Kitabı oku: «The Cowboy's Baby Bond»

Dedicated to the memory of my grandson, Julien Yake, who passed away July 2015 at age nineteen; and to his mother who will forever mourn him.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Summer 1899

Near Granite Creek, Montana

Johnny Harding’s nerves twitched at the sharp, penetrating sound, like the wail of a cat. He pulled on the reins of his horse and reached for the rifle he always carried with him, as did almost every man in the rugged northwest part of Montana Territory. He scanned his surroundings for the source of the sound.

A wagon stood in the shadow of the trees to his left, far enough away he couldn’t make out the occupants, but from the list of the wagon, he suspected they might be needing assistance. A man simply did not ride by anyone in trouble out here where help was miles away, though Johnny wasn’t about to heedlessly ride into a trap, either. His fingers remained on the rifle as he approached the wagon.

A woman sat on the bench. He did a quick assessment of her. Dark brown hair, medium skin tone, dark brown eyes that seemed to hold a world of regret. She clutched a bundle of blanket in one arm. The sound seemed to come from that area. A baby, no doubt. An unhappy baby.

The wagon was piled with belongings—boxes and crates and a mattress tied on the top. Canvas partially covered the contents.

He slowed, waiting for the husband to make himself known. Slowly, Johnny eased the rifle to his knee, his finger resting on the trigger. His nerves tensed and he squinted into the trees, half expecting a man to jump out and demand his money and valuables.

He snorted. His saddlebags held nails and carpentry tools that he intended to use to fix up the Hamilton cabin. Hardly worth shooting a man for.

“Hello,” he called. “Looks like you could use some help.”

The woman turned to him. Emotions raced across her face—surprise, followed by welcome, and as quickly replaced with a fierce look. She didn’t answer.

“Are you in need of assistance?”

The woman glanced about. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Johnny edged closer, once again eyeing the trees, then darting his attention back to the wagon, alert for someone to leap from the box. He’d ride away, but until he knew the people could proceed, his conscience dictated he investigate further. “Ma’am, do you need help?” he repeated, now close enough to see the worry in her dark eyes and the fever-stained cheeks of the baby in her arms, whose cry threatened to pierce his eardrums. “Where’s your husband?” He spoke loudly to be heard above the infant’s cries.

She looked at him, eyes barely registering his presence. “He’s gone.”

“He left you here?” Johnny’s words carried enough anger for her to blink and look at him as if finally realizing he was there.

“He’s dead.”

Dead? The word speared through Johnny’s thoughts. When? Had the man died of whatever made the baby ill? “Is he there?” He indicated the wagon box behind her.

She shook her head. “It’s just me, my son and my gun.” She lifted a corner of the baby’s blanket and Johnny saw a revolver aimed at him.

His hand remained on the rifle as he judged how fast he could duck away. Probably not fast enough. He couldn’t believe she traveled alone in this unsettled area. “I mean you no harm. When I saw the wagon I thought you might be needing assistance.”

Their gazes caught and held, his unblinking as he tried to let her know she had nothing to fear from him.

The woman sighed and lowered the gun to her lap, ready should she need it again, but not a present threat. “My baby is sick.” She rocked vigorously, which did nothing to ease the plaintive cries. Perhaps it made her feel better. Johnny couldn’t say, having never had anything to do with a human baby. She hadn’t come right out and said she needed help, but it wasn’t necessary. Her predicament could be seen by anyone with eyes in his head.

“How about I fix the wheel and take you to the Sundown Ranch? It’s just a few miles that away.” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “My stepmother, Maisie Harding, is good at taking care of sick people. Maybe you’ve heard of her.”

The woman shook her head. “If you would point me in the right direction...”

He sidestepped his big gray gelding, aptly named Gray, alongside the wagon and swung down to examine the wheel. Sensing the woman’s tension, and mindful of the gun in her lap, he talked as he looked things over, hoping it would assure her of his noble intentions. “Ma’am, I’m Johnny Harding. My pa, Big Sam Harding, is well-known hereabouts.” He glanced in her direction to see if she showed any sign of acknowledgment. Nope. Nothing. Just the barest glance before she turned her attention back to the baby, whose cries had subsided to whimpers. Thinking that wasn’t a good sign, Johnny quickly tightened the hub on the wheel. “That will hold you until you get to the ranch. Then I’ll fix it good and proper.”

He tied Gray to the back of the wagon and headed for the front. He’d see this woman and her child safely to the ranch and then he’d get on with his own plans.

His friend Thad Hamilton would soon arrive and Johnny had promised to have the cabin repaired by then. It would have been done already except he’d had to order in a few supplies, delaying his work. That left him little time to fulfill his part of their bargain. And he didn’t mean to do anything to discourage Thad and make him change his mind. Thad had left a broken man, besieged by the death of his sister. Coming back signaled he meant to get on with life.

Johnny paused as he neared the bench. The gun glistened in the sun.

“Ma’am, I’m going to climb up there and sit beside you. Don’t shoot me, okay?”

She gave him a steely look, then tipped her head ever so slightly.

She hadn’t spoken a word, but her warning rang inside his head as if she’d announced it with noisy church bells. She would shoot him in an instant should he try anything other than driving.

He eased onto the wagon seat beside her and took up the reins. “What’s wrong with the little one?”

“Besides he’s sick?”

Her answer amused Johnny, but he didn’t know if it was safe to laugh, so he simply quirked his eyebrows. “Just wondering if you know. Like maybe he’s teething...” He’d heard that mentioned as a cause of fussiness in a baby, but didn’t have any idea if it was that. “Or is he getting the measles or something...?” His voice trailed off.

“Measles? You think it’s measles?” She jerked the blanket down and pulled up a tiny shirt. He guessed the little one was about old enough to be walking on his own, but at the moment he seemed too tired to move. “Do you see a rash?”

“No, ma’am.” What he saw was a baby hanging limply in her arms, too weak to hold his head up. “What’s his name?”

“This is Adam.”

“Solid name.”

“First man. Figured the name might let my boy know he could start with a clean slate, just like Eve’s Adam.”

“Pleased to meet you, Adam.” Johnny touched the bare little knee and drew back to stare. “He’s so soft.”

She chuckled. “Babies are soft, aren’t they?”

“He’s the first one I ever touched.”

“That’s sad.”

He nodded. He might have had a baby of his own by now if things had gone according to his plan. In hindsight, he counted himself fortunate he didn’t. Trudy Dingman had never loved him. She’d only used him when she discovered herself in the family way from another man, who had disappeared. Not that she’d had the courtesy to tell Johnny about the baby she carried. When the man responsible showed up again, after Johnny and Trudy were engaged to be married, Trudy had run off with him. Johnny didn’t know why until a friend informed him of Trudy’s condition. It hurt to know he was only second best. But to know the woman he’d loved hadn’t been truthful, hadn’t trusted him, had scalded him clear through. In his opinion, without truth and trust, love could not exist.

“Ma’am, perhaps you could introduce yourself.”

“I suppose I should. Mrs. Willow Reames.”

“Sorry about your husband.”

She nodded, but her attention remained on the baby, who seemed to grow weaker by the moment. “How far is it to this ranch you told me about?”

“Sundown Ranch. We’ve about half an hour to go.” He wasn’t much for conversation, but had a few questions demanding to be asked. Mindful of the gun, he approached them carefully. “Where you coming from?”

“Wolf Hollow.”

He stared at the woman. “Wolf Hollow is three, four days ride from here. You came on your own?”

She met his look with a tipped-up chin and flashing eyes. “I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself and my son. Have been doing so since my husband died.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Three months.” Her gaze bored into Johnny’s.

He had no idea how to respond to her words or the silent challenge of her look. “That’s not long.”

“Long enough.”

Long enough for what? To forget the man’s death? To prepare for this trip? Neither made a speck of sense.

“Adam is getting worse. Can we go faster?”

Johnny urged the old mare into a trot, but she’d been on the road at least three days already and looked about spent. It crossed his mind to wonder how hard Mrs. Reames had pushed the animal.

“Ma’am, would you mind telling me where you’re headed?”

“Not at all. I’m on my way to Granite Creek. My sisters are due to arrive on the next train.”

“That’s tomorrow.”

“I had hoped to get there in time to find a house and get it ready for us to live in.” She made comforting noises and rocked Adam. “But first, I need to take care of my son. Shush, sweetie. Mama’s right here.” She began to croon a lullaby.

Adam opened his eyes and stared into his mama’s face with so much faith and love that Johnny’s throat tightened.

That was the look of trust.

He’d thought he’d seen that in Trudy’s eyes, but all he’d really seen were lies and deceit. His good friend Thad shared a similar experience, which, added to his sister’s death, had sent the man to a dark place in his mind.

It appeared far too many woman considered this normal behavior.

It had been a hard lesson, but one Johnny didn’t intend to repeat. He’d vowed to never again give his heart to a woman. Nope. Ranch work, his pa and stepmother, his brothers and now Tanner’s wife and kids were enough family for him.

Yet his attention went again to the little boy and that look of pure, simple faith in his mother’s ability to keep him safe.

It made Johnny determined to get them both to the ranch as quickly as possible. He flicked the reins and the horse picked up the pace. He glanced back at the wheel he’d adjusted and hoped it would hold until they reached the ranch.

He meant to do everything in his power to see the trust in that little boy’s eyes rewarded.

* * *

Willow took comfort in the weight of the pistol in her lap. She knew how to shoot, but the idea of sending a bullet into a man made her blood run cold. Though not as cold as the fear that had mounted with each passing hour since Adam had grown fussy last night. At first, she thought he was simply tired of the journey, but during the restless night, he’d developed a fever.

Her sense of triumph over leaving Wolf Hollow and its bitter memories had been replaced with worry over her son. Not that she regretted shaking the dust of that wild town off her shoes. Nor had her anticipation at seeing her sisters for the first time in a year and a half diminished.

But all that paled in comparison to getting someplace where she could tend her son.

She darted a look at the man beside her. Dark complexion, dark eyes and dark hair beneath a gray cowboy hat. Who was he and what had he been about before he noticed her predicament? Johnny Harding, he’d said. She might have heard the Harding name before but wasn’t certain. Mostly she’d kept to herself, tending Adam and trying to avoid Bertie, the man she’d been forced to marry. Forced was not exactly accurate. She’d agreed to marry him in order to ensure her younger sisters would have a home and her son would have a name. Under the agreement she’d made with Bertie’s father, in exchange she took on the responsibility of keeping Bertie on the straight and narrow. She’d soon discovered the futility of even trying.

She’d endured a steady barrage of insults from Bertie, who lamented the injustice of having to marry her in order for his father to finance his trip to the wilds of northwest Montana. Still, Willow would do the same again to help her sisters and her son.

Bertie’s death in a drunken brawl had freed her and left her with a nice bundle of gold dust that she meant to use to provide a home for her son and her sisters. She’d sent tickets to get her sisters to Granite Creek, the closest railway stop, where she meant to join them and start a new life.

This was Thursday. She’d hoped to be in Granite Creek by now, but had to travel slower than she planned as Adam grew restless and irritable. Poor baby.

The train didn’t arrive until Friday. Surely if she stopped and tended him, Adam would get better, so she could continue her journey.

She hummed a little tune to comfort the baby.

“How old is your boy?” Mr. Harding asked.

“He’s a year old.”

“I expect he’s provided you with lots of joy.”

She relaxed for the first time since this stranger had come to her aid. “He certainly has. I can hardly wait for my sisters to meet him.”

“Tell me about them.”

She recognized his attempt to ease her worry, and appreciated it. Bertie would have incited her by continually pointing out how sick Adam looked. He’d never let her forget Adam wasn’t his son, and had made it clear he had no affection for the baby.

“I haven’t seen them in over a year and a half,” she said of her sisters. “Celia will be fourteen now. She’s five years younger than me. Then there’s Sarah. I haven’t seen her since she was eight. I can’t believe she’ll be ten by now. I wonder how much they’ve both changed.” She knew she rambled, but talking made it harder to worry. “I just hope—” She couldn’t finish the thought. Too many things could go wrong. Hadn’t she learned that? The sudden death of her parents in a buggy accident. A foolish indiscretion with Adam’s father, an act born of sorrow. A loveless marriage. A son who truly had no father that he would ever know. Thankfully, it hadn’t been Bertie.

“You hope things work out.”

“Indeed.” She stroked Adam’s hot cheeks and waved the blanket to fan him. “However, they don’t always, do they?”

“Bad things happen to good and bad people alike. One would think life was random, even cruel. But I don’t think it is.”

She hadn’t meant the question to be answered, so when he spoke in thoughtful tones, she listened carefully, hoping he would provide an answer to the many doubts that circled in her brain. “Then how do you explain those random things?” she asked when he didn’t continue.

“Perhaps they provide us an opportunity to trust God.”

“Excuse me if I say that’s a pat answer that means nothing. My view is that God doesn’t much care what happens to us. He made us, then left us to manage on our own.” She shut her mouth with a snap. She should be a little more cautious. Men, she’d discovered, did not care to have a woman disagree with them. And she and Adam were pretty much at this man’s mercy. “Forgive me. I suppose I’m overreacting to recent events in my life.”

Mr. Harding only shrugged. “I feel no need to defend God.”

What a strange reply.

They turned onto a riverside trail that was smoother, more traveled. “How much farther?” she asked, as a frisson of fear caught at her lungs. Maybe they weren’t going to any ranch. Maybe this man meant them harm. How foolish of her to turn her wagon over to him, to trust herself and Adam to him. Had she not learned enough lessons about trusting men?

First, her fiancé had left her pregnant with Adam. Though she could hardly blame him that she’d turned to him for comfort when her parents died. Then there was Mr. Reames. He and her father had been business partners and, with no other family for Willow and her sisters, Mr. Reames and his wife had been named guardians of Willow and the girls. Upon learning of her condition, he’d threatened to turn them all into the street for the shame her pregnancy would bring. Marrying Bertie was her only option. But she’d failed to keep him from getting into trouble, and Bertie had turned into even more of a drinking, gambling, unkind man once away from his father’s control. As if that wasn’t enough, after Bertie’s death Mr. Reames had informed her the girls could no longer stay with him and his wife, seeing as Willow had failed to keep her part of the agreement. Yes, she’d learned more than enough about the dangers of trusting any man or his word.

Mr. Harding answered her question. “We’ll turn off toward the ranch just up there.” He pointed to a fork in the road. “Then you’ll get your first glimpse of the place.”

She heard the pride in his voice and couldn’t help but envy him. He obviously knew where he belonged. She stiffened her resolve. Soon she and the girls and Adam would have a place where they belonged, even if it was temporary and only rented. Most of all, they’d be together.

The wagon reached the fork, turned away from the blue, chuckling river and passed between some trees, their leaves dull with the summer heat. It slowed as the trail grew narrow and rough, and then broke through into sunshine again. Ahead, the trail passed between two rows of buildings. This was more like a small town than a ranch.

“This is Sundown Ranch,” Mr. Harding said as he rounded a low, rambling house and pulled up at the door. He touched Adam’s head. “I hope he gets better soon.”

Adam’s half-glazed eyes studied the man with solemn interest.

Willow kept her attention on her son, wondering at the trust she saw in them. So unlike his response to Bertie. Adam would always cling to her and hide his face when Bertie came near. Was it simply because her son was too sick to care or did he see something in Mr. Harding that he liked? She wanted to pull him closer and whisper caution in his ear. But Adam was too young to know not to trust anyone, let alone a stranger.

Mr. Harding jumped down and came around to guide her to the ground. “Is there anything you need out of the wagon?”

“Adam’s things, if you don’t mind.” She indicated where they were under the tarpaulin.

He took the valise out and set it on the ground at her feet.

“Thank you.” She didn’t take her gaze off the wagon. All her earthy belongings were in the back—a big bed, a chest of drawers, dishes and linens—enough to set up housekeeping in Granite Creek. Would her things be safe? Though, at the moment that concern was secondary to Adam’s needs.

“I’ll take care of the wagon,” Mr. Harding said, his expression kind.

“I appreciate that.” She had no choice but to trust him. At least he’d brought her to this house.

“Here comes Maisie now.”

Willow followed the direction of his gaze to see a woman crossing the yard. As soon as she was close enough, Mr. Harding introduced them.

“Welcome, welcome,” Mrs. Harding said. She glanced at Adam. “You have a sick baby. Come inside and we’ll take care of him.”

Willow followed her indoors, glancing around at the large kitchen with table and chairs to one side. Mrs. Harding indicated Willow should sit down.

“Do you mind undressing the little one so I can have a look at him?”

Willow wondered how she’d known the baby was a boy, but perhaps she spoke in general terms. Glad of someone to examine Adam and tell her what was wrong, Willow removed everything but the diaper.

Mrs. Harding looked at his chest and back, behind his ears and at the back of his knees. “I don’t see any evidence of a rash. How has he been eating?”

“Okay until yesterday.”

“Has he eaten anything different than usual?”

“We’ve been traveling, so...” Willow gasped. “Have I given him something that went bad?”

“There would have been other signs.” Mrs. Harding asked a few more questions. “I can’t see anything specifically wrong with him. It could be a combination of things. Teething and traveling might have him off-kilter.”

Adam, growing upset at all the prodding, grabbed at his ears and whined.

“There we go. He’s told us himself.” Mrs. Harding rubbed the side of Adam’s head. “Poor baby has an earache. Let’s deal with the fever first.” She brought water, poured something into it. “While you sponge him I’ll prepare some oil for his ears.”

Willow washed Adam’s little body with the tepid water. In a few minutes she could tell his fever dropped. “I’m grateful you know what to do,” she said as Mrs. Harding placed warm drops in Adam’s ears. What would she have done alone in the wagon? “Mr. Harding was kind to bring us here.”

The man himself returned at that moment and overheard her comment. “Better call me Johnny. There are far too many Mr. Hardings around here for anyone to know who you mean otherwise.”

Willow ducked her head. “Thank you for helping us, Johnny.” She stumbled over his Christian name. His presence filled the kitchen, making her forget her manners.

“And call me Maisie,” said the older woman. “Everyone does.”

“Then I’d be pleased if you’d call me Willow.” She smiled at Maisie, then lifted her head to let Johnny know she included him. His dark eyes seemed full of reassurance. What an odd thing to think, especially considering what she knew about men.

He stepped closer and touched Adam on the head. “How is the little fella?”

“He’s feeling better, thanks to your mother’s help.”

Adam looked at the man and smiled. Then the child held out his arms to him.

Johnny blinked. “Does he want me to hold him?”

Willow nodded, at a loss to understand why her son would go to a complete stranger when he’d grown up learning to stay away from men.

“Can I?” Johnny asked. Then he stepped back. “I’ve never held a baby.”

She would have refused her permission, but how could she deny her son this when he was so miserable? She shifted him into Johnny’s arms.

The man held the baby at an awkward angle, but Adam pulled himself up to look into those dark eyes and babble something. It almost sounded as if he was relating a tale of woe.

Johnny grinned at the baby’s nonsense and nodded as if to say he understood every word.

Adam patted the man’s cheeks, pressed his face to Johnny’s chest and fell asleep.

“Well, look at you.” Maisie sounded both surprised and pleased. “You have the touch.”

Willow put a hand to her heart as fear and trepidation flooded it.

Adam trusted this dark stranger. But what did a one-year-old know about broken promises and deceit?

Nothing. And she meant to do everything in her power to protect him from learning those harsh lessons.