by Linda Ford
Until today. Someone had spoiled her sense of peace and security.
She couldn’t decide which someone she meant—the man who’d nearly kidnapped Megan, or the man who would be her constant company until the first man was caught.
A shadowy figure slipped from the barn, one arm clutching a bundle she thought to be a bedroll. She knew it was Clay by the rolling way he walked. He crossed to a small group of aspens a hundred yards west of the barn and disappeared into the shadow of the trees. She thought she caught the flicker of a movement and assumed he’d spread his bedroll. She waited, but he didn’t reappear.
Was he going to sleep in the shadow of the trees? If he did, he could see anyone coming up the lane, or coming from the river, or going into the barn. Why should that make her feel safe when his very presence reminded her of how so many men had treated her?
Chapter 3
Clay was awake before dawn. He sat in the shadow of the trees, where he could see the activity of the ranch without being observed. The sky grew pink, and the clouds reflected the color. He let the peace of the moment fill him. God was sure powerful and did wonderful things, which always left Clay puzzled. Why did such a powerful God, One who’d created such beauty, allow such meanness and ugliness in His world? It simply baffled him.
Yesterday Harrison had introduced Clay to Angus, a red-headed Scotsman who was married to the dark Cosette. This morning, he’d watched Cosette go to the ranch house before dawn to prepare breakfast. Angus fetched the milk cow to the barn. A bit later, he emerged with a pail heavy with milk and took it to the back door of the house.
From his position, Clay couldn’t see that door, and it bothered him. But Angus seemed a sharp man. Canny, as an old Scotswoman he once knew would say, so Clay relaxed. He couldn’t be everywhere and considered the front of the house to be most vulnerable. He patted the gun at his hip. He’d expected it to feel bulky and awkward after not wearing it for two years, but to his utter dismay, it felt comfortable.
In a few minutes, Angus made his way back to the barn and let the cow out then filled the water troughs and carried feed to the pigs.
Miss Birdie and little Megan came from the back. Megan carried a bottle of milk. They were going to feed the calf.
Clay remained where he sat, his gaze constantly skimming his surroundings, his senses alert to any unusual sound.
A few minutes later, Miss Birdie and Megan emerged from the barn. Birdie laughed, and the sound was like a hundred birds rejoicing. Her name suited her. She bent toward Megan and tickled her, and Megan’s giggles joined Birdie’s.
Clay allowed a smile that grew into a sound deep in his chest. Laughter? When was the last time he’d enjoyed watching others enough to respond like this? He turned to Mutt, who lay motionless at his side. “Course you and I have shared a few laughs, right?”
The dog opened one eye. Strange how an animal could communicate so well with such sparsity of movement. Clay needed to remember to be more like Mutt and less like Megan and Birdie. A fellow gets too busy enjoying himself, and things go wrong. It wasn’t a mistake he meant to repeat.
He waited until Miss Birdie and Megan disappeared from sight around the corner of the house, gave them what he hoped would be sufficient time to sit to breakfast, then made his way to the back door and rapped lightly.
Cosette answered the door. “Mister Clay, we have expected you.”
He wasn’t sure the woman meant they expected him to join them for breakfast or she thought he’d be there sooner to ask for supplies. “If you could spare me a few victuals, I’ll make my breakfast.”
Harrison must’ve heard Clay’s voice, though he’d done his best to keep it soft. Harrison came into the kitchen. “You’ll have breakfast with us.”
Clay drew back, thinking to return to his sparse campsite, but the aroma of coffee and bacon brought a protesting rumble from his stomach. He couldn’t resist the smell of good food.
“Fine, I accept your invitation.” Though it had come more as an order, but Clay would have no trouble ignoring an order he didn’t like, and Harrison knew it. He hung his hat and gun belt on a hook by the door and followed Harrison to the big table, which was covered with food. Birdie sat with her back to him. They seemed destined to be at odds, though he couldn’t say why. On his part, he didn’t want to feel anything more than polite distance toward any woman. Why she was so defensive in his presence, he couldn’t say, though he might draw a few conclusions. Given her age and the fact that she was unmarried, she likely didn’t care much for men.
He’d caught a glimpse of her drawing as she sat on the verandah last evening, and it had about stolen his breath away to see the bald eagle so lifelike and majestic. It had made him feel like he’d gotten a glimpse of a beautiful soul.
He sat in the chair he’d chosen the evening before, bowed his head and, when Harrison prayed, whispered a prayer for something on his own behalf. God, give me strength and wisdom to protect Harrison’s family and keep my secrets and my heart safe.
The breakfast of eggs, fried pork and griddle cakes was as good as he’d hoped.
Miss Birdie didn’t speak directly to him but she gently corrected Megan when she reached across the table for the jam instead of asking to have it passed.
For the most part, Megan made it unnecessary for the others to carry on a conversation.
“Papa, Little Bit is getting stronger every day. Aunt Birdie says I might let him out into the sunshine this afternoon. I think he’ll like that, won’t he?” She nodded as if someone had answered her.
Harrison smiled at his daughter and took another bite of his eggs.
“And Papa, guess what? I saw Rags.” Megan spared a glance at Clay to explain. “Rags is my cat. I call her Rags because she has long fur and it’s all mixed up colors like a sack of rags.”
Clay smiled. Then he met Birdie’s gaze across the table, and his smile flattened. She was sending him some kind of warning, but he couldn’t think why. Did she think he would make light of Megan’s excited chatter? To prove her wrong, he said, “Rags sounds like a good name for such a cat.”
Megan tipped her head and studied him hard. “What’s your dog’s name?”
“Mutt.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s a mutt. Kind of mixed up breeds.”
“Oh.” A pause as she considered his answer. “I guess that’s an okay name too. Will he chase Rags?”
“Well, now, don’t know if he’s ever seen a cat, but mostly Mutt listens to me when I tell him not to do things, so I think your Rags is safe enough from my Mutt.”
“Okay.” She turned back to her father. “Rags hasn’t had her babies yet. She’s this big.” Megan held her hands out and puffed out her cheeks to indicate the cat’s size.
It was so innocent and unexpected that Clay couldn’t stop the smile. Not even if Miss Birdie had ordered it with her little derringer to his temple. He stole a glance at Birdie and saw that she too was amused. Her gaze met his, and for an instant the shared feeling struck him like lightning. Then he jerked away, concentrating on his empty coffee cup. Cosette hurried over to refill it. He thanked her and drained the contents in a few swallows.
Megan continued. “Papa, when do you think she’ll have her kittens? I hope there are six of them.”
“Six?” For the first time, Harrison did more than nod and smile and make noises of agreement. “Why six?”
“’Cause that’s how many I need. One for the house, one for me, one for Cosette, one for you, one for Birdie, and one for Mr. Clay.”
Birdie sputtered into her coffee.
Clay’s insides tickled with amusement, which was quickly replaced with a long, hollow sorrow. If Mary had lived, he might have had the chance to enjoy a child of his own. Would it have been a boy or a girl? Quiet and thoughtful like Mary or bubbly like Megan? He’d never know.
He needed to escape this happy family mealtime so ripe with what might have been. He pushed back from the table. “Thanks for breakfa
st.” He included Cosette in his thanks. He was about to say he’d be on his way, but he couldn’t leave. He’d promised Harrison.
A knock rattled the front door.
“Come in,” Harrison yelled.
A cowboy rushed in, snatching his hat from his head. He looked like he’d ridden ten miles through a dust storm.
Clay was on his feet instantly.
Harrison stood as well. “Bill, what’s wrong?”
“There’s been some trouble on the east slope.” Bill glanced beyond Harrison to the two women and the child. His gaze lingered on Clay momentarily before he turned back to Harrison. “Boss, you better come see for yourself.”
“Harrison, you stay here with your family. I’ll go see what’s wrong. Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it.” This way he could care make good on his promise without being confronted by a little girl and a keen-eyed woman.
Harrison introduced Bill and Clay. Harrison glanced beyond those in the kitchen, and his gaze rested on the wall by the door.
Clay followed his look. It was his gun belt that held the man’s attention, and he knew before Harrison brought his gaze back to him what his answer would be.
“I appreciate the offer, but there are things you can do much better than I can. I’d prefer if you’d stay here.”
“Yes, sir.” What else could he say? He owed the man. Moreover, Harrison was right. If someone showed up intent to hurt the women, Clay was the man to face him. Not only because he was fast with his gun, but also because he had nothing to lose.
Megan needed her father. Miss Birdie needed her brother. The ranch needed a good boss.
Nobody needed Clay.
“Saddle up my horse, Bill. I’ll be along in a minute.”
Bill hurried out, and Harrison went to Megan who stood at the side of the table.
“You’re going, ain’t ya?” she said.
“I always do and I always come back. Clay will make sure things are okay here. You listen to him, okay?”
Megan threw her arms about Harrison’s neck and hugged him.
Harrison lifted his daughter to his hip and drew Birdie close.
“Be careful,” he said.
Birdie gave him a quick hug then stepped back. “Be safe,” she whispered.
Harrison carried Megan as far as the door, where he set her down and kissed her cheek. He grabbed his hat, and strode outside to the waiting horse.
Clay stood at the open door and watched Harrison and Bill ride away then grabbed his hat and gun belt from beside the back door. Despite his reluctance to do so, from now on he would wear his gun while indoors. It was the only way he could be sure he could protect those under his care.
“I’ll be outside.” He went out the front door and plunked down in one of the wooden chairs on the verandah.
From the open window behind him he heard Megan chatter as she helped dry the dishes. “Can we go to the fort now?”
“We can’t go to the fort today. We can’t play by the river, not until the man who grabbed you is found.”
“Papa will punish him, won’t he?”
“Maybe he’ll just make the man go away.”
“My papa will always make sure I’m safe, right?”
“He’ll do his best. Now you do these sums while I work on a picture.”
Clay listened to the scrape of chairs and the rattle of paper and pencils. He didn’t need to see to picture them at the table, both heads bent over their work. There was a time he thought he would be part of such a scene—the papa who took care of his family. He’d failed mightily.
He circled the house, gave the trees around the house hard study then returned to the verandah where he could hear the ladies in his care.
* * *
Birdie had made satisfying progress on the bald eagle drawing when Megan shoved her sums toward her.
“I’m done.”
Birdie checked them quickly. “All correct. Excellent.”
“Can I go play in my room?”
She studied her niece. Megan didn’t often want to play in her room, especially if the weather was good. “What are you going to do?”
“Look at the book Mama left me.” Harrison’s wife had purchased a book for Megan prior to her death. It had become Megan’s most cherished possession.
“Go on then.” It always gave Birdie a stab in her heart to think of Janet dying so suddenly of influenza and leaving behind a confused, hurting six-year-old daughter and a grieving husband.
Megan skipped down the hall into her room. Birdie could hear her talking and singing to herself and turned her attention back to the picture. She had promised ten by the end of the month. If she could finish this one today…. But she needed more ideas. She liked to pick scenes from nature. Perhaps she could go to the river later and watch the birds, study the trees, look at the clouds. She finished the touch of green in the trees. All she had left to do was add the lettering. Satisfied with what she’d accomplished, she put her material away and went to get Megan. She opened the door. The book lay open on the bed. Birdie glanced around. “Megan?”
No answer. Birdie smiled. Megan was hiding somewhere.
“Hmm,” she said. “I’m just amazed. Megan’s gone and disappeared.” Birdie looked under the bed. “Maybe she’s here, but she’s invisible,” she said, hoping to elicit a giggle from the girl as she checked inside the wardrobe. She look behind the curtains. Empty. Birdie’s heart raced.
“Megan.” Birdie stepped into the hallway. “Come here right now.”
The house was silent.
Birdie rushed down the hall and looked in her room, then in Harrison’s. There was a smaller room used for visitors which mostly collected dust. She searched in there, too. Under the bed and in every conceivable place.
She hurried to the kitchen.
“Cosette, have you seen Megan?”
“Not see since breakfast.”
Birdie rushed back to Megan’s room hoping the little girl would laugh at the good trick she’d played on her aunt. But there was no little girl grinning at her.
Birdie looked at the open window. Could she have slipped out? Had she gone to the river? Megan’s breath caught in a painful knot in her chest. She raced out the front door.
“Megan is missing.” Birdie’s words were breathy.
Clay was instantly on his feet, his gaze going toward the river. “Did she go there?”
“I told her not to. She is usually obedient. Except…” The awful truth made her knees wobbly.
“Except when?” Clay’s voice was hard, demanding.
She sucked in air and stiffened her legs. “She’s looking for her doll.”
He leaped over the railing and hesitated. “You better come so I don’t lose track of you too.”
She trotted after him. “Besides, I know all her secret places.”
He raced ahead, but when he reached the trees, he put his arm out to stop her. “We don’t know what’s there. I’d like to approach silently.”
She nodded, letting him lead the way.
He paused before the clearing and stood motionless, listening, observing. She did the same. It was far too quiet for Megan to be there. Unless—
She couldn’t finish the thought and forced her lungs to work.
Clay signaled her to wait and he eased forward. He silently crossed the clearing toward the river.
Birdie held still, barely breathing as she waited to hear him call, Here she is. Only no call came.
He returned. “She’s not there. I don’t see any fresh signs of a horse.”
“Megan,” Birdie called. She spoke to Clay. “She might be hiding, thinking she’s playing a good trick on us.” They searched the fort she’d helped Megan build. They looked into every clump of bushes and up into the tree branches. No Megan.
“We better get back,” he said.
Clay kept his voice calm, but she felt his tension.
They rushed back toward the house with no concern for the noise they made. Birdie clattere
d into the house. “Has Megan come back?”
“No see her.”
“Stay here and holler if she shows up.” She spun around to face Clay. “What if—?”She caught his arm. “I’m scared.”
“We will find her.”
She might have imagined the softening of his features. But she took strength from his assurance as she raced toward the barn.
“Wait. I need to make sure you’re okay.”
She stopped. “I’ll look in the barn.” She pulled out her derringer. “You check the corrals.”
His mouth hardened and then he nodded.
She continued at a run, slowing at the doorway to make sure no one jumped from the shadows. When she was certain she was alone, she ran down the alleyway.
Maybe Megan was with the calf.
She wasn’t.
She wasn’t playing in any of the stalls. She wasn’t in the tack room. Birdie climbed the ladder to the loft and looked in every corner and in the stack of hay that remained. She called Megan’s name over and over.
Rushing back outside, she almost plowed into Clay as he headed to the barn.
“Did you find her?” she asked.
“I take it you didn’t either.”
“How could I lose her?” She couldn’t keep the wail from her voice or the tears from stinging her eyes.
Clay’s features softened, and transformed him from hardened cowboy or—she dropped her gaze to the weapon at his side—perhaps gunman, to a man who cared about a little girl. And maybe even her distraught aunt.
She pocketed her derringer.
“We’ll have another look around,” he said. “Angus might have seen something, but he’s taken one of the horses out for exercise.”