Right before the door closed, he leaned his head into the opening. “Rest well, Tavia.”
Contented to know he would be only one room away, she wrapped her arms around her middle. “Good night, Fitz.” That knowledge would have to be enough…for tonight.
~**~
Sunlight streaming through the window stabbed his eyes. Fitz rolled onto his back with a throaty groan and rubbed a hand over his face. Tiredness still dragged at his body. Blinking until his vision cleared, he sat upright and squinted at the brightness. How long since he’d slept past dawn? Through the gaps between the buttons of the nightshirt, he scratched his chest. He moved to the edge of the bed, running down the tasks for the day ahead. Talk to the hands, check in with the sheriff, retrieve Tavia’s luggage. The room’s chilly air settled over his shoulders. He stood, the floor boards cold against his bare feet, and light-footed his way to the closet to pull on a pair of clean socks.
After jamming his arms through the sleeves of a work shirt and slipping his legs into trousers, he eased open the opposite door and peeked into Tavia’s room. She must have been up during the night. An empty baby bottle stood on the nightstand, and the drawer had been placed on the floor. He tiptoed across the floor, wincing when one of the planks creaked. The sight before him stopped him.
His beautiful wife lay curled on her side with the baby snuggled against the nightclothes at her chest. A single thick plait of hair hung across her back, and the brown with golden streaks contrasted against the white sheets. Dark lashes curved over the apples of her cheeks, and her lips rested apart by a small fraction. Soft sounds of her breathing, echoed by the baby’s, filled the air.
The baby clung to Tavia’s right thumb, as if she’d needed a connection to another person.
Watching them at their most vulnerable created an intimacy he’d never imagined. A pinch in his chest hinted at changes he hesitated about acknowledging. Fitz leaned close to ease the blue quilt a little higher on Tavia’s shoulder. He picked up the empty bottle then headed back to his room, skirting the offending loose board. He’d tell Ned to tighten it today.
Nothing that had happened in the past twelve hours fit his planned schedule. This morning, he’d wanted to take Tavia for a riding tour of the ranch. Unsure about her skill on horseback, he figured the sweet mare, Daisy, would suit her well.
After buckling his belt, he grabbed a bandanna from his highboy dresser and shoved it in a back denims pocket. As soon as he opened the bedroom door to the hallway, he smelled fresh coffee and rich bacon. At least, Missus Hutchins maintained her routine. Ready to slip his foot into a boot set just outside his door, he hesitated before grabbing them, tucking the bottle inside one, and carrying the pair downstairs.
At the base of the stairs, he stepped into his boots, and then continued to the back of the house, making a quick stop in the lavatory. Two place settings rested at opposite ends of the dining room table. He slowed his steps and squinted. Although probably proper, and definitely how his parents used to sit for meals, he shook his head at the six-foot distance. A few quick adjustments placed Tavia’s plate and silverware to the left of his usual chair.
He turned the knob and eased open the kitchen door a foot or so then peeked inside. Not a single item he and Tavia had purchased from the mercantile remained on the counter. He winced.
Missus Hutchins slid a tray of biscuits into the warming oven and then turned toward the sink. She spotted him and stopped, her hands rising to cross over her chest. “Morning, Mister Saunders. Quite a bit of tidying to do after I arrived this morning.”
Why, as the owner of a ranch operation, he should feel like a scolded child was beyond him. But he stepped into the room and held up the empty baby bottle. “As I’m sure you noticed by the supplies, a baby arrived along with my wife last night.”
“I was hoping.” She smiled, and the lines at the edges of her eyes crinkled. “How did this happy event come to pass? Where is the wee one?”
Fitz held up a hand. “May I have a cup of coffee first? Then I’ll tell you all about her.”
Dark eyes shining, the cook clasped her hands together under her chin. “Ah, a baby girl.”
“Coffee?”
“Oh.” She started then hurried to the shelves to retrieve a thick ceramic mug. When she again stood before him, she offered a steaming cup with one hand and claimed the baby bottle with the other. “I saw the cereals and the canned milk and wondered at the items we’ve not stocked before.”
Fitz took several bracing swallows as she chattered. “The stagecoach had an equipment failure of some type, overturned, and three passengers were killed.”
Missus Hutchins gasped and covered her mouth with a shaky hand. “Oh, those poor souls. Is your missus all right?”
“A few bruises, nothing major. Tavia, uh Missus Saunders, protected a young baby during the tumult. For now, the orphaned child is staying with us.”
“An orphan.” The cook sighed and blinked back brimming tears.
Why do women get all weepy over babies? “The stay is only temporary. The clerk at the depot has the name and address of the child’s relative, and contact with the gentleman will be made.” Fitz followed the scent of bacon to the stove and pulled a piece from the plate in the oven. “I have to collect Missus Saunders’ luggage she was forced to leave on the prairie, and then visit with the sheriff.” He gave the dining room a fleeting thought and knew his first breakfast with his wife would not happen today. “Please keep a plate warm. Missus Saunders may sleep late. Could you put bacon and eggs inside two or three biscuits and wrap them? I need to get on the trail.”
“Of course. Soon as you have Bridger saddled, you can pick up the stuffed biscuits.”
Sandwiches for dinner, breakfast grabbed on horseback. His lifestyle certainly had changed. Fitz moved toward the mud room to grab his jacket. As he passed the last door, he paused and leaned back into the kitchen. “Have you been in the laundry room?”
Missus Hutchins looked up, her brow wrinkled. “Today’s not laundry day.”
Thinking of the tub he and Tavia filled the previous night, he winced. “May have to add a second laundry day to your work week. Dirty diapers are soaking in the tub.” Taking the coward’s way out, he didn’t wait for the housekeeper’s reaction but donned his jacket and stepped through the back door. Cold air nipped at his cheeks, and he settled his hat onto his head.
Scanning the corral, the barn, and the nearest pasture, he checked on the cowhands and their tasks. He crossed the yard with long strides, mostly to make the chickens skitter out of his way, and pulled on his leather gloves. Just outside the barn, he glanced at the clear sky. The Old Farmer’s Almanac prediction of a dry second week of the month was holding true. Fitz opened the side door and stepped into the barn. Scents of warm horseflesh, fresh straw, and stale manure assaulted his nose.
Scout bounded forward from his spot in the tack room and ran forward.
“Hey, boy. You doing all right?” Often, the dog slept in the house but with last night’s developments, Fitz left him in the barn. He hunched over and slid his feet a few inches to one side before shuffling in the opposite direction, tapping the dog first on one shoulder and then the other.
Play-biting at Fitz’s hands, Scout wove and dodged as his fluffy tail wagged.
“Well, there’s the boss man.” Ned sauntered from the back stall and leaned on a pitchfork set against the dirt floor. “How’s the missus? I got Daisy all brushed and curried like you asked.”
“Ned, about that…we won’t be riding this morning.” Fitz signaled for Scout to sit so he could get to his chores.
“No?”
“Stage accident caused all sorts of complications last night.” He’d let Missus Hutchins repeat the whole story. “I’ll bet your wife will need help with emptying the washtub in a few minutes.”
Ned lifted his hat, wiped a bright red bandanna over his forehead, and resettled his hat. “But Tuesday’s not laundry day.”
Fitz
huffed out a breath. “Your wife will fill you in on why. Tell me what chores you assigned to which hand.” He listened to the rundown, nodding as Ned listed the same tasks to be completed that he would have done. “Sounds good. I have to head into town.”
“Shall I saddle Bridger?”
He had no idea how big her portmanteau was. Fitz then remembered the wistful note in Tavia’s voice when she’d mentioned a rocking chair. “No, better hitch up the wagon. What I’m collecting can’t be carried on horseback.”
Two hours later, Fitz located the wrecked stagecoach and collected every scrap of cloth or leather he could find in the vicinity of the wide mound of fresh-turned dirt. No denying how the sight of the three thorny mesquite branches tied into crosses with strips of leather choked him up. The loneliness of the spot, with only scrub bushes, prickly cactus, and a chilly breeze, somehow commanded him to stand for several moments with bared head bowed. Normally, he wasn’t much of a praying man, but he gave his thanks to the universe for the safe delivery of Tavia and the baby.
On his way back to Dorado, he spotted the approach of a lone horseman. The rider drew closer, his size and the coloring of his Appaloosa more evident with each stride. Fitz eased back on the reins. “Whoa, Willow. Whoa, Rusty.” He set the brake and waited on the sheriff’s approach.
Kell Hawksen rode like he’d been born to the saddle. Slowing Pepper to a walk, he lifted a hand. “Morning, Saunders. Heard about the stagecoach.”
“Figured you had.” Fitz jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the wagon bed. “I picked up what I could find and was headed to your office. My wife’s case got busted up a bit, and I collected a few stray pieces of clothing that hadn’t blown away.”
“I heard you got married.” Hawksen cut his gaze around the prairie before continuing. “I look forward to meeting your wife. I’m sure Vevina will invite her out to the ranch for a visit.” At the mention of his wife, a smile creased his cheeks.
Fitz ran a hand over his chin and felt the prickle of beard stubble. Waking late and being unshaven were disruptions of his usual habits. “Gotta say, marriage is not what I expected.”
After narrowing his gaze, Kell let out a sharp laugh. “Didn’t your bride arrive just last night?”
“Maybe you haven’t heard yet, but a baby girl was orphaned in yesterday’s incident. My Tavia has taken over her care. Bottles, diapers, and special food were not in my immediate plans.” He squinted and gazed at the man he knew to be an ex-Texas Ranger. “You’ve been married for a while. How did you adjust?”
“Two years ago, when I rode into Dorado, I was just looking for a place to winter over. Lack of money had disbanded the Rangers…again. I hoped to find a ranch where I’d be useful but also have four walls and a warm fire to protect me from the elements.” The sheriff leaned a forearm on the pommel. “Vevina hired me the week before Samhain—you might know the holiday as Halloween—and I was married with an instant family and part owner of the Shady Oaks Ranch before the snows melted in the spring.” He chuckled. “I hardly remember the wandering man I was before meeting my sweet lady.”
“I‘d forgotten you’re raising another man’s son.”
“I’m not.” Hawksen straightened and shook his head. “All three of those kids are mine. I provide what they need and would step in front of a bullet for any of them.” He lifted a gloved hand to his chest and rested it there. “My heart doesn’t know the difference between Timmy or Davin or Maeve.”
Sincerity rang in the big man’s words. Fitz nodded. “Good to know. Maybe I should forget my expectations and see what each day brings.” He rested his left hand on the brake handle. “I intended to stop at your office to check on the arrangements for tracking down the baby’s relative.”
Kell frowned. “First I’m hearing about this situation.”
“The station master has the man’s name and an address in Fredericksburg. I don’t know who’s responsible to do the death notification.”
“Looks like I’ve got some investigating to follow up on. I’ll track a ways south and see if I find any other possessions before I consult with the station master.”
Fitz released the brake and jerked his head. “The graves are about a mile back. You can’t miss them.”
“Obliged, Saunders. Good luck to you and your bride.” With a cluck of his tongue, the sheriff started off his horse in the opposite direction.
“Get up.” Fitz slapped the reins on the horses’ rumps, and the wagon rolled forward. Hawksen’s words rolled around his thoughts until the roofs of the buildings rose out of the prairie as the town came into sight. Walking into the mercantile to locate a rocking chair, he thought as long as he was here he ought to pick up more canned milk. Items he wasn’t yet reconciled to including on the Star S Ranch’s shopping list.
Chapter Seven
Soft squeaky sounds filtered into Tavia’s dreams. Like the ones she’d heard while sitting in Clarice’s cozy parlor, knitting as she rocked in the aged wooden chair. Logs crackled in the fireplace, and the scent of pine filled the air. Only a few more inches and the scarf would be finished. Just the right size for one of the fort’s younger orphans.
Orphan. Her eyes shot open, and anguished memories of the stagecoach accident dissolved her dream. Glancing downward, she looked right into the dark brown eyes of sweet little Angela.
Blinking her long eyelashes, Angela stuffed her pointer finger into her mouth and sucked.
“Morning, little one.” Tavia couldn’t resist running a finger over the baby’s soft chubby cheek. “Are your noises what woke me?” Rolling to her back sent twinges along her right side, where she’d hit hardest when the coach overturned. “Ow.” A gentle rub of the aching muscle didn’t help much. “I could use a long soak in that big tub downstairs.”
Tavia glanced toward the connecting door, and then at the blazing sunlight shining through the window. Could be mid-morning. Fitz must already be up and gone. Tonight, she’d ask him about getting a clock for this room. Her wifely duties didn’t include sleeping late in the morning. Tavia scooted to the edge of the mattress and sat, dangling her feet as she came fully awake. The empty bottle no longer sat on her nightstand, which meant Fitz must have come into the room to collect it. And seen her while she slept, an intimacy that needed more contemplation. A shiver of anticipation slipped over her skin.
Quickly, she stood then reached to set Angela on the floor. She’d let the baby crawl around while she finished the task of putting away their belongings.
Angela babbled as she batted at the edge of the quilt drooping over the mattress then giggled when it swung toward her.
For just a moment, Tavia watched, glad the child could find enjoyment in such a simple activity. Then she dumped the contents of the satchel onto the bed, folded small dresses and nightgowns, and filled the top drawer with Angela’s clothes, holding back a diaper and soaker, a tiny undershirt, a dress, and socks for today. Next, she laid her own clean blouse, skirt, and chemise along with Angela’s items into the satchel, topping it with the knitted baby blanket. Her skin itched, and she couldn’t imagine putting on clean clothes until she’d had some type of bath.
Glancing between the satchel and the basin holding last night’s wet diaper, she wondered which she should take on the first time downstairs. Didn’t really matter because she’d have to make another trip for the item she couldn’t carry. “I will get good use of my legs living in such a big house.” She scooped up the baby, grabbed the satchel, and then headed toward the staircase in her stocking feet to figure out where her husband might be. “Let’s go see who we can find.”
A single place setting occupied the end of the dining table. Tavia glanced into the den, but the room was empty. She followed the sounds coming from the back of the house and peeked into the kitchen, setting the satchel at the edge of the doorway. At the stove stood a round woman of average height with brown hair arranged in a braided bun. For just a moment, she hesitated about greeting the woman while still wearing he
r night clothes. “Eh, morning. I think the salutation is still correct for this time of day.”
The woman turned with a wooden spoon in hand. “Ah, Missus Saunders.” An apron edged with cross-stitch embroidery at the bib and hem covered a blue shirtwaist and black skirt. “I’m Missus Hutchins. The mister told me of your misfortune, and I extend my sympathies for your rough experience.” Her gaze flicked to Angela, and her lips tipped upward. “Ah, look at the little one.”
“Thank you, Missus Hutchins.” Tavia nodded and jiggled the baby to get her to smile. “Her name is Angela, and from what her mother said, she’s about ten or eleven months old.”
Missus Hutchins walked close, her hands crossed at her waist. “Those eyes are so bright. And such thick hair.”
“Lovely, isn’t she?” She cast a glance around the kitchen’s cleared counters. “Did Fitz apologize about the mess we left?”
The housekeeper waved a dismissive hand. “Not to worry. I admit to being a bit peeved when I first walked into my kitchen this morning. But after hearing of the tragedy, I know you had more important tasks to complete.”
That was the truth. Baby-tending involved more time than she could ever have imagined. Tavia hoped the housekeeper had more experience in this area than she did. “Speaking of which, I’m hoping to feed Angela and grab something for myself. Then I would love to have a soak in the bathtub.” A muscle twinge pulled across her lower back, and she settled Angela higher on her hip.
“Of course you would. A full day’s stagecoach travel is wearing enough, not to mention having to ride on horseback to reach Dorado.” She gestured toward the pot on the stove. “I’ve got a hearty bean soup started for the dinner meal. But I can prepare what you want for breakfast.”
Angela patted at Tavia’s chest, mumbling, “Num, mmm.”
“I should get her bottle prepared first.” Another ache made itself known, and Tavia debated about abandoning the baby or taking her along. “I’m sorry, but I need to use the lavatory. Could you—”
Mail-Order Haven Page 8
