The Brides of Chance Collection (83 page)

No wonder Logan was restless—he didn’t even have a wife, and he was already tied down! He rubbed his neck as the door opened and Bryce came in, bringing with him a gust of rain-soaked wind and muddy boots smelling of the stables. They were the last two bastions of bachelorhood, he and Bryce. If they didn’t watch out, they’d be trapped just like their other four brothers. With all the womenfolk around, you never knew what new female would pop up with a smile on her face and a bare ring finger. After all, that’s just what had happened to Gideon, Titus, Paul, and even surly old Daniel.

Not that he didn’t love each and every fuzzy head and gummy smile, but Logan ached for some excitement before he gave in to the inevitable. After all, his brothers had waited until they were years older than he was now, and all of those years had been spent in a man’s world of riding, ranching, hunting, and building. Logan just wanted some of the same, but there was no way he’d find it at Chance Ranch. It was 1874, and the world was growing so fast there was no end to the adventures out there.

“What’s got you lookin’ so serious?” Bryce’s voice interrupted Logan’s thoughts.

“Awww…nothin’.” It was one thing to think about his dissatisfaction but entirely another to give voice to it.

Bryce pinned him with a level stare. “When’re you goin’ to admit that it’s getting to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re chomping at the bit here, so why don’t you go and do something about it?”

Logan shook his head in disbelief. Bryce, so often oblivious and awkward socially, still surprised him with his uncanny ability to see straight into his head. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, but it seems to me that if you don’t set out soon, you never will. You’ll be needed for the calving season, but the end of spring would be a good time to go stretch your legs and satisfy your curiosity.”

Logan mulled that over for a minute. “And what about the Chance vote?” If the others didn’t want him to go, the situation could get ugly.

“Seems to me this isn’t a voting issue. You may be the youngest, Logan, but you’re not a boy any longer. Men make their own decisions, and since this one won’t hurt the ranch, everyone will respect that.” Bryce spoke with an authority Logan was unaccustomed to hearing from him.

“You think it’ll be that easy, huh?” He flopped down onto his unmade bunk and shoved his boots underneath.

“Nothing worthwhile ever came easy, Logan. If I were you, I’d start praying.”

“Get up.”

Logan awoke with a start when a wadded-up sock hit him smack-dab on the nose. Giving a huge yawn, he lobbed it back at his brother, who caught it easily and stuck it on his foot.

“What? Breakfast bell hasn’t even rung yet.” He pulled up his blankets farther around his neck and scowled at Bryce.

“I know.” Bryce looked annoyingly alert already. “Unless you dreamed up a plan last night while you were sleeping, you’ve got to nail down some particulars before breakfast.”

Logan scratched the stubble on his chin. “What for? I haven’t even made up my mind to go yet. No rush.”

Bryce snorted. “You’ve got to tell everyone as soon as you can, get them used to the idea. Best try it in the morning when Gideon, Daniel, and Titus are a little groggy.”

Seeing the logic in Bryce’s advice, Logan sat up and started running through options. “Where should I say I’m goin’?”

“San Francisco? Big growing city like that’ll give you plenty of opportunities.”

“Nah.” Bryce obviously wasn’t thinking big enough. “I don’t want to be a city slicker—what’s the fun in that? Besides, it’s too close to really count as an adventure.”

“So you want someplace that’s not too civilized and not too close?” Bryce summarized.

“Yep.”

“Any other requirements?”

“I should know something about the place before going in.”

“That’s a mighty tall order, but I think I know just the place.” Bryce looked mighty pleased with himself, but he didn’t say another word.

“Well?” Logan prodded.

“Sounds to me like you’re going to Salt Lick Holler.” With that, Bryce walked out the door, leaving Logan to scramble into his clothes and tromp after him to the breakfast table.

As the women looked after the children and the men started making plans for the day’s labor, Logan tried to recall all he knew of Salt Lick Holler.

The MacPherson brothers, known more commonly as Obie, Hezzy, and Mike, owned a spread neighboring Chance Ranch but hailed from Hawk’s Fall. When they tried en masse to court Delilah—long before she wed Paul—she cleverly encouraged them to write back home for brides. They couldn’t think of any girls from Hawk’s Fall, but Mike remembered girls from the neighboring Salt Lick Holler. So Lovejoy had hauled Eunice, Lois, and her sister, Tempy, from Salt Lick to Reliable to wed them off. Somehow she wound up filling the hole in Daniel’s heart.

They were all upstanding people with an easy freedom Logan envied. They’d settled well here but kept ties back to the holler—Lovejoy, in particular, wrote to their healer. It was far enough away to be a journey, foreign enough to be an exploration, but vouchsafed so the Chance clan wouldn’t protest. Salt Lick Holler was perfect.

Salt Lick Holler was far from perfect, but it was home, and Hattie Thales loved it. She took a deep breath of crisp mountain air tinged with the scent of freshly fallen rain. Spring had come again, bringing along with it the promise of new life.

Spring meant she’d be needing to shore up her stock of medicines. She’d have use for black haw bark, motherwort, cramp bark, and fennel seed before long. Hattie didn’t know what meant more work for her—the babes born after a cold winter, or the scrapes and sprains collected by men and young’uns jumping around like crickets to be outside again. Come to think of it, she’d best keep an eye out for any golden seal, heal-all, and larkspur.

Widow Hendrick had taught her all the yarbs and medicines she knew, so Hattie would be ready. Her favorite part of healing was walking through the lush country in search of yarbs, roots, and berries to put in bags, vials, teas, and poultices for later use. This winter she’d even received lessons in reading and writing, which she’d taken to like a duck to water. She’d come far in the past two years.

Who would have figured Hattie Thales would ever be so book-learned? Not her pa, who’d wed her off to Horace Thales as soon as she’d become a woman. Horace had been a good man, but he’d boasted more than twice her years and less than half her joy in life. For six years she’d fetched, cooked, mended, cleaned, and carried for him with nary a word of thanks for any of her trouble. Then a widow-maker deadwood branch had fallen on her husband and crushed the life from them both.

He hung on nigh a year, and she nursed his body but couldn’t touch his bitter heart. As his health declined, so did the life Hattie had built for herself. She carried out all her household duties, stayed faithful to Horace, and tried to make him comfortable, but nothing she did could make up for the way she’d failed him. He knew he was fixing to leave this world, but he had no one to pass his name to before he died. Horace never said a word, but that bitter knowledge tainted the very air around them.

It had been over a year since he’d passed on, and Hattie could have married again— but no decent man would have her. She didn’t hold it against them. Who could blame them for wanting sons? A body couldn’t deny nature’s way: The woman brought forth children, and the man provided for them all. Once a woman lost a babe the way Hattie had, she’d never be able to carry another. Her miscarriages didn’t only mean she’d failed as a woman; they meant that any husband of hers wouldn’t have the chance to be a man in the eyes of his kith and kin.

So she’d left her home to a new couple just starting out with every hope in the world and moved in with Widow Hendrick. Miz Willow, as Hattie had come to call the elderly healer, had outlived everyone she’d known so far and was glad for the company. Besides, since Lovejoy Linden had fetched her sister and the Trevor gals out to Reliable and landed herself a Chance husband, somebody needed to tend to the health of the holler. If Miz Willow had her way, she’d be around forever and a day, but the older woman needed more help as her capable hands grew stiff from rheumatism and her back twisted with age.

Hattie spotted some burdock and stooped to dig up some of the root. It helped with joint pain, and she’d used up most of her supply this winter. The cold always brought aches to the older folks. She’d need some devil’s claw root for Miz Willow’s rheumatism, too.

The sun hid behind a heavy cloud, casting the meadow into shadow. It seemed as though they were in for another shower. Hattie hurried to gather as much of the precious root as she could without killing the plant. She tucked it into her gathering bag and turned back toward home.

As she made it to the door, the heavens opened. She stomped her feet on the threshold to loosen the mud, then stepped inside and shut the door before taking off the worn boots. She hung up her cape and carried her gathering pouch over to where Miz Willow sat in her old rocker.

“I was askeered you wasn’t gonna make it in time,” she chided. “M’ bones say it’ll be a gully warsher for shore.”

“And I know those bones o’ yourn never tell tales.” Hattie bent down and gave the old woman a kiss on her leathery cheek. “I’ll fix you some devil’s claw tea to ease the ache.” She busied herself with the old kettle and added more wood to the fire.

“Thankee, child.” Only Miz Willow could call a twenty-one-year-old widowturned-healer a child and give no offense. “I’m a-fixin’ to write a letter for Lovejoy. Roads oughta be openin’ agin soon. Anythin’ we’ll be a-needin’ from them parts?”

Hattie thought for a moment, picturing the jars and vials of the storeroom in her mind’s eye. “Not much. I harvested devil’s claw and burdock today and have my eye on a patch of motherwort and some fennel. Could use more of the mule’s ear root for Otis’s rheumatiz. Wouldn’t turn down some witch hazel, iff ’n she cain spare it. I have plenty of rusty rye to trade.”

She waited while the widow painstakingly scrawled out the list, pen clasped tightly between her pale fingers. There was a time when Hattie would have envied Lovejoy her good fortune in finding a husband despite her barren womb, but Lovejoy’s marriage had given Hattie a place and purpose back in the holler. Hattie could only thank the good Lord for the gifts He’d seen fit to give her. She had a home and a respectable living. She’d never want for food or warmth, and she’d touch the life of every child in the holler even though she’d never have one of her own. What more could a body want?

Chapter 2

A
dventure. It loomed on the horizon, as glowing and enticing as the setting sun. It beckoned to him, and Logan nudged Britches to trot so he could present his plan to the family.

The gelding had earned his name by being pure white up to his rump and hindquarters, where the white gave way to a rich chestnut brown. Logan’s father had given Bryce the runt to nurse back to health if he could. Bryce’s calm voice and gentle care had seen the pony through, though he would never be a large horse. Since Logan was the youngest brother and had the shortest legs, it made sense for him to ride Britches at the time. Now, years later, it was an undeniable fact that Logan had gotten too big for his Britches.

But the horse was loyal and shared his rider’s love of open spaces, cool streams, and fast runs. Logan could have his pick of any horse on the ranch, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave behind a companion that had served him so well—same as he’d stayed on the ranch for the past two years even though it had become increasingly obvious he was a round peg surrounded by square holes.

At least he wouldn’t have to worry that Britches would be put out to pasture when he left. Mike MacPherson, the smallest of the MacPherson brothers, had an affinity for the horse and had been dropping hints lately. They’d be a good fit together. It never hurt to keep one’s relatives happy, and Mike was his brother’s wife’s sister’s husband, after all.

Yep. Logan’s family tree had grown as tangled as Polly’s hair when he’d tried to braid it yesterday. It had taken Delilah and Lovejoy the better part of the afternoon to straighten out that mess. The fact that he’d been reduced to messing with a little girl’s hair proved he needed a change of pace.