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It amazed him these children trusted him so easily. After all, he hadn’t seen Marie but once or twice, and Little Joe only once when he was a tiny mite.
Macpherson’s smile flattened as he waited for Colt’s explanation, but Colt was momentarily distracted as the fine young woman reached over and patted each little head. She was so close, he could see the light catching in her hair and smell the fresh, clean scent of her skin and clothing.
“Where are the Gallants?” the storekeeper prompted.
Colt jerked his attention from the woman and steeled himself to reveal nothing of his thoughts. He didn’t immediately answer. He didn’t like to mention the harsh reality he’d discovered. Not with little Marie watching him with big dark eyes, and listening to every word. Thankfully, her little brother had fallen asleep against Colt’s chest...double reason to be grateful. He guessed when Little Joe woke up and saw he wasn’t at home, he would let them all know his displeasure.
Colt’s ears still rang from the racket the tiny boy made in protest to being taken from his home and parents.
“My ma and pa are dead.” Marie dropped the announcement into their midst with a distinctive, husky voice. Not that it took her voice to give away her mixed race. Dark hair and black-as-coal eyes proved it. There would be no hiding the fact that this pair was part Indian.
Macpherson’s eyes widened at the announcement, and his daughter again leaned closer and reached for Marie as if wanting to hug her. She settled instead for stroking Marie’s head.
“I’m so sorry.” Her words seemed filled with tears.
Against his better judgment, Colt looked into her face. Indeed, her eyes were watery, but she favored Colt with a trembling smile that shook him to the core. Was the light so poor she hadn’t noticed what sort of man he was? Had she failed to notice the obvious heritage of these children?
He jerked his attention to Macpherson. Saw the curiosity and concern in his expression as he regarded the children. Colt explained what he’d found when he stopped at his friend’s place. “Their mother was already gone. Buried under a tree. Zeke was barely alive when I got there. Figure his concern for his kids kept him going long past what his body wanted. I buried him next to his wife this morning.” Some wouldn’t dignify the union by calling the Indian woman anything other than a squaw, but Colt didn’t feel that way.
“Pa said someone would come for us. He happy to see Colt. Said Colt will take care of us.”
The young woman squatted to eye level with Marie.
Colt stiffened, drew back. He darted a glance at Macpherson, expecting the man to step forward and push Colt away from his daughter. But the man’s gaze rested on Marie, his expression—near as Colt could decipher—full of sympathy.
Colt wasn’t sure if he trusted the compassion he saw. He’d witnessed very little of it in his lifetime. He waited for the expression to shift and grow hard.
He pulled the children closer. If necessary, he would move on. If they were fortunate, he’d find shelter in a barn. Otherwise, the river was nearby. The trees would offer some protection. He had the skills to build a shelter of branches. They’d survive.
Except the children deserved more than he could offer them in an outdoor camp. They at least needed food and more warmth than a fire struggling in the wind would provide. But, he reminded himself, this pair must learn to survive the opinion of white folks, the uncertain welcome of the natives. They would need to be tough.
The woman remained unaware of Colt’s troubled thoughts and tense waiting.
“My name is Becca.” She stroked Marie’s head. “What’s yours?”
Marie stared into the blue eyes, likely as mesmerized as Colt by the sweet voice and warm smile. “Marie,” she answered.
“Marie. What a nice name. How old are you?”
“Four.” Marie held up the correct number of fingers.
“A big girl now. With a little brother. What’s his name?”
“Little Joe. He’s two.” Marie held up two fingers.
Little Joe, disturbed by his sister’s movement, jerked awake. He sat up, looked about, wrinkled his face—
Colt balanced Marie on one knee as he pulled Little Joe to his shoulder, hoping to prevent what he knew would follow. But Little Joe turned as wriggly and uncooperative as a newborn calf and as loud as a pen of angry mountain cats. Colt’s ears rang from the boy’s cries. He had his hands full trying to make sure Little Joe didn’t launch himself headfirst to the floor.
Miss Becca stood to her full height and stared at the boy, as amazed by the noise one small boy could make as Colt had been the first time he’d heard the racket.
Little Joe squirmed away and stood on the floor, his mouth open wide as he bellowed his displeasure.
“Shush.” Colt patted the boy’s back and tried to calm him. Being mixed race was already enough to see them turned out into the storm. This noise would make anyone with ears reconsider an offer of shelter.
“Little Joe, it’s okay. Don’t cry.” But the kid merely sucked in air and released it in a louder scream.
“Ouch.” Colt covered his ears. “That hurts.”
Macpherson shuddered and backed away while his daughter stared.
Marie giggled. “Mama said he was loud enough to call down rain from the sky.”
Colt could barely make out her words in the din.
“I’d have to agree,” Becca said. “But we don’t need rain, do we, Little Joe?”
Little Joe paid her no mind. The volume didn’t diminish at all.
Marie went to her brother and patted his back. She murmured Indian words Colt recognized from his past as speech meant to comfort. They were always spoken for another, but he remembered a time he’d allowed himself to pretend they were for him. He shook his head, driving away the useless memory.
Little Joe stopped screaming and clutched Marie’s hand.
Becca’s sigh filled the air. “That’s better. Thanks for calming him.”
“He’s my brother.” Marie gave Colt, then Becca, a dark-eyed look of fierceness as she pulled Little Joe closer to her side.
Becca smiled, which filled her eyes with beams of sunshine. “He’s a fortunate boy.” She turned her blue gaze to Colt. “I don’t know your name.”
He gave it. Would she ask him to leave now?
But she only smiled and said, “Nice to meet you.”
Colt kept his face expressionless and slid a look at Macpherson. Would he ask Colt to leave? The man’s face showed a thousand things Colt could only guess at, but his gut informed him the man did not feel any welcome toward his guests.
“We’ll be on our way as soon as the children are warm enough. I’ll get more supplies before we leave.” He hoped the promise of a sale would allow them to stay for a brief period. He’d never been one to pray. Didn’t seem to be any point in praying to a white man’s God. Truth was, he wasn’t sure whose God he should pray to, but at the moment, he petitioned the only God he’d heard much about...the white man’s.
Please stop the storm and guide me to a shelter for these kids.
“Nonsense,” Becca said. “No one will be going out in this weather. There’s plenty of room here, isn’t that right, Pa?”
“I certainly wouldn’t expect man nor beast to venture out in this storm.” The words were spoken kindly enough, but Colt didn’t miss the slight hesitation before they came, any more than he missed the protective look Macpherson fixed on his daughter.
Colt could assure the man he would not harm her in any way. He would only speak to her when necessary, and he’d stay a goodly distance away. He knew better than to ever look at a white woman in a way to invite the ire of a white man.
Marie pulled Colt’s head down to whisper in his ear. “She’s nice.”
Colt nodded, but kept his attention on the child. Nice white women did not associate with half-breeds.
* * *
Becca watched the black-haired man with his head bent over Marie, listening to her murmured comment. She couldn’t hear what the child said, but she ached for the gentle way he held her. Almost as much as she ached for the plight of the children. Orphaned, half-breed children didn’t face a happy future, from what she’d observed. If it was in her power, she would do something, but what could she do? She’d promised Ma on her deathbed that when she turned eighteen, she would return east to family back there. She was set to keep that promise. Her trunk stood packed and ready near the door, waiting for the stage-coach due tomorrow. The first leg of the journey would take her to Fort Macleod. From there she would go south to Fort Benton. Eventually a train would carry her to her destination, though it pained her to think of leaving Pa alone.
Colt lifted his head, as if aware she watched him. His gaze collided with hers. A jolt raced through her veins at the intensity in his black, almost bottomless eyes. Except they weren’t. Looking into them, she felt her heart hit something solid. Something deep inside, almost hidden. She knew somehow, that he was a person one could trust through thick and thin. A heart could find perfect rest in his care.
She shifted her attention to a display of hardware behind his shoulder and wondered when she had grown so silly.
Marie turned to Colt. They studied each other, then she grabbed his hands, opened his arms and indicated he should lift her and Little Joe to his lap. He arranged one on each knee and pulled a blanket around them. Marie glanced up at Colt and smiled, as if being in his arms made her feel safe.
Becca’s eyes stung at how tender he was with the children.
Colt looked up and caught her watching. Again, she felt that unexpected jolt of surprise, and something more that she couldn’t name. Meeting his gaze, however, made her aware of an unfolding inside her. How unusual for her to take so much note of a customer. Or even a visitor.
She must stop thinking about Colt and focus her attention on these orphaned children. Because of her promise to her mother, she could not offer them all the things she longed to—shelter, acceptance and love—but while the storm raged outside, she could give them a taste of what her heart longed to provide.
Pa cleared his throat. She realized she’d been staring at the trio far too long, and turned toward her father. He went to the window to look out.
“Good thing you got here when you did. The wind has picked up. Anyone out there now would be in danger of freezing.”
“We was pretty cold,” Marie said.
Colt grunted. “You mean to say you weren’t cozy and warm under my coat?”
Marie quickly corrected herself. “Most of the time.”
“It’s okay, little one,” Colt said. “I knew you were cold. But there wasn’t anything I could do about it.”
“I know. It’s okay.”
Becca chuckled at the way Marie tried to reassure him.
Pa wandered about the store, paused to adjust the cans of tomatoes, and secured the lid on the barrel of crackers. “I hope this doesn’t last too long.”
“We’re all safe, Pa.”
He sat on a chair by the fire. “The stagecoach won’t run if this keeps up. You won’t make it to Toronto as we planned.”
“I’ll be safe here. I can go later.” She didn’t object to a delay in her travel plans—although Pa insisted that the sooner she went, the better. But she hated to leave before Christmas.
“I promised your mother you’d leave when you turned eighteen.”
“I’ll be eighteen for a whole year.” She smiled encouragement at her father, then glanced at Colt to see his reaction to the conversation.
He watched them with guarded interest.
Deciding to change the topic, she asked him, “What are your plans for the children?”
He paused as if to measure his words. “I thought the children should go to Fort Macleod. I hear there’s a teacher there who takes in orphan children without any regard for their race.”
Suddenly, the first leg of her journey didn’t seem so lonely and frightening. With Colt and the children along, she’d barely have time to think about all she was leaving behind.
Colt fixed his dark eyes on her, bringing her thoughts to a crashing halt.
“Miss Macpherson, seeing as you plan to take the stagecoach, I hope you’ll agree to take them with you and turn them over to the teacher.”
“Me?” She couldn’t tear her gaze from his.
“Makes sense,” Pa said.
Becca did not think it made any sense whatsoever. She saw herself clutching two sad children, tears flowing silently from three pairs of eyes, as they huddled alone and cold in a stagecoach racing farther and farther away from everything familiar. Though perhaps the tears wouldn’t be silent on Little Joe’s behalf. She blinked, reminded herself of her promise to her mother, and managed a soft answer.
“Of course.”
“So much depends on the weather.” Pa again wandered about the store, poking at supplies.
Marie shifted to look into Colt’s face. “You not take care of us?”
“I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
His reply satisfied Marie, and she snuggled against his chest.
Colt had the most peculiar expression on his face. As if unsure how to handle the children, and yet he was so gentle and natural with them.
Becca couldn’t stop watching him.
Pa cleared his throat, and guilty heat burned across her cheeks. Pa always guarded her closely, making sure she didn’t spend too much time in the company of the men who visited the store. Not that he’d ever had to run interference before.
“It will soon be supper time,” Pa said.
“Of course. I’ll see to it.” She hurried into the living quarters, grateful to escape the three visitors. She stared around the kitchen. What was she to prepare for them? Would they enjoy clustering around the table? When had she ever been so disturbed by unexpected guests? It wasn’t as if they hadn’t had occasional visitors over the few years they’d been here. But none that stirred her heart the way this man did.
The innocent children, too, of course. Only it wasn’t the idea of the children sitting at the table that had her thoughts all aflutter.
She grabbed her apron, tied it about her waist and put a pot on the stove.
Tomorrow she would depart on the stage. She glanced toward the window. If the storm let up. Otherwise—she sucked in air that seemed strangely empty—they would be stranded until such time as the weather improved. No doubt she should be somewhat dismayed at the idea of a delay. But she smiled as she browned bacon, peeled potatoes and cubed them into the pot for thick, nourishing potato soup. She turned to get a can of milk from the shelf. Out of habit, her glance slid to the picture of Ma on the small side table beside the burgundy armchair where she’d so often sat to read or knit.
“Ma,” she whispered. “It’s only a delay.” And only if the storm lasted. “I haven’t forgotten my promise.”
Yet her insides felt as tangled as a sheet left too long on the line. Yes, she’d go to Toronto because she’d promised to do so. Her mother had wanted her to enjoy more opportunities than the frontier provided. More social life, more suitable acquaintances. But she wouldn’t regret a delay in her travel plans. Surely Ma would understand that some things couldn’t be helped—like the weather.
And if her heart welcomed the delay, who was to know and judge?
The soup was about ready and the table set when Becca heard a scream that caused her to drop a handful of spoons.
Clutching her skirts, she dashed for the doorway to the store. “What’s wrong?”
The two children stood before the outer door. Marie held the blanket out to her brother, but he tossed his arms about, refusing her efforts to comfort him.
