“I haven’t thanked you for rescuing me.”

Vivian smiled at Billy, determined not to reveal any of her trepidation at his size and her vulnerability. “Thank you. You were an answer to a prayer.”

He nodded solemnly. “You’re welcome. I’m sure t’was God that led me there. No other reason I should be where I could hear you.” He tipped his head toward the baby. “I guess rightly speaking, it was this wee thing I heard.”

Suddenly, the windows rattled as the door behind her opened. A cold breeze blasted across the room. She cuddled Joshua to her chest, protecting him from the icy invasion.

An older woman walked into the room, scrubbing her hands over her hair until it was a tangled mess. Vivian’s jaw dropped. She suddenly realized who they were.

Mad Mrs. Black.

And her son Big Billy.

Everyone was terrified of the pair. Rumors said they’d turned wild after being captives of Indians for years. But despite the talk, could he be anything but a good man if he acknowledged God’s hand in rescuing her?

MILLS & BOON

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LINDA FORD

shares her life with her rancher husband, a grown son, a live-in client she provides care for, and a yappy parrot. She and her husband raised a family of fourteen children, ten adopted, providing her with plenty of opportunity to experience God’s love and faithfulness. They had their share of adventures as well. Taking twelve kids in a motorhome on a three-thousand-mile road trip would be high on the list. They live in Alberta, Canada, close enough to the Rockies to admire them every day. She enjoys writing stories that reveal God’s wondrous love through the lives of her characters.

Linda enjoys hearing from readers. Contact her at linda@lindaford.org or check out her Web site at www.lindaford.org, where you can also catch her blog which often carries glimpses of both her writing activities and family life.

Dakota Child
Linda Ford

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I have loved thee with an everlasting love; therefore with loving kindness have I drawn thee.

—Jeremiah 31:3

To my grandson, Tyson. I’ve watched you grow

and mature and my heart is filled with pride and

joy. I love you and pray God will bless you all the

days of your life.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Quinten, North Dakota, 1890

She was lost. The world had disappeared into swirling, biting snow. The rough ground beneath her feet convinced her she’d veered off the road. Her toe caught a lump and she staggered to keep her balance.

Nineteen-year-old Vivian Halliday’s thoughts filled with a fury of denials. She couldn’t be lost. No one would realize her predicament. No one would look for her. No one knew where she was. Lord, God, help me.

The same prayer she’d uttered so many times. Not for herself. She knew she didn’t deserve it. There were times she hadn’t listened to God or followed His voice as she ought. There were times she’d totally ignored Him and done her own thing. But she prayed for another and, lately, her prayer had grown more urgent. Today, however, her need was solid and desperate. The cold had already tightened her ribs to the point she could barely breathe, but thinking about how much she had to lose gave icy spears to the cold as it clawed into her lungs.

Snow coated her cheeks and iced her lashes. The wind tore at her cloak. She pulled the heavy woolen material tighter, then bent her head low and turned her back to the storm, letting it push her. It mattered not where she went. One direction was the same as another in this white wilderness.

“God, help me,” she called, but the wind whipped her words into silence. She stumbled. Righted herself. Swayed.

A mewling sound came from inside her cloak.

The tiny cry filled her with fresh determination and she lifted her head and peered into the white nothingness.

She must escape this storm. She just had to keep moving and find shelter. Nothing must defeat her—not man, not beast, not beastly weather. Lord, God, in You I trust. Save me.

Snow blasted around her. Dizziness swept over her until she felt like she rode the circling wind. She could no longer tell up from down and melted into the cold, snow-shrouded ground.

The thin sound, from close to her heart, came again. All her pulses crashed against her skin like thunder. She would give her life to save the tiny life she sheltered.

She shook the basket cradled beneath the meager protection of the cape, trying unsuccessfully to still the protesting sound. Was her precious bundle suffering from the cold? She dare not look and allow even a hint of the cold to enter the shelter under her cape.

Suddenly, a huge shape darkened the snow to her left. She shrank back, her limbs brittle with fear. Was it a bear? A wandering, angry bull? She rocked harder. Hush. Hush.

“Someone there?” the massive shape bellowed.

Vivian sank back, trying to disappear into the snow. She crushed the basket closer and patted the sides.

The bulky figure swept trunk-sized arms about, searching for the source of the sound that wouldn’t stop despite all Vivian’s desperate measures. The cold bit at her throat. The wind howled louder. She prayed it would drown the sound coming from beneath her cape.

The creature—be it man or otherwise—encountered her shoulder with his great paw.

She stiffened. Perhaps he’d think her a bush and move on.

Fingers probed gently down her arm then up and across her back.

She held her breath. Lord, God, save us. She wanted to be left alone to find her way to town and safety. Instead, she was swept into strong arms, the cloak tucked around her, her face pressed into a broad shoulder. Then with great strides the huge creature plowed into the storm.

Protests formed but her lips refused to work, frozen with both cold and fear. One solitary thought remained in sharp focus—being captured by a wild man did not fit into her plans.

The wind held less bite. The cold’s sting moderated. Must be the bulk of the man protecting her.

The last remnant of warm blood jolted through her veins. She would not find protection in the arms of a stranger. She struggled to escape.

“Settle down. I’ll get you to a warm, safe place.”

The thought of warmth enticed. But safety? She might be safer in the storm. She opened her mouth to protest but the cold grabbed her throat. She couldn’t speak and her ineffectual efforts to escape allowed the snow to sneak under her cloak, robbing her of the bit of warmth his arms provided. She resisted for the space of another heartbeat, but the safety of his chest proved too alluring and she burrowed deeper into the bulky protection.

“That’s better,” he murmured, as he continued his hurried journey. His footsteps thudded hollowly as if his boots encountered wood, then he bent forward and took another step.

The wind ceased. A golden light washed over Vivian’s eyelids. Loath to face reality, fearing it might be unkind, she kept her eyes shut.

Her rescuer shifted and lowered her into a chair. “Let’s see what you have here.” His huge hands brushed her arm as he spread open her cape. Strong fingers began to unwrap her grip on the basket.

“No.” She jerked her eyes open as alarm returned so fierce and overpowering that her heart thudded against her chest. She stared into a square face, half buried in a thick fur hat. Eyes as blue as a spring sky regarded her with what she could almost describe as amusement. His mouth tipped to one side in a wry expression. The man was huge, towering over her, blocking everything except bright flames from the fireplace at her side. For a moment, she ignored her fears and her need to protect all that was hers and darted a longing look at the promise of heat.

“I’ll just have me a little look.” He again sought to open the basket.

The cold tormenting Vivian’s skin and bones balled up inside her heart and froze there. She clutched the basket more tightly to her chest and hunched her shoulders protectively as if she could defend herself against this giant. “Just let me sit here a minute until I’m warm,” she choked out.

His eyes narrowed. His mouth drew into a thin line. “I ain’t about to hurt you none.” He waited.

Did he expect her to believe him? She darted a look at his mitt-sized fist on the handle of the basket. He could crush her with one hand. The damage he could do to a smaller body, an infant, was beyond imagination.

She shivered, and not from cold.

The mewling sound came again, louder, more demanding. Was everything all right? She ached to be able to check but instead clutched the basket closer and prayed he would leave her alone.

“Let’s have a look,” the giant said, and lifted her hand easily from the handle even though she squeezed as hard as she could.

She sprang forward, ready to defend. Realizing how futile her efforts would be, she frantically tried to think what she could do. Seemed the best she could hope for was that she could move faster than he. She tried to force her muscles to coil into readiness despite their numb coldness and found them stiffly uncooperative.

He put the basket on a stool before the fireplace. The warmth of the yellow-and-orange flames made her ache to hunker down and extend her hands. But she didn’t dare move. Who knew what would trigger this man into action? And she wasn’t about to hazard a guess as to what sort of action he might take. Instead she waited, alert and ready to protect what was hers.

He bent over and eagerly folded back the blanket to reveal the contents, then jumped back as if someone shot him. “It’s a baby,” he muttered. The look he fired her accused her of some sort of trickery. “I thought you had a cat.”

His eagerness at thinking cat and his shock at seeing baby were such a marked contrast to what she expected, she almost laughed with relief. Fearing her amusement would spark anger in the man, she changed her mind before the feeling reached either her lips or her eyes.

He fixed her with a probing stare. “What you doing out in a storm with a baby?”

“I got lost.” Did he really think she planned to be out with this precious infant? The man who gave her a ride toward Quinten, her hometown and destination, had dropped her off with an apology that he must take the other road, and assurances she was only a few miles from town and could easily walk the distance.

He obviously hadn’t expected it to storm and if there’d been signs of its approach, she hadn’t noticed. The storm caught her in the face as unexpectedly as if she’d fallen. In the driving wind she must have gotten turned around. Once the snow engulfed her, all that mattered was protecting the baby.

The man leaned forward and peered cautiously into the basket. “A boy or girl?” The huge man shifted his gaze to her, his eyes curious.

Vivian smiled. “A boy.” The sweetest, fairest, most precious little boy in the whole world. She would never allow anyone to take him from her again. And she’d fight this giant of a man with everything at her disposal if she must.

“How old is he?”

“Almost two months.” Seven weeks, four days and—at last reckoning of the time—six hours.

The baby’s thin cry continued.

“I think he’s hungry. Maybe you should feed him.” The man nodded at her chest.

Vivian’s cheeks thawed instantly. He expected her to nurse the baby. “There’s a bottle in the basket.” She’d have to find a source of milk as soon as possible. She stilled the panic twisting her heart. Where would she find milk in this place? She suddenly had a hundred different details to consider. She knew nothing about caring for a baby despite the few lessons Marie had given her. Marie had always been the one to gravitate toward the infants in the orphanage, while Vivian sought sanctuary in the kitchen. And when she’d been sent out to work for the Weimers, there had been no babies. How would she manage?

The man tossed his hat to one side. His dusty-yellow hair tangled in a mess of curls. Something stirred at the back of Vivian’s mind. He seemed vaguely familiar. She tried to think where she’d seen him, but before she could figure it out he leaned over, scooped the baby from the basket and offered the bundle to Vivian.

She looked into a wrinkled and squalling face. Suddenly, an incredible ache filled her and she cradled her son to her chest, stilling a sob but unable to stop her eyes from growing moist. She might not know about caring for this little one but she knew about loving him and wanting him. The rest would follow.

“He got a proper name?”

She had not been allowed to name him legally but had, in her thoughts, given him her father’s name. “Joshua. After my father.”

“Big name for such a little bitty thing.”

“He’ll grow—” She slid an amused glance at the big man. “Some.”

He looked startled and then his eyes crinkled with understanding. “Ain’t too many get to my size, but his name will suit, I ’spect.”

Vivian smiled at the baby. “It suits him just fine.” For some reason it did. “Can you hand me the bottle?”

He pulled it from the basket, hesitated. “You want I should warm it?”

“Oh, of course.” She knew that. Just hadn’t thought of it. Again, doubts grabbed at her resolve. Someone else should be caring for this tiny scrap of humanity. Someone who knew how to tend a baby. Remembering the seven weeks, four days and six hours when someone else did, she forced away her uncertainty. No one else should care for this baby but her. She would learn how just like every first-time mother did.

As the man moved to plop the bottle in the open kettle hanging over the flames, cats sprang from every corner of the room, meowing and clamoring around him.

“Now, you all just settle down. Ma will be in with your milk soon ’nough. This here is for that noisy fellow over there.” He rubbed the heads of several of the animals.

Ma? The man was married. That boded well for Vivian and Joshua. And they milked a cow. She relaxed fractionally and jiggled the crying baby as she waited for the man to take the bottle from the hot water, and let some of the contents drip into his mouth.

“Seems about right.” He handed it to her.

She’d only fed the baby a couple of times before and always with the help and supervision of someone who knew how to do it with ease and comfort. Even on her ride today, the farmer’s wife had begged to give him his bottle. She took a deep breath, prayed the baby would know more about what to do than she, and popped the nipple into the open mouth. The baby stopped crying and gagged.

Vivian jerked the bottle away and stilled her panic. What if she drowned the poor little thing? Maybe they were right in thinking she wasn’t fit to raise him. Again she yanked her thoughts back from heading in that direction. She’d endured almost eight weeks of aching arms and a weeping heart. Never again would she go through that.

Praying she wouldn’t harm him, she nudged the bottle into the baby’s mouth again. He pushed at the nipple with his tongue, swallowed back a mouthful of milk, looked startled then settled into sucking.

She slowly let her lungs relax. This wasn’t so bad.

She glanced about the room. The brick fireplace filled most of the wall to her right. A recessed area beside it held split logs. Braided rugs lay on the polished wood floor in front of the chair where she sat, and before the wooden rocking chair facing her. On the far side of the room was a kitchen table in rich brown wood and the normal kitchen things—chairs, stove, cupboards. A straw broom leaned in the corner next to the stove, along with a bucketful of kindling. At the corner opposite the fireplace a basket of raw wool and some carders sat beside a low chair. To one side, a quilt in muted grays and browns lay half rolled on a frame. Two narrow windows revealed nothing but white. The storm continued. How long would she be stranded here waiting for it to end? Stuck with a man who could easily harm them. But the room showed all the signs of ordinary farm life. She almost breathed scents of a happy, contented home and this squelched her fears. Surely she and the baby would be safe even with this huge man until such time as she could complete her journey. All she had to do was be as quiet and unobtrusive as possible. The chair she sat in had stuffed arms and she let herself sink into the deep cushions.

Joshua sucked at a leisurely pace as if he hadn’t been demanding food for the last half hour. Then he stopped. She jiggled the bottle. He’d only taken half an inch. Surely he needed more. Didn’t he? She truly had no idea.

“Little guy needs a burp, maybe.”

Vivian nodded. Marie had told her that. She’d seen it done. How hard could it be? Gingerly, she lifted the baby to her shoulder and patted his tiny back. Warm and cuddly, he made snuffling sounds against her neck and she smiled.

He let out a noisy burp and she laughed. Such a large sound from such a tiny body.

She resumed feeding him. The next time he stalled, she knew enough to burp him. This wasn’t so hard after all, even with that big man watching her. She darted a glance at him. His gaze lingered on the baby with a look of amusement. She tried to place the twinge of recognition. Where had she seen him? She scoured her memory but came up empty.

Only a bit of milk remained in the bottle. Joshua curled in her arms, already asleep. So this is what they meant by sleeping like a baby. So peaceful, so relaxed and content. Her love for her son warmed and sweetened her insides.

She shifted, thinking to put Joshua back in the basket, but changed her mind. She liked the comfort of his little body, the way he settled against her as if welcoming her care.

“You got clean nappies?” the man asked.

Vivian kept her attention on the baby. Change wet pants? She could handle that. She wished she’d paid more attention to Marie’s instructions but at the time she’d been far more concerned with making her escape before Matron or some of her helpers prevented it.

No doubt everything she needed was in the shopping basket, which served nicely for carrying baby supplies. Marie had prepared it for her saying no one who saw her would suspect the basket held a baby.

She pulled the basket closer. Yes, a wad of white nappies, a tiny blue sweater set and several white nighties lay in the bottom. She pulled out a nappy and looked from it to the baby. Where? How? Could she really do it?

The man pushed the stool closer. “You could lay him here.”

“Thanks.” She sucked in a deep breath and carefully transferred the baby. She unwrapped him from the bundle of blankets until he lay exposed in his nightie. His tiny fists curled against his chest. She rolled back the skirt to expose thin legs and amazingly small feet in blue booties. Her heart pushed up in her throat as a wave of tenderness washed through her. Her baby. Her son. So little. So perfect.

And wearing a dampish nappy fixed with big pins.

Undoing the pins posed no problem. Nor did removing the wet nappy. But what to do with it? She settled for dropping it on the floor. The clean nappy was folded to fit. Vivian did her best to fix it back in place the way the other had been. There you go. She resisted the urge to say the words aloud as she pulled Joshua’s nightie down and wrapped him up again, quietly smug with her success. ’Course, she shouldn’t take all the credit. God helps fools and children. He certainly had taken care of her this day. She could well be frozen to death—Joshua, too—if not for this man, who was no doubt guided by God’s divine hand….

“I haven’t thanked you for rescuing me.” She smiled, determined not to reveal any of her trepidation at his size and her vulnerability. “Thank you. You were an answer to a prayer.”

He nodded solemnly. “You’re welcome. I’m sure ’twas God that led me there. No other reason I should be where I could hear you.” He tipped his head toward the baby. “I guess rightly speaking, it was this wee thing I heard.”

She met his eyes squarely. Despite his size, could he be anything but a good man if he acknowledged God’s hand in rescuing her?

The windows rattled as the door behind her opened. A cold breeze, straight from the jaws of the storm, blasted across the room. She cuddled Joshua to her chest, protecting him from the icy invasion.

The man at her side, who had been hunkered down on a sturdy wooden stool, bolted to his feet. “Ma’s back. Ma, Ma…”

But whatever he meant to say was drowned by an ear-splitting scream.

Vivian jerked to her feet and spun around.

A woman swaddled in a bulky woolen coat and hat faced her, a bucket of frothy milk in one hand. The woman put the pail on the floor, yanked her hat off and rubbed her pale hair into wild disarray, all the time making the sound of a cat with its tail slammed in the door.

Bony fingers of fear dug into Vivian’s scalp. She tried to back up but ran into the stool she’d used a few minutes earlier for changing the baby. The fireplace blocked her retreat to her left; the big man blocked her right.

The screeching woman stopped to suck in air.

“Ma, I found them in the storm. I couldn’t leave them to freeze.”

The woman scrubbed her hands over her hair again until it was a cloud of faded blond tangles. “Nobody comes here. Nobody.” Her voice shivered along Vivian’s nerves.

Vivian’s jaw dropped. Although she hadn’t seen this woman or her son in eight years, she knew who they were.

Mad Mrs. Black.

And her son, Big Billy.

Everyone was terrified of the pair. Rumors said they turned wild after being captives of Indians for years. Vivian scrambled to remember what she knew or heard. But it was just before her own disaster. Seems she’d misplaced bits of her memory along with losing her parents and home. About all she knew was she couldn’t have landed in a worse situation.

She clutched the baby to her chest and prayed to be able to save him from this savage pair.

Chapter Two

He saw the way she jolted. Knew she’d figured out who they were. Knew, too, what direction her thoughts took. He’d heard the comments often enough, seen hands raised to mouths to unsuccessfully hide a whisper. Everyone thought the Blacks were mad and dangerous. He’d long ago given up trying to prove otherwise, no longer cared what people thought so long as they left him and Ma alone. Though, if he could convince just one person it wasn’t true, it would be the woman standing wide-eyed with fear not inches from his elbow.

But he didn’t have time to deal with that right now. Ma was about to explode before his very eyes. She didn’t handle strangers well, never let anyone in her house.

Ma choked off another screech, sent Vivian another fear-filled look, then glared at Billy. “Why’d you bring her?” She poked her mittened hand toward the woman as if she could drive her away. “Get out.”

“Ma, it’s okay. It’s only until the storm lets up.”

He couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t go from an ordinary housewife to this raving creature when anything upset her routine, though he guessed before she’d been captured by Indians, she’d been perfectly normal. However, he was too young at the time to remember.

Ma cranked around.

Sensing her intention, Billy strode for the door. Only the fact she struggled with the latch allowed him to get there before she opened it. He took her hands. “Ma, what are you doing?”

“Let me go.” Her voice was thin and high-pitched.

“Ma, you can’t go out. It’s storming.” He took her restless hands, guided her to the kitchen area and pulled out a chair. He tried to ease her down, persisting until she gave in and sat. As soon as he released her, she jerked the chair around so she gave her back to the woman.

Ma hadn’t even glanced at the baby. Maybe if she did…For some unknown reason, he wanted Ma and Vivian to be friends. A little jeering finger jabbed inside his thoughts. In a mocking voice, it insisted Billy knew the reason. But Billy had grown very good at ignoring things he couldn’t do anything about, and he shut out the voice.

“Ma, there’s a tiny baby. You want to see him?”

For answer, she started to rock.

He took that for no. For himself, he could barely take his eyes off the little critter. He’d nursed every kind of baby animal—kittens, puppies, a fawn, several kinds of birds, the usual calves and colts. But he’d never seen a bitty-sized human. Tiny little fingers and toes, a kiss of a mouth, ears that folded like spring buds, legs no bigger than his little finger. New life was such a miracle of God’s powerful love and creative power. But this replica of humanity took his breath away. Everything in perfect tiny detail. He knew a protectiveness stronger than he’d ever known before. He thought of the few minutes when he’d held Vivian in his arms, plowing through the storm toward home. He hadn’t known it was her until he dropped her in the chair but he remembered the almost nothingness weight of her, the way she had fought so bravely and then the sweetness of her head pressed to the hollow of his shoulder as she huddled against the cold. He curled his fists. He was being fanciful and tried to remember how to push his thoughts beyond acknowledgment.

It took a few seconds for him to succeed, then he shifted his attention to Vivian. He liked the way she cradled the baby to her, though perhaps as much out of fear as any other reason. Everyone was afraid of the Blacks.

However, good or bad, she was stuck here until the storm ended. Just as Ma was stuck with the uninvited pair.

“I guess you figured out who we are.” Seeing her again made him wish for a heartbeat his life was different. Only half a heartbeat, really.

The woman nodded. “I remember you from school.”

“Didn’t know if you’d recall.” He’d gone to school less than two weeks before he figured out he wasn’t exactly welcome. He recalled only one person who had treated him kindly. He’d almost decided to continue to face his tormentors in order to see her—Vivian Halliday. Looks to be she was now other than Halliday. Married with a baby. With a practiced hand, he pushed aside any hint of regret. He only hoped she was happy.

“You’re Billy Black.”

“Huh.” He was surprised she didn’t call him Big Billy Black. It was the only way he’d ever heard his name said in town.

“You probably don’t remember me. I was barely twelve last time I was in Quinten. Vivian Halliday.”

She’d called herself Halliday. Perhaps an unconscious slip of the tongue.

“I remember.” He’d recognized her the instant her eyelids snapped open and he looked into coffee-brown eyes revealing fear, and lots more besides. He saw flickers of the determination and gentleness he remembered from school. How often he’d thought of her and wondered how she fared.

He hadn’t even realized she was gone at first, though he wondered that he never managed to glimpse her. ’Course, he avoided town as carefully as he avoided crossing paths with a skunk. Only necessity drove him to venture in by way of alleys.

It was Lucas, the man at the general store, who served him at the back door, who told him of the Halliday’s misfortune.

“Mr. and Mrs. Halliday were among those who died in the flu epidemic. Their daughter went to an orphanage.”

Remembering what happened to Vivian, Billy’s fists still clenched. He would have given her a home. A curl of amusement lifted one corner of his mouth. Yeah, he could see anyone agreeing to that.

Best he face the situation head-on. “I guess you know what everyone else knows. That I’m too big to be trusted and Ma is crazy.”

Vivian shifted her gaze from Ma to him. He saw the same compassion tucked beneath her fear that he’d seen eight years ago and had never been able to forget. Somewhere beyond the reach of his control, long-denied yearnings tossed rebellious heads reminding him of all the things he couldn’t have—and somehow they all centered in this particular woman. He did his best to ignore the treacherous thoughts. She had always been out of reach and now even more so as a married woman. He had only one concern—keeping her safe until she could get back to her home.

As if aware no one watched her, Ma bolted to her feet and made a break for the door.

Billy didn’t need to hurry to beat her to it. He leaned against the wooden barrier and crossed his arms over his chest. It about killed him to see her this way. What people didn’t know was she didn’t act crazy all the time. Only when something upset her bad, and nothing upset her like having a stranger close by. Couldn’t get much closer than in her own house. She must be knotted up inside like an old hunk of neglected rope. He hated opposing her but he had to make sure Ma wouldn’t hurt herself.

“Let me go.” Ma’s words were breathless as if forced from forgetful lungs.

“You ain’t going into the storm.”

Ma darted a glance out of the corner of her eye, indicating the stranger in their midst. “Can’t stay here. You know what they say.”

He knew. Had heard more’n he cared to. “Crazy Indian woman.” “Unnatural giant.” Neither was true. No one, not even he, knew what Ma had suffered in captivity but she had been a good and affectionate mother since her return. And Billy didn’t figure he was that big. He’d met a couple of muleskinners even bigger.

“She’s got to stay until the storm ends. She and the little one. They’d die outside.”

Ma nodded. “I know. But I can’t stay. I can’t stay.”

He led her back to the chair. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t bother you.” He waited until his mother settled before he threw a length of wood into the iron staples on either side of the door, effectively barring it. He knew from experience Ma couldn’t lift the heavy piece out of place.

She keened like a woman bereft of her baby. The sound drove nails to Billy’s heart. It was not like he had any choice. Vivian and her baby had to stay until the storm ended. And he had to keep Ma from running out into the cold.

He faced Vivian, her brown eyes wide in what he took for fear. The hood of her cloak fell back to reveal damp brown hair in a soft roll. The cloak slipped down her shoulders. From the little he could see, it appeared she wore a plain gray dress. She must have married a man of simple means. The idea caused him to swallow hard. She deserved to wear fine things like lace and velvet.

“Ma won’t hurt you.”

With a flick of her eyelids, without uttering a word, she effectively expressed her doubt.

“Your husband will be out looking for you.” Would he have another stranger in their midst before nightfall? Ma would have a really hard time with another person stranded in her house, especially a man.

“I don’t expect so.” She shifted her eyes toward the fire, as if fascinated with the bright flames.

“But…” ’Twere none of his business, but if he had a wife and wee son he would not rest unless he was certain they were safe. Perhaps they’d argued and she wondered if her husband would let angry words keep him from action. But love quickly forgave. “He’ll want to be sure you’ve found shelter—especially with the baby so small.”

She shifted, darted a look at him. In the brief glimpse of her wide brown eyes, Billy saw something that set his mouth into a hard line. He’d seen fear. “Are you running from your husband? Afraid of him for some reason?” She need not fear a cruel man so long as Billy was around.

“No. Not at all.” Her fingers moved restlessly against her son’s blanket.

Billy wasn’t much for beating around the bush. “Then what were you doing out in the storm when you should be safe in your home?”

She dragged her gaze toward him, shifted to study Ma’s back, then back to stare at Billy.

Again he saw fear, accompanied by uncertainty. He tried to be indifferent to it. After all, she was another man’s wife. Up to that man to protect and comfort her. But he wasn’t here to provide it at the moment, and Billy took half a step toward her then caught himself. “He’ll be worried over the little one.” He held her gaze in an invisible grip, inviting the truth. Silently assuring her she was safe with him in every way.

“He doesn’t know.”

He heard the words but they made not a lick of sense. “Doesn’t know you’re out, lost in the storm ’cept for God leading me to you?”

She worked her lips back and forth. Swallowed hard. “About the baby.”

“Vivian, you ain’t making a lick of sense.” Had the cold affected her brain? “Of course your husband knows about the baby.”

“I am not married.” The whispered words seemed to escape against her will and as soon as she spoke them, she clamped her lips together. All expression disappeared from her face as if she’d wiped it away with a corner of the baby blanket. Though if he looked real hard he could see just a bit of something hurt and defensive, like the look in the eyes of the puppy he’d ripped from the hands of the man he found trying to shake it to death.

Knowing she expected some cruel word or gesture, he took care to reveal none of his shock, but, despite having lived with censure most of his twenty-two years, knowing she had a baby out of wedlock brought a sudden narrowing of his thoughts. Just as quickly, he let the criticism vanish. Everyone deserved a chance to prove himself. He’d offer this woman as much. On the heels of the realization she was unmarried came a flare of relief that he pointedly denied.

Her eyes narrowed as if she’d read something in his face—something he had meant to hide.

“He’s mine.” She splayed her hands over the baby. Her lips tightened.

Well, he never expected that. Had kind of thought she might see how relieved he was to know she wasn’t married. Why, all of a sudden, was she insisting the baby was hers? He hadn’t even considered otherwise, but her quick insistence and the defensive tone of her voice triggered misgivings in his mind. He carefully added up the things he noticed without heeding.

She didn’t know enough to warm the milk.

Nor remember to change the wet pants without his reminder.

She was out in a storm. What could be bad enough to drive her out in this weather?

It all added up to suspicious. Was she in danger? If so, he would protect her. Or had she done something that would bring a posse down about the rafters? Even then, he would see she was treated fairly.

“I’m going to town to find Joshua’s father. We’ll make things right. You’ll see.”

He nodded, then turned to peer out the window. Snow plastered against the glass as if painted there by an unseen hand. His insides churned like he’d guzzled a gallon of sour milk. Why had this storm dumped her into his life, upsetting the peace his ma needed…triggering thoughts and desires he thought he’d successfully buried years ago?

He stilled the impatience in his heart knowing he could do nothing to change the weather except pray. He leaned against the wall, staring at the whitewashed window. Lord, with one word You stopped the stormwhen You were on earth. Maybe You could see fit to say a word or two today to stop this storm.

As soon as he could see to find his way, he’d take Vivian and her baby to town. Before Ma came apart at the seams. Aware of a faint call from some distant part of his heart, he added, before his carefully constrained life exploded out of control.

In the meantime, they needed shelter.

And the cats clamored to be fed. He rescued the bucket from the floor where Ma abandoned it and poured the milk through the clean cloth saved for that purpose. He filled the half-dozen pans under the table and the cats happily lapped at their dinner. He set jugs of strained milk to cool. Good thing Ma insisted on keeping the cow producing. Otherwise, how would they feed the baby?

Funny, Vivian didn’t nurse her baby. He mentally added it to the list of things causing suspicion.

Vivian sank into the rocking chair where she could keep her gaze on Ma’s back. The air quivered with tension from both women.

Billy stood at the cupboard, wondering how one entertained a pretty, young guest. He could think of nothing to talk about.

Cat and Fluffy crawled into Ma’s lap and she stroked them. Maybe that would calm her.

Billy eased back to the fireplace and hunkered down on the stool he’d built specially for his weight. His insides settled into claylike heaviness at the way Vivian’s arms tightened, and how she blinked as if startled. She might be kind but she still feared him.

“Got to be hard—on your own with a new baby.”

She chuckled softly. He liked the sound of her amusement—soft and calming, reminding him of the wind through the top branches of the trees along the creek.

“Much harder than I dreamed.” She ducked her head but not before he saw a flash of stubbornness.

He allowed a one-cornered smile to tip his mouth. He admired a person with lots of grit when it came to facing life’s challenges. And he suspected Vivian had more than her share of difficulties tossed her way and yet she’d come back to Quinten as if to defy those circumstances. His smile fled, replaced with wariness that tightened his mouth. A stubborn woman could mean trouble for him and Ma. And no, he wouldn’t welcome a bit of trouble for the enjoyment of some time spent with Miss Vivian.

The wind howled around the house, rattled the windows and sent shafts of cold across the floor. He didn’t need to stir himself to know the storm worsened rather than let up. The room seemed overcrowded with Vivian and the baby in one corner, and Ma shivering in the other, and he went to the window and stared out. He longed to be able to trot out to the barn and check on the animals. But he didn’t dare leave Ma alone.

Vivian’s kindness had been so easily given when they were both at school. Truth was, he placed her on kind of a pedestal. Yet every instinct in him said she was going to turn his life inside out and upside down if he wasn’t careful.

If only the storm would end.

Lord, why have You put me in this situation?

Was God expecting him to see no harm came to that little baby?

It was the only thing that made sense.

As if to confirm his thinking, the baby started to cry.

Ma let out an echoing protest and covered her ears. “Don’t like baby crying.”

Billy sighed. Life would not settle back to normal as long as this woman and the little one remained. He gave one more imploring look at the window, sent up one more imploring prayer for the storm to stop, then turned to face the room.

Ma rocked Cat and Vivian rocked the baby as it continued to wail.

Billy looked from one to the other. Seemed they both wore similar frantic expressions, each one scared and upset by the other.

Vivian pressed the baby against her neck and rocked harder and harder as the cries grew louder and louder.

Billy scrubbed his fist across his chin. Oh, for the peace of the outdoors.

“What’s wrong with the little guy?”

Vivian shook her head. “I don’t know. I suppose I could try feeding him again.” She reached into the basket for the bottle.

That was another thing. The basket looked like something a woman would carry shopping in. Or store sewing materials. Not hardly big enough for the little critter. Was a wonder it hadn’t suffocated. He squeezed at his thoughts, not wanting to shed one whiff of criticism on Vivian but it seemed she was running. From what? Was she in danger? His insides pushed at his bones. No one would hurt her while he was around.

Vivian found the bottle and examined its contents—an inch of old milk. She tipped the baby into the crook of her arm and hesitated.

Surely, she wouldn’t give the baby that. When he saw she intended to do so, Billy reached for the bottle. “I’ll get some fresh milk.” He scrubbed the bottle in hot water before filling it. While it warmed, he studied Vivian.

She must have felt his eyes on her for she gave him a hard look. “What?”

“Nothing.” He handed her the bottle. “Except, how come you know nothing about caring for a baby?”

She turned her attention to the infant. “Haven’t had much experience. Have I, Joshua?”

“You said he’s almost two months old.” He let his words convey his doubt.

She didn’t answer as she tried to persuade the little guy to take the bottle. But the baby screamed and gagged. “Come on, Joshua. Eat something. You’ll feel better.” She struggled to no avail. “Please, take the bottle.” Her voice grew sharp, edged with desperation.

Ma rocked harder and moaned. Cat decided he’d had enough and scrambled from Ma’s arms. Ma tried to grab the cat but it meant uncovering her ears and she quickly returned her hands to the sides of her head.

“Ma, pick up Fluffy. He’ll let you hold him.”

When Ma made no effort to do so, Billy strode over and scooped the cat into her lap. Ma shot him an accusing look as she wrapped the cat into her arms and returned her hands to her ears. At the sight of tears washing her face, Billy closed his eyes and prayed for patience and wisdom. The weather better change real quick before things went downhill any further.

The baby’s protests turned to screaming. Milk ran down his cheeks and pooled in the folds of his neck.

Billy stated the obvious. “I guess he ain’t hungry.”

Vivian set the bottle aside, wiped the squalling face, and cleaned the baby’s neck. The screaming continued, assaulting Billy’s eardrums.

Fluffy squirmed in Ma’s tight grasp. Tom and Tiger edged toward the sound, ears tipped in curiosity. The rest of the cats shrank back under the stove.

“Can’t you make him stop?” Billy demanded.

“I would, if I knew what to do.” She looked annoyed and frustrated at the same time.

“Why don’t you know?” He waited as she scowled at him. “He ain’t yours, is he?”

She snorted. “You wanting him? Right now, you could have him. Real cheap. Free, in fact.”

Billy blinked. His mouth pulled down at the corners. “You can’t give a baby away just because he’s crying.”

“No?” She pushed to her feet, took three steps and thrust the squalling bundle into Billy’s arms. “You make him stop.” She dropped back to the chair as if exhausted.

Billy couldn’t move. He’d never felt anything like this little bitty human. He had to remind himself to breathe.

The baby weighed next to nothing, yet had the lungs of a cattle drover. The little bundle of noise drew in a breath, pulling his mouth into a pout.

The poor thing.

Billy lifted the baby to his chest and patted gently. The wails continued. Billy walked toward the door, turned and walked back. Were the screams less intense? He hummed the tune, “Fairest Lord Jesus, ruler of all nature.”

The baby snuffled a bit, then grew quiet.

Billy let the sweetness of success, the incredible pleasure of holding this baby, fill his thoughts.

Ma stopped moaning, stopped rocking.

He kept humming, fearing the baby would begin his caterwauling again if he quit. He sank to the chair across from Vivian and continued the song.

Vivian sighed and tipped her head back.

Convinced there was something not right about this whole situation—a woman who admitted she wasn’t married and obviously knew little about caring for the infant she claimed was hers—he tried to figure out a way to get the truth from her. But she could answer questions any way she chose. Truth or lie.

“You hiding from someone?” He kept his voice the same timbre as his hum, relieved the baby didn’t protest and Ma seemed content murmuring comforting noises to Fluffy. A fragile peace settled about his taut nerves.

Vivian studied him intently.

He thought for a moment she intended to ignore his question.

“What concern is that of yours?”

The baby whimpered and Billy hummed for a few minutes before he answered. “I think it’s my concern if someone is looking for a missing baby. Last thing I need is trouble with the law.”

She gave a tight smile. “It seems to me you can handle most any trouble.”

“You mean my size.”

“I think it would be a good deterrent to any nosy parkers.”

“I ain’t talking about snoops. I’m meaning angry citizens or lawmen. I make a mighty big target for a bullet.”

Again that look of defiance. “I’m not planning to stay.” She glanced at Ma and gave the barest shiver.

Billy guessed she wasn’t aware of it any more than she realized the fear in her eyes.

Tom and Tiger, the most curious of his cats, jumped to his lap and nosed around the baby, sniffing and meowing. Tom, the more aggressive one, laid his ears back as if to say he didn’t approve of sharing his space with this strange creature. “Tom, you be nice.” Tom meowed innocently then edged under Billy’s arm, making Billy chuckle. “You always got to be first, don’t you?”

He felt a little foolish talking to his cats in front of this woman, and shut up.

“I’ll be gone as soon as the storm lets up,” Vivian assured him.

“It shows no sign of doing that.” And suppertime approached. His stomach began squeezing his backbone. He didn’t care to miss a meal. Nor delay it even a few minutes, but Ma didn’t look about to make anything.

Vivian was a guest. She could hardly be called on to prepare food. Besides, she might expect him to eat like she did. In which case he’d leave the table as hungry as he was now.

That left him—with a sleeping infant in his arms. He shifted the tiny bundle and handed it back to Vivian.

The baby protested at the change of arms but didn’t waken.

“I’ll make us something to eat.” He hated cooking. Seemed to take forever to prepare enough food to satisfy his appetite.

They had a good supply of venison; potatoes and turnips from the garden; eggs, milk, cheese and a storeroom with beans, flour and cornmeal. His mouth watered at the thought of fresh-from-the-oven corn bread drowned in molasses, but that took too long.

He pulled out three big fry pans and dropped a dollop of bacon drippings into each. As soon as it sizzled, he put venison chops in one pan and browned them. He cut leftover potatoes into the second and broke two dozen eggs into the third pan. He sliced a roll of Ma’s bread and wished for some fresh green vegetables, but garden season was a long way off.

“It’s ready. Come and get it.” He filled a plate for Ma, filled another with an equal amount for Vivian and set them on the table. The rest he scooped to a platter for himself.

When Vivian rose, Ma jerked to her feet. “Don’t come any closer.”

Vivian stopped so fast she teetered.

Billy stared from one woman to the other, feeling as if he were caught in the middle of two storms, not knowing which one would intensify first, nor what damage each would inflict.

“Ma, we got to feed the woman. It’s uncharitable not to.”

“I’ll leave,” Ma said, and before Billy could think what she meant to do, she dropped Fluffy to the floor, grabbed her plate and retreated past the stove into the doorless pantry. She pressed into the farthest corner, out of sight.

“Ma.”

“I’ll eat here,” she mumbled.

“I can eat here,” Vivian said at the same time.

Billy wanted nothing more than to sit down and fill the hollowness some people called hunger. Instead, he had these two people—three, if you counted the baby—to contend with.

And a storm in his head as violent as the one raging outdoors.

Chapter Three

A shiver raced across Vivian’s shoulders and reached down her throat to grab her heart in a cruel grip. She was hungry, yet she hesitated. Mrs. Black scared every last bit of courage from her heart.

“Ma won’t be changing her mind. You might as well pull up to the table.”

Vivian ducked her head to hide the sudden sting of tears. She longed to be safe. Until this morning, she had always chosen the easy route, doing what was expected of her. Her fear switched to anger. Look where that had landed her.

“I’m getting mighty hungry and when I’m hungry I get cranky.” Billy sounded as if he’d already crossed the line into that state.

Realizing her precarious position, Vivian jerked as if lassoed unexpectedly from behind. She did not want to see Billy upset in any way. She remembered him from school. How he’d stood with fists curled as the boys taunted him. She’d wondered how they had the nerve to test Billy’s mettle. Even back then he was big enough to do serious harm to several of them before they could stop him by the sheer weight of their numbers. As she’d watched, her heart tight with distress at their taunts, tears raced to her eyes. Then Billy looked directly at her. She’d seen the pain in his gaze and knew how much this tormenting hurt him. Then his anger exploded. Only he didn’t turn on the boys responsible. He started pounding on the walls of the barn on the school property. She’d almost been ill at how he’d thrust his fists again and again into the unyielding wood until his knuckles were torn and bleeding.

She did not want to trigger such a violent reaction because of something she did or failed to do, so she slowly made her way to the table hoping he would think her shivers came from moving away from the fireplace.

To think she’d handed the baby to Big Billy. Certainly, his crying made her feel helpless and frustrated, but as soon as she shoved the bundle into his hands she knew she’d made a mistake. Billy had only to curl his big fists to squeeze the life out of the infant.

She’d held her breath, praying he would choose not to. God mercifully answered her prayers. The big man cradled the baby gently and the little bit of squalling intractability settled down.

Suddenly, her fears subsided and her heart calmed. Somehow, and she couldn’t explain it, she knew Billy would not harm a living soul. Perhaps it was seeing how gentle he was with the numerous cats, or watching his patient concern over his mother or realizing that even in his anger almost eight years ago, he had not turned against those responsible.

She straightened her shoulders, shifted the baby and walked to the table. There were three chairs. She avoided the one vacated by his mother.

Billy waited until she sat, the baby cradled in her left arm. “I’ll pray for the food.”

Startled by his announcement, expecting him to care little about godly things, she darted a look at him, caught him watching her and quickly bowed her head.

“I ain’t a bad man,” he muttered.

She wanted to tell him she didn’t think so, but when she stole another glance he had closed his eyes. Just as well. She wasn’t sure what she thought of this big man. She, too, bowed her head.

“Lord, some have hunger, but no meat; some have meat, but no hunger; I have both. God be praised! Amen.”

Vivian coughed to hide her sudden desire to laugh. She kept her head down, glad of the need to concentrate on her meal. She doubted Big Billy would share her amusement at the grace he’d chosen.

In the pantry, his mother mumbled something unintelligible but clearly was annoyed.

How did Billy live with this day in and day out? It was enough to drive even the strongest man to lunacy.

Anger gnawed at her throat. It wasn’t her fault she was stuck with a crazy woman and a reluctant man. She had a clear-cut destination and a task to take care of. Only the storm had diverted her. Lord, God, keep me safe, help me make it to town and enable me to accomplish my purpose.

She ate slowly as she considered her situation and what she could do. Nothing for now. Except pray. She wished she hadn’t told him the truth about being unmarried. It always made her feel dirty and stupid. She should have never listened to Wayne’s promises. But if Billy felt the usual disgust at evidence of a woman with loose morals, to his credit he had hidden it.

Billy ate as if he’d never get another chance. He’d taken the platter she thought for serving food, and consumed the stack of potatoes, four venison steaks and well over a dozen eggs, used four thick slices of bread to clean his plate, then sat back with a huge sigh.

Aware she’d been staring these last five minutes, Vivian ducked her head but not before Billy noticed her interest.

“It takes a lot to fuel me.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Tea,” his mother called.

“Coming, Ma.” He tossed a handful of tea leaves into a big brown china teapot, poured in hot water and let it steep. “She’s not always like this,” Billy said. “Only when there’s strangers about.”

He was blaming Vivian, which wasn’t fair. It wasn’t her fault. As if aware of her upset thoughts, the tiny boy stiffened and whimpered. Her anger vanished and she murmured soft noises to the baby. “I’m sorry, son. I love you and will get you the sort of home you deserve.”

Billy took a cup of tea to his mother. Vivian heard the woman mumbling her complaint, and Billy’s deep voice responding, trying to reassure her. Somehow, despite his size and the timbre of his voice, he had the power to calm his mother. It seemed to work for the baby, too.

On his return, Billy offered Vivian tea.

“Thanks.” Maybe it would soothe her nerves, growing tighter with each passing moment. In fact, if she listened carefully, she could hear them humming like frost-tight wires. She wanted only to get to Quinten. She hadn’t been back since being whisked away to the orphanage seven years ago. She could hardly wait to start over as an adult, a mother and according to her plan, the wife of an upstanding citizen.

A cat rubbed against her leg, startling her. She gasped.

Billy studied her. “You scared of cats?”

“No. I just never had one rub against me while I sat at a table.”

“You never had a pet cat?”

“No.” Mother had considered cats dirty. The orphanage didn’t allow pets. And the Weimers had cats only in the mill—wild, mangy things you couldn’t get close to. Or want to.

“Then I guess you might find it unusual to have so many.”

“How many are there?” She’d tried to count.

“Eight in the house. More in the barn.”

“I’m guessing you don’t have trouble with mice.”

He chuckled. “Would have to be the bravest mouse in the world to hang around here.”

His easy humor caught her off guard but before she had time to analyze her response, the baby lifted his voice in a demanding wail. She had no idea what he wanted this time. Who knew a baby could be so challenging? She had to figure out what to do with him. Billy already expressed suspicion because of her lack of knowledge in caring for an infant. She wished she could assure him there would be no lawmen after her, but despite the paper in her pocket and Marie’s assurances…

She balanced the baby in one arm, retrieved the abandoned bottle from near the fireplace and prepared it as she’d seen Billy do. She persuaded Joshua to take the bottle. He sucked eagerly. She burped him when it seemed appropriate, and changed his nappy realizing she would soon have to wash the soiled ones or risk running out of clean ones.

Billy stayed at the window looking into the emptiness or alternately watching Joshua. Then he caught her gaze.

She blinked before the compassion in his look, wondering at its source.

“I heard about your ma and pa. I’m sorry.”

“What did you hear?”

“Them dying and leaving you alone. How you got sent to an orphanage. Must have been real tough.”

Sympathy from this unlikely source unlocked a hidden store of pain that escaped in a rush of words. “You can’t begin to imagine. I lost everything. My family, my home and security. I went from being a loved and cherished only child to being nobody.” She struggled to contain her emotions. She’d felt lost and alone, not just on that dreadful day, but every day following. She knew if she ever let the full force of her feelings escape they would turn into a flood of furious proportions. She sucked in air, pushing down the words, the feelings, the anger and pain.

She’d learned to deny her feelings and accept her fate. Perhaps too well.

Until Joshua.

His birth seemed to have planted a strength in her. Granted, it took almost two months for it to grow enough for her to act, but she was here now—evidence it had reached its potential.

“You are valued and loved by God. Your circumstances don’t change that.”

She met his steady blue gaze, let her thoughts follow his words. “I know that.” Her faith was part of who she was, part of what her parents left her, though people would have cause to wonder considering her present circumstance—a baby but no husband.

“You can trust God when you can’t trust anyone else.”

She couldn’t break away from his look, guessed his words conveyed far more than she knew. “It’s been tough for you, too.” As soon as the whispered words were out, she wished she could pull them back. She didn’t want to remind him of the cruelty of people; didn’t know how he’d react.

Billy’s expression went blank, almost stupid. “If you mean how people treat us, it don’t matter to me. Ma and I don’t need anyone else.” He pushed to his feet. “I’m gonna clean up.”

“I’ll help.” One thing she’d learned, you better make yourself useful or no one would bother with you. And despite her wishes to be somewhere else, she needed to stay here until the storm ended.

Joshua sucked his bottom lip as she laid him on his side in the stuffed chair. She touched his silky cheek. So beautiful. So sweet. So much responsibility but she would soon have help in raising him. As soon as she reached Quinten and contacted Wayne. One look at this beautiful child they had created together and marriage would be the first thing he’d want so they could give Joshua a loving home, and the benefit of Wayne’s name.

She turned to help clean the table. Mrs. Black came to the doorway of the pantry, saw Vivian, covered her face and moaned.

Vivian halted. She didn’t want to upset this woman any further. Slowly, she backed away. Mrs. Black did the same until she was out of sight.

“Just leave her be,” Billy said, his tone mild, but she didn’t make the mistake of thinking it carried no warning.

She wanted to protest. She’d done nothing to bother the woman except reluctantly find shelter under her roof, but that was obviously more than enough. She grabbed a drying towel from behind the stove. Billy had already washed several dishes and she dried them. They worked in silence.

One thought consumed her.

Would she have to stay here for the night? If so, she faced long hours of forcing her eyes to remain open. Mrs. Black’s threatening looks made her afraid of what would happen if she slept.

“Looks like you’re stuck here.”

Billy’s words confirmed her worst fears, gave them body and strength.

From the pantry, his ma screeched.

The sound gave Vivian’s fears flesh and blood.

She polished a plate. She needed to count her blessings as Mother had taught her. She was in out of the storm where she would have surely frozen to death. The baby was safe and, best of all, they were together.

“I think it’s dry.”

Billy’s slow words made Vivian realize how long she’d been wiping the plate and she handed it to him to put away.

“You’ll be safe here. As safe as in your own home.”

Vivian had learned the hard way you weren’t safe even in your own home. Yet his words—or perhaps his tone—eased some of her tension.

They finished the dishes without further conversation.

“Ma,” Billy called. “Come out now. You can sit by the fire and card wool.”

“Noooooo.”

The sound sent shivers up Vivian’s spine and she again promised herself she would stay awake all night. Perhaps with a poker at her side.

“You’ll be getting cold.”

“Bring me my coat.”

“No, Ma. You can’t stay there.” He went to the pantry. Ignoring a moaning protest, he slowly pulled his mother from the room, his big hands enclosing her smaller ones.

Vivian hung back, half hidden beside the warm kitchen stove.

Billy edged his ma toward the wooden rocker and waited until she bent her knees and dropped to its seat. He aimed his bulk toward the stuffed chair, saw the baby at the same time as Vivian cried out. Her heart rattled against her chest at the close call.

Mrs. Black moaned and tried to regain her feet but Billy planted a hand on her shoulder and waited for her to settle back, then he scooped up the baby and handed him to Vivian.

Something cold and itchy washed down her back as she cuddled the sleeping bundle, and edged to a wooden kitchen chair and sat so she could see the pair. It looked to be a long, fright-filled night ahead.

Billy pulled a big Bible from the mantel and opened it. In slow, measured tones he read the Twenty-third Psalm.

Mrs. Black rocked, never once taking her eyes from his face, her expression desperate as if clinging to her last shred of sanity by focusing on Billy’s voice, or perhaps the words of scripture.

It was not a comforting thought.

Billy finished and replaced the Bible on the shelf.

“I like that psalm,” Mrs. Black said.

“It’s a good one, for sure.” Billy threw more wood on the fire and glanced toward the stove where Vivian sat.

She knew he wanted to stoke the fire, sensed he hesitated to move for fear of bringing an end to his mother’s calm. Vivian didn’t offer to help, nor move to do so for the same reason. She tried to stifle a yawn. The long day and the time spent afraid and freezing in the storm had sapped her energy. Her head drooped. She snapped to attention. There’d be no sleep tonight.

“Ma, why don’t you go to bed?”

Mrs. Black scrubbed at her hair, tangling it even worse. “I can’t sleep with—” She tilted her head toward Vivian.

The way it made Vivian feel unwelcome was as familiar as it was despised. She pulled Joshua closer. She’d give him what she’d lost—a home. A place of belonging and acceptance.

She tried to picture the house where they would live but having never been inside as far as she could remember, she had to make up the details. However, she could picture the face of Joshua’s father and she recalled every word he’d spoken to her. She should have taken them with a grain of caution but despite her many regrets at her foolishness, Joshua wasn’t one of them. My precious baby.

As soon as the storm ended, she would head to town and her plan.

Billy’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Ma, you go to your bed and I’ll make sure you’re safe.” Mother and son regarded each other for a long, tense moment, then Mrs. Black nodded.

“I’ll not sleep.”

“Nor I,” Billy said.

Vivian silently echoed the words. Little Joshua was the only one inclined to sleep in this household tonight.

Mrs. Black disappeared into a doorway next to the pantry. She firmly closed the door even though they all knew it would also shut out the heat.

“You’re welcome to take my bed,” Billy said.

Vivian shook her head hard. “Thanks, but I’ll just wait for the storm to end.” She again tried to count her blessings—safety, a chance to start over and the determination to work hard to achieve her goal.

Her head drooped again. She jerked upright. What if she dropped Joshua?

“Best move closer to the fire,” Billy said. “The kitchen stove is getting cold.”

Her feet grew icy and her arm ached from holding the baby. She studied the warm glow of the fire and considered what it meant to move closer.

Billy sighed, lumbered out of the big chair and pushed it several feet from the rocker. “That make you feel safer?”

Heat raced up her neck and settled in her cheeks as if she stood too close to the flames. She’d been rude. She normally didn’t shun anyone, but his size, his mother’s mental state…Well, who could blame her for her anxiety?

She crossed the room and settled in the chair, shifting Joshua to her chest to ease the strain on her arm, then faced Billy squarely. “I didn’t mean anything.”

His eyes were flashes of blue ice. His gaze looked through her, past her as if she wasn’t there. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, nor a welcome one. She was done with being invisible, though perhaps this was not a wise time to inform the world, especially when the world consisted solely of Big Billy Black and his mad mother.

Suddenly, his look connected with hers so intently surprise raced through her. Then he gave an unexpectedly gentle smile.

She floundered for a solid thought.

“Know you didn’t mean anything.”

Her eyes widened of their own accord. She seemed unable to break from his look that went past her fear and through her emptiness to a spot deep inside that warmed and quivered like flower petals opening to the sun. When was the last time someone looked at her so, as if she mattered solely because she was a person? Not, she knew, since her parents died. Oh, sure, there’d been exceptions—Marie and Joshua’s father—but they were few and far between and in the latter case, short-lived. But why it should be Billy resurrecting that feeling of being valued made no sense. Any more than his soft assurances that he knew she meant no harm by her statement. “How could you know that?”

His smile deepened. His gaze warmed even more. “Because I remember you in school.” He paused, and shifted his gaze to the fire and then back to her.

She saw something new in his eyes—was it longing? She couldn’t say for certain, but the look brought a flood of sadness to her heart.

He nodded slightly. “I remember your kindness.”

“My kindness?” She managed to stammer out the words. “I don’t remember doing anything.”

“I know.” His words were soft, like a whispered benediction. “Your kindness comes natural. It’s a part of you.”

“It is?” Her mouth rounded with disbelief. No one ever said anything so approving before and it made her feel—She struggled to identify this sensation of…of being really seen. Valued. And from a source she least expected. “What did I do?”

“You offered me a cookie.”

“I did?” She had no memory of the event. “Did you take it?”

He chuckled, a deep-throated rumble resounding in his chest and bringing a smile to her lips. “I have never been one to refuse food.”

She laughed. “Maybe I knew it even back then.”

“You were the only one who was nice to me. You didn’t seem afraid of my size.”

They studied each other. She didn’t know what his watchful gaze wanted. What she saw was a big, kind man trying his best to hide his hurt at being treated poorly. He wore a faded blue shirt that brought out the color in his eyes. His fawn-colored trousers were sprinkled with cat hair in variegated colors. He wore heavy socks knit in raw wool and lounged in the chair as if life held nothing but joy for him.

She knew otherwise. And she knew more. This man would never harm her. In fact, she would trust him to protect her if the need arose. The thought comforted. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Hope raced across his expression and disappeared so quickly she almost missed it.

Satisfaction smoothed away her tension. She’d brought a bit of well-deserved well-being to this man.

He stared into the flames, the reflection of the fire’s glow softening his face.

She remembered how she’d sheltered against his shoulder as he carried her from the storm. It reinforced her feeling he was the sort of man one could count on. If not for his ma, this would be a safe and sheltering place. She stopped her thoughts right there and stared into the flames. She was letting the warmth of the fire and the isolating roar of the wind divert her thoughts from her goal. She must find Joshua’s father. Together, they would build a happy home even though she didn’t know if she felt anything toward the man except regret at what they’d done, and gratitude for her son.

She stole a glance out of the corner of her eye, saw that Billy watched the baby as he stroked a lap full of cats. Other cats curled around his feet. The noise of so many purrs made her laugh.

He smiled crookedly. “I spoil them.”

“They’re your friends.” There was something oddly appealing about such a big man enjoying pets.

His eyes narrowed. “Better than friends. They don’t judge or condemn.”

She understood his reluctance to trust people. She shared the lesson. But through it all, she had Marie, a special friend whose support sustained her. “Not everyone is the same. I had a friend in the orphanage who always helped me.” Even if Marie got herself into all sorts of awkward situations, she never failed to help Vivian when she needed it.

Joshua stiffened in her arms and wailed.

Billy bolted to his feet with surprising agility. “I’ll get the bottle.”

Joshua took the bottle readily and Vivian settled back, rocking gently. A person could get used to this so long as they knew what to do.

Billy snored softly.

Vivian smiled. So much for not going to sleep. She rested her head on the back of the rocker and closed her eyes. The storm still raged outside as questions raced around inside her head.

Who was she? Vivian Halliday. But who was that? She didn’t know. She’d lost all sense of who she was when her life had been stolen from her. Or had she let people take it from her degree by degree?

It no longer mattered because from now on, her every thought and decision would be on Joshua’s behalf and for his good.

She smiled, her eyes still closed.

True, taking the baby from the orphanage wasn’t entirely an unselfish act. Yes, she wanted her baby to have more than a foundling home could offer, or even an adoption. But it had been to quench the hunger of her own heart that had spurred her to go against everything she’d been told to do.

Yes, Joshua’s birth had given her a strength that had before been foreign to her.

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