Treasured (Lonestar Love Book 2)

by Victoria Phelps

  A man in his early twenties with a tin star pinned on his chest entered the small room. He was a bit taller than Charlotte, broad-shouldered and powerfully built. He pulled up short and whipped his hat from his head when he saw her. “Afternoon, ma’am.”

  “Bob Barrett, this is Charlotte Weaver. Charlotte, Bob Barrett, my deputy.”

  The younger man’s head bounced in recognition as he extended his hand.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Ethan speaks highly of you,” Charlotte said, while extending her own hand.

  The deputy pumped Charlotte’s arm up and down and blushed at her compliment. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.” The deputy looked from Charlotte to his boss.

  “I’m going to take Charlotte to the Circle M. I’ll be back before the saloon heats up.” Ethan took possession of Charlotte’s arm and led her toward the door.

  “All right, sheriff. I’ll keep close watch on the town.”

  “Thank you, Bob.”

  Charlotte and Ethan headed for the Livery.

  “He’s a nice boy, and a damn good deputy.” Ethan tucked her hand inside his arm.

  When Charlie was saddled, Ethan led Charlotte to a mounting block. “Stand on this. I’ll ride over and pull you up the usual way.”

  “Oh, my stars.” Charlotte exclaimed when her red bottom made contact with Ethan’s firm thighs.

  “I’m proud of you, sweetheart. You took that spanking well.” Snaking an arm around her waist, he pulled her close to his chest. He rubbed his thumb over her ribs in a comforting circle. He had fallen hard for this dark-haired beauty. At the call of a sudden whim, he pulled his horse to the side of the road.

  “Charlotte, has any man seen you with your hair down?” he asked.

  “Only my father.”

  “Hell, fathers don’t count. Can I see it? Will you take it down for me?” His hands had already moved toward the pins he saw glistening in her dark brown locks.

  “Oh. Well, as my intended, I suppose it’s all right.” She pushed his hands aside. “Let me.”

  “Your intended. I like the sound of that. You have no idea the things I intend to do to you.” He put his nose into the mass of hair—thick, lush, dark, wavy—and inhaled. It fell past her waist and pooled on his thighs. Holy hell. He could barely breathe. When she was in his bed, he would spread the gorgeous mass like a blanket while he rose above her little white face framed by all that mahogany glory. Or he might wind it around his hand and hold her, hold her exactly as he wished. “Thank you, sweetheart. Another first you’ve given me. Another first and many more to come.” He gave a slow, lecherous wink.

  She gathered her hair into a loose bun low on her neck and secured it with the few pins she had left. They traveled in silence, Charlotte nestled into his chest. As they turned into the ranch, Ethan looked wide-eyed at the activity. It was too early for the men to be in from the range. But The Circle M cowboys sat in front of the barn staring glumly at the house. Ethan frowned. You’d think they were waiting for the hangman.

  Mike vaulted from the porch and approached them with arms swinging in agitation. “Charlotte. Thank God you’re back. Megan’s asking for you.” He ran a hand through his already disordered hair. “The baby’s coming. It’s two weeks early, but Marcie said that’s just fine.” Fear filled his eyes. He looked to be going under for the third time.

  “When did her pains begin?” she asked as she lifted her skirts and hurried toward the house.

  “I came to check on her at dinner. She was in some pain, but she said first babies were slow, and we had plenty of time, but I sent one of the brothers to fetch Marcie Wayne anyway. Marcie says everything’s fine, but it could be a spell. Like Megan said. But, Jesus, she was white and sweating. Clutching her stomach then holding her back. I can’t stand it, Charlotte. I can’t stand to see her in pain.” Mike seized Charlotte’s hand in a fierce grip. “Go see how she is.”

  Charlotte ran up the stairs and disappeared into the house.

  Ethan placed a big hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’ll see to my horse. Then we’re going to wait this out together.”

  Mike nodded. Relief let his shoulders drop a small inch.

  Ethan approached the knot of cowboys waiting, watching, listening, by the barn. “Nick, would you ride into town and tell my deputy I won’t be back tonight. Have him ask his brother to help if he needs it.”

  “Sure, sheriff. I’ll stay and sit in the saloon in case there’s any trouble,” Nick said.

  “I don’t expect any, but that would relieve my mind some.” He held out his hand and the men sealed the arrangement as men have done and done and done—palm to palm and honor to honor.

  “Come on, Caesar,” Mike called as the two men settled into seats on the porch. “He knows something’s up. He’s nervous and whiney.” The big dog emerged from under the porch, turned around three times, scratched his chin and licked his back foot before dropping to the floor at Mike’s feet.

  Ethan poured them each a glass of whiskey, and they sipped while Mike watched the door. His eyebrows and mouth drew into a solid, tight line at every sound.

  As the sun set, Sally Ann lit a lantern and brought dinner to the porch. Bill sauntered across the yard and gave his wife a quick kiss on the cheek. “Ready to go home, honey?”

  “Stay and eat with Ethan and me.” Mike gestured toward empty chairs. “This waiting is terrible. Megan said she didn’t want me in the room. Woman’s business, she said.” The hand gripping his whiskey glass was white-knuckled and trembling. “How much longer?” The question was answered with silence, shrugs and solidarity. Who knew, after all, who knew?

  Ethan looked across the yard where the hired hands held vigil. Forks clinked against metal plates, glasses were raised, and an occasional match flared to light a hand rolled cigarette. He didn’t figure they would rest until Megan and the baby were safely delivered. Most likely all of them had lost a sister or mother or friend or aunt to the perilous business of birthing. Women sure had the bad end of the deal. He gave his head a sad shake.

  Bill and Sally Ann brought their own plates out, and they ate fried chicken and mashed potatoes. At least, Bill, Sally Ann and Ethan did. Mike pushed the food around his plate with his fork and glared at the door.

  Megan’s first scream launched him from his chair like a Fourth of July rocket. “Holy hell.” His hair now stood straight in the air, but he ran his hand through it yet again. “Damn. Damn. I did this to her.” He slammed his fist on the table. The glasses jumped in their own agitation. He leaned over the porch rail, bracing himself on locked arms, shoulders hunched.

  “Mike, Megan wanted children, too. Don’t blame yourself. She’ll come through,” Ethan soothed.

  Guilt, anguish, and fear shot from his eyes like bullets from a gun when Mike turned on him. “You don’t know that. You don’t. Women die.” His voice was a pained whisper.

  Sally Ann stood. “I’ll do these dishes, and then Bill and I are headed home.” She gathered the dirty dishes and uneaten food. Bill hurried to help her, and as she opened the door the silhouette of her blooming body was framed against the gathering dusk. Her pale face spoke of private fears. Best she went where she couldn’t hear Megan’s distress quite so clear.

  Through the evening hours, through the dark of night, through the early hours of a new day, Ethan and Mike and the men waited and listened, flinching and shifting as Megan’s screams, groans, and cries hung suspended in the still night air.

  As the sun threw an arm over the horizon, a thin cry warbled and gathered strength until the reedy sound became a wail. Mike strained to hear Megan, but the fierce anger of the baby thrust into a new and cold world drowned out all.

  Charlotte appeared on the porch. Dark circles surrounded her eyes, and her hair hung loose and undone, but her smile was big and bright. “You have a son, Michael.”

  “Megan?” The name a question floating on a wish enfolded in a prayer.

  “She’s fine. She didn’t have an easy time, but
she’s fine. Well, Marcie will explain.” Charlotte turned back to the stairs. “Wait five minutes. Then come see your wife and son.”

  Mike called across the yard at the knot of waiting concern. “It’s a boy,” he called. “Megan’s fine.”

  Cheers, whistles, back slapping ensued. Like a wave drawing away from the shore, the little group dissipated into the grainy dawn.

  “Take the day off.” He yelled at their departing backs. “We’ve had a long night.” Another cheer resounded as daylight turned from pink to gold. Mike slumped into the rocker, hands shaking, eyes closed.

  “I’m going to go see my wife,” he declared. “Want to see the baby?”

  “I do.” Ethan followed his friend up the stairs.

  Megan leaned against a pile of pillows, bruises dark purple under her eyes, her cheeks sunken hollow, her smile a balm. Mike dropped to his knees and took her hand in both of his. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course I am.” Her voice was weak but sure. “What shall we name our son?”

  “Darlin’, you did all the hard work. You name him. I’ll be happy.” Mike moved to the other side of the bed where a small bundle lay blinking and sucking a tiny fist.

  “Liam O’Shanahan Manning.” At the proclamation, the little man in question yawned and scrunched his tiny, wrinkled, red face into a ferocious pout. “For my favorite cousin.” The pout had progressed to an angry demand. “I better feed him.”

  Charlotte moved close to Ethan and took his hand. The scene was so tender, so sweet. Tears leaked down her face.

  The midwife, Marcie Wayne, moved with purpose from the corner of the room where she had observed the reunion. She placed a pillow on Megan’s lap and settled the infant into its softness. Draping a blanket across Megan’s shoulder, she helped Megan until a greedy sucking filled the room.

  “Megan, I need to discuss your care with your husband and Charlotte. Do you want Ethan to leave the room?” Marcie enquired.

  “No, he can stay.” She peeked at the little person feeding at her breast.

  “Megan had a difficult birth.” She held up her hand to stop Mike’s questions. “But she will be fine. However, I had to do an episiotomy. That means I had to cut her to allow the baby to get out. She has stitches. She should not climb stairs for a week. She should not lift anything heavier than ten pounds for two weeks. You should not enjoy the marriage bed for three weeks. After that she should be fine to resume her normal life.” She paused. “I don’t like my new mothers to get with child again for at least a year.” She looked first at Michael and then at Megan. “I am leaving condoms, and I would like you to use them.”

  Mike blushed. “Well, you are the most straight-talking woman I ever did see.”

  “I am. Ignorance rarely works in our favor, Mike. I don’t want to see Megan worn out and dispirited when she’s thirty from too many pregnancies too close together. There are ways to avoid pregnancy. Please use them for a year. If you both want more children, Megan will be strong enough then.”

  Megan’s voice was strong and clear. “Thank you, Marcie. I wouldn’t have survived the night without you. We will do exactly as you say.”

  “We will. Thank you for my wife and son,” Mike added his agreement.

  “Now, if someone could see me home.” Marcie placed both hands at the small of her back and stretched.

  “I will, Marcie. I’m headed that way,” Ethan offered.

  “Thank you, Sheriff.” She bent over and placed a gentle kiss on the baby’s cheek and then on Megan’s. “I will be out to check on you in one week.” She turned to Mike. “If she runs a fever or has pain urinating, come get me.” Charlotte, Ethan and Marcie trooped from the room.

  Megan removed the blanket from her shoulder and Mike sat on the bed watching as his wife nourished his son. “Lie down with us, Michael,” Megan yawned. “We all need to sleep.”

  Ethan smiled as he closed the door on the little family. That was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Except for Charlotte. He sighed. Except for Charlotte. He pulled her close and laid a kiss on the top of her head and tucked her messy hair behind a delicate ear.

  “A miracle,” Marcie said. “I am amazed and humbled every time.”

  “Amen.” Charlotte whispered.

  Ethan followed the women down the stairs. “I’ll get the horses saddled up.” He strode toward the barn.

  Marcie looked with thoughtful eyes at Charlotte. “He’s a good man.”

  “Amen.” Charlotte whispered a second time. And then a third. “Amen.”

  Chapter 7

  Charlotte

  Charlotte twisted the knob and pushed the door open with stealthy silence. She should have been a thief or a spy. Her giggle was suppressed into non-sound. On tip-toes, she entered and crept across the room. Megan sat in a big rocker her head resting against the wooden back. Her eyes closed. Liam lay on his side snug against his mother’s body. The boy’s mouth was a little O and milk dribbled down his chin.

  Who would have guessed such a tiny little person could be an absolute tyrant? His whimpers, his every need, kept the entire household jumping dawn to dusk and his parents continued the dance into the wee hours.

  Charlotte’s fond smile blessed the two with a silent benediction. The ranch loved Liam. From the bunk house cook to every dusty cowboy. They loved him with deep devotion. He had woven his baby spell, the special incantation that guarantees the survival of helpless, needy human young. One week old and they wondered how they had lived without him so enmeshed and interwoven in their thoughts and days he had become. Megan sat on the porch with him in the early evening, so the men could drift by for a peek. Hardened, weathered, wind-beaten cowboys were eager for Liam’s tiny fingers to wrap around their own.

  Charlotte laughed. Mike had taken to calling him The Boss. Well, The Boss would need to move. Marcie Wayne was here to check on his mother.

  “Megan,” Charlotte gave her friend’s shoulder a light shake. “Megan,” she said, her voice a little louder and her shake firmer.

  Fatigue-dazed lids raised to reveal red eyes. “What?”

  “Marcie’s here.” Charlotte scooped Liam into her arms. “I’ll take the baby and send her up.”

  “Thank you.” Megan yawned and stretched her hands toward the sky. “I guess I fell asleep.”

  “I guess you did,” Charlotte agreed with a wink before disappearing down the stairs.

  “Go on up, Marcie. I’ll rock Liam on the porch.” Charlotte motioned towards the stairs with her chin.

  “All right. I’ll examine the baby before I leave, but he appears to be thriving.” Marcie and her ubiquitous black bag climbed the stairs and disappeared into Megan and Mike’s room.

  Marcie felt the infant’s diaper. How could he always be wet? She opened the sodden square of cotton but quickly covered his boy parts. She’d been caught unawares by a stream of yellow spurting like a tiny geyser before. She nuzzled his little belly. “I’m onto your tricks.” She slid the clean cloth into place and secured it. Marcie took the baby to the porch swing and pushed it with one foot into soothing motion while keeping a rhythmic pat on the baby’s behind.

  Mike rode into the yard in a swirl of dry dust. A hand emerged from the barn to take his horse, and he turned toward the house.

  “How’s The Boss?” He stood behind the swing and bent to get a closer look at his son’s face.

  “Ruling the roost.” Marcie adjusted the small bundle to afford his father a better view. “You’re home early.”

  “I knew Marcie was coming this afternoon. I came in early to be here.” He shrugged in embarrassed acceptance. “I know I didn’t need to, but…” He lifted his shoulders at the obvious completion of his sentence.

  “She’s upstairs with Megan now,” Charlotte told him. “Come sit.”

  Mike sank onto the swing. They resumed the soothing rock and fell into silent adoration.

  Minutes ticked by. Charlotte and Mike continued to watch as the baby stretched, opened his eyes
, scrunched his brow, kicked a perfect foot. One could stare into a fire or at a baby without intermission, without break, without pause. She hadn’t known. One more thing she hadn’t learned while sitting, isolated, cloistered, in the prison of her father’s home.

  Marcie emerged from the house and closed the distance to the swing with her efficient, no-nonsense stride. “Megan is doing well. Healing nicely. The fatigue is to be expected. Taking care of an infant is an around-the-clock job.”

  Mike and Charlotte raised their own blurry eyes to the midwife’s own. “The Boss keeps us on our toes and up most of the night.” Mike gave the baby’s head an affectionate rub.

  “Let me get a look at the little guy.” Marcie sat down and held her arms out for the baby. Mike and Charlotte’s intense gaze followed as she took Liam on her lap, ran her hand over his head, held him suspended over one hand and examined his spine, looked in his mouth and ears, ran her fingernail up his little foot. Well, that was the last straw for Liam. He let out an indignant yell and pulled his foot away and then landed a kick in Marcie’s mid-section. “All right, little man. Settle down.” She laughed. “You have a fine and healthy son, Mike. Megan has plenty of milk. Feed him, love him, and he’ll keep growing.”

  “Thank you, Marcie.” He took his son from her and settled him in the crook of his arm. “Are you riding alone, Marcie?” His worried eyes surveyed the yard.

  “No, John sent one of his men with me. He took the horses to the barn.” She picked up her black bag and headed across the hard-packed dirt.

  “Thanks again,” Mike called to her retreating back.

  She turned and raised one hand to shield the sun. “My pleasure. I’ll be back in one week.” She disappeared into the barn and reappeared with her escort, her black bag tied securely to the back of her saddle.

  “She’s so confident and smart. I admire her,” Charlotte admitted as the pair of horses cleared the barn and disappeared from sight.

  “She is that.” Mike nodded. “She knows more than any doctor I’ve ever seen. She saved Henry Blake’s life last winter. Put him to sleep and removed his appendix. She’s set more broken bones than I can count, and they heal up straight and strong. And, of course, the babies and mothers…”