The Horseman's Frontier Family. Karen Kirst

Only natural that the boy’s presence would resurrect the past.

      Best thing to do is keep your distance. Let the two of them tend to their own business while you focus on yours. It’s not like you have extra time on your hands anyway.

      “Mr. Thornton?”

      He stiffened, turned to see mother and son standing by his stone-encircled fire pit. Beyond them the wagon ambled in the direction of the hastily-constructed town, which so far consisted of a single bank, mercantile, café and jail.

      So. This was it. They were well and truly stuck with each other.

      “I see you haven’t built a cabin.” She indicated the undulating fields around her with a sweep of her arm. “Where do you suggest we sleep?”

      At odds with her military-like posture and assertive manner, she kept a tight hold on the boy, the white in her knuckles betraying her unease.

      “Got a tent somewhere in all that baggage?”

      Studying his tent with distaste, she reluctantly admitted, “I’m certain I do.”

      “You don’t know for sure?”

      “You don’t think I packed every single container myself, do you?”

      Noting the sun’s lowered position in the sky, he picked up his Stetson and, brushing dust from the black felt, dropped it on his head. “I suggest you start searching, then, Mrs. Montgomery. Only a few more hours left before sunset. Wouldn’t want to be caught outdoors overnight without shelter. Coyotes pass through these parts on their way to the Cimarron.”

      The boy’s jaw dropped and his fingers bunched in her black skirts.

      “It’s all right, Walt,” she soothed, all the while shooting daggers at him over the child’s head that screamed, How dare you? Her silent reproach hit its mark with accuracy.

      He’d spoken without a thought to Walt’s feelings. That was the first and last time.

      He cleared his throat. “But they stay away from the tents because of Lion and Shadow.” Pointing to the dogs, he looked Walt in the eye, man-to-man style. “They’re my guardians. Now that you’re here, they’ll watch out for you, too.”

      Walt tilted his head back and stared at Evelyn. A tender smile curved her lips, the intense love and affection shining in her eyes knocking Gideon back a step. He’d witnessed that look before, the shared unbreakable bond between a mother and her child. He felt the absence of it keenly. An image of two graves side by side with twin handmade crosses tormented him.

      As desperately as he craved space, there was something he had to do first.

      He bent a knee to the ground. “Lion. Shadow.” Immediately the dogs came to stand on either side. Resting his hands on their backs, he addressed the boy. “Would you like to come and meet them?”

      Cautious interest bloomed in Walt’s dark eyes. Again he looked to his mother but remained silent.

      Lightly squeezing his shoulder, she nodded. “It’s okay.”

      Walt slowly approached, his focus on the animals sitting on their haunches and waiting patiently to be introduced.

      “Walt, this here is Lion,” he said, indicating the yellow-haired one. “He’s intelligent and extremely loyal. Shadow is younger and a bit more playful.” He patted the shaggy black head. “Hold out your hand and let them smell you first. Then you can pet them all you want.”

      He did as he was told, gingerly at first. When Shadow licked his fingers, a tiny smile flickered. Gideon’s gaze shot to Evelyn. Concern tugged her thick brows together, and she’d pressed her hands together, covering her mouth and nose.

      What was going on here? He sensed something deeper than grief had affected Walt Montgomery. Mind your own business. Don’t get involved. Remain detached. His formula for avoiding any more pain.

      Easing to his feet, he said, “Boys, you stay here with Walt. I’ve got work to do.” Inclining his head a fraction as he passed her, he said, “Mrs. Montgomery.”

      Striding away, he felt the weight of her scrutiny sizzling the exposed strip of skin above his collar. He wouldn’t have a bit of trouble maintaining his distance from the woman. All he had to do was remind himself of her reason for being here. The boy, he feared, was another matter altogether.

      * * *

      “How hard can erecting one tent be?” Evelyn muttered, the pads of her fingers sore from trying to force the too-large buttons through the hand-worked holes along the peak. Hot, sweaty and thirsty, she regretted not accepting Reid’s offer of assistance.

      Pushing errant strands behind her ears, she observed her son for a moment. Perched on a flat rock beside the stream, he sat between the dogs, his arms slung about their necks. He’d taken off his shoes and socks, rolled his charcoal pants up to his knees and submerged his feet and ankles in the meandering water.

      A smile surfaced. If there was one good thing to come out of this dreadful arrangement, this was it—companions for Walt.

      When the obtuse Gideon Thornton had goaded her about the coyotes, she’d been livid. The last thing she needed was for her son to entertain nightmares of rabid beasts ripping through their tent and carrying him off into the night. But then the unexpected had happened. He’d realized his blunder and remedied it.

      Not that one kind gesture could soften her opinion of him. Land robber.

      Sighing, longing for the days of honest-to-goodness baths—luxurious soaks in full-length tin basins—she took hold of the nearest stick and maneuvered herself underneath the thick white canvas. Holding the rear of the tent with a hand above her head, she attempted to lodge the makeshift pole into the hard ground. It refused to cooperate. She really needed both hands and perhaps a trowel, but she couldn’t do that without the canvas collapsing in on her.

      Oppressive heat quickly filled the space. Her itchy bonnet had been discarded an hour ago while rifling through the trunks searching for the tent. Her heavy hair strained the pins holding it in place, which occasionally poked her scalp.

      Deciding to let the canvas rest on her shoulders, she curled her fingers around the thick stick and tried jamming it as hard as she could. Unladylike grunts slipped out as she repeated the action. At last it was deep enough. When she successfully angled the pole up to support the top, she sat back with a satisfied sigh.

      When it tipped over and the whole thing collapsed in on her, she let out a frustrated yelp. She swatted the material engulfing her.

      Suddenly, steel-like vises gripped her shoulders through the canvas. “Hold still.”

      “Get your hands off me!” Embarrassment flooding her cheeks, she tried to twist out of his grip.

      “It’d be a whole lot easier to get off if you’d stop fighting me.”

      The suffocating feeling intensifying, she stilled, and within seconds the white canvas was pulled away. Welcome sunlight and fresh air washed over her.

      “If you’ll step over to the side—” Gideon’s controlled voice snapped her eyes open “—I’ll have this set up in a jiffy.”

      Crouched a scant yard away, he was on eye level with her, his cool gray eyes sober. Watchful. The fact that he wasn’t laughing at her predicament came as a surprise. Her brothers would’ve laughed and teased her mercilessly. Drake would’ve lectured, pointing out her lack of forethought and overall incompetence.

      A curl tumbled over her forehead and tickled her nose. Lifting a hand to her hair, she belatedly wondered what a tangle with the tent had done to her appearance. Her focus shifted to the left, to the half-built stable and her belongings now strewn about the grass. Her hand mirror was there. Somewhere.

      Not that she cared one whit what a Thornton thought about her.

      Dislodging the irritating curl, she rose to her feet as gracefully as