hurried back to Maude.
“Can you get up if I help you?”
“I don’t have much choice.” Maude reached for Abigail’s hands and pulled herself upright. She tried to stand on both legs, but the color faded from her weathered cheeks and Abigail knew she wouldn’t be walking on her injured leg.
“Put your arm around my shoulders and hop.” A drop of rain stung the back of Abigail’s neck. If they didn’t hurry, they were going to get soaked. But how could they hurry?
Maude hung on with a grip that would leave a bruise but then what was another bruise? They hopped to the cabin. Abigail helped her to the wooden frame that was meant to be a bed and lifted Maude’s legs so she could lie down.
“I hate to leave you, but I want to see if any of our belongings are out there.”
“Let them get wet.” Maude’s voice lacked the vigor Abigail had heard only a few hours ago when Maude had found her.
She didn’t have time to dwell on the matter and ran back to the site of the crash. Her three valises were there along with a crate of supplies Maude had purchased. Some of the items were scattered in the grass but she would save what she could, and she took the valises and a lap robe that had been tossed out. Staggering under the weight, Abigail raced back to the cabin then returned to grab the crate and drag it after her.
Panting, she reached the shelter of the cabin just as the heavens opened and the rain descended in a torrent.
She pushed the door closed and pinned it in place with the crate of supplies then sank to the floor, shaking like a leaf.
“We’re safe.” Maude’s reedy voice assured her.
“Yes, we are.” How long would it take for her strength to return?
“Is the baby all right?”
Abigail lowered her head to her knees; willing the baby to kick and assure her it had survived the accident. Nothing. Not so much as a flutter when lately he had turned and kicked enough to make Abigail think he was practicing to ride wild horses. Or she, if the baby was a girl. It didn’t matter either way.
She got to her feet, picked up the robe and took it to Maude and covered her. “At least we can be warm and dry. How’s your leg?” She pushed Maude’s skirt up to look. The leg was in alignment which was a good thing.
“I’ll live,” Maude said.
Abigail looked at the rain pounding against the narrow window. “Amazing that the glass is still intact.” There was a small crack across the bottom corner but not enough to let in the rain.
“God is taking care of us,” Maude said. “We’re alive, have shelter and eventually one of the boys will come looking for us.”
“Good to know.” She studied the older woman. Her gray hair was in a braid. She wore a dark blue dress, very plain in style and now torn in several places. Even with pain gouging her cheeks, Maude had a look about her that said she could handle anything.
She’d told Abigail that she and her husband owned a ranch back in the hills.
“My John was hurt a few years back. He’s crippled up and can’t ride no more.” Maude’s look had been a mix of sorrow and determination. “I knew I could run the ranch, but the hired hands refused to work for a woman.” She’d snorted. “So, I found my own hands. Mostly boys at the time. Some orphans. Some just down on their luck. They’ve grown to be the best cowhands anyone could ask for.” There’d been no mistaking the pride in her voice and on her face.
Abigail sank to the floor near the bed, her back against the wooden frame. How long would they be here?
“You never did answer about the baby. Is it moving?”
“I don’t feel it.”
Maude rested her hand on Abigail’s shoulder. “Dear heavenly Father, first I want to thank You for keeping us safe in that accident. And ask that You protect the baby as well. Thank You for a place out of the rain and send one of those boys to find us as soon as the storm ends. We thank You in advance for hearing us and answering us. Amen.”
Abigail rested where she was, grateful for the prayers of this woman.
“Thank you for rescuing me,” she murmured. Though perhaps she had only changed one dire situation for another. Was being stranded in the middle of nowhere any better than being stranded in town with not a cent to her name and no home, no future?
“Now then. What would the good Lord have me do when I learned your circumstances? I’ve no doubt He arranged for us to be in Logan Crossing at the same time for that very reason.”
“It might have been better if the good Lord had seen fit to protect my money.” Either she’d lost it, or someone had stolen it and she believed it to be the latter. Come to that, it might have been better if the good Lord had revealed the truth about a certain man before… But then, she’d been foolish enough to believe his lies. She couldn’t blame anyone—God or man—for her choices. She could only hope she could start a new life.
Not as a foolish young woman with a child growing inside her with no wedding ring on her finger, but as a widow woman prepared to raise alone the child born of two married people.
She hated to live a lie, but she must for the sake of her unborn child. She was no longer Abigail Thompson. She was now Abby Jones, widow of Seth Jones who had died of a sudden fever four months ago and her already with child.
She pressed her hands to either side of her belly and wished the baby would move.
* * *
Dillon Brown slipped into his black slicker. It would provide some protection against the pouring rain. “Maude should have been home by now. I’m going to look for her.”
He spoke to Pete, the only other one of the ‘boys’ as Maude called them that was at the ranch. The others were with the herd.
Pete lifted one shoulder. “Maude’s capable of taking care of herself. I’d think you’d know that by now. Have you forgotten that she managed this ranch after John’s accident?”
They both turned toward the sitting room where John sat with his useless legs. Likely napping.
Pete chuckled. “Of course, she couldn’t have done it without our help.”
Dillon laughed. “Yeah, you were a lot of help back then. Most of you didn’t even know how to ride. Good thing Maude is a patient teacher. You take care of John while I’m gone.” He strode into the deluge. Out at the barn, he saddled his horse, Major. Ruff, the dog, trotted up, tipping his head as if to ask if Dillon had lost his mind to be thinking of going out in this weather.
“You stay home, dog.”
Agreeing far too easily for an animal that was supposed to be loyal through thick and thin, through rain or dust, Ruff returned to his corner and turned around three times on his old blanket then lay down to watch Dillon prepare to leave.
A few minutes later Dillon was riding toward town, barely able to see past the edges of the trail. He didn’t even bother looking for tracks. They would have been washed plumb away. His mind raced with possibilities of what might have delayed Maude. Of course, the most obvious was she’d seen the storm coming and stayed in town. So, town was the first place to look. On a good day, he could make it to Logan Crossing in half an hour or less, but these weren’t the conditions for galloping a horse full out.
On the way to town, he kept his eyes peeled for any sign of her, thinking she might have pulled to the side and sheltered under the wagon. He saw nothing.
He dismounted in front of George’s General Store and strode in, water dripping from him and pooling on the floor. Abner, the proprietor, scowled at him. “Yer wet as a river rat.”
“I know.” Abner had never cared much for Dillon since the day he’d wandered into town with nothing but his saddle and the clothes on his back. Not even his boots. Thanks to the treachery of Slick McCall. They’d been friends. Or at least, Dillon thought they were. But friends don’t rob friends.
He’d traded Abner his saddle for a pair of boots. And asked...begged...for a job or a handout. But that was a different story in a different time and had turned out fine thanks to Maude. After seven years Dillon wondered that Abner still regarded him with disdain.
“I’m looking for Maude. She hasn’t returned home.”
“She ain’t here. I saw her and that gal leave town hours ago.”
“Gal? What gal?” His heart lurched like it had tripped on something. Maude had been telling Dillon and the others that they needed to get married and have their own homes. She’d even gone so far as to tell them she would take on the task of finding them wives. Dillon, for one, thought it was all talk. Where would she find unmarried gals out here? “Where did she find this gal?”
“Right out there.” Abner pointed out the window. “Dropped off by the stagecoach. Said she had no money. Claimed to have been robbed. Convenient story if you ask me.” Abner grabbed a mop from the corner and headed Dillon’s way. He began swiping up the water at Dillon’s feet.
Had she picked up some young woman to marry one of the boys?
Goose bumps sprouted on his arms. It sounded like the perfect way for some unscrupulous woman to take advantage of her. Dillon turned and left the store, staying in the shelter of the overhang. Maude had left with a stranger. But she hadn’t made it home and he’d seen no sign of her on the trail.
He swung to Major’s back and headed from town. Abner hadn’t said if Maude had gone any other direction but the one that would take her to the ranch. Surely, he would have. Dillon rode slowly this time, searching the trail and the nearby area for any sign of her.
Nothing but mud, rocks, and rain.
He usually left the praying to Maude, but she wasn’t here and could be in serious trouble with some shyster woman. God above, guide me to her. Keep her safe.
Horse and rider plodded on, wet and cold and worried. Though he doubted Major worried about anything but when he was going to get back to the warm, dry barn. Not that he’d complain which was one of the things he appreciated about animals.
Something to the side of the trail caught his eye. He dismounted to investigate. Maude’s battered, going-to-town hat.
Had she been robbed, beaten? Where was the wagon?
His worries growing, Dillon explored the area. Nothing more to indicate where Maude was. He moved onward, leading the horse. Something had happened here, and he didn’t mean to overlook any clues. He owed this woman everything and he’d defend her at all costs.
There. Something had been dragged, leaving gouges in the ground. At least the object was too big to be a body. He followed the tracks, moving slowly and carefully. It took a few minutes for him to realize where he was. Near the old trapper’s cabin that travelers sometimes used. Was Maude being held there?
He tied Major to a tree and slipped the rifle from its sock then eased closer, every nerve on alert. At least the rain would drown out any sound of his approach.
If he remembered correctly, there was a little window to one side of the door, and he made his way to it. A branch snapped beneath his feet and he froze. After holding his breath until his head began to pound, he decided he hadn’t been heard. Another step brought him close enough to look inside but the interior was so dark he couldn’t make out anything.
There was only one thing to do. Readying his rifle, he leaned his shoulder to the door and pushed.
But the door didn’t open. Somehow it was blocked.
“Open up,” he yelled.
“Dillon, is that you?” Maude’s voice. At least she was able to call out. “Hold on a minute.”
There came a scuffling sound as if something was moved and then the door creaked open. The watery light illuminated the interior. A young woman—no doubt the ‘gal’ Abner had mentioned—stood by the door. With brown hair tangled about her face and brown eyes that watched him guardedly, she looked harmless and innocent, but he wasn’t about to let looks distract him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Maude on the slab of wood.
“Get in and shut the door,” Maude yelled.
Dillon hesitated a moment, still uncertain, but Maude cleared her throat and he jerked into action, closing the door.
He stepped aside to make way as the woman shoved a crate to the door to hold it closed.
“Knowed you’d be the one to come.” Maude’s voice sounded reedy.
He rushed to her side. “Has she hurt you? Are you able to move?” Was she bound?
Dillon shifted his gaze to the young woman to see if she held a weapon. But no, her hands were empty. He gave her a moment’s study. Youngish. Brown hair with a leaf stuck in it. Brown eyes that regarded him warily. “What have you done to her?”
“Dillon, stop fussing. I’m fine. And no one has harmed me. Abby, this is my oldest boy, Dillon Brown. Dillon, this is Mrs. Abby Jones. She was accompanying me home.”
“Why?” It didn’t sound on the straight and narrow to his way of thinking.
“I can answer for myself,” Mrs. Jones said. “I was robbed of my last cent. Maude offered me a job.”
“Huh.” He wasn’t prepared to believe every story he heard. “The wagon?” he prompted.
“The horses spooked. We got thrown from the wagon. Can’t rightly say where it is now.” There was no mistaking the weariness in Maude’s voice. Or was it pain? “Think I might have broke my leg.”
