a princess?”
Lou choked on his cookie.
Hacking and coughing, he brushed the crumbs off his knees while he tried to regain his senses. He’d never heard something so preposterous. A princess? Yet, as he studied her, with the morning light streaming in ribbons across her features, highlighting her hair, making her eyes twinkle with hope, a strange emotion clutched at him.
He cleared his throat. “You’re the prettiest princess I’ve ever seen.”
A grin wider than the desert outside his window spread across Josie’s face. Before he knew what to expect, she launched herself at him. Pain radiated through his upper body, and he felt useless as she entrapped him. His hands rested on his knees while she hugged him, her little-girl arms feeling impossibly frail as they wrapped around his neck.
Before he could stop himself, he realized his hands were patting her back. Hugging her back. He dropped them to his legs.
“Josie,” he said, spitting a wayward hair from his mouth and pulling away, “you stink.”
She stepped back and, folding her arms, pouted at him. “Princesses don’t smell.”
“They do when they mess with things. What’d you do downstairs?”
“She knocked over a can of paint from that big case I’m trying to move.” James stood in the door, glowering at Josie. “You’d best come clean up before—”
“Do I have to?” She wheedled a pretty smile toward Lou.
The stinker. Unbidden affection surged through him. “A princess always takes responsibility for her mistakes.”
“Oh, fine.” She stomped out the door, her little shoulders ramrod straight.
James chuckled. “You need anything before I follow that whippersnapper?”
“When is Mary returning?”
“Soon.”
“Send her up. We’ve things to discuss.”
James nodded and left. Lou stared at the door, hating how the empty feeling in his stomach got worse when everyone was gone. He rubbed at his neck, almost feeling the imprint of Josie’s arms around him. Would his little Abby have been so affectionate? Yes, because hugs had been common in their home.
Love and warmth and family. All gone.
The hollow in his chest deepened into a gaping void that wrenched through him, a chasm in his soul he could never escape. This pain worried him more than any shoulder wound. Why did Mary have to be so stubborn? Even more, how could he have let himself get shot?
He wanted to blame Mary.
He definitely blamed the shooter.
Because of them, he was starting to remember what he’d fought so hard to forget.
And the memories burned worse than any bullet ever did.
* * *
After Mary left the Burns general store, she paused on the walkway to let the morning sun warm her. Around her, people nodded at her as they ran their errands. No one stared. This was a good town.
She let her head drop back a bit so the summer rays could touch her cheeks and chase the chill from her soul. After the few errands she’d finished, she’d yet to find a flyer with Josie’s name or face on it, let alone someone who could share information on the homeless child. No response from the Portland police, either.
It seemed the girl had appeared out of nowhere, with no kin to claim her. Except that man with the violet eyes.... She hadn’t the courage to ask if anyone spoke with him. Shaking the shudder away at the thought of him, she resumed walking toward where she’d tethered her mare.
“Mary. Mary, wait!”
A woman’s voice broke Mary’s walk. She whirled and grinned as Alma Waite bustled over.
“Oh, you dear girl. How have you been?” Miss Alma’s bright hazel eyes winked up at her before the elderly woman gathered her in a honey-scented hug.
“I’m well, thank you.”
“You should visit more. I’m in need of pies and cookies for the Independence Day celebration.”
“I shall make you some. I’ve been a mite busy lately.” Mary released Miss Alma and moved beneath the shade of a storefront. Might Miss Alma know of Josie’s parentage? While the woman who’d brought Mary to faith years ago knew everything about everyone, she wasn’t a gossip.
“Well, we’ve missed you.” Miss Alma tittered as she dug through a bag at her side. “I bought yarn and threads for you. That Grant woman has finally left the sewing circle and we’ve a hole now...one we’d like you to fill. Ah, here they are.” Triumphantly she shoved the bag at Mary.
She took it, feeling a blush warm her cheeks. “Thank you. I shall think on your kind offer. How much are these?”
Miss Alma waved a hand. “Pishposh. They’re a gift. I worry about you. Alone on that ranch.”
“I have James and Lou—”
“No female companionship at all. It’s not healthy. At least we used to meet for church....” Miss Alma trailed off as Mary shifted uncomfortably.
Since Lou had gotten shot, she hadn’t been to church. Was it two Sundays she’d missed?
“My sweet girl, is there anything I can do for you?” The elderly woman, who had more fire in her than a rowdy pony, sported a soft look upon her face.
Mary hugged her again. “We’re fine. I’m actually looking for some information, though.” She thought of the man who’d come calling and decided to hedge a bit. “My mother found a child, and I’m having trouble locating the girl’s parents.”
“Oh, my.” Miss Alma’s hand went to her ruffled breast. “Why, I haven’t heard a thing. Where did your mother find the child? Does she need a place to stay?”
“No, no, she’s safe,” Mary replied, flustered by the questions. “Perhaps you might keep your ear to the ground, as it were, and if you find out anything, let me know?”
“Of course I will.”
They said their goodbyes, and Mary watched the lady who’d saved her life bustle away. Not her physical life, but her emotional one. Childhood chaos aside, she’d been a mess when Trevor first brought her to Lou’s. Miss Alma had nursed her back to health and introduced her to God, to a Jesus who saw past skin and circumstance to the very heart of a person. Who loved despite a person’s flaws or parentage.
Feeling cozy from memories, she wheeled to the right and headed toward her horse. One more stop and then she could go home.
Home.
Humming her favorite hymn, Mary set out for the Paiute encampment. Sunlight warmed her shoulders and bathed the path before her in brightness. If only her own path could be so clear. With
