by Pam Crooks
“Trace,” he said. “We thought you quit.”
“No, sir, I didn’t. But I’m running late this morning. I apologize.”
“Sure.” His stare dropped to the baby. “I understand.”
Except, Morgana could tell from his confused expression, he didn’t understand at all. How could he?
“Things took a turn last night,” Trace said. “Wondering if you’d mind if I talked to Dodie.”
“Dodie? Sure,” Stan said again, stepping aside to let the housekeeper, who’d been standing on tiptoe to see over his shoulder, pass.
But Dodie stood stock still. “Me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Trace said.
“Well, go on, Dodie,” Lila said, joining them. “Don’t be impolite.”
“We’ll give you some privacy,” Stan said, pivoting to leave.
“No need. This concerns all of you,” Trace said. “I’d rather you stayed.”
He certainly had their attention, Morgana’s especially, though how she’d be affected by what he intended to say, she couldn’t yet fathom.
Wary, Dodie approached, like the proverbial lamb to slaughter. She clasped her hands in front of her. “Yes?”
“I’ve got a favor to ask,” he said. “Providing it’s all right with Stan and Lila.”
Dodie’s gaze dropped to the baby, then lifted again.
Morgana’s heart pattered a little faster.
“I’m looking for someone to care for the girl,” Trace went on, his tone somber. “For now, at least. If you’d be willing to add her to your current responsibilities, I’d pay you well for your time.”
For now, at least? Morgana’s brain latched onto the words. What did that mean?
Morgana’s mother flared her nostrils and stood a little taller.
Her father frowned.
Dodie appeared uncertain. “I’m not looking to care for a baby right now. My work here is ... consuming, for a house of this size.” She hesitated, and Morgana couldn’t tell if she wanted to refuse or if she was sympathetic to Trace’s needs. “How long are you thinking?”
“Until the job here is done,” Trace said.
“And after?” she asked.
His jaw cocked. “Guess we’ll see how it goes. How you feel about the girl and all.”
“How I feel about her?” She appeared taken aback.
Lila’s brow lifted, and she leveled him with one of her imperious glares that could wilt grass. “Are you married, Mr. McQuade?”
His gaze swung to her. “No, ma’am. I’m a bachelor.” He smiled, with little humor. “Confirmed, I might add.”
“And this child ... whose is she?”
A moment passed. “A friend’s.”
“So you share no blood with her?” Stan asked.
“No, sir.”
“Well, then, how did she come into your care?”
“Long story. I won’t bore you with the details.”
Evidently, the curtness of his response convinced her parents his business wasn’t theirs and not to pursue the matter further.
However, Lila continued her haughty regard. Morgana well knew the meaning of that look. Her mother wasn’t finished with him yet. “Are you suggesting, Mr. McQuade, that Dodie take the child in as her own?”
Before he could respond, Dodie emitted a panicked gasp. “Oh, but I can’t. I’m not even married yet. Soon I will be, but I don’t think my Ivan would want—I don’t dare ask—oh, I just can’t.”
Morgana’s gaze bounced between them, but not as fast as the questions bouncing in her head. Or the sympathy for Trace and his predicament catapulting inside her. Or the compassion overflowing in her heart for a helpless infant someone had abandoned, and no one wanted to care for.
Trace inclined his head, his shadowed gaze grim. “I’m in need of a caregiver. If any of you can suggest someone, maybe in your family or a friend you consider trustworthy that—”
“I’ll do it.” The words were out before Morgana could stop them.
All four swung their glances toward her with a suddenness that convinced her they’d quite forgotten she was there.
“Morgana!” her mother said, shocked.
“I’ll do it.” There. She said the words again. Stronger this time. With more conviction. Because, after all, no one needed needing more than she did. “I have the time, Mother.”
“And the desire?” Trace spoke in his low voice, as if there was no one else in the room but her.
She drew closer, halting in front of him, and took her gaze to his own. “Very much so, yes.”
His eyes glittered down at her, dark as burnt almonds, holding her rooted, like a tree.
“I’d be obliged,” he murmured.
“Morgana, don’t be silly.” Her mother rushed toward her, skirts rustling. “What do you know of taking care of a baby? Why, you’ve never done anything of the sort.”
“Then I should learn,” she said firmly.
She slid her hand beneath the baby’s head, another at her bottom, and gently took her from against Trace’s chest to her own.
“Her name’s Harriett,” he said, ignoring Lila.
The little body carried Trace’s warmth; Morgana cuddled her close, taking some of that warmth, too. “She looks like a Harriett.”
Trace’s hard mouth softened. “Does she?”
“Morgana,” her mother persisted. “You must reconsider. I’ll ask my friends. One of them might know of someone willing to be a nursemaid.”
“Let her have a crack at it, Lila.” Her father headed back toward the dining room, as if he considered the matter over and done with. “There are plenty of women her age who’ve taken care of babies, and she’s old enough to make her own decisions. If it doesn’t work out, they’ll think of something different that will.”
“Stanford!” Lila swung toward him.
“I’m going to the mercantile.” He tossed his napkin onto the table. “The time is getting away from me.” He strode out of the dining room, taking his Harrington & Richardson pocket revolver and holster like he did every morning now.
With a huff, her mother swung back to Morgana. “We’ll discuss this later, Morgana.”
Tilting her head high, the way she usually did when matters didn’t go her way, Lila rushed out of the room.
Morgana refrained from rolling her eyes at her theatrics. It happened often enough, neither she nor her father were fazed by them anymore.
But Trace frowned. “Hope everything will be all right with her.”
“She’ll pout for a few hours, then she’ll be fine.”
“If there’s any trouble because of the girl, I want to know about it.”
“There won’t be.” She gave him her brightest smile.
“Hope not.” He held up a knapsack. “This is all I’ve got for her.”
Morgana blinked at the small bag. “That’s not very much.”
“A few gowns, a few diapers. I’ve rinsed them as best as I could, but I usually use a laundress, and I haven’t had time—”
“I’ll wash them,” she said, without adding that Dodie would have to help her.
“She’s almost out of milk, too. I’ll run to the mercantile and get you more.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” Where had this bossiness come from? She didn’t normally sound so authoritative. “I’ve got all day. I’ll walk over to my father’s mercantile and get Harriett everything she needs.”
“I’ll reimburse you. I’ll pay you a wage, too. Whatever you think is fair.”
“Trace.” How could she tell him it wasn’t about money? That caring for Harriett would give purpose to her days and make her feel useful? What price could anyone put on that? Instead, she simply smiled. “You’re late for work. You’d better hurry.”
He rubbed his chin. “Rough night last night. She, uh, didn’t sleep much. Didn’t eat much, either.”
“She’ll have a better day today.” Already, the deep blue eyes had grown heavy by her gentle swaying back and forth.
“Please, don’t worry about her.”
“I can tell she’s in good hands. I’ll be around the house. Somewhere.”
“On the roof, perhaps?” She gave him her most innocent look, though her tone teased him.
“Yeah, but don’t climb up.”
She laughed, eliciting his grin over the shared memory of her paint debacle. Before she wanted it to, the moment ended.
“I’ve tied her sleeping basket to my saddle. I’ll bring it in.” He headed to the door but turned back. His gaze lingered over her, dark and smoldering. “Thanks, Morgana. For everything.”
The fervency of his murmured words held her riveted after he left, warmed by the knowledge that he appreciated her help when no one else did.
Chapter 4
“Mighty kind what you’re doing, Miss Morgana,” Dodie said after Trace brought in the basket, then headed out to work. “You’ve got a big heart to help him like this.”
“He was in a precarious predicament. I’ve never heard of such a thing, have you? Someone just up and leaving a baby with him like that.” Of course, Trace hadn’t given any details, but whatever happened, it’d been sudden and unexpected. Morgana guessed he hadn’t been given a choice, either, and was left woefully unprepared. “Besides, it’ll be fun to take care of little Harriett.”
Dodie eyed her doubtfully. “It’ll be a lot of work, too. Babies cry, and most times, you don’t know why.”
“Yes, I suppose.”
Her gaze fastened onto the child, dozing against her. It’d been such a long time since she held a baby. Since Caroline, her younger sister, was born. Had she ever, since then?
“Oftentimes, they don’t sleep, either, no matter what you do,” Dodie added.
“Must you be so grumpy, Dodie? Mothers take care of babies every day, whether they’re sleeping or crying or anything in between.”
“Well, you’re not a mother, and either am I, but—” She straightened her shoulders and lowered her gaze. “Forgive me, ma’am. I don’t mean to be disrespectful. I’m willing to help you as much as I can. I’ve got six brothers and sisters below me. I’d warrant I’ve put in my time taking care of each one of them, when my own ma needed me to.”
Morgana’s annoyance with her lessened. Dodie spoke as a friend and not her parents’ housekeeper. She’d be an excellent resource. “I appreciate that very much.” She gently laid Harriett on the velvet sofa. “I want to see her. Every bit.”
She opened her small blanket and spread it wide for a good inspection. Harriett wore only a knitted shirt with a milk stain on the front and a diaper fashioned from flour sacking, the corners tied and knotted at her narrow hips. Despite what must’ve been Trace’s best efforts, the diaper sagged and barely covered Harriett’s privates.
Evidently, baby-diapering wasn’t a skill Trace had mastered yet.
“Oh, dear.” Morgana frowned. “She looks a bit like a ragamuffin, doesn’t she?”
“A mite thin to me, too. I’d guess she was weaned before she was ready.”
Sympathy ballooned through Morgana. Everyone knew the longer a baby nursed at her mother’s breast, the healthier she’d be. For reasons unknown, Harriett had been denied her precious milk and suffered for it.
She drew her knuckle down the baby’s soft cheek. “Well, things are going to get much better for you, little one. I’m going to take good care of you, and you’ll soon be fat and happy, like every baby should be.”
Morgana wrapped her up again, rousing her from a doze, and cradled her close. Her mind marched through the tasks that needed to be done, which made for quite a long list and promised to keep her busy the whole day.
Pleased at her impending busy-ness, Morgana headed straight to the kitchen. “Come with me, Dodie, and show me how to give her a bath.”
“Got ‘er all done?” LeRoy asked, standing at the foot of the ladder while Trace climbed down, holding a half-empty paint can and brush.
“Yep. First coat looks good. Won’t take long to put the second one on tomorrow.”
“Miz Goldwater will be pleased with that widow’s walk,” he said with an agreeable nod. “You did a fine job on it.”
“Enjoyed doing it.” He lifted his Stetson, rubbed his bandanna across his sweaty forehead, then replaced the hat. “I’ll be sure to get an earlier start in the morning, when it’s cooler.”
“That’s Kansas for you. Hot and humid. Take a break, Trace. You haven’t stopped working since you got here.”
“Wanted to make up for my late start.” Taking a hammer, he pounded the lid onto the paint can and checked to make sure it was secure. He hesitated before speaking next, for the commitment the words implied. “But I’ll sit in the shade a spell and take a look at the architect’s drawings. You said there’re three bedrooms left on the second floor that aren’t done yet?”
“That’s right. Six bedrooms in all.”
Trace hadn’t planned on staying in Wallace long enough to finish everything in the Goldwater house that needed finishing. But after last night, when the girl landed in his life, well, his planning turned upside down. He needed to be flexible.
Hell, he needed Morgana more.
There were worse things in life than sticking around town a little longer for her help, he supposed. She was likely the best thing to happen in the whole crazy scenario.
LeRoy squinted an upward glance. “Quite the house, ain’t it? Nothing like it for miles around. Maybe not even in this whole county.”
“Never had the kind of money it’d take to build a place like this.” Seemed extravagant, but Trace kept the thought to himself.
“Me, neither. But when you own the biggest and best mercantile around, and plenty of folks buy what you sell, then you can afford it.”
“Reckon so.”
“Stan says it’s the kind of house his wife’s accustomed to. Wanted lots of room for when her family came to visit. She’s from the East, you know.”
Trace didn’t know and didn’t much care, but he supposed the news was interesting enough. If nothing else, it helped him learn a bit more about Morgana, who seemed to be less like her mother and tended more toward her father.
“Besides, after their loss last summer, reckon it gave Missus Goldwater something different to think about, too.”
LeRoy had a fondness for conversation with some gossip thrown in, but he made a fine construction foreman, and Trace had taken a liking to him.
“Speaking of the mercantile, did you notice the delivery wagon that drove up, oh, about a half hour ago?” LeRoy asked.
“Missed that. Too busy painting, I guess.” Not that he was interested in any of the Goldwaters’ affairs. His own kept his mind wound tight with how he was going to figure them all out. Trace headed toward a wooden table laden with supplies, took a rag and soaked a portion in turpentine to clean his hands.
“Miss Goldwater seemed real tickled with what the driver brought her,” the foreman said, tagging along behind him.
“Most women would, I suppose.”
“Especially that new-fangled baby carriage. Never seen one so fancy.”
Trace halted his cleaning. “A baby carriage?”
LeRoy chuckled. “She’s out to spoil the little girl.”
It’d been best to explain Harriett’s arrival to the foreman in case Trace ran late coming to work again. Like with the Goldwaters, he hadn’t offered details, but the man accepted the news with few questions, as if it wasn’t unusual to suddenly find a baby on one’s doorstep.
“Well, look who’s comin’.” LeRoy chuckled again. “You got visitors. I’ll finish cleaning your paintbrush for you. Like I said, you’re needing a break anyway.”
He took the brush out of Trace’s hand. Trace hardly noticed with his attention on Morgana strolling toward him from around the front of the house.
Sure enough, she pushed a shiny, four-wheeled carriage with a brown hood. The breeze tossed a few strands of her ebony hair across her cheek, and she turned her face, just enough for them t
o blow off again, then tucked them behind her ear.
“Hello, Trace,” she said, halting.
“Morgana.” He set his hands on his hips. “Hell of a contraption you got there.”
“The baby carriage?” Her mouth softened, as if his terminology amused her. “I was fortunate my father had one at his store. It’s the newest style.”
“You think it’s necessary?”
Her smile faded. “I do. Don’t you like it?”
“Not up to me,” he hedged, but found himself not wanting to hurt her feelings. “Harriett’s the one who’ll be using it.”
Trace didn’t know what to make of Morgana’s generosity. He wouldn’t have thought to buy one for the extravagance it entailed; on the other hand, he conceded, a carriage had its benefits.
He came around to look inside. Harriett lay on her back, wearing an airy sleeping gown in pale pink Trace had never seen before. The girl clutched a plush dog by its nose, and by her cooing and leg-kicking, the new toy entertained her.
“How was she today?” he asked.
“Very good. She took a long nap after her bath.”
“Not surprised, since she was wide awake all night.”
“She ate a big lunch, too, and just finished a bottle.”
“Must’ve been hungry. She didn’t eat much for me.”
“I’d say she’s had an excellent day, wouldn’t you?” Looking pleased with herself, Morgana beamed up at him.
Another time, another reason, she would’ve dazzled him with that smile. “You have a way with her.”
“She is a joy.” Fussing, she tugged the miniature gown lower past the baby’s diaper, made of striped flannel and one more thing Trace hadn’t seen before.
“Morgana.” He strove for the right words. “I appreciate the things you bought for the girl, but I don’t expect you to. Babies don’t need much.”
“I wanted to, and she needed everything I gave her. Please, don’t deprive me of the pleasure. Besides, I brought you something, too.” She lifted a quart-sized jar, tucked in the corner of the carriage. “Iced tea. Do you have time for some? It’s so hot out here.”
Her thoughtfulness pushed aside the reservations he had about her purchases. “How about we sit in the shade? Over there by the ash tree.”
