Petticoat Ranch by Mary Connealy

strong by hard work and faith. There was Laura to tend and laundry to do after last night’s muddy soaking. That meant hauling water and heating it. And on top of the regular struggle to survive, she now had an injured man to look after. All this came on top of a poor night’s sleep. Her shoulders sagged as she made her way to the house.
    Her morning prayers were the same as her night prayers and most of the prayers in between. Tears she would never let fall burned her eyes as she prayed, “Lord, give me the strength to get through another day. I can’t do it on my own. Help me, Lord. Help me, help me, help me.”

    Luther awoke with a start and slid into the brush, away from the glowing embers of the fire. He glanced behind him and saw Buff roll out of sight into the woods. The two of them lay silently for a long time. They knew how it worked in the West. Get stupid, get dead. Simple.
    What had made him move? The more Luther thought about it, the more he was sure it wasn’t a sound that had awakened him. It was a—a nightmare. But that didn’t quite cover it. Finally, into the darkness, Luther said quietly, “Buff, I’ve a hankerin’ to see the kid.”
    There was an extended silence. “That what sent you runnin’ for cover? Ya missed the boy?”
    Buff didn’t sound sarcastic, which Luther appreciated. Sheepishly he admitted into the night, “As I lay here, I reckon that’s exactly what woke me.”
    Buff came to the fire matter-of-factly. “Movin’ first an’ askin’ questions later keeps body and soul together.”
    Buff looked to be settling back in, but Luther knew he could not ignore that call for help. “ ’Twas one o’ them consarned dreams where a fella is fallin’ and lands afore he wakes up.”
    “Had ’em,” Buff said.
    “Only ’tweren’t me fallin’. It was Clay. An’ it was almighty real. And a call for help. I think the boy’s in trouble.”
    “Best check it out.”
    Buff put on the coffee while Luther led the horses to the creek for water. Without more than ten words between them, they ate breakfast and broke camp.
    As the sun rose to the middle of the sky, Luther spoke for the first time since they’d set out. “Texas is a big state.”
    “Clay’s a big man,” Buff said. “He’ll leave tracks.”
    Luther nodded. “Blackfeet’re feisty in the spring anyhow. Might’uz well find a differ’nt spot.”
    “Yup,” Buff said grimly as he swung his horse into a ground-eating lope aimed at Texas, most likely a thousand miles away or more. “Let’s see if Apaches’re friendlier.”

    Sophie bathed the Hector stink off herself and ate her biscuits and jelly, while Beth stood behind her and braided her still-wet hair. She was just getting up from the table when Mandy came tearing into the house.
    “He’s awake again!” Mandy dashed away.
    Sophie and Beth were hard on her heels.
    Sally was kneeling beside the man, talking earnestly to him, when Sophie got to the shed. Sophie heard her say, “And I’m your third daughter, Sally.”
    Sophie skidded to a stop and tried to walk sedately into the shed. Her patient turned his eyes toward her and tried to sit up. Sophie forgot to be sedate and dropped to the ground beside him. “Don’t try yet. We shouldn’t have let you get up earlier. It was too soon.”
    As if he appreciated being given permission to lie still, he sank flat on the ground.
    “Now,” Sophie said calmly, “can you tell us who you are?”
    He rubbed his head and didn’t answer for a long moment. Sophiesaw her daughters lean ever closer. Even the practical Mandy seemed to be hoping this man would be their father.
    When he didn’t respond, Sophie added, “You rode your horse over a creek bank last night. We heard you fall and got you back up here. This is going to sound strange to you, but once we got you to where we could see you. . .”
    Sophie really didn’t know how to say it. “The thing is. . .you look exactly like my husband. And he’s