The Rancher's Christmas Proposal. Sherri Shackelford
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Her stomach pitched. Time was slipping away at an alarming rate.
“Ball,” a small voice said.
She searched for the source of the interruption.
“Ball.”
She glanced down.
A bright-eyed toddler with shiny blond hair smiled up at her. The boy was smartly dressed in a sky blue sailor shirt tied with a red scarf, his feet encased in gleaming black patent leather shoes.
Tessa frowned. “Where are your parents, little fellow?”
“Ball.”
The wooden sphere he proudly displayed was obviously well loved, the painted stripes faded.
“Yes,” Tessa replied. “That’s quite lovely. Except you’ve gone and gotten yourself lost, haven’t you?”
Most likely the boy’s frantic parents had already begun their search. Keeping an eye out for stray members of the Fulton Gang, she studied the passengers milling beneath the awning of the train station, seeking any sign of a disturbance.
The boy tugged on her apricot-colored skirts. “Ga.”
“You’d best be careful,” she admonished gently. “Being lost is a lonely business.”
The toddler extended his chubby hand, offering up his most prized possession.
Tessa waved off his gift. “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly take your toy. Although I thank you kindly for the offer.”
The boy grinned. He clambered onto the trunk, and she instinctively aided his ascent. He perched beside her and scooted close, pressing the warmth of his small body against her side.
“Best to stay put when you’re lost,” she said. “Or you only become more lost. That’s what my dad always told me.”
The boy tilted his head and stared at her. “Da-da.”
“Yes, Emmett is my da-da.” Tessa rolled her eyes. “He’s a bit of a rogue. Not that he thinks of himself that way. Oh no. Emmett fancies himself a righter of wrongs, earning his living playing cards with folks who can afford to lose. Except lawmen don’t appreciate that fine moral distinction, do they? And now he’s run afoul of Dead Eye Dan and the Fulton Gang, which is even worse—I’ll tell you that.”
Heedless of her startling confession, the boy merrily kicked his heels against the trunk. She braced her hands on her knees and locked her elbows straight. Yep. She’d gone loopy, all right. At least talking to this little fellow was better than talking to herself, and she’d done plenty of that since Emmett’s disastrous attempt at robbing a bank. He’d been tasked with concealing himself inside and letting the others in after closing. Except the bank vault had already been emptied when the Fultons arrived, leaving Emmett the only suspect.
“As you can imagine,” she continued, “Dead Eye Dan is fit to be tied if he’s come looking for me. I don’t know where Emmett is hiding any more than he does, but I’m not sticking around to argue the point.”
Obviously Dead Eye didn’t know about her falling out with Emmett. Her throat tightened. She hadn’t realized until recently how gloriously unsuited she was to a solitary life. The longing to see Emmett once more had become an almost physical ache. His love had been negligent, but as she’d learned over these past months, a slipshod sort of affection was better than nothing at all.
A nearby commotion snagged her attention. A towering gentleman in a cowboy hat and boots held a crying toddler—a girl, about the same age as the boy who’d taken up residence beside her. Though handsome, everything about the man was slightly askew. His hat sat at an angle, his collar was bent on one side, and the hem of his trouser legs was partially snagged on the stitching of his boot. He frowned and studied the area immediately surrounding his feet.
Tessa reluctantly stood. Though the boy’s conversation was limited, he’d been a welcome diversion from her own difficulties. “Come along little fellow. I believe your da-da has discovered your absence. You will be my good deed for the day.”
The boy eagerly took her hand. “Ga.”
The distinctive word was obviously all encompassing. “Ga to you as well.”
The gentleman’s back was turned, although the woman beside him noticed the boy soon enough. From her sharp chin to the pointed tips of her black boots, she was about as welcoming as a barbed wire fence.
Her lips pinched, the woman extended her arm toward them, palm up. “The child is safe. There’s no need to fuss.”
Tessa narrowed her gaze and scrutinized the details. Emmett always said a good lookout needed to know who belonged where and why. Folks tended to pair up by status and temperament, and these two were opposites in both, meaning they were clearly not husband and wife.
The man whipped around. At the sight of the boy, his face flooded with relief.
He crouched and balanced on the balls of his feet. “Owen. You gave me a fright.”
His obvious affection touched something kindred in Tessa, and she blinked rapidly. With her hopes of ever seeing Emmett again growing dimmer by the day, the sight was all the more poignant.
Everyone should have at least one person in their life who minded when they were lost.
The woman slanted a glance down the blunt edge of her nose. “Don’t reward the boy. He’ll only run off again.”
Her tone pricked Tessa like a nettle. Memories from the year following her mother’s death came rushing back. Only eight at the time, she’d been sent to live with distant relatives who begrudged having another child underfoot. Unaware of their simmering resentment, Emmett had arrived for a visit some months later. He’d discovered her huddled on the front porch, her arms covered in bruises.
Lawless or not, life with Emmett had at least been far more peaceful and far less painful.
“See, Alyce,” the gentleman assured the toddler in his arms. “I told you we’d find Owen.”
The two siblings greeted one another in a flurry of incomprehensible gibberish. They were a striking pair with their large, cobalt blue eyes and matching blond hair. Twins by the looks of them. The resemblance was even more pronounced by their clothing. Alyce wore a starched blue empire-waist gown cut from the same sky blue fabric as her brother’s sailor shirt.
The children must have inherited their mother’s looks, because the gentleman’s hair was a deep, rich brown, and his eyes were the translucent green of a tender new leaf.
“Ball,” Owen offered by way of explanation.
The gentleman flashed a boyish half grin, sending a little flutter through Tessa’s stomach.
“The name is McCoy,” the man said. “Shane McCoy. Thank you for returning Owen. He’s quite the escape artist.”
“Tessa Spencer,” she replied, extending her hand.
The quick clasp of his fingers sent a stirring of gooseflesh up her arm.
He angled his body toward his companion. “This is the children’s aunt, Mrs. Lund.”
“Pleasure,” Tessa replied, her tone clipped. The woman had her on edge.
As though addressing someone beneath her notice, Mrs. Lund gave only a slight incline of her head. “God rest Abby’s soul. She always did have a knack for leaving her troubles on someone else’s doorstep.”
Tessa absently rubbed her arms. The poor man was a widower. No wonder he was overwhelmed. Especially considering his sister-in-law hadn’t offered any additional help. Without a word of explanation, Mrs. Lund had set off in the direction of the ticket office.
“You must excuse her,” Mr. McCoy said. “She’s still in mourning.”
Tessa smothered a