"That it does. I'm heading back to the ranch now. Why don't you come along, and you can talk with my brother, Jared? He interviews the ranch hands, then we make the decisions together. "
"I'll fetch my horse." Dirk jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at a chestnut gelding in front of the saloon.
"I'll wait here. Tie it on at the back and ride with me if you want."
Dirk backed toward the horse. "You go ahead. I'll keep up."
Barclay watched him turn and lope over to the hitching rail, untie the reins and swing into the saddle. The man moved easily and without wasting time. Barclay liked the way he patted his gelding's neck after mounting. Proved Dirk respected his animals. Barclay couldn't abide a man who mistreated them.
True to his word, Dirk kept pace with the wagon, riding to the side a bit to avoid the dust. Barclay wondered if he'd chosen to ride his horse rather than join him on the wagon so he wouldn't have to talk much. Some men were like that, keeping to themselves. Barclay preferred men willing to fit in with the other hands. One who stayed separate and didn't talk much made him nervous. Never knew what to expect from a man like that.
As they left town behind, Barclay saw Boots McKinney waving him over from the Last Sip Saloon. In no mood to drink or talk gossip, Barclay pretended not to see him. Everyone knew Boots loved to cause trouble. Being of a like age with Chase, he often tried to rope Chase into his shenanigans.
The sun hovered over the horizon by the time they drove up to the house. A few hands came from the barn to greet Barclay, get their mail, and help unload the wagon. Big Hank set about unhitching the team while Slim nudged Barclay aside and asked about the newcomer.
"He's looking for a job. Told him we'd give him a try, if Jared approves." Barclay took a crate from the wagon and set it on the porch for Oysters to take care of.
"What do you know about him?" Slim asked.
"Only that he worked the Crooked J until the old man died. The son is looking to sell."
Slim nodded and glanced over at the new hire. "Looks strong enough. Just the way he moves tells me he's used to hard work and time in the saddle."
"That's what I thought too. Name's Dirk Shindler. Figured we'd see what he can do. When one of us gets back to town, we can wire the foreman at the Crooked J and see what we can learn."
"All right, boss. I'll go talk to him, introduce him to the boys at the bunkhouse and get him settled in. Seems like you have plenty of help here." Slim turned to the bunkhouse.
"Wait." Barclay motioned him back. "You have any idea who might have told Boots McKenney about the babies? Who's been in town lately?"
A furrow formed on the foreman's forehead as he considered the question. "Don't know who could have talked about the triplets. Bobby Boy went in to buy some tobacco yesterday."
"All right." Barclay spotted his brothers approaching from the house. "Will you talk to him for me? Tell him what happens on High Mountain stays on High Mountain."
"Sure thing, boss." Slim tipped his hat and sauntered off, good ranch dirt showing between his bowed legs.
Jared and Chase had come from the house, along with Oysters, and begun unloading. Barclay went over to Jared. "How is everything here? Any problems?"
"Nope. Cynara is wonderful with the babies. She'd make a good mother." Jared jerked his head toward their youngest brother. "Chase has been a bit picky with her over how she handles Vella. Thinks he's the only one who knows how to hold her or get her to stop crying."
With a chuckle, Barclay took out his cigarette makings. "That's the most entertaining thing I've heard all day. She should let him change all the baby's diapers and see if he still wants to be in charge."
"Good idea." Jared winked. "Oh, by the way, you had a visitor while you were gone. Annabelle Hodson. Slim managed to stop her from storming into the house."
"Storming? She have a problem?"
"She wanted to talk with you. Said you two had important issues to discuss, like your wedding date." Jared grinned. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me, big brother?"
Barclay had just taken a puff from his cigarette and choked on the smoke. Coughing, he gasped, "Wedding date?"
"Yeah. She didn't say anything else, and Slim figured it wasn't his place to ask questions. He told her you'd be gone all day and got her to go home, but she said she'd be back tomorrow."
"Tarnation. What next?" Barclay tossed away his cigarette and separated a few packages from the rest. "Where is Cynara?"
"In the great room with a baby at each breast."
Barclay's brows rose. "Each breast?"
"That's what I said." Jared went to help with a few hundred-pound bags of feed, and Barclay headed into the house feeling like he'd been struck in the solar plexus. Annabelle Hodson thought he planned to marry her? Where in the devil would she get an idea like that? When she showed up tomorrow, he'd make sure he disabused her of that notion.
As Jared had said, Cynara sat on the settee, a shawl thrown over her as she nursed. Barclay couldn't tell if there were two babies under there or one, so he checked the drawers. Only the girl lay there. As contented as Vella looked, Barclay figured Cynara must have fed her first. The baby had kicked off her diaper.
"How's everything going?" he asked and laid the packages beside her on the settee.
She glanced at them, then at him. "Right as rain, Barclay. Were you able to get all you needed from the store?"
"That and more. I brought a few things for you." He indicated the bundles.
"How thoughtful. Thank you." Her face changed from surprise to gratitude before returning to her usual blank expression. She held up a baby. "Can you take him?"
"Sure." Barclay accepted the boy without looking to see which one it was.
“Did I receive any mail? I was hoping for a letter from my sister, Healy. She’s the one next in age to me.” Cynara put the second boy to her shoulder and patted his back.
“No. Sorry. No mail for you.” Barclay held the baby slightly away from his body because of the wet diaper it wore. A sharp kick from the baby caused his inadequate towel-diaper to slide down his legs and hang on Barclay's wrist. Next thing he knew, a fountain of pee soaked his shirt front.
He peeked at Cynara whose mouth revealed her humorous reaction to the situation. "Does this mean he's accepted me or something?" he asked dryly.
"I think he's baptized you." She'd almost smiled. That made him feel good. He'd like to see her enjoy herself. But he understood she wasn't ready to feel pleasure at anything yet.
Jared and Chase came in then, their arms full of goods.
"What happened to you?" Jared asked, eyeing his brother's wet shirt.
"Nothing," Barclay answered quickly after glancing at Cynara. She kept quiet.
"Doesn't look like nothing to me," Chase said. "What happened?"
"Someone get rid of that stuff, come back and take charge of this boy." Barclay lifted the baby to study his face. "I think this one's yours, Jared."
Jared laughed. "You mean Little Gage? They look exactly alike. How do you tell them apart?"
"This one needs a dry diaper." Barclay dropped the diaper to the floor as he handed Gage off to his brother.
"Appears to me that diaper fell down a moment too soon," Jared said, grinning. "That what happened?"
"Go put away the goods," Barclay growled.
His brothers laughed all the way into the kitchen. A moment later, Oysters' distinctive cackle reached them.
"Go ahead and open your packages," Barclay told Cynara. "I'm going to change."
He tromped up the stairs, leaving her to investigate her gifts alone.
With the men gone, Cynara relaxed. She almost smiled, remembering the expression on Barclay's handsome face when Little Gage wet on him. His brothers missed seeing the accident but had guessed what happened. They'd never let him forget it.
She burped Connor and put him in his bed. Jared had told her she could find sewing supplies in the small room where his mother had plied her needle. At this
stage, the tiny boys looked so much alike, she worried about getting them mixed up. After finding a ball each of blue and green yarn, she'd cut off pieces large enough to tie around the two boys' ankles. Blue for Connor, green for Gage.
She thought about the booties she had crocheted for her own baby. Mere ashes now. Newborns needed something warm on their feet, but she didn't feel capable of making more without falling apart.
With the infants down for their naps, she returned to the settee and began opening parcels. Barclay had done well. The first package held several yards of white cotton as well as flannel suitable for diapers and baby clothes. Petroleum jelly. An assortment of rattles and toys. A box of safety pins. Two expensive, wonderful bars of Pears soap. She removed the wrapper from one of them and let its distinctive spicy scent tickle her nostrils. The jelly and mild soap would help prevent diaper rash.
Her next find had her mouth hanging open. Inside a box lay a lovely dresser set including a comb, brush, hand mirror, hair receiver, and pin holder. A box of hair pins had been included. Barclay's thoughtfulness amazed her. He'd even included a black ribbon for her hair. Her husband, fine as he'd been, had never purchased her a gift of any kind. Of course, Barclay could better afford such luxuries.
She lifted the last, heavy package, expecting to find baby blankets. Instead, she took out several lengths of black wool. Why would he choose such a dark color for infants?
No! Not for the babies. This was for her. Cynara couldn't believe it. How did he know how badly she wanted this? She fingered the soft wool and a knot formed in her throat. Her heart ached with joy and sadness. She'd been afraid to ask him for it. Barclay Givens had to be the most perceptive, kindest man ever.
Had he appeared at that moment, she might well have thrown herself into his arms, which would be horribly embarrassing. If she lived to a hundred, she'd never forget his generosity.
But he didn't appear, which she appreciated because her chest ached with a tornado of emotions. Taking her new possessions with her, she went to her room, shut the door, lay on the bed and let the tears flow.
Chapter Six
E xhausted from the first good cry she'd allowed herself since losing her husband and baby, Cynara felt a need for fresh air and solitude. She loved the broad porch that wrapped around the house, giving lovely views of the green countryside. Wicker chairs sat scattered along with a small table now and again. She chose a padded chair at the corner and sat down.
Two mottled brown ranch dogs slept against the wall. They lifted their eyelids, giving her a onceover before slipping again into slumber. In the large cottonwood tree at the corner of the house, birds chattered and flitted about while a barn cat sat at the base of the trunk, looking up hungrily. The branches, bearing the bright green of new leaves, swayed in the wind. A stream flowed through the ranch, bisecting a large grassy area about two-hundred-yards wide between the house and outbuildings.
She could imagine the triplets playing in that gurgling water someday, the boys pushing each other under and Vella trying to keep up with them. Beautiful, well-mannered children, if she had anything to do with their raising.
Of course, she wouldn't. Once they no longer needed her milk, she would be gone. It hurt to think of not seeing them grow up. But, not as much as not as missing the sight of her own daughter playing, laughing, being happy. Oddly enough, of the triplets, she'd miss Connor the most. He had the biggest eyes she'd ever seen on an infant and seemed able to focus better than his siblings. Cynara believed him to be smarter and quicker in development. She carefully avoided sharing her thoughts with the Givens brothers to avoid creating controversy. Her mother always said diplomacy was one of her best character traits.
High Mountain Ranch would be a wonderful place to grow up. Barclay and his brothers made fine examples, having been born and raised here. Cynara wished she knew their mother. Did Julia Givens miss her old home as much as Cynara did hers?
Since Cynara and Ward had lived seven miles from town, they'd had little chance to meet and get to know many of the residents. Cynara had rarely regretted that. Neither she nor Ward had needed a lot of company. They'd been content in their isolated cabin on Blackbird Hill. Even so, Cynara would have enjoyed having a woman friend to visit now and then, someone with whom to talk and commiserate. There had been barn dances on occasion and holiday festivals Ward hadn't cared to attend. He disliked crowds. She had understood and never complained.
In Ohio, before her marriage, she and her parents had gone to special events—weddings, baptisms, birthdays, Christmas—but she truly hadn't missed attending such social get-togethers here in Montana. She'd wished Ward enjoyed playing games like canasta or checkers, but for the most part being with him had been enough.
A man came out of a long building across the way. He leaned against the wall and rolled a cigarette, his gaze weighing heavily on Cynara's nerves. She didn't like being watched. The distance between them made it impossible to assess his appearance and, since his looks didn't matter to her, she gave him her back and tried to ignore him.
When he pushed away from the building and ambled toward her, unease drove her inside. Something about the intensity of his stare made her anxious. The babies would wake up soon and want to nurse anyway.
Dirk Shindler knew why the woman had run off. No ordinary ranch hand for her. Not good enough. Her attitude angered him. Maybe he’d teach this stuck up bitch a lesson. Not yet though. He needed to lay low and play good boy until the right time came.
The last time he'd run into this back home—when he went to see the girl, he thought belonged to him and found her with another man—he'd ended up joining the Hugh Grossman gang.
A month later, he'd returned under cover of night and waited for an opportunity to teach Miss Uppity a lesson. And he had, too.
When he finally came to after Minnie and Juanita had sneaked up and rendered him unconscious at the hideout, he'd searched for them for days. In Hawkville, he saw notices everywhere of a girl being kidnapped and an offer of a five-hundred-dollar reward. He’d learned then her name was Jessamine, and the posters had given an address for returning her to.
He meant to collect that reward. All he had to do was find her.
His next stop was Cutthroat where he happened to overhear a man ask Barclay Givens about a baby at his house whose mother had run away. Of course, he'd known Minnie was knocked up. Her belly stuck out further than if she had a watermelon in her drawers. He'd never expected her to attack him. Juanita probably put her up to it. Dirk found the Mex girl with no trouble and dished out her punishment. Minnie had provided more challenge.
Learning of the baby had birthed the idea of trading it to the grandparents for more cash. A thousand, maybe.
He'd reconnoitered the grandparents' house forty miles from Cutthroat, hoping Minnie would be there by then, but neighbors said the family was away. For three days, he'd watched the fancy mansion. When they didn't return, he'd decided to use the time to do more searching and ended up in Cutthroat.
Dirk needed money. Grossman and the boys being in prison meant he didn't get his share of the take from the bank robbery. But, between the reward for Minnie and ransom for the kid, he'd be set up for life. He'd buy a little spread, raise horses—like Givens here—and live like a king.
He liked High Mountain Ranch. Good, sound buildings, acres of green grass, and a stream running right through the middle of it. He doubted he could find a better spot. Maybe he'd figure out a way to take this one for himself.
Barclay found Cynara in the sewing room with a stack of cloth cut in square yards lying on a table. Her head, bent over her work, blocked his view of what she might be doing. But he didn't care. His gaze had snagged on her slender, white, gently arched neck with a loose wisp of hair curling down its length. He wanted to touch her, to find out if her skin was as warm and soft as it appeared. His mouth went dry and he swallowed.
To distract himself, he turned toward the window next to the doorway. Out on the grass of the ranch y
ard, Chase meandered aimlessly, talking to a tiny baby in his arms.
Caught off-guard by the unexpected sight, he blurted, "Did you know Chase has taken Vella outdoors?"
"No. Of course not. Wouldn't you have panicked a little, though, if you'd gone in to see the babies and found one gone?"
For a long instant, she stared into his eyes as if reading his thoughts. Not a flicker of a smile showed on her lovely face. Barclay glanced away first.
"Yes. I will speak to him, Barclay."
"Good." He marched from the room and sequestered himself in his office. For the next hour, Barclay labored over his books and papers. When his head began to ache, he stretched his arms, rotated his neck, and rolled his shoulders to ease out the kinks. Rising, he walked to the window. Oysters would be ringing the supper bell soon.
Wondering where his brothers were, he stepped to the window. Outside, Cynara, holding two small bundles in blankets, stepped out of the back porch to join Chase. He put Vella on a blanket spread on the grass, took one of the boys from her, and helped her sit down. It seemed that, instead of taking the youngest Givens brother to task for removing Vella from the house without her knowledge, she'd decided to follow his example, taking the boys with her.
The sight annoyed Barclay. He had no idea why, other than that he'd expected her to obey him right away. Having his instructions ignored irritated him. He stalked through the kitchen and out the back door.
On the way, he caught what Cynara was saying to Chase, "It's simply that it frightened me to see one of the babies missing. I need to know where they are and that they're all right."
"I understand," Chase said. "Next time I'll let you know. And I'll be sure to keep Vella's head covered while she's out here. Hey, Barclay, taking a break from your ledgers?"
Barclay halted, feeling stupid and embarrassed. Why hadn't he trusted Cynara? True, they didn't know each other well yet, but he should have given her the benefit of a doubt. Besides, what right did he have to expect her to obey him? She wasn't a hired maid. She'd volunteered her time to stay there and take care of the babies, although he had every intention of paying her. Ma and his brothers complained frequently that he was too bossy. Pa had constantly told him he expected too much from people.
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