Prairie Cowboy. Linda Ford

and hot surged through Virnie. “No, he’s not.” She faced the attacking dog, now within twenty feet of the road. “Stop,” she yelled with all the authority she could muster. “Stop.”

      The dog didn’t slow down one iota.

      “Don’t move,” she told Rachael though she wondered if either of them could force their limbs to run.

      She lowered her voice to her deepest tones. “Stop.”

      A distant voice called, “Tictoc, you get back here right now, hear.”

      The dog slowed slightly.

      Virnie tore her gaze from the approaching menace to the house. A plump woman stood on the step waving a broom.

      “Tictoc, don’t you make me come after you.” The woman banged the broom against the wall.

      The dog stopped, still growling, still considering whether he wanted to continue his attack or obey the cross mistress.

      “Tictoc, I’m warning you. Get back here. Now.” Another solid whack with the broom.

      The dog edged backward, clearly wanting to complete what he had started. But another whack of the broom made him turn and slink away. Virnie stared as he skittered past the house and disappeared under a nearby fence.

      The danger was over but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Her lungs seemed to have forgotten their job was to provide oxygen to her body. Her brain remained in shocked numbness.

      “He’s gone,” Rachael whispered. “Let’s go.”

      Virnie’s breath escaped in a loud whoosh and she leaned forward as she sucked in air. She must not let Rachael know how frightened she’d been. Sudden anger pushed her fear into distant corners. “Does that dog threaten you every time you walk by?”

      “If he’s here. He belongs to Devin Faulk. He’s their son. He has a farm south of here and takes the dog with him. I like it when he’s not here.”

      Virnie started to giggle. She knew it was a mixture of relief and anger. “Tictoc? What sort of name is that for a dog?” She tried to control her giggles but couldn’t.

      Rachael stared at her and blinked, then her eyes sparkled. “Tictoc like a clock.” For some reason the little rhyme amused them both immensely and they giggled like mad.

      They continued toward the Russell home.

      “That’s my house,” Rachael said with obvious pride, pausing to let Virnie have a good look.

      Virnie saw a low house of moderate size and felt an instant sense of relief. At least Rachael didn’t live in one of those tarpaper shacks some of the settlers had for a dwelling, nor in a sod shanty. The wood had not been painted but it looked a substantial enough place. To one side were pens for the animals and a sod-roofed building she took for the barn. A small pen housed chickens and another fenced area indicated what might have been a garden. Some buckets lay scattered along the garden fence. Rags were caught along another fence. Apart from the general air of untidiness, it seemed to promise a solid future. Virnie stood several minutes taking it all in, trying to confine her feelings to how this affected Rachael but she couldn’t stop a trickle of memories. She enjoyed hours with her brother, Miles, at a farm. One bigger and more developed than this one, but seeing the pens and the barn brought things to mind she’d purposely pushed away. Following Miles around, trying to imitate him, trying to earn his approval, hoping if she did, her father would voice his…what? She didn’t know what she’d expected then any more than she did now. Perhaps a word of praise, a sign that he didn’t regret having a daughter? She turned from studying the Russell farm. “Are you going to show me your house?”

      Rachael grabbed her hand and ran. Virnie had no choice but to trot after her.

      They ducked into the house. Virnie remembered her manners in time to stifle a gasp at the mess before her. They stood in a nice-sized room that served as living quarters for the residents—combining sitting area, dining area and kitchen. The room had potential to be bright and cheerful but it did not live up to its possibilities. Dirty dishes covered the table. The stove held an array of blackened pots and pans. Clothing of every description from a Rachael-sized shirt to a heavy winter coat lay scattered across every surface. Virnie had to wonder where they sat, how they managed to prepare a meal, how they kept clean. She deliberately shifted her gaze to the two doors opening into the room. Both stood open to reveal beds buried beneath clothing and assorted objects. How did they find room to sleep in those beds? And how did Rachael manage to find clean clothes to wear to school?

      Mentally, Virnie began to roll up her sleeves. She could tackle the worst of this mess while she was here, perhaps show Rachael a few coping skills. She wondered how long she had until Conor returned because she didn’t have to be a genius to sense he would object to her interference.

      “Rae.” The faint call came from outside, some distance away.

      Rachael grabbed Virnie’s hand. “Don’t tell Pa about the dog.”

      The child’s request drove all else from Virnie’s mind. She assumed it would be the first thing Rachael said. Such an encounter should be reported and dealt with. Why was Rachael afraid to tell Conor? “You need to let him know so he can do something.”

      “No. Pa needs me to be strong.”

      “Rachael, you need to be protected.”

      Rachael swallowed so hard she grimaced. “I can take care of myself.”

      Virnie knew she couldn’t. What if Mrs. Faulk hadn’t been there to call the dog off? Virnie shuddered to think of the child facing that dog alone. “You need to tell him.”

      Rachael shook her head. “Promise you won’t tell.”

      Virnie considered her responsibility to report the incident against the child’s obvious reluctance. “I won’t tell him but I want you to promise you will. He needs to know.”

      “Okay, I will.” Her reluctance was obvious.

      Conor burst into the house and Virnie could not pursue the subject. She had given her word. Now she must trust Rachael to keep hers.

      “Where have you been? Why are you so late?” Conor demanded of Rachael and then he shifted his gaze to Virnie. “Why did you bring her home?”

      “Pa, she is visiting all the families and I got to be first.”

      Conor narrowed his eyes, still studying Virnie. “Is that a fact?”

      Virnie’s struggle to deal with her reluctant promise about the dog ended suddenly at the challenge in his voice.

      “Do you have any objections?” She meant both visiting in general and making Rachael her first visit.

      He blinked before her directness. “Why is Rae so late?”

      “She helped me clean the chalkboard and brushes so we could walk home together.” She darted a glance at Rachael, hoping to convey that now would be a good time to tell her father about the dog. But Rachael refused to meet her eyes.

      “Do you expect me to serve you tea?”

      She almost laughed but managed to confine her amusement to a grin. “I’m not sure that would be a good idea.” She let her gaze circle the room and knew a sense of victory when he looked uncomfortable.

      “It’s harvest time. Don’t have time to spend cleaning up the house. It can wait. The crops can’t.”

      She didn’t say it looked like the house had waited a very long time but knew her eyes must have flashed her disbelief when he scowled.

      The sound of an approaching rider reached them.

      “It’s Uncle Gabe,” Conor said.

      Rachael screamed and raced outside calling, “Uncle Gabe. Uncle Gabe.”

      Conor did not release Virnie from his look, rife with warning,