Barclay

by Charlene Raddon

  Dirk almost smiled but caught himself. "Why'd he do that?"

  "The fool believes Barclay got his girl with child and is refusing to do the honorable thing." Slim spat tobacco juice at a beetle. "Anybody with a lick o' sense knows Barclay'd never do such a thing. A straight shooter if ever there was one."

  Dirk followed the man into the bunkhouse where the hands were playing draw poker. "Is he hurt bad?"

  "Shoulder wound. He'll be all right. Doc's with him. His mother too. Got a houseful o' people in there. Reckon the marshal'll show up soon to ask questions."

  The men sitting at the table over a deck of cards stopped playing and listened in.

  "Seems someone shot at Barclay earlier today," Slim said, "over on the main road. I'd say someone's out to get him. We all need to be on our guard to make sure nothing happens to the boss."

  Tarnation. Dirk wanted to go kick a cat or something. This had ruined his plans. It was a good thing he'd decided to lay low a day or two. But this might delay matters even longer.

  Barclay slept until late the next morning, waking when Cynara brought him coffee, toast and mush for breakfast. She'd risen early to beat Julia to the job so she could spend a few minutes with him.

  "Mush?" he complained. "May I have some bacon and eggs instead?"

  "Doctor's orders. No solid food today. Your mother is making potato soup for dinner. She says it's one of your favorites."

  "I do like potato soup." He sat up with only a slight grimace of pain and allowed Cynara to set the tray on his lap.

  "I'll be back for the dishes," she said and left him alone.

  He ate the toast and half of the mush before setting the tray aside. When she returned, she brought a kitten with her, the calico she liked so much.

  "I thought she might keep you entertained for a bit." She put the kitten on his lap. "I'll get rid of this tray and come back for Marbles."

  "Marbles? That's what you named her?" he asked.

  "It seemed appropriate since her spots create a sort of marbled look to her fur." She picked up the tray and went to the door. "Back in a moment."

  He hoped so. A brief moment.

  Marbles climbed up his chest to sit on his good shoulder. "You're a smart cat. How'd you know my other shoulder is wounded?"

  He ruffled her fur and she batted at him in play. After a few minutes of that sort of high jinx, she curled up on his legs and went to sleep. Barclay closed his eyes, his hand stroking the cat's soft fur. At a sound, he opened his eyes to see Cynara's face right in front of his. She had bent over him to pick Marbles up from Barclay's far side.

  "Howdy."

  She froze with the kitten in her hands. "Hello."

  When he didn't sense a rejection from her, and she didn’t jerk back, he leaned closer and stole a kiss. Her lips were soft and relaxed at first, then she stiffened. "You taste like sorghum," he said, praying she didn't slap him.

  She sat onto the edge of the bed. Her hazel eyes reflected surprise but also something else. Pleasure? Amusement? "What makes you think it's sorghum? Maybe it's my natural flavor."

  So, she wanted to tease him a little. He loved it.

  "Oh, you're sweet all right, but more like strawberries and cream than sorghum.

  Grinning, she said, "Oysters fixed flapjacks for the rest of us."

  "And I missed it."

  The kitten curled up in her lap. Barclay stroked its satiny head, pretending to be enjoying the cat when, in truth, he was wallowing in the bliss of simply being close to Cynara.

  "If you're a good boy, maybe I'll bring you flapjacks at noon," she teased.

  "That would be nice. With lots of syrup, please." It surprised him when she didn't pull away and get up.

  "I'll do my best," she said. "What did you learn from the marshal?"

  "Not much." He took her hand in his. "Beau accused us of stealing his cows, but Marshal Vining knows me too well to swallow that."

  "Thank goodness." She rubbed her nose into the lush fur of the multicolored kitten. "I love this little girl. If I knew where I would end up when I leave here, I'd take her with me."

  "She is pretty with all those spots. Her fur is longer than the others. Thicker and bushier." He ran his hand the length of the kitten's tail.

  "I suspect her father might not be the same tom as for the others," Cynara said. "If that's possible."

  "About where you'll end up when you leave, maybe you should stay."

  She laughed. "You want to hire me as a maid or are you planning to keep the babies and you want me to raise them for you?"

  "It's becoming more difficult by the day to think of giving them up. They sure grow on a person, don't they?"

  "Yes. I feel the same way. Wherever I go when I leave, I hope there are children."

  Barclay said nothing. The notion of her leaving had a profound effect on him. His heart felt as if it had been stuffed in the pit of his stomach. It weighed him down and made him sad. It had struck him what life would be like without her. Empty. Dreary. Lonely. He didn't want to lose her. Would she consent to stay on as their housekeeper? And what of the babies? He hated the idea of losing them too.

  He should find out if Jared and Chase shared his feelings. Maybe they could talk to Judge Hunt and see if they could each adopt one. "Do you think a judge would allow bachelors to adopt babies?"

  She stared at him, surprise widening her eyes. "You're considering it? Oh, Barclay, that would be wonderful. Not that I'd be here to watch them grow up, but I love the idea."

  "You could still be here," he said hesitantly. "If you wanted to be. What if…"

  Unsure of the sanity of what he'd been about to say, he paused.

  "What if…?" she prompted.

  "We could get married and provide a home for the triplets. Call it a marriage of convenience if you like. I wouldn't expect any marital favors unless you wanted it. But, damn it, Cynara, I don't want you to leave. And I don't want to lose the babies. If we married, the judge might let us keep them."

  He waited, holding his breath, for her answer.

  She stared into space, saying nothing, and his heart sank.

  "Like I said, it doesn't have to be a real marriage—" he began.

  "May I think about it?" she asked, finally meeting his gaze.

  He studied her hazel eyes with their hints of meadows and summer. Had he glimpsed something promising glittering in their depths? "Yes, you can think about it. Take your time. We'd need to talk to the judge first, I imagine."

  "Yes, that would be proper." She snuggled the calico kitten against her breasts. "What do you think your brothers would say?"

  He had no idea and suddenly, it didn't matter. If she accepted him, he'd marry her in a flash, babies or no babies. Brothers or no brothers. He loved her. Life was as precious as it was fleeting. It offered no time to waste. Barclay wanted to share his entire life with Cynara, become her soulmate. Wake up every morning with her beside him, fall asleep with her in his arms every night. He yearned to touch her, kiss her, make love with her, but he'd wait for however long she needed. Should he tell her that? Maybe not yet.

  That night, when Cynara came to his room for his supper dishes, he invited her to sit down on the bed and talk a while. That she did surprised and pleased him.

  For a long moment, he gazed at her, watching for any sign of rejection. When none came, he drew her closer and claimed her lips with his. He nibbled at the soft slick surface and savored the sweetness. A roaring need rose inside, flooding him with need, hope, desire and love. Did she feel it too?

  Please, Cynara, want me as much as I want you.

  "You're exhausted, Barclay. I think I'd better go."

  Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Cynara drew away and stood up.

  His mother stepped into the room. "Time to get to sleep, son."

  "I am tired." And having a hard time keeping his eyes open.

  Cynara smiled indulgently. "I'll see you in the morning."

  "Wait." He put a hand on her arm. "Have y
ou thought about what I asked you?"

  She glanced at his mother and he wanted to hit himself for being so stupid. Of course, she wouldn't want to answer in front of Mother. "How about I give you my answer in the morning?" she asked.

  "All right." He saw the curiosity in his mother's gaze and closed his eyes, so he'd look ready to sleep. "Goodnight."

  "Goodnight, Barclay." Then she was gone.

  His mother took Cynara's place on the side of the bed. "Is there something you'd like to share with me?"

  "What, Mother?"

  "I noticed the way you look at Cynara and wondered if you wanted to talk about it."

  "Oh. Nothing to talk about really."

  "Very well." She kissed his forehead and walked to the door. "'Night, dear."

  He'd disappointed her, but she'd have to put up with it. If Cynara accepted his proposal, then he'd tell his family. "'Night."

  His eyes closed, the lids too heavy to keep open another moment. Images of Cynara's lovely face danced through his head as he succumbed to sleep.

  Cynara didn't know what woke her. The house was silent, dark. The air smelled faintly of baby diapers, tobacco smoke and whiskey. She heard only the crackle of the fire and the creaking of the house.

  Or… footsteps?

  Her mind went instantly to the man she'd glimpsed leaving the house one night. They never had learned who. Had he come back? Why?

  She lay as still as stone, afraid even to breathe.

  Please, babies, stay quiet. Whoever this is, I don’t want them to notice you.

  The house creaked again. She sensed someone very close. She had to know who.

  Before she could open her eyes and look, a hand reeking of dirt and horse clamped over her mouth. The man’s face was too dark to see, shadowed by his hat.

  "Keep silent if you want to live," he growled in her ear.

  Chapter Fifteen

  "B arclay?" The voice sounded faint and far away, though loud enough to wake him.

  "Barclay! Wake up." Jared. Something was wrong.

  He forced himself into a sitting position, ignoring the pain in his shoulder.

  Boot-steps pounded on the stairs. Chase bolted into the room.

  "They're gone!" The boy's voice came out high and shrill. Shock had enlarged his eyes. "At first I thought Cynara had moved them, but then I couldn't find her either."

  The words came so fast, Barclay could barely understand them. "Slow down. Who's gone?"

  "V-Vella!" Chase stammered. "The babies. Cynara."

  "Cynara?" Barclay shoved to his feet and reached for his pants on the bedside chair. "She's gone? Gone where?"

  "We don't know. You'd better come downstairs, if you can manage it."

  "I'll manage it. Help me with me my shirt."

  Five minutes later, Barclay stood staring at her bedding lying in a heap on the couch. Jared and Oysters waited nearby. His mother sat in a chair, her eyes damp with tears.

  "Someone's taken them," she said.

  Barclay looked at Jared, needing an explanation.

  "Oysters came in to bring Cynara her morning coffee," Jared said. "When he couldn't find her, he came to me, and I saw that the babies were gone too."

  Barclay stepped over to Connor's bed. Empty. All three cradles. Empty.

  "Have you checked her room?"

  "First thing," Jared answered. "Then I looked outside. Her horse is gone, Barc."

  "There's food missing," Oysters added, looking bug-eyed and antsy. "A piece left from that beef roast we had last night, leftover biscuits, all the bread in the ice box, several cans of fruit and beans. Oh, and the coffee I ground yesterday."

  "Any other horses missing?" Barclay moved the bedding on the couch over and sat down, too tired to stand any longer.

  Jared paced, seeming unable to stay still. "Only old Glory, the pack mule. The pads, pack saddles and bags are gone too. They'd make good beds for babies."

  "Why?" Barclay murmured. "Why would she leave like that? Where would she go?"

  "Town?" Chase suggested.

  Barclay shook his head. Had his talk of marriage frightened her? Badly enough to make her run? "Any men missing, Jared?"

  "I didn't see Dirk anywhere this morning." Jared balled his hands into fists. "Damn. You think he took Cynara and the babies? Why would he do that?"

  "Couldn't say," Barclay said, hands on his hips.

  "You want some coffee, Barclay?" Oysters asked.

  "Please."

  The cook scurried into the kitchen.

  Barclay checked the box Cynara kept the clean diapers in. Empty. He went into the sewing room. Nothing there appeared to be disturbed. A half-hemmed diaper lay on the bed, along with the black dress, not quite finished.

  What was she wearing? Her nightrobe? Returning to the great room, he said, "Ma, what does Cynara usually do with her dress at night? I'm trying to figure out what she was wearing."

  She rose and went into the sewing room. "She moved her things here to make it easier and quicker to get dressed in the morning. Her old dress is missing, but that's all. She didn't even take her extra pantaloons."

  Barclay gnawed on his lower lip. He couldn’t imagine Cynara going anywhere very far without a clean set of underthings. The dresser set he'd given her, which she loved, lay on the sideboard. A small bowl held all her hair pins. Only the black ribbon he'd given her was gone. Cynara had been taken against her will.

  Oysters returned with the coffee. Barclay took a sip, but it failed to wash away the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  Filled with worry and the need to save the woman he loved a new strength overcame him. With dogged determination to find Cynara and the babies, he went to his room, pulled on his socks and boots, and strapped on his gun-belt, something he rarely did. He returned downstairs and drank his coffee in one long swallow. "Anyone search the grounds?"

  "Only the yard behind the kitchen and what we can see from the windows," Jared said.

  "And the stable," Chase added.

  "No note, I take it," Barclay commented.

  Jared and Chase exchanged looks. “Didn’t think to look for one,” Jared said.

  "All right." On his way through the kitchen, Barclay snatched up an apple and stuffed it in his vest pocket. In the great room, he searched the tables and couch, shaking out her blankets and finding nothing.

  The empty cradles drew him. He stared down at them, a sense of panic threatening to overwhelm him. A bit of white stuck out from under Connor’s pillow. He pulled it out and recognized Cynara’s handwriting.

  “Barclay, I’m taking Scott, Sally and Owen to my parents in Chicago. Don’t worry about us or Come Looking for us.”

  “She used the wrong names for the babies,” Jared pointed out.

  “Not only that, her parents live in Ohio, not Chicago. See how she capitalized Come Looking but nothing else?” Barclay folded the note and tucked it into his vest pocket. “She was giving us a message to let us know she didn’t leave willingly. She’s been kidnapped.”

  “Why would anyone do that?” Chase asked. “Why take the babies?”

  Barclay scowled at him. “Do you think Cynara would go off and leave these babies to starve? Whoever took her simply bowed to her demands. The question is who?”

  Chase rubbed his bristled chin. “I can’t see Minnie doing something like this. If she wanted her babies, she’d just walk in and take them.”

  "You’re right.” Barclay had already started for the door, eager to go after Cynara. “Chase, pay the marshal a visit and let him know what's going on, but keep to the edge of the lane until you reach the main road. I want to be able to search for tracks."

  Chase nodded and left out the rear door.

  "I'm coming with you, Barclay," Jared said.

  "Son," his mother said with worry in her voice, "you're hurt. You can't go riding off on a horse."

  "Of course, I can, Ma. I have to." He left the house, Jared following.

  At the stables, Chase and Jared saddle
d three horses, theirs and Barclay’s Coyote. Chase rode off along the side of the lane. Barclay and Jared moved more slowly, searching the ground as they went.

  "Here." Barclay stopped after a few minutes. When he started to dismount, Jared halted him.

  “Whoa there, brother. No need for you to risk injuring yourself. Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.

  “Check those tracks there.” He pointed.

  "There were three horses. One has a nick in its left front shoe.”

  “That’s Old Glory,” Barclay said. "We have to follow them."

  "Damn right we do." Jared leaped back onto his horse, and they continued down the road, eyes on the ground.

  Cynara hated not being able to hold the babies or do anything to soothe them. All three cried pitifully. She glared at the back of the man riding in front of her. She couldn't remember ever despising a human being before, but that's how she felt about Dirk Shindler.

  Turning in his saddle, he yelled, "Shut them brats up."

  "They need to be fed. I can't do that on a horse."

  He reined in, dismounted and stalked back to her where she straddled Old Glory. "Sure, you can,” he said, and handed Vella up to her."

  Cynara and the babies shared the Givens' mule, Old Glory. She sat on the packsaddle. The babies lay bundled in blankets inside the big gunny sacks that lined the big baskets on either side of the saddle. Now, she watched nervously as Dirk lifted one of the babies from its basket and held it up to her.

  Vella. Cynara took the baby and waited for him to get on his horse again. As soon as he put his foot in the stirrup, she bared her breast to the baby's searching mouth.

  "Well, ain't that sweet?" Dirk sat twisted in his saddle, looking back at her. She shouldn't have taken her eyes off him.

  Appalled, she used the only thing she had to cover herself with—her skirt. "Turn around, Dirk. You're disgusting."

  He laughed. "Be glad. I won't mind stopping as much now so you can feed them."

  She scowled and he turned back around. If only she had a gun, a knife, anything to defend herself with. It terrified her to think about the night to come. Would he try to force himself on her?

  "You know, them babies may be mine," he said, jerking her from her thoughts.