sleep. Doc said the drugs made him restless, but for the moment he seemed comfortable. The bruises on his face had faded to yellow and the swelling had subsided. His leg was bound and splinted. Doc changed the dressings on it every day. But it was the injuries to his chest that had done the most damage. Doc said he couldn’t tell how badly Pa’s internal organs had been damaged. His chances were slim, Doc had been honest enough to say. “About all we can do is keep him comfortable.”
Which meant giving him pain medication.
Linc shook the bottle of medicine. It was almost empty. As were his pockets. It had taken a whack out of his savings to bury Harris and the rest to get himself, Red and his father home. He’d have to find himself some sort of work in order to keep the bottle full.
Satisfied his Pa didn’t need anything for the moment, he returned to the kitchen and sat at the table, turning his chair to face Grandmama.
“I met a young lady today. Sally Morgan. Do you know her?”
Grandmama carefully put away the yarn and folded the piece of fabric she worked on before setting it on the little table beside her chair. “I know the Morgans. Mr. Morgan died a few years back. The two older girls have married recently. Louisa, the eldest, married a widower with a little girl. They adopted one of the orphan girls before they headed west where he has a ranch. Madge and her husband now own the Cotton farm. They’re a hard-working young couple.”
“Uh-huh.” He wasn’t so interested in the family as in Sally.
“Miss Sally is working for our neighbor, Abe Finley.”
He knew that, too.
“He’s a widower with two young children.”
“I met Robbie. He came to visit me and my horse.”
“Young Robbie has been a bit of a …” She hesitated. “A concern since his mother died.”
Linc smiled. “You couldn’t come right out and say he’s a defiant child?” He’d seen the way he’d glowered at Sally when she said he had to go home.
Grandmama sniffed. “I don’t believe in speaking ill of others.”
“Too bad others don’t share your view.” If they did, Linc and his father and brother wouldn’t have felt they had to leave town six years ago. And maybe Harris would still be alive. He missed his brother. A blast of sorrow hit Linc and he looked out the window, waiting for it to pass.
He saw the corrals out the window and remembered he was asking about Sally. “So what do you know about Miss Sally?”
Grandmama gave him her best warning expression. “Everyone expects she and Abe will decide to marry. So you stay away from her, you hear?”
“This understanding that everyone has, is it official?”
Grandmama’s eyes narrowed. “There’s been no announcement, if that’s what you mean. But you listen to me, Lincoln McCoy—”
Uh-oh. When she used his full name, he knew she was deadly serious.
“Abe Finley is a fine match for Sally. Don’t you go interfering with it.”
And he wasn’t suitable? Is that what she meant?
“You hear me?”
Linc sighed. He wouldn’t argue with her. After all, she had given shelter to Pa and she didn’t even like him much. Just as she’d welcomed the four of them when they returned eight years ago, when Ma was filled with cancer and dying. And perhaps she was right. He was a McCoy, after all, and even if he convinced everyone they hadn’t stolen the things they’d been accused of, he would still be a McCoy—and who were they but wanderers? Pa never stayed long in one place. In fact, come to think of it, the two years they’d spent on this farm made the longest he could remember being in one place.
Grandmama nudged his leg. “You hear me?”
“I hear ya.” What he heard was there was no formal agreement between Sally and Abe.
Chapter Two
Sally pulled a tray of cookies from the familiar oven of home and scooped them to a rack to cool. Ginger cookies perfectly rounded, nicely browned with a sprinkling of sugar. She was a good cook. Yet she experienced so many failures at the Finley place. She must be trying too hard. She sucked in spicy air and pushed her frustration to the bottom of her stomach. She needed to remember she was a child of God, and as such had His approval. “I’ll take these over to the Johanssons as soon as they cool,” she said to her mother. “I’m sorry to hear the mother is still not feeling well.” Mrs. Johansson hadn’t regained her strength after the birth of daughter number five. “The children will appreciate fresh cookies.”
“How did your day go at the Finleys’?” Mother glanced up from sewing a button on a sweater.
Sally didn’t want to trouble her mother with tales of her struggles with Robbie and news of a ruined meal. “There was a man at Mrs. Shaw’s.”
“Really? How do you know that?”
“I saw him out in the corrals. He showed Robbie his horse. Big Red, he’s called.”
Mother studied her with watchful eyes.
Fearing her expression would reveal more than she wanted, Sally shaped more cookies.
“So you met this man?”
Sally nodded. “When I went to bring Robbie back. His name is Linc McCoy. I thought I’d heard the name before but can’t place it.”
“The McCoys are back?” Mother sounded as if a murderer had escaped into their presence.
“I only saw the one. Are there more?”
Mother pushed to her feet and strode to the window. “I don’t suppose you know the story. It was fresh when we first moved but died down shortly after.”
Sally stared at her mother’s back. “What did they do?”
Mother faced her and sighed. “Mrs. Ogilvy kept some expensive jewelry in her home.”
Sally waited for more. Everyone knew Mrs. Ogilvy to be the richest lady in town. She lived in a big house at the opposite end of the street from where Mr. Finley lived. She lived alone except for a woman who came in to help care for the house. Mrs. Ogilvy had once ruled Golden Prairie society but had been ill for the past couple years. She was on the mend now and again dominating social activities. Why, at Christmas she’d instigated a town party for everyone, including hobos from their shelter down by the tracks. Sally had even heard Mrs. Ogilvy allowed some of them to live in the old coach house she no longer used. Sally liked the woman who used her worldly goods to help others.
Mother sighed and continued with her story. “Mrs. Ogilvy’s jewels went missing. It was never proven, but all the evidence pointed toward the McCoys. They were known as the kind of people who—” Mother stopped. “I don’t like to speak ill of others, but from what I understand they had sticky fingers.”
“The McCoys?” This news didn’t
