be fourteen now. She’s five years younger than me. Then there’s Sarah. I haven’t seen her since she was eight. I can’t believe she’ll be ten by now. I wonder how much they’ve both changed.” She knew she rambled, but talking made it harder to worry. “I just hope—” She couldn’t finish the thought. Too many things could go wrong. Hadn’t she learned that? The sudden death of her parents in a buggy accident. A foolish indiscretion with Adam’s father, an act born of sorrow. A loveless marriage. A son who truly had no father that he would ever know. Thankfully, it hadn’t been Bertie.
“You hope things work out.”
“Indeed.” She stroked Adam’s hot cheeks and waved the blanket to fan him. “However, they don’t always, do they?”
“Bad things happen to good and bad people alike. One would think life was random, even cruel. But I don’t think it is.”
She hadn’t meant the question to be answered, so when he spoke in thoughtful tones, she listened carefully, hoping he would provide an answer to the many doubts that circled in her brain. “Then how do you explain those random things?” she asked when he didn’t continue.
“Perhaps they provide us an opportunity to trust God.”
“Excuse me if I say that’s a pat answer that means nothing. My view is that God doesn’t much care what happens to us. He made us, then left us to manage on our own.” She shut her mouth with a snap. She should be a little more cautious. Men, she’d discovered, did not care to have a woman disagree with them. And she and Adam were pretty much at this man’s mercy. “Forgive me. I suppose I’m overreacting to recent events in my life.”
Mr. Harding only shrugged. “I feel no need to defend God.”
What a strange reply.
They turned onto a riverside trail that was smoother, more traveled. “How much farther?” she asked, as a frisson of fear caught at her lungs. Maybe they weren’t going to any ranch. Maybe this man meant them harm. How foolish of her to turn her wagon over to him, to trust herself and Adam to him. Had she not learned enough lessons about trusting men?
First, her fiancé had left her pregnant with Adam. Though she could hardly blame him that she’d turned to him for comfort when her parents died. Then there was Mr. Reames. He and her father had been business partners and, with no other family for Willow and her sisters, Mr. Reames and his wife had been named guardians of Willow and the girls. Upon learning of her condition, he’d threatened to turn them all into the street for the shame her pregnancy would bring. Marrying Bertie was her only option. But she’d failed to keep him from getting into trouble, and Bertie had turned into even more of a drinking, gambling, unkind man once away from his father’s control. As if that wasn’t enough, after Bertie’s death Mr. Reames had informed her the girls could no longer stay with him and his wife, seeing as Willow had failed to keep her part of the agreement. Yes, she’d learned more than enough about the dangers of trusting any man or his word.
Mr. Harding answered her question. “We’ll turn off toward the ranch just up there.” He pointed to a fork in the road. “Then you’ll get your first glimpse of the place.”
She heard the pride in his voice and couldn’t help but envy him. He obviously knew where he belonged. She stiffened her resolve. Soon she and the girls and Adam would have a place where they belonged, even if it was temporary and only rented. Most of all, they’d be together.
The wagon reached the fork, turned away from the blue, chuckling river and passed between some trees, their leaves dull with the summer heat. It slowed as the trail grew narrow and rough, and then broke through into sunshine again. Ahead, the trail passed between two rows of buildings. This was more like a small town than a ranch.
“This is Sundown Ranch,” Mr. Harding said as he rounded a low, rambling house and pulled up at the door. He touched Adam’s head. “I hope he gets better soon.”
Adam’s half-glazed eyes studied the man with solemn interest.
Willow kept her attention on her son, wondering at the trust she saw in them. So unlike his response to Bertie. Adam would always cling to her and hide his face when Bertie came near. Was it simply because her son was too sick to care or did he see something in Mr. Harding that he liked? She wanted to pull him closer and whisper caution in his ear. But Adam was too young to know not to trust anyone, let alone a stranger.
Mr. Harding jumped down and came around to guide her to the ground. “Is there anything you need out of the wagon?”
“Adam’s things, if you don’t mind.” She indicated where they were under the tarpaulin.
He took the valise out and set it on the ground at her feet.
“Thank you.” She didn’t take her gaze off the wagon. All her earthy belongings were in the back—a big bed, a chest of drawers, dishes and linens—enough to set up housekeeping in Granite Creek. Would her things be safe? Though, at the moment that concern was secondary to Adam’s needs.
“I’ll take care of the wagon,” Mr. Harding said, his expression kind.
“I appreciate that.” She had no choice but to trust him. At least he’d brought her to this house.
“Here comes Maisie now.”
Willow followed the direction of his gaze to see a woman crossing the yard. As soon as she was close enough, Mr. Harding introduced them.
“Welcome, welcome,” Mrs. Harding said. She glanced at Adam. “You have a sick baby. Come inside and we’ll take care of him.”
Willow followed her indoors, glancing around at the large kitchen with table and chairs to one side. Mrs. Harding indicated Willow should sit down.
“Do you mind undressing the little one so I can have a look at him?”
Willow wondered how she’d known the baby was a boy, but perhaps she spoke in general terms. Glad of someone to examine Adam and tell her what was wrong, Willow removed everything but the diaper.
Mrs. Harding looked at his chest and back, behind his ears and at the back of his knees. “I don’t see any evidence of a rash. How has he been eating?”
“Okay until yesterday.”
“Has he eaten anything different than usual?”
“We’ve been traveling, so...” Willow gasped. “Have I given him something that went bad?”
“There would have been other signs.” Mrs. Harding asked a few more questions. “I can’t see anything specifically wrong with him. It could be a combination of things. Teething and traveling might have him off-kilter.”
Adam, growing upset at all the prodding, grabbed at his ears and whined.
“There we go. He’s told us himself.” Mrs. Harding rubbed the side of Adam’s head. “Poor baby has an earache. Let’s deal with the fever first.” She brought water, poured something into it. “While you sponge him I’ll prepare some oil for his ears.”
Willow washed Adam’s little body with the tepid water. In a few minutes she could tell his fever dropped. “I’m grateful you know what to do,” she said as Mrs. Harding placed warm drops in Adam’s ears. What would she have done alone in the wagon? “Mr.
