The Gift Of Family. Linda Ford
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his side. “My mother.”
“I see the resemblance.”
“She’s the reason I’m going east. Here, I’ll put it out of his reach.” She took the framed photograph from Colt and set it on top of a cupboard.
Colt tried to sort out his scrambled thoughts, but they were so tangled he needed a rake to arrange them. With a mother like that, Becca didn’t belong in the untamed West. No wonder she planned to leave. Yet she seemed the sort of woman the West needed. She seemed unfazed by the storm, as well as the challenge of frontier life. She was gentle, accepting of half-breed kids...
He allowed one thought to surface. She’d been kind to him as well, as if oblivious to his mixed race.
Little Joe ducked behind the chair and poked his head around. “Peek.”
Becca nudged Colt. “Someone wants to play with you.”
“Me?” He sucked in air. She thought he should play with the boy? The idea both thrilled and frightened him.
Little Joe poked his head around the chair on the other side. “Peek.”
Colt laughed.
Becca grinned. “He’s adorable. They both are.”
Colt sobered. “Too bad everyone won’t see that.”
“What do you mean?”
He shook his head. He wouldn’t voice his reasons in front of the kids, knowing how much it hurt to hear the words people would use to describe them. Instead, he hunkered down and crab-walked forward until he was at the front of the chair. He waited for Little Joe to poke his head around the corner.
“Boo.”
The boy jumped and then giggled. “You scared me.” Mischief flashed through the child’s eyes seconds before he rushed forward to tackle Colt, catching him off balance. The pair tumbled to the floor, and Little Joe bounced happily on his chest.
Marie sidled up to them, searching Colt’s face as if to make sure he wasn’t upset.
“Come here, you.” He grabbed the girl, pulled her down beside him and tickled her.
Becca sank down in the chair, so close her skirts brushed his arm. She chuckled, her eyes brimming with amusement and—he would not make the mistake of thinking she smiled approval on him. But when had he ever felt so...so...
As if he’d arrived where he belonged?
The children’s laughter washed through him. Becca’s smile melted the edges of his heart.
He shifted the kids to the floor, pushed to his feet and brushed himself off—more because he needed to collect and arrange his thoughts than because he’d found any dirt on the floor. He strode to the window. Every nerve in his body screamed to leave right now.
While every beat of his heart longed for each minute to last forever.
Thankfully, Macpherson chose that moment to step into the room. “The temperature is dropping.” He glanced around the room, and Colt wondered if he resented having his space invaded by three visitors. But Macpherson smiled.
“I think some games for the children would be a good idea.” The man might not approve of Colt, but at least he didn’t seem to look at the children with the same narrow-eyed concern.
“Games?” Marie’s eyes widened with hope.
Becca clapped her hands. “Oh, yes. Pa, do finger puppets for them.”
“Very well.” He pulled pen and ink from the cupboard.
“I’ll show you on my own finger.” Macpherson dipped the pen into the ink and drew a simple face on one finger.
“This is a little boy. He can hide.” He curled his fist and the puppet boy disappeared.
“He can dance.” Macpherson sang a little ditty, and the finger danced.
“He can talk.” He held the finger to his ear and listened intently, nodding as if he understood a whispered secret.
“Who wants to go first?”
Marie edged forward and held out her hand.
“I can make one or a whole family. Which would you like?”
“A family. A mama, a papa, a little girl and a littler boy.”
Colt realized the importance of Marie’s choice—her own family. He couldn’t look at Becca, but heard her suck in air. It drew his attention. He glanced her way to see if she was okay. Her blue eyes glistened with tears, and she pressed her lips together. She looked at him and gave a watery smile.
He returned her smile, wondering if his lips trembled just slightly.
“There you go,” Macpherson said, and Colt jerked his attention back to Marie, who thanked the man and stared at her fingers. A slow, dazzling smile filled her face, and she pressed her hand to her chest.
This time Colt dared not look at Becca. Instead he forced his attention to Little Joe, who stood before Macpherson with a fist held out.
Macpherson took the tiny hand and drew a face on the index finger. Little Joe backed away, staring at his finger. He circled the room holding the finger up, turning it toward objects then back toward him.
Macpherson chuckled. “It doesn’t take a lot to amuse children.”
“Or make them happy.” Becca’s voice rounded with emotion.
Marie sat cross-legged on the floor, murmuring softly to her finger people.
“I wish they could be protected from the harshness of life.” Becca spoke softly, so only the adults would hear her comments.
Her pa went to her side and wrapped an arm about her shoulders. “Life is generally what we make of it. If what I’ve seen of this pair is any indication, their parents have prepared them to face things with calm assurance. That’s bound to go a long way.”
Colt shifted to block Becca and her pa from his view, and wished he could likewise block their words from his mind. Sometimes a child didn’t have any opportunity to make good or bad of his life. Other people did that for him.
He concentrated on slow, deep breaths. He was no longer a child. Now he could make what he wanted of his life. A few days ago he had no doubts about what that was—an isolated cabin and a pen of horses to work with over the winter.
Now long-buried, long-denied wishes seemed determined to reestablish their useless presence. All because of two children who needed a home and acceptance. Their requirements so clearly mirrored what he’d wanted, but never had, as a child.
I am no longer a child. I no longer need or want those things.
He didn’t succeed in putting his thought to rest.
Chapter Four
Becca ached to pull the children to her lap and hold them close. If only she could protect them from the cruelties she knew they’d face.
The children weren’t the only ones she wished she could help. She’d seen the hurt in Colt’s face before he turned away. It pained her to think of the sort of memories that brought such a reaction. A shudder started in her chest, and she stepped away from Pa. With his arm across her shoulder, he might feel it and ask the cause. She began lunch preparation, determined the children and Colt would leave this place with memories of kindness and good food. She stared at the stove a moment, trying to think how she could make the meal special. Smiling, she pulled out pots.
Her mother had always made tomato soup for special occasions. She would do the same, though she’d never managed to make it as good as Ma did.
A little later the soup was gone, as was the bread she’d served with chokecherry jam.
Little Joe had purple jam