Texas Heroes: Volume 1

by Jean Brashear

  “I was—I didn’t know—”

  Mitch quelled his irritation. Shrugging on a shirt, he sat down to pull on socks, shaking out his boots in a habit that was years old. “Go on outside.”

  “It’s dark out there.” Davey was rocking back and forth now.

  Mitch jerked on his boots and sighed, picking Davey up under one arm like a sack of feed and heading for the front door. “Where’s your shoes?”

  “In my room.”

  “Watch where you’re standing, and don’t walk around barefoot anymore.”

  “Something will bite me?”

  “This isn’t the city, kid.” He set the boy down after checking the porch for undesirables. “Okay, go ahead. I’ll show you the outhouse later.”

  Davey looked confused. “Here?”

  Mitch sighed again. “Yeah, here. Unless you want to wait to get your shoes, then head around to the back of the cabin.”

  “Mom wouldn’t like this.”

  “Mom’s not watching.”

  “Don’t look.”

  “I’m not looking.” Mitch leaned against the support post with his back turned and listened to the aspens whisper. Very quickly, another sound joined the night.

  “Wow, look how far I can hit.”

  Mitch couldn’t help a grin at the boy’s delight. It brought back memories of boyhood competitions with his brother. Soon the sound stopped. “You ready?”

  Davey walked back to his side. “It’s cold out here.”

  “You got any warm clothes?”

  “I guess. In the car.”

  “We’ll have to make do, then.” He couldn’t leave Davey alone here while he retrieve them, not with her so sick. “Come back inside.”

  Davey didn’t move. “What if I step on something bad? I can’t see where I’m going.”

  Mitch swooped him up and settled the boy on his back.

  “Wow, you’re really tall. My dad’s not so tall.”

  “Where is your dad?”

  The small body stiffened. “I don’t know.” The voice turned faint and confiding. “He doesn’t like me.”

  A tiny corner of Mitch’s well-guarded heart opened. Welcome to the club, kid. My dad hates me. “Your mom loves you. That’s good enough.” Be grateful you have one.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” Warm breath whistled across his ear. Sturdy little arms tightened around his neck. One foot brushed Mitch’s arm. It was ice-cold.

  “Let’s get you back to bed.”

  “Mister?”

  “I said you can call me Mitch.”

  “Okay.” A pregnant pause hovered.

  “What?”

  “I’m hungry.”

  Babysitter… nurse… cook… what else would he have to become before he could get the woman out of his cabin? “Not sleepy?”

  Soft hair brushed against his neck. “Uh-uh,” the boy whispered. “Is that okay?”

  Poor kid. Not his fault his mother was heartless. Or that his dad didn’t care. Mitch had been alone since he was sixteen, except for Cyrus Blackburn. This little guy was alone in a strange place with a strange man and a sick mother.

  “Yeah.” He squeezed one chilled foot in each hand. “That’s okay. Let me check on your mom and then we’ll fix some breakfast.”

  Chapter Two

  Perrie braced herself against the doorjamb, trying to decide how long she’d slept. The front door seemed miles away. Unless Grandpa had added on facilities she couldn’t see, she had a long walk after that.

  Grandpa. A wave of grief threatened to drown her.

  Not now, Perrie. You’ve got to find Davey. Got to figure this out. One step at a time. You can grieve later.

  First to the chair hewn from logs, its handmade cushions calling like a siren. She could make it that far, surely. Perrie concentrated as though life hung in the balance. When she touched the back, she clung to keep from collapsing.

  Where was Davey? Had the hard-eyed stranger grown tired of him and left? Davey knew nothing about the forest, nothing about mountains. He could fall, there were bears, he could be—

  The front door opened with a gust of cool air. Davey raced inside, vibrating with excitement.

  “Keep it quiet. Your mom—” The golden-eyed stranger broke off in mid-sentence.

  Davey looked up from the bucket of freshly-cleaned fish he was holding. “Mom!” He dropped the bucket and came running, plastering himself to her side.

  Perrie gripped him hard, stroking his hair and trying not to sink to the floor. Then she looked back at the man who filled the doorframe. Dark hair teased the collar of his red plaid flannel shirt, and his face was all hard planes and dark hollows. What little light had been in his eyes when he’d been looking at her son, vanished into stone when he looked at her.

  “What are you doing out of bed?”

  “I just need to—” She glanced toward the outside. The lack of amenities had been no big deal when she’d been a kid here with her grandfather. Explaining to a strange man was another matter.

  He frowned, then understanding dawned. “Davey,” he ordered. “Go get your mom’s shoes and bring them here.”

  “Okay, Mitch.” Davey obeyed instantly.

  The man named Mitch set the fishing rod and tackle box by the door and crossed to her. Without a word, he scooped her up into his arms.

  “I don’t need—”

  “You’re about to pass out and you know it.” Over his shoulder, he spoke to her son. “Slip them on her feet. That’s right. Now stay here for a few minutes. I’m taking your mom around back.”

  “Can’t she just go off the porch, too, Mitch?”

  For a second so brief she could have imagined it, Perrie thought she saw laughter in the amber eyes. If only she weren’t so dizzy—

  “No. Girls can’t go off the porch. Stay right here until we get back. You can help me cook the fish.”

  “Okay!”

  Relieved to hear only enthusiasm in her son’s voice, Perrie’s anxiety eased a little. He seemed good to Davey, firm but kind. She wished she knew how to thank him. She wished she weren’t so shaky.

  She wished she knew why he hated her.

  Then they were through the door and headed around the cabin.

  Perrie tried to summon the energy to be embarrassed, but somehow he made it all matter-of-fact, setting her down and walking away until she emerged again. Then he scooped her back into his arms and headed around the cabin.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, trying not to lean against his broad chest. It was a cruel taunt that she felt so safe in his arms. As her eyes drifted closed, against her cheek she felt hard muscle play beneath warm flannel. He smelled of forest and sunshine—and strong, healthy male. For a moment, Perrie wondered what it would be like to relax in this man’s care.

  It didn’t matter. He despised her. Somehow, she had to find the strength to take charge, to make new plans.

  They’d come so far, only to find everything lost. For so long, her only thought had been to make it to this place of safety, where Grandpa could help her figure out how to fight off Simon and his powerful family.

  Maybe it had only been a nightmare. Perrie lifted a head that felt like it weighed ten tons. “I didn’t dream it? Grandpa Cy is really dead?”

  The granite jaw tightened more. “What do you care?”

  Perrie forgot about safety and comfort. She struggled to leave the arms of a man who could believe that she wouldn’t care about losing the finest man she’d ever known. Cyrus Blackburn had been rough as a cob and a man from the wrong century, but he’d had compassion and honor enough for a dozen men.

  “Be still.” His arms tightened, trapping her. “We’re almost there.”

  “Let me down. You don’t understand anything.” She wanted to explain about Simon, but she was too ashamed that she’d been so weak. She wanted answers from him about why he was here, about how Grandpa had died. About why he thought she wouldn’t care.

  Her vision grayed as she struggled. She was so tir
ed. So drained. Be quiet, Perrie. You don’t know if you can trust him. The only man you knew you could trust is dead. And she’d never had a chance to say goodbye.

  “I understand that there’s a little boy in there who needs his mother to get well. Don’t be a fool.”

  Perrie bit her lip hard. He was right. All that mattered was being able to take care of Davey. She would grieve in private. This man would not believe her tears, anyway.

  Perrie stopped struggling. But she couldn’t seem to stop the ache inside her chest.

  When he carried her inside, she reached down to stroke her son’s hair.

  “Are you better, Mom? Can you stay in here with us? We’ll cook you some fish. I caught one of them. Mitch showed me how.”

  Perrie tried to reassure him with a smile. “Sweetie, I…”

  Before she could steady her voice, Mitch spoke up. “Your mom needs more sleep so she can get well. Maybe tomorrow.”

  She was forced to be grateful for his intervention. At least he was kind to her son.

  Arms stiff as though carrying an unwelcome burden, he walked back to the room that smelled of her grandfather’s pipe. He laid her down, then turned away.

  “He was the best man I ever knew,” she whispered.

  “Too bad you broke his heart.” With long strides, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Perrie curled up in a ball and buried her face in the pillow so Davey wouldn’t hear her cry.

  Davey stood on a chair beside him, tracing designs in the corn meal with his fish. “Mitch?”

  Mitch watched the grease, waiting for the bubbles to signal that it was ready. “Yeah?”

  “Why don’t you like my mom?”

  Mitch glanced over to see the boy’s brow furrowed, his blue eyes dark and sad. The kid was too smart. How did you tell a child about betrayal? “What makes you think I don’t like her?”

  Davey shrugged. “Your voice just gets sorta mean when you talk to her.”

  Mitch exhaled in a gust. “I don’t know your mom. She’s been sick ever since she got here.”

  “I can take care of her if it makes you mad.”

  Oh, hell. “It doesn’t make me mad.” Not exactly. If only she weren’t such a contrast, so damn beautiful…and such a cold heart. And if only her lying there so still and pale didn’t make him remember another fragile blonde who had died in his arms…

  “I miss my room and my toys. I want to go home.” Davey dropped the fish. His bottom lip quivered.

  Aw, man. He didn’t know anything about kids. Awkwardly, Mitch reached out and patted the boy’s shoulder.

  Davey latched on with both arms around Mitch’s neck, his breath coming in short gasps and snuffles. “I don’t like this place. I want my mom to get better and take me home.”

  Deep within Mitch stirred memories. All alone on a dark highway, everything familiar lost. Deep, wracking guilt mingled with rage and bitter knowledge that he could never go home. Nowhere to go, no one to care. He’d been sixteen and had wanted to cry himself. But he’d known somehow that if he ever started, he’d never stop. So instead, he’d started fights and gotten drunk.

  Poor kid. Mitch pulled him up off the chair and wrapped his arms tight around the small body. Davey’s legs wrapped around his waist, and he cried in earnest.

  Mitch’s rusty, unused heart ached, but he didn’t try to tell the boy platitudes. Maybe it would turn out all right; maybe not. You just had to keep going, no matter what.

  So Mitch simply held him.

  When the boy’s sobbing slowed, Mitch leaned back. “Not much I can do about getting you home right now. Looks like we’re stuck together. Might as well make the best of it. You know how to play checkers?”

  Davey’s shoulders sagged. “No.”

  “Then it’s time you learned. After we eat, I’ll teach you. Now you still want to fry some fish?”

  Davey leaned against his chest again for a moment.

  Mitch closed his eyes and stroked once across soft blond hair.

  The boy drew in a shuddery breath, lifted his head and nodded.

  Mitch set him back on the chair as though he was dynamite, set to blow. He turned his face away quickly. “Good.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s fry yours first.”

  After ten games of checkers and another excursion to the porch, finally, Davey was asleep. Mitch grinned, looking at the tousled blond hair. He was going to have to convince the little guy that the porch was for extreme circumstances, not regular use. But it gave Davey such pleasure that it was difficult to say no.

  He was a great kid. Mitch didn’t understand how a woman who could raise such a terrific child could be so thoughtless toward her grandfather in his time of need. She must have been ashamed of him in her fancy new life.

  From what Davey said, his father hadn’t been around much. Except for his mother, the boy spent most of his time around servants. He was full of stories about pranks he’d played on the maids and jokes the butler had taught him, but he didn’t have much to say about his father.

  Mitch turned, checking on Perrie one last time before he went to bed himself. For a moment, he stood there, studying her. Trying to understand her.

  Was she cold to everyone but her child? Davey’s stories were full of his mother; there could be no doubt that she took an active part in his life. The kid could even read some, as Mitch had discovered when he’d read to him from one of Cy’s favorites, an old book called Freckles by Gene Stratton Porter. Davey had picked out a surprising number of words here and there.

  She lay swallowed up in the bedclothes, the blond braid spilling over one shoulder. For a moment, a memory of white limbs seared his brain. He’d tried not to notice as he’d worked to bring down her fever, but he couldn’t forget the sweet curve of her hips, the tender rose of her nipples.

  She was small yet perfect. A china doll who belonged on a shelf, who should be safely ensconced in a Boston mansion. Who should be wearing designer gowns and giving teas.

  Instead, she was in Wyoming, in an area so remote that few men ever set foot here. She had driven far beyond the end of the road, then walked two miles with a small child through a forest she hadn’t been inside for years.

  And the china doll had dark smudges of exhaustion beneath her eyes and hollows in her cheeks.

  Why?

  Then Mitch started, realizing that her eyes were open and clear. He walked closer to the bed. “Need anything? A drink? Or the—” He nodded his head outside.

  “Maybe some water.” Perrie’s throat felt like sandpaper.

  He poured a drink and lifted her with one arm behind her shoulders, holding the glass to her lips.

  Perrie drank long, grateful swallows. Finally she stopped and looked up at the golden eyes that had bored through her from the doorway. She glanced over at Davey.

  “I’m sorry you’ve had to take care of him.”

  He stood up and shrugged, whispering. “He’s a good kid.”

  She smiled. “You don’t have to whisper. He sleeps like the dead once he’s out.”

  The corners of his lips curved faintly. “That’s the trick, getting him there.”

  Her smile widened. “How many stories?”

  “It wasn’t the stories so much. It was the ten games of checkers.” His eyes sparked with wry amusement.

  Perrie wondered if he knew how even a faint smile transformed his face. Power always surrounded him, a magnetism that shimmered even in his harshest moments—but that smile stole her breath.

  Then the smile winked out like the Cheshire Cat. “Why?”

  Perrie couldn’t keep up. “Why what?”

  “Why are you dragging him around the countryside? He wants to go home.”

  Perrie glanced away. “We came to see my grandfather.”

  “Your grandfather has been dead for six months.”

  But I didn’t know that. A fresh wave of grief threatened to drown her. “Does Davey know?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t think
it was my place to tell him.”

  Perrie couldn’t think about how hard it would be, telling her son that their last hope was gone. She dug her fingers into the bedspread. First things first. She needed a place to hide Davey. “Did he leave a will?”

  Mitch looked at her like she had crawled out from under a rock. His voice chilled. “If you’d bothered to care, you’d know that Cy wasn’t much for paperwork.”

  She couldn’t let his contempt matter. Only Davey mattered. “I’m his only relative.”

  “Who hasn’t given him a thought in years.”

  He had loved her grandfather. She could hear the grief in his voice. And he was wrong about her, but she wouldn’t argue. He could think what he wanted. Only survival was important. Only Davey’s safety. She didn’t know this man. Couldn’t afford to trust him. “How soon will you be leaving?”

  His eyes went wide, then narrowed. “Lady—” Then he glanced around to be sure Davey was still sleeping. “I’m not the one who has to leave. Cy gave me this cabin and everything he had left, once he realized you weren’t coming.”

  “But I—” Didn’t know.

  Guilt battered at her heart. When she’d gotten her own place after the divorce, so much had been going on. She had intended to write her grandfather and give him her new address, even though he was not a man to write letters.

  She would have done it, too, because she’d missed him for all those years. But then Simon had shown up again, with his threats and his demands.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to explain. Mitch was a hard man, a strong man who could help her.

  But he couldn’t wait for her to leave. And she had no choice but to stay until she could figure out what else to do. If this cabin belonged to him, she had to buy some time. It rankled her to be so helpless.

  “I know I’ve been a lot of trouble. I’m not staying in bed tomorrow. I’ll be up and pulling my weight.”

  “You’ll be lucky if you can walk across the room.” He exhaled in a gust, hands on hips. “You don’t have to push it. Stay until you’re strong enough.” He turned and left.

  Perrie closed her eyes in thanksgiving.

  A reprieve. Time to plan.