When he spotted her lower lip quiver, he knew he was sunk. “We read books.” He pointed toward a picture. “See, this lady is a queen, and she has a jeweled crown.”
The lip still quivered, and her little eyelids blinked fast.
He plastered on a smile and forced his voice into a higher pitch. “Look, this young fellow has put his thumb into a pie. How silly is that?” Tapping a finger on the picture, he drew her attention to the book. As long as he kept talking, he directed her interest on looking and not touching other than an occasional pat or two. Ready to get to his own reading, he moved to the sofa and stood her upright with her little hands on a cushion. Then he positioned himself between her and the fireplace. With a glance every few seconds, he kept on eye on her actions as she sidestepped down the length of the sofa. He tried to digest the report in short bursts, keeping track of his place on each page with a finger.
Minutes later, Angela struggled to lever herself onto the couch, crawled over to him, climbed upon his stomach, and nestled her head on his chest.
The gesture was a small one, he knew that, but the little body warming him felt so trusting that he paused and swallowed hard. Holding the report above her head, he read in a modulated tone, “The latest cases of cattle rustling happened near Fort Worth and Dallas, with incidents reported as far south as Waco and east to Tyler.”
Missus Hutchins stepped into the den, crossing the floor into his line of sight. “Supper’s on the table, sir. Let me take the little one so you can enjoy your meal.”
For a second, he hesitated, unsure if he wanted to comply. He set the report onto the floor beside him and hooked his hands under the sleepy baby’s arms. In the past, Tavia tended to the baby’s needs first before her own. Perhaps, he should follow her method.
Leaning forward, Missus Hutchins lifted her and cooed. “I think this one’s ready for a fresh diaper and a bottle of warm milk.”
Fitz pushed to a stand, suddenly very aware of how empty his arms felt. “If she can wait until I’ve eaten, then I’d like to be the one who gives her the bottle.” Never before had he eaten a meal that he barely tasted. He remembered ham slabs and reddish gravy over grits, but he couldn’t remember what vegetable he’d been served. When he finished, he hurried back to the den and accepted a sweet-smelling baby into his arms. His favorite chair fit them both like a loving embrace.
Angela slurped at the cloth nipple and stared upward.
Fitz kept a hand on the slim bottle, and his gaze kept being drawn back to the baby’s dark one. Sure, the child appreciated that a person fed her, but the long intense stare went deeper than a thankful one. The brown-eyed stare probed for something—an assurance of protection or determining his role in her life? He swallowed hard. Did she realize her parents would never return? Did babies have memories?
When the bottle was empty, Fitz walked the span of his den, humming a random tune until Angela sighed and her head slumped farther to the side. Rubbing small circles on her back, he kept walking for several more minutes. Only when he hummed the last few notes did he recognize the tune as “Silent Night”. Where had that song come from? He hadn’t thought of anything related to the winter holiday since leaving Rhode Island behind.
What had Tavia said several days ago—that she wanted to decorate and plan gifts for the ranch hands? He thought of the pleasure he’d received from surprising her with the cradle. She’d been pleased he’d thought of keeping Angela safe and that the cradle would lessen her worries. Maybe, he’d been wrong about his stance on celebrating the holidays.
~**~
Tavia rolled over and stretched then spread a hand across her pillow to find a cool spot. Angela! With a gasp, she sat upright and glanced to where the cradle usually sat. Then her head swam and her vision blurred. A tight handful of the sheets steadied her. Flopping back on the straw-filled mattress, she remembered suffering horrible chills and burning fever. Had she sought the bare floor to cool her body? The swish of running water ran through her memory and cool compresses on her forehead and neck. Murmurs in deep tones, strong arms, the brush of lips against her wrists—Fitz’s good care to break the fever. But following the cooling bath, she remembered nothing, except heavy, almost drugged, sleep. He and Missus Hutchins must be caring for the baby. She lifted the heavy braid from her neck and turned onto her side.
Soft humming came from the closet door standing ajar. Several seconds passed as she enjoyed the deep sound, figuring he was lulling Angela to sleep. So good for him to be tending the baby. So good…
~**~
Three days later, Fitz escorted Tavia into the church service and found a space in a pew at the back by the left wall─out of the direct line of the drafty doorway and close to the pot-bellied stove. He couldn’t risk her catching a chill on this December day. He was just happy to have her on her feet, and see how the ride to town through the cool air put a blush in her too-pale cheeks.
Everything Pastor Oswallt intoned about the spirit of giving and appreciating the simple acts in life held special meaning. Fitz enjoyed having Tavia at his side and could barely take his gaze from Angela’s expressions. He was amazed at how many different emotions bunched her faint brows, scrunched her button nose, and pursed her rosy lips. Her face went through similar motions while she slept, too. How much her sweet face had changed since he first saw her less than two weeks ago proved a constant surprise.
Scuffing of shoes and rustling of clothes clued him to stand for the last hymn. He glanced at Tavia who focused on the text as she sang in a quiet, hesitant voice. Then he made sure coats were buttoned to the top for both of his girls before the three ambled down the aisle toward the waiting preacher.
Tavia thanked Pastor Oswallt for his thought-provoking homily and wished his wife well.
Typical. Not a word spoken about herself or being under the weather. He steered her across the breezy courtyard and into the fellowship hall. “You should count on only a brief visit. I don’t want you to take on too much. You need your rest, sweetheart.”
She tilted her head and met his gaze, an eyebrow arched. “Fifteen minutes. Is that all right, dear?”
He winced at the endearment’s censoring tone. Maybe he had sounded a bit firm, but he could become quite a dictator to avoid another two days and nights like those from this past week. From the corner of his eye, he caught movement and looked up.
Sheriff Hawksen approached after they joined a group with a couple of ranchers and their wives. “Fitz, may I speak to you before you leave town?”
Fitz noted the stern lines about his friend’s mouth. What could he need on a Sunday? “Tavia, I need to speak to Kell.”
“Excuse me just a moment.” She turned, bracing a hand on Angela’s back, and flashed a smile. “Good morning, Mister Hawksen. How is your family?”
“Ma’am.” The sheriff removed his hat and dipped his chin. “Everyone is fine, thank you for asking.” After giving a grim smile, he stepped to the side and replaced his hat.
Fitz squeezed her shoulder and winked, hoping to alleviate any worries. He moved closer to the sheriff, unable to stop the uneasiness that sprang to life at the man’s serious expression. “What is so important that couldn’t wait until a visit to your office tomorrow?”
Kell cleared his throat, glanced at the ground, and then squared his shoulders. “I need to inform you that I’ve received a response from my inquiries about the child’s—ˮ
“Angela.” His blood chilled, and he fought against the snap in his tone. “The baby’s name is Angela.”
“I apologize, Fitz. Angela Weller. Her grandfather sent word through the stage driver that Angela’s uncle will be in Dorado early on Tuesday. Would you like to have him come out to the ranch or meet with him in my office?”
Meet? He glanced over his shoulder, a knot clenching his chest. Tavia hoped to spend the holiday with the baby. Although, he had no idea what she meant by that, because they hadn’t discussed the subject since his declaration Christmas wasn’t celebrated i
n his house. Having a relative of Angela’s show up would prevent that.
Why had everything seemed so simple the night he sat at his desk to write to the bridal agency? He’d fought hard to make the business succeed so he’d moved on to the next stipulation. Like he would move on to a list of qualities he wished in his next stud bull. His intention was to find a companion, someone who met the requirements laid down by his father. No matter that he hadn’t started this marriage thinking his emotions would be involved, he couldn’t deny how they were now. “He’ll want to see the baby?”
“Of course.” Kell’s brows crimped. “The introduction could decide her future.”
“Then the meeting has to take place at the ranch. That location will be the least disruptive to her schedule.” The words slipped out as if he’d said them a hundred times, and he jerked his head at how much like a father he sounded. Although, what did a small disruption matter when the child could be removed from their household forever? His mouth dried. How could he explain this development to Tavia?
“Morning stage is scheduled to arrive in town between nine and nine-thirty, so we should be at the ranch by ten o’clock.”
“I understand.” The man was actually doing exactly what Fitz had asked him to. Even if he was no longer sure handing over Angela to blood relatives was in her best interests. He extended his hand.
“Thank you, Fitz.” Kell clasped his hand and pressed his second hand on top. “I’m sure this situation can’t be the easiest to handle.”
“That is the truth.” The deep tone of his friend’s voice conveyed he understood the depth of what was at stake. He accepted the handshake in the same spirit it was offered. Turning, Fitz watched as Tavia spoke with Vevina and Missus Othmann. Her eyes flashed as she tickled Angela under her chin to produce a ready smile.
Squealing, Angela bounced in Tavia’s arms and waved a hand.
All the women nodded and laughed.
He dragged a hand over his face, fighting the bile that rose in his throat. “I don’t know where I’ll find the words.” The irony of the situation washed over him. That first night, he’d been the one who questioned bringing the child home. He hadn’t wanted to upset his carefully thought-out plans—the ones made in the quiet sanctuary of his tidy den. When a baby blanket hadn’t lain across the sofa back or when a bureau drawer didn’t occupy half of the same sofa. Or when diapers didn’t hang from the clothesline on an almost-daily basis or before he knew the best way to work up a burp from a sleepy little girl.
The ride back to the ranch proved quiet. Almost before the wagon passed the last town building, Tavia’s weight leaned against his right arm. He glanced over to see both her and the baby with eyes closed, heads nodding to the jiggle and jolt of the wagon. Tavia held tight to Angela’s tummy. He held the horses to a walk to keep the chain rattling as quiet as possible. Gazing into the distance, he watched the puffy clouds scoot and stretch across the blue sky.
Normally, as a rancher, he had mixed feelings about winter snow storms. But, he wished for one to arrive between now and Tuesday. Just once he wanted to watch Angela’s expression when the fluffy snowflakes landed on her skin. Or see her dig her fingers into a pile of snow. As the horses clip-clopped along the road, Fitz took a deep breath, realizing moments like this one were about as perfect as any he’d every spent in his life. He dreaded the coming conversation he had to initiate about the impending meeting.
~**~
Tavia set the cloth-covered bowl with the dinner rolls on the table and stood back to take stock. Ham slices, buttered peas, roasted potatoes, and baked apples—a wonderful dinner. And she’d only needed Missus Hutchins’ help with the dough for the rolls and to provide the apple recipe. Cooking wasn’t hard, as long as she watched the clock so each item was finished at the same time. She walked to the den and paused when she spotted Fitz, hunched over and holding Angela’s hands, as he helped her walk several steps across the floor.
“That’s it, little sweetie. You can do this.”
At his words, the baby tilted back her head to look up at him and grinned. “Ga.”
Clasping her hands under her chin, Tavia held her breath at the precious image the two made.
“Right, ga. Now watch where you’re going. Let’s head toward the trunk.” He steered her to the left.
She stumbled on the edge of the rag rug, and her knees buckled.
Chuckling, he steadied her. “Gotcha, sweet pea.”
“Fitz, I hate to interrupt, but dinner is on the table.”
Scooping his hands onto her ribs, he swung Angela up into his arms and braced her bottom with his forearm like she sat on a chair. “Practicing walking is fun, but eating is more important.”
Angela stretched out her arms. “Ba-ba.”
Her throat tightened at the child’s obvious wish to be in her arms. She strolled close to the two. “Shall I take her?”
Fitz grinned and hefted her an inch or so. “Nope. We’re good. But I think she is a bit hungry.”
“Might be what ba-ba meant.” Tavia turned and headed toward the door. “I thought maybe we’d try a couple of peas and a bite or two of potato to see if she likes grown-up food.”
“Did you hear that, Angela? Grown-up food. That’s something special.” His boots clomped on the hallway. “The table looks nice, Tavia.”
“I appreciate hearing that. If you’ll hold her just until I serve myself then I’ll take her.” Seeing his nod, she placed small portions on her plate and used six slices with her knife to reduce the ham slab to bite-sized pieces.
Tavia got Angela to swallow a half dozen peas, but the baby just let the potato pieces fall out of her mouth. Probably a texture thing. When she couldn’t lift another forkful to her own mouth, she leaned back and let Angela stand in her lap. “My appetite is not quite back to normal.”
“What’s important is you’re feeling and looking so much better.” Fitz slid a forkful of potato into his mouth.
She let out a sigh. “You’re right about today’s trip to church sapping my energy. I’ll need an afternoon nap later.”
Fitz opened his mouth then snapped his gaze back to his plate. He cut off a big hunk of apple and popped the bite into his mouth.
Holding back an opinion is not usual for my husband. “What? Were you about to say something?”
He shook his head and focused on the baked apple. “We can talk when you’ve risen from your nap.”
“No, Fitz, you looked serious. Maybe you should tell me now.”
“Later. Is coffee made?”
An uneasiness crept down her spine, but she didn’t press the issue. Already, she’d learned when Fitz wasn’t ready to discuss a subject, he didn’t. “Hold her, please, and I’ll return with our coffee.” She stood and waited until he’d scooted back his chair and held up his hands. With the baby safely transferred, Tavia stacked the dirty plates then walked toward the kitchen. What could the sheriff have wanted with Fitz?
Two hours later, Tavia slumped back into the corner of the sofa and crossed her arms over her stomach. “Her relatives…coming here…in two days?” The words whooshed out on puffs of air, because she couldn’t keep a disbelieving tone from her voice. “But I hoped…” Then she pinched her lips tight. Had she forgotten all the lessons life taught her? As a child, her hopes always exceeded the realities, and she’d forever been crushed at the inevitable disappointing outcomes.
Somehow, she imagined having more control over this situation. She counted on the few remaining days until the holiday to convince Fitz to allow just a few ornamental touches in the front room they almost never used. He wouldn’t change her mind about a modest gift exchange. In her mind, an employer should give small gifts to those who worked for him. Tucked into her trunk in the corner of her bedroom were the hats she’d knitted for all the cowhands and a lacy crochet shawl for Mrs. Hutchins. For Fitz, she’d knitted a scarf wide enough to cover his neck from hat brim to collar. Luckily, she’d finished the items before the fever knocked
her flat.
“I know what you hoped. But don’t you think Angela deserves to be with family?” He reached across the sofa cushion for her hand and rubbed a thumb over the ridges of her knuckles.
But she is! Her throat tightened. From that first night, Tavia embraced the idea that she as an orphan was doing what was best for another orphan. “Look how happy Angela is. She rarely cries now.”
“That’s because someone tends to her before she needs to be unhappy.”
She stiffened at the slight rebuke in his tone. “As well the situation should be. Babies need to feel secure.”
“My point exactly.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “In only a few days, she has adapted to new surroundings and several new faces.”
What is the meaning behind his words that he’s not saying? “She senses we care for her so she trusts us.”
“Because she has clothes and shoes, warm milk and cereal, and is kept relatively dry.” He lifted their clasped hands to his mouth and brushed a kiss on the backs of her fingers.
His whiskers tickled, but she couldn’t get distracted. “No, we give her more than those things. Fitz, you know we do.”
His brows lowered, and he shook his head. “But we are not her true family.”
A pain stabbed her chest, making her gasp for breath. He doesn’t know how much I love this child. “What do you even know about the meaning of family? You tossed away yours and never looked back.” She jumped to her feet and rounded on him, fighting the tears flooding her eyes. “When I would have done or promised just about anything to have known my mother and had my father with me for even a few more days.” Unable to listen to any more of his despicable plans, she dashed out of the room.
While getting ready for bed, she dragged her trunk to block the closet door, hoping he’d get the message she wanted to be left alone. On Monday, they were civil but by breakfast on Tuesday morning, Tavia’s nerves were so taut her skin itched like she sat too close to a fire. She jumped at every noise and tried hard to keep a smile on her face whenever she shared time with Angela.
Mail-Order Haven Page 13
