out of place on the Flores farm—a child crying.
Isabel pressed close to Ben’s back and gripped his arms. He stilled and angled a glance over his shoulder.
“Are you hearing the same thing I am?” he whispered.
Pushing past him, she ignored his hushed objection and rushed onto the porch. Unrelenting darkness cloaked the countryside. The hut, positioned between the gristmill and cabin, blocked what little light might be shining from the windows.
Ben’s hand clamped on her waist. He would’ve pulled her back into the hut if she hadn’t locked on his fingers and squeezed.
“Wait! Listen.”
She heard the plaintive cry again, a heart-wrenching sob that filled her with urgency and the need to soothe hurts. She left the cover of the stoop and tiptoed around the corner. Ben was right behind her, so close she could feel his breath on her nape.
They spotted the small form huddled against the hut’s foundation at the same time. The small boy ceased sobbing and started to scramble in the opposite direction.
Masking her consternation, Isabel crouched to his level and spoke in a soft, gentle tone. “Hello. My name’s Isabel. I live in the cabin over there with my sisters. What’s your name?”
His attempt at escape abandoned, the boy stared at her without speaking. She could tell little about him besides the fact he was very young and had short, tousled dark hair.
“I’ll get a lamp.” The air stirred as Ben dashed back inside.
“My, um, friend Ben, he’s going to get an oil lamp so you can see us better. I don’t like the dark, do you?”
The boy’s negative head shake was almost imperceptible. Isabel couldn’t comprehend where this child had come from or where his parents might be. Her instinct was to pull him into her arms and hug him until he felt safe.
Ben soon returned, the lamp emitting enough light to show his concern-ravaged features as his gaze met Isabel’s. He assumed the same position as her, his knee bumping hers as he steadied himself.
“I was just telling our visitor that your name is Ben.”
“That’s right. I’m Ben MacGregor.” He spoke in an upbeat tone. “What’s your name?”
The boy’s pointed chin wobbled. He was a pretty child, with pale skin, large cornflower-blue eyes and hair the color of syrup. Judging by the dirt smudges on his face and hands and the stains on his clothing, he hadn’t seen a bath for some time.
“I want Happy.”
“Is Happy your dog?” Ben said.
He shook his head.
Ben cut her a look. “Is he your cat?”
“Don’t have a cat.”
Isabel noticed his shirtsleeves were too short, and his trousers had been patched multiple times. “Is your mother or father around?” She gestured to the forest. “Did you get separated from them?”
His lower lip quivered, and a fresh surge of tears brimmed in his eyes. “My mama’s dead.”
She heard Ben’s sharp inhale. “I’m right sorry to hear that, little man.”
The sorrow this child was suffering, and indeed his current plight, weighed heavily on Isabel. “What about your pa?”
“Don’t got one.” He toyed with his shirt buttons. “I want Happy.”
Ben gestured to the hut. “I have a peppermint stick in my bag. Would you like to have it?”
Isabel held her breath while the child considered them both with a heavy dose of distrust. Finally, he nodded.
Some of the rigidness in Ben’s body receded. He slowly stood and held out his hand. “What do you say we go inside where it’s warm? You can eat the candy in front of the stove.”
The boy popped up. Instead of taking Ben’s hand, however, he edged in Isabel’s direction. She offered him a reassuring smile. “I like peppermint, too, but my favorite is horehound.”
“Horehound?” Ben said in mock horror. “I can’t stomach the stuff. Peppermint is the best, and lemon is a close second. Do you like lemon, little man?”
“I never tried it.” His high, childish voice held a note of longing.
“Is that so? Well, that’s a problem I’ll have to remedy. Every boy must try lemon drops at least once.”
Ben started for the hut entrance, chatting about other sweets and acting as if finding a lost child was an everyday occurrence. Isabel beckoned for the boy to follow her. He did so, reluctantly, his suspicion unusual for a child his age, which she guessed to be around three or four.
By the time they reached the threshold, Ben had retrieved the promised candy and removed a single stick from a small brown sack.
“There’s only one thing I ask in return for this,” he began, his expression serious. “I’d like to know your name.”
Isabel watched the boy’s wide gaze roam the hut’s interior before settling on Ben and the treat at hand. He was waif thin, and his curly hair needed combing. Whoever had been caring for him hadn’t done a good job.
“Eli.”
Ben held out the stick. “A strong name suited to a sturdy boy like yourself. You know your last name?”
Eli snatched the peppermint and sucked on it greedily. When had he last eaten?
He shrugged. Isabel dragged the chair closer to the stove and patted the seat. “Why don’t you sit here? We need to close the door to keep the warm air inside.”
When Eli had climbed onto the chair, Ben said quietly, “Isabel? A word.”
She met him at the door.
“I’m going to take a look around outside. You should take him to the cabin. It’s too late to find him other lodgings. He could probably use something more substantial than a piece of candy, too.”
“What are you expecting to find?”
He kneaded the back of his neck. “Whoever’s had charge of him has to be around somewhere. Boys his age don’t simply wander the woods alone. I suspect something dire has happened.”
“You’ll be careful?”
A ghost of a smile graced his mouth. “For someone who claims to dislike me, you issue that warning quite often.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “That’s because I—”
“Don’t want to stitch me up again. I know.”
He ducked outside and headed for the mill. She watched his confident stride, troubled by her deepening interest in the lawman’s welfare.
*
