The Cowboy Comes Home. Linda Ford

After all, she had given shelter to Pa and she didn’t even like him much. Just as she’d welcomed the four of them when they returned eight years ago, when Ma was filled with cancer and dying. And perhaps she was right. He was a McCoy, after all, and even if he convinced everyone they hadn’t stolen the things they’d been accused of, he would still be a McCoy—and who were they but wanderers? Pa never stayed long in one place. In fact, come to think of it, the two years they’d spent on this farm made the longest he could remember being in one place.

      Grandmama nudged his leg. “You hear me?”

      “I hear ya.” What he heard was there was no formal agreement between Sally and Abe.

       Chapter Two

      Sally pulled a tray of cookies from the familiar oven of home and scooped them to a rack to cool. Ginger cookies perfectly rounded, nicely browned with a sprinkling of sugar. She was a good cook. Yet she experienced so many failures at the Finley place. She must be trying too hard. She sucked in spicy air and pushed her frustration to the bottom of her stomach. She needed to remember she was a child of God, and as such had His approval. “I’ll take these over to the Johanssons as soon as they cool,” she said to her mother. “I’m sorry to hear the mother is still not feeling well.” Mrs. Johansson hadn’t regained her strength after the birth of daughter number five. “The children will appreciate fresh cookies.”

      “How did your day go at the Finleys’?” Mother glanced up from sewing a button on a sweater.

      Sally didn’t want to trouble her mother with tales of her struggles with Robbie and news of a ruined meal. “There was a man at Mrs. Shaw’s.”

      “Really? How do you know that?”

      “I saw him out in the corrals. He showed Robbie his horse. Big Red, he’s called.”

      Mother studied her with watchful eyes.

      Fearing her expression would reveal more than she wanted, Sally shaped more cookies.

      “So you met this man?”

      Sally nodded. “When I went to bring Robbie back. His name is Linc McCoy. I thought I’d heard the name before but can’t place it.”

      “The McCoys are back?” Mother sounded as if a murderer had escaped into their presence.

      “I only saw the one. Are there more?”

      Mother pushed to her feet and strode to the window. “I don’t suppose you know the story. It was fresh when we first moved but died down shortly after.”

      Sally stared at her mother’s back. “What did they do?”

      Mother faced her and sighed. “Mrs. Ogilvy kept some expensive jewelry in her home.”

      Sally waited for more. Everyone knew Mrs. Ogilvy to be the richest lady in town. She lived in a big house at the opposite end of the street from where Mr. Finley lived. She lived alone except for a woman who came in to help care for the house. Mrs. Ogilvy had once ruled Golden Prairie society but had been ill for the past couple years. She was on the mend now and again dominating social activities. Why, at Christmas she’d instigated a town party for everyone, including hobos from their shelter down by the tracks. Sally had even heard Mrs. Ogilvy allowed some of them to live in the old coach house she no longer used. Sally liked the woman who used her worldly goods to help others.

      Mother sighed and continued with her story. “Mrs. Ogilvy’s jewels went missing. It was never proven, but all the evidence pointed toward the McCoys. They were known as the kind of people who—” Mother stopped. “I don’t like to speak ill of others, but from what I understand they had sticky fingers.”

      “The McCoys?” This news didn’t fit with the relaxed, smiling man she’d met. “How many were there?”

      “A father and two sons—the younger several years younger than the older.”

      “What do they have to do with Mrs. Shaw?”

      “Mrs. McCoy was Mrs. Shaw’s daughter. Her only child. She came home to die of cancer.” Mother shook her head sadly. “I can’t imagine how she must feel to lose her daughter, then have her grandsons and son-in-law branded criminals.”

      “But you said they were never convicted.”

      “No, they weren’t, but people believed it was only because of poor police work. They left town to avoid the censure of the community.”

      Sally pulled out another tray of baked cookies and put them to cool, then slipped a tray of unbaked ones into the oven, welcoming the chance to contemplate all her mother said.

      “You say you met Linc McCoy? I’m not certain but I think he was the youngest son. From what I recall, about fifteen or sixteen when they left town.”

      “They might be innocent. You know what gossip is like.”

      Mother crossed to Sally’s side. “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. I don’t want you feeling sorry for this man. It would not serve your purpose to get involved with him. Whether or not they’ve stolen the jewels, their name carries trouble.”

      Sally met her mother’s eyes without flinching. She understood what Mother meant. People would likely feel the same way about the McCoys now as they had back then. She shifted her gaze. The lowering sun shone through the west window, highlighting the ever present dust in the air. Through the window, she studied the struggling garden. “I need to take water to the garden.” She’d saved the dishwashing water. “I’ll feed the chickens as soon as I finish the cookies.”

      Mother returned to her sewing, knowing they were in agreement. Sally would do nothing to besmirch her reputation or put her security at risk. She’d avoid Linc McCoy, which shouldn’t be hard.

      Mother paused. “I wonder what brought them back.”

      Sally wondered if all of them had returned. She’d seen only Linc—the man who seemed to think life was for enjoyment.

      Well, so did she, only she liked to enjoy it on her terms. She recalled one of her memory verses. A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favour rather than silver and gold.

      She could well say, rather than Mrs. Ogilvy’s jewels.

      She wanted nothing more to do with Linc McCoy and the shady doings associated with his family.

      Sally slipped into the Finley kitchen and began breakfast preparations. Overhead, she heard the family rising. They would soon descend—Carol ready for school, Abe dressed and groomed for his job and Robbie with his eyes silently challenging her.

      She sighed. She and Robbie would become friends sooner or later. She just wished it would be sooner.

      A short while later, the children descended, Abe’s hand firmly on Robbie’s stubborn shoulder. Carol was dressed for school, not a seam out of place. From the beginning she insisted she could manage her hair on her own and did a fine job. Robbie wore wrinkled overalls with threadbare knees. If she didn’t miss her guess, his shirt was buttoned crookedly, but she would ignore it unless Abe insisted it be corrected. Abe was even neater than Carol, as if he’d pressed his suit while on his body so not a crease was out of place. Freshly shaven, smelling of bay rum with his dark brown hair brushed back. One thing about Abe: he knew how to make the most of his looks, and there was no denying he was a good-looking man and well respected—a good Christian, a devout churchgoer, a man of honor.

      Sally recited his attributes as she dished up porridge and poured Abe a cup of coffee. She hated the stuff, preferring a pot of well-steeped tea, but had learned to make a brew to satisfy his requirements. She’d eaten with Mother before leaving home but sat with the family and drank tea as they ate.

      Abe left as soon as he finished. He spared them all a hurried goodbye.

      Sally found it easier to smile once he’d gone, even though she still found his rushed exits strange. Her father had hugged each