# The Cowboy's Orphan Bride

Lauri Robinson

Reunited with the cowboy!Long ago, orphans Bridgette Banks and Garth McCain made a promise to stay together. But it’s been years since they were parted, and Bridgette’s almost given up hope! So when Garth’s cattle trail passes her town, she won’t let him leave her behind again…Sparks fly as they’re reunited—especially when the cowboy catches Bridgette telling everyone she’s his bride! Faced with a past he thought he’d lost for ever, Garth realises this impulsive beauty might be the future he never thought he deserved.

Reunited with the cowboy!

Long ago, orphans Bridgette Banks and Garth McCain made a promise to stay together. But it’s been years since they were parted, and Bridgette’s almost given up hope! So when Garth’s cattle trail passes her town, she won’t let him leave her behind again...

Sparks fly as they’re reunited—especially when the cowboy catches Bridgette telling everyone she’s his bride! Faced with a past he thought he’d lost forever, Garth realizes this impulsive beauty might be the future he never thought he deserved.

“I told you—I’m here to help. Nothing more.”

Garth’s eyes took on a smoldering tint that caused her heart to thud. Without looking away, he leaned closer.

“You have helped,” he whispered. “And I’m going to kiss you.”

Fully unprepared, Bridgette had no response.

Allowing that to happen was a huge risk, but the moment his lips touched hers she knew it was the right decision. An expansive thrill raced through her system and she looped her arms around his neck.

Her lips parted at the first flick of his tongue and the battle was on. Her tongue against his. It was the most dedicated fight they’d ever had. He went on until they were both winded, and then their lips separated by some mutual consent.

However, as their eyes met their lips met again. That first kiss had immediately become an exploration of unfamiliar ground, but this time it was a gentle journey of territory already discovered and appreciated. She’d known him for years, yet hadn’t experienced the depth of that right now. And, just as she’d imagined, kissing him was utterly amazing.

Author Note

The “orphan trains” that distributed children across the plains for over seventy-five years have always intrigued me, and I was excited to finally create a story involving this piece of history.

From the moment I started plotting this book I knew the hero and heroine had traveled west together as children. They hadn’t been childhood sweethearts as much as they’d been the anchor that each of them had needed. Then, as I started writing the story, the characters took over, changing the plot I’d originally created, because although they’d “gone their separate ways” they both still craved the one person who’d made a difference in their lives. Each other. But neither of them is ready to admit it.

I hope you enjoy Garth and Bridgette’s story as much as I enjoyed creating it.

The Cowboy’s Orphan Bride

Lauri Robinson


www.millsandboon.co.uk

A lover of fairy tales and cowboy boots, LAURI ROBINSON can’t imagine a better profession than penning happily-ever-after stories about men—and women—who pull on a pair of boots before riding off into the sunset...or kick them off for other reasons. Lauri and her husband raised three sons in their rural Minnesota home, and are now getting their just rewards by spoiling their grandchildren. Visit: laurirobinson.blogspot.com, Facebook.com/lauri.robinson1 or Twitter.com/LauriR.

Books by Lauri Robinson

Mills & Boon Historical Romance

Daughters of the Roaring Twenties

The Runaway Daughter (Undone!)

The Bootlegger’s Daughter

The Rebel Daughter

The Forgotten Daughter

Stand-Alone Novels

The Major’s Wife

The Wrong Cowboy

A Fortune for the Outlaw’s Daughter

Saving Marina

Western Spring Weddings

“When a Cowboy Says I Do”

Her Cheyenne Warrior

Unwrapping the Rancher’s Secret

The Cowboy’s Orphan Bride

Mills & Boon Historical Undone! ebooks

Rescued by the Ranger

Snowbound with the Sheriff

Never Tempt a Lawman

Visit the Author Profile page

at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

To my critique partner, Paty Jager.

Thanks for always being there to bounce ideas off!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Central Kansas, 1877

“Those damn cowboys!”

Bridgette Banks tightened every muscle against the way she’d flinched at Cecil Chaney’s outburst and how he slammed the door. Neither was unusual, she just hadn’t expected him to be home so soon. He’d barely been gone an hour, probably less. Which should not have surprised her. He had to be the laziest man she’d ever encountered.

“I’ll shoot the lot of them if a single one steps foot on my property!”

She dried her hands with her apron before turning away from the boards nailed to the wall to form the crude counter barely large enough to hold the dishpan. “A cattle drive is near?”

“Of course a cattle drive is near,” Cecil barked. “I just said as much, didn’t I?”

“No, you said you’d shoot every cowboy.” She didn’t point out there wasn’t a reason anyone would want to step on his property.

The chair creaked as Cecil dropped his heavy frame on the seat. “Same thing.”

“No, it’s not,” Bridgette insisted. Arguing, especially with Cecil, got her nowhere, but she’d quit caring about that. His constant complaining had frazzled her nerves since the moment she’d arrived. He complained when it was hot. Complained when it was cold. Complained when it rained. Complained when it didn’t. His attitude was exhausting. As had been living in his house the past six weeks. Keeping her voice hushed, she said, “You may want to see if they have a cow you can buy. One nursing a calf. The milk is needed, as is the butter and cream.”

“Where am I supposed to get the money to buy a cow?” he snarled.

She bit her tongue to keep from saying he could forgo a few bottles of the hooch he bought from Graham Linkletter and kept stashed behind the barn. Turning around, she picked up the water basin. “Perhaps you could make some sort of bargain with them.” Walking to the door, she added, “Emma Sue could use the nourishment, even more once the baby arrives.”

“I’ve used up all my bargaining on you.”

Bridgette ignored the disgust lacing his words. Telling him she could leave at any moment would be the most wonderful thing ever. Except for Emma Sue. Goodness, what that woman saw in Cecil, how she’d ever lain with him, become pregnant, took more imagination than Bridgette had. She’d rather bed down in a den of snakes than next to Cecil Chaney. His breath alone was enough to make her eyes water.

“That’s what you’re here for.” Cecil’s shout followed her out of the door. “To make sure Emma Sue has nourishment. Meals and rest so she can pop out that baby alive this time. Doctor’s orders.”

The desire to slap him made Bridgette’s hands shake. The fool had no idea how lucky he was to be married with a baby on the way. To have a family. Knowing she couldn’t slap him, at least shouldn’t, she pitched the water out of the basin with such force dirt splattered across the bottom of her skirt. That increased her ire. There was more than enough to do around here and washing clothes more often than necessary was not a welcomed chore. Reminders of her duties were not necessary, either. Being farmed out to women nearing their delivery time had been her job for over six years. Ever since she’d turned twelve. Others on the Orphan Train had said she was lucky to be adopted by a doctor and his wife. They wouldn’t think so now.

“Where is she?”

Containing her thoughts, Bridgette held her attention on wiping the inside of the basin with her apron as she walked back into the two-room shanty made of square blocks of sod. She’d seen many houses just like this one since being taken in by Dr. Rodgers and his wife. Those who lived in homes made out of wood usually had their own help, or other family members, when someone was ailing. That’s what she’d have someday, a house made of wood, not dirt. And a family all of her own.

“Your wife is resting,” Bridgette said. Emphasizing exactly who she was here to help was a waste of breath, but so would telling him to be quiet. It wouldn’t have done any good when he’d stormed into the house and it wouldn’t now.

“Already? We just ate breakfast.” He harrumphed. “She slept all night. Better than me.”

His pouting increased Bridgette’s ire. He was big and homely with black hair so greasy lice couldn’t catch enough footing to live in it. And no one had gotten any sleep last night except him. Half the town of Hosford probably heard his snoring, and that was four miles away.

Keeping those thoughts to herself, she removed her apron and switched it out for the other one hanging on the nail. “Creating a new life is hard work on a woman’s body.”

“It’s been happening since the beginning of time, girlie.”

“And women have been dying from it for just as long,” she answered, walking out the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Someone needs to water the garden,” she shouted over her shoulder. Then for her own ears only, muttered, “Lord knows those weeds won’t grow on their own.” There were pitiful gardens, and then there were pathetic gardens. To call this one merely pathetic would have been a compliment.

The entire acreage of the Chaney place could be described as pathetic. It didn’t have to be that way, but Cecil had the ambition of a slug. Emma Sue didn’t, which could explain why she’d lost two babies already. Last year and the year before. Both times Cecil had refused Dr. Rodgers’s suggestion of help so Emma Sue could rest. Bridgette wondered if Emma Sue’s father, who managed the land office in town, had been the one to pony up the extra cost of her staying at the Chaney place. There was no love lost between Douglas Phalen and Cecil, but Douglas must still love his daughter.

Love. Bridgette sighed heavily. Sometimes, the older a person got, the more love they needed. She fully understood that, and hoped someone loved Emma Sue. She was sweet and kind. Quiet and gentle. The exact opposite of her husband in every way. While Emma Sue was tiny and delicate, Cecil had the shape and coordination of a drunken bull.

Bridgette smiled at her own wit. Of course bulls didn’t drink, but if one did, it would look exactly like Cecil. Smell about the same, too.

Stopping as she rounded the corner of the house, Bridgette lifted her face to the sky. The summer sun blazed down enough arid heat to make plants curl their leaves. She didn’t mind. It was hot, but the brightness and fresh air were a wonderful reprieve from dark and gloomy dankness inside the sod shanty.

She closed her eyes and let the sunshine fill her. Cleanse her. A thud inside the house made her open her eyes and sigh. Feeling fresher and lighter, she pinched her lips as a silly image formed. That of the chair collapsing under Cecil. Smiling, she made her way to the garden.

A short time later, sweat trickled down her back as she drew water from the well and carried bucket after bucket to the tiny fenced-in area behind the house. Careful not to waste a drop, she watered only the vegetables, plucking out weeds as she made her way up and down the meager rows. The only thing producing were the bean plants. She’d have to pick them again today.

She should be happy about that. Six weeks ago, critters were eating anything that popped out of the ground. The fence had done wonders. No thanks to Cecil. He’d merely pointed out where there was some old lumber. Mr. Phalen had brought out the wire when coming to visit Emma Sue one day.

Too bad he hadn’t brought out jars. She wanted to can the beans so Emma Sue would have a few more reserves come snowfall. Mrs. Winters had taught her how to can practically anything several years ago when she’d stayed with the Winters family for an entire fall, but asking Mr. Phalen to provide jars was out of the question. Emma Sue refused to ask her father for things. Said Cecil didn’t approve of her doing so.

Therefore, despite Cecil’s complaint that he didn’t like green beans, there would be more on the table for lunch, and supper.

Bridgette had no idea what made her stand up and gaze southward, beyond Cecil’s scrawny and scraggly field of wheat. An irrigation ditch from the creek that flowed freely not too far past the line of barbed wire Cecil had erected to keep others off his property could turn that wheat into strong, flourishing stalks. Emma Sue said no one owned that land, but diverting the water would be too much work for Cecil.

To hear Cecil talk, walking was too much work for him. Bridgette hadn’t mentioned that to Emma Sue, or that the land next door was the piece Cecil should have bought, but she’d thought it. That creek flowed from the river and would provide plenty of water for people, animals and crops.

That’s what she wanted, and would have. Someday. A piece of land with plenty of water and good, fertile soil, and a solid house made of wood, with floors and windows and a real cookstove complete with an oven. And it would all be hers. Truly hers. A place to plant roots. She’d be the one having babies then, children she’d welcome and love with all her heart and never, ever, let out of her sight.

Bridgette continued to scan the horizon. The land was so flat a person could watch a bird fly away for days. New York hadn’t been like that, what she could remember of it, and the land between here and there had been decorated with rolling hills and trees. And houses, big ones surrounded by flowers and fences.

Her house would be surrounded by trees. Big leafy ones that would provide shade from the summer sun and protection from the cold winter winds.

She grinned at the thought, and how memories started to form. Those of playing games with the other children on the train, each guessing what they might see next.

Her heart fluttered slightly when she recalled how Garth had predicted he’d see an elephant. Everyone had laughed, but minutes later, they’d pulled into a train station, and sure enough, there, on another train, had stood an elephant.

She rarely thought of the other orphans who’d been shipped West with her all those years ago, except for one. A day hardly passed, even after all these years, when she didn’t think of him.

“Garth McCain,” she whispered. “Whatever happened to you? Do you even remember the promises we made?”

Bridgette let her mind roam and wondered if she’d recognize him when she did see him again. Not if. When. Garth would find her. He had to. Otherwise all her years of waiting, all their promises would be for naught, and she refused to believe that. His hair would surely still be brown, and his eyes. He’d be taller, but she couldn’t imagine he’d have grown fat. Not like Cecil.

She shook aside a shiver at comparing Garth to Cecil, and her gaze settled on a spot on the horizon. There was nothing distinguishable, but the gray haze said something was there. The cattle drive Cecil had mentioned, most likely. They traveled through this region each summer, on their way to Dodge City.

Unlike Cecil, the small town of Hosford welcomed the cattle drives. Dodge was still twenty miles north, and though the cowboys rarely entered town, the trail bosses often did, restocking supplies for the last leg of the long trip they’d embarked upon months before down in Texas.

She’d never been to Dodge, but she’d heard it was a wicked and wild town. Where soiled doves ran naked in the streets and men chased them, whooping and hollering when they caught one of the women.

It wasn’t for her to say if that was true or not, but she’d like to see if it was. Dr. Rodgers and his wife, Sofia, whom, even after nine years, Bridgette still referred to as Mrs. Rodgers, would be horrified to know she wondered about such things, therefore she never mentioned her curiosity. Not to anyone.

In the nine years since she’d left the Orphan Train, there hadn’t been anyone to share secrets with, not like she had Garth. He’d known all her secrets, and she’d known his.

Staring at the gray haze rising from the ground to faintly obscure the blueness of the sky, she sighed. “It’s been a long time, Garth,” she whispered. “And I’m getting tired of looking for rainbows.”

“Are you done out there?”

Bridgette breathed through the spine-crawling sensation of Cecil’s shout before grabbing the empty water bucket. Leaving the garden, she swiped aside the hair that had escaped her bun to tickle her cheek. “Baby Chaney,” she mumbled, “if you want to meet your father, you best hurry up. He’s getting close to being whacked by a frying pan.”

Chapter Two

“Mr. McCain!”

Garth twisted in his saddle to watch a cowboy ride through the haze of dust. The herd was anxious to get moving this morning, butting into one another as they found their place to start marching north. Churned up by thousands of hooves, the dirt stung his eyes as it swirled in the wind. He used the back of one hand to wipe his lips before asking, “What?”

One of the drovers, Martie, Brad Martie, who should be riding drag, rode up beside him, and shifted the reins from his left hand to his right and back again.

Twisting the tension in his neck, Garth cursed beneath his breath. He hated men who fidgeted almost as much as he hated whiners. Calling Brad a man was stretching it. The red fuzz on Brad’s chin said he wasn’t much more than a kid. Having just completed a ride from the rear to the head of the herd, doing a final check before heading out, Garth had already eaten enough dust. He gestured for Brad to follow him a short distance away from the cattle before he repeated, “What?”

“A heifer let loose.”

Garth tipped back his hat and wiped away a band of sweat before it dripped into his eyes. The sun was hot today, and the cattle would need water come evening. Hence their excitement to get going. A cow could smell water miles away. “Which one?” he asked.

Switching hands on the reins again, Brad answered, “The big white-faced one.”

Garth cursed beneath his breath. He was hoping that one would make it to Dodge. In truth, he hoped they all would make it to Dodge. They couldn’t be more than four, maybe five days out. That heifer was a fine specimen and her calf would have brought good money. He’d hauled a calf in the chuck wagon before, for a day or two. Five was too long. The separation would be too much on the cow, and the calf could never keep up on its own. Not only would it slow down its mother, they both would easily become trampled by the others. He felt the loss of every cow, and didn’t like it, but there were plenty of things about a drive that weren’t easy. The loss of any life was the worst, but he couldn’t jeopardize the herd or a man’s life over one calf. His stomach clenched, but still he ordered, “Shoot the calf.”

The revulsion that rippled across the young man’s face pulled Garth’s jaw so tight his back teeth clenched.

“Couldn’t we find a sodbuster and give it to them like we did down south?” Brad asked, with a goodly portion of hope lacing his young voice.

“No,” Garth said. “I don’t have time to roam the countryside searching for sodbusters.” The sorrow on Brad’s face reminded him of years ago, when he’d been fourteen and shipped West with a trainload of sad-eyed, snot-nosed kids. They hadn’t all been snot-nosed. Not Bridgette Banks. She’d been the one wiping everyone else’s noses. Taking care of everyone else. That had been her. And of all the things he’d tried to forget about his life back then, she was still the hardest. For all his efforts, he just couldn’t erase her from his mind.

It had been years, but he’d bet his best horse she was still as cute as she’d been back then. He’d yet to see a pair of eyes as blue as hers. He’d bet, too, that her feathery blond hair would still catch in the corner of her mouth when she spouted off over some infraction or another. Though she’d looked sweet and angelic, she’d had the mouth of a New York orphan. He’d appreciated that. Others hadn’t. Especially not Mrs. Killgrove.

He hoped the family that had adopted her had treated her well over the years. She deserved that. That’s all she’d ever wanted. A family. A home. A place she could call her own and people to love. She’d still been on the train when he’d been sold. That’s what it had been. An auction not so unlike the old slavery traditions, except there was no money exchanged for the boys, only promises of providing food and shelter by bidders who didn’t want a child, but a worker. One they didn’t have to pay.

Pulled back to the present by mooing cows, Garth looked at Brad while gesturing toward the cattle. “See that herd? They haven’t had water in two days. That’s my job today, to find water, not sodbusters. If I don’t find water, none of us will sleep tonight. We’ll all be riding guard, hoping they don’t stampede.”

Brad nodded, but didn’t look convinced.

Garth held his temper in order to say, “We gave those calves down south to Indians so they’d let us pass through their territory without any issues. A sodbuster would need to have a cow that would let that calf nurse, and that’s not easy.” Cows didn’t take to orphans any better than humans did. Flustered by having to give a drover a school lesson, Garth spun his horse around. “Shoot it.”

He kneed his horse into a run, and didn’t let it slow until the dust was well behind them. The thought of ordering Brad to put down that calf reminded him of his first drive. He’d been fifteen, and had been assigned to ride drag the entire trip. Afterward he’d sworn that would be the last time. He’d taken it upon himself to learn what it took to be a trail boss, the good and the bad. Putting down that calf was the bad, as was doing the work of two men when he was a man short. That, being a man short, unfortunately, had happened more often than he’d liked over the years. There were just too many men out there who had signed on thinking a trail drive was little more than a stroll to church on Sunday. He’d never regretted a one that had left his employ. If you couldn’t do what had to be done, you’d never amount to anything. That was his motto. Being in a saddle for sixteen hours a day wasn’t unreasonable, and he let go any man who thought otherwise.

Not a one of the men he’d fired had stolen from him. Other trail bosses sometimes discovered men had taken off with a horse from the outfit’s remuda after being fired. He didn’t. He laid down the law on exactly how a thief would be dealt with from the day he hired a man, as well as plenty of other expectations. He lived by the rules he set as strongly as he laid them out.

Despite what some liar in New York had said all those years ago, he’d been honest his entire life, and expected as much from others.

There were fifteen men in his outfit, not counting himself, JoJo—the best trail cook God ever gave a frying pan to—and Bat, JoJo’s helper. While riding alongside the herd, even as his thoughts roamed, Garth counted heads. Human ones. He hadn’t lost a single hand on this trip, and was more than relieved about that. He was pleased, too, and would be the first to admit it took a lot to please him.

Satisfied with the number of men he’d counted and confident the cattle were moving at a solid pace, Garth forced himself to put the calf out of his mind and rode past the point riders to catch up with JoJo.

The chuck wagon always traveled a few miles ahead of the herd, and as Garth rode, the calf crossed his mind again. Even if he found a sodbuster to take it, the calf wouldn’t have much of a chance. Orphans as a whole didn’t stand much of a chance. He was reminded of that every time he traveled north into Kansas.

If the orphanage hadn’t taught him that, the farmer who’d taken him off the train had. He’d spent over a month with Orson Reins before deciding he’d had enough. Orson had said from the moment Garth had arrived at his farm that you could take a boy off the street, but the only way to take the street out of the boy was with a whip. When Orson had broken out his whip again, something had snapped inside Garth and he’d wrestled the whip out of Orson’s hands and left.

He’d carried that whip with him for five years, until one night when he’d burned it, concluding his past was well and gone. He was never going back, so there was no need to hold on to any reminders of his past.

“Heading out, Boss?” JoJo shouted above the rattling of his chuck wagon.

Garth caught up with the wagon, and then reined in his horse next to where JoJo sat on the wagon seat. “I remember some water being a short distance ahead.”

“Still figure we’re about five days out?” JoJo asked.

“Four if we’re lucky.”

“You’re lucky all right,” JoJo answered with a laugh. “This trail is working out for us. You know I had my reservations.”

“You liked the Chisholm,” Garth answered. On his way south last year, he’d veered west to explore the Great Western Trail. Some swore by it, others claimed it was cursed. The same was true for the Chisholm.

“Was used to the Chisholm,” JoJo said. “Knew every hill and water hole on that trail. So did you.”

“We did,” Garth admitted. He’d chosen the Great Western this year because these were his cattle being driven north. After spending all winter acquiring and paying room and board for the whole lot of four-footed beasts, he needed to get top dollar.

“But Dodge is paying more than Wichita right now, so we took this one,” JoJo supplied, rubbing his scruffy gray beard with one hand.

Garth nodded. “You’re smarter than you look. Guess you do have a brain under that bald scalp.” Though Wichita was still accepting cattle, the days of the big drives were limited. The farmers were putting up too much of a fuss and the townspeople were agreeing with them, laying down more and more rules for the cattlemen to follow.

JoJo pointed a finger. “And your mug is uglier than you think.”

Garth laughed. “I never claimed to be handsome, but can’t say I’ve had any complaints, either.”

JoJo chortled, and rubbed his beard a bit more when he asked, “What you gonna do with all that money you’re gonna make on this trip? Got yourself a woman holed up somewhere?”

Garth laughed. A woman was the last thing he wanted. “If I did, I sure wouldn’t tell you about it. You’d try stealing her.”

JoJo laughed so hard he coughed. With watery eyes, he said, “Not me, but Bat might.”

“Uh-uh,” Bat said, shaking his head. “I don’t want no woman telling me what to do.”

Bat was the youngest on the drive. Too young really, maybe ten or twelve, but JoJo wouldn’t leave Texas without the kid he’d found somewhere over the winter. Knowing the options for an orphan too well, Garth had agreed the boy could join them. He wasn’t sorry, either. Bat was a good little worker and certainly earned his wage.

The boy was an added bonus, to Garth’s way of thinking. Bat was the reason JoJo had been willing to leave the outfit he’d been with for the past several years. JoJo never said Evans wouldn’t let a kid join his drive, hadn’t needed to. Bottom line was Evans’s loss had been Garth’s gain. An outfit needed a good cook, and JoJo was one of the best. Even though he was a bit cantankerous at times, and full of himself.

“Now that’s smart thinking if I ever heard it,” Garth said to Bat.

The boy grinned and sat a bit taller on the wagon seat.

“Malcolm sure was sad to see you leave,” JoJo said.

Malcolm Johansson, the man who’d hired him when he’d been as green as grass, was still a trusted friend and a man Garth was thankful to have met. Malcolm was a hard man, but an honest one, and had taught Garth a lot about life. “I told him my plan the day he hired me.” A plan he was still working on. That’s how he did things, thought each detail out thoroughly before putting them in place, and then followed them through to the end. That had been the one lesson he’d learned back at the orphanage that he’d held on to. Not thinking things through made for a tough life.

“I heard as much,” JoJo said. “But Malcolm was still sad to see you leave his employ.”

“Sam Taylor will serve Malcolm well,” Garth told JoJo the same thing he’d told many others when they’d questioned him leaving Johansson’s employ. “He’s been driving cows to Wichita for years.”

“Yeah, he will,” JoJo said. “But Sam Taylor ain’t no Garth McCain.”

Coming from JoJo, that was a compliment like no other, and Garth figured it was a good place to end the conversation. “I’ll be back in time for the evening meal,” he said, tapping his heels against his horse.

“Don’t forget my supplies!” JoJo shouted.

Garth waved a hand to signal that he’d heard while urging the horse into a gallop.

They had to be around forty miles south of Dodge City. He could almost smell the town. Every stinking inch of it. Dodge smelled of cattle, booze, cigar smoke and women. Not a single one of those things was offensive to him.

This would be the first time he’d dealt with the stockyards there. All his other drives had ended in Wichita. That’s where he’d made his way to after leaving Orson’s place, and where he’d run into Malcolm. At the Wichita stockyards. The man had told him if he ever made it down to Texas to look him up. He was always in need of cowboys.

That was exactly what Garth had done, followed Malcolm all the way south, and along the way, told Malcolm his plan. That he’d work for him, until it was time for him to go out on his own. That had been nine years ago, and last fall, after returning to Texas, he’d told Malcolm it was time. It had taken him years to save up enough money to assure all would turn out just as he’d imagined. A good sale this year would guarantee he’d been right.

Malcolm hadn’t tried to talk him out of going out on his own. Instead he’d offered a place to pasture the cattle Garth had bought and rounded up throughout the winter—at a price of course. Garth hadn’t expected any less.

That’s how life should be. Fair. Honest. That had been an issue for him. People’s dishonesty. Malcolm claimed Garth had driven away more cowhands than any man he’d ever known. Garth had retorted by saying Malcolm should be happy about that. No one wants a dishonest man in their employ. Or foolish or impulsive ones. That’s how mistakes were made.

Malcolm had agreed, but had also warned him to be careful about expectations. Said sometimes a man doesn’t know what he wants until he sees it.

Garth laughed at the memory. He knew what he wanted. Right now, that was water, so he settled his attention on the lay of the land, looking for telltale signs. In this country, that meant trees.

Glancing in both directions, and straight ahead again, Garth drew a deep breath and let it out. He’d settle for one. One tree. That’s all he needed. Just one.

Once he found a water spot for the cattle to rest for the night, he’d ride on into Hosford and pick up some coffee and bacon. JoJo had said this morning there wasn’t quite enough to get them to Dodge. The cook had offered to ration the portions if needed, but Garth had said no. His men earned their wages every day, and their fodder. He’d never told a cowhand he couldn’t eat his fill, and he wasn’t about to start now.

The other reason he needed to go to Hosford was to send a telegram to Dodge, to make sure the stockyard was ready to receive his cattle.

He held up a hand to shield the glare of the sun as he scanned the horizon. One of the downfalls of being the first drive of the year was not having a clear path to follow. The trail had been well-worn last fall when he’d taken it south. Now a new growth of grass covered the prairie. What he’d followed last fall could be a few miles either east or west. He didn’t think so, but had to admit it was possible. Cattle needed grass to eat along the way, which meant drives didn’t follow an exact trail. Rather, the route was spread out east and west for miles. Hence, why some called the Great Western trail cursed. Water, the other thing cattle needed, could be elusive. Might be only a mile away, yet never found.

The same was true for the Chisholm, and he’d been the first on that trail more than once over the years. Trusting his gut, he angled his horse slightly northwest. This land was so flat, so barren, a tree should stand out like a red petticoat, but dang if he could see one right now.

He clearly remembered a creek crossing the trail around these parts. An offshoot of the larger river farther east. He’d camped near that creek. Alone last fall, he’d traveled much faster than he could with a drive of over twenty-five hundred head of cattle, but considering they’d stayed near the Big Basin two nights ago, that creek had to be close. Hosford couldn’t be more than five or six miles north of here.

Scanning the area again, he pinpointed his gaze. A dot on the horizon could be a tree, or it could be a house. There was only one way to find out.

Chapter Three

“These green beans are so delicious, Bridgette,” Emma Sue said with a voice that was little more than a whisper. “How did you make them?”

“I fried them in the bacon grease left from this morning,” Bridgette answered while gently covering the dough she’d just rolled out and cut into strips. Squaring the corners of the cloth to make sure dust or insects didn’t settle upon her egg noodles as they dried, she continued, “I also added a few onions I found growing west of the house.”

“I think that’s where the former owners had their garden,” Emma Sue said. “Cecil didn’t want it that far away from the house. Said it was too far for me to carry water.”

Bridgette chomped her teeth together to keep from making a comment about Cecil carrying the water and pretended to be focused on securing the edges of the cloth with a couple of spoons.

“I’m sure Cecil will like green beans prepared like this. He claims he doesn’t like them, but he must, because he never brings home any other seeds.” Smiling, Emma Sue chewed another small forkful of beans before speaking again. “I got some carrot and turnip seeds, and a few others from my father, but I’m afraid Cecil forgot to water them when I first took ill.”

“He didn’t forget,” Bridgette mumbled as she crossed the room to add salt to the pot of water holding the rabbit she’d shot after tending to the garden this morning. Cecil may be too lazy to see Emma Sue got the proper nourishment, but she wasn’t.

“What? I’m afraid I didn’t hear you.”

Bridgette covered the pot and pulled up a smile before she turned about. “Nothing, just talking to myself.”

“Cecil’s not always this grumpy,” Emma Sue said. “He’s just frustrated because...” Her cheeks turned pink as she laid a hand on her protruding stomach. “Because with me so far along we can’t...”

Bridgette held up a hand, hoping to stop Emma Sue before she finished her sentence, but it was too late.

“Well, you know, be husband and wife.”

Bridgette stifled a groan. She’d known what Emma Sue had been referring to, and hadn’t needed to hear it. If she let that image into her head, she might never be able to sleep again.

Moving and using her hand to gesture toward the table, Bridgette said, “There’s more bread and the beans are on the stove for when Cecil returns. I set the rabbit to simmer while I’m gone, and there’s nothing you need to do with it or the noodles.” She’d hoped to have left long before now—sincerely wished she had—but Emma Sue hadn’t wanted lunch prepared until Cecil arrived home. Not willing to wait any longer, Bridgette had overridden that notion, explaining there were other tasks that needed to be completed yet today.

“Will you teach me how you made those noodles?” Emma Sue asked, gesturing toward the cloth. “Cecil really enjoyed them when you made them last week with the pheasant he shot.”

Bridgette had to bite her tongue to keep from pointing out that she’d shot the pheasant—another skill she’d been taught while being a nursemaid to yet another family. Once the urge passed, she said, “You just beat a couple eggs with enough flour to make a sticky dough and then fold in enough flour until you can roll it thin and slice it into strips.” Pulling the apron over her head, she crossed the room to hang it on its nail. “I’ll be back as soon as possible, and add the noodles to the pot then, so don’t worry about that. They’ll only need to cook a few minutes and supper will be ready.”

“I don’t know what I would have done without you these past few weeks.” Emma Sue sighed. “Walking all the way to Hosford and back to sell the eggs would have been too much for me.”

“Yes, it would have been,” Bridgette agreed. Suggesting Cecil could easily make the trip, considering the money they made from selling eggs was about their only income, crossed her mind, but there was no need in pointing out the obvious. “You’ll rest while I’m gone?” she asked Emma Sue pointedly.

“Yes. I might sew, but I’ll do that in my bed.”

“Good, that’s what I needed to hear.” Bridgette took down her bonnet from the nail in the corner where her personal belongings were folded and stacked, including the blankets she spread out on the floor to sleep upon each night. Twisting the bonnet ties into a bow beneath her chin, she said, “I already have the rabbit fur soaking. Once I’ve tanned it, you’ll be able to make something for the baby. Maybe a warm hat for this winter.”

“Oh, that is so nice of you.” Emma Sue shook her head. “You are so smart. How did you learn about so many things?”

“I’ve been a nursemaid for many families over the years,” Bridgette answered. “And have learned something from each one of them. Opal Andrest showed me how to make the egg noodles and Ted Wilkenson taught me how to tan a rabbit hide.”

“Oh, what are you learning from us?”

How I don’t want to live. Not able to say that, she smiled. “I’m not sure yet, but I’ll tell you as soon as I do.” Since that didn’t sound very flattering, she added, “Someday we’ll have time for you to teach me some of your embroidery stitches. You are very good at that.”

Emma Sue beamed. “Oh, yes, I will teach you.” Her smile faded. “But I’ll need to get some more thread and—”

“Don’t worry about that now,” Bridgette said. “We have time.” Picking up the two baskets of eggs, she added, “But I don’t. I must hurry. Don’t want Mr. Haskell closing his store before I get these eggs delivered.”

“Please remember Cecil’s plug of tobacco.”

Bridgette nodded and walked out the open doorway. If she kept biting it, she wouldn’t have a tongue left by the time Emma Sue delivered that baby. Leaving the door open for some air circulation, she started down the pathway that would eventually lead her to the road to Hosford.

She couldn’t seem to walk fast enough. It was as if she was escaping, running away. That wouldn’t happen. She was only taking the eggs to town to sell them. However, that in itself was an escape. A welcome one. Even though it wouldn’t be more than a couple of hours. She couldn’t be gone any longer than that. Emma Sue’s time was near.

A shiver rippled Bridgette’s spine. “No,” she said aloud, forcing her mind not to bring up any images. Not to remember Emma Sue’s statement. She knew what husbands and wives did to produce babies. She’d helped with numerous deliveries and had performed several alone when Dr. Rodgers hadn’t arrived in time.

Every birth made her think of her own life. Her future. Babies of her own. It felt as if she’d been waiting forever for that to happen. Waiting to start living the life she dreamed about each night. Waiting for her husband.

She sighed at that thought. Garth wasn’t really her husband. It hadn’t been a real marriage. She’d been seven and just learned the truth about her parents, that they’d died and would never be coming back to get her from the orphanage. She’d told Garth she didn’t want to be an orphan and he’d said he’d be her family, then neither of them would be orphans. When she’d said two people couldn’t just become family, he’d said they could if they got married. So he’d married her. It had been a pretend ceremony, in the backyard of the orphanage under the same big tree she’d fallen out of—and broken her arm in the process. But she’d never felt like an orphan, never felt alone, after that make-believe ceremony.

An outsider yes. That she’d been since being taken off the train. Living with people who would never be her family.

“Hold up there!”

Frustration shattered her thoughts. Letting out a long sigh, she turned about and watched Cecil riding his big plow horse along his barbed wire fence. She squinted as he rode closer, trying to figure out what he had on his lap.

Curiosity won out, and she made her way toward the hole he’d made in the fence. A gate would have been too much work for Cecil. “What do you have?” she asked.

“You told me to get a cow,” Cecil shouted. “I did better than that! Got a calf!”

Sure enough, it was a calf. She recognized that now that he’d pointed it out. “How on earth do you expect to keep a calf alive?”

He rode past her, toward the barn that was in serious need of repair. “I ain’t gonna keep it alive. We’s gonna eat it.”

Momentarily stunned, Bridgette shook her head, questioning her hearing. It only took a moment for her to realize she’d heard right. This was Cecil, and that’s just how he’d think. “Oh, no, you’re not!” she shouted, running after him. She’d carefully packed straw around the six dozen eggs in the baskets to prevent breakage, but at this moment, she didn’t care if every egg broke.

When the horse stopped near the barn door hanging on one hinge, she set down both baskets and marched forward. “A calf’s not better. Emma Sue needs milk, cream and butter. That you would have gotten from the calf’s mother. Whom that calf needs. Where is she? Where’s this calf’s mother?”

“Back with the rest of the herd,” Cecil said. “And I am too gonna kill this here calf. That’s what that cowboy was gonna do.”

“What cowboy?” she asked, rubbing the calf’s nose. It was adorable. Red-brown with the cutest little white face and big brown eyes. The poor thing couldn’t be more than a few hours old.

“One of the cowboys with the cattle drive,” Cecil said. “The trail boss told him to shoot the calf. Lucky for me I rode up when I did.” Curling one edge of his upper lip, he chortled. “He didn’t want to shoot it. Tried, but didn’t have the guts to pull the trigger. I watched him.”

Infuriated, Bridgette slapped his leg. “Get down.”

“Let me hand you the calf.”

“No,” she snapped. “Leave the calf where it is. Just get off that horse.”

“I cain’t get off with it on my lap.”

She grabbed a handful of his pant leg and pulled. “Yes, you can. Now get down. Hurry up.”

“Why?”

Holding back a scream that tore at her neck muscles, she growled, “You either get off that horse, or I’ll leave. I’ll go to Hosford and you’ll be out here alone, taking care of Emma Sue, and the baby that’ll be born any day now.”

“You cain’t do that.”

“Oh, yes, I can.” As a second thought, she added, “And I’ll tell Emma Sue’s father you wouldn’t listen to me. That I couldn’t tolerate being in your presence any longer.”

He scooted back in the saddle and swung a leg over the horse’s rump. “You don’t gotta get snippy about it. I thought you’d be happy. I did what you said.”

As soon as he was out of the way, she gathered her skirt with one hand and stuck a foot in the stirrup. “No you didn’t,” she said once she’d swung into the saddle. “I told you to get a cow.”

“Well, whaddya call that?” Cecil frowned. “Where you going?”

Once she had her skirt positioned so she could sit comfortably, she scooted forward, easing the calf onto her lap. “To get its mother.”

“They won’t give you its mother,” Cecil said. “They wanted it dead so they could take the mother to Dodge.”

What she’d told Emma Sue had been the truth. She’d learned a lot from the other families she’d been farmed out to as a nursemaid. The things she’d learned came in useful every day. Including today. “Give me those egg baskets.”

“What for?”

Huffing out a sigh at his ignorance, she explained, “Because I’m going to trade them to the cattle drive cook for the calf’s mother.”

“Eggs for a cow.” He guffawed. “You’re addlebrained.”

“No, I’m not.” Unable to hold it back, she said, “You are. Eggs are a luxury to the men on a cattle drive.” More than once she’d seen people trade eggs and vegetables for beef when the drives came through. “Go in the house and get me that bucket of beans, and my apron.”

“What ya need the calf for if’n your trading the eggs for its momma?”

She closed her eyes in order to gather her temper. “Because there will be hundreds of cows out there. I’ll need the baby so the mother will sniff it out, and that will tell me which cow is its mother.”

Cecil frowned. “Well, what—”

“Just go get the beans and my apron, and hurry up! This calf isn’t going to live long hanging over this saddle.”

He spun around. Bridgette knew it wasn’t because of her. Emma Sue had shouted his name from the doorway. Loud enough it had startled her. She breathed easy though, seeing Emma Sue standing in the doorway with the bucket of beans and her apron.

“Go get them,” Bridgette said. “Don’t make her walk out here.”

She waited until he’d taken the items from his wife before she said, “Emma Sue, you go lie down now. We don’t want that baby coming any earlier than necessary.” For the baby’s sake. If it was up to her, the baby would have come shortly after she’d arrived so she could get out of this place and never lay eyes on Cecil again.

Emma Sue waved and stepped back inside the house.

“What are you gonna do with this stuff?” Cecil asked while handing her the bucket and apron.

“Just get me the eggs.” After hooking the bucket handle over one arm, she used the calf as a table. Laying out the apron, she folded the skirt in half, tucked the edges around each other and used the ties to form a makeshift bag. She then dumped in the beans.

Handing the bucket to Cecil, she hooked the strap around her neck and then took the egg baskets from him. One at a time set the baskets in the bag, trying not to smash the beans or jostle the eggs too much. They were now worth more than if she’d taken them to town and sold them to Haskell’s store. Once satisfied the bag would hold, she eased the apron around her side. “Help me,” she told Cecil while holding onto the neck strap that was tightening against her throat with one hand. “Place the bottom of the bag on the swell of the saddle. Right in the middle. Use the beans to level it so it won’t bounce about too much.”

“Use the beans?”

“Yes, they are in the bottom. Be careful, but separate the bottom of the bag enough so some beans are inside the saddle swell and some are on the outside.”

He did as she instructed. “I’ll be. That works pretty well.” He stepped back then. “But it’s a long ride to where I got that calf.”

It couldn’t be that far. He never traveled too far. “We’ll make it,” she told the calf, not Cecil, and then nudged the horse forward.

“Don’t you want directions?” Cecil asked.

If he’d found it, she’d find it. “No,” she answered. “I’ll just head toward the dust in the air.”

“That’s what I did,” Cecil said, walking beside the horse.

“You don’t say.” She nudged the horse again, desperate to pick up enough speed to leave Cecil behind.

“If’n you don’t come back, I ain’t coming to look for you,” Cecil shouted as the horse gained ground on him.

“Thank you,” she shouted in return. He most likely wouldn’t grasp the insult, but she did, and that made her smile.

“You best be back in time for supper!”

She opened her mouth to tell him there was food on the stove, but chose against it. The shout could startle the horse or the calf, and neither deserved that. The calf was newly born, and the horse had to be as uncomfortable as her. The saddle was made for a riding horse, so the tree was too narrow for the plow horse’s wide back, making it ride high on the horse’s sides, and knowing Cecil, she couldn’t imagine he’d had much concern for the animal in tightening the cinch.

Letting the horse amble along, she petted the soft fur of the calf. “Don’t worry, little one. We’ll find your momma. That we’ll do.” The notion the trail boss might not be interested in making a trade for eggs and beans crossed her mind, but she sent it packing. There was no sense in worrying about something until it happened.

Chapter Four

By the time Garth rode into camp, one of his eyes was swollen shut and the other wasn’t far behind. Despite the mud he’d caked on, the side of his face was on fire. JoJo had found the marker he’d left and already had a fire going, thankfully. Unable to see much, he’d relied on his nose to lead him to the campsite. There was no doubt the men had settled the herd in for the night a mile or so away, as usual, and today he appreciated their competency more than ever.

“What happened to you, Boss?”

“My horse stepped on a hornet nest,” he told Bat while swinging out of the saddle. “Unsaddle her and put her up for me.”

“That looks sore,” Bat said.

“It is.” Garth tried harder to see out the eye that hadn’t been stung, but it was watering profusely, and that forced him to leave the things he’d picked up in town for Bat to collect as well. “Both packs are full of supplies.”

“Got it,” Bat said. “You need help?”

“No.” Garth spun about to make his way to the camp, but paused. “Who’s that?” Things were too blurry to make out much other than the chuck wagon and a large plow horse. Strangers of any kind visiting the camp singed his nerves almost as sharply as the hornets had stung his face. Cattle drives held no room for social gatherings. Most folks respected that.

“She brought us some eggs,” Bat said.

“This here gal needs to talk to you, Boss,” JoJo shouted the same time as Bat had spoken. “I done said it’s a fair deal, but that ain’t my call. No siree, it ain’t my call. Even if’n I’m thinking it’s a fair deal. A mighty fair deal.”

Dang near blind, one foot snagged on a rock or lump on the ground of some sort. Garth caught his balance before going down, but his frustration tripled.

“What the hell happened to you?” JoJo asked.

“Hornet nest.”

“You fall on it?”

“No, I didn’t fall on it,” Garth answered. “I put the mud on to cool down the sting.”

“You gotta tug out the stinger, not force it in further,” JoJo supplied.

Garth’s nerves had snapped awhile ago. “I couldn’t see the damn stinger,” he growled.

“Well, I’ll get it out for ya,” JoJo said.

Having arrived near the wagon, Garth gestured toward the woman standing on the other side of the fire. “In a minute,” he said to JoJo. “What deal?” It probably was a good thing he couldn’t see. This country had a way of making even the finest gal look beyond her years in no time. The brim of this one’s gray bonnet arched from one side of her chin to the other and hid most of her face. He didn’t need to see it in order to imagine her skin had been wrinkled and aged by the wind and sun.

She pointed toward two crates sitting on the ground. He squinted, but it didn’t help him make out much. The eggs Bat referred to most likely. The other crate had some kind of greens it. As water dripped out the corner of one eye, he turned his other eye back to the crate holding the eggs. His mouth practically watered. He’d considered buying eggs while in town, but there had only been half a dozen in the basket on the counter of the mercantile. Not nearly enough for eighteen hungry men. The cowboys had to be as hungry for something besides beans, biscuits and bacon as he was.

“Those for the calf and its mother,” the woman said.

Disappointment that neither he nor anyone else would be eating eggs filtered in amongst his frustration at not being able to see. “We don’t have any calves, ma’am.” Another heifer had better not have let loose. That was about the last thing he needed this close to Dodge.

“Yes, you do,” she said. “The one you ordered to have shot this morning.”

The loss of that calf had hung in the back of his mind all day. Not only for the critter. He’d counted on getting the entire herd to the stockyards. The money every cow would bring in. Before leaving Texas, he’d calculated on giving a few head to the Indians; they expected it, and he’d gladly given them the beeves for allowing safe passage, but loosing another one, even a calf, was not in his plan. Furthermore, her snooty attitude settled about as well as the hornet sting had. “How do you know about that?”

Her entire frame, though it was no taller than JoJo when his rheumatism didn’t have him stooped over, stiffened. “There’s no need for cursing,” she snapped. “Just as there is no need to kill an innocent calf. Such actions border on despicable.”

“Border on—”

“Despicable,” she repeated. “It means appalling. Disgraceful.”

“I know what it means.” Holding back a few choice words that she probably didn’t know the meanings of, he glared at JoJo with one eye. “Where’s the calf?”

“Brad is...” JoJo gestured with his chin. “Was looking for its momma. Looks like he found her.”

Garth spun around and made out the blurry sight of a rider climbing off a horse. There was a cow behind the horse, and sure as hell, a calf beside the cow.

Sucking in air hot enough to blister his lungs, Garth walked past the woman, heading directly towards Brad. The young cowhand was probably shaking in his boots. As he should be.

“What part of my order didn’t you hear this morning?” Garth asked as he strode forward.

“No part of it, Boss. I—I was ready to shoot it when this woman’s husband—”

“He’s not my husband,” she interrupted.

Garth didn’t bother looking over his shoulder. Feeling her following was enough.

“The boys ain’t had eggs since we left Texas,” JoJo said. “It sure would help their morale. The green beans, too.”

Garth spun to glare at his cook. He had expected JoJo to stay behind. Cooking. That was his job. “I know how long it’s been since we had eggs, and there’s nothing wrong with the morale around here.” They’d traveled dang near six hundred miles since heading out. Six hundred grueling miles of dust and dirt, and wind and rain, and sun hot enough to fry a man’s brains in his head. Every man here knew that before they headed out. If any one of them was pissing and moaning about it now, it was their own fault, and they damn well better be keeping their complaints to themselves. His hornet-stung face was their first injury.

“If’n you say so, Boss,” JoJo said. “It’s your call, but it’s a mighty fine deal. A mighty fine one. Eggs and green beans. A mighty fine deal.”

“You’ve. Said. That,” Garth growled, emphasizing each word. His head hurt, and what he wouldn’t give to have two good eyes right now.

“I sure enough did,” JoJo answered.

He didn’t need to see JoJo, there was a grin in his tone. The old coot never questioned authority, because he knew in the grand scheme of things, he was the only one who could share his opinion without fear of repercussion. Turning back to Brad, Garth asked, “Why didn’t you shoot that calf?” He expected orders to be followed at all times, and the kid better have a good reason for not doing as told.

Brad shifted from foot to foot. Watching the movement made Garth’s eye water more, and his temper flare.

“I—I was about to, Boss, but this man rode up and asked if he could have the calf.” Still shifting from foot to foot, Brad continued, “I—I figured that was as good as shooting it. Knew it wouldn’t live long without its momma.”

“So you’d rather it suffered than putting it out of its misery?” Garth asked.

Brad took off his hat and then put it back on.

Garth balled one hand into a fist. Fidgeting was a sure sign of weakness, and he was close to losing his patience with this kid. He’d fired a man for fidgeting before, and probably should have again. He hadn’t because he’d hoped Brad would grow up during the trip, and hadn’t wanted to be wrong.

“I didn’t think of it that way,” Brad said. “I guess I thought the man had a cow it could nurse on.”

Holding his temper was difficult. If the woman hadn’t been there, he might not have kept it in control. That might not be true. If his face wasn’t on fire and if he could see, he would have already lost his temper. Completely. As it was, it just boiled inside him. “I told you that’s rare.” Garth growled. “It takes a lot of work to make a cow take on a calf that’s not her own, and that’s hard on a calf. Smelling milk and not getting any.”

Shifting again, Brad shook his head. “I didn’t think of that, Boss. I didn’t know that.”

Garth wasn’t sure what increased his irritation more. Brad’s constant fidgeting and lack of knowledge, the pain throbbing in his head, or how the woman had stepped forward to pat the cowboy’s arm consolingly.

As much as he didn’t want to have to order it again, there was a lesson Brad needed to learn here for future reference. “Take that cow back to the herd,” Garth ordered. “And then shoot the calf.”

“He most certainly will not!” the woman bellowed as she stomped forward to put herself between Brad and him.

Damn, she was uppity. And full of herself. She had a lesson to learn, too. “Fine.” He’d had enough and pulled out his pistol.

She launched forward, grabbing his arm. “You can’t shoot it.”

“Like hell I can’t.” Except he couldn’t see the animal very well. Good thing he was a good shot.

“Like hell you will!”

She had gumption, and that reminded him of Bridgette. They’d both been kids, but he’d never forgotten how she’d stepped up to his defense all those years ago. “I thought you didn’t take to cursing,” he pointed out.

Ignoring his statement, she tried pushing his arm down. “You will not be shooting this calf, nor will anyone else.”

She was stronger than she looked, but not strong enough to move his arm or change his aim. “It’s not going to survive without its mother,” he said.

“I know that,” she said. “That’s why I brought the eggs and beans, to trade for the mother and the calf.”

“The mother is worth a lot more than a few eggs and some green beans,” he said.

“How much more?”

He wished he could see her better. She smelled clean. Like clothes did after being hung on the line. Though blurry, he could see her dress. It might smell clean, but was well-worn and the same dull gray as her bonnet. Even a poor man has scruples, so he didn’t judge a person’s character by their clothes, but he did use their appearance to judge the size of their pocketbook. Hers was empty. “You don’t have enough money to buy that cow.”

“What do you need besides money?”

When Brad had called the man who’d taken the calf her husband, she’d quickly pointed out that he wasn’t her husband. But how then had she got the calf? Her uppity stance didn’t fit with a loose woman, but Garth’s instincts said if that man had been her brother or father, even an uncle, she’d have supplied that information. She hadn’t. That left one thing. Aggravated, he twisted out of her hold. “Get on your horse and go home.”

“No. Not until I get what I came for. What do you need for the cow and the calf, besides money?”

“Nothing.” He pointed his pistol toward the calf. His stomach churned at the idea of shooting the calf, but his point had been made.

She jumped in front of his gun as he pulled back the hammer.

He swung the gun aside. “You trying to get yourself killed?”

“No, I’m making sure that calf doesn’t.” She stepped closer. “Please, mister. There’s a woman I’m taking care of. She’s about to have a baby, but is ailing. She needs the milk and butter this cow can provide. If you won’t trade me for them, loan them to me. Just for a few weeks. You can come back and get them when the calf is big enough to travel. Take them to the sale barn then.”

Her pleading was far more difficult to deal with than her demands. He wasn’t wavering though. “I sell cows by the lot, not singularly.”

“Garth,” JoJo said. “What’s one cow? You got over two thousand others.”

Though the cook had spoken to him, JoJo’s words had caught the woman’s attention. Her head had snapped up and her stare grew intense. Like she was trying to see something inside him. Or maybe she was just staring at his swollen face. Either way, her eye-to-eye stare made Garth’s stomach quiver. Very few things made his insides quiver. “Stay out of this, JoJo,” he said without breaking eye contact with her.

“Garth?” she asked almost as if testing if she could say it or not.

“That’s my name,” he said. “It’s not a long or complicated one.”

“Garth what?”

“McCain. And those twenty-five hundred cows JoJo just mentioned are all mine.”

“Garth McCain.” She repeated it as if it was a curse like no other.

Then along with a hiss, she hauled off and smacked his cheek so fast and hard he had to blink at the shock. And hold his breath at the renewed throbbing of his eye.

He grabbed her wrist before she could strike a second time. “What’s wrong with you?”

Bridgette wondered the exact same thing. If this was Garth. The Garth McCain she’d been waiting to see for the past nine years, why wasn’t she happy? Ecstatic? And good heavens, why had she slapped him? His face was already swollen and red, and looked extremely painful. The mud had dried and cracked making his eye and cheek look horrific.

The whiskers didn’t help either. He looked nothing like the boy she remembered, or the man she’d imagined he’d become. He didn’t act like him either. Her Garth wouldn’t have ordered a calf killed, or threatened to kill one. Yet, there couldn’t be two Garth McCains. Could there?

“Where are you from?” she asked while continuing to search for familiarity somewhere in his features. His eye that wasn’t swollen shut, was so narrow she couldn’t see if his eyes were brown or not and the dark hair that hung past his shirt collar was as coated with dust as his clothes.

The last time she’d seen him, his hair had been short. Shaved clear to his scalp. That had happened to all the boys before they’d left New York. She and the other girls had received a good dip in a kerosene bath. Both measures had been to prevent any of them from carrying the head lice that lived at the orphanage along with them.

“Texas,” he said.

“Before then?”

“Why?”

Bridgette didn’t realize she was nibbling on a thumb nail until his eye widened a touch, as if noticing that was exactly what she was doing. She pulled her hand away from her face. Mrs. Killgrove had used whacks from a wooden ruler to break her of her nail biting habit back in the orphanage, and she hadn’t bitten them for years.

Suddenly she didn’t want to know if this was Garth—her Garth—or not. Didn’t want to believe he could have changed that much. Or maybe she didn’t want to believe he had deserted her. Forgotten she existed.

Walking around him, she said, “Keep your cow and your calf.”

The cook, who had introduced himself as JoJo—no last name, just JoJo—fell in step beside her. “Listen up here, missy. That’s a fine cow and Garth there—”

“I no longer want the cow and her calf, but you can keep the eggs and green beans for the trouble.”

“That wouldn’t be right. Garth is a fair man and he won’t—”

“Good day, sir.” She’d arrived at Cecil’s plow horse, and gathered a handful of her skirt to climb into the saddle.

“What’s your name?”

The question didn’t surprise her. Footsteps had followed her to the horse. The fluttering inside her wasn’t surprising either, nor was it welcomed. Whether this was her Garth or not, she had nothing more to say to him. Without answering, she stuck a foot in the stirrup and using the horn, hoisted herself into the saddle. Before he could stop her, she slapped the reins over the horse’s rump.

The animal wasn’t overly fast, but she urged it into a gallop that was surprisingly smooth for an animal of its size. It felt as if she was running away, and that wasn’t something she did. Despite how often she’d dreamed of it. Furthermore, if she was hoping for freedom, there wasn’t any. Not from inside her that is.

The heat of the sun was sweltering, yet, she was cold. Shivering. The hope, the dream of Garth finding her and finally living a life full of brightly colored rainbows, seeped out of her like a bucket with a hole in the bottom. She wasn’t exactly sure what she’d expected him to be like when they met again, but this man—the one who’d order a young man to kill an innocent calf—wasn’t it. Nor was one who would shoot the calf himself, just in order to prove a point. That’s what he’d been doing. Proving a point.

A heavy sigh left her chest and she let the plow horse slow to its regular sluggish pace. Proving a point was something Garth would do. Always had. From the time he’d arrived at the orphanage, he’d taken it upon himself to be a leader. A guardian to those who needed one. He’d also been a teacher. Making sure if there was a lesson to be learned, it was learned.

That was where the problem lay. She could believe the man she’d just encountered was her Garth. The Garth McCain she’d wasted nine years waiting for. What angered her, what hurt, was what JoJo had told her before he’d arrived.

JoJo had only called him the boss man, and had said he was fair and honest, and would be the one to decide upon her trade. He’d also said the boss man had been bringing cattle from Texas to Kansas for years and had often made trades such as the one she’d offered.

Years. He’d been traveling past her home for years and never once bothered to look for her. Not once, and that hurt. Hurt her more than she’d ever been hurt before.

She understood on the way north he might have been too busy. Driving thousands of cattle wasn’t an easy job. But, once the cattle were delivered, men often hung around, spending a large portion of the money they’d earned in Dodge before slowly making their way back down to Texas.

The idea of Garth chasing naked women down the street and hooting and hollering when he caught one turned her stomach rock hard. Of all the people who’d deserted her, disappointed her, this betrayal hurt the worst.

Straightening her spine, she drew in a deep breath. That she wouldn’t stand for. She’d forget all about him, just as he had her. That would be easy.

A low moo had her looking over her shoulder. Sure enough, a horse and rider followed her, leading the cow and calf. She wasn’t sure if she was more disappointed, or simply beyond caring when she recognized the young cowboy as the rider.

Garth hadn’t bothered to look for her in over nine years so there was no reason he’d come after her today. Which was fine, because after today, she was going to forget Garth McCain ever existed.

The bawl of a calf had her stopping the plow horse. She’d learned the freckle-faced cowboy’s name was Brad Martie when JoJo had sent his young helper, Bat, out to find Brad when she’d arrived at their camp with the calf.

Brad had the calf laid over his lap, and her heart took a tumble for the little animal. Unlike when she’d ridden with the calf, it was struggling, wanting down now that it had been reunited with its mother. The mooing said the cow wanted her baby near her, too.

The leaner cattle horse walked much faster than the plow horse, and in no time, Brad arrived at her side. “The boss wants you to have the cow and the calf. Told me to follow you home, make sure you got them both there.”

Holding no animosity toward the cowboy, she replied. “Thank you.” Despite the encounter, she truly hadn’t wanted to arrive back at the Chaney residence without either the calf and the cow, or the eggs and beans. Cecil would have been furious. That wouldn’t have bothered her as much as failing Emma Sue. “It’s not too far,” Bridgette said, setting the plow horse in motion again. “Only a few miles.”

“Don’t rightly matter to me how far it is,” Brad said. “I’m glad to get away from those cows even for a bit. Reckon I didn’t realize what I was getting into when I signed up.”

“This is your first cattle drive?”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Ain’t never been outta Texas afore.”

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

Over the years, she’d encountered people of all ages, and had figured out that age didn’t mature a person as much as the life they’d lived, despite the number of years. She stopped the plow horse when the calf bellowed again. “Go ahead and put him on the ground. He’ll be happier walking next to his mother.”

“Reckon he will.”

She waited as he dismounted and then lifted the calf down. The baby latched on to nurse almost instantly. “Let’s wait a bit,” she said as Brad climbed back into his saddle. When he glanced around nervously and twisted the reins in his hands, she asked, “Why’d you decide to join a cattle drive?”

He bowed his head and shrugged. “Mr. McCain is somewhat of a legend down by San Antone, and I wanted to be like him.”

“Do you mean San Antonio, Texas?”

“Yes.”

“What sort of legend? Why would you want to be like him?”

“He’s the youngest trail boss ever. Been leading drives north for over six years. He started out as a cowboy, but within two years, was leading drives. Has been ever since.” With another shrug and while twisting the reins in his hands, he said, “Guessing I got more to learn than he did.”

“Some people take more readily to things than others.” Forgetting Garth might be easier if she knew a bit more about him. “How old was Garth—Mr. McCain when he became a trail boss?”

“Seventeen. Some folks didn’t believe it, but Mr. Johansson, that’s the rancher he worked for, said it sure enough was true. That Garth McCain was only seventeen when he became a trail boss. One of the best, too. If not the best.”

Seventeen. Garth had been fourteen when they’d traveled on the Orphan Train West together. The last time she’d seen him, when he’d been called out to the platform at the rail station, he’d told her he’d see her again. That she just had to follow the rules, be good, and that he’d find where she ended up as soon as he could.

That was a broken promise if there ever had been one. Had she known that he’d forgotten all about her, she wouldn’t have stayed here all these years. Waiting for him.

“That calf could nurse all day if we let him,” Brad said. “We best get moving again. I don’t want to be too late getting back. Gotta take my turn at night watch.”

“Of course,” Bridgette agreed. After the cow and calf were tranquilly following along, she asked, “How much is that cow worth?”

“Can’t say until we get to Dodge,” Brad answered. “On average the yards pay nine bucks for a young steer and eight for a heifer. But that’s an average. Some go lots higher and those were last year’s prices. Mr. McCain wants his cattle to be the first to arrive. That’s when the prices are the highest. Top dollar can go upwards of fifteen a head. By the end of the season, the prices drop. Course it also depends on the cows. McCain has good cows and doesn’t push them too hard. We came across some good grass and water near the state line and he let them eat and rest up for two days. We had time to do that because we left McCain’s place two weeks ahead of everyone else.”

“McCain’s place?” The bitterness that had set roots inside her turned to fury. “He has a ranch in Texas?”

Brad nodded. “Must be next to Mr. Johansson’s place. That’s where we headed out from. Maybe they’d partnered up or something. That’s how I figure it since these cows are McCain’s. Years past he’s driven cows north for Johansson. But not this year. This year he’s driving his own cows north.”

“Is that so?” Bridgette muttered, mainly to herself. Boy, was she mad now. Increasingly so. If Garth thought he could break his promise without retribution, he’d soon discover how wrong he was. After all, he’d been the one to teach her an eye for an eye.

Chapter Five

“Ain’t those about the best green beans you ever ate?” JoJo asked, dumping another spoonful onto Garth’s plate. “That little gal told me how to make them. Said to boil them until tender and then give them a toss in the frying pan with bacon grease. Cain’t believe I never thought of that before.”

Garth didn’t comment. He’d eaten the beans because whether he was hungry or not, he needed to eat, but couldn’t say he’d actually tasted a bite. The rest of his men had. The beans and the eggs had the entire outfit grinning and asking for third helpings.

His attention wasn’t on the men any more than it was on the food. It was on the horizon to the northwest, watching for Brad’s return. He still couldn’t see out of one eye, but the other one was doing better. His face wasn’t. JoJo had scraped off a generous amount of skin trying to get out the stinger. Garth had put a stop to the scraping, but not soon enough. Rather than burning from the hornet’s sting, the entire side of his face stung as if he’d shaved with a dull razor and no soap.

The pain though wasn’t what he was thinking about. It was her. That woman. She’d been snippy and uppity, and he just couldn’t get her out of his head. He hadn’t thought this long and hard about someone in a long time.

Actually, he’d only ever thought this much about one person.

Bridgette.

“You ain’t heard a word I said, have ya?”

Garth focused his good eye on JoJo.

“I didn’t think so,” JoJo said.

Handing his plate to the cook, Garth stood. “When you say something worth hearing, I’ll listen. Until then, I’ll just let it go in one ear and out the other.”

“You got that right,” JoJo said. “There ain’t nothin’ betwixt those ears in your noggin ’cept air. You oughta have a constant earache from the wind blowing through your head.”

Normally he gave JoJo back as much as the man gave out, but he wasn’t in the mood, and turned about.

“Where you goin’?” JoJo asked. “I was only telling you we got enough eggs for breakfast, too.”

“Good,” Garth replied. “I’ll go relieve the last two cowboys.”

JoJo mumbled something about being ornery as a snake before saying, “You cain’t even see yet, and no one’s expecting you to take over for them.”

Garth walked toward his tack. He was ornery some days. It was his nature. He doubted he’d been born that way, but for as long as he could remember, he’d been mad, and that alone was enough to leave a person ornery.

That didn’t mean he never laughed or had fun. Some of his earliest memories were of the big ships that docked in New York. The sailors were often willing to pay a penny for directions or to have a message delivered, and he and other boys spent a lot of time in that area, earning enough to buy a warm meal now and again. They’d had a lot of fun at the docks, especially teasing the laundrymen who washed the sailors’ clothes. Those men could run, and often chased him and the other boys with hot irons, threatening to turn them in to the officials.

They had never caught him, or turned him in—that had all been his own doing. His lesson in not thinking things through.

Garth swung the saddle over one shoulder and grabbed the bridle and blanket with his other hand. Spinning about, he all but ran over Bat. He hated only having one good eye.

“You want me to fetch you a horse, Boss?” the boy asked.

“I can do it,” Garth answered.

“No, he can’t,” JoJo said. “Go get him a mount, Bat.”

The horses were kept a distance away, between the cattle and the camp. His sight was good enough to walk that far, and good enough to keep an eye on the cows while the others came in to eat. He didn’t tell JoJo that. It would be a waste of breath, as had telling the truth all those years ago.

His capture, as he’d labeled it, had come about when he’d witnessed a man bludgeon one of those little laundrymen. He’d gone to the authorities and the man was captured, but had claimed the opposite. That Garth had done the bludgeoning. Because he’d been the one with blood on his clothes from dragging the laundryman into the back door of the laundry shop, he was the one arrested. The authorities hadn’t put him in jail, instead he’d been sent off to the Children’s Home at age eleven. The horror stories he’d heard had been true, at least in part. It was a prison for children if there ever had been one.

His second lesson in not thinking things through came about when he ran away from the orphanage. He hadn’t been an orphan, not then. His mother had worked in a crib close to the docks, but when he got there, she was gone. Turned out, she’d run off with a sailor as soon as she’d heard he’d been taken to the orphanage. As far as he knew, his mother could still be alive, living on some other continent. Gertrude, the woman his mother had shared a crib with had told him to go back to the orphanage, that it was where he belonged, and didn’t waste any time in alerting the authorities. It was only a matter of days before he was hauled back to the Children’s Home.

He was kept under lock and key, as were most of the others. When given the opportunity to go West on one of the trains, he’d jumped at the chance. And told Bridgette she should, too.

Unlike him, she’d lived most of her life at the orphanage, and believed her parents were coming back for her, some day. He knew that wouldn’t happen, and had told her so. She didn’t believe him and attempted to run away. Thought she could climb the big oak tree that had branches hanging over the back fence. She’d fallen instead and broken her arm.

In an attempt to keep her from doing that again, he’d snuck into the office and looked up the information they had on her. He’d found a baptismal record from a church on Staten Island and a note from her mother saying her husband had died and that she was too ill to take care of Bridgette. Another note stated her mother had died a few days later.

Looking back, Garth figured Bridgette had always known her parents had died, but hadn’t wanted it to be true. Hadn’t wanted to be an orphan. He could relate, and grinned at the memory of sitting beside her beneath the same big oak she’d fallen out of. It had been a cold fall day and the two of them had been assigned to gathering the dead leaves. She’d been mad about him sneaking into the office. Told him he could have gotten caught and then they’d never be able to go West.

That’s when the waiting had started. For both of them. Over a year of wondering if there would be room on the next train or not. Bridgette had come up with all sorts of wild plans of how they could sneak onto one of the trains, and he’d had to stop each one of them, telling her she had to think things through before jumping into action or she’d break another arm. She’d been frustrated, but conceded—until she’d come up with another harebrained idea that would threaten to get them both in trouble.

He’d been almost fourteen and she had just turned nine by the time they’d finally boarded a westbound train.

“Here you go, Boss.”

Bat’s voice brought Garth’s mind back to the present and his feet to a stop.

“I know you like this one, Boss,” Bat said. “She’s a good horse, no?”

“Yes,” Garth answered. The big brown horse had three white socks and was one of the best cattle horses he’d ever ridden. “You know a good horse when you see one, Bat. And you are good with them.” The boy deserved the compliment. After helping JoJo all day including gathering an ongoing supply of firewood, the boy visited the remuda each evening, making sure the mounts had all been taken care of. The job hadn’t been assigned to Bat, he’d just taken it upon himself, and Garth had taken notice of that.

“I like horses,” Bat said. “Afore my ma died, I had a black-and-white horse all of my own.”

That was the most the boy had ever said about his past. At least the most Garth had heard. Then again, he’d never asked. He hadn’t this time, either. Bat must have just figured it was time. That’s how it was with orphans. When the time was right, they’d share their past. Usually in bits and pieces.

“It shows you like them,” Garth said. “I appreciate how well you take care of them.”

Bat handed over the rope. “I’ll put on his bridle while you saddle him.”

Garth nodded. Just as he suspected, Bat was done talking about himself. JoJo had never mentioned where he’d found Bat, or how, and Garth hadn’t asked. It hadn’t mattered. Today, with all his own ghosts roaming about in his head, he found himself thankful JoJo had taken Bat in.

“Unless you cain’t see well enough to put on the saddle,” Bat said. “I can do it if you need.”

Garth stepped forward and threw the blanket over the horse’s back. “Can’t see well enough.”

“You cain’t?” Bat asked.

“I can see well enough,” Garth answered, settling the saddle on the horse. “The word is can’t not cain’t. Cain’t isn’t a word.”

“It ain’t?”

Garth grinned and the tightening of the muscles said his face still hurt too bad to go into a lesson right now. The salve JoJo had put on it after scraping off his hide stunk as strongly as it burned. “Run back to camp now,” he said. “I’m sure JoJo has something for you to do. Thanks for gathering my mount.”

“You betcha, Boss,” Bat answered, already hightailing it toward camp.

Once he’d tightened the cinch, Garth couldn’t help but press a hand to the side of his face. The swelling didn’t feel like it had increased, but the hurting sure hadn’t eased. Ignoring it seemed his best, and only, choice, so he mounted and headed toward the herd.

Not in the mood for conversation, he merely gestured for both of the two cowboys riding watch to go to the camp. There were always to be no less than two men with the cattle, but that was his rule, so only he could break it. Another man would ride out before long. As soon as he’d had his fill of eggs and green beans.

As Garth slowly made his way around the circumference of the cattle, he found himself thinking about Bridgette again. Over the years, that had happened more than he’d wanted. Usually when things were slow or he’d find himself alone, often in his bedroll staring at the night sky. He’d wonder if the people who had adopted her were good to her and if she ever thought about him. When he first left Orson’s place he’d contemplated finding out what had happened to her, where she’d been dropped off, but concluded there wasn’t anything he could do if he did know. What Orson had shouted while whipping him had been true. Bridgette was better off without him. He never discovered how Orson knew about her. It could have been Fredrick Fry, considering Fry had said the same thing, but in truth it didn’t matter. As the years went on, he told himself to forget about her, forget about everything that connected him to his past. He had nothing to gain from it.

Malcolm Johansson had told him that a man couldn’t create a future while living in the past, and that’s what Garth wanted. A future. One that held no connection to his past.

It had been over nine years since he’d seen Bridgette. She’d be eighteen now. Could be married. Have children of her own. The idea of that, of her being married, made him crack another grin. She’d been so sad about admitting she was an orphan that day under the oak tree, he’d pretended to perform a ceremony, marrying the two of them so neither of them would be alone. Kids. Life seemed so simple to them.

Not one but two men arrived to take over watching the herd. Garth waved at them as he finished his slow trek around the cattle and then headed back toward camp. His head still hurt. Not just from his injury. It ached from thinking too much.

As he rode into camp, he noticed Bat leading Brad’s horse and scanned the area for the young man. At least his good eye was no longer watering, leaving his limited sight a bit clearer. Sitting cross-legged on the ground, Brad spooned beans and eggs into his mouth as fast as the others had.

“Want me to take your horse back to the others, Boss?” Bat asked.

“No, I’ll ride back out to the herd once more yet this evening.” Garth dismounted and dropped the reins of his horse. Every animal in his remuda was trained to stay where it was left and didn’t spook easy. He put as much effort into training his horses as he did his men.

On his way across the camp, Garth paused long enough to fetch a cup of coffee from JoJo before walking over to sit down next to Brad.

“How’d that go?” he asked, taking a sip of coffee.

“Fine.” Brad swallowed the food in his mouth. “She was real nice, and thankful.”

Although it didn’t matter, Garth couldn’t stop from asking, “What’s her name?”

“I dunno,” Brad said.

“You didn’t ask? She didn’t tell you?”

“Nope. I might’ve but as soon as we got the cow in the barn, the man came out of the house yelling that she was needed. That something was wrong. She took off for the house and I got my rope and skedaddled. That fella’s an ornery one.”

Garth pitched the contents of his coffee cup onto the ground. “You left her there? With the man yelling that something was wrong?”

“She told me to go.”

“Where’s the house?” Garth couldn’t say why that bothered him. He wasn’t one to put his nose in someone else’s business, but his gut was churning and he couldn’t ignore it.

“About five miles northwest,” Brad said. “You want me to go back? See if she’s all right?”

“No,” Garth answered as he stood. “I’ll go.”

“Want me to go with you?” Brad set his plate down.

“No. You’re on duty soon.”

“Just follow the creek,” Brad said. “When it veers east, go west about half a mile. It’s a sod house and a barn that’s about to fall down.”

“I’ll find it,” Garth answered.

JoJo’s frown couldn’t go unnoticed, nor could how the man fell in step beside him. “You think she’s in trouble for giving us the eggs and green beans?”

Garth shrugged as he gathered the reins of his horse.

“I didn’t see that fella earlier,” JoJo said, “only Brad did.”

“I’ll be back.” Garth swung up into the saddle.

“Maybe you oughta take someone with you, with your eyes hurting and all.”

“My eyes are fine.”

“One ain’t,” JoJo supplied.

Garth steered the horse around and headed northwest. He knew damn well one eye wasn’t fine. He couldn’t see it, or see with it. Didn’t need to. The pain told him all he needed to know. Next time he got hurt, he’d stay far away from JoJo. Doctoring was not JoJo’s strong suit, but cooking was, and although Garth hadn’t admitted it, those green beans and eggs had been a much needed change to their diet of late.

As he rode, he wondered about the woman who’d traded the eggs and beans for the cow. And he wondered about Bridgette. Normally, he planned rather than wondered. Bridgette hadn’t. She’d wondered about everything, especially rainbows. How they formed. Why they formed. Where they started and ended. Every time she saw one she was ready to take off in search of discovering the mythical pot of gold. He’d tried to tell her that riches aren’t found, they have to be made, just like the sun makes rainbows. She’d scoffed at that, told him he needed to have more imagination and belief.

He had belief all right. That life wasn’t full of rainbows.

In some ways, he hoped that she’d finally learned that; in other ways, he hoped she never would.

Just as Brad had instructed, Garth shifted direction when the creek veered, and sure enough, a sod shanty and run-down barn appeared a short distance later. A bit of injustice flared inside him. The place needed work. He could understand money being tight, even nonexistent, but ambition was free. A man not using that irritated him more than fidgeting.

He found a place where the barbed wire fence had been cut and followed the trail through the tall grass to the barn. His horse hadn’t stopped yet when a man exited the doorway of the ramshackle building. One of the double doors that would be needed to keep animals inside was missing and the other door, gray and rotting away, hung crooked on its one hinge.

“What you want?”

Using only one eye, Garth didn’t have time to completely size the man up before he spoke again.

“If it’s doctoring you need, head out,” the man said. “She’s busy.”

“I don’t need a doctor,” Garth said.

“Looks like you do to me.”

The man was of fair size, but it came from laziness rather than hard work, and the bottle he’d slid in his back pocket could be part of the cause. Garth dismounted. “I’m with the cattle drive.”

Taking a step back, the man folded his arms over his portly stomach. “I told her you’d be back to get your cow. No man, not one with a brain that is, trades a cow for eggs and beans. I sure enough told her that. And I told her I wouldn’t be taking the blame for her foolishness.” Waving a hand toward the barn doorway, he continued, “The cow and calf are in the barn. I can’t help you take them back. I’m busy.”

Even with just one eye, Garth saw plenty that had been ignored for a long time and wasn’t receiving any attention right now, either. “Doing what?”

The man rubbed his nose with the back of one hand. “Waiting. The wife’s pushing out a baby.”

Garth’s glance toward the house didn’t tell him anything other than it was in better shape than the barn. At least the door had both hinges and was tightly closed. “Your first?” he asked, turning his attention back to the man.

“Yes. If it lives that is.” Worry filled the man’s eyes as he glanced toward the house. “A couple ones before this didn’t.”

Compassion didn’t come easily, but in this instant, it seemed to. “Name’s Garth McCain,” he said, holding out a hand.

“Cecil Chaney.”

“I hope congratulations are soon in order, Mr. Chaney,” he said while shaking the man’s hand. Every child’s life was important, even this man’s. As Cecil’s eyes lightened up, Garth continued, “I’m not here to collect the cow or the calf. I wanted to say thank you for the trade. My cowboys were greatly pleased with the eggs and beans. We don’t get foodstuff along those lines too often while on the trail.”

Cecil’s face had completely brightened and his chest puffed. “I told her that.”

Satisfied there wasn’t trouble here, Garth reckoned he could head back to the herd, yet couldn’t stop from saying, “You seem to have told her a lot of things.”

“Have to. A girl that uppity needs some direction or she’ll go flying around like a moth, flapping her wings and getting nowhere.”

“Are you referring to your wife?”

“No, no, no. My wife, Emma Sue, she’s the one having the baby. I’m talking about Bridgette. That girl...”

Garth had started for his horse, but stopped as his stomach shot past his heart to land some place near his throat, where it dang near strangled him. After telling himself Chaney couldn’t be talking about his Bridgette several times, that his ears must be as swollen as his eye, he managed to catch enough breath to ask, “Bridgette who?”

“Don’t rightly know her last name. Rodgers I guess. She’s the doc’s adopted daughter. He farms her out to folks needing doctoring. Costs plenty for what ya get, but—”

“And she’s the one who traded for the cow and calf?” Garth asked, staring at the house. That couldn’t have been Bridgette; she’d have said something. Especially when he told her his name. Suddenly, the side of his face, where she’d slapped him, stung again, and irritation flared. Why the hell had she slapped him?

“Where you going?”

Garth had started for the house, and didn’t slow at the man’s question.

“You can’t go in there! My wife’s having a baby.”

That shout stopped him. At least it stopped his feet. With his insides gushing about like flood waters, Garth spun enough to see Cecil with his good eye. “Go get her.”

“My wife?”

“No,” he growled. “Bridgette.”

Cecil shook his head. “I can’t. She told me not to open that door.” Wiping his lips with one hand, he added, “I thought the baby would come before she got back. I don’t know nothing about birthing babies and I don’t want to learn.”

Garth spewed a mouthful of curse words as he swung back around to glare at the house. He didn’t want to learn about birthing babies either, but he did want to see Bridgette. Wanted to know why she’d smacked him and why she hadn’t told him who she was.

“She swindle you out of that calf and cow?” Cecil asked. “She’s like that. Has you doing things you don’t know you’re doing ’til it’s done. She’s had me doing more work around here since—”

With his head hurting and his guts twisting, Garth spun back to Cecil. “Give me that bottle.”

Clamping his mouth shut midsentence, Cecil glanced around before asking, “What bottle?”

“The one in your back pocket.” Garth took a step forward. “Now.”

Cecil shuffled his feet while dipping his head. “Oh, that one.” He pulled a bottle out. “I was just calming my nerves. You know how it is. Had to get me a couple extra bottles lately, with Bridgette living here and all. That woman could drive a man batty.”

Garth took the bottle and a long swig. It burned his throat, proving the whiskey—if that’s what it was supposed to be—was far from good, but that didn’t stop him from taking a second swallow. There was no reason, not a single one, for Bridgette not to have told him who she was.

“I told her there ain’t nothing wrong with being an orphan, ain’t no one to blame, but she didn’t take to my...”

Cecil kept talking. Garth wasn’t listening. There had been times in his life when he’d said those exact words. Events happened. Children were left without parents. Some, like him, were simply not wanted; others, like Bridgette knew of their beginning but no more; and others still, knew the exact moment they’d become an orphan. He’d spent a good amount of time being angry that he’d been an unwanted one and had spent a fair amount of time searching for a way to get back at life for that. At getting even. Until he’d decided to forget his past.

The injustice of life, the unfairness, the inequality still got to him at times. Being older helped. Knowing life was life, that you got out of it what you put into it. But this, Bridgette treating him like a stranger, hit him almost as hard as learning his mother had run off all those years ago.

Bridgette had been in the hallway when he’d arrived at the Children’s Home, on her hands and knees scrubbing the floors, and so skinny and scrawny the bucket of water had been bigger than her. He’d been mad, upset about being taken to the orphanage, and had been trying to get out of the constable’s hold. When the man had raised a hand to whack him, Bridgette had thrown her scrub brush toward them. It had missed the constable, and bounced off the wall. She’d run to retrieve it and prepared to throw the brush again.

He’d known plenty of girls on the streets, but he’d never seen or heard of a girl who’d laid into a constable the way Bridgette had. Even while being carried down the hall by one of the nursemaids, she’d continued to rant about the wrongness of hitting a child.

Later, when he’d seen her again, he’d pointed out that she was a child. She’d said exactly, who was better to know the wrongness of hitting a child than a child.

He hadn’t been able to argue that point, but they hadn’t formed a friendship until after he’d been brought to the Children’s Home the second time, when she’d snuck food to him when he’d been forced to complete chores during mealtimes as punishment for running away. After that, they’d spent plenty of time in each other’s company.

Until Kansas City, where he’d been distributed.

“You, uh, gonna give that back?”

Garth looked at the bottle and then Cecil before answering, “No.” He walked toward his horse.

“You heading back to your herd?”

Cecil was on his heels, and Garth barely paused to grab the reins of his mount. “No.” He led the horse to the side of the barn, into the shade, and loosened its girth.

Chapter Six

Bridgette tucked the swaddled baby, a girl, beet red and with a healthy set of lungs, into the crook of Emma Sue’s arm. “She’s perfect, just like her momma.”

Emma Sue smiled as she kissed the top of the baby’s head. “She is perfect.” Lifting tear-filled eyes, Emma Sue shook her head. “Thank you, Bridgette. Thank you. Oh, I truly don’t know what else to say. I was so scared when the pains started right after you left. Cecil told me not to be, but I was.”

Grateful all had turned out well, Bridgette refused to focus on what could have been. What might have happened if she hadn’t returned when she had. Dr. Rodgers still hadn’t arrived, so Emma Sue would have been on her own. “Everything would have been fine,” she said, for Emma Sue’s sake. “You did wonderfully, and your daughter is beautiful. What will you name her?”

“I don’t know yet.” Emma Sue kissed the dark curls covering the baby’s head again. “I’ll have to ask Cecil. Can he come in now?”

“In a few minutes,” Bridgette answered. “Let me get everything in order first.”

“Of course. I’m just so excited for him to see her.”

“I’m sure you are.” Whether she liked him or not, Emma Sue loved Cecil, and for that reason alone Bridgette hurried about. Without any windows, the room was dark even with both lamps lit, but having cleaned up after a birth many times, she could complete the tasks with her eyes closed. The adverse effect of that meant she didn’t need to concentrate on what she was doing, which left her mind wide open to wander. And wander it did. Straight back to Garth McCain.

The audacity of that man! Traveling right past her for all these years and never once even attempting to see her. She had half a mind to ride back out to that herd and tell him exactly what she thought of him. That wasn’t possible, at least not until after Dr. Rodgers arrived and confirmed both Emma Sue and the baby were indeed fine. Considering he hadn’t arrived yet, she guessed he was seeing to another patient, therefore, it could be some time before he received the message and made his way out here.

Withholding a sigh, she neared the bed again. “Still doing fine?”