by Ford, Linda;
She climbed the hill and followed a narrow trail into the trees. Not two feet off the path, in a spot cushioned with yellowed and brown leaves, sat a boy of about ten. A mat of black hair tangled around his bent head, his complete concentration on fingering out scoops of apple pie. So intent was he on the food, he didn’t notice her. So much for rescuing the pie. Why was this child allowed to roam freely and get into mischief? Seems someone should be supervising his activities. But he had a neglected air about him… his soiled trousers torn at the hems, his shirt askew. Seems not only the child needed a scolding.
Joanna sidled up to him. “Looks like good pie,” she murmured, keeping her annoyance firmly corralled.
He jumped like a startled rabbit and jerked around to stare at her. Blue eyes. Irish eyes that widened to the size of saucers.
“Good pie?” She kept her voice beguilingly soft.
He nodded.
“Where did you get it?”
Mute.
“Any chance you got it at the stopping house down there?” She nodded over her shoulder.
Still mute.
“I’ll assume that’s yes. Don’t suppose you paid for it?”
He scrambled to his feet, his gaze darting toward freedom, but she wasn’t about to let him escape.
She caught his arm. “That’s my pie. I made it for the men who are going to eat supper at the stopping house. I think we need to talk to your ma and pa about this.”
The boy gave her a look fit to cure leather, then his eyes narrowed, and his lips trembled. “My ma’s dead.” He hung his head in sorrow.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Not that his little act convinced her of any real sorrow. She knew when she was being conned. “Then we’ll talk to your pa.”
“If you can find him.”
She blinked before the change in expression that turned the boy from innocent sadness to full-fledged, flat-out, get-out-of-my-way anger. Her own gut did a similar shift. Her circumstances hadn’t been much different growing up. In fact, they weren’t a lot different right now. Ma had died when she was fourteen, leaving her in charge of her two younger sisters. And Pa? Well, they’d tried to keep up with him, but he didn’t make it easy.
However, that didn’t excuse stealing. She would have never tolerated it from her sisters. “Who are you with, then?”
“My uncle.”
If she wasn’t mistaken, his anger grew hotter.
“Then let’s go see your uncle.”
The boy didn’t budge. “He don’t care what I do. He can’t wait for my pa to turn up so he can be shed of me.”
Her insides twisted. Too often she and her sisters had felt the same way when Pa abandoned them to the unwilling care of others.
Perhaps the boy guessed his words had touched a chord in her. “He never stays in one place longer than he has to. Footloose and fancy-free he calls it.”
“Does he now?” She had other words for it. Irresponsible. Neglectful. But it didn’t matter to her how this uncle lived his life so long as he looked after the boy properly until he was “shed of him.” She crossed her arms. “I think I’d like to speak to your uncle.” She urged the boy to the trail and headed away from the fledgling town, assuming said uncle could be found in that direction. She had a few things to say to the man.
The boy dragged his feet every inch. Then he drew to a halt and tipped his head to the left. Joanna looked the direction he indicated and saw a man busy tending to a pile of belongings. No doubt the footloose, fancy-free uncle. From where she stood, silently staring, he appeared to be a big man. He looked clean and tidy. For some reason, that surprised her. He turned to pick up an object, revealing a strong, clean-shaven jaw. A rugged face. She guessed him to be a hard man who would not welcome her demands.
She pushed her shoulders back. She would never let a man make her feel timid. Nor would she admit she suddenly felt small and vulnerable.
Her head said, Say something. Her feet refused to budge. Instead, she continued to watch, noting the smooth way he moved. An economy of motion that in a man his size looked graceful. Not that it mattered one way or the other if he was as clumsy as an ox.
Her disadvantage, she informed herself, was she didn’t even know his name or the name of the boy at her side. She could easily remedy the last. “What’s your name?” she whispered to him.
“Freddy Canfield.” A barely discernible mumble.
She chose to ignore the sullen tone in the boy’s voice. If she were in charge of this young one, she would insist he say his name proudly and clearly. “Well, Freddy Canfield, I take it that is your uncle.”
He nodded, and the look he shot at the unsuspecting man was hot enough to fry bacon. She could almost feel sorry for the uncle.
Freddy still clutched the pie pan with the half-eaten pie.
He’d stolen the pie, Joanna reminded herself. Justice must be served. The boy had to be held responsible.
She pushed forward, half dragging the youngster.
The man heard their approach and straightened to regard them. His gaze widened at Joanna and narrowed significantly at the sight of her hand clutching Freddy’s arm. If she wasn’t mistaken, he sighed like someone had dropped a huge load on his shoulders.
“Sir, I believe this is your nephew.”
“He is.”
She guessed he tried mightily to disguise his weariness and almost succeeded. Running the stopping house had given her wagonloads of experience in assessing men in every shape and size and temperament. This one was broad shouldered, well built. She guessed him to be in his thirties. Black hair like his nephew, but brown eyes full of discouragement or wariness. Probably both. His responsibilities seemed to weigh heavily on his shoulders at the moment. Why was he in charge of his nephew? What had occurred to put them at such odds? With a little shake, she brought herself back to the task at hand. “I regret to say he stole a pie from me.”
They both looked at the evidence.
“Freddy, is that true?”
Joanna snorted. “What further proof do you need?”
“Don’t need proof,” he murmured. “Need for the boy to fess up.”
Freddy pulled the pie close to his chest. “I done stole it, and I ain’t sorry. You want the truth. Well, here it is. I’m sick of your cooking. It’s like eating wood bark at the best, and at the worst it’s like cow—” He shut his mouth, lips pressed together. He seemed to think better of describing the worst. He turned big, innocent eyes to Joanna. “It’s been a long time since I tasted anything half as good as this pie.”
Joanna stifled a laugh at his description of his uncle’s food and for a moment was almost charmed by the boy’s flattery. But not quite. She glimpsed the anger barely hidden in the depths of his gaze. “I feed people every day. It’s how I make my living. Having someone steal my food eats into my profits.”
The man dug into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. “This cover your costs, Miss… or is it Missus?”
“I’m not married.” She considered the money in his palm but hesitated to take it. Her conscience nagged at her. She’d been abrupt—downright unfriendly, in fact. “I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten my manners. I’m Joanna Hamilton. I own and operate the Bonners Ferry Stopping House.” For some unfathomable reason she smoothed her hair back from her face knowing much of it had escaped the leather tie she used to keep it tidy.
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Name’s Rudy Canfield.”
The man had a pleasantly deep voice with a slight drawl. “I’ve brought this young fella here,” he continued, “to turn him over to his father.”
The air crackled with tension.
Joanna guessed Mr. Canfield had encountered a few challenges in getting the boy this far. Perhaps a stolen pie was not the worst of them. “Nevertheless…” Maybe he didn’t need a lecture on how he should take care of the boy. She plucked three coins from his palm. “Thank you. By the way, I serve supper promptly at six. You’re more than welcome to sit in.” She named the
sum for a meal then turned to study the small boy. “Enjoy your pie, Freddy. But I’ll abide no more stealing. Hear?”
Freddy’s expression seesawed between anger and a desire to convince her of his innocence.
She wouldn’t be swayed by any big, blue-eyed gaze nor a slight twinge of sympathy for a confused little boy or a weary uncle. “No stealing. Good-bye, Mr. Canfield.” She headed toward town. Her insides were tangled, and she didn’t understand why. Ten steps later she ground to a halt, turned around sharply, and returned to the campsite.
Freddy gobbled down the rest of the pie as if afraid she’d come to claim the remains.
Rudy leaned back on his heels, his fingers tucked into the front pockets of his trousers. His casual appearance did not fool her. He tensed, ready to face whatever challenge she meant to hand his way.
“I’m not satisfied with being paid. Seems to me the one who committed the crime should pay the penalty.” She held the coins out to Rudy, but he didn’t lift his hand to receive them. “Freddy is the culprit. He should pay.”
“You want I should horsewhip him?”
She gasped. She shot a look toward Freddy and saw alarm and fear in his eyes. “Is that how you discipline him?”
“Haven’t so far, but I’m wondering what you have in mind.”
For the space of several silent seconds she didn’t respond as she tried to assess the quivering tension between the two. Freddy’s eyes wide and watchful. An almost identical expression on Rudy’s face.
“I ain’t got no money,” Freddy said.
Joanna ignored his grammar. “Then best you work off your debt.”
Both looked wary.
She sighed. “Like I say, I run the stopping house. There’s always chores. Sometimes more than I can keep up with. With your uncle’s approval, you can work for me and pay for the pie that way.” Again, she held the coins toward Rudy. Finally, after what seemed a very long wait, he pulled his hand from his pocket and let her drop the coins into his palm. “Shall I expect Freddy in about an hour?” That would give her a chance to organize the rest of the meal so she could supervise the boy.
“He’ll be there.”
“Fine.” Not until she was almost back to the stopping house did she realize she’d taken on one more task when she was doing her level best to get out of the work of running the place. If she wanted to make a decent impression, she’d better hustle. She broke into a run.
Across the remnants of their campfire, Rudy studied the boy as he sat on a fallen tree, picking out the last of the stolen pie. Tension in the air marred the pleasantness of the little clearing that was surrounded by trees dressed in yellow leaves. It was plain to see he was Joe’s son. The same blue eyes. The same thatch of black hair. Even down to the poor attitude, as if life owed him only kindness and he’d accept nothing less. Too bad life didn’t seem to be so inclined most of the time, giving Freddy—like his father—plenty of opportunity to express his displeasure.
He’d had only a passing acquaintance with Freddy until recently, having seen him when Rudy visited his mother, and Freddy’s grandmother, twice a year come rain or shine. But he hadn’t expected to be stuck with him day in and day out. How had Ma handled this continual resentment? Of course, Freddy might have been happy to be in Ma’s care. But Ma was gone. And Freddy had no one but his pa to be bothered with him.
Freddy made no secret of the fact he didn’t care an ounce for being in Rudy’s care. And to prove it, he got into mischief at every opportunity.
“You know better than to steal. Grandma would turn over in her grave.”
Freddy pulled his lips in, practically sucking them out of sight. For one happy moment, Rudy thought the boy would drop his attitude. But then Freddy scowled fit to bring on a thunderstorm. Even mention of the woman who had been largely responsible for raising Freddy brought no softening. Freddy dared the world, and everyone in it, to expect any degree of cooperation from him.
If Rudy expected a turnabout, he could dream in vain.
Although he was thirty-two years old, he’d never had much to do with kids, even this one who had lived with Rudy’s ma since Joe’s wife, Betty, died.
His heart fisted within him. Betty, who was supposed to have been Rudy’s wife. He closed his mind to those memories. A man couldn’t ride far glancing over his shoulder to what might have been.
Rudy glared at Freddy. “Miss Joanna could have had you arrested.” For a few minutes he’d wondered if she’d had it in mind. He took her for a woman with very high expectations of those around her. No doubt she took him for a neglectful uncle when the truth was he’d done everything in his power—except hog-tie the kid—to keep him out of mischief. Who would have guessed a youngster could get into so much trouble in so little time?
“They don’t put ten-year-olds in jail.”
“You sure?”
“Well, do they?”
Rudy shrugged. “Beats me. I’ve gone out of my way to avoid gaining any firsthand knowledge of jails. That’s not the point, though.”
“I ain’t sorry.”
Rudy sighed. This was going nowhere. “Let’s go see if your father turned up.”
Freddy didn’t show any sign of moving. Instead, he licked the pie plate as clean as any scrubbing would render it.
“Freddy?”
The boy ignored him.
Rudy strode over to stand over him. “Let’s go. Your father should have come by now.”
“He never shows up.”
A hot feeling raced up Rudy’s spine. Yeah, Joe was about ninety-nine percent unreliable, but this time he had no choice. His son didn’t have a home. It was time for Joe to cowboy up to his responsibilities instead of shifting them to someone else’s lap. “He’ll be here.” Or Rudy would find him and drag him here.
Freddy shrugged. “No never mind to me if he comes or not.”
“Yeah? Well, it matters to me. He’s your father, and he’ll jolly well look after you.” He nudged the boy’s boot with his own. “Let’s go find him.”
With about as much enthusiasm as he’d expect from a rock, Freddy managed to get his feet beneath him. “You really going to make me work for that woman?”
“Miss Joanna? Doesn’t seem to me it would be much of a hardship. She appeared kind enough.” At least she’d kept her anger simmering beneath the surface. He grinned. She looked like she might have enjoyed nailing Rudy’s hide to the nearest tree.
“Did you think she was pretty?”
“Didn’t notice.” Much. She had shiny brown hair tied at her neck. It rippled when she walked. Soft brown eyes that brought to mind a mother’s kiss when her gaze rested on Freddy. But when she looked at Rudy, the feeling was more like a mother’s sharp disfavor.
It wouldn’t hurt Freddy a bit to have a woman try and straighten him out.
“How come you didn’t notice? You blind?”
He chuckled. “She looked like the sort of person you could depend on.”
Freddy bounced ahead of Rudy to stare at him. “You can’t tell that by looking at someone.”
“No, I guess you can’t.”
Freddy resumed sauntering at Rudy’s side. “She makes awfully good pies.”
“Wasn’t kind of you to say my cooking tasted like wood.”
“You’re always saying I gotta tell the truth.”
“You picked a fine time to remember.” They reached the edge of the town—if one could call it that. The ferry crossed the Kootenai River with only one horse and rider aboard. It was usually full going the other direction as men headed for the gold fields to the north. He pulled up to watch, hoping the lone occupant might be Joe. But before the ferry docked, he knew it wasn’t. The man was far too big.
“Let’s go.” He led his nephew down the rutted street toward the businesses.
Half an hour later they’d asked everyone they met if they knew of a man called Joe Canfield. No one did.
“I told ya. He ain’t coming.”
“He’s coming. It�
�s time for you to go to the stopping house.”
“This time you better take a good look at Miss Joanna. I think she’s pretty.”
“Kid. You’re ten years old. What do you know about such things?”
Freddy snorted. “I got eyes.”
Trouble was, so did Rudy. And they worked perfectly fine.
Joanna stepped out of the stopping house, saw them approaching, and smiled. The woman had a smile that made his heart act all funny, like a fresh-broke horse facing the open road. Or the sensation he got when he got bucked off a stallion. The airless exhilaration of soaring.
Until he hit the ground.
Same lesson he’d learned concerning women. One day you were riding high, thinking everything was fine and dandy. The next you were nursing hurt pride and a whole lot more things that he couldn’t explain. Which was why he’d gone out of his way to avoid having anything to do with the fairer sex for the past eleven years.
He wasn’t about to change now.
Joanna called a greeting. “Glad to see you made it.”
Freddy mumbled something about Rudy making him come, which was so untrue Rudy poked him in the back.
Rudy tipped his head toward Miss Joanna. “I’ll wait for him while he does whatever you have for him.”
He chose an old stump about ten feet from the door where he had a good view of the ferry coming and going and could see most of the yard surrounding the stopping house. Without turning his head much, he had a pretty good glimpse into the roomy kitchen where Joanna led young Freddy, her hand gentle on his shoulder. The delicious aromas coming from inside turned Rudy’s annoyance into hunger.
Freddy glanced back and gave Rudy a self-satisfied smirk. He seemed to think he got a nice deal with being “forced” to work with Joanna.
Rudy grinned. He couldn’t argue with the boy on that score.
Chapter 2
Joanna showed Freddy the ash bucket then returned to the door to indicate where to dump it. She felt Rudy’s hot gaze practically stinging her cheeks and glanced toward him. His expression was inscrutable, but his eyes impaled her.