an affection needing no words, yet so evident it brought a sting to her eyes.
Buck cupped the boy’s head and pressed it to his chest. “We’ll be okay, little buddy.”
Joey let out a sigh ending on a gasp as he fought for air.
“How long has he been ill?” Kathleen asked.
“Longer than I care to admit.” Buck sat the boy up and brushed the long black hair off his face. “I haven’t been fair to him, dragging him along with me. I guess I figured it was the sort of life he was born to.” He shook his head. “He deserves more.”
“Children get sick. It happens.” She longed to reassure him. She ached to give him the welcome Rosie refused. “Now that he’s here, he’ll start to mend.” She touched his cheeks. Hot. Dry. Parchment-paper fragile. Her knuckles brushed Buck’s and she jerked back. Pushed to her feet. Turned to Rosie. “He’s burning up.”
“Sponge him. A good washing wouldn’t likely go amiss.”
“Rosie, you surprise me.” Buck spoke in a flat tone.
Kathleen silently echoed his words as she prepared a basin of water.
“Take his shirt off,” Rosie instructed.
Kathleen waited as Buck did so, then knelt at his side and lifted a wet cloth. Joey shrank back, his eyes widening.
“I’ll do it.” Buck reached for the cloth. Again their fingers brushed. She stilled herself not to react. He paused. Slowly she lifted her head to meet his steady consideration, sat back on her heels as his look went on and on, peeling away protective layers she didn’t even realize existed—layers established by her upbringing, of being sheltered to the point she often felt she was a lonely spectator of the world. Her parents had long taught her that their station in life demanded certain requirements of her. Namely, to associate only with appropriate people and marry within their circle, meaning to marry well. Yet nowhere in the approved acquaintances had she seen a man so devoted to a child not his own, from an often despised race. Nor had she ever felt a reaction that made her heart beat so erratically.
She drew back to one of the mismatched chairs around the table and watched Buck sponge Joey, murmuring softly as he worked, sometimes in foreign sounding words. All the while, Joey watched him with utmost faith.
Kathleen knew for a fact a man who could earn such trust from a child was a man worthy of the same kind of trust from others. Yet there was something about him that put Rosie on edge. What could it possibly be?
Buck wondered about the young woman watching him. She didn’t seem the kind who normally hung out with Rosie, nor visited in a shack barely big enough for a family. He looked about the room. A battered wooden table. Mismatched chairs. A stove and one cupboard in the kitchen area. Beyond, a rocking chair and a small bookshelf containing two books and a basket of mending. One door next to the bookshelf where Rosie hovered, her eyes guarded. His visit would seriously crowd the place, though the floor provided more than enough room for the pair of them. In his twenty-two years he’d slept in far worse places.
Kathleen Sanderson. She’d said her name with pride and confidence of one familiar with respect. No doubt she would be shocked to learn his identity.
Nor did he intend she should. Marriage had provided Rosie with an escape and he didn’t plan to ruin things for her.
Being a cowboy, moving from job to job, had given him his only escape.
Kathleen leaned forward. “He’s certainly fond of you.”
Buck chuckled. “He’s smart enough to know where his next meal comes from.”
She blinked as if startled by his frank words. Then laughed. “You’re teasing, but I’d say it was more than that.”
He looked at Joey who watched him with those dark, unblinking eyes of his. “We’ve formed a sort of mutual admiration society, haven’t we, buddy?”
Joey nodded, his expression still solemn.
Buck cupped his son’s head and brushed his thumb along the boy’s cheeks. When had they shrunk so badly? “I’m sorry, little guy. I should have realized sooner just how sick you are.”
“He needs some nourishing broth.” Rosie sighed. “Guess I’ll have to get some.” She handed the baby to Junior. “You kids stay here and play.” Then she marched toward the stove and pulled a pot forward. “Good thing for you soup is about all we eat around here.”
Buck chuckled. “I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me for long.” He turned to Kathleen to explain. “She likes me a lot more than she lets on.”
“She hides it awfully well.” Her smile lit up her face, sent dancing lights into her blue eyes, riveting him motionless.
He studied her. Blond hair carefully pulled back in a wave ending in a roll at her neck. An oval face that belonged on a cameo, pretty pink lips. Everything about her said rich, refined.
What was she doing here?
Her cheeks blossomed rose color, and he realized he’d been staring and tore his attention away.
Rosie pulled a bowl from the cupboard and ladled in broth and bits of carrots. She set the bowl on the table. “Eat.”
Joey pressed into Buck’s chest. Buck understood his caution, fear even. He had plenty of reason for it. “Say ‘thank you, Aunt Rosie.’”
Joey shivered. But he must learn his manners, so Buck nudged him.
“Thank you, Auntie.” The boy’s normally soft voice crackled from the effects of his illness.
Rosie sat across the table. “You’re welcome.”
Buck pulled up to the table close to Kathleen. He knew Joey wouldn’t be comfortable sitting on a chair by himself, so he held him and encouraged him to eat.
“This is lots better than what I’ve been feeding you, isn’t it, buddy?”
“I like rabbit.” Joey’s firm tones informed everyone where his loyalty lay, and Buck chuckled.
“You’d say that if all we ate was gopher.”
“I like gopher, too.”
Buck laughed and scrubbed his knuckles across the boy’s head. “You ever tasted one?”
“Not yet.”
Kathleen’s soft laughter filled Buck’s senses. My, he did like a woman with a gentle laugh. “He’s determined to be loyal to you no matter what.”
Buck allowed himself a glance of acknowledgment and was immediately warmed by the admiration in her eyes. “He doesn’t know any better.”
“Yes, I do.”
Kathleen and Buck both laughed, sharing something more than enjoyment of Joey’s conviction. Something he couldn’t name, but it felt like a gift from God.
Strange. He hadn’t thought of God, or His gifts
