The Rancher’s Surprise Triplets. Linda Ford
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two other judges waited impatiently. The church pianist, Constance Hickey, her red hair pulled back so tightly into her bun that her eyes could barely blink, had volunteered for the job. Except volunteered was too mild a word. She insisted that she knew pies like no one else and no contest would be fairly judged without her help. Standing beside her was banker George Henley, who had put up a cash prize for the winner.
One by one, they circled the entries, savoring each sample and rating it according to a complicated system Mrs. Hickey had come up with. Bo forced himself to concentrate on the task. Too many things vied for his thoughts—wondering how Louisa was managing with the babies, hoping that Brandon or Jeb found the missing mother, and overall the sad-happy memories of his mother, who made a pie for the three of them every time Father was away...an occurrence that happened far too seldom.
They narrowed the entries down to six possibilities. Both George and Bo made up their minds but Mrs. Hickey insisted the selection couldn’t be rushed.
“My reputation depends on being one hundred percent sure.”
Bo stuffed back the thought that her reputation stemmed from her propensity for gossip.
Finally she made her decision and the blue, red and yellow ribbons were attached.
Bo raced from the tent before they were done and hurried through the grounds. He found Brandon and Jeb near the front gate. “Find her?” he asked.
“We’ve asked throughout the crowd. No one saw a woman pushing a cart—or rather, many women were seen pushing some kind of conveyance. No one knows of triplets,” Jeb said. “We’d have heard if they were from the community.”
“What are you going to do?” Brandon asked as if finding the babies made them Bo’s responsibility.
“First thing we need to do is get this fair opened and then we need to call an emergency meeting of the league.” He went to the gate and held up his hand to signal he wanted people’s attention. It took a few minutes for the crowd to quiet.
“Welcome to the County Fair. As you all know, it’s to raise funds for the Lone Star Cowboy League, which was originally formed to bring ranchers together to help each other through troubled times. Since then our concerns have grown to include other families struggling to survive the drought. So open your purses wide and spend freely, but most of all, have a good time.” He stepped aside and let the gatekeepers take admission as the crowd filed in.
Bo remained close by, and as the members of the league passed, he informed them of the emergency meeting. “At the office tent in half an hour.”
Having informed all of them, Bo hurried about the grounds. If the mother was sick, where would she go? Somewhere she could rest. Maybe a place she could keep an eye on the babies. He squeezed his hands into fists. Imagine being so desperate you left three babies alone, not knowing when they’d be discovered or by whom. This was one of the reasons they’d started the Lone Star Cowboy League—to prevent people from doing desperate things because of desperate circumstances.
He passed women he didn’t know but they were always accompanied by family. Nowhere he looked did he find a woman alone and ill, and with no more time to search, he hurried to the meeting.
“Fight. Fight.”
Bo heard the chant and groaned. The fair had only begun and already a situation he didn’t care to deal with. He jogged around the corner of the livestock tent housing prize goats and pushed his way through the crowd of young people. He saw the combatants circling each other, fists up and scowls marring their faces. Peter Hill and Jamie Coleman. He should have guessed. The two families had been feuding long before he and Brandon arrived in the area four years ago. He wasn’t sure what the disagreement was about. Wasn’t even sure they knew, though he’d heard muttered words about some valuable family heirloom.
He stepped between the two young men and pressed his hands to the heaving chests. Twenty-year-old Peter Hill likely outweighed his opponent by fifty pounds of grit, muscle and raging anger. Jamie Coleman, a year younger, fair as autumn grass, bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited to get in a jab.
Bo didn’t even bother to ask about the disagreement. This pair found a hundred different reasons to start a fight. Or if not them, a couple of the younger boys. With three Coleman boys and three Hill boys, it seemed there was always a fight. Thankfully the girls resorted to insults and snubs. If there was a way to force the two widowed parents to work out their differences, perhaps the children would stop sparring, as well.
“I don’t want the fair ruined by the lot of you fighting. I want people to have fun and feel safe.” Bo waited until the two eased back before he lowered his hands. “Peter, why don’t you go over to the garden tent and see how your ma fared with her carrots. They looked mighty fine to me.”
Peter scowled at Jamie. “Don’t think this is over.” But he left.
Bo faced Jamie. “Find something else to do besides fight.”
“I didn’t start it.”
“Next time walk away.”
Jamie spun on his heel and did exactly that.
Bo sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He could do without all these problems. And if he didn’t hurry he was going to be late for the meeting he’d called.
He returned to the main pathway between booths. People came from all over the county to display and sell their wares. He eyed the fine saddles in one booth and promised himself he’d come back for a closer look. Booth after booth revealed the abilities of the Texas people—fancy tooled leather harnesses, fine linen embroidered tablecloths. For a flash he thought of his mother. Wouldn’t she have liked one of those? Across from that booth Mrs. Longfeather showed her turquoise and silver jewelry and other Native crafts.
“The young bucks are restless,” she said in her soft voice.
He understood she referred to Jamie and Peter. “I should have given them a hard task to do so they wouldn’t have time for getting into trouble.”
“Some are born for trouble as the sparks fly upward. Others need the strike of the flint to start a fire.” She paused and studied him with her bottomless black eyes. “Still others turn from the fire, afraid of its burn, at the same time depriving themselves of its warmth.” Her study of him continued. Was she trying to tell him something? But she turned away and arranged a display of jewelry.
Bo hesitated. He wanted to know where she saw the Hills and the Colemans. Where she saw him. Except he didn’t. Like she’d pointed out, some men would deprive themselves of warmth in order to avoid the burn. And why he saw his father in the flames, he could not say. Shaking his head, he hurried on.
Before he arrived at the meeting tent, he stopped to speak to one of the boys he spent time with through the Young Ranchers program they’d started last year. “Would you run to the doctor’s house and ask Miss Clark to bring the babies here?”
The boy looked a little startled, then took off like a shot.
Bo ducked into the tent that served as a temporary office—meant mainly for lost and found children and items, a first-aid station, and to provide information. The members of the league were all there. Abe Sawyer and Gabe Dooley, both ranchers, had joined the original members. Bo glanced about, making eye contact with each of them before he began to speak.
“We have a situation.” He explained about the triplets. “We haven’t been able to find the mother, so in the meantime, we must make arrangements for these babies.”
Every one of them stared at him. He couldn’t say if they were shocked more by the fact of triplets in their midst, that the babies had been abandoned or the thought of asking someone to take on the care of three babies.
Lula May McKay, wife of Edmund, one of the three McKay brothers, and the only woman on the league, was the first to speak. “My heart goes out to this woman. I know what it’s like to feel so desperate.” She’d been a widow with five children to care