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Dakota Child
Linda Ford
Trapped in a North Dakota blizzard, single mother Vivian Halliday's prayer for herself and her child is answered. Rescue comes in the seemingly terrifying form of Billy Black, the hulk of a man feared by all the townsfolk.Yet in the home he shares with his ailing mother, the handsome, gentle giant warms her baby's bottles and sings sweet lullabies that lull even Vivian to peaceful sleep.When the storm abates and it is safe to leave, will she seek the life that led her back to the village…or stay where she's found an unexpected family for herself and her Dakota child?
“I haven’t thanked you for rescuing me.”
Vivian smiled at Billy, determined not to reveal any of her trepidation at his size and her vulnerability. “Thank you. You were an answer to a prayer.”
He nodded solemnly. “You’re welcome. I’m sure t’was God that led me there. No other reason I should be where I could hear you.” He tipped his head toward the baby. “I guess rightly speaking, it was this wee thing I heard.”
Suddenly, the windows rattled as the door behind her opened. A cold breeze blasted across the room. She cuddled Joshua to her chest, protecting him from the icy invasion.
An older woman walked into the room, scrubbing her hands over her hair until it was a tangled mess. Vivian’s jaw dropped. She suddenly realized who they were.
Mad Mrs. Black.
And her son Big Billy.
Everyone was terrified of the pair. Rumors said they’d turned wild after being captives of Indians for years. But despite the talk, could he be anything but a good man if he acknowledged God’s hand in rescuing her?
LINDA FORD
shares her life with her rancher husband, a grown son, a live-in client she provides care for, and a yappy parrot. She and her husband raised a family of fourteen children, ten adopted, providing her with plenty of opportunity to experience God’s love and faithfulness. They had their share of adventures as well. Taking twelve kids in a motorhome on a three-thousand-mile road trip would be high on the list. They live in Alberta, Canada, close enough to the Rockies to admire them every day. She enjoys writing stories that reveal God’s wondrous love through the lives of her characters.
Linda enjoys hearing from readers. Contact her at linda@lindaford.org or check out her Web site at www.lindaford.org, where you can also catch her blog which often carries glimpses of both her writing activities and family life.
Dakota Child
Linda Ford
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
I have loved thee with an everlasting love; therefore with loving kindness have I drawn thee.
—Jeremiah 31:3
To my grandson, Tyson. I’ve watched you grow
and mature and my heart is filled with pride and
joy. I love you and pray God will bless you all the
days of your life.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
Quinten, North Dakota, 1890
She was lost. The world had disappeared into swirling, biting snow. The rough ground beneath her feet convinced her she’d veered off the road. Her toe caught a lump and she staggered to keep her balance.
Nineteen-year-old Vivian Halliday’s thoughts filled with a fury of denials. She couldn’t be lost. No one would realize her predicament. No one would look for her. No one knew where she was. Lord, God, help me.
The same prayer she’d uttered so many times. Not for herself. She knew she didn’t deserve it. There were times she hadn’t listened to God or followed His voice as she ought. There were times she’d totally ignored Him and done her own thing. But she prayed for another and, lately, her prayer had grown more urgent. Today, however, her need was solid and desperate. The cold had already tightened her ribs to the point she could barely breathe, but thinking about how much she had to lose gave icy spears to the cold as it clawed into her lungs.
Snow coated her cheeks and iced her lashes. The wind tore at her cloak. She pulled the heavy woolen material tighter, then bent her head low and turned her back to the storm, letting it push her. It mattered not where she went. One direction was the same as another in this white wilderness.
“God, help me,” she called, but the wind whipped her words into silence. She stumbled. Righted herself. Swayed.
A mewling sound came from inside her cloak.
The tiny cry filled her with fresh determination and she lifted her head and peered into the white nothingness.
She must escape this storm. She just had to keep moving and find shelter. Nothing must defeat her—not man, not beast, not beastly weather. Lord, God, in You I trust. Save me.
Snow blasted around her. Dizziness swept over her until she felt like she rode the circling wind. She could no longer tell up from down and melted into the cold, snow-shrouded ground.
The thin sound, from close to her heart, came again. All her pulses crashed against her skin like thunder. She would give her life to save the tiny life she sheltered.
She shook the basket cradled beneath the meager protection of the cape, trying unsuccessfully to still the protesting sound. Was her precious bundle suffering from the cold? She dare not look and allow even a hint of the cold to enter the shelter under her cape.
Suddenly, a huge shape darkened the snow to her left. She shrank back, her limbs brittle with fear. Was it a bear? A wandering, angry bull? She rocked harder. Hush. Hush.
“Someone there?” the massive shape bellowed.
Vivian sank back, trying to disappear into the snow. She crushed the basket closer and patted the sides.
The bulky figure swept trunk-sized arms about, searching for the source of the sound that wouldn’t stop despite all Vivian’s desperate measures. The cold bit at her throat. The wind howled louder. She prayed it would drown the sound coming from beneath her cape.
The creature—be it man or otherwise—encountered her shoulder with his great paw.
She stiffened. Perhaps he’d think her a bush and move on.
Fingers probed gently down her arm then up and across her back.
She held her breath. Lord, God, save us. She wanted to be left alone to find her way to town and safety. Instead, she was swept into strong arms, the cloak tucked around her, her face pressed into a broad shoulder. Then with great strides the huge creature plowed into the storm.
Protests formed but her lips refused to work, frozen with both cold and fear. One solitary thought remained in sharp focus—being captured by a wild man did not fit into her plans.
The wind held less bite. The cold’s sting moderated. Must be the bulk of the man protecting her.
The last remnant of warm blood jolted through her veins. She would not find protection in the arms of a stranger. She struggled to escape.
“Settle down. I’ll get you to a warm, safe place.”
The thought of warmth enticed. But safety? She might be safer in the storm. She opened her mouth to protest but the cold grabbed her throat. She couldn’t speak and her ineffectual efforts to escape allowed the snow to sneak under her cloak, robbing her of the bit of warmth his arms provided. She resisted for the space of another heartbeat, but the safety of his chest proved too alluring and she burrowed deeper into the bulky protection.
“That’s better,” he murmured, as he continued his hurried journey. His footsteps thudded hollowly as if his boots encountered wood, then he bent forward and took another step.
The wind ceased. A golden light washed over Vivian’s eyelids. Loath to face reality, fearing it might be unkind, she kept her eyes shut.
Her rescuer shifted and lowered her into a chair. “Let’s see what you have here.” His huge hands brushed her arm as he spread open her cape. Strong fingers began to unwrap her grip on the basket.
“No.” She jerked her eyes open as alarm returned so fierce and overpowering that her heart thudded against her chest. She stared into a square face, half buried in a thick fur hat. Eyes as blue as a spring sky regarded her with what she could almost describe as amusement. His mouth tipped to one side in a wry expression. The man was huge, towering over her, blocking everything except bright flames from the fireplace at her side. For a moment, she ignored her fears and her need to protect all that was hers and darted a longing look at the promise of heat.
“I’ll just have me a little look.” He again sought to open the basket.
The cold tormenting Vivian’s skin and bones balled up inside her heart and froze there. She clutched the basket more tightly to her chest and hunched her shoulders protectively as if she could defend herself against this giant. “Just let me sit here a minute until I’m warm,” she choked out.
His eyes narrowed. His mouth drew into a thin line. “I ain’t about to hurt you none.” He waited.
Did he expect her to believe him? She darted a look at his mitt-sized fist on the handle of the basket. He could crush her with one hand. The damage he could do to a smaller body, an infant, was beyond imagination.
She shivered, and not from cold.
The mewling sound came again, louder, more demanding. Was everything all right? She ached to be able to check but instead clutched the basket closer and prayed he would leave her alone.
“Let’s have a look,” the giant said, and lifted her hand easily from the handle even though she squeezed as hard as she could.
She sprang forward, ready to defend. Realizing how futile her efforts would be, she frantically tried to think what she could do. Seemed the best she could hope for was that she could move faster than he. She tried to force her muscles to coil into readiness despite their numb coldness and found them stiffly uncooperative.
He put the basket on a stool before the fireplace. The warmth of the yellow-and-orange flames made her ache to hunker down and extend her hands. But she didn’t dare move. Who knew what would trigger this man into action? And she wasn’t about to hazard a guess as to what sort of action he might take. Instead she waited, alert and ready to protect what was hers.
He bent over and eagerly folded back the blanket to reveal the contents, then jumped back as if someone shot him. “It’s a baby,” he muttered. The look he fired her accused her of some sort of trickery. “I thought you had a cat.”
His eagerness at thinking cat and his shock at seeing baby were such a marked contrast to what she expected, she almost laughed with relief. Fearing her amusement would spark anger in the man, she changed her mind before the feeling reached either her lips or her eyes.
He fixed her with a probing stare. “What you doing out in a storm with a baby?”
“I got lost.” Did he really think she planned to be out with this precious infant? The man who gave her a ride toward Quinten, her hometown and destination, had dropped her off with an apology that he must take the other road, and assurances she was only a few miles from town and could easily walk the distance.
He obviously hadn’t expected it to storm and if there’d been signs of its approach, she hadn’t noticed. The storm caught her in the face as unexpectedly as if she’d fallen. In the driving wind she must have gotten turned around. Once the snow engulfed her, all that mattered was protecting the baby.
The man leaned forward and peered cautiously into the basket. “A boy or girl?” The huge man shifted his gaze to her, his eyes curious.
Vivian smiled. “A boy.” The sweetest, fairest, most precious little boy in the whole world. She would never allow anyone to take him from her again. And she’d fight this giant of a man with everything at her disposal if she must.
“How old is he?”
“Almost two months.” Seven weeks, four days and—at last reckoning of the time—six hours.
The baby’s thin cry continued.
“I think he’s hungry. Maybe you should feed him.” The man nodded at her chest.
Vivian’s cheeks thawed instantly. He expected her to nurse the baby. “There’s a bottle in the basket.” She’d have to find a source of milk as soon as possible. She stilled the panic twisting her heart. Where would she find milk in this place? She suddenly had a hundred different details to consider. She knew nothing about caring for a baby despite the few lessons Marie had given her. Marie had always been the one to gravitate toward the infants in the orphanage, while Vivian sought sanctuary in the kitchen. And when she’d been sent out to work for the Weimers, there had been no babies. How would she manage?
The man tossed his hat to one side. His dusty-yellow hair tangled in a mess of curls. Something stirred at the back of Vivian’s mind. He seemed vaguely familiar. She tried to think where she’d seen him, but before she could figure it out he leaned over, scooped the baby from the basket and offered the bundle to Vivian.
She looked into a wrinkled and squalling face. Suddenly, an incredible ache filled her and she cradled her son to her chest, stilling a sob but unable to stop her eyes from growing moist. She might not know about caring for this little one but she knew about loving him and wanting him. The rest would follow.
“He got a proper name?”
She had not been allowed to name him legally but had, in her thoughts, given him her father’s name. “Joshua. After my father.”
“Big name for such a little bitty thing.”
“He’ll grow—” She slid an amused glance at the big man. “Some.”
He looked startled and then his eyes crinkled with understanding. “Ain’t too many get to my size, but his name will suit, I ’spect.”
Vivian smiled at the baby. “It suits him just fine.” For some reason it did. “Can you hand me the bottle?”
He pulled it from the basket, hesitated. “You want I should warm it?”
