The Gift Of Family. Linda Ford

Thought it might burn.”

      “I forgot.” She dashed to the door, pausing to call over her shoulder, “Supper is ready. Come on in.”

      Colt looked like she’d shot him rather than invited him to join them for the meal, but she didn’t have time to ask for an explanation if she meant to save the soup. And provide Colt and the children with a good meal. Plus something more from her heart—welcome and blessing.

      Chapter Two

      Colt stared after Becca. The idea of going into their private quarters sent a quake up his spine.

      “Everything is ready,” Macpherson said. “Who’s hungry?”

      “Me hungry.” Little Joe headed after Becca.

      Marie hesitated, watching Colt. When she saw he wasn’t moving, she came to his side. “I’m not hungry.”

      He knew it couldn’t be true. Except for some cold biscuits, they hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and his stomach growled as if to remind him of how long ago that was. He was at a loss to explain why Marie felt she had to side with him, but seems she did. If he refused the invitation, she would, too.

      “I’m kind of hungry,” he said, and took a tentative step toward the door, and then another.

      Marie followed hard on his heels.

      Macpherson stepped back to usher them into their living quarters. Colt faltered. These were white people. He’d been taught in every way possible that he had no place with them. Sure, he could eat with the cowboys, or the servants, but not at the table with—

      “Grab a chair.” Macpherson indicated where they should sit.

      Colt swallowed hard and made his stiff legs carry him to the table. He sat gingerly on a chair.

      “If you all bow your heads, I’ll say the blessing.” Macpherson waited for them to obey, and even Little Joe did so.

      Colt closed his eyes, more to contain a thousand surprised and uneasy feelings than out of any reverence. Though his conscience reminded him of the times he’d sat in the back of a church and listened hungrily to the words of love from the preacher. Words that he guessed did not apply to him.

      “Amen.”

      Colt jerked up his head and looked directly into Becca’s flash-of-sky eyes.

      “I hope everyone likes potato soup.”

      He nodded, tried to force a word to his tongue, but couldn’t. In desperation he grabbed the glass of water before him and downed it.

      “I like soup.” Marie’s eyes never left the ladle as Becca filled her bowl.

      “Me like, too.” Little Joe reached for the bowl.

      Becca grabbed his hands to keep him from sticking them into the hot soup as she filled his bowl. She ladled soup into Marie’s bowl, then filled Colt’s.

      He murmured his thanks. “Smells good.” And it did.

      She filled her pa’s bowl, and then her own before she sat down and checked the temperature of Little Joe’s soup. “Still too hot. Here, start with a slice of bread.”

      “Okay.” Little Joe didn’t seem to have any problem with that and ate it heartily, then tackled the soup. He had a little trouble coordinating the spoon, but Becca didn’t appear to notice.

      Colt would have been content to eat in silence, but it seemed a practice the Macphersons didn’t hold to.

      Becca paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. “I hope everyone is safe in this storm. I can’t help thinking of Russell Thomas.”

      Macpherson spoke directly to Colt. “Old Russell lives out in the mountains all summer, but comes to town about this time of year to hole up in a rough cabin that has cracks so big between the logs, you could throw a cat through ’em. We haven’t seen him in town yet but he knows the country better than most. He can take care of himself.” He addressed the latter reassurance to his daughter.

      Little Joe’s eyes widened. “Frow cat?”

      Becca laughed. “It’s an expression. No one really throws a cat.”

      Both kids looked relieved.

      Colt forced his eyes not to shift in Becca’s direction. But he couldn’t stop his thoughts from going that way. When had he ever heard a woman laugh so often, so readily? And when had he ever heard such a joyful sound? Maybe in the woods on a sunny day, when every bird within twenty miles seemed determined to sing the loudest and cheeriest.

      “Won’t keep out much of this wind and snow, but it’s better than being without shelter.” She sounded so worried, Colt half decided to go find the old man right then and there and bring him to town, never mind the storm.

      Macpherson chuckled. “He knows how to survive better’n most men. He’ll show up here in a day or two asking for more tobacco.”

      Little Joe finished his soup and looked longingly at the empty bowl. Becca obligingly gave him more.

      Colt cleaned his bowl and ate two thick slices of bread. He refused offers of more, even though his stomach craved it.

      Becca gave a low-throated chuckle. “I wonder how Miss Oake likes her first taste of winter here.” She directed a sweet smile toward Colt. “Miss Oake came out to join her brother at the OK Ranch. She was a teacher back east but said she craved a little more excitement. I wonder if this is enough adventure for her.”

      Her pa answered. A good thing because Colt could think of nothing but blue skies and cheerful birds.

      “I expect she’s enjoying a cozy fire and a good read. She had a heavy case of books with her.”

      Little Joe’s head rocked back and forth, and he tipped forward.

      “Looks like it’s bedtime,” Colt observed.

      “No.” Little Joe jerked up. “I not tired.”

      But even Colt could see that he could no longer focus his eyes. “I’ll take them to the barn.”

      Becca leapt to her feet. “You’ll do no such thing. Pa?”

      Macpherson pushed his chair back. “You and the children can bunk here.” He sounded as if none of them had a choice.

      Here? In their living quarters? Surely he didn’t mean that. “Thanks. I’ll throw down my bedroll in the storeroom.”

      “Nonsense.” Becca sounded determined. “There’s no heat there. We’ve had people spend the night before. They don’t seem to mind sleeping on the floor.” She waved her hand to indicate the space in the living quarters between the kitchen table and the easy chairs, and gave him a challenging look as if to ask if it didn’t suit him.

      “That will be fine,” he mumbled, his tongue thick and uncooperative. His skin would itch with nerves all night at sharing white people’s quarters.

      “I’ll put Little Joe down right away.” She chuckled as the little guy’s head bobbed from side to side. But when she lifted him from the chair, he turned into a squirming, screaming ball of fury.

      Colt sighed. “Sure does have a powerful set of lungs.” He grabbed the boy as he wriggled from Becca’s grasp.

      Marie looked about ready to fall asleep in her chair as well, but with a deep sigh, she climbed down and went to Little Joe’s side. Again, she murmured Indian words to calm her brother, then led him to one of the chairs, climbed up and pulled Little Joe after her. The pair cuddled together.

      “He’ll be okay. I will take care of him,” Marie said.

      “That’s so sweet,” Becca murmured.

      “Yup.” Colt hoped his voice revealed none of his churning feelings. Little Joe would likely never