Montana Cowboy Daddy

by Linda Ford

  No one answered his rap on the front door at the doctor’s house. Should he go around back and knock? But surely they would have heard him. Instead, he went into the waiting room and tapped on the inner door.

  Kate opened the door. “You’re looking for Mattie.” The waiting room was empty and she joined him there. She explained how Mattie had been sent home from school with a fever. “It looks like measles, so she couldn’t stay here. It’s far too contagious. Isabelle took her to the ranch.”

  “She did! How?”

  Kate chuckled. “You underestimate my friend. She can do most anything she sets her mind to. She hired a driver and buggy. The driver came by some time ago to say Isabelle had stayed there.”

  “She did. Why?” His ability to think and speak had shriveled to a few words.

  “I don’t know. No doubt you can ask her yourself when you get there.”

  “Of course.” Then the facts hit him. Mattie was sick. He left the waiting room without a backward look and trotted over to get his horse. He rode homeward at a gallop.

  If anything should happen to Mattie—

  He wouldn’t think of it. But at least Isabelle was with her. Why did he draw strength from that thought even though he tried to tell himself he shouldn’t?

  He quickly unsaddled the horse and crossed the yard at a lope to throw open the door. “Mattie? Where are you?”

  Grandfather called from the sitting room. “She’s upstairs.”

  Dawson hurried to the stairs.

  Grandfather stopped him. “She’s in good hands. Isabelle has been tending to both of them. She’s a fine gal, just like I told you.”

  Dawson didn’t have time to think whether or not he agreed with Grandfather. “Them? Who else?”

  “Annie’s sick, too. She never had the measles when you boys did. But it appears she has them now.”

  Dawson clattered up the steps three at a time and went to Mattie’s room first.

  Isabelle held Mattie, cradling her so tenderly that Dawson skidded to a halt and stared.

  Mattie’s eyes came to him. “Hi, Papa. I’m sick but Isabelle is taking care of me.” She pressed her cheek to Isabelle’s shoulder and looked as contented as a baby in her mother’s arms.

  Dawson brought his gaze to Isabelle’s. Saw both worry and affection…affection for his child. Did that affection extend a little toward him, as well, despite how hard he had fought it?

  Her smile trembled on her lips and did not reach her eyes.

  He crossed the room and sat beside her on the bed to cradle his arm about Mattie. “I hate to see you sick, little one.” His forearm pressed against Isabelle’s arm, his shoulder against hers. Tension lifted as if he’d shared it with her.

  “Aunt Annie is sick, too,” Mattie said, her words muffled against Isabelle.

  “So I heard.” He needed to check on his sister, but he couldn’t tear himself from his daughter or this feeling of connection.

  “I need to see how Annie is,” Isabelle said and shifted Mattie to his lap. She smoothed the child’s hair and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  Her hair tickled Dawson’s face. He closed his eyes against the flood of unfulfilled dreams washing through him. Dreams that had been quenched at the failure of his marriage to Violet. Or so he’d thought before they burst into life again. All this time, they had only lain dormant. Starved and stunted. As Isabelle hurried from the room, he tried in vain to push them back underground. They could not spring to life with a woman such as she. That was sheer foolishness.

  You underestimate my friend, Kate had said. Dare he cling to hope?

  “Isabelle promised she would stay with me until I’m better,” Mattie murmured, half-asleep.

  “Did she?” He certainly would remain at Mattie’s side while she was ill. Did that mean they would be here together, caring for his child? Sharing love for her? Again those dormant dreams pushed at the surface, trying to emerge.

  Mattie had fallen asleep, and he gently laid her on the bed and pulled the sheet over her. He kissed her cheek and watched her a moment. Then he went to Annie’s room.

  Isabelle had her hands on Annie’s shoulders, holding her in bed. “You must rest.”

  “I can’t.” Annie tried to get up. “I have to take care of Mattie. And who will make the meals?”

  “I will.”

  Dawson moved to the side of Annie’s bed. “Annie, we have things in hand. You relax and rest.”

  Annie struggled against Isabelle’s hand.

  Dawson pressed her back. “Everything is okay.”

  “Are you sure?” At his further assurance she sighed and closed her eyes.

  Isabelle rose and stood at his side. “She is afraid of disappointing everyone.”

  Did he see a question in her eyes? As if she wanted to know what would happen if Annie didn’t do all the things she normally did. “Do you think we can’t manage?” He liked saying we for some reason. Those silly, stubborn, dormant dreams again.

  “I’ve no doubt we can.” But the unasked question filled the air.

  He scrubbed at his chin. “Isabelle, if Annie never leaves this bed again, it won’t change our love for her. She doesn’t have to work to earn it.”

  Isabelle’s gaze held his, the air between them heavy and still as she appeared to assess his answer. Finally she nodded. “She’s a blessed woman.”

  He released a breath he hadn’t realized he held. She seemed to approve of his answer, yet her eyes remained troubled. He wished he knew why, but Grandfather called. “Is everyone okay?”

  “He’s waiting for a report.” He caught Isabelle’s elbow and guided her down the stairs.

  Grandfather looked at them. “You both look like something hung out to dry in a cold wind.”

  Dawson led Isabelle to a soft chair and let her sit. “He means we look worn out.”

  “That’s what I said. How are the girls?”

  Dawson answered. “Fevered. Their eyes look sore.” He couldn’t sit with his insides clenched, so he walked to the window and looked out, though he saw nothing past the glass. He spun about and faced his grandfather. “Miss Baker said she suspects measles. That’s not serious, is it?”

  “Dawson, my boy, you survived. I expect your sister and daughter will, as well. But it’s good to have Isabelle here to care for them.”

  Belatedly he realized he hadn’t thanked her. “I appreciate how you’ve tended them both. Thank you.”

  “Boy, go make her some tea.”

  Isabelle sprang to her feet. “That’s not necessary. I told Annie I would take care of things and I intend to.” She was halfway to the kitchen when she turned. “I also promised Mattie I would stay until she’s feeling better.”

  Dawson could not have missed the challenge in her voice if he’d tried. For certain Grandfather didn’t, and the look he gave his grandson warned him he best have the right response.

  “I have no objection. Whatever Mattie wants she can have. Within reason, of course.”

  The look Isabelle gave him caused his toes to bunch up. As if his answer had been far from adequate. Then she disappeared into the kitchen.

  Grandfather grunted. “Boy, sometimes you have all the charm of a rattlesnake.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” And he didn’t.

  “If that’s so, I have failed badly to teach you to be the sort of man you should be.”

  “Huh? Why don’t you say what’s bothering you?”

  “What Mattie wants? As if you only tolerate the woman for Mattie’s sake. I can’t believe you are so unkind. Let alone blind. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—you’re wrong to continue to see her as a repeat of Violet.” He picked up the paper on his lap and snapped the pages in front of him.

  Good. Dawson didn’t want to hear any more of this conversation. “Guess I’ll go see if she can use some help.” He ignored his grandfather’s harrumph as he left the room.

  In the kitchen, Isabelle had filled the kettle and pulled out the m
akings for tea. She had the cupboard door open and was examining the contents. She turned at the sound of his footsteps.

  “I need to get back to town for my things if I mean to stay. And I do.” Her words were firm and full of warning.

  He’d had enough of everyone thinking him unwelcoming. “Isabelle, I’m glad to have you stay.” Saying the words made him realize how true they were, even though he had tried so hard to pretend otherwise.

  She studied him long and hard, assessing his sincerity. “You mean it?”

  “I do.” He let her continue her study until she was satisfied.

  “Well, good.”

  He chuckled.

  “What?”

  “Tell me what you would have done if I’d said I was taking you back to town to stay.” His words were teasing but his heart called for something more. He couldn’t say for sure what, perhaps recognition. Or acceptance?

  “I would have had to refuse.” She said it with such calm assurance that he laughed, delighted at such firmness and—

  Commitment?

  He sobered. Commitment was something that had been missing in his marriage.

  “I can’t take you to town, though. It would leave Annie and Mattie alone except for Grandfather, and he can’t navigate the stairs.”

  She turned back to looking in the cupboard. “Very well. I’ll make the best of it.”

  Again, her attitude, this time of acceptance and unconcern, both baffled and amazed him.

  “But why don’t I ride back to town and ask Kate to prepare whatever you need?”

  “That would be fine. You can inform her I will be staying until Mattie is better. Wait. I’ll write her a note.”

  He got paper and a pencil from the other room, ignoring the way Grandfather again snapped his paper.

  She wrote quickly, folded the paper and handed it to him. “I appreciate this.”

  His fingers closed on the paper but he didn’t immediately take it. Instead, the two of them held the note between them, their fingertips touching and their eyes meeting. “You have no need to thank me. I’m grateful for your help.”

  She spoke not a word. Yet a whole world of communication passed between them. Mutual gratitude, but much more. The promise of discovery, the hope of reaching each other—

  He jerked the bit of paper away and hurried out to the barn. How could he possibly think he knew her thoughts? What’s more, how could he expect this to turn out well?

  And yet he felt not fear, nor caution regarding Isabelle’s visit. If not for Mattie and Annie being ill, he would even admit he looked forward to spending time with her in his home, on the ranch. It didn’t hit him why there was something frighteningly familiar about those words until he saw the house he’d lived in as a married man.

  Those were the exact words he’d thought when he brought Violet out here the first time.

  *

  Isabelle needed her book A Guide to Practical Housewifery to help her prepare meals. However, she didn’t have it and wouldn’t until Dawson returned. In the meantime, it grew late and she needed to make supper. Something simple for the ill ones upstairs. A broth, she supposed. Though she had no idea how to make such.

  She stood staring into the cupboard, waiting for inspiration and enlightenment, when Grandfather Marshall thumped into the kitchen.

  “My wife, God rest her soul, always gave our boys barley water when they were ill. Said it contained healing qualities.”

  “Can you tell me how to make it?”

  “I surely can. Do you see a jar of barley in the cupboard?”

  She laughed. “It could up and hit me in the face and I wouldn’t know it.”

  His chuckle came from deep inside and made her happy to hear it. He hobbled over and pointed to the jar. “Rinse a generous handful, then cover it with water and boil it.”

  “Sounds easy enough.” She followed his instructions. “I suppose everyone thinks I’m useless because I don’t know how to do anything.”

  He chuckled again, bringing a smile to her lips. “Did you ever stop to think that no one is born knowing anything? Everything we know, we have learned.”

  “But usually before my age.”

  “I don’t see what age has to do with it.”

  For the first time since she had stepped off the stage in Bella Creek, she didn’t feel like an ostrich at a chicken farm. “You’re very encouraging.”

  “My Bella was a city woman and there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t tackle and succeed in doing.”

  “You named Bella Creek after her?”

  “I did. Young lady, you remind me of Bella. She’d have liked you.”

  “That’s a wonderful compliment.” Her pleased smile slid sideways. “Not everyone shares your opinion.”

  He snorted. “You mean Dawson. I love that boy but sometimes he is so thickheaded. Just because he unwisely fell in love with Violet, that’s no reason to be so gun-shy.”

  “I think it’s more woman-shy,” she said with a touch of irony.

  Grandfather laughed. “Don’t you worry, though. He’s smart enough to know a good woman when he sees her, even if he’ll fight it to the last possible moment.”

  “Is that right?” She dared not ask if Grandfather had a particular woman in mind.

  But the old man didn’t leave her in doubt. “You’re just the sort of woman for him, and sooner or later he’ll come to the same conclusion. You just wait and see.”

  Her cheeks burned so hot she wondered if she ran a fever.

  Grandfather chuckled. “Forgive an old man for seeing things you young folk might not see. It’s because I’ve lived long enough to understand life better than I did fifty years ago. Now if you look in the pantry, you’ll find ham and potatoes left from last night. Fry them up for supper.”

  “Thank you.”

  “For telling you about the pantry or for telling you about Dawson?” His eyes twinkled.

  “I can use all the help I can get.” Let him decide what that meant. But if he asked, she would say with making meals. She wouldn’t admit she had enjoyed hearing about Dawson, too. Or that Grandfather had given her hope that he would see her for who she was…or did she mean, for who she wanted to be?

  And not her money.

  An icy tremor raced across her neck. How long could she hope to keep the truth about herself hidden? How would learning she was an heiress change how people viewed her?

  She had the ham and potatoes chopped neatly, ready to toss into the frying pan, when she heard Dawson’s return. By the time he came in from caring for his horse, they were already browning.

  He dropped a bulging satchel on the floor and sniffed. “Smells good in here. I’ve been so busy I forgot about eating, but now I realize I’m starved to a shadow.”

  Grandfather had kept her company throughout the preparations, often offering a word of advice. He gave his grandson a disbelieving look. “Boy, it would take a long time to turn you into a shadow.”

  “Guess I can blame you for my size.” He snagged a bit of ham from the pan. “You haven’t seen the others,” he said to Isabelle. “So you wouldn’t know the Marshall men are all tall like Grandfather.”

  “Are they all as blond as you?” Oh, my, where had those words and that admiring tone come from?

  His eyes sparkled. “We’re all blond but I’m the best-looking one of the bunch.”

  “Also the most humble,” Grandfather said with such despair that Isabelle laughed. It was a pleasure to listen to their good-natured teasing.

  “How are the girls?” Dawson glanced toward the ceiling.

  “I checked on them a few minutes ago and they’re both asleep.” Annie had been a little restless but Isabelle had washed her face and arms and it seemed to make her more comfortable. According to Kate, it would help reduce the fever.

  She stirred the ingredients in the frying pan. They were golden just as Grandfather said they should be. “Supper is ready, such as it is.”

  “Good, nourishing food,” Grand
father said as she served up the meal. “I’ll say grace.”

  She bowed her head as the older man prayed.

  “Father, we thank You for Your many blessings. We are indeed most grateful that Isabelle can help us out in our time of dire need. She is indeed one of Your blessings to us. Bless her as she has blessed us. Oh, and thank You for the food, prepared by Isabelle’s capable hands. And help our girls to get better real soon. But not so soon we don’t have time to enjoy Isabelle’s company.”

  Isabelle’s face grew hotter with each word.

  Dawson cleared his throat.

  “In Jesus’s name. Amen,” Grandfather finished hastily.

  “I thought we might starve to death before you quit.” Dawson handed the bowl to Isabelle.

  She dared not look at either of them.

  “How can you be so impatient?” Grandfather managed to sound hurt. “It was my sincere prayer.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it was.” Dawson took the bowl and filled his plate. He looked around the table, then rose and went to the pantry, found a jar and brought it to the table. “Tomato chutney. My mother’s recipe. Makes everything taste better. Try it.” He spooned a generous amount onto his plate and passed the jar to Isabelle.

  “Save some for me,” Grandfather said. “And the recipe came from my Bella.” He sounded aggrieved that Dawson had failed to mention that.

  Isabelle took a scant spoonful and handed the jar to Grandfather, who, like Dawson, took a very generous amount.

  But after one taste, she could understand why. “This is delicious. I’ll have to learn to make it.” If she was still here come fall, and she hoped beyond hope that she was.

  “It’s a family recipe. Not shared with others. But if Dawson doesn’t remain stubborn, you will be getting the recipe soon.”

  “Grandfather.” Isabelle and Dawson protested together.

  She couldn’t lift her eyes from her plate as embarrassment burned through her.

  “I’m not getting any younger,” Grandfather said, not at all repentant. “It’s time my grandsons got married and gave me a bunch of great-grandchildren to enjoy while I still can.”

  “You have Mattie,” Dawson pointed out, all annoyed, which did nothing to ease Isabelle’s state of mind.

  “And I love the child dearly as you well know. But she’s lonely. Time you and your brothers fixed that.”