The look on Shorty’s face said he was pretty impressed with himself, too.
Brady leaned over to kiss the baby’s head and got an unpleasant whiff of something rotten.
“You really want to do that business now?”
Shorty’s hands and feet waved and kicked in mid-air, then let out a giggle and drooled on the sheet.
Grinning, he said, “You ought to feel better after getting rid of that.”
He raised the gown the baby wore, turned him onto his back, lifted the gown, and saw the safety pins holding the cotton cloth in place. He removed the pins and pulled the front of the diaper down revealing what he had hoped. He was so wrapped up in the fact that Shorty was a boy, he let his guard down. Suddenly, he felt wet and realized Shorty was peeing all over the front of his shirt.
“Whoa! Hey, don’t do that.” He quickly covered the offending fountain. “I see you and I need to set some ground rules. Number one is you don’t pee on the one who’s doing his best to take care of you. Deal?”
Shorty blew a bubble and grinned like a possum.
“Hmmm, you think this is funny, do you?” He forgot about the dirty diaper briefly and covered the baby’s belly with his mouth and blew air creating a loud sound.
Shorty cackled with laughter.
Brady repeated the act a couple more times, finally he said, “Son, you are really stinky. I believe I’ll fix the tub with hot water. We both need a bath.”
***
Molly took the breakfast tray from her father’s bed and set it on the table by the window. She then straightened his sheets and blankets for the day. When she grabbed a pillow to fluff up the feathers, he snatched the cushion from her hands.
“Girl stop your fussing,” he growled. “You wear me out!”
“I’m just trying to make you comfortable, Papa.”
“Horse hockey,” he bellowed. “All you’re doing is irritating me.”
Lloyd Butters had a mean streak and he was in rare form today, it seemed.
“I didn’t intend to irritate you, Papa. I’m sorry.”
“I’d believe it if I thought you meant it. Apologies are useless.” He threw the pillow across the room. “Now, what are your plans for the day?”
“I thought we were going to Ham Barton’s today while the men finished out the barn.” She held her hands at her waist trying not to show any nervousness or disappointment. Her father seemed to feed off others discomfort or misery.
“I had enough of folks and their pity yesterday.”
“But I made a cake and pies to take.”
“Well, take ‘em out to the bunkhouse cause we’re not going.”
Molly was bound and determined not to show her disappointment. Her hopes were to see Brady again. She opened the bedroom door, picked up the tray of breakfast remnants and dirty china, and walked toward the hallway.
“Where’re you going?”
“To the kitchen. I have to clean up the mess.”
“Well, forget that for now. I need you to go find Cal and send him in to see me.” He opened a ledger from beside him on the bed and began to study the entries. “We have business to conduct.”
Being summarily dismissed, Molly left and took the tray downstairs to the kitchen. Once there, she deliberated the consequences of not searching for Cal Harder, the ranch foreman. What could Papa do, fire her? Ban her from their home? There wasn’t another woman in the county that would work for him. As his daughter, she was his only relative and free labor. She couldn’t leave – or could she?
While she considered her last thought, Cal came into the house by way of the back door.
“Good morning, Miss Butters.”
The sound of his voice sounded slick as a snake oil salesman. Not that she knew what a snake oil salesman sounded like, but she had an idea.
“My father needs to speak to you.” She didn’t return his greeting afraid any encouragement would be too much. The less she said to him the better.
“Guess I’ll see you later, then.” He smiled and headed up the back stairs.
Snake oil salesman. She remembered right after her father had hired Cal Harder, she and Sally, then about the age of fifteen, had laughed hysterically over the phrase, even his last name had them doubled over. Sally said he acted the way he did because Cal had to try Harder. Since then, she had never been able to say his name without giggling.
The issue remained though about the outing at the Barton’s place. Ham’s wife Hazel was counting on Molly to bring her pound cake and two pies, one chocolate and the other golden custard. She could always make another dessert for the hands at the bunkhouse so, with that thought, she made up her mind. She would go to the barn raising and have a good time. She’d fix her father a plate and he’d be none the wiser.
She set the baked goods into the back of the wagon after one of the hands had hitched up a horse for her. Carefully, she climbed into the wagon and onto the seat making sure her dress didn’t get caught on anything. She had chosen her prettiest frock, a pink plaid cotton with satin bow at the waist and lace around the square neckline and cuffs. She had styled her hair into an intricate braid atop her head. She wanted to look her best for Brady.
One hour after she arrived, he still hadn’t shown up. She and Sally sat with others beside the table of food waiting for a few stragglers to come fix a plate.
Sally stood beside her. “Where do you think he is?”
“I don’t know. He said he’d be here.” Molly looked out toward the road. Brady was a man of his word, so she hadn’t worried when he had said he’d see her today.
“I wonder what could’ve happened to keep him away?” Sally slipped her arm around Molly’s shoulder. “I hope whatever the reason, it isn’t serious.”
“So, do I,” Molly agreed.
The longer she waited, the more concerned she became and, after a few more minutes, made her decision. She found Sally under the shade of a tree with a sleeping Davey.
“Sally, I’m going to ride over to the house to see if Brady’s all right.”
“I don’t think you should go alone, if you’ll give me a couple of minutes, I’ll leave Davey with my mother.” She started to stand.
“No, stay here. He’s sleeping so good.” Molly backed away and said, “I’ll be fine, but I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
“We’ll wait for you.”
Molly smiled, waved, and made her way to her wagon. She climbed onto the seat and drove down the road. The drive to Brady’s place took about thirty minutes. She pulled the horse to a stop in front of the house. The home looked abandoned, as if he hadn’t been here, although the windows were open. She remembered they always entered through the kitchen when they were kids, so she drove around to the back of the house, which appeared as deserted as the front.
She set the brake, tied off the reins, jumped from the wagon, and walked onto the screened in back porch. The door to the kitchen was unlocked, so she entered. What she saw did nothing to ease her mind in the least. The half-empty washtub sat in the middle of the kitchen. Water covered the floor, the walls, cabinets, counter tops, everything. Wet, dirty men’s clothes were in a pile beside the tub. She picked up a shirt and pants and draped them over the side of the tub and saw something white laying beneath the pants. She reached for it and discovered it was a baby’s gown.
Now, not only was she worried, but perplexed. A baby’s gown? A brief glance into a couple of bedrooms showed the usual, a bed, dresser, rugs, and the dust from the house being closed. The third bedroom was a different story. Both twin beds had been slept in, the embroidered bedcover and sheets were completely askew. A basket sat on the foot of one bed. Inside, she found a few other clothes, squares of folded cloth, and a bottle. What? Brady’s married? With a baby?
Molly straightened so quickly the back of her head hit the wooden doorframe. Why hadn’t he told her? Was he trying to make a fool out of her? Obviously, or he would have told her yesterday. Still reeling from her deductions of the facts
, a male voice, singing and laughing, sounded through the open windows. She almost went to the living room to look out, but something held her back. There was no way she could face him with what she now knew.
She whirled on her heel and ran from the house to her wagon. Once in the seat, she slapped the reins on the horse’s rump, and held on tight as Sadie took off like a shot. Tears streamed down her cheeks as the hurt and humiliation overtook her. She didn’t turn around when she heard her name called along with a baby’s cry.
There was no way she could handle talking to Brady today.
***
Brady was certain the woman in the wagon was Molly. Why didn’t she stop when he called her name? She was driving like a bat out of somewhere south, so maybe she didn’t hear him, although usually, he could be heard two counties over.
Shorty cranked up the noise letting his displeasure be known.
He figured the baby was either hot, wet, or hungry. If he were a betting man, he would say it was probably all three. He held onto Shorty with his right arm and dismounted holding the pommel with his left. After giving the dust from the wagon’s wheels one last glance, he went into the house.
A while later, he laid Shorty on the bed, turned the wick down low, and started to clean the kitchen of the mess from their bath earlier today. It was then he saw his clothes draped over the side of the washtub. Shorty’s gown was beneath his boot. So that’s it.
Evidently, Molly had come into the house, saw the mess and the clothes, and had jumped to her own conclusion. While easily explained, he didn’t know when he’d see her again.
Tomorrow he was going to town to take Shorty to the doctor and then to see Yancey. Maybe the sheriff had heard something about a baby or knew the parents. He had mixed emotions about giving Shorty back to his parents or, if necessary, to a family relative. In a few short hours, he had become attached to the little guy. Can I give him up if I have to? It was a dilemma all right. Luckily, he didn’t have to make the decision for a few hours yet.
Brady finished in the kitchen, then carried the light with him to look in on the baby. Shorty slept soundly with a slight snore and didn’t even flinch when Brady lifted the basket from the foot of the bed.
He wanted to rework the basket, refold, and smooth out the wrinkles and bumps in the blanket before he put Shorty in it to sleep tonight. When he dumped the contents from the basket onto the settee cushion, several other items fell out with the blanket. A silver rattle with the initials MC engraved in the middle, a pair of crochet booties with blue satin ribbon ties, a gold locket containing pictures of a man and a woman, and a small satin covered book. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where the items came from, but they told him a lot about Shorty’s mother.
He opened the book to the first page. The words, written in a woman’s hand, answered several of his questions.
‘The contents of this book are for Marshall John Copeland. His father is John Taylor Copeland, who married Martha Ann Clements in Alabama,1875. Marshall was born April 12, 1879, on the trail near Fort Worth, Texas. Marshall is healthy. He is always hungry. I think he will be big and tall like his father, John.’
That’s where the writing stopped. He flipped through the empty pages without seeing another word but, as he closed the book, a folded piece of stationery fell into his lap. Carefully, he opened the folds and began to read.
‘If you are reading this, the worst has happened. My husband, Marshall’s pa, broke his leg while changing a wheel on our wagon. The infection is too severe for me to treat. I am unwell and can no longer take proper care of our son. Please take care of our baby, Marshall. He is a sweet, happy boy and I don’t think he will cause much trouble. When he is old enough, I hope you will tell him how much we loved him.’
Brady stood dropping the basket and the contents on his lap to the floor. He had to get this to Yancey as soon as he could ride into town. There might still be time to get these folks to the doctor if their wagon could be found.
He headed to the bedroom to gather Shorty when a knock sounded on the front door. He answered in two strides, to find Yancey grinning at him from the porch.
“We didn’t see you today,” he drawled. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s been a day!” He gave the sheriff the highlights and handed him the note. “I’m thinking they’re out there not too far. We ought to be able to locate them.”
“I’ll look on my way into town, but we don’t know if they’re north or south, east of town or west. In the morning, I’ll put together some of the men and we’ll see if we can find the wagon.”
“I’ll bring the baby to town in the morning and join you.”
Chapter Four
Brady knocked on the door to Doc Murphy’s house and office. Eight in the morning was early but Shorty woke wet and hungry so, with the day that lay ahead, he loaded them up on Emma and rode to town.
“What, in the name of Hippocrates, can’t wait until I’ve had my morning coffee?” Doc jerked open the door. He glared over his glasses, his hair stuck out in six different directions, and his pants were unfastened at the waist, held up with one suspender.
“You must have had one long night.” Brady entered past Doc as he held the door open. “We can wait if you want to grab a cup.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Even though he wanted to be at the sheriff’s office fifteen minutes ago, Brady forced himself to be patient.
“All right,” Doc said as he entered the room. “The engines are starting to chug. What do we have here?” He peered over Brady’s shirt sleeve to the crook of his arm to see the sleeping Shorty.
“This is Shorty, well, Marshall, as I found out last night.” He adjusted the baby onto his shoulder. “Someone left him on my porch yesterday morning. We think his family may still be in the area so a group of us are going to search.”
“What do you need me to do with this fella except make sure he doesn’t saddle a horse and ride away?”
Brady handed Shorty to the doc, along with the bag of supplies he brought, and chuckled. “I wouldn’t put it past him. He rolled off the bed yesterday afternoon. Could you make sure he’s in good health? No obvious problems we need to address?”
“Sure, but he doesn’t look too worse for wear.” Doc winked and said, “Even if he did spend the last twenty-four hours in your care.”
“Thanks, Doc.” Brady kissed the little boy on his head, turned, and stopped at the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He led Emma across and down the street to meet with the sheriff and the other men. He tied her lead to the rail beside the other horses. Inside, Yancey gave orders for the search.
“Glad you’re here, we’re about ready to get this show on the road.”
Brady nodded to the group of volunteers. Some he recognized, others he didn’t know.
“What’s the plan?”
“We have eight men, four groups. Each group will take a different direction,” Yancey stated. “You and I will take the east road into town. I figure, since the baby was brought to your place, they have to be within walking distance.”
“Makes sense to me.” He turned, heading out the door to saddle up. “Let’s go.”
For a good hour, the two men rode in silence with nothing in sight but flat land, sparse trees, and an unrelenting hot sun. The ride had given Brady time to think a few things through.
“There’s something I should’ve told you the other day, about why I’m here.”
“I figured.” Yancey looked straight ahead.
Brady held tight to the reins when Emma would have taken off to chase a rabbit. “Why didn’t you ask me?”
“It’s called patience, son. I knew you’d tell me when you were ready.”
“Patience is something I’ve never been good at.” Brady half grinned and scanned the area to his right. “I’m looking for the outlaw who shot me.”
“I figured. What makes you think he’s here in, or around, Sugar
Springs?”
“His last known where abouts were in Weatherford. I started there and headed this way.”
Yancey glanced over to Brady. “What’s his name and what does he look like?”
“His name is Ed Terrence, and this is the only picture I have.” He reached into his pocket to pull out a wrinkled, faded wanted poster and handed the paper to the sheriff.
“Been carrying this one a while, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, for a few months.” He had taken the poster out and looked at the likeness nearly every day since he’d been shot.
“I have a better one at the office,” Yancey said. He refolded the poster and handed it over. “We haven’t seen him in town, but Butters recently hired a few new men. Could be he’s hiding out there.”
“You might be right.” Brady returned the poster to his pocket. “I’ll go to the ranch and ask around. I want to talk to Molly anyway.”
Yancey leaned forward in the saddle and then pointed past Brady to the south.
“What’s that over there?”
Brady followed the line of sight. He saw the canvas top, gigged Emma, and pulling the reins to the right, headed toward the wagon. When he and Yancey arrived, all was quiet except for the wind blowing the front flaps of the canvas cover. Their team of horses were tethered near the wagon, a cow stood a short distance away, and the broken wheel lay on the ground, its hub partly buried in the dirt.
With trepidation, he rode around to the rear and called, “Mr. or Mrs. Copeland? Are you here?”
“They aren’t going to hear you, son,” Yancey said.
Brady opened the rear flaps and looked inside. Marshall’s father lay on his back while the mother lay on her side, her arm draped across him. His hand cupped her elbow. They looked oddly peaceful, their love for each other evident.
“We need to make arrangements to get them back to town.” His voice cracked and, for a moment, he thought he might be sick. Finally worked through the nausea.
Yancey fired three shots into the air. “That ought to bring some of the men our way. Why don’t you ride back to town? I’ll stay here and be sure they’re taken care of.”
Brady (Bachelors and Babies Book 15) Page 3
