by Sandy James
Her face flushed hot.
He moved to her side, wrapped a strong arm around her waist, and hauled her up against his side. “You’ve got no business moving around on your own.”
“I’m fine.” She didn’t have to glance up to know he’d be rolling his eyes.
“I can see that.” That warm voice held enough humor to force a smile from her.
He walked her to the bed, pulled back the clean covers, and settled her on the mattress. “Swing your feet up there, and we’ll get you warm again.”
Victoria came in to fuss over Grace’s hair, but Adam stayed. His eyes drilled holes through Grace.
“I’m sure you have better things to do than watch over me.” She smoothed trembling hands over the quilt.
“I might. But I’d rather be here.”
“Why?”
“’Cause the time has come to answer a few questions about you and Jake.”
Oh, bother.
She’d put this conversation off as long as she could. Now she’d have to keep lying to the man about her true ties to Jake.
That didn’t sit well, making her stomach knot. He’d been so kind, and she surely would have died if he hadn’t taken her in and nursed her back to health.
She gave him a feigned shrug of indifference with a silent prayer he’d let the whole matter drop. “What is there to know?”
“If you’ll both excuse me.” Victoria smiled at Grace and then at her father. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”
Much to Grace’s relief, as Victoria walked out the door, Daisy came right in. The tray of food she carried would give her the perfect excuse to stall.
“Daisy, it’s so good to see you,” she said. “Thank you so much. I’m starving.”
If the food was the worst thing she’d ever tasted, she’d still eat every last bite of it. And she’d eat it so slowly that Adam would have to give up and leave. How many times had someone told her she could try the patience of a saint? She planned to use that stubbornness now to avoid an inquisition.
“I want to see you eat every bite on this tray.” Daisy helped her sit up enough to put the tray over her legs. “Nice hot soup. Some buttered bread. Cold milk. Is there anything else I can get for you?”
Privacy.
“No, thank you. This is perfect. Thank you for going to so much trouble.”
“No trouble at all. You just holler if I can get you anythin’ else.” Daisy’s chubby cheeks had the most adorable dimple, and everything she’d said and done while Grace was sick only made her more endearing.
How would she ever repay these people for their kindness?
“I hate to impose, but I’d love another book to read.” She nodded at the leather-bound tome sitting on the dresser. “I finished that one. Any story would be wonderful.”
Daisy picked up the book. “You’re the only person I’ve ever known who reads as much as the Morgans. I’ll fetch you another and bring it up after I finish my baking.” She shut the door as she left the bedroom.
The soup was delicious. Despite her growling stomach—which was probably loud enough for Adam to hear—she took her time eating. If she could drag the meal out long enough, perhaps her host would give up and leave her in peace.
Instead, he settled himself in the rocking chair and watched her the way a hawk considers its prey.
No wonder.
She was a stranger. She might have slept in his home and eaten his food, but she’d shared nothing about her life except half-truths. Lying tasted bitter on her tongue, especially since she somehow knew he suspected she was lying. Yet there was no way to tell him about what had happened so long ago.
The shame would be more than she could bear.
When she finally put the spoon down, he asked his first question. “Why are you searching for Jake?”
Holding up a finger to stall him, she picked up the bread and took a bite, chewing far beyond what was necessary. Yes, it was childish. Adam had to see right through her ruse.
His chuckle told her the game was up. “You’re gonna have to talk to me sometime. Might as well be now. Putting things off will only make it more difficult.”
She heaved a resigned sigh and offered what she could to keep him from growing even more curious. “I’m searching for Jake because I’m worried about him.”
“Explain.”
The snort slipped. “How long do you have? I assure you, the tale’s long.”
His smile was so warm that a bolt from the blue hit her, making her wish she could tell him everything. She couldn’t, although something about Adam Morgan made the weight she’d carried for so long seem a little bit lighter.
“Just start at the beginning,” he coaxed. “If we run past supper, I’ll have Daisy bring up another tray.”
One, long deep breath and she began. “When Jake was born, there was no way Matthew and I could care for him properly.”
“Matthew?”
“My brother—my other brother. We were both so young when our momma died.” Grace swallowed hard. The memories might be old, but the wounds remained raw. “The nuns said they knew a couple who wanted a family but couldn’t have a child of their own. They’d been married such a long time. They had a nice farm. I knew Jake would be happy with them, that they’d love him.”
That was supposed to be the way the story went.
And they all lived happily ever after…
Real life never had happy endings.
He arched an eyebrow. “Nuns?”
“At the convent. They took us in. Jake was born there.”
“What about your mother?”
“Mama died.” That was the truth, even if the way she’d stated it was meant to dissuade further questions she couldn’t answer frankly.
Adam sat there, rocking in the chair and staring at her with piercing blue eyes. The man probably knew how handsome he was and how his stare could send shivers racing across a woman’s skin. “Why now?”
“Now?” Blinking a couple of times, she needed a moment to figure out what he was asking. “Oh, now. I heard news that his adoptive parents had been murdered. I was terrified for him. I had to find him.”
He ran his fingers over his light growth of whiskers on his strong chin. “That happened over ten years ago.”
“I’ve been out of touch.”
“No one’s that out of touch. Jake’s parents were murdered when he was eight.”
“I’ve been running chuck wagons for long drives for a very long time. Years and years. I–I didn’t find out until a few months ago. I’ve been searching for him ever since.”
And every single lead had been a blind alley. Only her absolute panic had forced her to go to Stephen for help. She had to know for sure her son was alive, that he was safe and sound.
“After his family died, he got himself shipped to an orphanage,” Adam said. “He became friends with Ty Bishop there. They ran away together. Lived on the streets in Denver for a few months. I took them in when Jake tried to pick my pocket to get money to buy food so they could stop eating out of garbage cans.”
Adam watched Grace closely. He’d deliberately been blunt. Downright cruel. She might claim to be blood kin, but he needed to know exactly how much this woman cared about Jake.
Judging from the pain in her eyes, she cared. A lot. Now, he needed to know the real reason Jake’s sister was finally trying to find him. There was clearly more to the story than his houseguest was willing to divulge.
“I–I didn’t know.” Tears filled her eyes. “He ate…I didn’t…” She bowed her head and breathed a shuddering sigh.
He felt lower than a snake’s belly when she choked out the first sob. The rocking chair kept moving when he jumped to his feet. Setting the tray aside, he took her hands in his. They were ice cold. She tried to pull them back. He won the tug of war.
“I’m sorry, Gracie. I shouldn’t have—”
“I left him.” The words squeaked out.
“You had good reason.”
&nbs
p; “He ate garbage. I’ll never forgive my—”
“Stop it. Right now.” His tone was harsher than he’d intended, but it served a purpose. She stopped rambling and stared up at him. “You didn’t know.”
Grace shook her head as she jerked her hands back and buried her face in her palms, crying hard enough she started coughing again.
As if he’d let that nonsense go on. “Stop it, Gracie.”
He pulled her hands away and eased her toward him. She didn’t resist his embrace, but she felt as stiff as a freshly cut pine board. Her tears soaked his shirt.
Between her sobs and coughs, she kept blaming herself for Jake having to live on the street.
Adam wasn’t about to let her make herself sick all over again. “It’s over, darlin’. It was a long time ago. I brought him back here. Ty, too. And they’ve been living a good life. Jake has a wife now.”
That got her attention. Her mutterings came to an abrupt halt as she stared at him with enormous red-rimmed eyes. “Wife? He has a wife?”
At least she’d stopped crying. “Yes, ma’am. Married up with Emily Spencer last year. They’re expecting their firstborn in a few months.”
“A baby?”
He answered her hesitant smile with one of his own. “A baby. You’re gonna be an aunt.”
She was awfully pretty when she smiled, even if her eyes were swollen and she still hiccoughed from crying. “I should go.”
“Go?”
“To White Pines. I’ve abused your hospitality long enough.”
A shake of his head was his response to such a ridiculous statement. “You’re not going anywhere. Least not ’til you’re feeling better. Then I’ll take you to White Pines myself.”
Chapter Four
Victoria pushed a clothespin over the corner of the last sheet, relieved that the wash was finally done. Arching her body, she groaned at the stiffness in the small of her back. A good day’s work, but she was paying the price. The sounds of approaching hoofbeats pulled her gaze to the long tree-lined road.
The horse and rider moved as one. Confident. Strong. Imposing. Tufts of dirt flew from churning hooves. As the duo came closer, she drew in her breath and held it. The stallion had perfect conformation. Her father would be pea green with envy over that fine an animal. So focused on the horse, it took a moment before she considered the man.
Her breath rushed out in a gasp.
God, he’s handsome.
A girlish notion of her Prince Charming riding up on a stallion to beg for her hand and take her away to his palace resurrected, burning like hot coals in her chest. With a shake of her head, she shoved the useless fantasy back into hibernation, never wanting to feel that kind of painful longing again.
She was what she was and had given up wishing to be something more. Twenty-one and single in a territory where men vastly outnumbered women. That spoke volumes. Nor could a cowboy riding a Paint ever be Prince Charming.
He came right up to where she stood in the grass, surrounded by sweet-smelling laundry that billowed in the breeze. His grin washed over her like warm sunshine.
She’d been wrong. Handsome didn’t do the man justice. Surely there was another word—a better word—that could describe this cowboy. He scattered her thoughts so thoroughly none came to mind.
Sun-bleached hair jutted out from under his weathered hat. Strong forearms stretched from the rolled up sleeves, and his broad chest filled out the shirt in a way that made her mouth go dry. Warm brown eyes twinkled from a tan face. He had the most delectable cleft in his chin and a dimple on his right cheek.
“Afternoon, missus.” He tipped the brim of his weathered hat. “I’m hoping this is the Twin Springs ranch. I’m Matthew Riley.”
He offered his hand to her and then quickly withdrew it to remove his worn leather glove. Reaching out again, he gave Victoria the most charming smile. A flush heated her cheeks when she clasped his calloused fingers and palm. His firm handshake rocked her arm all the way to her shoulder.
“I’m not a missus. I’m Victoria Morgan. Miss Victoria Morgan. And yes, this is the Twin Springs.” Despite wanting to make a good first impression, she couldn’t help but frown when she realized what was happening. “You best get that ill-mannered animal out of my clean sheets right quick.”
His horse had managed to knock over some of the big branches propping up the sagging clotheslines. The wash she’d just finished hanging dangled mere inches above the ground. The stallion pawed at the sheets it had already dragged down. The more Matthew tried to control the contrary animal, the more clean linens fell in the grass and dirt. The irritation wasn’t enough to sweep away her fascination with the man, but it did prompt a frustrated stomp of her foot.
“You’re ruining my wash! Do something!”
He dismounted and tugged at the clothes that had wrapped around his horse’s chest and legs. Peeling layers of wet sheets, he dropped them to the ground. Picking up a lacy camisole, he stared at it for a moment until he sheepishly held it out to her.
She shoved it into the deep pocket of her skirt, wondering if her own face turned as crimson as his.
When he’d finally freed the animal from the cloth cocoon, he grinned at her as if he’d just slain a dragon, doing little to curb her irritation as he handed her a soiled shirt. “There. All better now.”
“Better?”
Clenching her jaw so hard she was amazed she didn’t crack a tooth, she bit back a sarcastic retort. Gathering up as many items as she could, she took a couple of deep breaths in an effort to control her temper, hoping the exercise wasn’t in vain.
“I’m searching for my sister.” He mirrored her frown as Victoria continued gathering up her wash. “She was heading out this way.” He picked up a stray washing cloth from under a hoof and tossed it atop the pile of wet laundry in her arms. “Have you seen her? She’s tall with brown hair she wears kinda short. ’Lot taller than you. Probably stopped by nine, maybe ten days back. Might even be as much as two weeks.”
Could he be more insufferably rude? He didn’t offer an apology, nor did he even try to soothe her feelings over the mess. Most of the laundry would have to be rewashed, and some of the items had ripped and would need mending. How could anyone be raised with such a lack of manners?
“Well, aren’t you a regular gentleman,” she muttered, more to herself than him.
His lips thinned to a grim line as he looked around the last of the laundry that still littered the ground. Then understanding dawned on his face. “You’re mad about the wash? Some clothes got a little dirty. Nothing to get all huffy about.” He shook his head with such a patronizing grin, she was tempted to throw something heavy at his head. “Was my sister here?”
“If your sister is Grace, then she’s here. She’s been mighty sick—”
Before Victoria could even finish her explanation, Matthew grabbed her roughly by the upper arms and scowled down at her.
Heavens, but he was tall. Smelled nice too—like fresh-cut hay and leather. Her wet laundry sank back to the ground.
“Sick? How sick? What’s wrong with her? Where is she?”
All she could do was gape at him as he gave her one firm shake. Even though he was so handsome she couldn’t seem to get a logical thought to find its way from her brain to her mouth, she couldn’t abide by the man’s offensive manners.
“Answer me, damn it!”
She shot back her own scowl. As if she’d ever let a cowboy intimidate her. “There’s no need to curse, Mr. Riley. I would appreciate it if you’d take your hands off me.”
He released his grasp as if her skin had burst into flames.
“Thank you. Now, I’ll take you to Grace. There’s no need to be fretting. She’s much better now. Go put that rude horse of yours in the barn so we can go inside.”
With a heavy sigh, she gathered the soiled linens back into her arms to rewash.
She waited a few moments for him to tie up his horse, then she led him to the back door. At the top of th
e steps leading to the kitchen door, she stopped and glared at him, intent on waiting as long as it took for him to realize what she wanted. It hadn’t taken too awfully long for her to train Jake and Ty in the use of proper manners. Surely this cowboy wouldn’t be any different. As though dealing with a stubborn colt, Matthew simply needed a firm hand.
The man was obtuse. His gaze shifted between her and the door a couple of times before he grabbed the handle and jerked it open.
Daisy fussed over something cooking on the stove. She glanced over her shoulder and gasped. Putting down her wooden spoon and wiping her hands on her apron, she came over to try to help Victoria with her burden.
“God’s hooks, Victoria.” She smoothed back some stray brown hairs that had escaped her tight bun. “What happened to the laundry?”
“An impolite horse with an equally rude rider tore it down and stomped all over it.” She dropped the rest of the wet, dirty burden on the table. “This is Matthew Riley.” Victoria nodded at Daisy. “That’s our housekeeper, Daisy.” She folded her arms over her chest. “He’s come to see Grace—just as soon as he takes off his hat, his gun, and his muddy boots.”
Matthew had no idea why he put up with Victoria’s impertinence, even less of a notion why he immediately snatched his hat from his head and toed off his boots. Dismayed at his own hasty compliance, he refused to give on her third request. No one was coming between him and his Colt.
“Your gun, too, Mr. Riley. You can hang it and your hat on those hooks.” She nodded at the row of wooden pegs mounted on the wall next to the door.
“I’m not taking off my gun.”
Laughter bubbled in his chest when her face hardened into a scowl. No woman could intimidate him—especially one as tiny and feminine as this one. She was so small she’d blow around like a tumbleweed if a stiff wind came her way.
“If you don’t leave that gun down here,” she warned, “then you’re not going upstairs to see Grace.”
He could stand here and argue with her, but something told him that would be wasted time and breath. She might not be the least bit intimidating, but she was clearly as stubborn as a mule. With a resigned sigh, he unbuckled his gun belt, hung it from one of the pegs, and turned back to her.
