Mail-Order Haven

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  The baby slowed its howling and turned its head to stare, blinking and making fat tears roll down its cheeks.

  Tavia jerked and glanced down, giving him a weak smile. “Oh, Fitz.” Then she swallowed hard and looked away, a hand patting the back of the baby who’d again starting sobbing.

  He passed his gaze over his wife’s body, but she seemed to be uninjured, only rumpled and dusty. If only that baby would stop crying.

  Tavia peeled the baby’s hands from her shoulders and settled it inside the satchel. “Please take her.” She wrapped her arms around the carpet bag and extended it toward him.

  “What?” With an awkward grab, he accepted the wiggling satchel and held it at arm’s length.

  A warm hand patted his chest. “Dada.”

  Fitz froze, narrowing his gaze. “Whose child is this? And why is it calling me daddy?”

  Tavia swung her leg over the horse’s hindquarters and then slid to the ground with a groan. Her knees buckled, and she grabbed onto the harness belly strap. “Ouch.”

  Making a quick decision, he set down the satchel on the boardwalk, swung around to settle an arm at Tavia’s waist, and loosened the reins from her grasp. “My dear, are you all right? Tell me what happened.”

  “An accident…stagecoach rolled…scene was awful.” Tavia spun and buried her face in his chest, wrapping her arms tight around his back. Heaving sobs that echoed the baby’s, she shuddered against his body.

  Unused to such a demonstration, Fitz stiffened. Then a wave of protectiveness filled him. This woman was his wife and was supposed to look to him for comfort. Purely from instinct, he shucked out of his leather long coat and drew it around her body then crossed his arms over her back and just held her close, murmuring stupid words of solace that made no sense, because he didn’t know the details of what she’d been through. His chin fit just so on top of her head, and he lifted a hand to smooth the straggling tendrils of hair over an ear. “Shall we go into the depot?”

  With a deep inhale, Tavia nodded then stepped back and dashed a hand at her wet cheeks. “Of course, you’re right. I must tend to the baby.” She leaned over to lift the satchel, but the baby stretched out its arms, and Tavia brushed a hand over the child’s shoulder.

  “Why must you?” He glanced around, hoping to speak to one of the men she’d arrived with. They were visible inside the depot office in a discussion with the ticket clerk.

  “Please, Fitz, gather the carpet bags from my saddle and tie up the horse.” Huffing out a sigh, she stooped to lift the baby, satchel and all. “We’ll speak in the depot.” With that, she trudged up the wooden steps and disappeared indoors.

  Unable to form a proper response, he stood with his mouth agape. She is giving me orders? Sure, he was glad she had finally arrived and appeared to be safe and unhurt. But this unexpected twist confounded him. Since she’d already disappeared, he guessed he’d better follow instructions, as odd as doing that felt. Moving as fast as he could without spooking the horse, he fastened the reins to a hitching rail, untied the bags from the saddle, and hustled into the depot.

  Tavia walked back and forth behind the men at the counter, patting the baby’s back.

  Road dust coated her skirts, and darkness smudged her eyes, but she had done nothing to straighten her appearance. Instead, her actions focused on the baby he assumed belonged to the man with the busted arm. He dumped the bags on the floor and headed toward the group, ready to figure out exactly what had happened.

  “Does anyone have names for these poor souls?” The ticket clerk held a pen over a piece of paper.

  “We found nothing on the older gentleman but a silver flask engraved with W.S.P. and a money clip with the same initials.” A tall man pulled the items out of a saddlebag. “And, of course, the ticket stub for this trip. But his luggage didn’t hold any papers or cards.”

  Tavia stopped walking and turned toward the counter. “The deceased parents were named Weller and were traveling to Fredericksburg.”

  Deceased? Fitz shook his head. The stage had been in an accident, and three people had died? A lump settled in his stomach, and he dragged a hand down his face. He’d almost lost his Tavia? A woman he’d spoken to for barely an hour but who now was legally under his protection.

  “Fitz.”

  From a distance came his name. Blinking, he turned his head and focused on Tavia’s face. Tavia who had survived and was now six feet away. He took three long steps forward and embraced her. “I’m so glad you’re here. And uninjured.”

  “I’m glad, too.” She nodded, rubbing her cheek against the warm cloth of his shirt.

  Wriggling against his chest filtered into his awareness right before an unpleasant odor filled his nostrils. He stepped back and scrunched his nose. “That baby needs fresh clothes.”

  “I know, but first, please retrieve the items from the inside pocket of the burgundy carpetbag.”

  “Tavia—”

  “I’ll explain soon. Helping me with this task will allow us to leave quicker.” She flashed a grim smile and tilted her head toward the bags before turning back toward the waiting men. “I found an envelope with a return address that must belong to Mr. Weller’s father in Fredericksburg.”

  “That letter will be helpful, missus.” The clerk nodded as his gaze flicked among the bedraggled people of the group.

  Fitz did as requested, collecting a pocket watch, ticket stub, and envelope, before carrying the items to the counter. As he moved, he realized only Tavia tended the baby. That neither man who’d ridden in with her, men who he now figured were employees of the coach line, had spared the child a scant look.

  “Thank you, sir.” The clerk scooped the items close. “We’ll do our best to contact this man.”

  Tavia trudged to the bags and grabbed the handles of a battered leather one then walked to the farthest bench. She cooed and chattered as she saw to the child’s comfort.

  His breath stuck in his throat. Without a doubt, Fitz knew that baby was coming back to the Star S Ranch. On this issue, he didn’t believe his opinion counted.

  ~**~

  Tiredness pulled at Tavia, slowing her movements, but she kept pacing. From where she stood at the perimeter of the depot office, she couldn’t make out what was being said at the ticket counter. Gratitude at how Fitz had stepped up to handle this matter seeped into her awareness. No longer was she alone in life. Her husband now looked out for her welfare.

  Fitz turned and started toward her.

  She admired the cut of his thick woolen coat and how the dark fabric fit across his wide shoulders and skimmed his sides. How the color contrasted with his dark hat and blended with his navy shirt.

  “What are you smiling at?” He stopped opposite her.

  “I’m thankful for you. For the assistance you’ve offered here”—she tilted her head toward the clerk—“and for what you’re about to do.”

  His brows pinched together over the bridge of his nose. “And that is what?”

  “Before we leave town, we need supplies for the baby from the mercantile. I suspect you’ll need to rouse the owners.” Biting back a sigh, she forced a weak smile. “Do you know where they live?”

  “First, I need an explanation.” He rested his hands on his hips. “Why is the baby your, I mean, our responsibility?”

  “Her parents were among the dead passengers. I’m sure you realize the men who directed me to town are employees of the stagecoach company. They have to report to their employer and are in no position to care for a baby.” She shifted the now-sleeping baby higher on her shoulder so she could reach out a hand to Fitz’s forearm. “Angela was in my lap, and I was playing with her when the accident happened.” She swallowed hard, wondering if she could talk about the experience so soon afterwards. “We held tight to each other as the coach tumbled and rocked, and somehow, we survived. Because of that experience, I feel like I’m supposed to care for her until her family comes.”

  Frowning, he glanced over his shoulder and th
en back. “Surely, the stagecoach company has provisions for incidents like these.”

  Understand an urgency she couldn’t label took too much thought. She tightened her grip. “Please, Fitz. My guess is her stay with us won’t be for long.”

  “Right now, I’d agree to anything to get you headed in the direction of the ranch.” His brows lowered. “I’m sorry to say this, Tavia, but you look exhausted.”

  “I can only imagine.” Dare she let him know that neither of them might be getting much rest in the next few days? She forced the brightest smile she could manage. “Thank you for helping. We’ll need canned milk, a few tall thin bottles, bleaching powder—”

  “Save the list until we see if the Othmanns will open the store.”

  If wasn’t a possibility. “Oh, but they must. The poor thing needs food.”

  Fitz slipped an arm around her waist and urged her forward. “Come, get on your coat, and we will see what we can do. The wagon is just outside.”

  “Point out the direction of the mercantile, and I’ll walk.”

  “The horses are right here. Why would you walk?” He scooped up her coat and held it out.

  She shifted the baby’s weight to her left arm and slid her right one into the coat sleeve. “Because climbing into and out of the wagon might wake Angela. You heard how she acted before. Well, she’ll be even hungrier when she wakes.” The process was reversed to finish donning her coat. She pointed at the blanket on the depot bench and pantomimed passing it to her.

  Seeing him frown before he complied made her realize she’d been giving him quite a few orders. From the take-change attitude she’d observed at their interview the previous week, she bet he wasn’t used to being bossed. As she tucked the blanket around Angela’s legs, she made a silent vow to be more gracious with her next request. “Thank you. Now, which way?”

  “I’ll show you.” With his hand at the small of her back, he walked her across the depot, pausing to scoop up the bags. Then he pulled open the door and held it.

  A blast of air chilled her cheeks, and she bit back an exclamation.

  Fitz leaned close, his chest pressed against her shoulder, and pointed. “Across the street that way is the sheriff’s office. In the other direction is the doctor’s surgery—although now it’s empty—and diagonally across the way is the mercantile.”

  Warmth from his body penetrated hers as he spoke. Then she felt him grasp her elbow and guide her down the three wooden steps to the dirt road. Only six oil lamps high on poles lit the three-block-long street. To her left stood a team of horses harnessed to a farm wagon. That must be Fitz’s. Actually, now they were hers, too. “I see the store.” Checking for riders, she looked in both directions then shot a smile over her shoulder before walking forward.

  Only a hint of dust and manure tainted the crisp air. Tinny piano music sounded from a nearby saloon. She glanced overhead and saw pinpricks of light. With no clouds, the temperatures could plunge. Behind her, the rattle of harnesses and the creak of wagon wheels cut into the night’s stillness. She approached the opposite boardwalk, hesitant to shift the baby’s position again to hold up her skirts so she wouldn’t trip. Instead, she waited for Fitz to set the brake and reach her side.

  “What’s wrong?” His blue-eyed gaze flicked between her face and the covered baby.

  “I’m probably being silly, but I didn’t want to jostle Angela by lifting my skirts to use the steps.”

  “Oh.” He cleared his throat and glanced toward the ground. “Let me rouse the owners, and then I’ll be back to help.”

  “That’s a good plan. I’ll be right here getting acquainted with the horses. What are their names?”

  “Do you think you should approach them? They’re not used to babies.”

  She wrinkled her nose in his direction. “I’m not putting her atop them.”

  He pointed with a gloved finger. “The one on the road side is Rusty, and the other is Willow.” Then he ran up the steps, crossed the porch, and knocked on the wooden door. A minute passed with no response so he removed his glove and pounded with the side of his fist.

  Tavia winced at the sound and rocked her weight from one foot to the other. She glanced to the second story and saw a lit window. “Someone must be there.”

  The door opened, and lantern light spilled from the opening. “The store’s closed.”

  “Mr. Othmann, thank you for coming to the door.” Fitz tucked his glove into a coat pocket. “I apologize for disturbing your evening. But this is an emergency.”

  “Emergency? What do you mean?” A balding man wearing a robe over his unbuttoned shirt stepped onto the porch.

  Fitz held up a hand. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.” He turned toward the street.

  Tavia moved to the bottom of the steps and kept her gaze focused on the shop owner, unable to stop the flush in her cheeks from what was to come.

  Fitz grabbed a fistful of her skirt hem then circled an arm around her back and led her up the steps and to the door. “Here is the emergency. Well, not the woman.” He cleared his throat. “She’s my bride, Missus Tavia Saunders.”

  “Evening, sir.” She did her best to smile. “We’d appreciate the opportunity to purchase a few items.”

  “As I said…” The balding man held the lantern higher and squinted, his gaze taking in her appearance.

  For this one time, I hope I look as badly as I feel. Then he’ll let us inside.

  “Fritz, who was at the door at this hour?” A woman’s voice called from inside.

  “Come in.” He stepped back and waved a hand toward the store. “I’ll never hear the end of it if the missus finds out I sent away someone who looks like she’s had a terrible night.” He turned toward the stairs. “Alda, it’s Mister Saunders and his new bride.”

  Tavia hurried inside, glad to get Angela out of the night air, and immediately walked toward the store’s counter.

  Fitz pulled off his hat and followed.

  Carrying an oil lamp, a thin woman with brown hair containing gray streaks walked down the stairs. “Why are you letting in customers so late?” When she came into the lit circle cast by the lantern, she jerked and placed a hand on her chest. “Oh, my dear, are you all right?”

  Seeing the woman’s reaction and hearing the compassion in her tone almost did in Tavia. She fought against a lump in her throat. “A bit worse for wear, I’ll admit.”

  Another set of footsteps descended the stairs. “What’s happened? It’s not Trevor, is it?” A young woman with long wavy brown hair glanced between the older couple.

  “No, dear.” The older woman patted the new arrival’s hand. “He’s not due back for a few days.”

  “Excuse me, folks.” Fitz rested a hand on Tavia’s shoulder. “I’d really like for someone to get the items my wife needs so we can be on our way.”

  As tired as she was, Tavia thrilled at his confident tone and possessive gesture. She faced the older woman, figuring she’d been working with the inventory the longest. “News of the Bain and Company stagecoach accident will circulate tomorrow, but three people were killed.”

  The younger woman gasped and covered her mouth with both hands but didn’t speak.

  Tavia couldn’t ask about the woman’s stricken look. She had to focus on the baby supplies. “I’ve, um, we’ve had a young child placed in our care. I need canned milk. I think it’s called Eagle Brand. A feeding bottle if you have one. Otherwise, tall bottles and a length of rubber tubing. Bleaching powder.” She turned to Fitz. “Does your household have sponges?”

  Shaking his head, he shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you what the housekeeper uses. Buy whatever you need.”

  The younger woman stepped close and flashed a smile. “I’m Clari. May I have a peek?” She pointed toward the blanket still covering the baby’s head.

  Tavia nodded and lifted away the cloth. If Angela wouldn’t take the canned milk, other options would be needed. “And I’ll need a pound each of rice and oatmeal.”

 
; “Aunt Alda, add a pound of barley, too. That’s what my friend Vevina always uses with her wee ones when she weans them.” Clari ran a finger over Angela’s plump cheek. “I just love babies. If you need any help, Missus Saunders, you know where to come.”

  “Please call me Tavia. And thank you.” She turned back to the counter and glanced over the items.

  Fitz leaned close and tilted his head toward the growing stack of items. “Are you sure we need all that?”

  She bit back a laugh and reached a hand to cup his cheek. “Fitz, my husband, this is just the beginning.”

  Chapter Five

  With the horses moving at a quick trot, the wagon ride from town to the ranch normally took twenty minutes. Following his wife’s admonition that the horses not move faster than a walk—for fear of disturbing the sleeping baby—Fitz endured a twice-longer trip. Ten minutes away from town, Tavia leaned against his arm, which he’d taken as her need to feel comfort. Not wanting to press, he’d waited for her to initiate the conversation about the day’s event.

  Then he heard her slow, deep breathing. She’d used him to prop herself up because she fallen asleep, her head nodding close to the baby. Irritation flashed then quickly faded as he guessed the extent of her exhaustion. A full day’s stagecoach travel was not easy, even without an accident, deaths, and a bareback horse ride. All she experienced out on the prairie had drained her. The fact she still clung to the child, even while asleep, amazed him. Because he didn’t yet know the details, he thought of all sorts of possibilities—each one worse than the previous. Luckily, the horses knew their way home and moved along the well-trodden path through the pale moonlight.

  The unexpected appearance of an orphan changed his plans. Allowing Tavia a day to rest from her travel, he’d envisioned riding out to show her the extent of the ranch holdings and to allow her to view the herd. At their first meeting, he’d seen evidence of her intelligence and knew, after a short education at his hand, she’d provide valuable contributions to their discussions about the direction of the ranch. Then in the evenings, after a leisurely supper, they might read passages of their favorite literary works to one another—