nodded, but kept his attention on the child. Nice white women did not associate with half-breeds.
* * *
Becca watched the black-haired man with his head bent over Marie, listening to her murmured comment. She couldn’t hear what the child said, but she ached for the gentle way he held her. Almost as much as she ached for the plight of the children. Orphaned, half-breed children didn’t face a happy future, from what she’d observed. If it was in her power, she would do something, but what could she do? She’d promised Ma on her deathbed that when she turned eighteen, she would return east to family back there. She was set to keep that promise. Her trunk stood packed and ready near the door, waiting for the stage-coach due tomorrow. The first leg of the journey would take her to Fort Macleod. From there she would go south to Fort Benton. Eventually a train would carry her to her destination, though it pained her to think of leaving Pa alone.
Colt lifted his head, as if aware she watched him. His gaze collided with hers. A jolt raced through her veins at the intensity in his black, almost bottomless eyes. Except they weren’t. Looking into them, she felt her heart hit something solid. Something deep inside, almost hidden. She knew somehow, that he was a person one could trust through thick and thin. A heart could find perfect rest in his care.
She shifted her attention to a display of hardware behind his shoulder and wondered when she had grown so silly.
Marie turned to Colt. They studied each other, then she grabbed his hands, opened his arms and indicated he should lift her and Little Joe to his lap. He arranged one on each knee and pulled a blanket around them. Marie glanced up at Colt and smiled, as if being in his arms made her feel safe.
Becca’s eyes stung at how tender he was with the children.
Colt looked up and caught her watching. Again, she felt that unexpected jolt of surprise, and something more that she couldn’t name. Meeting his gaze, however, made her aware of an unfolding inside her. How unusual for her to take so much note of a customer. Or even a visitor.
She must stop thinking about Colt and focus her attention on these orphaned children. Because of her promise to her mother, she could not offer them all the things she longed to—shelter, acceptance and love—but while the storm raged outside, she could give them a taste of what her heart longed to provide.
Pa cleared his throat. She realized she’d been staring at the trio far too long, and turned toward her father. He went to the window to look out.
“Good thing you got here when you did. The wind has picked up. Anyone out there now would be in danger of freezing.”
“We was pretty cold,” Marie said.
Colt grunted. “You mean to say you weren’t cozy and warm under my coat?”
Marie quickly corrected herself. “Most of the time.”
“It’s okay, little one,” Colt said. “I knew you were cold. But there wasn’t anything I could do about it.”
“I know. It’s okay.”
Becca chuckled at the way Marie tried to reassure him.
Pa wandered about the store, paused to adjust the cans of tomatoes, and secured the lid on the barrel of crackers. “I hope this doesn’t last too long.”
“We’re all safe, Pa.”
He sat on a chair by the fire. “The stagecoach won’t run if this keeps up. You won’t make it to Toronto as we planned.”
“I’ll be safe here. I can go later.” She didn’t object to a delay in her travel plans—although Pa insisted that the sooner she went, the better. But she hated to leave before Christmas.
“I promised your mother you’d leave when you turned eighteen.”
“I’ll be eighteen for a whole year.” She smiled encouragement at her father, then glanced at Colt to see his reaction to the conversation.
He watched them with guarded interest.
Deciding to change the topic, she asked him, “What are your plans for the children?”
He paused as if to measure his words. “I thought the children should go to Fort Macleod. I hear there’s a teacher there who takes in orphan children without any regard for their race.”
Suddenly, the first leg of her journey didn’t seem so lonely and frightening. With Colt and the children along, she’d barely have time to think about all she was leaving behind.
Colt fixed his dark eyes on her, bringing her thoughts to a crashing halt.
“Miss Macpherson, seeing as you plan to take the stagecoach, I hope you’ll agree to take them with you and turn them over to the teacher.”
“Me?” She couldn’t tear her gaze from his.
“Makes sense,” Pa said.
Becca did not think it made any sense whatsoever. She saw herself clutching two sad children, tears flowing silently from three pairs of eyes, as they huddled alone and cold in a stagecoach racing farther and farther away from everything familiar. Though perhaps the tears wouldn’t be silent on Little Joe’s behalf. She blinked, reminded herself of her promise to her mother, and managed a soft answer.
“Of course.”
“So much depends on the weather.” Pa again wandered about the store, poking at supplies.
Marie shifted to look into Colt’s face. “You not take care of us?”
“I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
His reply satisfied Marie, and she snuggled against his chest.
Colt had the most peculiar expression on his face. As if unsure how to handle the children, and yet he was so gentle and natural with them.
Becca couldn’t stop watching him.
Pa cleared his throat, and guilty heat burned across her cheeks. Pa always guarded her closely, making sure she didn’t spend too much time in the company of the men who visited the store. Not that he’d ever had to run interference before.
“It will soon be supper time,” Pa said.
“Of course. I’ll see to it.” She hurried into the living quarters, grateful to escape the three visitors. She stared around the kitchen. What was she to prepare for them? Would they enjoy clustering around the table? When had she ever been so disturbed by unexpected guests? It wasn’t as if they hadn’t had occasional visitors over the few years they’d been here. But none that stirred her heart the way this man did.
The innocent children, too, of course. Only it wasn’t the idea of the children sitting at the table that had her thoughts all aflutter.
She grabbed her apron, tied it about her waist and put a pot on the stove.
Tomorrow she would depart on the stage. She glanced toward the window. If the storm let up. Otherwise—she sucked in air that seemed strangely empty—they would be stranded until such time as the weather improved. No doubt she should be somewhat dismayed at the idea of a delay. But she
