The Wilde Bunch

“That’s the truth!” Webb agreed, injecting himself into the conversation. “First time that kid screamed, I thought a bear grabbed her and was mauling her. But she was screaming ‘cause her brother was throwing water balloons at her and told her they were filled with acid. Kid thought her skin was going to peel off from acid burns.” The ranch manager shrugged quizzically. “Who’d think a little girl would know about stuff like acid burns?”

“Autumn specializes in the grisly and the gruesome,” Mac said glumly. “I think she does research.”

“The child does have a highly imaginative streak,” Reverend Will murmured. “A pity her imagination tends toward the—uh—morbid side.”

Mac paced faster. “How can I be in two places at the same time? Picking up Autumn and working in the north field? Most of the time I feel as if I’m being pulled in five different directions at once, and I see no end in sight.”

“If you had a wife at home, she would be supervising the children,” the pastor pointed out. “She could help cook meals and—”

“Meals! Dinner!” Mac slapped his hand to his forehead and groaned in despair. “Damn, I forgot about dinner.”

“Can’t Lily cook for the younger children?” Reverend Will asked. “I know she’s taking a cooking class at the high school because my Tricia is in it.”

“Your Tricia might cook a meal for her family, but Lily will either set fire to the kitchen or poison the other kids. Deliberately.” Mac sighed. “Mrs. Lattimore makes us casseroles for three dinners on the days she comes in to clean, but the other four days dinner is one of my major headaches.”

“The young lady I have in mind for you loves to cook, Mac,” Reverend Will remarked, his tone purposefully enticing. “She’s great with kids and has always wanted a family of her own. She is currently working in Washington, D.C., and from her letters, I feel certain that she’s ready for a change. We could bring her to Bear Creek and—”

“Like a mail-order bride, sort of thing?” Mac gave a hoot of laughter. “Sounds like the plot of a romance novel, Rev. And I don’t look a bit like that blond-haired guy who’s on all those covers.”

“It’s no worse than advertising in the personal ads, which many people do these days,” the reverend pointed out. “And my plan is certainly a lot better and safer. I can personally vouch for both you and Kara and the two of you can—”

“Hey, Mac, your nephew is driving the Jeep,” Webb exclaimed, dashing toward the front door.

“Brick?” Mac uttered a curse. “He’s supposed to be in school. If he got himself expelled again...”

The three men raced to the front porch.

“Good Lord, it’s little Clay!” gasped Reverend Will.

For one paralyzing moment the three men watched the second-grader behind the wheel.

“Hey, Uncle Mac,” young Clay shouted out the window of the Jeep, which was jouncing around the circular drive. “I got sent home early today ‘cause I’m infected. See how good I can drive!”

“Infected with what?” Webb backed away from Mac.

“I’d heard the elementary school was experiencing an epidemic of chicken pox,” Reverend Will said. “If Clay has it, he’ll miss at least a week of school. My little Joanna missed two weeks when she caught it a few years ago.”

“Good luck working the ranch and taking care of a sick kid, Mac,” Webb said in a better-you-than-me tone of voice.

“A marriage of convenience is starting to look mighty tempting,” Mac uttered. “A sensible arrangement between two adults who know what they want and are beyond confusing fantasy with the realities of everyday life. At least we’d be spared all those falling-in-love delusions that just mess everything up. Rev, get that family-loving girl you know out here as soon as you can. At my expense,” he added, just before making a mad dash toward the Jeep.

* * *

Kara Kirby read the letter over and over, willing the words to change. They didn’t. The message remained the same.

It is with regret I inform you that, as a result of the recent decision to eliminate overstaffing in certain functions performed within the Department of Commerce, your position will be eliminated within thirty days of the date of this letter.

The letter went on, reassuring her that this was not a result of her job performance, which had been consistently excellent, but rather a necessary adjunct to the department’s continuing efforts to reduce expenditures in areas which no longer occupied the same level of priority as they had in the past.

She was out of a job! Thirty days from today, she would be unemployed, her position as a statistician for the Department of Commerce having been eliminated in another round of government budget cuts.

Hot tears filled Kara’s eyes, and she fought the rush of panic that surged through her. She’d held that job for the past five years! Sure, it had been dull at times—well, much of the time—but the pay was decent and she had health benefits and an annual one-week paid vacation. For the past year, she’d been able to pay the rent on her apartment in Virginia, just across the district line, without having to take roommates to split the costs.

Kara enjoyed the privacy but missed the company and the activity provided by other people. She’d always been reserved and introverted, and living with other girls forced her to socialize. But faced with moving in with strangers after her last roommate, a college friend, had married, Kara decided to go it alone. Now she shared her home and her life with her Siamese cat, Tai, who sat on the sofa across the room, watching her with his inscrutable blue eyes.

Three months ago, on her twenty-sixth birthday, Kara had sat in front of her television set with Tai and had taken stock of her life. She was twenty-six years old, living alone with her cat, her small social circle dwindling as old friends married or left the area, moving on with their lives while hers remained static.

Day after day, year after year, the same routine, same job—a comfortable quiet way of life, but one that offered no surprises, no change. The years had slipped away and she’d barely noticed. Now she was past twenty-five, entering the bottom half of her twenties and grinding inexorably toward thirty. The big three-oh! She was only four years away from it and she wasn’t even dating anybody! The lonely empty years stretched before her with no man, no children. And now, no job!

She sadly faced the fact that she was not going to meet Mr. Right. With women greatly outnumbering men in Washington, D.C., eligible bachelors had their choice of outgoing, high-wage-earning beauties. Why would Mr. Right settle for someone like her—a shy office worker, average in every way?

But some indomitable deeply feminine instinct within her demanded someone to love, to nurture. She had always been one of those little girls who cherished her dolls and prayed for a baby sister or brother. But there had been no siblings, and as she grew older, her dreams were for a child of her own—and a man to father her child, a man she adored, who would love her and their baby. What a wonderful, happy family they would make!

Tai meowed and jumped down from the couch. Seeking attention, he wound his way around her ankles, his meows growing louder and more demanding, until Kara leaned down to pet the soft fur around his ears.

“Oh, Tai, what are we going to do?” It hurt to swallow around the huge lump in her throat. Never had her dreams seemed as impossible as at this bleak moment.

Tai purred loudly, oblivious to her distress, his back arched in ecstasy as she stroked him. Tai was perfectly content with their solitary existence; Kara wished that she were. Loneliness washed over her in waves. The future loomed dark and dismal. In nine months, she would turn twenty-seven, all alone except for her cat.

The telephone rang, jarring Kara out of her reverie of despair. She was grateful for the diversion, even though it was probably just a telemarketer trying to convince her to buy magazines or something else she didn’t want or need.

“Kara?” The warm tones of Reverend Will Franklin sounded over the line.

“Uncle Will!” Kara exclaimed, thrilled to hear his voice.

“How would you like to come out for a visit, my dear?”

“Uncle Will, I’d love to, but—”

“No buts. I have a plane ticket for you. Ginny and the girls and I insist that you come to Montana. Immediately, if possible.”

* * *

Standing at the gate in the airport in Helena, Mac glanced at the photograph in his hand for perhaps the hundredth time since Reverend Will had given it to him one week ago. The young woman featured in the photo was Kara Jo Kirby, age twenty-six.

He had urged the reverend to contact her last week, the day Brick had been discovered hiding in the girls’ locker room with a Polaroid camera. And after chasing Clay around the house trying to apply an anti-itch lotion to his chicken pox spots, Mac had decided that a solid marital unit in which to raise the children was no longer an option to consider sometime in the future, it was an immediate vital necessity.

Reverend Will was delighted. “I’ve known Kara for years, and I can attest to her trustworthiness and high moral standards.” He grew quiet for a moment. “I suppose I should tell you that I was Kara’s stepfather for nearly five-and-a-half years, from the time she was three until she was past eight. Then her mother divorced me,” he added flatly.

Mac gaped at him, speechless. He’d known Will and Ginny Franklin for the past fifteen years, ever since the pastor had arrived in Bear Creek. The couple and their two daughters, now aged sixteen and twelve, were the picture of domestic harmony. This was the first time he had ever heard of a previous Mrs. Franklin.

“It’s no secret, although I rarely speak of my first marriage,” Reverend Will said. “There is really no reason to and, well, Ginny doesn’t care to recall that I was married before. I’ve kept in touch with Kara through the years, though I haven’t seen her as much as either of us would’ve liked.” He handed Mac the picture. “This was taken nearly five years ago. I was in Washington for a conference at the time and visited with Kara there.”

Mac stared at the snapshot. Kara Kirby’s smile looked forced, as if she’d been commanded to say “cheese” just as the picture was being taken. Her hair was brown and blunt-cut in a straight bob, which swung below her jawline. A light smattering of bangs—not those moussed, gel-stiff bangs that stood up like a cresting ocean wave—accentuated her large, wide-set eyes.

Her nose was small and rather elegant, her teeth white and straight, her eyes a startling red, a casualty of the camera flash. Actually, her eyes were hazel in color, according to her former stepfather. In the picture, the young woman was slender, wearing white slacks and a peach-colored shirt, although in the past five years, she might have gained some weight.

Like three or four hundred pounds? Mac swallowed. Well, if she possessed the sterling character and rock-solid virtues attributed to her by the reverend, if she were willing to commit herself to a desperate man and four disturbed kids, then he was damned lucky to get her.