Love Inspired Historical November 2017 Box Set

by Karen Kirst

  “You’re a shameless flirt.”

  “I like to think of it as harmless teasing.” Everyone knew he wasn’t looking for commitment. He’d made sure that bit of gossip rode the grapevines as soon as he relocated here.

  But what if that wasn’t enough?

  “Harmless?” She shifted her stance, her cloak’s hem swaying around her boots. “You call dashing hopes and breaking hearts harmless?”

  “I’m a game to them,” he countered. “It’s a competition, and they view me as some sort of lofty prize. I promise you not one of them would rejoice if they actually won me.”

  She gaped at him. “And I thought I was the cynical one. What happened to set you against commitment? Were your parents unhappy? Did your father indulge in indiscretions?”

  “On the contrary, my parents are the best of friends.”

  “You were in love with someone, then. She spurned you. Or worse, deceived you.”

  Wistfulness clawed at him, regret and helplessness over his plight on its heels. He hoped the indistinct lighting hid those tumultuous emotions from her. She was perilously close to the truth. Marianne had indeed spurned him the moment she learned his diagnosis. His overwrought fiancée had sputtered words that hadn’t yet lost their potency. Words like damaged and useless and abnormal. What good are you to me? she’d railed. Indeed, to any woman?

  Until that confrontation with Marianne, he’d had a flicker of hope that she’d be able to come to terms with his new reality. “Why must there be a reason? Why can’t I simply desire to be free and independent, like you?”

  She narrowed her eyes, studying every inch of his face. What did she see? The push and pull of denial and acceptance he wrestled with on his weaker days?

  He surged off the wall and would’ve paced if there’d been enough space. The curious impulse to divulge his secret to Isabel threw him. She was the last person he should share his most private disappointment with.

  “It’s been my experience that infatuations shift as often as the weather. The girls here are no different than the ones back home. Sally Hatcher is a prime example. Mere weeks ago, she claimed to be in love with me. Didn’t take her long to take up with someone new once she figured out where we stood.”

  Isabel snapped her mouth shut. If she felt the tiniest bit sorry for him, she didn’t show it. He wished he could’ve foreseen how quickly she would develop a full-on infatuation. He’d truly enjoyed spending time with Sally—as friends.

  A thud on the stoop vibrated the door. Immediately on alert, Ben maneuvered Isabel behind him and reached for his gun.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Shielded by Ben’s strong, muscular body, Isabel’s only thought was that he was going to be shot again because of her. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. They were trapped in this tiny building, which meant they’d have to shoot their way out. The curious sadness she’d glimpsed in Ben moments earlier faded from her mind.

  Had he been right all along? Had the frustrated robber tracked her here in order to silence her?

  “Stay behind me,” he ordered.

  Weapon drawn, he edged forward and eased the latch open. His tension leached into the air around her. From her limited view, she saw the cords of his neck stiffen, and his jaw was locked in steely determination. She didn’t doubt his ability to keep her safe. Ben MacGregor was many things—a coward wasn’t one of them. He’d lay down his life to protect her. Hadn’t he already taken one bullet for her?

  Isabel offered up a fervent plea for his safety.

  The door’s hinges groaned as he inched it open. In a sudden movement that had her gasping aloud, Ben pivoted into the opening, his finger on the trigger.

  No rash of gunfire rained down on them. No ambush from a vengeful outlaw.

  Instead, the water’s familiar music, trickling over the wheel in a full spin and gently splashing back into the stream below, greeted their ears. Then came an unusual sound, out of place on the Flores farm—a child crying.

  Isabel pressed close to Ben’s back and gripped his arms. He stilled and angled a glance over his shoulder.

  “Are you hearing the same thing I am?” he whispered.

  Pushing past him, she ignored his hushed objection and rushed onto the porch. Unrelenting darkness cloaked the countryside. The hut, positioned between the gristmill and cabin, blocked what little light might be shining from the windows.

  Ben’s hand clamped on her waist. He would’ve pulled her back into the hut if she hadn’t locked on his fingers and squeezed.

  “Wait! Listen.”

  She heard the plaintive cry again, a heart-wrenching sob that filled her with urgency and the need to soothe hurts. She left the cover of the stoop and tiptoed around the corner. Ben was right behind her, so close she could feel his breath on her nape.

  They spotted the small form huddled against the hut’s foundation at the same time. The small boy ceased sobbing and started to scramble in the opposite direction.

  Masking her consternation, Isabel crouched to his level and spoke in a soft, gentle tone. “Hello. My name’s Isabel. I live in the cabin over there with my sisters. What’s your name?”

  His attempt at escape abandoned, the boy stared at her without speaking. She could tell little about him besides the fact he was very young and had short, tousled dark hair.

  “I’ll get a lamp.” The air stirred as Ben dashed back inside.

  “My, um, friend Ben, he’s going to get an oil lamp so you can see us better. I don’t like the dark, do you?”

  The boy’s negative head shake was almost imperceptible. Isabel couldn’t comprehend where this child had come from or where his parents might be. Her instinct was to pull him into her arms and hug him until he felt safe.

  Ben soon returned, the lamp emitting enough light to show his concern-ravaged features as his gaze met Isabel’s. He assumed the same position as her, his knee bumping hers as he steadied himself.

  “I was just telling our visitor that your name is Ben.”

  “That’s right. I’m Ben MacGregor.” He spoke in an upbeat tone. “What’s your name?”

  The boy’s pointed chin wobbled. He was a pretty child, with pale skin, large cornflower-blue eyes and hair the color of syrup. Judging by the dirt smudges on his face and hands and the stains on his clothing, he hadn’t seen a bath for some time.

  “I want Happy.”

  “Is Happy your dog?” Ben said.

  He shook his head.

  Ben cut her a look. “Is he your cat?”

  “Don’t have a cat.”

  Isabel noticed his shirtsleeves were too short, and his trousers had been patched multiple times. “Is your mother or father around?” She gestured to the forest. “Did you get separated from them?”

  His lower lip quivered, and a fresh surge of tears brimmed in his eyes. “My mama’s dead.”

  She heard Ben’s sharp inhale. “I’m right sorry to hear that, little man.”

  The sorrow this child was suffering, and indeed his current plight, weighed heavily on Isabel. “What about your pa?”

  “Don’t got one.” He toyed with his shirt buttons. “I want Happy.”

  Ben gestured to the hut. “I have a peppermint stick in my bag. Would you like to have it?”

  Isabel held her breath while the child considered them both with a heavy dose of distrust. Finally, he nodded.

  Some of the rigidness in Ben’s body receded. He slowly stood and held out his hand. “What do you say we go inside where it’s warm? You can eat the candy in front of the stove.”

  The boy popped up. Instead of taking Ben’s hand, however, he edged in Isabel’s direction. She offered him a reassuring smile. “I like peppermint, too, but my favorite is horehound.”

  “Horehound?” Ben said in mock horror. “I can’t stoma
ch the stuff. Peppermint is the best, and lemon is a close second. Do you like lemon, little man?”

  “I never tried it.” His high, childish voice held a note of longing.

  “Is that so? Well, that’s a problem I’ll have to remedy. Every boy must try lemon drops at least once.”

  Ben started for the hut entrance, chatting about other sweets and acting as if finding a lost child was an everyday occurrence. Isabel beckoned for the boy to follow her. He did so, reluctantly, his suspicion unusual for a child his age, which she guessed to be around three or four.

  By the time they reached the threshold, Ben had retrieved the promised candy and removed a single stick from a small brown sack.

  “There’s only one thing I ask in return for this,” he began, his expression serious. “I’d like to know your name.”

  Isabel watched the boy’s wide gaze roam the hut’s interior before settling on Ben and the treat at hand. He was waif thin, and his curly hair needed combing. Whoever had been caring for him hadn’t done a good job.

  “Eli.”

  Ben held out the stick. “A strong name suited to a sturdy boy like yourself. You know your last name?”

  Eli snatched the peppermint and sucked on it greedily. When had he last eaten?

  He shrugged. Isabel dragged the chair closer to the stove and patted the seat. “Why don’t you sit here? We need to close the door to keep the warm air inside.”

  When Eli had climbed onto the chair, Ben said quietly, “Isabel? A word.”

  She met him at the door.

  “I’m going to take a look around outside. You should take him to the cabin. It’s too late to find him other lodgings. He could probably use something more substantial than a piece of candy, too.”

  “What are you expecting to find?”

  He kneaded the back of his neck. “Whoever’s had charge of him has to be around somewhere. Boys his age don’t simply wander the woods alone. I suspect something dire has happened.”

  “You’ll be careful?”

  A ghost of a smile graced his mouth. “For someone who claims to dislike me, you issue that warning quite often.”

  Heat flooded her cheeks. “That’s because I—”

  “Don’t want to stitch me up again. I know.”

  He ducked outside and headed for the mill. She watched his confident stride, troubled by her deepening interest in the lawman’s welfare.

  * * *

  He found nothing. Saw nothing. Ben had no answers for Isabel. After his search the boy was as big a mystery as he’d been an hour ago. His ears stinging and nose numb, he rapped on the Flores cabin door.

  Isabel greeted him with a cautionary finger to her lips. Admitting him into her home, made toasty by the crackling fire in the hearth, she waved him over to the sofa. Eli slept beneath a maroon knitted blanket. His small hands were clasped together beneath his cheek as if in prayer, his forehead puckered in disquiet that had followed him into his dreams. Ben reached out his hand to smooth the mop of curls from his face before catching the action. He sank it deep in his pocket.

  There could be no room for tenderness in this case, no personal attachment. Work involving children was tricky, full of emotional pitfalls, and Ben would have to be vigilant in order to remain detached. The sooner he reunited Eli with his guardian, the better for everyone.

  Isabel regarded the child with open concern. “He seemed nervous with my sisters around, so they retired early. I fed him enough for three children his size. He was ravenous.”

  A lump formed in his throat. Ben couldn’t abide the thought of anyone going hungry, much less an innocent child.

  “Once his stomach was full, he got droopy eyed. I would’ve liked to give him a thorough washing, but it will have to wait until morning.”

  “Thank you, Isabel.” He peered deep into her eyes. “Right after breakfast, I’ll interview the neighbors. It’s possible his family was traveling through the area, and he got separated. It may take a few days to locate them. In the meantime, he can stay with one of the O’Malleys.”

  “I see no reason to move him. He obviously has a hard time trusting new people.”

  He rested his hands on the sofa’s scrolled wooden edge. “You’ve got a point. But if I can’t reunite him with his folks in the next day or two, I’ll find a more permanent place for him.”

  While she didn’t look happy with the pronouncement, she didn’t argue.

  “Would you like for me sleep in here?” he said, indicating the rug beside the hearth.

  “That’s not necessary. I can sleep here in case he wakes in the middle of the night.”

  “I noticed he kept his distance from me.”

  “To a four-year-old boy, a lawman like yourself must present an intimidating figure.”

  “Did he tell you his age?”

  “That was the only tidbit of new information I coaxed out of him.”

  “Not a chatty little guy, is he?”

  Her gaze clouded over. “Who knows how recent his mother’s passing was or what his current situation is like. The state he’s in…he didn’t accumulate this amount of filth by exploring the woods for an hour or two.”

  “He’s awfully thin. In my experience, kids his age resemble cherubs with full cheeks and chubby hands and legs.”

  “I’ll make certain he eats well,” she said, a fierceness to her tone.

  As much as he yearned to linger, he chose the wiser course of action. “I’m off to my sleeping quarters for the night, then. Try to get some rest.”

  “You, too, Deputy.”

  “This deputy has a name, you know.”

  She arched a brow. “Good night, Ben.”

  “Good night, sugarplum.”

  Seeing her protest brewing, Ben ducked through the door. He passed a fitful night in the hut, his mind alert to danger and not fully allowing his body to rest. At daybreak, he saddled Blaze and paid a visit to the Floreses’ immediate neighbors. No one had any useful information to share about the boy. Dissatisfied with his venture, he returned to the cabin eager to see how both Isabel and Eli had fared during the night.

  She greeted him with disheveled hair—her braid was untidy, stray tendrils trailing her cheeks—and flour dusting her mauve blouse.

  “Am I glad to see you.” Seizing hold of his coat sleeve, Isabel tugged him inside.

  “What disaster has occurred that you’d say such a thing to me?” he uttered, nonplussed.

  “That one right there.”

  She jerked a finger toward the kitchen, where Eli was gleefully stirring the contents of a bowl, uncaring that some of the liquid was splashing over the rim. Eggshells oozing with remnants of whites littered the makeshift counter built into the wall. Milk puddled on the floorboards beneath the chair on which he was perched.

  “I’ve never had a child in my kitchen before,” she whispered desperately. “You have to help me.”

  Ben couldn’t stop a grin from forming. Isabel was a strong, independent woman. To see her unsettled by a tiny human filled him with mirth.

  “Your sisters haven’t ever made messes?”

  “I’m only three years older than Honor. I don’t remember the three of us in the kitchen together. Mama allowed only one of us to help at a time, and she had high standards of cleanliness.”

  “Hmm. What will you give me in exchange?”

  Her lips compressed. “I’ll grind your corn for free.”

  “Have you ever known me to patronize your mill?” He laughed, tugging off his buckskin gloves and laying them on the hutch. “I don’t cook.”

  “That’s right. You enjoy the generosity of the citizens your work for, mostly families who have eligible daughters.”

  He chafed his hands together. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the lack of an i
nvitation from you.”

  “Are you angling for one?”

  Ceramic thudding against the wooden floor was followed by a guilt-ridden uh-oh.

  They both turned to see Eli’s bent head as he contemplated the batter oozing onto the floor.

  “I don’t handle messes well.” Isabel put a weary hand to her forehead.

  “I’ll clean it up if you promise to cook for me.”

  “Fine. I was in the process of preparing breakfast anyway.”

  “Doesn’t count. Has to be a full evening meal.”

  She glowered at him. “Served on my best dishes, I suppose?”

  “As long as it includes dessert, you can use whatever dishes you want.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Isabel’s sisters were aware of her preference for neatness, even in the midst of a task such as preparing flapjacks. If Eli’s circumstances had been different, she would’ve had no qualms guiding his attempts to help. But he was motherless and lost, stuck with strangers mere weeks before Christmas—the most special time of year for any child. He’d tossed and turned during the long night, at times calling out for his mama. How could she manage a single stern word to this hurting child?

  As Ben approached, Eli pressed flat against the counter, apprehension in his thickly lashed blue eyes.

  “Are you angry?”

  “Angry? No, sir. Accidents happen.” Ben indicated the chair. “I promised Miss Isabel I’d clean this up, though. Once that’s done, how about we watch her make breakfast and later, after we’ve eaten, you can help me wash the dishes?”

  Eli looked to Isabel for confirmation. She nodded in encouragement.

  “Okay.”

  “Good. Mind if I help you down from there?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Ben picked him up and deposited him beside the doorway, close to where Isabel stood watching them. Eli toyed with his hair, knotting it further. Somehow she was going to have to coax him into the bath.

  As Ben hunted for a clean washrag, she couldn’t help noticing his bedraggled allure. Auburn-tinted whiskers shadowed his jaw, and his hair refused to stay out of his eyes. He’d divested himself of the suit jacket, and his shirt and pants were slightly creased from sleeping in them. Even so, his shirt’s pale green fabric added a rich sheen to his hair and deepened the sea-glass hue of his eyes.