A Heart's Gift

by Lena Nelson Dooley

  The air hung heavy and burned her lungs with every breath. She could hardly see the door through the denseness. This was not a dream.

  Fear surged through her heart. Something was terribly wrong.

  Reaching under her pillow, Lorinda grabbed the two small canvas bags of gold she’d hidden there. Mike had added the second one after their final time of lovemaking, and she always kept them near her. They were cold comfort and didn’t ease the loneliness, but they were the last things Mike ever gave her. She shrugged into the warm woolen robe she’d made Mike for Christmas last year and shoved the pokes into her pockets before tying the belt around her. Even though this robe was larger than her own, now it barely met over her expanding belly.

  Usually the cabin was much colder when she awakened. She felt toasty warm with her flannel night dress and Mike’s extra union suit underneath. She crept toward the door and slowly eased it open far enough to see into the main room of the cabin.

  Flames danced on the opposite side of the room from the cold black stove sitting on a slab of rock. The smoke didn’t come from the pot-belly. Flames? Her heart jumped into her throat and thrashed like a bird caught in a snare. She stared, fascinated at the macabre dance before her. The fire leapt, eating its way through the log wall and wooden floor. Wavering tongues of light took a bite from her curtains then raced up the fabric, consuming everything in their way.

  Panic rose like a specter in her mind. The fear stole her breath away. She had to get out of here. Lorinda took a deep breath and held it. She quickly turned around and thrust her feet into the men’s boots beside her bed. Her breath swooshed out. She leaned over for a moment, light-headed. She’d never make it across the burning room if she couldn’t hold her breath any longer than that.

  Her agitation reached the baby, and it squirmed and thumped inside her. She grabbed a handkerchief from the top drawer of the chest and held it tight over her nose before plunging into the mounting inferno. She pulled her garments close, trying to keep the flames from grabbing them as well.

  Lorinda lumbered across the dwindling floor to the front door. The door stuck. Panic screamed inside her. The metal handle was almost too hot to hold. Using the hem of the robe, she grasped it again. She put her whole weight into wrenching the heavy door open and stumbled away from the intense heat melting an ever-widening circle in the dwindling snow. Tongues of fire burst after her, and she was barely able to stay out of their reach.

  When the flames no longer scorched her, Lorinda stopped and took several deep breaths, trying to cleanse her lungs from the choking smoke, but the hacking coughs continued. She felt woozy, swaying a moment before straightening her spine. She walked around the log cabin, watching the fire that consumed everything she owned. Her hands clutched the hard pokes in her pockets. Everything, except the gold.

  She reached the side where the fire had started. Tracks in the snow worried her. Not from an animal. Someone had come up to the cabin. The pungent scent of kerosene mixed with the acrid smoke. This fire was no accident. Footprints came from the woods to the west of the cabin and returned the same way. She listened for a hint of unusual movement through the trees but heard nothing. The arsonist was probably long gone.

  Just the word arsonist shocked her. Brought such horrible images. Lorinda had too much to deal with right now. How would she ever survive?

  Who could hate her enough to kill her? Or maybe the person didn’t know she was in the cabin. Helplessness joined the loneliness she’d experienced all winter. Tears pooled in her eyes, and she blinked, trying to see through the blur.

  Weakness rushed over her, and Lorinda sidled over to the tree near Mike’s grave. She leaned back against it and tucked her chin close to her chest. Reaching behind, she clasped the bark-covered trunk, the rough places biting into the tender skin on her palms. She stayed on her feet...barely.

  Oh, Mike, why didn’t you come home to me? I didn’t know how hard it would be to go through a winter without another person to lean on.

  Finally, she realized the morning sun had been sending its warming rays over the peaks for some time. Just then, the baby gave a big kick. It felt to Lorinda as if he or she tried to turn a complete somersault. Not enough room in there for that. With one hand, she rubbed her bulging belly and cooed nonsense to soothe the infant. At the sound of her voice, the child in her womb settled down, relieving the physical pain it caused.

  If only there was something to soothe her worries as well. What was she going to do now? Of course, she still had plenty of food in the dugout. Mike had bought enough for two people, and some of the time she hadn’t been very hungry. Maybe she’d just have to move in with the provisions. But what would she wear? And what if the arsonist had stolen the provisions? No, the footprints didn’t lead to the doorway in front of the stash.

  Questions continued tumbling in her head as tears erupted down her cheeks.

  Snow still covered most things as Franklin raced across his ranch land. When he reached the foot of the mountain, he slowed his stallion.

  Now he could see the conflagration between some of the trees. The trail up to the cabin needed all his concentration. Franklin helped his horse pick its way through the difficult parts. On easier sections, he scanned the area above. No sign of the woman. His heart almost stopped beating at that thought. Surely she wasn’t still inside. If so...

  Franklin didn’t want to finish that thought. Finally, he was close enough to catch a glimpse of the tree beside Sullivan’s grave. Mrs. Sullivan sat huddled against the trunk. Her golden hair covered her shoulders and streamed down her back, the curls in wild disarray.

  The horse turned where the trail jagged, and the woman slid from view. Evidently, she awakened to the fire. The robe she wore looked to be her husband’s, since it almost swallowed her.

  By the time he and his mount circled the last boulder and moved into the clearing with the burning cabin, Mrs. Sullivan had gotten up. She stood staring toward him with a faraway look in her eyes. Franklin wasn’t sure she knew he was there.

  But he became very aware of her and the evidence of her condition. The woman was going to have a baby, and she’d spent the last several months alone on this mountain. Why hadn’t he followed his first instincts and forced her to come to the ranch house? He’d had a strong urging to. Probably, the Lord tried to tell him, and he hadn’t realized how important that nudge was. How could he ever make it up to her?

  Franklin dismounted and walked toward the woman, leading his horse behind him. He didn’t want to approach her atop the animal. With the heat emanating from the fire, he unbuttoned his coat and let it hang open.

  “Mrs....” He’d been clenching his teeth so hard, a lump had formed in his throat. He huffed to clear it. “Mrs. Sullivan, ma’am... I’ve come to help.”

  Evidently she didn’t hear him because she never looked at him. Just continued to stare across the valley far below.

  “Mrs. Sullivan.” This time he spoke louder and stepped closer. “Ma’am, I’m here to help you.”

  Finally, her tear-filled eyes turned toward him, and she clutched her arms over her swollen body as if to protect it. “Mr. Vine?” Her tone carried a note of surprise. She looked down and bent over.

  Franklin dropped the reins and lunged toward her, wanting to keep her from falling. He placed his arms loosely around her. “Do you need to sit down?” What a crazy question. He glanced around and saw nowhere for her to sit. “I can put you on my horse. The saddle would be better than sitting on the ground.”

  She gazed up at him for a moment before grabbing the front of his flannel shirt and burying her face in it. Wails split the air and arrowed straight through him. When he pulled her closer, she relaxed against him and sobbed as though her heart had shattered. He knew what that felt like even if he had kept the hurt inside instead of letting it out the way this woman did.

  While she cried, Franklin rubbed her back and murmured softly to her. He didn’t know where the words came from, or exactly what he sai
d. He felt a thump near his belt. For a moment, he thought she had hit him, but both fists still clutched his shirt. Realization rushed over him. The baby. Something he’d never feel from his own wife and child. That thought brought a hitch to his heart. This was probably the one time he’d ever feel movement from a child in the womb. The wonder of it almost stole his breath.

  Mrs. Sullivan shook with more than just the sobs. How long had the woman huddled in the snow? He pulled the edges of his jacket around her and continued holding her while she cried.

  “Boss?” The sound of his foreman’s voice wrenched Franklin’s attention from the woman drawing warmth from him. “The trail is still pretty treacherous for a wagon. I came to see if there’s any need to bring it up.”

  Franklin stared at Thomas, then glanced over toward the charred remains of the cabin. Pockets of flames still flared amongst the rubble. “Not much left.” He felt Mrs. Sullivan raise her head. “We need to make sure all the fire is out.”

  Thomas dismounted and reached for a large roll behind his saddle. “I brought some of the blankets with me. We can fill them with snow and use them to smother the rest of the fire.”

  Two more of Franklin’s ranch hands rounded the last boulder and rode across the clearing toward them.

  “Get Charlie and Joseph to help you, but I need one of the blankets for Mrs. Sullivan.”

  When the woman tried to step away, he gently tugged her back, and she stiffened in his arms. “Don’t want you to get sick from being too cold.” He whispered against her silky hair.

  “Okay.” A hiccup followed her agreement.

  Thomas untied the bundle and brought a well-worn horse blanket toward them. “This one’s softer, and it’s still warm.”

  Franklin stood beside Mrs. Sullivan, protecting her from the chilled wind while he wrapped her in the heavy piece of wool.

  “Thank you.” Her blue eyes held bewilderment and a hint of some deeply-buried hurt.

  He touched the brim of his Stetson. “My pleasure, ma’am.”

  He couldn’t help wondering what could have filled her with that pain. Surely more than this fire...or even losing her husband.

  Lorinda watched the four men work to put out the final glowing embers. Her thoughts tangled. Just having other people around eased the lonely part of her that had intensified throughout the winter. No matter that they weren’t talking to her. They communicated with each other in monosyllables, understanding what the other man meant without wasting any extra words. Even though one was the boss, the rest employees, they worked as a unit. She’d never been a part of a group so completely in tune with each other.

  What was going to happen to her now? As the question once more flitted through her mind, the baby became restless. This child was so sensitive to her moods.

  “Mrs. Sullivan?” Mr. Vine’s voice penetrated her thoughts, scattering them in all directions.

  Lorinda had to look up at him. The man was much taller than Mike had been. Taller than her father and uncle. She’d felt the strength in his wide shoulders. Enough to ease her grief, at least a little.

  “Yes, Mr. Vine?” She glanced down at her red, raw hands clutching the blanket close, wishing she could hide them.

  “Some decisions need to be made.” His commanding tone made her want to put up a shield.

  Instead, she nodded. “I know. I’ve been trying to think.” Why did all men treat women as if they couldn’t think?

  He widened his stance and crossed his arms. “I really wanted to take you off the mountain last fall. Now I wish I had.”

  She raised her head and stood as tall as she could with the baby weighing her down. “It was my choice, and I made it.” She wasn’t about to let him know how many times she had regretted it over the intervening months.

  “What are you planning to do now?”

  “I still have plenty of provisions in the dugout.” She tilted her chin higher. Mustn’t let him think he could decide for her.

  He brushed one gloved hand across his mouth before speaking. “I didn’t want to bring this up, but I’m sure the fire was intentionally set by someone.”

  “I know.” She hoped he couldn’t read the fear in her face. “I saw the footprints in the snow.”

  Just the thought of them once again brought agony to her heart. Her father had been a mean drunk, but he hadn’t wanted to kill her. Knowing someone tried made her sick at her stomach. The baby jumped, and she began to rub her belly with one hand while the other held the blanket closed.

  Concern puckered his brow. “Do you have any idea who it might have been?”

  Lorinda shook her head. She didn’t have any enemies, and she hadn’t thought Mike did either. But someone did kill him. She wished she knew who.

  “Ma’am, I can’t leave you here again.” Mr. Vine removed his hat and slapped it against his woolen trousers. “My conscience won’t let me.”

  “Once again, it’s not your decision.” She couldn’t let him start controlling her the way her husband and her father had. She’d have no more of that in her life...ever. “But I’d be much obliged if you’d let me come to the ranch, at least until the baby is born. I can’t let this property go. It’s my child’s inheritance. Surely, you can understand that.”

  He nodded, then put his hat back on, pulling it low on his forehead. “That I can.”

  “If we bring the provisions from the dugout...” Lorinda saw his eyes take on that stubborn set she’d seen on both her husband and father, “...then I’ll be paying my way. I won’t be beholden to anyone.”

  He stared from under the brim of his hat. She felt as if he could see straight through to her soul.

  After a long moment, he nodded. “All right. I’ll have the men load the supplies in the wagon. We wouldn’t want whoever burned the cabin to come back and steal them from you.”

  Lorinda hadn’t thought of that, but the rancher was right. She didn’t want the arsonist to take anything else of hers. “Mr. Vine, I’m worried about my land. What if squatters come and try to take it over?”

  He glanced around, watching his men complete their tasks. “I’ll have my men keep an eye on it like I did before the trail closed.”

  “Thank you.”

  He turned toward his foreman. “Thomas, when the three of you have made sure the fire is completely out, take Joseph and Charlie and follow those tracks. Maybe we can catch the varmint that started this fire.”

  While Mr. Vine gave further directions to his men, Lorinda took another long look at all she had lost. Her husband’s grave, the blackened rubble that once was her home. She’d also lost her sense of safety on her own property. She would never be able to protect her child if the evil man returned and she was living in the dugout.

  She reached into her pocket and gripped one of the bags of gold. At least she wasn’t destitute, as her family’d often been back in Missouri. Going to the ranch was the only thing for her to do right now.

  When Franklin returned from talking to his men, Lorinda stood staring across the valley, just as she did when he first arrived.

  He laid his hand on her shoulder, and she turned toward him. “I’m going to take you down the mountain now. We’ll ride my horse.”

  She glanced down at the blanket covering her body. “How is that going to work?”

  “I’ll lift you up onto the saddle sideways. Then I’ll get on.” His tone was gentle, assuring her there would be no danger.

  After a moment, she gave a slow nod. He quickly lifted her into position before mounting behind her. He pulled her across his lap with her legs on the left side of the horse and settled into the saddle. He shifted a couple of times as if trying to get comfortable. While the horse took the first few tentative steps, she remained stiff.

  “The ride will be much easier on you, if you’ll relax. We have a wagon waiting at the bottom of this trail, so the ride won’t be too long.”

  Finally, she leaned against him. He encircled her with his arms and signaled his stallion to start d
own the trail. For some reason, his arms felt comforting on the treacherous journey. But she couldn’t let herself enjoy the feeling. She was never going to give any man a measure of control over her, no matter how safe he made her feel.

  Chapter 4

  Mr. Vine was right. After Lorinda relaxed against his solid chest, the journey down the mountain trail wasn’t as scary as she thought it would be riding sideways on the tall stallion. Even though the trail was steep and winding, the fortress formed by his strong arms rocked her as gently as a baby cradle. Almost falling asleep, she felt the muscles in the rancher’s thighs tighten, then loosen as he communicated with his sure-footed horse. When they reached the bottom of the mountain, the trail leveled. Two more of Mr. Vine’s ranch hands waited beside a wagon filled with wooden crates.

  “How are things going up there, Boss?” A thin young man, with dark red hair peeking out from under his hat, cut his eyes toward the mountain behind them as he shoved his hands in the front pockets of his woolen trousers. “Is the fire out yet?”

  She didn’t detect even a hint of surprise from the cowboy when he saw her perched on the rancher’s lap. But that couldn’t keep embarrassment from flooding her cheeks with heat that chased away some of the cold. She didn’t have anything to be ashamed of, but somehow she couldn’t stop the feeling. She had never been this close to any man who wasn’t her husband. Mr. Vine must be used to doing things like this, or maybe he was able to ignore the fact that she was a woman carrying a child… And she was sitting in front of him. How long would she have to stay up here? She tried not to squirm too much.

  “Rusty, you and Jake move things around in the back of the wagon so we can make a comfortable bed for Mrs. Sullivan.” She felt as well as heard his masculine voice rumble in his chest.