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