Chapter Three
Bighorn Basin, Wyoming
The sound of gunfire soon became as commonplace as the springtime songbirds, and Maeve had all but attached herself to her father’s shotgun.
It hung against her chest while she set about the morning chores, with a majority of her time spent grabbing for it and aiming it downhill.
The pasture fences grew misshapen due to lack of care, but Maeve only had so many hands to hold tools, and only so much time in the day to dedicate to maintenance.
The herd was especially affected by the constant sounds of violence.
Many of the cattle didn’t even dare to leave the barn despite the warm weather, with the braver ones still sticking close to its walls.
Maeve occasionally caught her trio of bulls patrolling the length of the pasture, allowing a handful of heifers to brave the open field and grab a few mouthfuls of grass before the sky cracked apart and filled the air with sulfur.
Maeve grumbled under her breath, recounting her bags of feed for the fourth time that morning. “It’s still coming back short.”
‘Of course it is,’ she thought to herself. ‘No one’s grazing as much as they should be.’
She let out a tired sigh, tugging on the end of her braid as she slipped out from the storage shed.
Her hair broke loose and sprawled out over her shoulders wildly, and she ran her hands across her tender scalp.
A slight breeze caught the curls, cooling the sweat that had begun to form beneath the warm June sunshine.
The long days were starting to get to her; Maeve could feel it deep within her soul. Something had to give, and soon.
She only worried that it would be her that would break first.
“Maeve! Luncheon’s ready!”
She craned her head back toward the cabin, catching Sadie’s silhouette as she stood on the front porch.
She looked like she was waving a soup ladle, and Maeve couldn’t help but crack a smile.
Shaking off her exhaustion and worries, Maeve started back across the property, following Sadie inside as the thick, meaty scent of simmering stew hit her immediately.
“Thanks again fer yer help, Sadie.” Maeve moved toward the kitchen, only for her friend to shoo her toward the dining room table.
“No, you sit! I’ll get you a bowl and a cup of coffee.” Sadie’s dress skirted across the cleanly-swept floors, and Maeve couldn’t help but watch her friend expertly navigate the kitchen. Her hands immediately produced a pair of bowls and mugs, and Maeve felt a guilty twinge pass through her gut.
“Ye’re real familiar with the space now, huh?” Maeve asked.
Sadie immediately shot her friend a look. “Don’t even start with all that. You know I’m here of my own volition, Maeve.”
She did, but that didn’t entirely erase the shame from Maeve’s mind. “Yer Pa really don’t mind you taking time ‘way from the store?”
Sadie shrugged, ladling the last bit of stew into Maeve’s bowl before bringing it, and a fresh cup of coffee, to the table. “If he does, he hasn’t said anything about it. And even if he did,” she added with a wink, “that would hardly stop me from coming to help you.”
Maeve eyed her friend as she moved back to the kitchen to get her own bowl.
Though their mail-groom ad had been finished days after the attack on the McCullens, Sadie always found a new excuse to stay longer at the cabin.
It had started with preparing a few easy meals for Maeve to make while she worked on the ranch.
That turned into organizing the pantry and storage room, then an insistence to clean the pots and pans Sadie had used to cook said easy meals.
A week had passed the pair by, then two, and her friend had settled completely into the role of her housekeeper, much to Maeve’s protests.
It was the same for the Wright brothers, who’d taken to visiting the property every other day.
Joshua always had a few of his men patrol the fences along the perimeter, while Sam offered a hand with the cattle proper.
Sadie hardly seemed to mind the men’s’ visits–Sam’s especially–but Maeve was at her limit.
Things were dangerous, yes, but she was supposed to be doing things on her own.
And every day her friends spent here was another day they lost from living their own lives.
She just needed to be patient and wait for someone to answer her ad. Then Sadie and the Wrights wouldn’t feel so obligated to help her. They could go back to their own business, instead of constantly worrying about someone who shouldn’t need it.
‘Sorry, Pa. Just gotta wait a bit longer…’
***
As afternoon fell one day in the middle of the week, Maeve took note of Sadie’s unusually frantic energy. She wasn’t one to sit on her hands, but something about the way she zipped around the cabin put Maeve even further on edge.
“Uh…Sadie?”
Her friend gasped, nearly dropping the basket of knitting materials in her hands. She spun around, putting on a strained smile before she spoke. “Oh, Maeve! Sorry, I–I didn’t hear you come in.”
Maeve slipped off her work boots and set them on the front porch, eyeing her friend with curious concern. “Ye’re awful jumpy. Everything alright?”
Sadie nodded a bit too eagerly.
Maeve’s expression turned deadpan.
Eventually, Sadie let out a heavy sigh. She dropped into one of the leather armchairs set around the freshly swept fireplace, yarn balls bouncing about in their basket.
“I just– I’ve been trying to find the time to finish this hat and mitten set for Father’s birthday.
His last pair completely fell apart during this recent winter, and with Mother’s hands doing poorly… ”
Maeve’s expression set into a scowl. “Sadie Whittaker, I ain’t gonna beat ‘round the bush no more. ‘S time you headed back home.”
Sadie immediately sat up in her chair, nearly spilling her basket of knitting supplies. “But, Maeve–!”
“I appreciate everything you’ve done fer me. Really, I do.” Maeve swallowed her irritation, knowing full well Sadie herself wasn’t the source of her sour mood. “You an’ the Wrights…ye’re really the reason I’m getting along as well as I am.”
Sadie’s expression softened. “Maeve, we’d never leave you to struggle on your own. You know that, right?”
She did. But all of this fussing was getting in the way of their lives; Maeve couldn’t bear to be a burden to them anymore.
She moved to the opposite chair, her fingers brushing across the numerous patches on one of its armrests.
Supposedly, her mother had fixed it for her father time and time again.
It didn’t matter how battered or broken it got throughout Maeve’s childhood; her father had continued to fix it with his own two hands.
He somehow found a way, just like he always did.
Just like she needed to.
“Go home, Sadie. I don’t wanna be the reason y’aint get that there present done.”
Her tone was far gentler now, but kept its firm edge. Maeve did appreciate everything her friend had done, but it was time for her to learn how to handle things on her own. Sadie must have sensed the determination in her tone, because she just gave Maeve a short nod and a worried smile.
“You really are a stubborn one, you know that?” Sadie asked.
Good. Maeve was trying her best to appear as such.
Finally, Sadie stood from her chair, shifting the basket of supplies under one arm as she stretched out the other.
“Well, if you’re going to be kicking me out, at least let me make one more lunch for us.
And you better finish that rabbit stew before starting on the other meals, alright?
I’ll have Sam tell me if you’ve done otherwise. ”
Maeve dramatically rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say, mother dearest.”
Sadie’s face flushed brightly, and she playfully swatted Maeve’s shoulder. “D-Don’t say that! I’m–I’m far too young to be thinking about motherhood!”
“Aw, but you fit the role so naturally!” Maeve cackled. “Betcha Sam’d agree with me if I asked him.”
Sadie’s face turned an even brighter shade of red. “You w-will do no such thing, Maeve Bennet!”
It had felt like an age since Maeve had properly laughed.
As she continued to tease her friend about her not-so-subtle interest in Samuel, Maeve felt a small part of her begin to thaw from that dreadfully long winter.
She was going to get through this. She would not be a burden to her friends, and she would not be the reason they put their lives on hold.
‘I promise, Pa. I’ll find a way, just like you always did.”
***
The cabin was pitch black when the sound of hooves pulled Maeve out of her deep slumber.
Immediately, her hand flew to her father’s shotgun as she stumbled out of bed, cocking it as she pointed its barrel toward the door.
She stood poised, ready to pull the trigger at the first jiggle of the handle.
A horse’s whinny put her further on edge, accented even more by the sound of heavy boots hitting the ground.
Maeve carefully inched toward the only window in the room, barely parting the curtains enough to take a peak outside.
It had to be well past midnight, without even a sliver of moonlight to help her pick out details in the dark.
Maeve squinted at her front porch, immensely relieved that Sadie had left for town that afternoon.
A selfish part of her wished she hadn’t, but Maeve quickly shook the thought away.
She managed to catch the shadow of a tall stranger making their way to the cabin’s front door, one arm tucked firmly to their side while the other reached out to pound against the wood. The knock felt as if it shook the entire cabin, and Maeve swiveled the shotgun’s muzzle toward the window.
The silence stretched as tension gathered in the air.
It snapped suddenly at the sound of a crying child.
Maeve nearly dropped the gun there and then. Was this some new, particularly despicable tactic the bandits were using?
“Excuse me? I’m sorry fer the time, but I ain’t sure how to get back to Bighorn from here.”