Eden. Carolyn Davidson

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      HOW HE’D GOTTEN INTO this fix was a conundrum, John thought, his mind filled with plans for the morning to come. But there was no way in hell he’d leave that bit of a child in the hands of whoever had dealt her blows that left bruises. No one deserved treatment of that sort, and certainly not a young woman. And for a moment he wondered at what her clothing must conceal. No doubt more of the same, and that thought only served to make him even more certain that he’d decided to do the right thing.

      His mama would roll over in her wooden casket should he turn his back on a woman in peril, especially one so vulnerable and in need of the simplest of human care.

      And if he found that the Schrader fella had abused her in another way, he’d be looking him up and handling it for himself. The memory of her reaction to the touch of his hand on her arm thinned his mouth, and he wondered what sort of peril she had faced in her years with that family.

      If it took putting his life on the line, he’d see to it that she was tended to and cared for as a young woman should be. He didn’t know much about girls of her age, only the memory of his younger sister, a much-cherished and loved child. More than once he’d been cast in the position of protecting her from harm, whether from a balky horse or young boys intent on teasing, as boys would.

      His scant knowledge of women had come later on, when as a husband he’d faced the knowledge that the woman he trusted had abused that trust and found pleasure with other men. Perhaps he’d been molded by that, for he’d held himself aloof from females, from those who cast their eyes upon him and offered themselves. He wasn’t husband material, apparently, if his past could be relied on as a record of his skills in the art of marriage.

      But he’d guarantee he could do a better job of looking after this female, this small waif without anyone to look after her and protect her, than her erstwhile guardians had done. And there was something about her that had hit him hard, right where a man was most vulnerable.

      She was frightened, her face bruised, her body no doubt skinny from lack of a decent diet, and yet she had a beauty that appealed to him. Maybe not just her beauty, but the valiant effort she had made not to cry, not to show how frightened she was. He’d caught a glimpse of his younger sister in Katie, had experienced a backward look at the girl he’d once felt deserved his protection. He’d known in those first few moments that Katie was worth his attention, as his own sister had been, and now he was in this over his head, for he’d committed himself to looking after her.

      And that, he decided with a grin, wasn’t all bad. For he suspected that she held the ingredients of a house keeper within that slender form. And that was what he needed. And when she was healed and whole again, she might be willing to consider something other than what he could offer, perhaps a marriage with one of the other men who worked the ranch, or a position in town with a decent family.

      Now he rode up to the small cabin Bill Stanley had allotted him as a part of his salary and looked at it in the moonlight with eyes that saw the sagging porch, the bare windows. He knew that the interior wasn’t much better than what anyone passing by could see. The front door swung open beneath his hand and he stood in the darkness, smelling the musty scent of field mice and the odor of wood smoke from the fireplace.

      He’d might as well settle in for the night, he decided, ignoring his own empty stomach as he found his bed in the back room. The blankets that covered his bed were warm, the mattress was wide and the room was as clean as a broom and mop could make it under his hands. He wasn’t much of a housekeeper, but he’d quickly managed to clean it up enough to take possession of it as a resting place at night. Preferable to the bunkhouse where an assortment of cowhands slept and ate.

      Now he thought of bringing a girl here, a woman really, for most females her age were either already married or planning a wedding. Marriage had probably not entered her head, for she had not likely seen much of an example of happiness between a man and wife out there on the Schrader farm.

      Maybe, someday, when she had healed, both in body and soul, and felt ready to be on her own, he’d talk to her about the years to come, help her to face a future that would in all certainty be better than the past she’d left behind.

      His eyes closed as he tugged the blanket over his shoulder, and he wondered if his little waif was asleep yet. He tried to imagine her in Molly’s bed, and laughed aloud as he visualized her in the cook’s nightgown. She’d swim in it, her slender form lost in the enveloping folds. He’d have to buy the child a nightgown of her own tomorrow, he thought sleepily as the weariness of hard work claimed him for the night.