Colorado Bride (28 page)

Carrie quickly finished the cleaning up, wondering all the while what could have caused Katie to take such a fright at Brian Kelly. He wasn’t her kind of man, but that didn’t change the fact that he was extremely presentable. To have been engaged to someone like him before she ever left Ireland, Katie was a very lucky young woman. Much more so than she had been with Robert.

Thinking of Robert started a comparison with Lucas in Carrie’s mind, but it only took a few seconds for her to realize they had so little in common it was impossible to compare them. You can’t compare horses and potatoes anymore than you can compare Irish whiskey and Brussels lace. Not that Robert or Lucas was anything like Brussels lace, she thought to herself with an inner smile. She visualized Lucas in his tight jeans and flannel shirt, dusty and sweaty from working with the horses. There wasn’t a thing about him that was soft or malleable, but she couldn’t get him out of her mind and that in itself was ironic. Here she was, stranded in the middle of Colorado because she was running away from hard, selfish men. And after having chosen a manageable man for her husband for the very reason that he was manageable, what did she do but fall in love with the first absolutely inflexible man she met?

Carrie smiled to herself. There had been nothing granite or immovable about Lucas last night. She could still feel his strong, sinewy limbs, smell the clean smell of plain soap on his skin. He most often faced the world with a closed expression that gave the impression of a tough, relentless man, yet when he looked at her his eyes seemed to come alive, to deepen and glow with warmth. His firm mouth would curve into a half smile which made him appear to be smiling at himself as much as her. He was a man who wouldn’t give much away, but he was also a man who didn’t let anything get away, not if he wanted it. And Carrie fervently hoped he wanted her.

She looked around the room to satisfy herself that everything was clean and ready for their preparations for the next meal before she stepped out on the porch. The sun shone brightly on the wooded hills and towering mountains, but the morning air was still cool. A refreshing breeze brushed Carrie’s cheek as she leaned against the porch post, her cheek against the age-stained wood, her mind far from the vista spread before her.

Everything was so different here, so unlike what she was used to in Virginia, she wondered if she would manage to make the adjustment. Life asked so much more of a woman here, not just the work she was willing to do but the responsibility she was willing to accept. Back home there was always someone close by to help—family, in-laws, neighbors, somebody who had known you since birth and who would take an interest in you even after you had died. There was no such network of interwoven dependency out here. She could disappear tomorrow and only a few people would, ever know she had existed; even fewer would mourn her passing. She wondered how many men had died alone, killed by disease, Indians, animals, other men, their death unattended and unmourned? Was she willing to take on that burden? Was she willing to bring a family into a world where the struggle for survival began the moment they entered the world and ceased only after they had left it?

But wasn’t that the way it was in Virginia too? True, there were no mountain lions and Indians hiding in the woods, but a terrible war among supposedly civilized men had caused more suffering than Indians and animals ever could. Was she any worse off out here? It seemed that the only difference between living in Colorado and Virginia was in the things you had to struggle against. And the struggle went on in both places—nothing was going to be given to her—and she could be made just as miserable by a struggle in her mind as she could by a struggle to find enough food and shelter to survive.

No, she was glad she had come to Colorado. It demanded a lot that would never have been asked of her if she had remained in Virginia, but in exchange she had the freedom to decide what she wanted to be, the freedom to try to achieve something new without having to endure the censure of a rigidly structured society. Colorado and much of the rest of the West was filled with people just like her, people who couldn’t fit into the interwoven, interdependent social structure of the East, people who demanded more room and fewer restrictions.

She was under no illusions about Lucas. He seemed made for the life he led—in fact, he seemed to thrive on it—and he would want someone with his same goals and lust for life. He would need someone with his same strengths, his same ability to carve a path for himself where none existed and be able to go forward despite any opposition. Could she do that? Was she that strong? She would never know until she tried, but did she have the right to burden him with a wife who had not been tested by the kind of ordeals he considered an everyday matter?

Carrie’s train of thought was suddenly broken by the sound of someone moving about in the station. Irritated by the unwelcome interruption, she set about trying to reconstruct her chain of reasoning, and it was several moments before her mind registered the fact that the noise couldn’t be Katie getting ready to prepare lunch. Neither would it be Lucas or Jake because they never came in by the back door or passed her without saying a word. All of a sudden her whole mind was focused on the sounds and she immediately knew something was wrong. The person in the kitchen was no one she knew and had no business being there. Had Baca Riggins come back? It seemed she was going to be plagued by that man for the rest of her natural life. All her weapons were inside and she wasn’t about to step into the station unarmed; instead she peeped in at the window.

She couldn’t see much of the room through the small space between the curtains, but she could see a shoulder and occasionally a bit of back, enough to know it was no grown man who was raiding her kitchen. With swift decision she lifted the latch as quietly as possible and stepped inside.

Carrie was stunned to see a young boy, she guessed his age to be no more than ten or eleven, with his head and hands almost lost in the pot containing the remainder of last night’s stewed venison. His clothes were old, dirty, and almost falling to bits. He was barefooted, so dun she was certain he hadn’t eaten a full meal in months, and looked as though he’d been living wild for quite a long time. Immediately her heart went out to him.

“Would you like me to heat up that stew for you?” The boy’s head came up like a deer when it smells a cougar, his eyes wide and staring, a look of caution combined with one of desperation in their brown depths. He froze, unwilling to leave the food but unsure of how far he could trust this strange woman.

If you’ll wait a few minutes, I can have a whole meal ready,” Carrie said, being careful to move slowly toward the cupboard where she kept the leftovers so as not to frighten the boy. “Meantime you can wash up. There’s a bucket of water along with some soap and a towel just outside the door.” The boy continued to stare, but his body seemed to relax ever so slightly. “Go on,” Carrie encouraged. “It will take a few minutes to get things ready, and I can’t have you at my table until you wash your face and hands.” The boy remained still for a few minutes more, but Carrie gently removed the pot of stew from his hands and began to take bowls and pots from the cupboard and set them on the stove. While she set the table and poured a large glass of milk, the heat from the stove released the fragrant smell of warm food, and the boy’s stomach began to churn.

“You’d better hurry,” Carrie said, “or the food will get cold before you’re washed up.” He still looked undecided, but the delicious aromas of the food Carrie was ladling into the plate decided him. He disappeared through the door only to reappear in what seemed like mere seconds, dripping wet but considerably cleaner.

“That’s much better,” Carrie said, setting a slice of pie next to his plate. “Now sit down.” The boy sat down, but he didn’t eat. He looked up, apparently waiting to be allowed to start.

“You don’t have to wait for me. I’ve already had my breakfast,” Carrie said. The boy hesitated only a second more before he began to eat twice as fast as Carrie thought it was possible for a human to eat, but she didn’t stop him. She sat down and waited for him to finish.

“Would you like anything else?” Carrie asked when he at last looked up from his plate. There’s plenty more.” The boy shook his head. “Okay, then suppose you tell me something about yourself. My name is Mrs. Simpson. I run this station. Do you live nearby?” The boy didn’t answer. “What’s your name?” Still he didn’t answer. “Okay, you don’t have to talk, but will you nod your head if I ask a question?” The boy hesitated, then nodded.

“Good. Now let’s see. You’re not going to tell me your name? No, I didn’t think so. Can you write?” The boy shook his head. “Do you have any family? Mother? Father?” The boy shook his head. “Where do you live? Is there anybody to take care of you?” Again he shook his head. “Have you been staying by yourself?” He nodded. “Well, we can’t have that,” Carrie said, making up her mind. “Would you like to stay here with me? I will give you all the food you can eat, and all you have to do is a little work around the station to help me and Katie. She’s the lady who cooks the food you just ate.” The hesitated before he nodded once again.

“Good. Now we have to do something about your clothes. You can’t go around looking like that. Do you have any more clothes?” He nodded. “Can you get them?” He nodded again. “Fine. You go right now to wherever you’ve been staying and bring me everything you own, especially your clothes. And hurry back. I’m going to need help carrying water for the wash pot. Now one last thing. I’ve got to have something to call you. I can’t just say
boy
every time I want you, so “I’m going to call you Found. I know it’s not a particularly good name, but it’ll have to do for now. Now you be off, but hurry back. You don’t want to be late for lunch. And Found,” Carrie said as the boy started toward the door, “I’m glad you’re going to stay with us.” The boy blinked at Carrie then disappeared through the door.

Chapter 15

“I didn’t know what else to do except tell him he could stay with us,” Carrie said, explaining Found’s presence to Katie. “I just couldn’t let the poor child go on living by himself.”

“And what makes you think he’s been living in those hills without a family?” demanded Katie, pausing in stirring the pot of beef soup. “I’ve no doubt he’s some shiftless vagrant’s lad they be sending to nose out what he can, most likely to see if we’re worth robbing.”

“He’s nothing of the sort,” Carrie said, affronted that Katie thought she could be taken in so easily. “You wait until he gets back. You’ll understand as soon as you see him.”

“If we do see him, in daylight that is,” Katie added. But Katie didn’t have to wait long. She had barely begun to set out the plates for lunch when the boy soundlessly reappeared in the doorway, his arms loaded with his worldly possessions.

“You got back just in time,” Carrie said, giving him a smiling welcome. “Put those things in one of the rooms in the back. We can decide what to do with them after we eat. Now wash up. The men will be coming in from the barn any minute now, and they’ll want to eat as soon as they get here.”

“Faith! He be nothing but a filthy orphan lad,” Katie exclaimed. “I’m warning you, Mrs. Simpson. You send him off first thing or he’ll be after robbing you blind.”

“Now Katie …”

“Don’t you
Now Katie
me,” Katie said, her complexion pink with exasperation. “I don’t know what it used to be like where you grew up, but there was dozens of orphans where I come from and a more shiftless, light-fingered bunch you’d be hard-pressed to find. And don’t give me any story about how all he be missing is love and he’ll straighten right up once he’s clean and has a soft bed to sleep in. Once a sneak and a thief, always a sneak and a thief, that’s what I say. You just wait and see if I’m not telling the truth.”

“For goodness’ sakes, he’s only a child. And his clothes are almost falling off him. The poor thing is hardly more than skin and bones.”

“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but I can see that without you telling me. I can also tell a shifty eye when I see one. I be warning you, Mrs. Simpson, you keep that boy and you won’t be able to feel easy in your bed.” Found had reentered the room in time to hear Katie’s last words. “And don’t you be giving me any of your innocent and pitiful looks, for all your name is Found. I’d be more satisfied if it was Lost. And I’d be better suited still if that’s what you
were.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Katie O’Malley,” Carrie said, sparks of anger glittering in her eyes as she guided Found to his place at the table. “He’s never going to be lost again if I have anything to say about it.”

“And what’s Mr. Barrow going to say?” Katie asked, a challenge in her eyes.
“That’s
what I be wanting to know.”

“I don’t see that he’ll be called upon to say anything at all,” Carrie responded, just as stiffly, “but I know he will feel exactly as I do.”

“That’s to be seen,” Katie said, and turned back to her food.

“It most certainly is,” Carrie replied, but she wished she felt as sure as she sounded.

“What’s
he
doing here?” Jake demanded the minute he set eyes on Found.

“He no more than showed his face at the doorstep, than Mrs. Simpson ups and takes him in,” Katie said. “And nothing I can say will change her mind.”

“You know who he is?” Carrie asked.

“Yeah. He’s a squatter’s kid. Name’s Willis McCoy. His folks live in one of the canyons somewhere back in the hills. I’ve seen them in town a couple of times.” Carrie looked at Found again. He didn’t look like a child who had been cared for, even by very negligent parents.