Montana Cowboy Daddy

by Linda Ford

  “You’re saying love, a home and marriage weren’t enough?” He wasn’t enough? But then, he already knew that was how Violet had felt. But it stung to hear it from Isabelle.

  “I believe a person has to find meaning and satisfaction within, not from outside influences.” Seeing his confusion, she continued. “I remember something my mother told me often. She quoted a verse, ‘Man shall not live by bread alone but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God.’ She urged me to not look for satisfaction in the fleeting things of life.”

  “So you look to God for satisfaction and meaning?” He’d been taught much the same but it didn’t always seem to apply to his situation. “What about when things go wrong?”

  “Sometimes it’s hard to trust, but God is ever faithful.” She spoke with such calm assurance.

  “Have you found everything you want in life, then?”

  “For the most part. I know what is important to me.” She searched his gaze. “What about you?”

  “I’ve always known who I am…a Marshall and a cowboy. And I know what I want. My own ranch. In fact, I bought a herd of my own last fall. Sank all my savings into them.” He glanced toward the door as if he could see his father and brothers. “Pa and the others are out right now seeing how well the animals fared through the winter.” He hoped for a good report soon and not just on his animals. He brought his gaze back to her and found himself telling her more of his dreams. “I’ve always wanted a family of my own and now I have Mattie.”

  Her gaze searched his. He kept his lost dreams and wishes behind a barrier so she couldn’t guess at them.

  “So, you have everything you want?”

  He had to answer honestly. “Not quite.” If she asked he’d have to tell her how he still longed for a home and family of his own. Before she could voice the question rising in her eyes, he asked one of his own. “What happened to your parents? I don’t believe you’ve ever said.”

  Her eyes filled with such darkness he wished he could pull the question back.

  *

  Isabelle’s heart hung somewhere between the pain of her past and the joy of the moment when she had sung a familiar lullaby to Mattie, successfully made a meal and earned surprised approval from Dawson. She didn’t want to ruin the mood by talking about her parents. Yet, strangely, she found she ached to tell him of their deaths.

  “They had a strange fever. No one ever told me what it was exactly. Maybe the doctors didn’t know. They got sick within days of each other. Nurses and doctors were in and out of the house constantly. Their rooms became hospital rooms.” She shuddered. “To this day I can still recall the smell of antiseptic.” She shuddered again.

  “That’s why you fled from the doctor’s examining room, isn’t it?”

  She nodded. “The smell of any kind of illness fills me with such dread I can barely breathe.” She paused to gather herself. “The doctor and nurses kept reassuring me that my parents would get better. They were wrong. So very, very wrong. Mama died first. I was at her bedside holding her hand. She smiled at me, made me promise to always do as she had taught me. Then her hand went limp.”

  Isabelle’s muscles twitched so she couldn’t sit still, and she went to the window to look out into the dark. “I didn’t realize she’d passed away until the nurse took me by the shoulders and led me from the room. Papa died that evening. I never got to say goodbye to him.” She hugged her arms about herself, wishing for the comfort of her mother’s touch.

  She hadn’t realized Dawson moved until his hands rested on her shoulders. “You were very loved. That’s something that can never be replaced.”

  A sob tore up her throat and pushed against her teeth.

  He turned her about and pressed her head to the hollow of his shoulder. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  The tears came in a hot flood. She clung to Dawson, needing his comfort. He held her close and let her cry until she was spent.

  “I’ve soaked your shirt.” She hiccuped.

  “I don’t mind.”

  She leaned into him, so weak from her bout of crying she didn’t know if she could stand on her own. “I feel like I should apologize.”

  “Absolutely not. I think you needed that.” With his thumb he gently wiped away the last of her tears.

  His touch reached a place deep inside that, until this very moment, had been dry and barren but now sprang into full, flowering life. “If I helped in any way, I couldn’t be happier.” His thumb continued caressing, stopping at the corner of her mouth. “Though it hurts to see you cry.” His voice deepened. “I would take your pain if I could.”

  She smiled. “In a sort of fashion, you did.” She wiped at the wet spot on his shirt then brought her gaze back to his.

  Neither spoke, though she wondered how he could not hear the cry of her heart. Something about this man broke down the barriers she’d erected to protect herself. His touch, his tenderness reached inside.

  His blue eyes brightened, flashed understanding. Or at least that was what she allowed herself to believe. He lowered his gaze to her lips then brought it back to her eyes, silently questioning her.

  She smiled, as much with her eyes as her mouth, and tilted her head in invitation.

  He needed no more than that as he bent his head and claimed her lips in a gentle-as-dandelion-fluff kiss.

  She leaned into his embrace, pressed her palms to his muscular back and let every pain, every disappointment, every lonely thought disappear.

  He lifted his head, ending the kiss.

  She ought to step from his arms but he again pressed her head to the hollow of his shoulder. The wet spot from her tears dampened her cheek. His chest rose and fell; his heart tattooed a rhythm against her ear. She had not felt so safe and cherished since her parents died.

  He turned her to his side. “Come, let’s check on the invalids.” They walked up the stairs together, his arm about her.

  They checked Annie first. She lay curled on her side and moaned.

  Isabelle left the safety and comfort of Dawson’s arm and sat on the edge of the bed to sponge the fevered girl. Dawson waited with her until Annie settled again. Then they checked on Mattie. She slept peacefully.

  They tiptoed out of the room.

  “She isn’t as sick as Annie,” Isabelle said, stating the obvious. “I’ll sit up with her. Why don’t you get some sleep?”

  He glanced down the hall to three more doorways. “I suppose there’s no point in both of us sitting up, but I’ll take the first awake shift. You can use Pa’s room. Next to Annie’s.”

  “I couldn’t—”

  “I insist.”

  “I was about to say I couldn’t sleep yet. I’m not tired.”

  “Nor am I.”

  They smiled at each other.

  She couldn’t sleep with their kiss so fresh in her mind. Was he having the same reaction? Her cheeks burned and she turned away lest he see and guess the reason.

  Dawson took Isabelle’s arm and led her back to Mattie’s room to sit side by side. “We might as well be comfortable,” he said. “As soon as you’re tired, feel free to go to bed.”

  “Okay.” She wondered how long it would take for her emotions to wane.

  A lamp glowed from the hallway. They checked on Annie regularly, but other than that, their voices low, they talked as the night deepened. Isabelle couldn’t seem to stop talking about her parents. Little stories from her memories. Dawson encouraged her with questions and comments.

  Finally she stopped. “I’m sorry. I’ve monopolized the conversation. Tell me about what your life was like as a boy.”

  She listened eagerly as he talked about growing up on a ranch, about the first calf his pa had given him, the first horse he’d owned. “As the oldest, it seemed I always had to prove I was as good as or better than the others.” He chuckled softly, mindful of the sleeping child nearby. “Sometimes it got me into trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?” She had a yearning to know ever
y detail of his life. Not only because it was so vastly different from her own upbringing but because it was Dawson’s and she longed to know more about the man.

  In the low light of the room, his teeth flashed as he grinned. “Well, I could tell you about the time I roped a porcupine to prove to the boys it could be done. I forgot to take into account that I would have to face the quills to get the rope back.”

  She gasped. “Did you get them in your hand?”

  “Nope. I managed to loosen the loop enough to let it escape. I wasn’t so fortunate when it came to a skunk.” He didn’t explain.

  Realizing he teased her, making her beg for more, she sighed dramatically. “You roped a skunk?”

  “Not quite. We had an old hired man at the time and he was always telling us of his escapades and filling our heads with all sorts of lore. He told us if we picked up a skunk by the tail, it couldn’t spray.”

  “Really? I didn’t know that. And I can’t think of any reason I would need to.”

  “Unfortunately, it isn’t true.” The way Dawson drawled the words tickled her insides.

  “How do you know?” She couldn’t keep the teasing laughter from her voice.

  “I tried.” He wrinkled his nose. “I got sprayed in the armpit. Phew. My eyes water just remembering it. I had to bury my clothes, and Ma made me eat and sleep outside for two days. And bathe in the horse trough using tomato juice.” He watched for her reaction and it came swiftly.

  She covered her mouth to silence her chuckles.

  He grinned. “Yeah, it’s hard being oldest. Always having to prove myself. Always being the first to learn valuable lessons while the others stand by and take notes.”

  Her shoulders shook with laughter and she escaped into the hallway before she wakened Mattie.

  Dawson followed. “It’s not kind to laugh at my misfortunes.” He sounded hurt, which she did not believe for one moment.

  She patted his arm. “I only wish I could have been there.” Her grin filled her eyes.

  He looked down at her, the lamplight making his features even more strong than normal. He brushed his curled finger against her cheek. “I wish you could have been there, too.” His voice deepened.

  They faced each other. He pulled her close and she tilted her face toward him, inviting another kiss.

  “Isabelle?” A soft call came from Annie’s room. “Are you there?”

  She turned from Dawson’s arms and hurried to his sister’s room. “I’m here.”

  “I’m so itchy.”

  Dawson brought the lamp into the room so they could see Annie better. A dull pink rash covered her face and neck.

  “I’ll get something to ease your discomfort.” Isabelle hurried downstairs to mix up a paste with oatmeal and water according to the instructions Kate had given her.

  As she worked, she fought an inner battle. Dawson had begun to accept her as capable and trustworthy. He might even want to get to know her better…maybe even see her in his life long term.

  Before any of that could happen, she needed to be honest about who she was. But if she told him she was an heiress, would he suddenly become more interested?

  She couldn’t bear the idea. No, it was too soon. Time enough to reveal the truth after she was certain of his feelings toward her. Thankfully, he could not find out until she chose to tell him. But keeping a secret from him made her jittery inside. She longed to tell him everything about herself and judge his reaction. If she didn’t guard her tongue, she would blurt out the truth.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dawson held the lamp as Isabelle spread a paste over Annie’s rash. He turned his back as Isabelle pulled the neck of Annie’s nightgown lower to apply it to her chest and back.

  “That should help.” Isabelle’s voice soothed.

  “It does. Thanks. How’s Mattie?” Annie asked.

  “Still a bit fevered but you seem to have gotten the worst of it.”

  Dawson hoped it was so. Not that he wasn’t worried about his sister.

  “I’m okay now,” Annie said.

  “Don’t hesitate to call,” Isabelle said as she straightened. Without the need to speak their intent, she and Dawson went to check on Mattie.

  “No rash yet,” Isabelle said after looking closely at Mattie’s skin.

  They sat together at Mattie’s bedside. Conversation lagged as the evening wore on. He hoped it was only because Isabelle was tired, not that she regretted the tender moments they’d shared. As if to reassure him that was the case, her head drooped.

  She jerked upright.

  “Go lie down for a bit,” he whispered.

  She made a protesting sound.

  He took her hand, pulled her to her feet and led her to Pa’s room. “We’ll take turns resting,” he said, as she stared longingly at the bed.

  “You’ll waken me if anything changes?”

  “Of course.”

  “Very well. I’ll rest a couple of hours. Then you can rest.”

  “Have a good sleep.” He backed out of the room and returned to Mattie’s side.

  The next thing he knew, someone tapped him on the shoulder. He jerked awake. “Huh?” It was Isabelle, smiling down at him. He smiled back. Nice to wake up and see her at his side.

  “I had a sleep. Now it’s your turn.”

  He would argue, but all he could do was yawn.

  She took his hands and pulled him to his feet then pushed him toward the door. “Have a good rest.”

  He paused in the doorway to look at Isabelle bent over Mattie, checking her fever and looking for signs of the rash. It was a pose he would cherish forever, a mother–child tender moment even though they were not mother and child.

  He hurried to his room and threw himself on the bed to stare at the dark ceiling. Mattie needed a mother. More correctly, a stepmother. Was it possible? Did he want it enough to court Isabelle? Or was he simply courting pain and rejection?

  Morning light spilled through the cracks around the window blind and he came to his feet in a jolt. How long had he slept? Far too long. He strode from his room straight to Mattie’s.

  Isabelle leaned over the child, just as she had when he left. Had she not left Mattie’s side?

  She heard his footsteps and looked up. “Annie’s rash has spread. I’ve made her as comfortable as I can. Mattie now has a rash.”

  “Look, Papa. I’m all red.” She scratched at her chest. “And itchy.”

  “Try not to scratch.” Isabelle smoothed oatmeal paste over her rashy areas then sat down.

  He sank to the chair next to Isabelle. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long.”

  “You only slept a couple of hours.”

  “Really?”

  “Check the clock if you don’t believe me.”

  “It seemed longer,” he added lamely.

  She pushed to her feet. “I heard your grandfather moving about. I’ll go make breakfast.” She headed for the door.

  He thought she might want to spend a few minutes with him and was on his feet instantly, following her. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  She spared him a smile. “You didn’t. And if I sounded prickly, it’s because I’m tired and concerned about Annie and Mattie.”

  His nerves tensed. “Is Annie worse?” He took a step toward her room.

  “No, but I’m not good in sickrooms.” She ran a weary hand over her brow. “I kept thinking of my mama and papa.”

  Regret edged his thoughts. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone, especially after you told me about them.” He pulled her to his chest.

  Her shoulders sank. He could almost feel the tension leaving her as she rested her head against him. In the exact spot where she had cried her heart out and soaked his shirt. He might always think of that spot as hers. A smile curved his lips at such sentimental nonsense.

  She eased back. “I’m okay now. Thanks again.” Her gaze rose no farther than the collar of his shirt.

  He caught her chin and tipped her
face upward.

  Her eyes lifted, pausing at his chin, then his mouth. She swallowed hard and he allowed himself a tiny bit of joy that she likely recalled last night’s kiss. Her gaze finally reached his and he hoped his smile relieved any lingering tension. “You should have wakened me to keep you company.”

  She nodded. “You don’t know how many times I thought of it.” She straightened and squared her shoulders. “But I had to prove I could do this on my own.”

  “Who did you need to prove it to?” He asked out of curiosity and concern, but more so out of regret that he had given her cause to feel the need to prove anything.

  “To myself, of course.” She ducked her head. “And maybe to you.”

  He crushed her to his chest again. “I’m sorry I ever suggested you were incapable of anything. You know, your friend Kate warned me I underestimated you and she was right.”

  Isabelle leaned back. “I hope you continue to believe it.”

  “I see no reason I wouldn’t. Grandfather informed me my grandmother was a greenhorn and he never had any reason to complain.” He closed his eyes as he realized how self-serving those words sounded. He didn’t mean them that way. “All I’m trying to say in my faltering way is that you’ve changed my mind about…women.” He finished weakly, not sure what he meant.

  She stepped back. “Good.”

  He wondered at the caution in her eyes. Had he not explained himself sufficiently? “Are you not willing to forgive me for my foolish assessment of earlier?”

  She patted his hand. “I forgive you. Now I must see about breakfast.”

  He watched her descend the stairs. Something bothered her, and if not his earlier judgment, then what? He turned back to check on Annie. She was red with the rash.

  “I know I look a fright but please don’t stare.”

  “Can’t help it.” No wonder Isabelle seemed a little standoffish. No doubt seeing Annie like this and watching the rash break out on Mattie brought back the shock of having her parents die in their beds. He should never have left her alone. He would not do so again.

  A few minutes later, she called up the stairs. “Breakfast is ready.”