Saving the Mail Order Bride

by Linda Broday

  Jack’s eyes misted. He knew from experience how a longing like that could burrow deep inside and wake you from a dead sleep. So did Nora. But it was worse for a kid. Sawyer’s memories were fresher and more vivid, and he hadn’t learned how to push them away. Jack was glad he’d come with them. They could help the boy make a new life, one he’d be proud to claim.

  Alex would’ve been about Sawyer’s age now if he’d lived. Jack couldn’t help his son, but he could help see Sawyer grow up strong with good values.

  That’s all a man like Jack had a right to hope for. Leaving good behind to show his life had counted for something.

  Jack’s memories of childhood weren’t the sort to share—his mother crying, her lip split, her eye black, after Orin Bowdre came home from his latest holdup, drunk and mean. Little food, cold and scared, Jack stayed hidden until Orin sobered up. Until that last time, when he couldn’t take anymore. Spoiling for a fight, his rotten father had been like a raging bull. Jack grabbed him by the neck and slung him into an iron pole, then left him lying in his own blood and urine.

  Remembrances of violence were all Jack could claim.

  The sun had started its downward path toward the horizon when they rounded a large clump of mesquite trees and spied a small soddy ahead. He gave a low cry.

  And then he noticed about a dozen sheep and two or three goats at the side of the house. Occupied. Hell!

  Nora drew close. “Do you think they’ll let us have some food? Sawyer needs to eat. And we all need water.”

  “Yeah.” Jack scanned the thick windows of the mud-brick building. “Stay here.” He eyed her sternly and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I mean it. Do not leave this spot. Do not follow me. Do not try to save me or shoot anyone. Got it?”

  She gave him a wounded expression and placed her hands on her rounded hips. “I am in full command of the English language, Jack. I know when my help is not appreciated.”

  Those large, expressive eyes bored into him like they had the day she’d defiantly handcuffed herself to him and tossed away the key. And she’d looked so perfectly innocent then too. Ha! She knew exactly what she was doing to him and wasn’t one bit sorry. But right now, as he drowned in the depths of her brown eyes, his thoughts turned to the nights beside a flickering campfire when he’d held her close in his arms, listening to the sound of her gentle breathing, feeling her heart’s soft beat, knowing he’d found an uncommon woman.

  The breeze ruffled her hair and lifted a strand of silk, laying it across her eyes.

  God, she was beautiful. Why would she want an old outlaw like him, who’d end up dead from a bullet or in a hangman’s noose?

  His breath caught as he brushed the strand of hair from her face and watched the sun’s rays fire it to soft gold. Nora Kane made him mad enough to cuss, but despite that, she was worth more than all the glitter in the bottom of a miner’s pan.

  Headstrong? That was a definite yes, but she didn’t run from trouble, and that was something you couldn’t buy.

  Her eyes twinkled as she raised on her tiptoes to brush her lips across his. He melted and turned quickly away while he was still able.

  He met Sawyer’s gaze, and the boy gave him a knowing grin.

  After leveling both of them with another stern glance, he moved cautiously toward the humble dwelling, surveying the area for signs of trouble.

  The closer he got, the more his nerves tied in knots.

  Something didn’t feel right.

  Nothing stirred or made a sound. Even the goats and sheep seemed to have disappeared from the side of the house. The unmistakable odor of blood reached him. Someone was hurt bad. Or dead.

  An icy chill formed against his spine, and the hair on his arms prickled as he drew his Colt and slowly approached.

  “Hello? Anyone home?” He was met with cold silence. “I wonder if you’d mind sharing your water. Then we’ll leave.”

  The quiet whispered caution and brushed his face with cold, bony fingers.

  His pulse raced, and he became acutely aware of each tiny sound, each blade of grass moving, each tense second that ticked by. He tightened his grip on the gun.

  The familiar iron tang of blood clung like a horse nettle, refusing to let go. Some sixth sense he’d acquired over the years of riding the outlaw trail told him death had come to someone.

  Taking a deep breath, he stepped to the door. “I don’t want any trouble. Just water.”

  The wind abruptly picked up, the sudden gust almost lifting Jack’s hat from his head, as though trying to shoo him from the dwelling.

  Not before he checked on whoever, whatever, was inside. A faint noise came from beyond the door. A weak kitten? Had someone locked an animal up inside and ridden away?

  Jack pressed his ear to the door and turned the knob. The cry came again.

  The sound awakened a memory of long ago.

  One heartbeat. Two. Then three.

  The cry. The tiny hitch in its breath.

  This time he recognized the familiar noise.

  A baby.

  Thirteen

  Thank goodness they had a little time before the sun set. A large knot settled in the center of Nora’s chest and clenched until she could barely draw in air. She gripped Sawyer and watched every move Jack made. The tense set of his broad shoulders as he approached the door of the lonely house spoke of wariness, maybe even a dose of fear. What had spooked him?

  If anyone was inside, why didn’t they open up?

  She started to rise, but Jack’s stern admonition to stay put echoed in her ears. Going to him was out, but she could still help by keeping watch. Where she crouched in the brush, she could see a wider swath of land and anyone who sought to creep up on them.

  “What’s happening?” Sawyer fidgeted.

  “I’m not sure. Try to be still in case someone is looking out the window.”

  The next thing she knew, Jack turned the knob and went inside. A second later, he reappeared. “Nora, come quick!”

  She rose and sprinted toward the dwelling with Sawyer at her side. She arrived out of breath. “What?”

  “Better see.” He stepped aside and let her in.

  The smell of blood hit her the second she stepped through the door. Her gaze flew to the bed, where a woman lay, her unseeing eyes open, staring up at the ceiling. Blood soaked the feather mattress. At her side lay a crying baby wrapped in only a ragged piece of blanket. The young mother’s hand rested on her child as though in comfort during her final moments.

  “Oh no!” Nora hurried and picked the infant up, her heart melting. Cradling the babe to her, she unbuttoned her coat and slipped the wool around the tiny, icy limbs. “This child isn’t going to make it unless we get it warm and fed right away. It can barely cry.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Jack gently closed the woman’s eyes, took the rosary beads from her other hand, and pulled the old quilt that covered her over her face. “Here, Nora.” He handed her the beads.

  Nora took the rosary and put it in her pocket. She glanced down at the black-haired infant and its olive skin. She cradled the babe and let her gaze sweep the one-room dwelling, lighting on a display on a shelf with three candles and a small statue of Mother Mary she’d once seen in a church. “What is that, Jack?”

  “A traditional family keeps things like this in their home, and it’s where they pray. Clearly, the child is of Mexican descent.” He crossed to the tiny kitchen area of the one-room house and began rifling through boxes that had once held supplies.

  The baby captured Nora’s attention. She held it close to take advantage of her body heat and crooned softly. Sawyer remained frozen in the doorway, his eyes wide. “It’s all right, Sawyer, honey. Nothing to be afraid of. Jack, have you found anything to use as a bottle?”

  “Nothing yet,” he called. “Sawyer, can you find a pail and milk one of th
e goats?”

  “Yes, sir.” The boy appeared grateful for something to do away from the house—and the dead woman.

  Nora hurried to help Jack search. “Doesn’t look like much here. I wonder how long this woman’s been so far from town. And where is the father? How could he, in all decency, abandon his wife and child?” Nora blinked back tears. How sad that the young mother had to die all alone.

  Jack put an arm around her, and she welcomed his strength. “Try not to worry, Nora. We’re doing our best here, and don’t judge the poor husband yet. He could have a good explanation. I’ll try to find him after we get the babe fed and the mother buried.”

  “If you don’t see a glove, how about a clean rag that I can dip in milk and let the child suck on?”

  Items flew this way and that as Jack returned to the box and dug to the bottom. “No luck.”

  “Try the woman’s clothes. Maybe she tucked a pair of gloves into a pocket.” That sounded like a better idea to her anyway. No woman would normally leave a pair of gloves in the kitchen. But save for one patched dress hanging on a nail with a man’s shirt beneath it, she saw no other clothes. In fact, there was very little of anything.

  “These people lived with nothing, Jack.” The baby’s cries were getting weaker. All the jiggling and swaying in the world wouldn’t fill an empty stomach or warm a body gone that cold.

  “No surprise. Sheepherders are a thrifty lot.”

  Nora glanced at the woman again, the membrane, cut cord, and bloody knife. “It looks like she could’ve given birth a few hours ago and then began hemorrhaging. It’s a miracle the baby has lasted this long without warmth.”

  “It’s a good thing we happened by.” Jack pulled a white glove from the woman’s dress pocket. “Found one!”

  Sawyer appeared in the door. His face was dirty, his shirt ripped. “Is this enough? Those goats won’t keep still.”

  Jack took the pail. “It’s good for now. Thank you, son.” He sat the milk on a small table. “I’ll see if there’s anywhere I can wash this glove, Nora.”

  “Hurry.”

  “I saw a small creek behind this house. Not much water in it though,” Sawyer offered.

  “Thanks, son. It’ll have to do.” Jack raced out the door with Sawyer following.

  The baby occupied Nora’s attention. “There, there. We’re going to get you fed, little one, and you’ll feel much better. Yes, you will.” But Nora was anything but sure. She’d never seen any newborn this cold or hungry. She trembled as she tried to think. Then it hit her. Up north, when people fell through a frozen lake, they immersed them in warm water. That was it.

  Her hand shook with excitement and she could barely unbutton her coat. Finally, she managed to get it off and wrapped the babe in it.

  “Jack!” She flew out the door. She found him squatted by a trickle of water behind the mud brick house, Sawyer at his side. “Jack!”

  He jerked to his feet, his face white. “What’s wrong?”

  “I need water to heat and put the infant into.”

  Sawyer rose from his crouch. “I know where another pail is.” He raced toward the animals’ enclosure.

  “Here’s the glove. It’s as clean as I can get it without soap.” Jack caressed her cheek with the back of a knuckle. “We’re going to save this child. Believe that with all your heart.”

  His soft touch gave her strength as she fought back tears. Guilt and painful memories flooded over her. She bit her trembling lip to still it and pushed a terrifying scene into the back of her mind. Now was not the time to relive the past.

  Nora nodded. “You’re right. We were led here to save this poor, innocent babe, and we’re going to give it a fighting chance. Jack, I don’t even know if this is a boy or girl. I haven’t removed the old quilt.”

  Sawyer raced back with a pail but went straight to the creek without being told. He was such a dear, sweet boy.

  “We have time for that later. Go fill the glove with milk and see if you can get the babe to suckle,” Jack said. “I’ll come with you and get a fire started.”

  Nora hurried on to the house, not waiting for Jack, who was instructing Sawyer to release the animals and let them eat. No telling how long they’d been penned. Poor things.

  The sight of the covered woman struck Nora with a new bout of immense sorrow as soon as she opened the door. Maybe Jack would carry her out into the fresh air after he got a fire started.

  The wet glove was freezing, yet another problem to deal with. Nora ran her free hand over her eyes. The trials just kept coming. To put the warm milk into an icy glove would give the infant a stomachache. The warmest place she knew was inside her dress. She placed the cold, clammy fabric next to her warm skin and moved toward the box of kindling next to the stove.

  Jack came in. “Darlin’, let me do that. Your hands are full. Where’s the glove?”

  “Warming inside my coat.”

  “I’ll help you fill the glove, then carry the body outside, but it’ll be dark soon. I may have to wait until tomorrow to dig a grave. How are you holding up?” His eyes spoke volumes, and she softened beneath his gaze. She’d never experienced anyone so attuned to her emotions.

  “I’m fine.” For now. She might tell him later about the source of her grief and the guilt it brought. Of anyone, he’d understand. “I’m worried about the babe. It’s too weak to cry now.”

  “I noticed.” A flash of anger deepened the lines around his mouth. “We might be too late to save it. Damn this land!”

  His frustration reverberated inside her. Why did life have to be so hard? It took and took.

  No words would help, so she kept silent and reached inside her coat for the glove. With her holding one side and him the other, he filled it with milk, then punched a tiny hole in the end of one of the fingers with the tip of his knife. Milk dribbled out onto the babe’s little bow mouth. The first drop or two ran out and off the side of its face.

  Jack lit some candles, and a glow filled the sheepherder’s soddy.

  “Come on, sweetheart. Please take this milk.” Nora rubbed the baby’s soft cheeks with a finger, coaxing the little mouth open. When it did, she slid a mere fingertip of the glove inside. It wasn’t the best bottle in the world but would have to do for now. She gently touched the black tendrils of hair and murmured quiet, soothing words.

  Sawyer entered with the pail of water and found a large kettle to fill. Then he set it on the fire and held the door for Jack as he carried the dead woman out.

  Unshed tears burned the back of Nora’s eyes at the life cut short. “Jack, don’t let wild animals get her.”

  “I won’t.”

  After Jack went out, the boy closed the door and stood, undecided—wanting to come closer but afraid he shouldn’t.

  Nora smiled. “It’s all right if you want to watch. The babe won’t bite.”

  “I ain’t never seen one so small.”

  “Your sisters were older then?”

  “Yep. Lots bigger. I was the baby of the family and the runt.” He unbuttoned his coat and she noticed a deep scrape on his hand that was bleeding.

  “You’re hurt.”

  “I tripped with the pail of water. Ain’t nothing.”

  The flickering candlelight played across the boy’s freckled face and reddish-brown hair. She wanted to cry. He took his pain inward. Did he feel that he didn’t deserve sympathy or that he’d be punished if he complained? His blue eyes held much grief. He’d seen far too much pain in his short life, much of it due to Bittercreek’s treatment.

  “I’ll wash and bandage your injury when I get the baby taken care of.”

  “I can do it. You’re busy.” Sawyer went back out.

  Jack returned, shrugged out of his duster, and strode to Nora’s side. “I put the woman in a shallow hole for now and covered her with rocks. It’ll do until mo
rning. How’s it coming with the baby?”

  “Eating for now. With food, getting nice and warm, and finding something to make a diaper out of, I think the poor darling will be all right. I’m glad we have shelter tonight.”

  “Me too. I’ll carry the blood-soaked mattress outside and try to scrounge up something for us to eat. If only I could get rid of the smell.”

  Nora chuckled. “Everything reeks, including us. When I get to town, I’m burning these clothes. What I have left is beyond saving. I’d love to take a hot bath and soak for a week. Does this town of yours have a bathhouse?” Guilt washed over her that she’d complain about stinking when the baby’s mother was dead.

  “Nope, no bathhouse, but we manage just fine.” He swept her hair aside and bent to kiss the nape of her neck. “I’ll make sure you have everything you need, darlin’.”

  The light in his gray eyes drew a shiver of longing. Just a day or two and they’d be married. She found the idea very appealing. “Anywhere with you is heaven to me, Jack. Never feel like you have to make things perfect for me. I gave up on perfect quite a while ago.”

  The water had finished heating by the time the babe quit taking any more milk. Nora unwrapped the baby’s frail body. “She’s a girl, Jack. A little girl. Think of a pretty name, Sawyer.”

  Sawyer glanced up. “My sister was Willow. I kinda like that name. She hugged me a lot.”

  “Then Willow it is.” Jack’s gruff voice didn’t fool Nora. Sawyer’s wistful words had touched him and maybe brought back a memory.

  “I agree.” Nora tested the temperature of the water, then eased Willow’s cold body into it.

  Her little eyes were open, and even though she couldn’t see very far yet, she looked up into Nora’s face. Something turned over in Nora’s chest, a protectiveness she’d never felt before. She knew in that moment she’d give her life for this innocent baby girl.