Mounting, he told Spring, “Let’s go.”
Chapter Seven
On the ride home, Regan took in the granite set of her husband’s face as he rode next to the wagon and wanted to applaud him for giving Minnie the dressing-down she’d deserved. That the woman continued to blame Anna for her mother’s death left Regan furious. Seeing Anna physically shrink in response to hearing the harsh accusation further increased Regan’s anger. If Minnie was never allowed to see the child again it would be too soon.
Anna asked, “Is Aunt Minnie mad at me?”
Spring answered, “Aunt Minnie’s mad at everyone, honey. Don’t let it bother you.”
“But we didn’t get my clothes.”
Regan said, “We’ll get you new clothes.”
Anna didn’t appear convinced but remained silent.
Regan saw Colt scanning the corridor of tall pines they were driving through and she began doing the same. It was a perfect spot for an ambush. Reaching down, she picked up her Winchester and placed it across her lap. The Colt in her gun belt was good for shooting varmints up close, but the rifle would be better if they needed to deal with a long-range threat.
Anna viewed the rifle. “Is someone going to shoot us again?”
“No,” Regan said. “I just don’t want my rifle to jump out of the wagon if we hit a big bump.”
It was a lie of course, but between being shot at and Minnie’s venomous tongue, Anna had endured enough for one day.
When they reached the house, Colton questioned her about where she and Anna were standing when they were fired upon. She walked him over to the spot. His face serious, he looked around. “What direction did the shots come from?”
“West.”
“Just one shooter?”
She nodded. “I’m pretty sure.”
“You said there were only two shots?”
“Yes. I have the shell I found.” And she pulled it from her pocket and handed it over.
He studied the flattened copper shell. “Looks like a Springfield cartridge.”
Regan could identify a cartridge from her ’76 Winchester but was unfamiliar with the Springfield.
He put the cartridge in his shirt pocket. “Thanks again for protecting Anna. I’m glad neither of you were hurt. Whit and I will find whoever was responsible. I promise.”
Holding him to that, she followed him inside.
Later as they sat down to dinner, Regan was disappointed to see Colt place a large bowl of the same bland stew in the center of the table. It must have shown on her face because he asked, “What’s wrong?”
She lied, “Nothing.”
“You raved over the stew the other evening.”
She met his eyes. “I was being polite.”
He ladled some into Anna’s bowl and Regan asked, “Do you eat this often?”
“Most nights.”
It wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear.
“We have fish, chicken, and duck every now and then, but usually it’s Ben’s venison stew. He cooks it. We eat it.”