The Rancher Inherits A Family

“Mr. Halloway.” The soft voice near his side added to his disorientation. “Are you in pain?”

Ivory-skinned and hazel-eyed, with a halo of red-gold hair, the woman from the train came into view. She’d rearranged the shiny mass back on her head and had only a scrape on her chin as a result of the ordeal. “You fared well,” he said, barely managing to get the words out.

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you.”

“And the children?”

“They have a few bumps and bruises from the crash, but they’re safe.”

He closed his eyes with grim satisfaction.

“I’m Marigold Brewster.”

If she was one of the brides, she was certainly a young widow. And more power to the man willing to take on all those kids. “Seth Halloway.”

“I know. The other men told me your name. Thank you for rescuing me.”

“I’m glad you and your boys are all right. Reverend Taggart must’ve been praying the whole while.”

“Well, that’s the thing...”

His head throbbed and the light hurt. He closed his eyes. “What’s the thing?”

“They’re not my boys.”

“They’re not?”

“I never saw them before I boarded the train headed for Kansas.”

“Well, then—”

“They’re yours.”

With his uninjured hand, he touched his forehead gingerly. Had that blow to his head rattled his senses? No, he hadn’t lost his memory. He remembered what he’d been doing before heading off to the wreckage, and he recalled what had happened inside the railcar. “I assure you I’d know if I had children.”

“Well, as soon as you read this letter, along with a copy of the will, you’ll know.”

At the sound of paper unfolding, he opened his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“It seems a friend of yours by the name of Tessa Radner wanted you to take her children upon her death.”

“Tessa... She’s dead?”

“This letter says she is. I’m sorry.”

He remembered his friend well. They’d been neighbors and classmates in Big Bend, Missouri, a hundred years ago. He’d joined the infantry alongside her husband, Jessie. Jessie had made it nearly all the way through the war and had been killed at the end of the Appomattox Campaign in Northern Virginia’s final battle. Seth winced at the magnitude of senseless loss.

Miss Brewster held up the letter, so he could read it. Tessa had gotten sick and her main concern was for her children. She’d believed she was getting better, but had taken a turn for the worse. Arranging to send her children to Cowboy Creek had been her frantic effort to see they were cared for. She’d been a young widow, frightened to die, frightened to leave behind her children. Seth’s chest ached with sorrow and sympathy for his childhood friend. But sending her beloved babies to him? She must have been desperate to believe he was her best choice. What was he going to do with them?

He realized she was still holding the letter and his vision had blurred on the words. He glanced up. “So...you’re their chaperone?”

“No, I’m the new schoolteacher. I’ve been hired to replace Miss Aldridge. The town council paid my fare. I met the boys—Tate, Harper and Little John—soon after the trip started, and asked why they were traveling without supervision. I shudder to think what might have happened to them. Tate showed me this letter, which explained why they were alone. Harper and Little John looked so frightened, and Tate was trying to be brave and act as though he had everything under control. He’s only seven himself. All I did was help them out as best I could.”

The news was a lot to take in. He would show the letter and the will to his brother, Russ, who was an attorney. Russ would know if everything was on the up-and-up, but Seth didn’t know what choice he had. If these were Jessie and Tessa’s sons, and they had no other family, he had no choice. He always did the right thing, the responsible thing.

He swallowed, finding his throat dry. “Well, I reckon we’re even then.”

“Pardon?”

“We’re even. You took care of the boys, and I rescued you.”

“I suppose so,” she agreed.

The door opened and Dr. Marlys Mason entered, wearing a crisp blue dress and a white apron. “How are you feeling, Mr. Halloway?”

“Call me Seth. I’ve been worse.”

“Yes, I noticed that when I removed your shirt. Besides several other interesting scars, one from a .58 Minié ball, I’d say.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “You can tell the caliber by the scar?”

“Indeed, and you were fortunate it was the Minié ball because the greater weight and velocity allowed it to penetrate and come out the other side. Another inch and it would have shattered your shoulder or become lodged in the bone and necessitated amputation.”

Beside him Marigold sucked in a breath of surprise.

“There are a couple of wounds I don’t recognize, though,” the doctor added, clearly fascinated and peering again to have another look. “These inch-long scars on your upper arm and your shoulder.”

He raised his arm only to regret it when pain shot through his ribs. “Arrows.”

The doctor’s eyebrows rose. “Arrows?”

“Comanche.”

“They didn’t pierce bone, however.”

“I was a moving target.”

“Fascinating. How were they removed?”

“Grin and yank. The ones that had gone clean through were easiest because I could break off the tips.”

Dr. Mason’s fascination was evident in her raised eyebrows. He had spoken to the doctor other times, and was accustomed to her logical thinking and straightforward speech. Her intelligence and intuition impressed him. He glanced over, and Miss Brewster, on the other hand, appeared a shade paler and unimpressed. “I’m glad they brought me to you, Dr. Mason. I respect your natural remedies. What’s ailing me at the moment?”

Marlys peered into his eyes one at a time. “You took a blow to the head, but seem to be clearheaded now. I want to observe you overnight however. Besides the head injury, you have several contusions and your ulna is broken.”

“My arm?”

“Yes, this bone,” she said, raising her arm to show him the underside. “It’s a clean break, and will heal properly in a few weeks. I’ll put a cast on it as soon as the swelling is down. I’ll make a poultice for those ribs and we’ll wrap them. I would say a large object struck you there, rather than something with an edge, which would have broken or cracked ribs. Bruising will heal far more quickly, but is still quite painful. I will supply you with herbs. Those ribs will hurt every time you move until they’ve had a couple of weeks to heal.”