Chapter 1 #2
With a cocked head, she listened carefully and then finally decided he must have given up.
She didn’t hear a thing except a few rustlings in the forest from the squirrels leaping about.
Chuckling to herself, she went on her way.
She was still quite a distance from home, but she was sure he wouldn’t come after her now.
He’d have to have some powerful tracking skills, and she was willing to bet he wasn’t better than her.
She’d been tracking game since she was young enough to go out with her father and learn the skills.
Finally, she arrived at the edge of his property where it bordered hers. Stepping carefully along the wet rocks of the stream that was the dividing line of the property she was stealing from, she headed for the cabin. A flash of remorse flashed through her and then died an ignominious death.
Make that...borrowing from.
Whitney pursed her cold lips in a grimace—she wasn’t stealing—not exactly.
She’d never stolen anything in her life until she’d been left on her own in the hills with her siblings to care for.
Of course, "borrow" wasn’t the proper word either, because she had no intention of returning anything, but she had to rephrase the stealing part somehow.
Sometimes necessity won out over propriety.
Her father was supposed to be back by now from his trip into town to find work, but he was already gone longer than he said he would.
She had to stick it out for the winter. If they were to go to Bolton for help, the authorities would separate them because she wasn’t legally eighteen yet—more like 30 in adult years.
She grimaced. There was no way she’d allow Luke and Amelia to be taken away from her, not while she could help it.
They were a family, and they would stay together, even if it meant she had to steal food.
Once she turned 18 in February, she would have more options.
After the first spring thaw, if her dad still wasn’t back, she would head down to Bolton, look for a job, and find a place to raise Luke and Amelia.
Until then, surviving the winter without their only parent was her priority—whether her handsome neighbor liked it or not.
A moment later, she opened the door to a small cabin-style home and stepped inside the warm interior.
It wasn’t a large house, but it had two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen area, and an inside bathroom that sometimes worked and sometimes didn’t.
There was an outhouse out back for the times it didn’t work, or a chamber pot when it was too rough to go outside. It wasn’t fancy, but it was home.
They had a gas generator, which they used to operate the old washer and dryer in the bathroom.
Although electricity was available in most rural areas of the Missouri Ozarks, most of the higher dwelling residents couldn’t afford to keep it on, so they mainly used firewood and lamps for warmth and light.
Two enthusiastic faces greeted her, and she laughed as they almost bowled her over. All the things she hadn’t wanted to do were worth doing when she held them in her arms. She didn’t have time for guilt when they had needs.
“Whitney!” they chorused, grabbing her and hugging her.
“What’s this?” twelve-year-old Luke asked suspiciously, pulling her coat away from the lump hidden beneath it.
“It a tookey,” exclaimed Amelia, clapping her small hands in delight. Her sweet blue eyes stared up at her in admiration. “You a good hunter, Witty!”
“Thank you, sweet pea,” Whitney replied with a wry grin. She patted Amelia’s long blond curls and allowed Luke to take the gobbler. “And yes, it’s a turkey...one we are going to eat tomorrow for Thanksgiving.”
“I can’t wait,” Luke exclaimed. “She’s a beaut, Wit.” He was admiring the big turkey when the cabin door burst open and slammed back against the wall. Amelia screamed in fright and jumped behind Whitney. Luke’s face went pale, his big brown eyes wary.
The rancher!
The rugged cowboy stood there looking madder than a wet hen. Whitney noted the pistol in the holster around his waist for further reference. He’d been a better tracker than she’d given him credit for.
Actually, mad was an understatement—deadly furious was more like it.
Whitney gulped nervously but proudly lifted her chin. There was no way he was getting her turkey. She’d stolen—borrowed—it fair and square, so he might as well give up now. Besides, he had plenty more where that one came from—he could share.
His green eyes studied the trio suspiciously, steam seeming to rise from his ears before he finally pinned Whitney in his steely gaze.
“I want my turkey, and I want to talk to your father,” he demanded.
Whitney's lips thinned in defiance, although icy fear crept up her spine at the mention of her father. Her heart tripped like a hammer. If the authorities found out her parents weren’t around, they might take Luke and Amelia.
“My father isn’t here,” she growled defensively, her arm pushing Luke behind her in a protective gesture. Luke was only 12, but he considered himself the man of the house. But he wasn’t in this man’s league—and neither was she.
Her mind ran over her options—she had to get rid of him somehow.
She should have been more careful not to leave a trail.
She did have a knife in her boot, if necessary, but she knew she wouldn’t fare well against him.
He would be ten times stronger than she was.
And he probably wouldn’t be caught off guard again.
“So, you can talk after all,” he said derisively. He folded his long arms across his chest with a mulish expression. “Then I’ll talk to your mother.”
“Err...she isn’t here either. They uh...they went to town together,” she lied quickly, which might prove to be a mistake. That meant they were easy prey if he wanted to do something awful. “But they should be back any minute,” she added.
“That not twu, Witty,” Amelia announced with her three-year-old childish innocence, her blue eyes peeping around Whitney’s waist to look at the man.
“Shush, I’ll do the talking,” Whitney hissed, putting her hand over Amelia’s mouth and keeping the timbre of her voice low.
That rancher thought she was a boy, and she wanted him to keep believing that.
Was he the sort of man who would take advantage of a young girl on her own, though? Desperately, she hoped not.
***
MAC GLARED AT THE TRIO in frustration. Seeing the younger children, he was glad he hadn’t drawn his gun.
But what the heck was going on here? And where were these kids’ parents?
Studying the young boy, he knew the kid wasn’t going to tell him anything, and was probably lying his butt off.
He really didn’t want to tan his hide if he didn’t have to.
Besides, the other two might attack him if he tried that, and he didn’t want to get into a tussling match with three youngsters.
Someone might get hurt. Besides, the boy might be small, but he was obviously a scrappy guy.
He might even manage to bruise his tough hide.
Deciding he might get further with the little girl who looked like an angel with her tumbling white-blonde curls, he hunkered down to her eye level and smiled encouragingly. “What’s not true, angel?”
“Witty lying,” she replied, just before the older boy clapped his hand over her mouth again.
“I think so too, angel,” Mac agreed, taking the little girl by the arm and gently extricating her from the young boy’s grasp.
‘Witty’ tried to stop him, but the little angel with her big blue eyes wasn’t cooperating. Her smile was cherubic as she stared up at him. Clearly, she was enjoying the attention. She dodged the older boy’s hands when they tried to pull her back by the shoulders.
Mac held both of her hands firmly so the boy couldn’t take her without resorting to a tug of war with her little body. “Why do you suppose...Witty...is lying?” he asked, probing for information despite the boy's scowling face.
“Maybe she no like you,” the cherub responded with a child’s blunt honesty, but he caught the gender in the tot’s voice.
“You mean...he...maybe he doesn’t like me,” Mac corrected with a smile.
“Who? Luke?” She looked around at the other boy.
The little girl looked genuinely puzzled, and Mac frowned. “Who is Luke?”
When Amelia pointed to the other boy behind his poacher, he scowled deeper.
“That’s enough, Amelia,” the older boy warned, grabbing his little sister by the arm and pulling her away from Mac.
“You keep quiet now, you hear?” He turned to Mac.
“I don’t know who you are, but you are not welcome in this house,” he stated gruffly.
Now go on and git.” He pointed towards the door.
Mac stood up and looked down at the scowling boy again.
“I have no idea who you are, either, but you are the one in the wrong here. You’ve been stealing from me for months, and now I've finally tracked you here. And now that I am here, I’m not leaving until I have an explanation from whoever is responsible for you. ”
“Our mother is dead and our father is gone,” Luke volunteered suddenly, stepping out from behind the poacher with the bird in his hands.
“Can we keep this bird, mister? Please? I’m sorry Whitney took it from you, but we really want to have it for Thanksgiving tomorrow.
Maybe I could do some chores or something for it?
” His earnest brown eyes looked up at Mac from a thin, eager face.
Mac's eyes turned to slits as he began to study his poacher intently. “Whitney...that’s not a boy’s name.”
The poacher in question sent his younger sibling a quelling look, but it was too late. His quick mind had already worked it out.
“You’re a girl!” He grabbed the hat off her head, and her braid came tumbling over her shoulders as she backed away. Seeing the fierce, defiant face with curling tendrils of honey-colored hair falling down her temples made his stomach jump.