by Jillian Hart
“I don’t know how to thank you for what you’ve done. You saved Kringle. He could have been long gone with that thief and I never would have seen him again.” She edged closer to the crooked rail. A loose board squeaked beneath her shoe.
Definitely a dainty slip of a female. Willowy, feminine, innocent-looking. Not at all what he’d expected. He holstered his old Colt .45. “Next time, don’t hesitate. I know it’s a hard thing to pull that trigger, but horse stealing is a hanging offense in this territory. There’s no telling what a man that desperate might do, as well.”
“I always thought I could fire this rifle if I had to.” She shrugged, apologetic, grateful, and the door opened wider. Light tumbled onto her, turning her from a shadowy impression into living color. Gold hair, pink calico and a perfect heart-shaped face. She was the prettiest sight he’d ever seen.
A movement in the doorway behind her grabbed his attention. A child crept into the threshold, beheld by lamplight. Big blue eyes stared up at him. Round button face, vulnerable, the boy broke his heart into pieces.
His son.
A rush of love hit him harder than the leading edge of a Montana blizzard. His legs buckled and he grabbed the rickety rail for support, breathing hard. His son, alive and well, stared at him with a hint of fear.
“Aunt Caroline?” he asked with a tremble. “Who is that?”
“I don’t know,” the woman answered. “But he just saved Kringle for us.”
“I saw. That other man tried to steal him.”
“Yes. Just when I’d come to believe there wasn’t a chivalrous man left in the world, you came along.” She gazed at him with kindness. “I’m Caroline and this is Thomas. And you are?”
“Caleb McGraw.” His throat closed up. That was all he could get out. It had been so long since anyone had looked at him kindly. Not like a criminal, not like a convict. He took a step back already knowing he didn’t belong here, but he could not take his gaze from the boy, from his child.
Chapter Two
“It’s good to meet you, Mr. McGraw.” Caroline squinted as the storm tried to steal him in gusts of swirling white, wanting a better look. Their rescuer paced closer into the wind shadow of the house and the faint glow of light behind her illuminated him enough. The tall, powerful man placed one boot on the bottom step, holding Kringle’s reins in one large hand.
Beside her Thomas gasped and took a step behind her, hiding behind her skirts. She didn’t blame him. Her pulse lurched at the intimidating sight of the mountain of a man. Dark hair flecked with snow, granite face and square jaw set, he emanated a power that not even the fierce Montana wind could diminish. A giant of a man.
Yet when her gaze met his, she saw someone familiar in eyes as blue as sapphires. Familiar? That was completely odd, because she didn’t know him. She’d never set sight on him before. Or had she? “Are you sure you aren’t from around here?”
“No, ma’am.” His attention shifted to Thomas. “Like I said. I’m just passing through.”
Kringle shook snow off his face, jangling his bridle bits. Interesting, how the gelding stood calmly with this stranger. The horse nibbled the brim of the man’s hat. If she needed any confirmation as to Mr. McGraw’s character, then this would be it. Kringle didn’t like just anybody. He was clearly one of the good guys.
“Maybe we grew up in the same town. I lived in Shelby all my life, until recently.”
“Never been there, ma’am.”
“Caroline.” Such a polite man. She smiled at him fully, all guards down.
“Caroline,” he agreed with a self-conscious shrug of those iron shoulders. For one brief moment their gazes latched and she felt a spark of connection, something she’d never experienced before. It was as if she looked into her own heart. He tensed, all six feet plus of him. “Then you call me Caleb.”
“Caleb.” She felt a tug on her skirt as Thomas slipped more safely behind her. She could feel his tension, poor boy, uncertain at every unexpected change. “It’s all right, Thomas. Everything is fine now, thanks to Mr. McGraw.”
No answer from the child, only the slightest shuffle of his shoes on the porch boards. Her chest coiled up tight with failure. She had to keep trying to reach the child, to help him the way Alma would have wanted her to. “Go inside, sweetheart. It’s cold out here. Unless you want to play in the snow?”
No answer. Just the shuffle of shoes, a creak of a board and the boy drifted through the doorway, such a sad little thing. Big saucer eyes glanced back one last time, lighted on the man tied up in front of the step. It was hard to say what the boy was feeling as he disappeared into the warm house.
She shivered, aware of the cold creeping in, now that the adrenaline had worn off.
“That’s a nice little boy you have there.” Caleb McGraw’s words sounded strained as he stared past her into the house, so intent on the child he was unaware of the horse stealing his hat.
I know why he seems familiar. It wasn’t the man, but that yearning look in his gaze. He watched Thomas through the window with eyes so full of wretched sorrow and agonized longing it radiated off him. She could feel the force of it like the cold on the wind as it whipped by her.
The poor man. Her stomach fell, lost in sympathy. Even now, whenever she spotted a blond-haired little boy, her heart would stop, her soul would ache and the careful barriers she’d walled her grief in tumbled down. In those moments, all she saw was the past and the lost child she ached for.
“If you are just passing through, do you have a place to stay in town?” The question rolled off her tongue more easily than the question she did not ask.
“No. The hotel in town was too expensive. No way could I afford something like that.” He did not lift his eyes from the child who stood at the window, staring out at the snow. “I didn’t look around much. I’ll find a boardinghouse when I get back to town.”
“I shouldn’t be offering you this. You can see the type of men there are in the world.” She gestured toward the horse thief, struggling against his bindings and cursing at the feet of the invincible man. Caleb McGraw disregarded him, unmoved by the man’s threats. She tried to do the same. “You could stay the night in the stable. It’s snug and warm, and I’m a fair cook.”
“Don’t know if I should accept your kind offer. What about your reputation?” A muscle jumped along the square line of his jaw, betraying his tension. His gaze didn’t stray from the window.
She’d never seen such sad, beautiful eyes. Had he lost a little boy, too?
“My reputation will be just fine.” She wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to keep warmth in and her teeth from chattering. “You helped us, now we help you. That’s a fair trade, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know if it’s fair, as I did nothing much.”
“Are kidding? I wouldn’t have fired the rifle. I know that now. And you’re right. What if he’d decided since he could have taken the horse so easily, he could help himself to more? No, I owe you, Mr. McGraw—Caleb.”
“You don’t owe me anything. Not one thing. But I’ll think on it.” Muscles bunched in his neck as if it took all his mighty strength to tear his gaze from the child. When he turned his attention to her, the impact of his sad blue eyes hit her like a punch. Sorrow lived in him so sore and deep he could not hide it, although he tried. His capable hands fisted, his impressive frame tensed. He looked ready to face any fight and win it.
It was sorrow she saw in him. Deep understanding made her want to reassure him in some way, but he was a stranger to her. Still, she would do what she could. “I’m already freezing and I’ve only been standing on this porch for a few minutes. If you’ve been traveling, you’ve been out in this cold all day. I’ll bring a hot cup of coffee to the stable for you.”
“I would appreciate that, ma’am. Caroline.”
“Good. Because no good deed should go unrewarded.”
“Isn’t the phrase unpunished?” A tiny quirk in the corner of his mouth. “No good deed goes
unpunished?”
“You haven’t tasted my coffee. Maybe it’s terrible.”
“Maybe.” He shifted his weight on his feet, kneeling to haul the trussed up prisoner onto his feet. He ignored the spitting venom and curses, his interest shifting back to the window. To Thomas. He couldn’t help sighing. The boy had Alma’s nut-brown hair and apple cheeks. Love seized him so fiercely he could not breathe.
His son. He couldn’t look at him enough. He’d never seen anything as wonderful.
“I’ll bring some quilts, too.” Caroline’s sweet alto captured his attention, drawing his gaze back to her lovely heart-shaped face and the caring that rang like music in her voice. “The stable is snug, but this storm blowing in has me worried. I think it will be a fierce one.”
“Don’t worry about me.” He could get lost in the shine of concern. “I’m used to the cold. I’m tough.”
“No doubt.” Two bashful dimples flashed alongside her shy smile. “But you’re my guest. I’m going to make sure you are comfortable.”
It had been a long time since anyone had cared about his comfort. His throat closed, making it impossible to answer. He gave his prisoner a slight shove, just enough to get him moving in the right direction.
“Aunt Caroline?” Thomas padded into the doorway, framed by light. “Can I have a cookie?”
“Okay. How about a glass of milk to go with it?”
A single nod. That was the boy’s only response as he hung back, safely inside the house. Small for his age. Fear rounded his eyes as he looked out at the thief and at him.
At him. An arrow to his heart, and Caleb hung his head. Pain ratcheted through him, but it wasn’t strong enough to overpower the devotion consuming him.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of.” He wanted the boy to know. “I’m big but I’m not scary.”
Thomas said nothing. Not one thing.
The whirling snow closed in, coming down like a wall of white between him and the porch, hiding the woman and child. The need to see his Thomas plunged him forward until the winds shifted, allowing a glimpse of the house. Of the woman as she reached a loving hand to the boy’s chin. Her gentleness drew his attention. Her loving gentleness.
Her words were lost in the howling wind but there was no mistaking her kindness. Gratitude filled him as he drank in one last sight of his son. Thomas wore good sturdy shoes, newish denims and a blue flannel shirt, a compliment to his blue eyes.
Eyes the same shade of blue as his own. Caleb stumbled, realizing he’d forgotten about the horse thief, his own mustang and Kringle, who nickered low in protest. The wind cut like blades, sharp and brutal. Time to get the horse inside and whistle for his mustang, Ghost, who stood somewhere in the yard, lost in the storm. He’d gotten a good look at the boy. That’s what he’d come for.
Now it wasn’t enough.
The storm closed in again, dropping like an impenetrable wall between him and the cabin like a sign of what could never be. With a heavy heart, he put one foot in front of the other and did not look back.
The sight of the man in her stable sent a ripple through her. Caroline peered through the doorway, ajar enough to see the muscled line of his back as he worked the curry over Kringle’s shoulder.
“That’s right,” Caleb crooned in a low, easy tone. “You just relax. You’re safe now, big fella.”
A giant of man, he dwarfed the small barn, although no one could have been gentler. A tingle settled behind her sternum. Admiration, nothing more.
She nudged the door wider with her foot. A very old white gelding standing in the aisle nickered a curious hello as she stepped into the fall of lantern light.
“Caroline. Making good on your promise?” A hint of kindness layered his words as he put the curry comb back on its hook. “That coffee smells good.”
“You sound surprised.”
“You led me to believe it might not be.” He shook out Kringle’s blanket and smoothed it over the horse’s back. “Not that I wouldn’t have still been grateful. I’ve learned beggars can’t be choosers.”
“I also made a sandwich. I feared you might not have had the time for lunch.”
“That was thoughtful of you.”
“It was the least I could do. I have a feeling after you leave here we won’t be seeing you. You’re the kind of man who just keeps moving on, aren’t you?”
“Why would you say that?” His movements rippled with a confident, masculine grace like a man at home in his skin. He buckled the blanket beneath Kringle’s belly like someone who’d been around horses all this life. He glanced over his shoulder at her as a challenge sparkled in his friendly eyes. “I must look like a drifter.”
“You aren’t forthcoming with information, that’s for sure. I have to admit I am trying to figure you out.”
“There’s not much to puzzle. I’m not complicated.”
“You’re humble. You’re unassuming. I can think of any number of men in town who would boast about their good deed, ready to accept as much thanks as they could get. They certainly wouldn’t be in my stable doing my work.” She laid the food bundle on the lantern shelf. The cup of coffee steamed, heat seeped through the wool of her gloves and she set it down, too. “You don’t have the look of someone settled.”
“You wouldn’t be wrong.” He rubbed Kringle’s nose before stepping out of the stall and latching the gate. “Truth is I don’t know where I’m headed. Reckon I’ll find out when I get there. If I do.”
“I’m glad you drifted this way.”
“I am, too.”
She felt awkward. When was the last time she’d been alone with a man? She couldn’t remember. Perhaps with the reverend after her baby’s and husband’s double funeral. She’d forgotten how much bigger a man could be than a woman, how much stronger. But she wasn’t afraid, just shy. When his gaze found hers and held, she saw again the grief veiled within him. She again felt as if he were someone she’d befriended long ago.
Definitely strange.
“Where’s Thomas?” His voice grew tender over the child’s name.
“In the yard playing. Finally. He’s such a sad little boy. His mother died four months ago and he had nobody but his disabled great-grandmother. No one else in the world.” Her voice broke because she knew that feeling. She knew when she saw Caleb’s rugged face pinch that he’d experienced grief, too.
Maybe that’s why he was drifting.
“That was noble of you to take him in.” He watched her carefully as he swept snow off his saddle. His horse stood patiently, jangling his bits.
“Noble? Not at all. I couldn’t leave him alone.”
“How did he come to be with you? Did you know his mother?”
“Alma wrote a letter to me on her death bed.” Snowflakes clung to her, bits of melting white sifting across her pink cap, gold hair, slender shoulders. “We grew up together in the orphanage, until her grandparents recovered from their financial losses and could take her home with them again.”
“So you were childhood friends?” That explained why Alma had never mentioned this to him during their courting years. Her years in the orphanage had been something she’d refused to talk about.
“Friends? Alma was like a sister to me.”
“Wasn’t that a long time ago?” He reached for another towel.
“What does time matter? When I had no one else, I had her. How could I let her down? I couldn’t, regardless of my circumstances.” She bobbed her head to brush a lock of gold out of her light blue eyes. “Besides, Thomas needed me. He’s such a good boy.”
“So I see.” His throat closed up. The love in her voice amazed him. He’d been without it for so long. His empty heart tugged. Heat swept through his blood, sweeter than desire and more pure than physical need. Dizzy, he patted the saddle dry.
A brutal wind slammed into the north side of the stable, sending snow swirling between cracks in the wood. Lantern light thrashed, falling over Caroline in one bright arcing swoop, as if to cradle her i
n gold. The heat in his blood kicked up a degree.
What’s wrong with you, McGraw? He had no business noticing a fine woman like that. Ashamed, he willed his eyes to stay on the horse as he swiped melting snow from Ghost’s coat. If she knew what he was, she would not be looking at him trustingly. She wouldn’t feel safe standing alone with him, offering him coffee and lunch.
“What about the boy’s father?” He folded the towel. He took his time, not daring to face her again.
“No idea. Alma hadn’t married him, although I shouldn’t say that. I don’t want word to get around. It could change the way folks in town treat Thomas. He doesn’t deserve that.”
“No, being a bastard is a hard thing to overcome I’d guess.” He swallowed hard, unable to stand that he’d done that to his son. A child like that would be taunted by the other kids in school. Mothers would warn their children to keep away. “I won’t say a word. I would never hurt a child that way.”
“You lost one, too, didn’t you? A little boy?” The raw pain lurking in the quiet notes of her voice arrowed through him, piercing deep.
That pain made his throat tighten and strangled his words. “You lost a son? You were married?”
“For two wonderful years. When little Mathias was born, life became incredibly good. It was like touching a dream. But it was one that didn’t last. Michael and Mathias died within days of each other.”
“I’m sorry.” He set aside the towel, his movements slow. He couldn’t imagine someone having to go through that. His situation as tough as it was paled in comparison. It was the promise of a happy married life he’d lost, the dream of it. Not the reality.
The beautiful, golden woman standing in the aisle looked ready to crumple. He caught her in his arms, not sure he had the right to touch her. She smelled like sugar cookies and lilacs and she felt much smaller than she looked. Tenderness wedged into the hollow of his heart.
“Are you all right?” He worried about her unsteadiness. He worried she might start crying. Heck if he knew what to do with a crying woman. That always made him feel helpless. As far as he knew, there was no way to fix her problems or to make up for her losses. That was life sometimes, a harsh winter without hope.
