Lone Wolf's Lady

“McCain.”

She nodded, then released a pent-up sigh. “You’d never know it, but Silas’s father is the minister.”

“No, ma’am. You’re right. I would have expected his father to be the town drunkard. Or maybe to hear that he’d been locked up in jail for the past ten years.”

She clucked her tongue. “Silas has a mean, spiteful side to him that his parents refuse to see. I taught school here in Pleasant Valley up until last summer and watched that boy bully the other children many a time.” She bit down on her bottom lip, as if she might be wondering if she’d shared too much with a stranger.

Her hands rested on the little girl’s shoulders in a loving, protective manner.

Satisfied that the child was in good hands, Tom doffed his hat. “Good day, Miss O’Malley.”

Then he urged the gelding across the street and on to the sheriff’s office, where he planned to ask a couple of questions and get directions to a place known as the Gardener’s House.

He might look like an uneducated half-breed, but he knew better than to ask a lady where he could find the town brothel.

* * *

Katie O’Malley held on to Sarah Jane’s shoulders as she watched the dark-haired stranger ride away.

The man was frightfully handsome, with eyes the color of fine bourbon, high cheekbones and a square-cut chin. His copper-colored skin suggested he might have a mixed-Indian heritage. And for the first time in her life, she found herself more than a little awestruck by a man’s appearance, especially one who spent his days in a saddle.

Mr. McCain wasn’t the type of man she usually had reason to talk to—or the type she should find the least bit attractive. Yet she did.

She supposed that was because he’d come to her rescue, even though she hadn’t needed him to. She did, however, appreciate the gallant way he’d made the gesture.

He’d studied her in a curious way, which had caused her pause. Then he’d simply said, “Good day,” turned his mount and headed down the street.

She wondered what business he had in town. Unable to quell her curiosity, she watched him go until he stopped at the sheriff’s office, where he left his big bay gelding tied out in front.

When he was finally out of sight, Katie returned her attention to the disheveled little girl.

“What are you doing in town all by yourself?” Katie asked.

“Blossom gave me a penny, and I wanted to buy a peppermint stick. I was going to wait for someone to take me to the mercantile, but then Sweet Heather told me to go outside and stay out of the way.”

“Where’s Daisy?”

“She wasn’t feeling good, so she went to take a nap. But she’s probably in the kitchen now. It’s her turn to cook dinner.”

Katie pulled a lace-edged handkerchief from her reticule and placed it on the little girl’s small, bloodied lip, gently dabbing at the wound. She’d championed many causes in the past, but none had touched her heart as deeply as Sarah Jane Potts.

It was time once again to talk to Daisy and insist that the woman either agree to leave with Katie for Wyoming next week or that she allow Sarah Jane to go without her.

After adjusting the ribbons in the little girl’s hair, Katie took her by the hand. “Come on, honey. I’ll walk you home.”

While they made their way to the brothel at the far edge of town, they talked about important things, like why dogs chased cats and why staring into the sun made a person sneeze.

It hadn’t taken many chance visits with Sarah Jane for Katie to realize that she was an absolute delight, and the more time she spent with the charming child, the more she longed to rescue her.

As they stepped off the boardwalk and ventured to the outskirts of town, past several lots that were overgrown with weeds and littered with debris, they made their way to the green-and-white three-story structure that served as a brothel. People referred to it as the Gardener’s House, a name that seemed fitting because of its park-like grounds, manicured lawn and rows of marigolds leading to a wraparound porch.

If one didn’t know better, one would think that it was a respectable home owned by a wealthy family. But Katie knew better.

Her steps slowed as they neared the ornate wrought-iron gate, and her hold on the child’s hand tightened. She took a quick scan of her surroundings, hoping to avoid being seen by a witness prone to gossip. As it was, her welcome in Pleasant Valley had worn thin, thanks in large part to the newspaper articles she wrote in favor of women’s rights. And she’d been hard-pressed to find many upstanding citizens willing to write the letters of recommendation she needed to provide the school board in Granville, a growing town in the Wyoming Territory desperate for a schoolteacher.

Sarah Jane tugged at Katie’s hand. “Come on. Daisy made a swing for me in the backyard. I want you to see it.”

The child led Katie around to the rear of the house and pointed to an elm tree where two lengths of rope and a wooden slat hung from a sturdy branch.

“See?” Sarah Jane said. “Want to watch me swing?”

“Not yet. I’d like to talk to Daisy first.”

The sooner she could speak to the fallen dove and get back to a more respectable part of town, the better.

“Let’s see if she’s in the kitchen,” Sarah Jane said.

As they climbed the steps to the rear entrance, Katie’s heart began to pound.

Fortunately, after Sarah Jane opened the door and entered the kitchen, they found Daisy seated at the big oak table, snapping green beans.

Daisy, a dark-haired woman with a fair complexion, first glanced at Katie, her big green eyes leery.

When she spotted Sarah Jane’s swollen lip, she gasped and scooted back her chair. Then she got to her feet and crossed the kitchen. As she reached the girl, she dropped to her knees. “What in the world happened, sweetie?”

“That big boy named Silas said mean things to me again. And this time he hurt me, but Katie made him stop.”

Daisy tensed, then brushed a wisp of hair from the child’s face. “Boys can be mean.”

They certainly could. While growing up, Katie had suffered a few taunts of her own. She knew what it felt like to be different from the other children, to be singled out in the classroom for not paying attention because she’d had her nose in a book when she was supposed to be drawing a map of Missouri. Or to be teased on the schoolyard because she’d never had a mother to teach her how to properly braid her curly red hair.

But those jeers, while hurtful and humiliating at times, were nothing in comparison to the ones Sarah Jane stood to face if she continued to live in Brighton Valley.

Daisy’s gaze lifted and met Katie’s. “Thank you for seeing her home.”

But her home is a brothel, Katie wanted to shout. She bit her tongue, instead, unwilling to offend the woman before she could convince her to see reason.

She couldn’t hold back her thoughts, though. Couldn’t Daisy see the damage she was doing to the little girl by having her live here?

Katie’s first impulse was to argue her case, which was a good one. But it wouldn’t do her a bit of good to speak her mind if she wanted to convince Daisy to sign over guardianship to her or to leave the brothel behind and move to Granville.

“I don’t think Sarah Jane should go outside without an adult present,” Katie said, minding her tone and choosing her words carefully.

“She isn’t allowed to go out alone.” Daisy cupped the child’s face. “You know better than that.”

“I’m a big girl now.” Sarah Jane stood tall, while a swollen, cut lip and traces of blood and dirt on her cheek mocked her self-confidence. “I’m six. Remember? I had my birthday when we lived at the other house with Mama.”

“You know the rules.” Daisy got back on her feet, then made her way to the sink, reached for a cloth and dipped it into a bowl of water. “Come here, sweetie. Let me wash your face.”