The Cowboy's Baby Bond. Linda Ford
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his word.
Mr. Harding answered her question. “We’ll turn off toward the ranch just up there.” He pointed to a fork in the road. “Then you’ll get your first glimpse of the place.”
She heard the pride in his voice and couldn’t help but envy him. He obviously knew where he belonged. She stiffened her resolve. Soon she and the girls and Adam would have a place where they belonged, even if it was temporary and only rented. Most of all, they’d be together.
The wagon reached the fork, turned away from the blue, chuckling river and passed between some trees, their leaves dull with the summer heat. It slowed as the trail grew narrow and rough, and then broke through into sunshine again. Ahead, the trail passed between two rows of buildings. This was more like a small town than a ranch.
“This is Sundown Ranch,” Mr. Harding said as he rounded a low, rambling house and pulled up at the door. He touched Adam’s head. “I hope he gets better soon.”
Adam’s half-glazed eyes studied the man with solemn interest.
Willow kept her attention on her son, wondering at the trust she saw in them. So unlike his response to Bertie. Adam would always cling to her and hide his face when Bertie came near. Was it simply because her son was too sick to care or did he see something in Mr. Harding that he liked? She wanted to pull him closer and whisper caution in his ear. But Adam was too young to know not to trust anyone, let alone a stranger.
Mr. Harding jumped down and came around to guide her to the ground. “Is there anything you need out of the wagon?”
“Adam’s things, if you don’t mind.” She indicated where they were under the tarpaulin.
He took the valise out and set it on the ground at her feet.
“Thank you.” She didn’t take her gaze off the wagon. All her earthy belongings were in the back—a big bed, a chest of drawers, dishes and linens—enough to set up housekeeping in Granite Creek. Would her things be safe? Though, at the moment that concern was secondary to Adam’s needs.
“I’ll take care of the wagon,” Mr. Harding said, his expression kind.
“I appreciate that.” She had no choice but to trust him. At least he’d brought her to this house.
“Here comes Maisie now.”
Willow followed the direction of his gaze to see a woman crossing the yard. As soon as she was close enough, Mr. Harding introduced them.
“Welcome, welcome,” Mrs. Harding said. She glanced at Adam. “You have a sick baby. Come inside and we’ll take care of him.”
Willow followed her indoors, glancing around at the large kitchen with table and chairs to one side. Mrs. Harding indicated Willow should sit down.
“Do you mind undressing the little one so I can have a look at him?”
Willow wondered how she’d known the baby was a boy, but perhaps she spoke in general terms. Glad of someone to examine Adam and tell her what was wrong, Willow removed everything but the diaper.
Mrs. Harding looked at his chest and back, behind his ears and at the back of his knees. “I don’t see any evidence of a rash. How has he been eating?”
“Okay until yesterday.”
“Has he eaten anything different than usual?”
“We’ve been traveling, so...” Willow gasped. “Have I given him something that went bad?”
“There would have been other signs.” Mrs. Harding asked a few more questions. “I can’t see anything specifically wrong with him. It could be a combination of things. Teething and traveling might have him off-kilter.”
Adam, growing upset at all the prodding, grabbed at his ears and whined.
“There we go. He’s told us himself.” Mrs. Harding rubbed the side of Adam’s head. “Poor baby has an earache. Let’s deal with the fever first.” She brought water, poured something into it. “While you sponge him I’ll prepare some oil for his ears.”
Willow washed Adam’s little body with the tepid water. In a few minutes she could tell his fever dropped. “I’m grateful you know what to do,” she said as Mrs. Harding placed warm drops in Adam’s ears. What would she have done alone in the wagon? “Mr. Harding was kind to bring us here.”
The man himself returned at that moment and overheard her comment. “Better call me Johnny. There are far too many Mr. Hardings around here for anyone to know who you mean otherwise.”
Willow ducked her head. “Thank you for helping us, Johnny.” She stumbled over his Christian name. His presence filled the kitchen, making her forget her manners.
“And call me Maisie,” said the older woman. “Everyone does.”
“Then I’d be pleased if you’d call me Willow.” She smiled at Maisie, then lifted her head to let Johnny know she included him. His dark eyes seemed full of reassurance. What an odd thing to think, especially considering what she knew about men.
He stepped closer and touched Adam on the head. “How is the little fella?”
“He’s feeling better, thanks to your mother’s help.”
Adam looked at the man and smiled. Then the child held out his arms to him.
Johnny blinked. “Does he want me to hold him?”
Willow nodded, at a loss to understand why her son would go to a complete stranger when he’d grown up learning to stay away from men.
“Can I?” Johnny asked. Then he stepped back. “I’ve never held a baby.”
She would have refused her permission, but how could she deny her son this when he was so miserable? She shifted him into Johnny’s arms.
The man held the baby at an awkward angle, but Adam pulled himself up to look into those dark eyes and babble something. It almost sounded as if he was relating a tale of woe.
Johnny grinned at the baby’s nonsense and nodded as if to say he understood every word.
Adam patted the man’s cheeks, pressed his face to Johnny’s chest and fell asleep.
“Well, look at you.” Maisie sounded both surprised and pleased. “You have the touch.”
Willow put a hand to her heart as fear and trepidation flooded it.
Adam trusted this dark stranger. But what did a one-year-old know about broken promises and deceit?
Nothing. And she meant to do everything in her power to protect him from learning those harsh lessons.
Johnny couldn’t take his eyes off the little boy in his arms. He’d never held a child this young. He’d seen them in town and at church, little ones in their mother’s arms or just beginning to toddle around, but he’d had little interest in them until Trudy started talking about children.
He’d thought she meant children with him after they were married, not a child already in her womb by another man.
But never mind that.
The little guy’s light brown hair ruffled as Johnny breathed, and he smoothed it. No one had ever told him how downy a baby’s hair would be. How tiny, yet perfect, their fingers, nor how intent their gaze. “What’s wrong with him?” He fought a surge of protectiveness that made him want to hold the baby tighter and keep bad things at bay.
“Earache,” Maisie said. “Not unusual for a child this age. I’ve given him drops. Why don’t you sit down and let him sleep.” She smiled at the baby in his arms. “He looks so content.”
As Johnny sat, his gaze met Willow’s. Her eyes blazed a warning, as if she