"It's a shame," Douglas remarked. "Someone that big ought to be able to fight. He could be a real mean one if he only knew how."
Cole agreed. "It's a crying shame all right."
"What did Mary Rose say his name was?"
"MacDonald," Cole replied. His grin was wide when he added, "A-Crying-Shame MacDonald."
February 11, 1861
Dear Mama Rose,
We got into a little trouble in St. Louis. I was carrying Mary Rose on my hip and a troublemaking man came along and tried to bother us. The baby's got curls now, all over her head, and she's right friendly to anyone who looks at her. Well, she smiled at the man, showing off her four front teeth and drooling down her chin, and he starts in wondering in a loud voice how come she don't look nothing like me. He kept trying to take her from me too, but Cole came along and of course he looks just like little Mary Rose's brother what with the same yellow hair and blue eyes. Anyways, he snatched our baby up in his arms and tells the mister to mind his own business.
The troublemaker got us all thinking we should keep on going until we find us a place where people mind their own business. Adam's thinking the prairie might be far enough away from folks, so we're packing up our lean-to and heading out tomorrow. It's a shame you can't write back to us yet, but just as soon as we get ourselves situated, we'll send you our whereabouts.
Adam's looking over my spelling now and he says to tell you we got to get us a proper cabin. Mary Rose is crawling everywhere and the dirt we call a floor inside the lean-to is sticking to her hands and knees. She tries to eat the dirt when we aren't looking. None of us know why she does that. She sure is a happy little thing though. We all got to take turns putting her down for her nap. She sleeps with one of us every night and I got to tell you, I'm getting sick of waking up with her piddle on me. She wets through everything we put on her. Guess that's usual though, isn't it?
We sure wish we could see you so we'd know what our mama looks like.
Love,
Your favorite sun, Douglas
Chapter 3
Douglas was vastly amused by his brother's nickname for Mary Rose's latest charity project, but his mood drastically changed when he got a good look at Crying-Shame's stallion. He suddenly wanted to kill the man. It didn't matter to him that MacDonald might not be able to defend himself. If the son-of-a-bitch was responsible for the mount's pitiful condition, then, by God, he deserved to die.
Cole had ridden down to the stables in the wagon with his brother. The owner, a red-haired, potbellied giant of a man named Simpson, told them Mary Rose and the stranger were out back by the corral. Cole was going to collect his and Mary Rose's horses, but Simpson kindly offered to saddle the gelding and the mare and bring them out, and so Cole rode with Douglas around the corner to where MacDonald's horse was being housed. They'd only just rolled to a stop when Douglas tossed Cole the reins and reached for his shotgun. The weapon was propped on the seat between the two men. Cole was quicker than his brother. He snatched the shotgun out of Douglas 's hand and threw it into the back of the wagon.
He knew what his brother was thinking. "Find out first," he suggested in a low voice. "Then you can kill him."
Douglas agreed with a curt nod, then jumped to the ground. He stormed over to the corral, where Mary Rose and MacDonald stood watching the animal.
She had been stunned speechless at her first sight of the horse but was quick to recover. She kept her attention on the stallion while she tried to understand why anyone would treat him so maliciously. White, puckered scars covered almost every inch of his coat. She couldn't imagine how the poor thing had managed to survive.
She decided she'd better get the particulars. "How long have you owned the horse?" she asked in a voice strained with worry.
"Almost three weeks now."
"Thank God," she whispered. She was going to ask him another question, but then she spotted Douglas coming toward them and she immediately hurried to put herself between the two men. She could see rage on her brother's face.
"He's only owned the horse three weeks, Douglas. Just three weeks."
Harrison found her behavior puzzling. "Why are you shouting?"
"It was important for Douglas to hear me. I didn't want him to kill you."
If he was startled by her bluntness, he didn't let it show. His attention turned to her brother. He noticed how red and mottled Douglas 's face was and immediately understood. Douglas was staring at the stallion, enraged on the animal's behalf.
" Douglas has become an expert in the care of most animals," Mary Rose said. "Ranchers come from miles around just to get his advice. My brother has a particular fondness for his horses. He's also extremely protective, and when he saw the scars on your animal…"
"He only saw the scars."
"Yes," she agreed. "Someone used a whip on him, didn't he? Do you know, I thought his coat was white until I got closer, then I could see a hint of gold. Who did this to him?"
Douglas had reached the two of them and now stood with his hands fisted at his sides while he studied the animal and listened to the conversation. He was trying to get rid of his anger and finding it an almost impossible task.
"I don't know who was responsible," Harrison replied. "I asked, but no one knew. I forget about the scars. I just see MacHugh."
"MacHugh? What a peculiar name," she said before she realized she might be insulting him. "I mean to say, what a fine name," she hastily corrected. "Peculiar and fine," she ended, with a nod so he'd believe she was sincere.
She was going to great lengths not to injure his feelings. He smiled in reaction. She really was a sweetheart and appeared to be completely unspoiled. If that was the case, then she was going to be a refreshing change from all the other women he'd known in the past.
He wondered if she realized how incredibly lovely she was.
He pulled himself back to the topic at hand. "I named him after a crusty ancestor of mine. I saw certain similiarities."
"You did?"
"That's one damned ugly horse."
Cole made the judgment from behind. Harrison didn't turn around when he answered him. "Get past the scars and you'll see he's one damned fine horse."
"You think he's fine?" Mary Rose whispered the question.
"Yes."
She let out a barely noticeable sigh. She could feel her heart melting. Harrison was a good and decent man. It was such a rarity for any man to ever look beyond the surface, at least that was the conclusion she'd come to after having to fend off several arrogant, opinionated suitors, and she could really name only four other men who had conquered the ability to look deeper, into a person's heart. Her brothers were all good and decent, even when they didn't want to be, and perhaps Harrison was too. Lord, she hoped she was right. Good men were so difficult to find these days, especially in Montana Territory.
They also tended to die young. Their high standards and their values got them killed. But not this one, she vowed. Come heaven or purgatory, she was determined to help him learn how to get along in the wilderness. Besides, it really wasn't all that difficult once you got the hang of it.
MacHugh was busy putting on a show for his audience. He was rearing up and snorting and acting as if he had just been fed a bucket full of crazy weed. Harrison was used to his theatrics. He knew MacHugh was trying to intimidate them, and from the worried look on Mary Rose's face when the stallion came charging toward the fence, he concluded she was duly impressed. She moved toward her brother Douglas, seeking his protection without even realizing it.