Copyright © 2019 Margaret Tanner
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This story is a work of fiction, and to enhance the story, some literary license has been taken regarding setting. All characters are a figment of the author’s imagination.
Cover Artist:
Charlene Raddon, https://silversagebookcovers.com
BLURB:
A baby is discarded in the wilderness of South Dakota.
Rancher, Logan McGregor, finds an abandoned baby and decides to keep her. He names her Alice after his dead wife. This child will fill the void in his lonely heart.
Missie, a woman with no memory, is incarcerated in a local jail. She is crazy according to the Marshal, but she can provide the one thing Logan desperately needs – milk for baby Alice.
Against his better judgement, he takes Missie to his ranch.
When Missie’s memory finally returns, will her explosive recollections bring them all together or tear them apart?
CHAPTER ONE
South Dakota – 1870’s
Logan McGregor rode toward the setting sun as it bathed the distant Black Hills with pink. It sure was a pretty sight. He was bone weary after the spring round up. If he could afford it, he wouldn’t have left the sanctuary of his small ranch. The isolation eased his grief, and strange as it seemed to others, his loneliness. Working for other ranchers gave him the opportunity to save up to improve his own holding.
After three years the loss of Alice was still a festering wound that would not heal. Guilt had weighed him down adding to his torment. What kind of man would leave his new bride to spend several weeks away moving cattle hundreds of mile to the rail-head?
If only he hadn’t gone he would probably have a child or two by now. Grief and guilt were a powerful combination, sapping a man’s will to live.
He wasn’t a vengeful man, although he was glad the sheriff in Larriet, where they lived, had told him the woman who had lit the fire, which burned the cabin with Alice inside, had been caught and confessed to the crime. Hopefully she would have been well and truly hanged by now.
The shock of returning home to Larriet, not into Alice’s welcoming arms, but to stare at a mound of dirt in the cemetery where his beautiful wife now lay, almost killed him. He had ridden off immediately, vowing never to return.
“Why God?” he yelled, his anguished cry echoing in the stillness. “Why Alice?” he cried out again. “She never harmed a soul in her whole life. Sweet Alice, with all her plans for them gone. Burnt to a crisp.
His horse became skittish. “Easy, Prince.” He patted the gelding’s sweaty neck. “Won’t be much longer and we’ll stop for the night.”
Once they left the trail, it would be too dangerous to traverse the rock strewn, overgrown slope leading to his ranch. There was a small clearing ringed by trees where he often stopped if he couldn’t make it home in daylight. It was close to a creek, and with plenty of fallen branches. Collecting firewood for a campfire was easy work. Being near a fork in the trail, it was used by others as well as himself.
Beans washed down with coffee and his last tin of sweetened condensed milk would suffice. He would leave at first light in the morning, and within an hour or so would be home where he would have a decent breakfast. The food on the chuck wagon had been good, and there was always plenty of it.
The hair suddenly stood up on the back of his neck, even Prince tossed his head. What was that noise? It didn’t sound like anything he had heard before.
His hand dropped to his gun, resting there as he glanced around. It came again, a loud, sharp cry followed by a soft almost sobbing sound. He urged Prince forward and listened. The cry came again, much weaker this time. Sounded like a baby. Was he going loco? Maybe all that brooding over Alice had caused his mind to play tricks on him.
He dismounted, leaving the reins to trail in case he needed to remount in a hurry. Prince was like him, too weary to wander off. Withdrawing his gun from the holster, he carefully stepped toward a thick clump of bushes. Stopping, he listened. The crying came again, weaker this time. A flash of red caught his eye. Holstering his gun he squatted down, using his hand to reach in, half expecting to have it bitten off.
Shock punched the air from his lungs. Wrapped in a dirty red blanket was a baby. Thank goodness he hadn’t been drinking, otherwise he would have thought he was hallucinating. It was a very young baby if he was any judge. Not that he knew anything much about babies.
It was giving little whimpering cries now. He picked it up and held it against his shoulder. “What are you doing out here, little darlin’? Where’s your mother?”
Logan squinted into the dying light. What was a baby doing out here all alone? He had noticed numerous horse tracks and wagon wheel marks on the ground at the turn off which would eventually lead to Deadwood, nearly a hundred miles away. Wagon trains had been known to pass by on occasion, not to mention a few miners trying to find gold on some old worked out claim.
Carrying the baby in the crook of one arm, he strode back to Prince and reached for his canteen. You fool. This baby should still be at its mother’s breast, it couldn’t drink water from a canteen.
He took off his kerchief, emptied water on to it and wiped it across the baby’s dry lips. It needed milk. One tin of condensed milk wouldn’t be enough, yet was better than nothing.
No-one else was around. He checked to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. He mounted Prince. “Come on old friend, we need to get this little one to our night camp and feed it. How he was going to accomplish this he had no idea. Without some kind of nourishment the child would die, even he knew this.
The baby was giving weak little cries now. Was it providence he had come along at just the right time? By morning there was every likelihood the baby would have died of exposure as the nights got cold up here. That’s if some marauding animal didn’t get it first.
Finally, they made it to the clearing. The light was fading fast. He had to get a fire going and be quick about it. The baby had gone quiet, not dead, although its breathing sounded labored.
“I’ll unsaddle you later, Prince. I have to see to this little one first, its need is greater than ours.”
Holding the baby in one arm he led the gelding down to the creek so he could drink. Dipping his kerchief into the water he squeezed out the excess moisture and gently wiped the grime from the baby’s face. The skin was a little reddened from the sun, and a few scratches marred the otherwise smooth skin. Blue eyes stared up at him, or at least he thought they were blue, hard to tell in the fading light.
He scooped a few handfuls of water into his own mouth. The baby lay limply, whimpering, as if it didn’t have the strength to cry. Prince was like a pet dog, where his master went he followed, unless he was hitched to something.
Back at the clearing he lay the baby on a patch of grass. “Now Prince, make sure nothing comes near this baby while I get a fire going.”
It only took a couple of minutes to gather enough kindling to light the fire. Once it was burning to his satisfaction he threw on a couple of large branches. After unsaddling Prince he rummaged through his saddle bag to retrieve his beans, coffee pot and a tin of condensed milk. While the coffee boiled he opened the tin of milk. How could he feed the baby? A spoon maybe?
He poured some of the milk into his tin cup. It was too thick, the baby would n
ever swallow it. He added water from his canteen and stirred it in.
Unwrapping the blanket, he noticed the baby was wearing a white nightgown. Its feet were bare. Its drawers were wet, but he couldn’t do much about this, although he did pull the cloth away to take a peek. He had a wee gal on his hands.
Holding her upright against one arm he tried to feed her off the spoon. More ran down her chin than got into her mouth because the spoon was too big. Leaving the now crying baby next to his bed roll he dashed down to the creek to wash his kerchief in the cool water. Racing back he saw the baby’s legs kicking, arms flailing and she was screaming.
“Sorry, little darlin’. I was trying to wash my kerchief. Holding the cup in one hand, he supported her back against his shoulder. He soaked a corner of the cloth in the milk, then held it to the baby’s lips. She started sucking it. This was going to be a slow tedious process to get the milk into her.
By the time his coffee was ready, she’d had about a quarter of the cup, which was better than nothing. She wasn’t a new-born he decided, a few months old most probably. When he supported her head and back against his chest she could sit up.
His stomach grumbled as he hadn’t eaten in hours. He would have to wait, this little gal’s needs were greater than his. Where did she come from? Where were her parents? Perhaps they perished on the trail, if so, where was their wagon? He had seen no sign of it when he found her. What was her name? Would anyone be looking for her?
He kept soaking the kerchief and she sucked the milk out of it. He continued the process until she fell asleep. She must have been exhausted from all the crying. Once the worst of her hunger was appeased she slept. He didn’t doubt for one moment she would awaken within a short time wanting more milk.
He took the opportunity of building up the fire. Drinking his coffee without the milk he had been looking forward to, he ate his beans. Spreading out his bedroll, he swaddled the baby in the red blanket and settled her down. He sat close by, resting his back against a tree, watching the flickering orange flames.
Darkness had closed in on them bringing with it a chill in the air. Carefully he moved his bed roll a little closer to the fire. All he could do now was wait until she awoke so he could give her more milk. Once her little belly was full she might sleep, so he could get a few hours rest.
He suddenly wondered what her name was. There had been no identifying item with her except the red knitted blanket. “I’ll call you Alice,” he muttered. After my Alice who had never been given the opportunity to bear his child because some loco woman had burned down their cabin. “I hope you rot in hell you evil creature.” He didn’t even recall what her name was, if he ever knew it. He couldn’t remember whether the sheriff had told him or not. She had been a local, which made her deed even more heinous. She had probably known Alice.
He closed his eyes to block out the pain. He was destined for a solitary, lonely existence. To put himself in the position of loving another woman then risk losing her, well, he just couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t survive such tragedy a second time around.
Like most men he had wanted a wife and children. He didn’t have a wife now, but he did have a child. This baby would be his. She obviously didn’t have anyone else who wanted her. He could bring her up right. He didn’t go to church yet he was a God fearing man. What he would do with her when he had to go off to work he wasn’t quite sure. He would think of something.
She whimpered before letting out a roar. “Ah, little darlin’, I knew this would happen.” He chuckled. Feeling more confident now, he dunked the kerchief into the milk and commenced feeding her. She sucked strongly now, her little legs kicking, her arms waving around, as if she was frustrated at the slow progress of the milk going into her belly.
By the time she was full the cup was empty. There was still milk left in the tin, so he covered it with his kerchief to keep out any dust or insects. This would have to be breakfast for her. He wasn’t sure how many tins of the sweetened condensed milk he had at his cabin, although there would be a few.
He didn’t like going into town, avoided the place as much as possible, but for little Alice he would go in when the tins of milk looked like running out. Maybe the mercantile would have something he could feed her with? Perhaps he could make a cradleboard for her, like the Indian squaws used, and could carry her with him when he did chores around his ranch. He would have to forgo rounding up the stray cattle he had discovered even if they were worth over ten dollars a head. When he was panning for gold he could take her with him.
He stretched out in the darkness making his plans as the baby slept at his side. He wouldn’t sleep in case he rolled on top of her. Once he got to the ranch he could make a cradle. It wouldn’t be beyond his capabilities as he might have been a carpenter had he not decided to take up ranching.
His Scottish father had been a ship’s carpenter in the English navy until he jumped ship in New York to head out West to make his fortune. It didn’t happen. Pa had married twice, he was from the first union with a Scottish immigrant gal. Eleven years after birthing him, and numerous miscarriages later, she had died. Pa had quickly married again and had another son and two daughters. The family was now scattered throughout the West. The only one he had any contact with was his brother Daniel, and that was intermittent.
After the second wife died, Pa had returned to Scotland, severing all contact with his American family. Not that he cared. Douglas McGregor was a hard man, a dour Scotsman who had shown his family little or no affection.
Logan closed his eyes to rest them for a while. He had too many thoughts crowding around in his brain to sleep.
Loud crying woke him and he shot up into a sitting position. What the…. Ah, little Alice obviously felt in need of sustenance. I must have dozed off.
He picked her up, held her against his shoulder, all the while patting her back. “Don’t cry, little darlin’, your Pa,” he liked the sound of that, “will feed you in a minute. How long she had lain under the bushes he had no idea. It couldn’t have been more than a day or so or she wouldn’t have survived.
In the dawn light, her tear filled eyes were definitely blue. A few tufts of blonde hair covered the otherwise bald head. She definitely wasn’t an Indian or even a half-breed.
The fire had burned down to a bed of glowing embers. He wouldn’t bother with coffee, the sooner he got this little gal home the better.
Like he had done last night, he poured water into the tin of milk to dilute it, soaked it up with his kerchief and put it into the baby’s mouth. She sucked strongly. Inwardly he fretted and fumed because it was such a slow process. Surely, once he got home he would be able to find a better method to feed her.
Would she be old enough to eat food? Maybe sloppy porridge. He always had plenty of oatmeal, a throwback to his Scottish heritage. Ah, the little belly was getting full now. He watched the tiny toes curling up with satisfaction. He wasn’t doing such a bad job, all things considered. Fate had finally smiled upon him. This little gal would be his solace, help ease the pain of his loss and maybe she would eventually expunge the guilt he felt over leaving Alice alone at their cabin.
“Well, little Alice, we’re stuck with each other.” He ran a tanned finger across the baby’s cheek. When she clutched his finger he laughed out loud. “If you’ve finished eating, we’ll be off.
He put the tin to his lips and finished off the small amount of left over milk rather than waste it. Without the bitterness of the coffee to counteract the sweetness, it was sickly.
Placing Alice on the grass he wrapped her in the red blanket, whistled Prince over and saddled him, then tied on his bed roll. He kicked dirt over the fire to make sure it was out, before relieving himself behind a bush. All the while keeping the baby in view.
The sun was climbing over the hills by the time they departed. It would take more than an hour to reach home. He always felt safe there, and it would be easier to look after little Alice. If only he knew more about babies.
; “I’ll do my best to give you a good life, but you’ll have to be patient with me. I’ll have to learn as we go along.”
The baby blinked sleepily, and he could have sworn she smiled at him. It felt good having someone who needed him, relied on him for everything. “I won’t let you down little Alice McGregor I swear it.”
CHAPTER TWO
What are you going to do with that crazy woman, Marshal?” Alf Bryant, owner of Abbot’s Mercantile in Golden Square, asked.
“Keep her in my cells until the Federal Marshal comes to get her. I’ve sent a telegram to Deadwood. Luckily he was there.”
“He’d be going at the whores like a rutting stallion,” Alf said with a leering grin.
“As long as the sonofabitch comes to take this snarling wild creature off my hands, I don’t care why he’s there or what he’s doing.” Marshal Lyle Jessup spat a mouthful of tobacco into a nearby spittoon.
He could just about kill for a whiskey, but knew he had to keep a clear head if he was to survive having such a hellion in his cells. What if the Federal Marshal didn’t turn up? He inwardly fumed. He was too old for this type of thing. It must be all of two years since he’d had anyone in his cell except for a few drunken cowboys sleeping it off overnight.
“Where do you reckon she comes from, Lyle?” Alf asked.
“Maybe the wagon train that passed through here the other day. Tin horn settlers.”
“I’m not complaining, they just about cleaned out my stock even though I charged them double the normal price.” Alf gleefully rubbed his hands together. “Best couple of days I ever had.”
“It’s all fine and dandy for you,” Lyle grumbled. “Damn fool trail boss trying to take a short cut when he didn’t know the way. You made money while I’m left playing nurse maid to some wild eyed, crazy bed faggot.”
“Maybe she didn’t come from the wagon train. She was found only a few miles out of Deadwood.”
Logan (Bachelors And Babies Book 2) Page 1