God felt farther away than ever.
It didn’t make sense. She hadn’t stopped praying. Truth be known, she’d probably prayed more than she’d slept in the last week. Yet the comfort she sought remained out of reach. It was as if her petitions were sticking to the ceiling of her room. Not only couldn’t she hear God, she was starting to wonder if he heard her.
Just then, the faint sound of an approaching rider caught her attention. James’s, too, apparently—for in an instant, he had his rifle cocked and tucked into his shoulder. Adelaide lunged forward and pulled Isabella off the pony. She masked her alarm as best she could, but the young girl still trembled and clung to her, digging her fingernails into Adelaide’s neck.
“You did a fine job with your first lesson, Izzy.” Adelaide carried her across the paddock toward James. “I’m so proud of you. Why don’t we see if Mrs. Garrett has finished baking that batch of gingersnaps? Maybe we could bribe her into letting us sample them.”
Isabella gave no indication that she heard. Her eyes remained fixed on James and the rifle. Adelaide jostled her a bit and tried again, but the child paid her no mind.
A high-pitched whistle carried toward them on the breeze. Adelaide squinted in the direction of the incoming rider, fighting the distance and the afternoon glare to identify the man. James lowered his weapon. He placed his thumb and forefinger into his mouth and returned the shrill greeting. Isabella covered her ears and hid her face in Adelaide’s neck. The loud noise that frightened Isabella had the opposite effect on Adelaide. Relief melted over her. Gideon’s men were the only ones who knew to signal ahead with a whistle. Friend, not foe, approached.
“That must be Juan coming in from his shift watching the road. All’s well, ladies.” James winked at them, obviously trying to break the tension. Adelaide offered him a halfhearted smile, but Isabella kept her head burrowed against Adelaide’s shoulder.
“We were just on our way to the kitchen to pilfer some gingersnaps.” Adelaide was pleased with her light tone, although it was about as authentic as James’s wink.
“Tell you what,” James said. “If you promise to bring me a cookie, I’ll put the pony away for you. Sound fair?”
“What do you think, Izzy?”
She refused to look up. Adelaide glanced at James and shrugged. His eyes mirrored her concern.
He reached out and teasingly poked Isabella’s ribs. “You’re not planning on eating them all, are you?”
She arched away from his touch but managed to shake her head no in answer to his question.
“We’ll be sure to bring you some,” Adelaide promised.
She pried Isabella’s hands away from her neck long enough to set her on the top rail of the fence so that she might duck between the slats and gather the girl back into her arms from the other side. Isabella held fast to her until the moment the kitchen door closed behind them. Then she let loose with a tantrum the likes of which Adelaide had never seen.
Isabella writhed and kicked. She pounded Adelaide’s back with her fists while grunting and screeching in her ear. The girl’s head tossed from side to side until her skull rammed into Adelaide’s chin. The force of the blow knocked Adelaide’s teeth together, pinching the soft tissue of her tongue. Stunned by the sudden pain, Adelaide dropped the girl. That didn’t halt the outburst, though. Isabella scrambled to her feet and began pummeling Adelaide’s ribs.
“What on earth … ?”
The cook sounded as incredulous as Adelaide felt. Their quiet, timid child had turned into a hellion in the blink of an eye.
Adelaide struggled to pin the girl’s arms down without hurting her. Having lost the use of her hands, Isabella struck out with her feet. A particularly sharp kick collided with Adelaide’s shin. She winced. At least Isabella was giving rein to her emotions rather than withdrawing again. But it was hard to concentrate on that blessing when her leg, chin, and ribs throbbed from the little imp’s abuse.
“Isabella. Stop!” Her tone demanded obedience, yet Adelaide hugged her charge close as she barked the order, trying to convey compassion as well as authority. She knew the incident outside had brought this on, but they couldn’t address it until Isabella calmed down.
The struggling abated, so Adelaide loosened her grip. “I know you’re upset, sweetheart. Let me explain what hap—”
Isabella pushed away from her and glared. She held up her hand as if it were a puppet, tapping her fingers together like a talking mouth. Her own lips mimicked the movement until she smacked the makeshift puppet down with her opposite hand. Then she shaped her thumbs and forefingers into guns and set about shooting up the kitchen with imaginary bullets. For the finale, she stomped her feet a couple of times, crossed her arms over her middle with enough force to bruise her own ribs, and slouched against the back of the nearest chair with a high-pitched grunt that seemed to put an exclamation point on whatever it was she was trying to say.
Adelaide was pretty sure she’d gotten the gist of it. Isabella didn’t want to be soothed with meaningless talk. She wanted to know why the men were carrying guns. Demanded to know, actually.
“Mrs. Garrett?” Adelaide’s eyes remained on Isabella as she addressed the cook. “We promised to bring Mr. Bevin a sample of your gingersnaps, but I’m afraid we’ll be delayed. Would you mind taking him some while I have a word with Isabella?”
“What? Oh … cookies. Yes, well … I suppose so.” It took the bewildered woman a moment or two to reorient herself. She looked at the wooden spoon in her hand as if she couldn’t remember how it had gotten there. Then, with a shake of her head, she set it aside, placed the lid back on the pot of beans she’d been stirring, and gathered a handful of the brittle cookies. She wrapped them in a napkin and headed for the door.
“There’s more in the canister if the child wants ’em.” She nodded toward the japanned coffee canister on the shelf behind the table and went outside.
Adelaide scooted one of the kitchen chairs out from the table and sat down. She waited for Isabella to follow her example, but the child maintained her petulant stance. The teacher in Adelaide wanted to take her to task for her deplorable behavior, but the mother in her just didn’t have the heart for it.
“Sit down, Izzy.”
The girl continued to scowl, but she grudgingly unlaced her arms and took a seat. Unshed tears glistened behind the anger in her eyes. Adelaide inhaled slowly. She was going to have to tell Isabella the truth. A child-sized version, of course, but the truth, nonetheless. It was the only way to help her understand what was going on. She released the air from her lungs and breathed a prayer out with it.
Help me not to tell her too much or too little. Give me the right words to lessen her fear.
“Do you remember your uncle Reginald?”
Isabella nodded, her mutinous expression reluctantly giving way to curiosity.
How did one go about explaining to a child that her closest living relative was a scoundrel who was coming after her for the sole purpose of taking control of her money? It would break her heart. He was her uncle. She probably trusted him, a weapon the viscount wouldn’t hesitate to turn to his advantage. If he ever managed to sneak past their defenses and get to Isabella when she was alone, he could easily lure her away without her putting up the least resistance.
Adelaide hardened her resolve. Isabella needed to be on her guard.
“The night of the party when I returned your mother’s dress to the trunk, I found a book. A book your mother had written her thoughts in.”
Isabella’s face scrunched up in confusion.
“She wrote about you and your father and about how much she loved you both. She sounded so happy, Izzy. One of these days I’ll read that section to you.” Adelaide smiled, but Isabella just squinted at her as if she were speaking a foreign language.
“There were other stories in this book, too,” Adelaide hurried to explain. “Stories about your uncle Reginald.”
Finally, the glazed look in the girl’s eyes began
to recede. She flopped her elbows onto the table and rested her chin on the heel of her hands.
“Your mother found out that he did some bad things, and she didn’t want him to be your guardian. That’s why when she got so sick, she gave you to Gideon. She knew he would be a good father to you. He would love you and protect you and do whatever was necessary to take care of you.” Adelaide leaned forward and brushed a wisp of curly hair off Isabella’s forehead. “Do you think your mama made the right choice? Has Gideon been a good father to you?”
Isabella dipped her chin in affirmation, but her brow wrinkled. She pointed her fingers like a gun again and shook them at Adelaide.
“I’m getting to that part. Be patient.” Adelaide’s chair legs scraped the floor as she moved closer to Isabella. She took the girl’s hand and patted it.
“The men around here are carrying guns because Gideon told them to. He is protecting you.”
Isabella squeezed Adelaide’s hand while her eyes asked why.
“Your uncle Reginald has come for you, Izzy. He’s in Texas.”
The girl gasped softly. Adelaide nodded confirmation.
“Gideon is afraid he might hurt you. That’s why he asked the men to carry their guns. He loves you too much to let your uncle steal you away.”
Her charge looked stunned, and Adelaide wondered how much she really understood. She was only five years old. Too young to comprehend Lord Petchey’s depravity.
Adelaide patted her skirt, then held open her arms. Isabella didn’t hesitate. She curled up in Adelaide’s lap and nestled her head beneath Adelaide’s chin.
“You don’t have to be afraid, sweetheart.” Adelaide stroked her hair. “Gideon and I are watching over you. We won’t let anything bad happen to you. God is watching over you, too.”
Isabella sat forward and pointed a finger toward heaven.
“Yes. God.” Adelaide grabbed Isabella’s finger and kissed the tip. “Do you know what I do when I feel frightened?”
Isabella shook her head.
“I pray. Just like we do before you go to bed, only I do it wherever I happen to be. Sometimes I pray when I’m on Sheba. Or when I’m in the schoolroom. Or even when I’m teaching you to ride your pony.”
Adelaide nodded at the question in Isabella’s eyes. “Yes, ma’am. I was praying today while you were riding in circles around me.” She made a show of leaning back and looking both ways for lurkers who might be eavesdropping.
“Don’t tell anyone,” she whispered, “but I was a little afraid of the guns, too. That’s why I prayed. You can do the same thing. God wants us to share our troubles with him. He loves us and doesn’t want us to be afraid. In fact, he’ll give us courage if we ask him.”
That truth fell out of her mouth without her mind thinking it first. When she heard the words, she realized they were as much for her as for Isabella. She had spent so much time petitioning God to change particular circumstances—to give her a husband, to give her life direction, to protect Isabella from her uncle—she had never once asked for courage. No wonder she was such a mess. She’d been so wrapped up in the physical outcomes she wanted, she’d neglected to ask for the spiritual blessings she needed. That was going to change.
With new conviction in her heart, Adelaide slid out from under Isabella and stood up. “How about some of those gingersnaps?”
Isabella grinned and nodded. Adelaide had just opened the canister when Mrs. Garrett pushed through the door, huffing and puffing.
“Another rider coming in,” she said between breaths.
Adelaide stepped out the back door and turned toward the sound. She recognized the horseman. It was Gideon, and he was coming in fast.
Chapter 25
Gideon reined Solomon to a halt and leapt from his back before the dust had a chance to settle.
“Juan!” he called to the man who had just emerged through the bunkhouse doorway. “Grab a fresh mount. I need your help in the upper pasture.”
The shepherd jumped to obey.
“What’s going on?” James moved alongside him as he strode toward the shed.
“Thirty head of sheep were slaughtered—that’s what’s going on.” Gideon threw the door open with enough force to send it crashing into the wall. Fury burned in his belly at the carnage he had stumbled upon. When his boundary fences had been cut last month, he’d assumed the culprit was just a disgruntled cowman letting off steam. But this was different. This attack was without conscience.
Gideon closed his leather-gloved hand around a large tin of ointment. The surviving sheep would require treatment. He barreled back out of the shed and narrowly missed plowing into James, who had to sidestep to get out of his way.
“Hang on, Gid.” James laid a hand on his arm, but Gideon jerked away from him.
“There’s only a few hours before sundown. I have to go.” Anger clipped his words as he tromped over to his horse and flung open the flap of his saddlebag. He stuffed the ointment inside and yanked the leather flap down into place.
“And what if it’s a trap? Have you thought about that?” James shouted at his back. “If this is Petchey’s doing, you’ll be playing right into his hands by going out there. This could be a ploy to lure you away from Isabella so he can make his move.”
Gideon let out a breath and turned to face his friend.
“Yes,” he said. “I considered that possibility, but I don’t believe Petchey’s behind this. We had a similar incident over four weeks ago. Someone cut the fence and harassed the sheep in almost the same location. Most likely the fellow returned, emboldened by his previous success, and things escalated. Last time we lost a dozen ewes when the villain fired several rounds into the air, frightening the flock. This time he perched in the branches of a big oak and shot them for sport. I found spent casings scattered over the ground near the tree trunk closest to the first carcass. He used my stock for target practice.”
Gideon clenched his jaw, not trusting himself to say anything more.
“I agree it’s despicable,” James said, “but what if it’s not the same person? Are you willing to take that chance?”
“No. I’m not. That’s why I came back to get Juan.” As if saying his name had conjured him, the herder exited the stable with a dun mare plodding along behind him. Gideon nodded as Juan gathered the reins and swung awkwardly up into the saddle. Unlike their counterparts who worked the cattle ranches, Juan and the other pastores were more accustomed to being on foot with their flock than on horseback. However, when the situation called for urgency, they could manage with sufficient skill.
Gideon turned back to James. “I already patched up the fence with splices of tie wire, so I’ll just stay out long enough to help Juan dispose of the carcasses. I’ll leave him with the flock tonight to tend injuries and protect them from further threat. In the meantime, I’m trusting you to watch over my girls. I pray to God I’m not making the wrong decision, but if I am, you’ll have to stand between Isabella and her uncle until I return.”
“I’ll stand with him.”
Gideon swiveled at the sound of the feminine voice.
“Adelaide?”
He hadn’t heard her approach and had no idea how much she’d heard.
“He won’t get past us, Gideon.” She stood before him, spine stiff, determination etched into her beautiful face. “Isabella can hide in the schoolroom. She understands some of the danger now, and I’m sure I can convince her to cooperate. I can handle a weapon, too, if need be. My father made sure I could hit what I aimed at.”
The thought of her in a gunfight made his throat constrict. He fisted his hands at his sides to hide their shaking. What was wrong with him? He couldn’t leave her behind to fight his battles. He’d rather lose his entire flock than risk losing her and Isabella.
Then again, James would protect them, and they would be safe inside the house. His sheep would be out in the open and vulnerable to predators attracted to the bloodied remains of the ewes that had been shot. Juan wouldn�
�t be able to drag off all those dead animals on his own before dark, which would leave him exposed. Juan’s jeopardy was guaranteed. Adelaide’s was only a possibility.
Besides, he’d done a thorough search of the area when he first happened upon the scene. All evidence indicated that whoever had done the shooting had cleared out. Even if Reginald was behind the massacre—and Gideon still wasn’t convinced that he was—the man would need to post a lookout in order to know when Gideon was occupied with cleaning up the mess. Few trees grew large enough in that area to conceal a man, and Gideon had checked each one. He had found no evidence of anyone being there except the shooter who left bullet casings and footprints around the big oak.
“An hour or two is all I need.” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure Adelaide or himself. “I’ll be back for supper.” It was the only way he could help both her and Juan.
James continued to frown but accepted Gideon’s decision with a sharp nod. He swung his rifle up onto his shoulder and took a step toward the house. “I’ll keep watch from the front porch and ask Chalmers to keep an eye on the rear from the kitchen.”
“The schoolroom windows offer a fine view from the third floor,” Adelaide offered as James walked away. “I’ll watch from there.”
“Adelaide, I …” Gideon didn’t know what to say, so he just stared at her. She should have been depending on him—not the other way around. Helplessness churned in his stomach. He needed to be in two places at once. But he couldn’t. His hands fisted at his sides as he searched for an adequate excuse. Adelaide didn’t seem to require one, though. She looked at him without a hint of censure, as if she understood his predicament and approved his choice. Her trust calmed the storm raging inside him and strengthened his resolve.
Juan’s saddle creaked as he leaned forward, drawing Gideon’s attention.
“I go check on my ladies, patrón. I meet you by the arroyo pequeño, sí?
Gideon waved him on. “Sí.” He and Solomon could catch up easily enough, and Gideon knew the herder was anxious to check on the animals. Juan urged his mount into a gentle lope, and Gideon turned back to Adelaide. His chest grew tight.
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