“And call me Maisie,” said the older woman. “Everyone does.”
“Then I’d be pleased if you’d call me Willow.” She smiled at Maisie, then lifted her head to let Johnny know she included him. His dark eyes seemed full of reassurance. What an odd thing to think, especially considering what she knew about men.
He stepped closer and touched Adam on the head. “How is the little fella?”
“He’s feeling better, thanks to your mother’s help.”
Adam looked at the man and smiled. Then the child held out his arms to him.
Johnny blinked. “Does he want me to hold him?”
Willow nodded, at a loss to understand why her son would go to a complete stranger when he’d grown up learning to stay away from men.
“Can I?” Johnny asked. Then he stepped back. “I’ve never held a baby.”
She would have refused her permission, but how could she deny her son this when he was so miserable? She shifted him into Johnny’s arms.
The man held the baby at an awkward angle, but Adam pulled himself up to look into those dark eyes and babble something. It almost sounded as if he was relating a tale of woe.
Johnny grinned at the baby’s nonsense and nodded as if to say he understood every word.
Adam patted the man’s cheeks, pressed his face to Johnny’s chest and fell asleep.
“Well, look at you.” Maisie sounded both surprised and pleased. “You have the touch.”
Willow put a hand to her heart as fear and trepidation flooded it.
Adam trusted this dark stranger. But what did a one-year-old know about broken promises and deceit?
Nothing. And she meant to do everything in her power to protect him from learning those harsh lessons.
Johnny couldn’t take his eyes off the little boy in his arms. He’d never held a child this young. He’d seen them in town and at church, little ones in their mother’s arms or just beginning to toddle around, but he’d had little interest in them until Trudy started talking about children.
He’d thought she meant children with him after they were married, not a child already in her womb by another man.
But never mind that.
The little guy’s light brown hair ruffled as Johnny breathed, and he smoothed it. No one had ever told him how downy a baby’s hair would be. How tiny, yet perfect, their fingers, nor how intent their gaze. “What’s wrong with him?” He fought a surge of protectiveness that made him want to hold the baby tighter and keep bad things at bay.
“Earache,” Maisie said. “Not unusual for a child this age. I’ve given him drops. Why don’t you sit down and let him sleep.” She smiled at the baby in his arms. “He looks so content.”
As Johnny sat, his gaze met Willow’s. Her eyes blazed a warning, as if she feared he might do her son harm. He would reassure her he never would, but how was she to know if she could trust his words?
Willow turned away. “I surely do appreciate your help,” she said to Maisie. Then her attention went to the window and she twisted her hands together.
Johnny could only guess at the many worries of a widow woman with a sick child and two sisters about to join her. He wished he had a way to help her. Fixing the wagon was the best he could offer. He would do that task as soon as he could, but right now nothing would make him put the baby down while he slept so peacefully on his chest.
Maisie quietly tidied things in the kitchen while Willow continued to stare out the window.
The moments ticked by in contentment until Adam woke with a wail and arched his back.
“Did I do something wrong?” Johnny asked. Had he held the baby too tightly? Not firmly enough? Pinched his legs?
Willow eased the baby from his arms. “His ear is hurting.” She pressed her cheek to his forehead. “His fever has gone up again.”
Johnny’s jaw tightened, making his words come out hoarse. “I remember Ma doing that. Testing us with her cheek.”
Maisie rubbed his arm. “It’s nice when you remember her.”
Willow sat down and reached for the wet cloth to wipe Adam’s back and chest, but at Maisie’s words she gave her a puzzled look.
The woman turned to prepare more drops for the baby. “I’m the boys’ stepmother. Their own mother, Seena, died when Johnny was six. He worries he’ll forget her.” She dropped warm oil into Adam’s ears, ignoring his wail of protest.
As the little boy reached his arms out toward Johnny again, Maisie laughed. “He thinks you’ll rescue him from the tortures of me and his mama.” She brushed her hand over the baby’s head. “We’re only trying to help.”
“Seena? That’s a beautiful name.” Willow ignored her son’s protests and continued to sponge him.
“My ma was a Lakota Indian.” Johnny said the words without revealing anything of what he felt. He’d experienced enough hatred toward his mother’s race to want to gauge this woman’s reaction.
“I see.” Willow spared him a quick glance.
“Yes, that explains my dark coloring.” He didn’t try to keep resignation from his voice.
Many people hated half-breeds. Others voiced the opinion that the only good Indian was a dead Indian. Too many had lost friends and relatives in the many Indian wars and weren’t about to forget it.
Her hands stilled. “I’m sorry if I gave you cause to think it makes any difference.”
Her words eased a tension he’d been unaware of until it was gone. Though why it should, he couldn’t say. Except it did. Tension had always grabbed him at the negative opinions of people, even if he didn’t let anyone know.
“I’m sorry if I judged you,” he replied.
“It’s forgiven and forgotten.” She smiled at him, then turned her attention back to young Adam, who sent Johnny pleading looks.
His heart couldn’t take it and he strode from the room.
He walked past the wagon he’d parked by the barn. Willow’s belongings were safe there. No one on the ranch would touch them, knowing they would face the combined wrath of the Hardings if they did. The wheel would have to come off and be repaired, greased and then remounted. He’d make sure it was fixed well enough to take her and that little fella anyplace they wanted to go.
In the meantime, he had to take care of Gray and Willow’s horse. He’d see that the mare got good feed and good grooming. From the look of her hooves, it wouldn’t hurt to tend them, either.
He
