Baby On Her Doorstep

by Rhonda Gibson

  It seemed Laura brought out the joy in the little girl. She’d had that effect on him earlier, too. Was it because she was a woman? Or was it because she belonged on the Shepard Ranch? The unbidden question entered his mind. Was it possible she belonged with them?

  He squished the thought of her belonging on the ranch and with them. Clint mentally reminded himself that Laura was only going to be with them a few months and that he had no business thinking of her staying any longer.

  * * *

  Laura tucked the children into their beds. It had been a fun afternoon with the girls. They’d giggled and splashed in the water while Clint worked on the fence. She’d watched him and wondered why he’d suddenly gone from chatty to quiet. It didn’t matter. For a few moments she’d allowed herself to become too friendly with her boss. Thanks to his response to her being from Kansas—at least that’s what she figured had turned him into a quiet cattleman—she’d come to her senses and become the nanny she was supposed to be and focused on the girls.

  Still, she couldn’t help but think of Clint’s change in behavior. He’d gone from teasing and laughing to quiet, almost somber. Laura shook her head. If she went to bed thinking like this she’d never get any sleep. She walked to the kitchen to make a warm glass of milk. Warm milk always helped her to sleep better.

  Clint was still out in the barn. He hadn’t come in for dinner. Mrs. Murphy had sent plates out to the barn for him and Richard. They had a cow out there that seemed to be having difficulty birthing her calf. Laura made a mental note to check on Grace again before heading to bed.

  Camelia sat at the kitchen table sorting brown beans. She looked up when Laura entered. “Can’t sleep?”

  Laura smiled. “I haven’t tried, yet. Thought I’d have a little warm milk before bed.”

  She nodded. “I wouldn’t mind having a mug of warm milk, too. If you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” Laura pulled out a pot to heat the milk.

  “Any word on how Bessy is doing?”

  “Bessy?” Camelia frowned.

  “The cow.” Laura poured the milk into the pan and looked over her shoulder at the older woman with a grin.

  “You named the cow?”

  Laura shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

  The other woman chuckled. “Bessy—” she paused in her bean sorting “—is still laboring away.”

  Stirring the milk with a wooden spoon, Laura sympathized with the cow. “Poor thing.”

  “Having three children myself, I feel her pain.” Camelia slid the remaining beans into her pot and stood.

  “You have three children?”

  Camelia laughed. “Don’t look so shocked. I had a life before we moved here, ya know.”

  “I suppose you did.” Laura didn’t want the milk to stick and so continued to stir.

  “We both did.” She washed the beans. “I know we didn’t get off to a good start. How about we share how we both ended up here?” Her hand sloshed the beans and water about.

  Laura poured the warm milk into two mugs. “My story is rather boring.” Did she want to tell the Irishwoman of her past? Would the older woman think less of her?

  “Mayhaps, but from where I come from, storytelling, whether good or bad, is always interesting. Of course, if it is painful or you wish to keep your privacy, that is all right, too.”

  Laura searched the older woman’s green eyes. She wanted a friend. Not having opened up to another woman before had always left her feeling empty. “It will be painful, but perhaps it will be worth the pain, if I share it.”

  Camelia nodded. “How about a cookie?”

  “I’d love two.”

  “Aye, so you are a two-cookie eater. See? I am learning new things about you already.” She pulled a small plate from the cabinet and opened the cookie jar.

  Laura carried the milk to the table and waited. Where would she begin? How much sharing did Camelia want to do? “Would you mind telling me your story first?”

  Camelia carried the plate of cookies to the table and sat down. “Not at all. Let’s see.” She paused and placed two cookies in front of Laura. “My beginning years were in Ireland. When I was six years old my parents thought it wise to move to America. They’d heard of work and wanted a new start for their wee one.” She looked up and grinned. “That was me.”

  So, they were starting at the beginning. This might turn out to be a long night. Laura smiled. “Did you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “No, my mother said that God had blessed her with one child, and if that’s all He saw fit to bless her with, she would be content. Do you have brothers or sisters?”

  “I had one sister.”

  Camelia sighed. “I take it she is with the good Lord now.”

  Tears pricked the backs of Laura’s eyes. “Yes, the good Lord took her, my mother and father.”

  The older woman reached out and covered her hand. “I am sorry, lass. I take it you are alone now?”

  Laura swallowed. “Yes, but their deaths took place several years ago.” She pulled her hand out from under Camelia’s and sipped at her warm milk. “Please, continue with your story.”

  “My sweet mother died on the journey. She couldn’t take the sickness that consumed the ship. When we’d first boarded the ship, I thought it was wonderful but soon learned it was to be a place of sorrow and sickness. My father arrived with me in America, but he was sick and without money. I often wonder if his illness was due more to the loss of my mother, than actual sickness.” Her eyes took on a faraway look.

  Laura sat quietly thinking of her own parents. After a few moments, she spoke. “My mother died when I was young, too. Papa had myself and Ellen. Ellen died shortly after Ma. They both had caught the same horrible sickness. Papa and I continued taking care of our farm, cows and land, but after a year without Ma and Ellen, he decided to sell the farm and move to town.” A bitter sweetness filled her. “He said I was going to need a husband soon, and living on a farm was only hiding me away.”

  “Did you find your young man in town?” Camelia asked. She nibbled around the edges of the sugar cookie.

  “Yes, I got married shortly after we moved. Pa took a job at the sawmill where Charles worked. I volunteered at the school and helped Mr. Peters with the younger children.” Laura looked at Camelia. She wasn’t ready to talk about her marriage to Charles just yet and asked, “What about you? Did you marry a nice Irish boy?”

  She sat her cookie down and wiped her hand on her apron. “No, after Father died I went to work at the orphanage there in New York.”

  Laura had heard of the orphanages in New York. “How old were you?”

  “Ten.” Her tired gaze met Laura’s. “My story is a bit sad in this part of it.”

  This time Laura reached out. She laid her hand on Camelia’s and said, “You can skip this part if it is too sad.”

  “No, I’ll press onward.” Camelia took a deep breath. “I was fifteen when I ran away from that horrible place. I’d washed enough clothes and saved enough money to hire a ride on a wagon to get out of the city, and I did just that.” Pride filled her eyes now. “I got out.”

  Laura smiled. “You did well.” She released the older woman’s hand. “What happened next?”

  They continued talking until well into the night. Laura learned that Camelia had married an older man who died a few months later. She’d married two other times and had three children. All had died at various stages in their lives, leaving Camelia sad and alone in life.

  Laura realized that none of Camelia’s children had lived past the age of three. She’d wanted to ask the older woman if that was why when Grace had turned two, she’d insisted on having a nanny for the child. But it was too sensitive of a subject, and Camelia had wanted to hear her story.

  As she climbed into bed, Laura felt a little better about her past. Camelia had been f
urious when she heard how Charles had belittled her with words. She’d insisted that it was not Laura’s fault that she was barren. Camelia voiced her concern that all men seemed to want was a legacy.

  Laura felt a trickle of warmth run from her eyes as she agreed. Men wanted someone to carry on their name. It didn’t matter that they loved you. They wanted that namesake, and when they realized it would never come...well, she knew firsthand just how hurtful a man could become to the woman he loved because of his disappointment.

  Her thoughts turned to Clint. As far as she knew, the cow still labored on, and he remained at her side. She admitted to herself that she was attracted to the cowboy. But it was wise to keep distance between them. Even if she could learn to love him, she couldn’t tolerate resentment and hurt appearing in those big brown eyes when he discovered she wouldn’t be helping him carry on the Shepard name.

  Chapter Eight

  Clint curled up on the pile of hay in the farthest corner of the barn. Sunlight would be making an appearance soon. He’d much rather curl up in his own bed but knew Grace would be waking in a couple of hours, and he’d have to take her to Laura. It was far easier to fall into the hay and sleep than it was to go to his room, sleep two hours and have to get right back up.

  The mother cow had labored all night but had finally produced a fine-looking little bull. He’d sent Richard to his bed in the bunkhouse, then made his own little nest in the hay. If all went well, he’d get at least four hours of sleep before the ranch began waking up.

  Clint shoved the hay about, trying to get a comfortable spot. He’d slept in barns as a child, a teenager and even as a man. It felt foolish to sleep in one now, with a nice bed inside. He sighed and stood.

  A few hours of good sleep would be better than hayloft sleeping any time. Clint made his way to the house. A light shone in the kitchen window. Was Mrs. Murphy waiting up for him? If so, why? Maybe Grace was sick. His footsteps quickened. He entered the house through the kitchen door and looked about.

  Mrs. Murphy turned from the sink. “Did she have the calf?”

  “Yep, a healthy bull.” His eyes searched the room. “What are you doing up so late? Surely not waiting up for me.”

  She shook her head. “No. Laura and I had a late-night chat. I was about to turn in. Are you hungry?”

  Clint shook his head. “No, I’m going to hit the hay.” He grinned at his private joke.

  “Good. If you can, you should sleep in tomorrow. Laura took Grace to her room for tonight. She thought you might want the added sleep.” Mrs. Murphy yawned, her Irish accent thickened as she said, “I’d best be getting my sleep also. Good night.”

  Clint bid his housekeeper good-night and walked to his room, where he pulled off his boots and flopped across the bed. His tired body wanted to rest, but his thoughts turned to Laura. She really was a kind woman. She could have left Grace in his room, but instead had taken the child to hers so that he could get the rest he needed. It still surprised him that she was a country girl at heart.

  Clint pushed himself off the bed and dressed for the night. His thoughts moved to his wife, and he couldn’t help but remember that Martha hadn’t liked living out on the ranch. She’d often asked him if they could get a house in town, and he’d always refused. He sat back down on the edge of his bed. If only he’d known that she’d get sick after having Grace, he would have moved to town. But he hadn’t.

  With a sigh, he crawled under the bedsheet. Laura seemed to like the ranch, but like Martha, her place was in town. Even though they’d only known each other for a week, Clint knew if he allowed himself, he could easily—he pushed the thought aside.

  “Get some sleep, Shepard. Your mind is muddled.” He curled into a ball and pulled his pillow to him. The thought refused to go away, and he questioned it. He could easily what? Fall in love with her? Get used to having her around?

  He awoke with a start. The sun streamed through the window. Normally his mornings started before the sun came up. Clint tossed the covers back and quickly dressed. He’d slept way too long.

  The smell of fresh coffee pulled him to the kitchen. He expected to see Mrs. Murphy or Laura, but instead found an empty room. Clint poured himself a cup of coffee and snatched up a piece of fried bacon.

  He chewed slowly and listened. Where was everyone? The house seemed too quiet. There were no sounds of women talking or working, no sweet giggles and babbles from the little girls. They were probably outside.

  Clint noticed the biscuits sitting on the back of the stove. He grabbed one, pulled it apart, stuffed it with more bacon and headed out to the barn to check on his new bull.

  As he approached, he heard Grace’s sweet laughter and saw her standing on a ladder looking into the stall where he’d left the cow and calf. Laura stood beside her, pressing a hand against the little girl’s back to keep her from falling backwards.

  Laura turned as he approached. She held Hope on her hip. Laura’s hair hung down her back in a braid. Strands had escaped about her face. She smiled at him. “Good morning.”

  “Morning.” His voice sounded deeper and full of sleep. Clint cleared his throat to get the frog sounds out.

  Grace scrambled down the short ladder and ran to meet him. She grabbed his leg, then sat on his boot.

  “You little tadpole. What are you doing on my boot?” He knew that she wanted him to walk with her sitting there. If she got much bigger, they’d have to stop playing this game and move on to something that didn’t take quite as much leg muscle.

  She babbled up at him with a grin.

  He swung his child-laden boot forward and walked toward the stall. “How is he this morning?” Clint asked Laura. He pulled Grace from his foot and swung her up on to his shoulders. Only then did he realize he’d left his hat at the house.

  “He’s beautiful. I love that splash of black around his right eye. What are you going to call him?” Her eyes sparkled, and she carried the sweet scent of lavender water.

  Clint focused on the calf, trying to ignore the fact that he enjoyed spending time with Laura. “I was thinking I’d call him Target.”

  Laura laughed. “And here I thought you might name him Bull’s Eye.”

  Her sense of humor and joy were contagious, and he found himself laughing, too. Once he’d regained his composure, Clint focused on the calf and mother. Both seemed to be doing well. The baby had a healthy appetite as it nursed.

  Laura pushed away from the fence. “Would it be all right with you if I took Grace into town today?”

  His gaze moved to her face. Worry filled her eyes. Or was it anxiety? “I’d rather you not go alone.”

  “I could ask Camelia if she’d like to go with us.” She nibbled on the corner of her bottom lip. “She might need a few supplies.”

  Clint knew that Mrs. Murphy preferred to stay on the ranch and let others do her shopping for her. He doubted the older woman would want to go to town. “If you could put your trip off until tomorrow, I will go with you.”

  “I don’t want to pull you from the ranch.” She shifted Hope’s weight, then set her down on the ground. “I know you have things to do here.”

  Grace began wiggling on his shoulders. She patted his head and babbled. “Down, down, down...”

  Clint pulled her from his shoulders and sat her beside Hope, who happily dug through the hay with her small hands. He faced Laura. “Is it important that you go today?”

  Her gaze moved to Hope. “I thought I’d go visit the sheriff.”

  He looked to the child, too. “I see. Well, give me a couple of hours and I’ll go with you.”

  “Today?”

  Clint nodded. “Yep. You won’t be happy until you hear what the sheriff has found out.” He offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Besides, I don’t mind putting off branding for a day.”

  Richard entered the barn. “We aren’t branding to
day, boss?”

  “No, Mrs. Lee has some business in town so I’m going to escort her and the girls.”

  Richard smiled confidently at Laura, but his words were for Clint. “If you need to brand, I’ll escort her to town for you.” He winked at Laura, who blushed and looked away.

  Clint frowned. Was his foreman sweet on Laura? Had they started a relationship he didn’t know about? That was ridiculous. Laura hadn’t been to the barn before, and Richard seldom went up to the house. He shook his head at the foolishness of his thoughts.

  “That’s very kind of you, Richard, but I think we’ll do it tomorrow, and I’ll let you do the actual branding.” Clint laughed at the mock look of horror on his friend’s face.

  Laura bent down and picked up Hope. “We’ll head to the house and get ready.”

  Clint realized that his banter with Richard had embarrassed her further. “I’ll get the wagon ready.”

  She nodded and then hurried with the girls back to the house.

  Richard watched her go and then turned to grin at him. “She is a pretty little thing.”

  Clint grunted as if he hadn’t noticed. He pulled the wagon from beside the barn and proceeded to hitch up the horse, aware that Richard stood close by, watching.

  “You trying to convince me that you hadn’t noticed?” he asked, crossing his ankles and leaning against the side of the barn.

  Clint grinned. “I noticed, but a true gentleman doesn’t embarrass a lady to get her attention.”

  Richard laughed. “Oh, so now we’re gentlemen. Here I thought we were simple cowboys working a ranch.” He turned and walked away, calling over his shoulder. “I’m heading to the south pasture to see if we’ve had any more calves overnight. Have fun in town.”

  Clint wondered just how much fun he and Laura would have. He knew she was concerned about Hope’s parents. If she had to turn the girl over to them, her heart would be broken. It didn’t take a genius to realize that Laura loved Hope.

  * * *

  Laura sighed with relief as the sheriff shook his head no and said, “I can’t find hide nor hair of this little one’s mama and papa.”