"Sorry," Barclay said and hurried into the kitchen.
Doc sat at the table drinking coffee and eating Oysters’ oatmeal cookies.
"Hey, boss," the cook said. "You want coffee?"
"Yeah, I do." He sat down, putting his hands into his lap to hide the way they shook. "Hello, Doc."
Doc smiled. "I can tell by your expression that you met Cynara. Lovely woman. I was worried what taking care of your young’uns might do to her under the circumstances. After watching her with them, I think I made a good decision. They're going to heal her, and she'll save their lives."
"I didn't exactly meet her." Barclay brushed a hair off his face. He'd forgotten to shave that morning and his jaw bristled with a fresh growth of beard. "We just sort of saw each other from across the room. I didn't want to disturb her, so I came in here."
Doc laughed. "You're a bit shaken, aren't you? Get used to it. Cynara will be staying until you decide what to do with the little darlings in your charge. Have you made any decisions in that direction?"
"Hell, no, Doc. I've barely had time to breathe. We spent all morning searching for Minnie."
Oysters set a cup of coffee in front of Barclay and pushed the plate of cookies toward him. Without thinking, Barclay sipped the brew and took a bite. The burst of sweetness from the cookie seemed to wake him, or maybe knock him alert. "I have no idea what to do with the youngsters. You know anyone who might want to adopt them?"
"Not offhand, but I'll let you know if I hear of anyone."
Barclay took another bite and washed it down with Oysters’ strong Arbuckle's coffee. "We can't keep them, I realize that."
"But you'll miss them," Doc said with a grin. "Won't you?"
Barclay rubbed his neck. "Hard to believe, but I reckon I will. Can't speak for Chase or Jared. Chase was pretty taken with the girl, I think. I've no idea what Jared feels. You know how he keeps his thoughts to himself."
"I do at that." Pushing his plate aside, Doc stood. "You ready to officially meet Cynara?"
Barclay wasn't at all sure. He still had that first image of her with the baby in his head and dreaded giving it up to reality. He wondered if he'd built up her beauty in his mind and would find her less attractive than that previous glimpse. At least, then, he could be more relaxed with her. Looking at her made him feel tongue-tied. Drawing in a deep breath, he stood. "Let's go."
They entered the great room as Cynara lay one of the babies back in its bed. She straightened, turned and saw them.
Nope, she looked as good now as she had the first time.
"Cynara Stratton," Doc said, "meet Barclay Givens. He's the oldest of the brothers and maybe the smartest."
She smiled but it held no warmth. "I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Givens."
Belatedly, Barclay snatched his hat off his head. Her beauty didn't explain why he felt like he'd been punched in the chest. "Please, call me Barclay. If you're going to be staying here a while, we may as well do away with formalities." Warmth filled him at the knowledge that the babies weren't being taken away.
"Very well. You may call me Cynara. The babies are all fed and changed. Is there something else I can do?"
Barclay glanced around, not sure what to say. Did she mean to do housework for them? That would sure please Oysters. "No. I don't expect anything from you except taking care of the little ones. Would you like to see your room?"
"Yes, I suppose so, although I thought perhaps, I could simply sleep on the couch to be close to the babies."
She folded her small, graceful hands in front of her, and he hoped she wasn't one of those women who believed in keeping matters with men formal and distant. "That does make sense, but you'll need somewhere to keep your things and dress and so forth."
"That would be good. Lead the way."
Barclay took her upstairs. Doc stayed behind watching the babies. At the door to the spare room, he paused. "This is the guest room. It's also where the babies were born."
"I see." She opened the door and moved inside. "It's very nice."
Following, Barclay said, "I hope you'll be content here. If there's anything you need, anything at all, let me know. Oysters goes into town once a month to stock up on supplies and there's always a hand going in for some reason. I know they'd be glad to pick up something for you. We have a list posted in the kitchen where we note things to buy."
"Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."
Remembering his hat, he plopped it on his head, then snatched it back off again. Shoot. He wasn't used to having women around. He'd have to warn Jared and Chase to watch their manners and language.
"I'll, uh, leave you in peace then. Perhaps you'd like a nap."
"I believe I would. Thank you again, Mr.—"
He gave her a stern look.
"Barclay. I'll be fine here."
He backed out of the room and shut the door.
Doc waited for him downstairs, standing over the triplets. "So, tell me about Minnie. Do you have any idea where she might have gone?"
"Only that she made it to the coach road and caught the stage. I sent a man into Cutthroat to look for her, but I don't expect him to find her."
"I reckon we shouldn't be surprised by what she did," Doc said. "She'd made it clear she wanted nothing to do with her babies. Even so, I hadn't expected her to light out so soon. She must be mighty frightened of something or someone to leave in her condition. She has to be in a lot of pain. What do you think of Cynara?"
Barclay hesitated before answering. "She has an unusual given name. How does she spell it?"
"With a C, like Sinara. She told me she was named after her Greek grandmother."
Doc approached the front door and Barclay almost begged him not to go. The idea of being alone with Cynara terrified him. "Are you sure she wants to stay here?"
Appearing surprised, Doc said, "Where else would she go? The babies are here. She'll stay until she's no longer needed. If that's what you want. She was boarding with the Widow Betts, who I suspect is not easy to live with. When I told Cynara about your situation, she asked me to bring her right out here." He took his tobacco pouch from his coat hanging on the wall.
"That's fine, Doc. Excellent. We'll take good care of her and treat her with respect, I promise. I can't tell you how grateful I am." He gave a weary-sounding chuckle, which matched how he felt. "We've sort of become attached to these little ones already. I'd hate to see them taken away."
"I'm glad." Doc sat on the arm of a chair and rolled a cigarette. "I was more worried how you boys would handle this situation than I was about the reception Cynara would get. I knew she'd be treated well here, but I'll warn you, she's been through more than a body should have to endure."
Barclay leaned over a drawer and played with the little girl's tiny hand. She curled her fingers around his thumb and made a cooing noise in her sleep. "I gathered that from what you told me about her losing her husband, home and daughter one after the other. Does she plan to rebuild on their land?"
"No. She has no money, and the bank repossessed the land." One of the boys woke and Doc picked him up. "Her husband was a good man, and I suspect she loved him, though he wasn't keen on having children. To watch a strong man like him wither away because of a fever is a wrenching thing to see. And then to lose the baby…"
Doc shook his head. "I can't say how she's managed. What she needs now more than anything is kindness, nurturing food to build up her strength, and peace to heal her soul. I know you and your brothers, Barclay. I'm sure I can count on you to give her that."
"Of course. We'll take good care of her. Did she bring her things with her or should we send someone to town for them?"
"No, she has everything, or, at least, what was left after the house and contents were burned to keep the fever from spreading. The truth is that she could use a few things. She has the clothes on her back and little else."
Barclay blanched. "Tarnation. I feel mighty sorry for her. I'll see to it she gets some things to replace what she lost."
"Good." Doc got to his feet. "What matters is that she has something vital to do now other than sitting around feeling sorry for herself. Not that she was wallowing in self-pity like a lot of women would be. She's strong-willed."
The two men exchanged sheepish looks when they saw Cynara coming down the stairs. Had she heard what they'd said? The baby Doc held began putting up a good fuss. She must have heard that, if not the men's words.
"Give him to me, Doc." She reached for the infant and Doc let her take it. Sitting on the settee, she tossed a shawl over her and opened her dress underneath to feed the baby. "Are you getting ready to leave?
"Yes," Doc said, putting out his smoke. "But I'll be back tomorrow to see how everyone's doing. Send for me if you feel the need."
"Goodbye, Doctor. Thank you for everything." She gave him a smile so wan, Barclay's heart wrenched.
Weak as it was, the smile added to her beauty. Barclay wondered how she must have looked before disaster destroyed her world—happy, free of pain. A sudden need struck him to see her like that again.
Later, in her room, Cynara gazed out the window at the large Givens spread and thought about her strange day in this household of men. The warm tiny bodies of those babies with darling scrunched-up faces, button noses and greedy mouths. She'd almost laughed at how hard the second boy worked at her breast as if he feared he'd never be granted another meal.
Sitting there nursing one infant after another gave her a calm contentment nothing else ever had. For the first time since she lost Ward and her own babe, she'd been able to truly relax. She thought maybe she could raise babies forever, so long as she didn't keep losing them. She'd spent the last three months nursing another woman's child, only to watch him die.
What if something happened to one of these? What if she harmed them somehow? Doc said her baby dying wasn't her fault. She found that difficult to believe. That young life had been inside her body for months. Maybe she'd done something wrong that took her daughter's life. And what about Tommy Candless—the first baby she'd wet-nursed? A crib death, Doc said. Common and inexplicable. She couldn't accept that. Tommy had seemed so healthy.
Spinning around, she stalked across the room, wringing her hands. She shouldn't be responsible for infants. Yet, what would happen to them if she didn't stay and feed them? No one else in town could do it. She seemed to have an unending amount of milk. Would God have given her so much if he hadn't intended her to use it to nurture a child? Or three?
The good Lord had created her with the main purpose in mind of rearing offspring. That's what women were for. Although her mother said it was nonsense, her father had told her that a million times, especially when she whined about having so much to do helping Mother take care of all their babies. Twelve of them, with Cynara being the eldest. Back in Ohio, she had a brother only two years older than the Givens triplets.
Not that they truly belonged to the Givens brothers. They were only here because the mother had given birth and run away. No one else wanted them.
But she'd take them. She already cared about them.
Dear Lord, what have I done?
When no longer needed here, where would she go? What would she do? Could she find someone else who needed her help? No matter what happened with these babies, she would have to leave someday.
The Givens brothers would need a woman's helping hand for some time, though, if they kept the little ones. Would they let her stay? With all the money they must have, they could afford to feed her. She didn't eat much.
Barclay struck Cynara as a good man. And handsome. She couldn't believe no woman had claimed him. The females in Cutthroat must need spectacles. Or maybe the brothers didn't consider the local girls good enough. After all, they must be the richest family in the county.
Barclay wasn't arrogant or selfish. She liked his manners. His mother had taught him well. Were his brothers as attractive and polite as him?
The huge house had been well-constructed. Far nicer than the one Ward had built for her. She felt disloyal, thinking such a thing. She had been happy in that little cabin. It wasn't Ward's fault he couldn't afford better.
Would she at least be content here? To have a baby—three babies—to nurse and care for felt like heaven and yet hell too. It reminded her of what she'd lost. Thinking of that caused her chest to close and a lump to form in her throat. How would she get through the days here if she couldn't keep the tears from her eyes?
Oh, but it had felt so nice holding those tiny wriggling bodies. She'd been shocked at their small size. Premature, Doc said. What if they didn't develop right because they didn't spend the time in the womb they should have?
Doc had examined them and declared them healthy. He should know.
She needed to rest. She'd be up much of the night with the babies. Lying on the bed, she drew a quilt over her and closed her eyes. A knock on the door woke her.
"Mrs. Stratton?" a voice called from the hallway. Barclay, she suspected. He had a deep melodic voice that made her wish she could hear him sing.
"Yes?"
"Two of the babies are crying."
She rubbed her eyes. "Perhaps they need their nappies changed. Did you check?"
"Nappies?"
"Diapers."
"Oh. No, I didn't check. Isn't that…?"
Yes, of course, that was part of her duties. "I'll be right there."
"Thank you."
She yawned and glanced at the wall clock. 9:30 p.m. She'd missed supper. As quiet as the house sounded, the other members of the family must have already gone to bed. How nice of them to let her rest until the babies needed her. Smoothing wrinkles from her skirt, she opened the door. Barclay stood outside.
"Is everything all right?" he asked. "I reckon you were exhausted."
"Yes. I apologize for missing supper. Is everyone else abed?"
"Yes. Oysters kept a plate for you at the back of the stove." Barclay led the way down the stairs. He had broad shoulders, very tempting for a woman to lean on. Why hadn't he married? He was certainly old enough, around twenty-five. He seemed terribly serious all the time. She had yet to see him smile.
Downstairs, the babies lay in their drawers by the fire. One of the boys slept. The other boy and the girl cried and pummeled the air with their fists. Both needed changing. She glanced around for clean diapers.
"Oysters rinsed out the dirty ones." Barclay picked up the last two clean towels and handed them to her. "He hung the ones he washed over the backs of the chairs."
Cynara took the diapers from Barclay and untied the cord holding the boy's dirty one on him. When she finished, she'd check to see how dry the other cloths were. "Have you no safety pins? What about petroleum jelly, do you have any of that? Their bottoms are irritated."
He shifted his feet as if the question discomfited him. "No pins, I'm afraid. I'm not sure about the jelly. One of the boys in the bunkhouse might have some."
"When will you be going to town?"
"First thing tomorrow." He watched carefully as she removed the soiled diaper and used a clean corner to wipe the baby. "I'd appreciate it if you'd make a list of what you'll need for them and for yourself as well."
"I'll do that when I finish here." The moment the wet cloth had been removed the boy ceased crying. "Did they wake you? Is that why you came to get me?"
"No, we were afraid to leave them unattended, so we been taking turns watching them. You'll meet Jared and Chase in the morning."
"Thank you." She held out the wet cloth for him to take.
Barclay stared at it as if it might bite him but took it from her. "What should I do with it? We've been tossing them in the laundry basket on the back porch."
"That will be fine." She slid a clean cloth under the baby. "It would be handy to have the basket near the triplets though. I need to feed them. You go on to bed. I'll be fine on my own."
"How often will you need to feed them?"
"About every two hours."
"Thunderation." He lo
oked at her aghast. "You'll never get any sleep."
She couldn't help smiling. "Women have been doing this for centuries, Mr. Givens."
"Of course." He ran a hand through his thick dark hair, leaving furrows behind. It made her want to smooth them out. "I reckon none of this ever occurred to me before."
"I doubt it's occurred to most men." She tied the diaper in place and laid the baby back in his bed. Next, she picked up the girl. "Are you going to name them?"
"We talked about it but weren't sure what would be proper. It's awkward though, calling them Boy One and Boy Two."
"Why don't we give them temporary names then. ? Whoever adopts them can rename them."
"Sure. My brothers might want to help choose the names. Chase, anyway. He’s quite taken with the girl.”
In Cynara’s experience, men didn’t usually care about the names of their children. When she’d asked Ward what he wanted to name their baby, he’d said for her to decide, that it didn’t matter to him. She would have much preferred him to have been like the Givens brothers.
Chapter Five
B arclay jumped up from his chair at the table when Cynara entered the kitchen the next morning. She'd been asleep on the couch when he and his brothers passed through the great room. With her face clear of grief, she had appeared even prettier in sleep. Her skin had taken on a rosier hue and the worry-creases between her eyes had faded.
When he stood, Jared and Chase looked at him strangely until they saw Cynara in the doorway. Then they too got to their feet.
"Cynara, meet my brothers. Jared is the middle child, and Chase, the baby of the family."
Chase glared. He hated being called that.
Jared gave Cynara a nod. "Glad to meet you. We sure needed the help. Why don't you sit here?" He pulled out the chair next to him.
Barclay eyed him suspiciously, wondering if his brother planned to flirt with Cynara. If he did, Barclay would straighten him out. Cynara had been through enough and had come to help. She didn't need men trying to win her favor. Besides, they were about the same age. Jared needed a younger woman, one innocent enough or naïve enough to put up with his temper.
Barclay Page 5
