Rocky Mountain Redemption

by Pamela Nissen

  Having seen the girl and the surroundings with his own two eyes, Ben found that impossible to believe. He didn’t doubt the woman had loved her, he just didn’t think Blanchard cared much about providing. And was repulsed by the fact that the man considered Callie’s daughter so lightly.

  “She ain’t nothin’ but a bow-decorated, ruffle-clad girl who don’ like to get dirty. It’s jest like I told the wife. Tess, I says, she gonna be nothin’ but trouble.”

  Ben swallowed back the bile burning his throat. Perhaps Max had felt the same way…that this little girl was going to be too much trouble. The thought made his blood boil hot with rage and regret for how Max had gone so astray.

  “I believe I told you that I’m a doctor…”

  “What of it? I’m fit as a fiddle.” He stood up a little straighter then sagged a moment later. “Don’ need no doctor pokin’ on me.”

  Ben pulled his shoulders back. “You’re in a predicament, Mr. Blanchard,” he stated boldly. “With the missus gone and winter setting in, you won’t be doing much trapping with that young lady in there.”

  “I’m not stickin’ round just cuz’a her. If’n I don’ git my lines out in them hills, some other greedy son will,” he guaranteed, confirming that his trapping territory was of more importance than a little girl.

  “Well, you can’t exactly leave her here to fend for herself. She’s hardly old enough.”

  Blanchard aimed the gun at Ben and spat again. “T’ain’t none of yer business. ’Sides, I got me some other prospects that’a way. She’s nearin’ the marryin’ age.”

  “Well, it’s my business now. Now that I know.” He stared hard at the sorry excuse for a man. “And she’s nowhere near the marrying age.”

  Decayed, yellowed teeth showed through Blanchard’s sneer.

  “The law will have to know, too,” he added. The last thing Blanchard would want if he possessed stolen horses was the law sniffing around. “It’s only right.”

  Blanchard’s gaze slithered the length of Ben, as though sizing him up to see if he’d fit into a boiling pot. “The wife’s the one who wanted her. I had nothin’ to do with ’er till Tess up and died.”

  “Exactly.” Grasping at his fading self-control, Ben bit back the vicious litany of names he could let fly at the man. “Tell you what…I know of a young woman who lost a baby girl some time back. She’d love this little girl as her own.” With the most authoritative air he could muster, he added, “I’d be glad to take this young charge off your hands.”

  After tenuous moments of deliberation, where Blanchard’s knuckles turned white around the barrel of the shotgun, Ben wondered if he’d gone about this all wrong. He’d tethered a small handgun to his saddle, but that would do him little good now. The man had done jail time for attempted murder. Ben didn’t want to give him a reason to pour out his rage on an innocent little girl.

  He nailed the man with a steady, unwavering stare.

  Blanchard met his gaze with a hungry grin. “For a price.”

  Callie hugged her arms to her chest and grasped for some silvery thread of hope, her heart barely thudding inside her chest.

  On her way down to Golden, her optimism had surged to new levels, thinking that she might be able to see her little girl—just once. But when she’d asked around town and finally located the Blanchard homestead just minutes ago, she’d made the agonizing discovery that Thomas Blanchard was gone.

  The weathered door hung open, dangling by a single rusty hinge as it creaked with eerie sadness in the brisk wind. The run-down house had been ransacked, and every last item in the sparsely furnished dwelling had been turned upside down.

  Much like her life.

  For six years, she’d lived in turmoil, had thought that God had punished her for the way she’d disobeyed her father and run off with Max. That had been a horrific and shameful reality to come to terms with. Learning that her baby had been born alive, and that Max had given the little girl—his little girl—as payment for a gambling debt, had been devastating. How could God allow such a horribly unjust thing to occur?

  And now this?

  A chill worked down Callie’s spine as she slid her gaze over the small, two-room cabin. She could barely breathe. Had there been some kind of attack? Some kind of ambush that sent her little girl fleeing for her life?

  Aided by the wide-open door and the daylight that streamed through cracks in the walls where chinking had long since fallen away, she gave the cramped cabin a thorough, bone-chilling perusal. There were no signs of blood—at least that much was good.

  She pulled in a steadying breath, wishing that Ben was here with her. She’d feel safe then.

  He’d been a refuge in those moments after the discovery. Her saving grace…the way he’d held her and listened as she’d spilled more information than she ever should have. At the time, she hadn’t been able to stop herself. The words had tumbled out so hard and so fast that if she’d tried to put a lid on them she might well have exploded.

  Her head and heart still swirled with unanswered questions. She longed for peace…any kind of peace she could find.

  She wanted to find peace with God. It wasn’t good standing on the other side of a powerful and wrath-filled God.

  Before her mama had died, Callie remembered watching Mama sing the hymns at church. Where the other adults had seemed so stoic and somber as they’d sung, Callie had often wondered if her mama was singing the songs to God Himself. She’d looked so beautiful. Had sung beautifully, too.

  But it was her father’s fear-invoking, anger-filled words that had haunted her time and again, marking her steps. He’d always said that until she straightened herself up and lived by the Lord’s word and commands, the Almighty wanted nothing to do with her.

  Even now, knowing that he’d tried to contact her didn’t seem to remove the rut his words had formed in her soul.

  “I’ve been trying, God,” she whispered, stepping over the trash littering the floor. It just seemed like every time she was getting her footing, feeling like maybe she could approach God without fear of punishment, something came in to knock her off her feet.

  A shaky sigh escaped her lips. She cushioned the crumbling anticipation of seeing her daughter with the idea that maybe the place had been empty for some time and had fallen prey to passing thieves.

  She could only hope, could only pray that her daughter was safe. But when she spotted a little girl’s dress, tattered, filthy and heaped near a straw-filled mattress, dread crept like a whole host of spiders down her spine.

  Ghastly images infiltrated her thoughts. When she spied a small rag doll in the corner, her hopes faded to a deathly pallor. She knelt and picked up the doll, held it to her chest, trembling with the thought that perhaps her daughter had held this very doll. She pulled it to her face. Breathed in the distinct scent woven in the fibers. The doll hung limp in her hands. It was worn, almost to shreds, really. Probably well-loved by her little girl.

  Carefully, almost reverently, she tucked the doll inside her cloak, her heart quaking with ready emotion. But when she felt the makeshift contract in her pocket and recalled how Max had boldly signed his name, her heart churned with revulsion. The deep, cavernous hole those emotions created threatened to consume her.

  If she allowed that to happen, she’d go to the grave knowing that she’d been no better than Max. Or her father, who’d become so bitter and angry after her mama had died.

  Callie refused to let that happen.

  She’d faced plenty of bad things before and she’d made it through. She could do it again.

  It’s just that she’d so wanted to see her daughter. Just one glimpse to ensure that her little girl was healthy and happy and content…then maybe that huge hole in Callie’s heart would begin to heal.

  At the distant pounding of horses’ hooves, she hurried to the door, eager to leave before someone discovered her here and accused her of pilfering. On the way to the door she caught sight of a silver filigree frame lying on
the floor, the glass broken, photograph torn, and the frame bent. She picked it up.

  Her breath hitched as she peered at the image. A woman, her hair dark and her smile timid, cradled a baby, her arms wrapped around the little bundle in motherly protection. The woman looked happy, Callie decided, blinking back tears as she raised a hand to her mouth. Very happy.

  While the pounding hooves grew closer, she glanced at the man in the photograph. A chill set her hair on end. Her heart came to a grinding halt.

  She’d never, ever forget that face.

  It was him.

  The man who had shown up at their small home. Nearly breaking down the door to get at Max.

  Being well into the ninth month of pregnancy, Callie had been hard-pressed to find a hiding place when the man barged in, drunk and mean as a cornered badger, insisting on Max paying up. Max had put him off with a partial payment. But not before the brutish man knocked him across the room with his meaty fist.

  Callie had thrown herself at the man’s mercy, begging him to stop, but he’d thoughtlessly pushed her to the side then jammed a boot firmly on Max’s heaving chest. Threatening far more than that if he didn’t pay the rest by week’s end.

  Max had paid up, all right. With his very own baby girl.

  A small moan escaped her lips. A quiver ran down her spine as she stumbled out the door. To know that her husband had given their precious baby into the hands of a man like that weighted her heart with such sorrow she couldn’t help but release a strangled cry.

  At the same time, anger, deep and penetrating, sprang to life within her like a choking weed as she made her way to the horse she’d tethered near the tree line. Her entire body shook. It scared her, the feelings that kind of rage invoked, because, had Max not been dead already, and had he been standing here with her, she would’ve killed him.

  And she’d hate herself for it, too.

  She could write a book of regrets and give it to Max, signed and sealed just for him, but even that wouldn’t release the anger and regret that barraged her soul.

  She could fight. Fight to get her child back, wherever the little girl was. But what did she have to fight with? Her daughter had been signed away with a contract, however malevolent and unfair. The fact that Callie hadn’t given her consent would mean nothing in a court of law. She could do nothing. At least not now. Maybe when she was back on her feet again, after she’d paid back the debt to Whiteside.

  Callie untied her mount and swung up into the saddle just as two riders made their way around the bend. She edged her horse into the cover of trees, watching as two men with badges dismounted and stalked toward the cabin.

  Glancing down at the photograph again, she realized that God might exact punishment on her for her mistakes, but she’d never understand how He could allow an innocent child to fall into the hands of a man like Thomas Blanchard.

  She struggled to hold back the emotions that tore through her like some hungry tornado raking across the plains. Her fingers quivered as she worked the photograph free from the frame and tucked it inside her cloak, tossing the broken frame aside. In spite of the fact that that horrible man was in the picture, looking as mean as she remembered him being, she wanted to keep the photograph. If this was the one and only visual memory she had of her baby then she’d treasure it. Until the day she died. Though it was tattered and she couldn’t see her baby’s face for the bundle of blankets, Callie just knew that the little baby, cradled in another mother’s arms, was her little girl.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Callie barely remembered the ride back to Boulder. It was probably close to ten o’clock when she trotted the horse into town and returned him to the livery.

  When she walked the few blocks home from the livery, she stared up at the stars that studded the dark night sky. How could a God who lavished such brilliance and glory in His creation seem to be so finicky and vengeful with His children?

  As low as she felt right now, she was desperate to believe something more pleasant and hopeful, but she was afraid. Afraid that if she opened her heart and soul enough to see if God was more than that, she’d be sorely disappointed. She just didn’t think she could take that kind of disappointment, again.

  Arriving home, she was surprised to find the lamps burning in the office. Ben must’ve gotten home from his trip already and was probably tending to a patient, since he wasn’t normally at the office this time of night. Likely, he wondered where she’d gone off to. He did say that she was free to do whatever she pleased while he was away, but still…

  She quietly unlatched the door and moved inside. When her gaze collided with Ben’s, her heart faltered for a moment at the tender, gleaming look in his eyes. He sat before the fireplace in a rocking chair, holding a child in his lap.

  He motioned her closer with a crooked finger. “Callie, you have to see her.” His comforting voice was almost a whisper.

  Callie shed her cloak, fingering the doll again, then stepped closer, concern mounting for the young child in Ben’s arms. “What can I do?” she whispered so as not to disturb the patient. “Is the child fevered? Would you like me to get a cool compress?”

  “She’s fine.” He grasped Callie’s hand. “She’s yours, Callie.”

  Her gaze darted to the child in his lap.

  Then to Ben.

  Her stomach surged to her throat. Her brow beaded with perspiration. And her pulse swished through her head with bright clarity. Smoothing her free hand down her dress, she grappled for her bearings as the words echoed through her soul.

  Had she heard him right? Did he just say—

  “Yes. I said she’s yours.” The warm smile tipping his lips made her heart skip several urgent beats. “This is your little girl.”

  “Wh-what?” Her vision narrowed as she pulled in a thin gasp of air. When her legs grew watery beneath her, she sank to her knees at Ben’s feet.

  He snuggled the little girl closer and scooted to the edge of the chair, his hand still firmly locked on Callie’s.

  “Just look at her.” Ben’s voice quavered as he crooked a finger beneath her chin and raised her gaze. His eyes shone through a glimmer of tears, and she was certain she’d never seen such visible, magnificent, powerful pride before. As if the little girl in his arms was his very own.

  “She’s beautiful.” When he trailed the back of his fingers down Callie’s face, a warm rushing sensation cascaded all the way down to her toes. “She looks just like you.”

  Disbelieving, she studied him for a long moment, searching his face for any hint that this was some sick and horribly cruel joke. But she knew, even as the thought crossed her mind, that he would never, ever do something like that. He was just too good. Too honorable. Too noble.

  He was Ben.

  A far cry from the man Max had been.

  Time skidded to a halt as she inched forward. She leaned over the little girl in his arms, her lungs craving just one full breath of air. With a trembling hand, she edged the thick quilt away from the little girl’s face. Peered at the child—her child. She could barely see the cherublike face through the hot, wet tears clouding her vision.

  Choking back a sob, she pulled her hand from Ben’s grasp. Set it to her mouth as she watched the little girl’s pink lips pucker. Her breath catch. Her petite brow furrow then smooth out in a distinct expression of…

  Peace.

  Security.

  And of comfort.

  For six years her arms had ached—a real, tangible ache—to hold her little girl. She’d longed for the feel of her little girl’s soft skin against her cheek. Longed for the fresh baby scent and sweet voice to hang in the air around her, like some eternal and blessed tribute to motherhood.

  But now that her child was here within her reach, she felt clumsy, awkward. As if she had no idea what to do.

  She’d faced an angry father with grief and suspicions that ran deep.

  She’d faced a husband who drank, gambled and had fallen into long months where his personalit
y changed so dramatically, Callie wondered if he was the same man she’d married.

  She’d faced a man like Lyle Whiteside, who’d seemed to delight in holding the threat of her wicked demise over her head like some noose.

  But she’d never felt as afraid as she did right now. Facing her daughter. Knowing that this little girl was dependent upon her now for food, care, love. And for hope.

  Callie trailed a finger, featherlight, over her child’s brow, scared to death that she might fail her daughter. What if the mistakes of her past trickled down to her little girl, bestowing a legacy of pain and hardship?

  “How?” she finally asked, the word buried in a ragged whisper. She willed her hand to stop trembling. “How? I just came from there and the place was in shambles.”

  “You were there?” He peered at her, his brows creased in a look that had her feeling suddenly ashamed.

  Callie dipped her head to the side. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to see her. That’s all. I shouldn’t have left, and I—”

  “Don’t be sorry.” Ben smoothed her hair from her face. “It doesn’t surprise me that you tried to find her—you’re determined like that, Callie. I’m just glad you’re home, safe and sound.”

  Was this her home?

  Deep inside, she wanted to be able to call someplace home. Her daughter needed a place to call home. But if Callie allowed her heart to get too attached to this place and this man, she might lose herself once again. She might end up right where she’d been seven years ago, with a man who’d stood before her as a valiant hero, when in reality he’d been more like a shameless villain.

  Ben related the events of the day to her, his voice like some quiet, serene lullaby echoing in the room.

  And all the while, Callie kept her frantic gaze clasped to the little girl in his arms, frightened that she wouldn’t be able to make up for the significant years she’d lost with her daughter. And desperately afraid that if she looked away, even for a moment, her child would be gone. Again.