The Rancher Inherits A Family

He closed his eyes against the worrisome news of recovery time.

“You have ranch hands,” she said, as though she’d read his thoughts.

Yes, if he counted a full-grown boy who came after doing his own chores and an old man.

He attempted to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed. “What I have is a ranch to run.”

* * *

Marigold recognized the overwhelming apprehension on her rescuer’s face. She’d taken care of her sister and her niece for a long time, and she understood the weight of responsibility. Poor Mr. Halloway had just learned he had three more mouths to feed and was now unable to handle his chores for the unforeseen future.

“You’re not going to be doing any ranching for a while,” Dr. Mason told him, her voice and expression stern. “Do not use that arm for any reason.”

“I can’t lie around doing nothing.”

The doctor placed a gentle but firm hand on her agitated patient’s shoulder and eased him back to a prone position. “Rest now will spare you a future impediment. A brief respite only makes sense.”

He swiped a hand over his face in obvious frustration, causing Marigold to speak up.

“I will help Mr. Halloway get home when he’s ready,” she told the pretty lady doctor. “It’s the very least I can do after he’s saved our lives. He’s only just learned he has three boys to take home as well.” Belatedly, she thought about his situation. “Do you have a wife to help out, Mr. Halloway?”

“No,” he replied. “Just me and my mother.”

She truly hoped his mother was an understanding and capable woman. As a teacher, she knew full well how active these boys would be.

“I’ll need to find someone who knows what’s been done with the luggage. I was told I’d be living with the students’ families, so I’m not sure what to do with my clothing and personal belongings just yet. But books and supplies can be delivered to the school. It’s a fairly new building, I understand.”

Marlys nodded. “You can see it from the front windows of this office if you look northeast. It faces Lincoln Boulevard, so from here two sides of the yard and the south side of the school are visible. I hear the children when they’re at play.”

Marigold smiled. “I’m relieved to know you’re so close. I feared I’d be in a rural area with no neighbors or help if I needed it.”

“Not at all. The schoolhouse faces a growing neighborhood to the east, and it’s only a block from the main thoroughfare.”

Marigold stood. “I’ll take the children with me now, so they can see a bit of the town. Once we’ve located our belongings and I’ve arranged to have them moved, I’ll be back.”

“I had my wagon and team with me at the site of the wreck,” Seth told her. “My supplies should still be stacked in front of Booker & Son. Hopefully someone took care of my horses. Can you drive a team?”

“I’m sorry to say I cannot.”

“We’ll find someone to transport your supplies,” Marlys assured him. “Why don’t you plan on staying here tonight, Miss Brewster? There’s a room in the rear where I lived before I was married. I’ll be staying here to keep an eye on Seth and the other patients, so my husband will take the boys home for the night. We have a son, and he’ll be glad for the company. It won’t be a problem. Tomorrow, after everyone is rested, will be soon enough to take Seth and the children to the ranch and learn where you’re staying.”

“Will you send a rider to let my mother know what’s happened and that I’m all right?” Seth asked.

Marigold gave her rescuer what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “Yes, of course.”

“And one other thing, if you don’t mind. My brother was likely among the men helping at the wreck. If you could ask around to see if anyone knows his whereabouts and let him know I’m here? His name is Russ.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

She sensed his gaze on her back as she slipped from the room. She paused in the outer office area, collecting her senses. She’d made the decision to come to Cowboy Creek, hoping for a new start, but so far nothing had gone according to plan. She captured her thoughts. Just the fact that she was alive and her young traveling companions were unharmed was cause enough for thanksgiving.

“Thank You, Lord,” she breathed. “Give me strength and fortitude for the days ahead.”

Her gaze lit on the three towheaded boys in the waiting area, their wide, uncertain eyes focused on her. She hadn’t the vaguest idea what she was doing.

Chapter Two

After asking Dr. Mason if it was all right to leave Peony in her cage in the waiting room, Marigold led Tate, Harper and Little John out of the doctor’s office and glanced west.

“I think your kitty is hungry,” Harper, the five-year-old, said with concern in his dark eyes.

“Dr. Mason fed her,” Marigold assured him. “She’s still frightened from the train ride and the accident. All this is strange for her.” She glanced up and down the street, her attention lighting on the closest building, which bore a sign that read Bath House. “Once we find our luggage and have clean clothing, I think a trip to the bathing establishment is in order.”

Harper shook his sandy-colored hair and ran his fingers through it so dirt and bits of unidentifiable rubble fell out. “I don’t need no bath.”

“Harper don’t like baths,” Tate told her. At only seven, he took responsibility for seeing to his younger siblings’ needs and wishes. He was slender, with shaggy blond hair and a serious expression.

“I’m afraid baths are in order for everyone today,” she told the three of them. “After our journey and then lying under all that wreckage, none of us are presentable. And we probably don’t smell very good.”

Harper sniffed his arm and shrugged.

The three-year-old, Little John, stuck his thumb into his mouth and gazed up at her with wide brown eyes. The contrast of his large dark eyes and pale hair gave him a waiflike appearance. She took in his soft-looking round cheeks, his spiky dark lashes, and an ache knotted in her chest. He was so young—all of them were too young to be without their parents. Too young to be traveling across the country without supervision. Who put children on a train all alone? What if Seth Halloway hadn’t been in Cowboy Creek? What if he’d denied knowing their mother and turned them away?

She collected her thoughts and concerns. Mr. Halloway had been here. He had come to their rescue, and he was taking responsibility for the three of them.

“You all must be hungry. I know I am. Are you hungry, Little John?”

He nodded.

She drew herself up straight. “Let’s go find the mercantile and arrange for Mr. Halloway’s wagon to be found and his supplies delivered. We’ll figure out a meal.”

A touch at her wrist drew her attention down. Little John found her hand and grasped it securely. His fingers were small and damp. She clasped them back. An arrow of distress pierced her conscience at his trust. What was she doing? How had she found herself exactly where she’d planned never to be? She was not going to develop an attachment to someone else’s children, no matter how deserving. She’d come to Cowboy Creek to start over, to distance herself from her past, from the losses and the hurt. She was determined to choose her own path for the future. She refused to have circumstances thrust upon her.

Her uneasy conscience warred with self-preservation. It was her Christian duty to help these children. She owed Seth Halloway for rescuing them. Who knows how long they might have been trapped in that railcar if he hadn’t been persistent or intuitive, or led by the hand of God? A fire could have broken out. Anything might have happened. And he’d been injured in the process. The least she could do was help until they all got home. She took a deep breath and pushed back the sharp twinges of panic.

She spotted Booker & Son and led the boys across the street, where several people conversed. “I wonder if I might trouble one of you for some help?”

A short, stout woman separated herself from the group and hurried forward. “Land sakes, look at these little ones. And you. Are you one of the brides?”

“I’m Marigold Brewster, ma’am. I’m the new schoolteacher.”

The woman introduced herself as Aunt Mae and presented the others on the boardwalk. “We weren’t aware you were bringing children.”

“No, no, I didn’t bring them. I met them on the train.” Briefly, Marigold explained the situation with Seth and what was needed.

“I saw Russ leaving town on a train a day or two ago,” one of the younger men said. “I’ll watch for him to return and let him know Seth’s at Doc Mason’s.”

“Seth’s wagon is at the livery, and his horses are cared for,” another explained. “I’ll go for the rig and we’ll get these supplies loaded.”

The men had Seth’s supplies loaded quickly. A young cowboy with long jet-black hair and beadwork in the shape of Texas on the back of his vest tied his horse behind, tipped his hat to Marigold and headed out to let Seth’s mother know her son was all right.

“Let’s not stand around here gabbing any longer. Come with me. That’s my place right there.” Aunt Mae pointed to a boardinghouse across the street. “I’ll get all of you something to eat. Afterward, these gentlemen will help you find your belongings.”

Marigold had never met such helpful and warm people. As she led the Radner boys across the street, Little John took her hand once again, and she glanced down. His brown eyes were nothing like the hazel ones in her memory, but they lodged protective feelings in her heart all the same.

Lord, help me guard my heart.

* * *

Living up to her name, Aunt Mae treated them like family. The motherly woman prepared them a satisfying meal. “Do you have any idea how many patients Doc Mason is seeing to?”

“I’d say at least half a dozen are there right now,” Marigold replied. “But she spoke as though only Seth and one other were spending the night.”

“They missed their noon meal. I’ll send trays for six.” Aunt Mae lowered her voice. “She’s a fine healer and a kinder person never lived, but she’s not much of a cook.”

The boys had washed up at the dry sink on the back porch, and she suspected she looked as silly as they did with only a clean face and hands, and her hair dirty and disheveled. They boys ate ravenously, and Marigold exchanged a glance with the older woman. She carried a second pitcher of milk to the table and they held out their glasses for refills. She agreed the bath house would be their most efficient option, since her boardinghouse had only one tub.

Thankfully, there was a knock on the front door and Aunt Mae returned minutes later to say her trunks and the boys’ bags had been left on her front porch.

“I suppose they can sit there until we figure out where we’re going,” Marigold said. It was unsettling to be uncertain of where she’d be staying. “I’ll gather clean clothing for today.”

At the bath house, they were assigned curtained-off chambers and provided with soap and towels. Tate insisted on bathing himself, but Aunt Mae and Marigold put Harper and Little John in one tub and shared the chore of scrubbing two little boys who didn’t want to be washed. They both had a few scrapes and bruises from the accident, so the women gently cleaned their injuries. Harper endured the washing, but Little John cried, and Marigold felt dreadful for his discomfort. These children had lost their mother and been shuffled across the country, ending up in a heap of train wreckage.

“It’s going to be all right,” she said to him and used the corner of a towel to dry his reddened face and his watery dark eyes. “After we’re clean and dressed I’ll read you a story. Would you like that?”

The toddler’s lower lip continued to tremble, but he lifted his wide trusting gaze to hers and nodded.

“All right,” she said with an encouraging smile.

“Do all of us get to hear the story?” Harper asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“Poor little lambs,” Aunt Mae said after they’d dried the boys and supervised their clean clothing and hair combing. She waited with them while Marigold took her own bath and washed her hair. Her chin hurt to the touch, and she had a bruise on her shoulder that ached, and another on her wrist she hadn’t noticed.

Marigold thanked the woman for all of her help, but Aunt Mae just gave a shrug and hurried home to tend to her boarders.

A deep orange sun hung low in the sky and cast long shadows in front of the four of them as they walked back to Dr. Mason’s office.

Dr. Mason was ushering a cowboy with a bandage wrapped around his wrist from one of the examination rooms. He greeted Marigold with a crooked smile. Taking a hat from the rack near the door, he glanced back at her two more times, his gaze skittering away each time, before he finally exited the office.

“Get used to it,” the doctor said with an amused grin. “There’s a shortage of young women in this town, and especially pretty ones like you. You’ll receive a lot of attention.” She reached for Marigold’s chin and tipped up her face to get a better look. “You have a bruise here I didn’t notice before.”

“It was probably covered with dirt. I have some aches I didn’t notice at first.”

“I’ll make you a poultice for it. It will take down the swelling.”

Marigold admired the other woman’s efficiency, the way she moved about her offices with confidence. She liked the idea of working to support herself and of being indebted to no one. If she decided to marry one day, she would do the choosing.

“Did you enjoy one of the meals Aunt Mae sent?” she asked the doctor.

“Yes, she is thoughtful. Let’s see if Seth is ready to eat something. He was sleeping last time I looked in on him so I didn’t disturb him.” She gestured for them to enter his room. “I figured he and the children would want to get acquainted before they leave for the night, so I carried in a few chairs.”

Dressed in wrinkled but clean clothing, their damp hair parted and slicked back, the boys entered the small room ahead of Marigold. Tate took Little John’s hand and guided him forward.

“Mr. Halloway?” Marigold said softly.

He was already awake, a purplish bruise having formed on his cheekbone. With an assessing coffee-brown gaze, he took in the trio of youngsters without revealing his thoughts. He was a large man, seeming to take up the entire narrow bed where he was resting, a sheet covering him to his waist. It had taken several men to lower his unconscious form from the railcar, and three strong ones to carry him into the doctor’s office. Above the bandages that wrapped his torso, his shoulders and upper arms were powerfully muscled, attesting to arduous work. His russet-brown hair was chin-length and wavy, and he wore a thick, neatly trimmed mustache.

Little John turned and clung to Tate’s waist, obviously frightened by the bear of a man sizing him up.

“Mr. Halloway?” Marigold said again. “This is Tate Radner.”

Tall for his seven years, with dark blond hair, Tate took a jerky step forward and bravely extended a hand. Little John immediately released his older brother and attached himself to Marigold’s leg. “How do, sir.”

“Pleased to meet you, Tate. You look like your father.”

Obviously pleased, Tate puffed up his chest. “You knew our pa?”

“I did. We enlisted together. Served in different regiments, but ran across each other from time to time.”

“This here’s Harper,” Tate said, turning back to the five-year-old, whose fair hair had dried with a cowlick at the crown. Tate gave his brother a little tug.

Harper shuffled a few steps toward the bed, stared at Seth’s enormous outstretched hand for a moment, quickly placed his narrow fingers into the palm, then released it and scuttled back beside Marigold.

“You look like your mama,” Seth told him.

Harper glanced from Seth to Tate and back.

“And this here is Little John,” Tate said, pointing to the three-year-old with wispy platinum hair.

Little John’s wide eyes opened even wider. He stuck his thumb into his mouth and Marigold was relieved that he didn’t immediately burst into tears.

“We call him that ’cause he’s little. Pa named him Jonathan, but Mama said that name was too big for a little sprout.”

Seth’s mustache twitched and his mouth settled into an amused smile. “Little John sounds about right.”

“Why don’t you boys take seats?” Marigold suggested. “I’ll read the story I promised while Mr. Halloway eats his dinner.”

“Seth,” he said, turning his dark gaze on her and catching her by surprise with his intensity. No wonder the boys had flinched under his scrutiny. “They should call me Seth.”

She gave a nod. “Very well.”

Marlys, who’d been standing behind them during their introductions, moved near the bed. “I’ll slide some more pillows behind you so you can sit up.”

He cast her a doubtful glance.

“The herbs will help with the pain so you can move enough to incline a bit. Don’t try to do it alone today. Let us help.” She glanced at Marigold.

Marigold jerked into action and stood beside the bed.

“Each of us will take an upper arm like this.” She demonstrated, placing her forearm along Seth’s forearm and clasping his bicep securely. “Then we’ll let our arms do the work, and not your back or ribs. Got it?”

Seth glanced at Marigold, likely sizing her up for the job. She rested her right forearm along his and placed her hand around the muscled circumference above his elbow. His arm was warm and work-hardened, and decidedly masculine. An unfamiliar and uncomfortable sensation fluttered in her chest. Her gaze moved to the scars on his muscled arm, where he’d been shot with Comanche arrows. This man was as different as night and day from anyone she’d ever met before. Her gaze slid hesitantly to his. Seth assessed her hair, her eyes, her chin and lips, and her skin flushed under his perusal.

“On three,” Marlys said.

He had another scar above his right eyebrow, where the skin wasn’t tanned like the rest of his face, and a fresh cut under the same eye she hadn’t noticed before. Two neat sutures held the cut closed.

“One. Two. Three.”

He grasped her arm gingerly, undoubtedly holding back so as to hurt neither her nor the lady doctor, but she gripped his and pulled firmly. His lips formed a white line, but he sat up and leaned forward. Marlys quickly slid pillows behind his back and the women allowed him to inch back onto the added support.

A fine glow of perspiration glistened on his forehead, and Marlys used a damp cloth to blot it away.

“Are you doing all right?” Marlys asked.

Seth released a breath. “Yes. I’m fine.”

Marlys hurried from the room, returned with a tray and settled it on his lap. “I’m going to see to one of my other patients now.”

“Thank you.” After the doctor had gone, he glanced at Marigold. “And thank you, Miss Brewster.”

Marigold uncovered the plate and handed it to Seth, along with a fork. His attention moved to the boys, who were taking up only two chairs, because Little John huddled on Tate’s lap.

She got the book she’d brought along and seated herself beside Harper. “My books are still packed in trunks, but I had this one with me. It’s about a little girl, but we’ll have plenty of time to read stories about boys later.”

“What is the book called?” Harper asked.

“Jessica’s First Prayer.”

“What’s it about?”

“It’s about a little girl abandoned in London, but she makes an unlikely friend.”

“Who is the friend?”

Marigold grinned. “You will have to be patient, listen and find out.” She opened to the first page. “‘In a screened and secluded corner of one of the many railway-bridges which span the streets of London there could be seen a few years ago, from five o’clock every morning until half past eight, a tidily set-out coffee-stall, consisting of a trestle and board, upon which stood two large tin cans, with a small fire of charcoal burning under each so as to keep the coffee boiling during the early hours of the morning when the work-people were thronging into the city on their way to their daily toil.’”

“What’s a coffee-stall?” Tate asked.

“An open booth where a vendor...where a person sells coffee.”

“What’s a trestle?” Harper asked.

“A bridge,” Tate replied.

“Well, there are trestle bridges,” she answered, “but this is a makeshift table.”

“Trestle is the wood frame that’s holding the board on top to make a table or a bridge,” Seth explained.

Marigold gave him a relieved glance. “Yes, exactly. The table is set up so the coffee can sit upon it.”

“And then the little girl sells it,” Harper suggested.

She gave Seth an apologetic glance. “This might take a while.”

The fork hovered above his plate. He studied the faces of the curious boys, his overwhelmed expression revealing doubts about his ability to raise three young boys while he ran a ranch. He met her gaze. “I’m not going anywhere.”

In that instant and with those words, much as he’d ignored pain for the sake of remaining calm in front of the children—as well as for the sake of his pride, no doubt—she watched him deny his sizable struggle and accept the responsibility that had been delivered to his door. These children frightened her. But he frightened her more. She needed control of her future. She sensed the threat each of them presented to that control.

She wanted people of her own choosing in her life, but so far, since arriving, circumstances were determining her actions. Marigold turned back to the book. She could handle anything for a short time.

* * *

The doctor’s husband, Samuel Woods Mason, was the local newspaperman. Marigold recognized his name right away, had followed his articles covering the war and read the book he’d written afterward about his army experiences. He was a talkative, friendly man and arrived with a handsome young son some time later.

“You’re the new schoolteacher?”

She extended a hand. “Yes. I’m Marigold Brewster.”

They stood in the exterior portion of the doctor’s office.

“When things settle down, I’d like to do an interview and write a piece for the Webster County Daily News. Your arrival will be of interest to the citizens.”

“Well, I don’t know how interesting I am, but I’d be happy to let people know my plans for the students.”

“Everyone is interesting if I ask the right questions,” he said with a smile. “And in this town women are of utmost interest. This is August,” he said, indicating his son. The slender boy had jet-black hair and lashes like his father’s, and appeared a couple of years older than Tate.

Marigold extended a hand. “I expect we’ll be seeing a lot of each other at school.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“August loves to read,” Marlys told her. “He’s learned to speak Chinese and now together, we’re learning to write the characters. He can also understand German and is picking up some Shawnee.”

Marigold looked at the boy in surprise. “My goodness. That’s impressive, August.”

He gave her a bashful smile. “Marlys teaches me languages. We visit the people who speak it so we can learn.”

He’d called the doctor Marlys, but looked to her with affection.

“Come meet the children who will soon be in your class.” Marlys rested her hand on his shoulder and introduced the boys, who’d been sitting on chairs in the waiting room. The four of them looked each other over.

“You’re going to stay with us tonight while Dr. Mason looks after your—after Mr. Halloway,” Sam explained. “We can get up early and have breakfast at The Cattleman.”

“They have flapjacks and sausage,” August told them.

The boys looked at Marigold for confirmation. She felt so out of her league with these children. She’d taught in stressful circumstances, with inadequate supplies, and in cold classrooms during the war, but she’d always been confident she had something to offer her students. These children needed so much more than she could give them.