The Gift Of Family: Merry Christmas, Cowboy

It amazed him these children trusted him so easily. After all, he hadn’t seen Marie but once or twice, and Little Joe only once when he was a tiny mite.

Macpherson’s smile flattened as he waited for Colt’s explanation, but Colt was momentarily distracted as the fine young woman reached over and patted each little head. She was so close, he could see the light catching in her hair and smell the fresh, clean scent of her skin and clothing.

“Where are the Gallants?” the storekeeper prompted.

Colt jerked his attention from the woman and steeled himself to reveal nothing of his thoughts. He didn’t immediately answer. He didn’t like to mention the harsh reality he’d discovered. Not with little Marie watching him with big dark eyes, and listening to every word. Thankfully, her little brother had fallen asleep against Colt’s chest...double reason to be grateful. He guessed when Little Joe woke up and saw he wasn’t at home, he would let them all know his displeasure.

Colt’s ears still rang from the racket the tiny boy made in protest to being taken from his home and parents.

“My ma and pa are dead.” Marie dropped the announcement into their midst with a distinctive, husky voice. Not that it took her voice to give away her mixed race. Dark hair and black-as-coal eyes proved it. There would be no hiding the fact that this pair was part Indian.

Macpherson’s eyes widened at the announcement, and his daughter again leaned closer and reached for Marie as if wanting to hug her. She settled instead for stroking Marie’s head.

“I’m so sorry.” Her words seemed filled with tears.

Against his better judgment, Colt looked into her face. Indeed, her eyes were watery, but she favored Colt with a trembling smile that shook him to the core. Was the light so poor she hadn’t noticed what sort of man he was? Had she failed to notice the obvious heritage of these children?

He jerked his attention to Macpherson. Saw the curiosity and concern in his expression as he regarded the children. Colt explained what he’d found when he stopped at his friend’s place. “Their mother was already gone. Buried under a tree. Zeke was barely alive when I got there. Figure his concern for his kids kept him going long past what his body wanted. I buried him next to his wife this morning.” Some wouldn’t dignify the union by calling the Indian woman anything other than a squaw, but Colt didn’t feel that way.

“Pa said someone would come for us. He happy to see Colt. Said Colt will take care of us.”

The young woman squatted to eye level with Marie.

Colt stiffened, drew back. He darted a glance at Macpherson, expecting the man to step forward and push Colt away from his daughter. But the man’s gaze rested on Marie, his expression—near as Colt could decipher—full of sympathy.

Colt wasn’t sure if he trusted the compassion he saw. He’d witnessed very little of it in his lifetime. He waited for the expression to shift and grow hard.

He pulled the children closer. If necessary, he would move on. If they were fortunate, he’d find shelter in a barn. Otherwise, the river was nearby. The trees would offer some protection. He had the skills to build a shelter of branches. They’d survive.

Except the children deserved more than he could offer them in an outdoor camp. They at least needed food and more warmth than a fire struggling in the wind would provide. But, he reminded himself, this pair must learn to survive the opinion of white folks, the uncertain welcome of the natives. They would need to be tough.

The woman remained unaware of Colt’s troubled thoughts and tense waiting.

“My name is Becca.” She stroked Marie’s head. “What’s yours?”

Marie stared into the blue eyes, likely as mesmerized as Colt by the sweet voice and warm smile. “Marie,” she answered.

“Marie. What a nice name. How old are you?”

“Four.” Marie held up the correct number of fingers.

“A big girl now. With a little brother. What’s his name?”

“Little Joe. He’s two.” Marie held up two fingers.

Little Joe, disturbed by his sister’s movement, jerked awake. He sat up, looked about, wrinkled his face—

Colt balanced Marie on one knee as he pulled Little Joe to his shoulder, hoping to prevent what he knew would follow. But Little Joe turned as wriggly and uncooperative as a newborn calf and as loud as a pen of angry mountain cats. Colt’s ears rang from the boy’s cries. He had his hands full trying to make sure Little Joe didn’t launch himself headfirst to the floor.

Miss Becca stood to her full height and stared at the boy, as amazed by the noise one small boy could make as Colt had been the first time he’d heard the racket.

Little Joe squirmed away and stood on the floor, his mouth open wide as he bellowed his displeasure.

“Shush.” Colt patted the boy’s back and tried to calm him. Being mixed race was already enough to see them turned out into the storm. This noise would make anyone with ears reconsider an offer of shelter.

“Little Joe, it’s okay. Don’t cry.” But the kid merely sucked in air and released it in a louder scream.

“Ouch.” Colt covered his ears. “That hurts.”

Macpherson shuddered and backed away while his daughter stared.

Marie giggled. “Mama said he was loud enough to call down rain from the sky.”

Colt could barely make out her words in the din.

“I’d have to agree,” Becca said. “But we don’t need rain, do we, Little Joe?”

Little Joe paid her no mind. The volume didn’t diminish at all.

Marie went to her brother and patted his back. She murmured Indian words Colt recognized from his past as speech meant to comfort. They were always spoken for another, but he remembered a time he’d allowed himself to pretend they were for him. He shook his head, driving away the useless memory.

Little Joe stopped screaming and clutched Marie’s hand.

Becca’s sigh filled the air. “That’s better. Thanks for calming him.”

“He’s my brother.” Marie gave Colt, then Becca, a dark-eyed look of fierceness as she pulled Little Joe closer to her side.

Becca smiled, which filled her eyes with beams of sunshine. “He’s a fortunate boy.” She turned her blue gaze to Colt. “I don’t know your name.”

He gave it. Would she ask him to leave now?

But she only smiled and said, “Nice to meet you.”

Colt kept his face expressionless and slid a look at Macpherson. Would he ask Colt to leave? The man’s face showed a thousand things Colt could only guess at, but his gut informed him the man did not feel any welcome toward his guests.

“We’ll be on our way as soon as the children are warm enough. I’ll get more supplies before we leave.” He hoped the promise of a sale would allow them to stay for a brief period. He’d never been one to pray. Didn’t seem to be any point in praying to a white man’s God. Truth was, he wasn’t sure whose God he should pray to, but at the moment, he petitioned the only God he’d heard much about...the white man’s.

Please stop the storm and guide me to a shelter for these kids.

“Nonsense,” Becca said. “No one will be going out in this weather. There’s plenty of room here, isn’t that right, Pa?”

“I certainly wouldn’t expect man nor beast to venture out in this storm.” The words were spoken kindly enough, but Colt didn’t miss the slight hesitation before they came, any more than he missed the protective look Macpherson fixed on his daughter.

Colt could assure the man he would not harm her in any way. He would only speak to her when necessary, and he’d stay a goodly distance away. He knew better than to ever look at a white woman in a way to invite the ire of a white man.

Marie pulled Colt’s head down to whisper in his ear. “She’s nice.”

Colt nodded, but kept his attention on the child. Nice white women did not associate with half-breeds.